Small World, Big Fun

Well...we did it. We took our son to Disneyland. We survived the "happiest place on earth," which featured more unbridled screaming than the uninitiated might expect.

We got an early start, even going so far as to wake up Oliver before his normally scheduled wake-up time, which was brave of us. We were on the road before 7, and pulled into the Mickey and Friends parking structure at around 8:30. It was going to be a long day. But Erin and I had each popped a half dozen Xanax, and we had brought our flasks of tequila, so at least we were prepared.

The adventure got off to a fantastic start when our easy-to-please offspring was immediately excited about the interior of the tram terminal. I don't exactly recall the source of his enthusiasm, but dollars to donuts it had to do with him spotting a ball somewhere.

Save your pointing for the park, kid

We got through the front gates, and of course it was time for another photo op.

We headed down Main Street after passing through the tunnel (well, after a bathroom pit stop, but I don't really need to tell you everything), then met Minnie. She was a little big and intimidating in real life, so we didn't like her much. She didn't even get a high five. So we hung a left and started making our way through Adventureland. Our first stop was the Tiki Room, which is great for children three and under, and basically torture for everyone else. Except for anyone with a child three and under. His eyes were the size of quarters for twenty minutes. He would point silently every time a bird or flower or floor tile would open its mouth and start singing. It was a hit, but he's probably going to want a parrot now.

We left the Tiki Room, stopping for a Dole Whip (obvs), and there was legit no line, which, as anyone who has ever stopped for a Dole Whip can well understand, was the greatest thing that has ever happened in my life. Our first ride was arguably the park's most iconic - Pirates of the Caribbean. Like his father, he did not appreciate getting wet, but the rest of it he loved. His favorite parts, predictably, were the meow-meow and the woof-woof.

We then got a fast pass for the Haunted Mansion, because like hell we were going to stand in line holding that whirling dervish for 35 minutes. Oliver lost one of his shoes, then we hopped on the railroad at the New Orleans Square station. We got off in Toontown, and then did the Small World ride, which was the best ride we went on all day. Yeah, yeah. I know. But keep in mind that it was 90+ degrees, and that ride is 15 minutes, and has great AC. Plus, there was nothing dark or scary, so it was 15 minutes of pure enjoyment for all of us.

Then it was time to hit some of the Fantasyland rides. First we let him do single rider on the Matterhorn (I'm kidding, mom), then we did Alice in Wonderland (he didn't love the dark parts), the carousel (a lot of point-worthy things on this one), and Pinocchio (again, too many dark parts). He tried removing the sword from the stone, but the day before had been arms and chest day, and he was still feeling sore.

Not the chosen one, as it turns out

We did lunch at the Plaza Inn, where we paid an exorbitant amount of money for the meal/parade package, which would (in theory) guarantee us great seats for the Electrical Parade later that night. (As you'll later learn, it's a scam. Don't do it.) Oliver was out for the count at this point though, so he didn't get to partake of our lunch, or our brightly colored cheesecake.

We decided to take advantage of his nap to check out the new Galaxy's Edge, which he wouldn't have been able to appreciate anyway. While I was on babysitting duty, Erin went on Smuggler's Run, and loved it, but I'm not big on pushing buttons with a roomful of randos, so I passed. We came out of Galaxy's Edge near the Haunted Mansion, just in time to make our fast pass window. This ride got roughly the same review as several others: fun and interesting at times, but too many dark parts. Also, at one point, there was a ball.

We got Oliver a little lunch, then got on the train to get us back over to Toontown, so he could break into Mickey's house and root through his personal belongings. This was one of his favorite parts of the day, mostly because he got to get out of his stroller and run around. And watch giant carrots get sucked into the ground.

We weren't in the mood to wait around to meet Mickey though, so we went back outside and explored more of Toontown. He had his first positive character interaction when we had the opportunity to meet Donald, who was just more his speed. Unlike Minnie, Donald did get a high five. It's possible my son is a sexist.

After a meltdown in the middle of Toontown, and after finally getting Oliver back in his stroller using a combination of Kevlar rope and horse tranquilizer, we exited to Fantasyland and went on the Small World ride again. It was even better the second time. Ah, that AC. Strong recommend.

Back in the heat, we got on the Monorail (don't forget that we have this damn stroller everywhere we go, btw), which took us to Downtown Disney, where we partook of some holiday sandwiches at Earl of Sandwich, and there was much throwing of bread, cheese, and sippy cup. There wasn't much time for us to do anything after dinner other than make our way back over to Main Street for the Electrical Parade, where we set up camp on a damn curb, like animals. Parade package, my butt.

The parade went over spectacularly though, especially considering how little sleep Oliver had gotten over the course of the last 14 hours, and that it was already past his normal bedtime. The barrage of colorful lights more than made up for the day's many dark parts, and he was riding an absolute pointing high. An excellent way to wrap up a largely successful first trip to the House of Mouse.

Next time we'll probably get a sitter though.

Dada, Mama, Poo-Poo, Sha Wah Wah

Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It has been five months since my last blog post.

Why have I gone so long without writing one? Well, because nothing of note has happened in the last five months. Okay, that's a lie; pretty much everything has happened in the last five months. But work has been insanely busy. And I haven't been sleeping much. And raising a baby is time-consuming. And I've been taking a correspondence course, double majoring in Excuse Creation and Procrastination.

It's hard to know where to even begin. In order to better organize my thoughts, I'm going to be using bolded headers throughout this post.

The Words That Are Comin' Out of His Mouth

Oliver now has a vocabulary of roughly a half dozen words. Not enough to engage in an ontological argument, but enough to swear at someone in traffic. Okay, actually, the ones he has mastered (I use the term loosely) to this point include: Dada, Mama, Nonnie, Papa, banana, cheese, and no. So, theoretically, we could totally have the following exchange:

Me: Who are we going to see next week?
Oliver: Dada. Mama. Nonnie. Papa.
Me: Will Uncle Jamey be there?
Oliver: No.
Me: Are you sad about that?
Oliver: No.
Me: Why not?
Oliver: Cheese.
Me: I hear ya. He does lay it on pretty thick.
Oliver: Banana.
Me: Yes, he is also bananas.
Oliver: BANANA.
Me: Oh, you want a banana.

It's amazing to watch him hear a word, process it in that little brain of his, and then utter an approximation of that word (he does this with varying degrees of success). I expect his vocab to increase exponentially going forward; he is getting better and quicker at this thing every day. In no time at all, he should be enough of an expert mimic that I will be able to begin using him to assist in the making of prank phone calls.

He's also learning to communicate in other ways, like by pointing at something he wants, or throwing something he doesn't, or throwing a hissy-fit when he doesn't want to have his diaper changed or be buckled into his car seat. It feels really great to have opened up this dialogue.

Little Man Walking

Another area where Oliver is showing rapid improvement: walking. It was around his first birthday (more on that in a minute) that he first started taking a few shaky steps before crashing and burning. The bravery involved in learning to walk had never occurred to me before I was able to witness it happening first-hand. To pull yourself up and move just a couple of feet in one direction, knowing full well that you are going to finish by falling on your ass, often striking your head against a dresser or activity center or crib leg...takes an incredible amount of determination and fortitude. It probably also requires a certain degree of foolhardiness and forgetfulness, but whatever it is, he's got it in spades.

Of course, this is terrible news for the cats. They are now on 24/7 Godzilla watch. It's also bad news for our remote controls, which are now scattered like Easter eggs throughout our house, and for our books and magazines—at least the ones that are in grabbing-and-tearing range. Additionally, it's not the greatest news for any of our visitors, who now need to enter a 6-digit code and solve a series of riddles in order to gain access to our toilets.

The most recent addition to Oliver's bag of tricks? Climbing up on things. So...yay. Now he can fall from an even greater height. Am currently looking into getting quotes for memory foam flooring.

Another Year Older and Closer to Potty-Training

On June 1, guess who turned one? That's right...this blog! Also, Oliver.

We had over to our house a bunch of people, most of whom he didn't exactly know, and didn't seem eager to get to know. But many of them brought presents, which helped, and there was, of course, a smash cake, so he was able to get his first taste of pure sugar. We got him a Smash Mouth smash cake; it was just a cake with a photograph of the band on the surface, with the words, "Happy Birthday, Oliver" and "You're an All-Star." He may not have gotten the joke just yet, but I'm sure he'll have a hearty guffaw over it when I show him the pictures in like 15 years. And explain to him who Smash Mouth was.

School of Soft Knocks

Several months ago, we said sayonara to Oliver's nanny, and put him instead in a day care. It is definitely hard not having him here in the house for much of each day during the week, but everyone on staff is awesome and we feel quite confident about his safety and happiness there. He had a rough outing the first couple of weeks, however. It was right around that time that he began experiencing hardcore separation anxiety, which is flattering but awful. Each time Erin would drop him off in the morning, he would scream tearfully, with arms outstretched toward her, as if they were being separated at the Mexican border (timely, incendiary political reference alert). According to his teachers, things didn't get much better after she left. So yeah, he was putting in a good, solid six hours of crying for a while there. Heartbreaking, but sadly necessary. Stupid jobs. Stupid money.

I have the fun, easy job. I get to pick him up. He sees me, smiles broadly, says, "Dada!," my heart melts, and we go home.

Of course, ever since he started there, he has had a cold. We're actually not sure if it's been a continuous string of eight or nine colds, or one fiercely interminable one, but either way he is forever coughing, and there are always liquid boogers on tap. We sure hope people are right in saying that this will make for a heroic immune system that will keep him healthy for the rest of his life, but it sure as hell sucks now.

We're excited that he's being exposed to social situations as well, although it is a bummer that he has to come to terms with some of life's harsh realities at such a young age. Erin has spotted him twice being pushed to the floor by some asshole named Emmitt, whose name I hope I spelled wrong, although Oliver didn't seem to mind overly much. But my son isn't wholly innocent either. Apparently, some new girl started in his class, and within the first five seconds of meeting her, he introduced himself by shoving a couple of his fingers into her mouth. I knew it was a mistake to let him watch the Kavanaugh hearings.

Oliver's Travels

I swear he's got to be in the 99th percentile of kids his age in the world travels department. He's twice been to Catalina, once to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, once to Chicago, once to Holden Beach, North Carolina, is about to get on a plane to Grand Rapids, and will be making a return trip to Chicago this Christmas. With layovers, I count 14 flights this year. With a one-year-old child. Which makes him a well-seasoned traveler, and his parents dumb AF.

The Chicago trip was amazing, especially because nearly my entire family went to a Cubs game while we were in town; walking with him into the stands, and seeing him look out on that field and the ivy for the first time was really special. The game itself was not so special, but fortunately there was a large structural post blocking our view of most of the action, so we didn't have to watch much of it.

The Holden Beach trip was also fun. He got to dip his toes in the Atlantic, making him officially bi-coastal. He also got to be covered from head to toe in nature's glitter (i.e. sand), which delighted his mother and made his father take seven showers.

But on the upside, he got to meet his cousin Sully, plus Noah, and Logan, and Theo, and Max...there were a lot of babies and kids there. But also beer and wine, so it evened out. Then there was also that time when we were out to dinner and Oliver had a major blowout, so Erin took him outside to her mom's new car to change him. He twisted and turned, smearing fresh shit all over the interior. This delighted his father and made his mother take seven showers.

That's About It

As this heading indicates, that's about it. Oh...he's got his sixth tooth coming in, he loves the flamingoes at the zoo, and he thinks it's funny to hand us something and then snatch it back just as we're about to take it. Okay, now I think that's it. If I think of anything else I forgot, I'll text you.

Putting the Loco in Locomotion

This kid likes to move.

He isn't really a "sit still" kind of person, we're learning. If he's between us on the couch, Erin and I are basically human guardrails on either side of a pulsating, mutating mound of flesh with flailing appendages. At times it appears that this mound seeks to escape captivity; at others, it looks as if it's trying to become one with the cushions. Like a shark, he must always be moving, although it's not immediately clear why.

Bedtime is no different. Watching his tiny, grainy body on the monitor is like watching a Mexican jumping bean that's just had 10,000 volts run through it. He bounces against every side of his crib like a pinball with eternal momentum. Okay, enough similes. You get it. He has a lot of energy.

He's still a relatively good sleeper, although he has recently begun a new routine which I refer to as his "2 am Squirm & Shout." And because he can now sit, roll over, and beg (we teach him all the best tricks), his middle-of-the-night freak-outs look on the monitor like a prisoner in his cell going quickly insane. Okay, that was another simile. I'll try to stop.

Doesn't look like he's going to be a crawler. Knee-walking be damned, he says. Instead, he's a butt-scoocher. I mean, if you can't walk yet, I suppose it's the way to go. You get to stay more or less upright, and hold onto some shred of your dignity as you're going from place to place, for Chrissakes. Butt-scooching isn't the most graceful action a person can perform, but it's clearly superior to a four-limbed waddle. We've evolved, dammit.

But he won't be scooching for long. We got him a walker, and by Day 2 he's already zipping across the kitchen floor, ramming into stools and doors and whatever else dares to get in his way (sorry about your lives, cats; you had a good run).

Soon to be a holy terror

Trying to get him to stay still at doctors' appointments is an adventure. Kinda tough to keep him in place on that cushioned table without a supply of bungee. Of course, the most fun part is trying to keep him from ripping up the sanitary paper they make him lie upon. By the time we're ready to leave, the office looks like the aftermath of a bull mastiff getting into the bathroom trash.

Yeah. Okay. I have a simile problem. I see that now. 

Anyway, with all of this movement, it's clear that there are going to have to be some changes, and fast. We can no longer leave him alone on his playmat for more than about 15 seconds. Any longer than that, and he just might have butt-scooched from here to Timbuktu. Or at least to the fireplace screen. And it's going to get even worse once he starts walking. So we're in the beginning stages of baby-proofing. Moving cleaning products to high shelves. Putting rubber bumper protectors at the bases of tables and bookshelves. Installing outlet covers. Moving our S&M supplies to the garage. It's a process. 

It's an exciting time, but I'm exhausted just thinking about how exhausted I'm about to be. What's the consensus on leashes and/or cages? Are they frowned on? I haven't been reading any parenting mags, so I'm out of the loop. 

Slobby, the House Elf

Hey, did you guys know we had a Christmas?

In case you missed it, we did. Right before the end of the year. There were lights and everything.

Anyway, this was a special Christmas, because it was Oliver's first one. You should have seen his mother. It was the culmination of her entire life. If she'd been drinking wine, and it had been snowing, and a Newsie had been there, I think her brain might have shorted.

As it was, we had a very nice Christmas, just the five of us (Toby and O'Ryan were also in attendance). The pile of presents under our tree was truly disgusting. Capitalism had pulled down its designer jeans and taken a wicked dump in the corner of our living room. You would have thought that fifteen people lived here, or that we were collecting for a donation to Shriners. Nope. Pretty much all for one kid. A kid who had no clue what the hell he was looking at, or why he wasn't allowed to tear all of the shiny paper and jam it down his gullet.

This may be my last year without having to assemble something at 2 am, and for that I am grateful. This year, all we had to do was buy him one of everything in the infant toy aisle at Target, and then open boxes full of one million wrapped presents from friends and family. In related news, my son and his belongings are now the sole residents of our home. I'm taking Erin and the cats to live in a Public Storage unit in Panorama City. Please visit.

So yeah, he made out like a bandit. Not that he cares, really. His three favorite activities are still putting books in his mouth, putting stuffed animals in his mouth, and putting his fingers in his mouth until he gags himself and spits up six ounces of pureed corn. He couldn't care less about all the new gadgets with the flashing lights and catchy songs that his parents can't stop singing. ("Maybe you could be a purple monkey in a bubble gum tree, and...") He's a simple man, with simple tastes. And those tastes, by the way, do not include green beans. Saving you some time there.

He had a fun and exciting holiday season though. How can you not when your mom dresses you up like an elf and you look like this?

Yes, I cut his mother out of this photo. Maybe someday she'll get her own blog. 

Oliver also got to meet Santa, whom he did not mind:

He got to be Santa, which he minded slightly more:

And he got to see a couple of awesome light displays (light display not pictured):

He even got to star in his first ever Christmas card: 

So now, here we are. Seven months-plus, and he's turning from a baby into a little boy right before our eyes. He's sitting up like a pro. He's eating big people foods. He literally got his two front teeth for Christmas. 

2018 was an adventure. But something tells me we just left the Hobbit-hole.