Micronaxx

If Henry someday shoots, I dunno, let’s say President Boehner, people will ask, “Gee, did you ever see it coming?” And everyone who knows Hen will quickly answer, “Oh yes, that’s all he talked about: ‘Getboehner, getboehner, getboehner…!'” In other words, the G-Man gets *reeeeal* focused and obsessive.

Lately he’s utterly focused on garbage cans (pronounced “kahns!!”). For the last couple of weeks he’s constantly begged to go to the window (“Blue one! Black one! Wheels! Tip over! Oh *no*!!”), go outside to push, pull, and inspect cans (“Empty! Water! GarBAAZH!”), and generally discuss them at length. He was so sad when the neighbors finally rolled in their cans, mourning them like phantom limbs. When the baby monitor crackled to life this morning, “Kahns!!” was the first word out of his mouth. And after our little morning visit, he spotted Margot’s Kandinsky print (see above) and announced, “Kahns!!”

So, to any Secret Service folks who might end up reading this, just remember: Keep the kid stocked in Rubbermaid & we’ll have no problems!

When I greet Finny in the morning, I usually ask him something like “How was your night, did you have good sleep?” or “Did you have sweet dreams?”. Sometimes the answer is “Yes, hi Mom-o,” but lately the answer has been “No. It was a baaaaad night,” which is accompanied with a twinkle in Finny’s eye. Then we launch into the following routine:

M: “A bad night, huh? What happened?”
F: “Leo…broke the ceiling again!”
M: “Broke the ceiling?! Oh my goodness! That sounds horrible! What did he do?”
F: “Well he climbed up there, and started hammering the ceiling until it was all broken. I think he had a jackhammer. He broke it into big pieces, and then he threw the pieces in the garbage.”
M: “Wow! But now it’s all fixed! Did he do that, too? Did it keep you awake, all that noise?”
F: “Yeah. It was really noisy. But I helped him fix it and then we went back to sleep [pronounced “sweep”].”

Don’t ask me how we got started on that tangent, because I don’t remember, but clearly it’s something that’s stuck with Finny. He gets a real kick out of bringing it up and riffing on it. We haven’t specifically discussed how Leo gets up there, but I’m guessing jetpack. And it’s always fun to make up stories where Leo is up to mischievous activities. Now that it’s become a regular story, we like to add our own embellishments (which he loves) like “oh yeah, I thought I saw Leo’s head poking up through the floor last night” (our bedroom is right above Finny’s).

[For my part, Finn greeted me after yesterday’s nap by announcing, “I’m a little crossing bell at a train track,” of the sort that swing back and forth. Off to look for his shoes, he noted, “I have to get my dirt”–because in what else would a crossing bell be anchored? –J.]

A few days ago, morning snack-time hit while John was minding the boys (I was marooned upstairs with the stomach flu). He asked Finny what he’d like for a snack, and Finny replied “Cinnamon toast!”, which is currently one of his favorites (much like his Grandpa Liggett). The nanny and I make it for him quite frequently so he’s seen the procedure many times, but John, a self-proclaimed non-cook, was a bit stumped.

Lucky Dad-o has a tiny coach was who was able to talk him through it. He explained to Dad-o that “First you put the bread in the toaster, then when it comes out you put the cinnamon and butter on it, cut it up, and give it to us!” I believe he even helped Dad-o locate the container of cinnamon sugar in the cabinet. Thankfully Dad-o knew that the butter had to go on first, then the sprinkles of cinnamon sugar. I don’t know if Finny and Dad-o discussed the pros and cons of cutting the toast into triangles or squares, as we usually do, but I do know that the toast was summarily inhaled by both Henry and Finny. As Finny might say, “Good job, Dad-o! You get a sticker, a star, and a treat!” (Rewards-based motivational training can be applied to parents!)

The gents and I just wrapped a fun bachelors’ weekend as Mom-O jetted off to New York for a few days with her friend Alethea. Saturday saw us logging major time at multiple parks (chase those hens, Hen! wait, they’re chasing you!), while on Sunday we helped pals Bettie & Quade celebrate their third birthday (complete with some piñata-whacking by Finn). A few pics and videos to follow soon, I hope.

The notable thing is just how independent Finn has started to get. I’m used to Henry rocketing off and/or playing by himself, but Finn has tended to stick to me like white on rice. At the park, however, he cruised off on his own towards some play equipment, leaving his brother and me stranded (sandwich bits strewn all over) out of sight. Once we regained contact, he chose to keep playing on a rather distant slide while the G-Man bounded off elsewhere. And at the party on Sunday, he’d periodically go off and explore with trucks and other toys for what felt like 10+ minutes at a time. Inevitably he’d have little existential freak-outs and start tearfully calling for me, but on the whole he’s really taking new steps.

I write all this solo, appropriately enough, from a gorgeous spot just across the Golden Gate from SF. I’m here for an off-site work event, and I could swear someone has set up outdoor speakers to pipe in seagull chatter and fog horns (nautical authenticity a go-go!). It’s a nice breather from SoloDad duty, but it’ll be nice to give the independence a rest and get the gang back together tomorrow.

When it comes to writing a blog, you’re sometimes advised things like, “Be Yourself, Only Better… Don’t share every little facet of your life, only the charming parts.” On the whole that makes sense, but it can feel a little misleading. That’s why I found this observation insightful:

“Any parent who has posted photos and videos of her child on Facebook is keenly aware of the resulting disconnect from reality, the way chronicling parenthood this way creates a story line of delightfully misspoken words, adorably worn hats, dancing, blown kisses. Tearful falls and tantrums are rarely recorded, nor are the stretches of pure, mind-blowing tedium. We protect ourselves, and our kids, this way; happiness is impersonal in a way that pain is not. But in the process, we wind up contributing to the illusion that kids are all joy, no effort.”

Or, as famous mom-blogger Heather Armstrong described childbirth, “It Sucked and Then I Cried.”

Anyway, we couldn’t be crazier about our guys, and as they get older (and the days longer and the weather warmer), things are only getting better. I just wanted to acknowledge that we do have our ups and downs. And now, back to chronicling the delightfully misspoken words! 🙂