Today Was the Pits! The Ball Pits, That Is

As the temperatures outside continue to crest around 35-40 degrees, we opted for another indoor playground this weekend. Grandma S suggested the Eagle's Nest in New Brighton, and it was a definite hit. Especially the ball pit. Upon first glance, Bry must have thought he had reached nirvana. His eyes widened to the size of saucers and his arms flew up over his head as he cried out, "BALL!" Seven thousand colorful balls, all localized within a 10' x 6' pit. It doesn't get much better than that. Bry was tentative at first, standing knee deep in balls and rooted to one spot.

This can't be right.

But ten minutes later, the ecstasy of the initial ball sighting returned. By the time we were ready to leave, we had to pry Bry out as he repeatedly and definitively identified the contents of the pit: BALL. BALL. BALL. BALL!

The other attraction that captured Bry's attention was this small bridge. Bry went up and down and up and down the stairs, and for the most part, landed on his feet. Except that one time he broke his fall with his face. Toddlers! They're like the stock market. One minute they're up, and the next, they're dow-dowwwn, as Bry would say.

A first for Bry: Watching where he's going.

Holding his own with the big kids.

After what felt like about 30 hours of continuous playing and also baking in the greenhouse of a community center, it was time to leave. Mama and daddy were exhausted. Bry was tired too, given that he never stopped moving for more than a nanosecond the entire time we were there.

Contemplating his next mission, while daddy takes a breather.

Thanks for the good idea, Grandma!

An Afternoon of Play

Continuing with the theme of being too lazy to write, here are more pictures:

First we need some tunes.

Then we'll do some climbing (the latest obsession).

Bry: Daddy, come on, let's PLAY!
Daddy: Uhhhhh...

Little man in motion.

It's getting crazee in here!

Whew, I'm tired.

Think I'll chill with Big Toe.

First Walks of (Almost) Spring

Testing out new shoes.

Chilling in the carrier.

Random News

Being somewhat short on sleep (surprise!), I lack the narrative capability to weave the following into a coherent narrative. Behold, the lazy writer's best friend: bullet points.

• Bry has learned the sign for "hurt" and has used it on several occasions. It just about breaks my heart every time. He's also learned the sign for "flower," which consists of sniffing repeatedly. Only Bry does it by breathing really loudly on the in breath AND out breath, which makes him sound like he's starting to hyperventilate. Charming.
  
• I think we're working on a language spurt. And by "we," I mean Bry is trying his best to make out words and his crazy parents are emphatically shouting out random words we think Bry might like to imitate. Ethnographers studying our family might wonder why the parents preface most communications with the phrase, "Bry! Can you say... (insert word of your choice here)?"
  
• As far as language goes, what Bry lacks in actual technique and pronunciation, he makes up for in spirit. So even though A LOT of his words sound alike or totally nonsensical, make no mistake, Bry is making himself heard.
  
• Wanna know the word that makes him giggle more than any other word in the English language? Poop! ("Boo!") Especially when said with an exclamation point after it. In theory I'm very much against gender typing, but this one gets me. Is he a boy or what?
• I was kind of holding out hope (OK, magically thinking) that Bry wouldn't develop the contrariness that goes hand in hand with being a toddler. Ha. Ha ha ha ha ha. He's now learned how to shake his head "no." And sometimes he nods his head "yes." When he wants to. It would be a lot harder to stomach his frequent and enthusiastic expressions of "no" if they weren't so darned cute. Bry doesn't just shake his head. He gets his whole body into it, so that he kind of twists from the waist in one direction while his head is flying in the other direction. The whole thing has a kind of maniacal feeling to it, as if Bry's very life depended on communicating the message, "No, nuh-uh, not under any circumstances, not now, not ever." The best part is that he smiles the whole time he's thrashing his body around to tell you "no." How can we argue with that?

Like a Barnacle on Our Hearts (But in a Good Way)

So, kids huh? Who knew they could be such adorable little buggers. I mean, yeah, everyone knows that kids are cute and say and do funny things. Pre-Bryson I might have observed the antics of the shorties with amusement and thought "Awww, how cute." But both Steve and I were blindsided by the depth of feeling that was stirred up when we went ahead and had our own. It goes way beyond "how cute" to a feeling not unlike being kicked in the gut by frolicking kittens and puppies. In other words, it's both cute and startling. Actually, it's really difficult to explain the mixture of love and pride and awe that seem to come hand in hand with parenting, but I recently recalled a story my friend Michelle told me that seems to summarize it perfectly.

When Michelle was young, her family went to a breeder in search of a family dog. I don't remember exactly what kind of dog they were considering, but the litter in question was composed of three or four puppies who looked alike and were typical for the breed. There was also another dog who had different coloring and stuck out from the rest. While everyone else in her family clamored towards one of the "typical" puppies, Michelle stayed close by the side of the odd dog out. Her parents and brother tried to convince her that their puppy was the one to choose. Not to be deterred, Michelle exposed her tender self and said, "But this one makes my heart glow." Needless to say, the family went home with the puppy Michelle had chosen.

Bry, you make your mama and dada's hearts glow everyday. Thanks for that, sweet man.

Can't you see the glowing?

Is It Spring Yet?

We're running low on indoor entertainment, people. But today, I pulled this out of my sleeve and it kept Bry entertained for 45 minutes, which is approximately 44 minutes longer than most other activities. It would have been longer, but I was getting tired of sitting on the kitchen floor.

Ingredients: 2 bowls, several cups of rice, 1 measuring cup, and 1 giddy toddler

Set all of the above on the kitchen floor and observe the ensuing fun.

How's the Reception?

At some point in my academic and/or parental careers, I was introduced to the idea that babies' receptive language (i.e., what they can understand) develops much faster than their expressive language (i.e., what they can speak). Maybe it was in a child development course, or perhaps one of those ubiquitous What to Expect... books. Probably not here (OK, obviously not there, but that site is too funny not to link to).

And lo and behold, the books (or my education) have been right! Steve and I are continually amazed not only by what Bry understands, but the ancillary information that he gleans by virtue of living in our particular household. Like the fact that the cutting boards go on the bottom of the kitchen cart and that mama likes her martinis shaken, not stirred. Oh, who am I kidding, I haven't had a martini in years. Shame.

Last weekend when Aunt Dana and Uncle Ryan were visiting, Bry put on a good little show, demonstrating that he understood the following requests (because commands makes him sound altogether too much like a dog, or perhaps a trained monkey):

• Please put the trash in the trash can.
• Please put the plate on the table.
• Plates go on the table, Bry.
• Plates are not for throwing (sensing a theme here?).
• Let's go downstairs!
• Show us the circles, Bry! Where are the squares?
• Bry, where is Pajama Time?
• It's spider's turn to go down the slide!

Admittedly, this is a sampling of things Bry has responded to in the past, and not necessarily an exact replication of his feats last weekend since I neglected to take thorough notes on all of Bry's accomplishments. What, do you think I would do that? Because I totally wouldn't. Not yet anyways, since I just thought of it.

Sometimes it's fun to take advantage of Bry's receptive language skills and eagerness to help, for instance, when it comes to cleaning up the mound of food that manages to accumulate under his high chair after every meal. We've been trying to encourage cooperation and responsibility and blah, blah, blah, and having Bry help clean up has been a part of that. It doesn't always work exactly according to plan though, especially when Bry's own interests supercede those of the group. Like the other night when I asked him to put some cheerios he had dropped on the floor into the trash can. He picked one up, and before I could intervene, stuffed it into his mouth. Oops.

The other arena that does a good job of highlighting Bry's receptive language is human anatomy. When asked, Bry can (more or less) point out his nose, eyes, ears, mouth, teeth, chin, cheeks, tummy, belly button, feet, toes, and hair. And he loves to point out these parts on others, especially the face parts. In fact he's so fond of pointing out others' noses that I only half-jokingly remarked to Steve that I hope he gets over the habit before he starts dating. Could be a little awkward in those early stages.

Being Here, Now

It has been a long, dark, cold, and snowy winter. Did I mention that it's been long? There are days when it seems like spring, with its warmth and sunlight and magic, is never going to blow into town. Oh, who am I kidding? Spring is more like not-cold temperatures, not-frozen precipitation, and mud, but right now anything seems better than unending days when it is just too cold to take Bry outside. Steve keeps talking dreamily about that glorious first day of spring - not necessarily the official first day - but the first moment that it feels like life is being breathed back into the chilly recesses of the winter months. When the trees start to bud and the air smells ripe and clean. Until that day comes, our consolation prize has consistently been this place:

The North Pole?

The set of Ghostbusters, after the defeat of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man?

Wonderland?

Nope, nope, and nope. It's actually the Eden Prairie mall. More specifically, the trippy play area at the Eden Prairie mall, where families with small, bored children congregate en masse. Steve's cousin sagely calls it "The Petri Dish," which is probably a pretty accurate name given the dozens of germy children literally crawling all over every surface. Steve once followed Bry into a tunnel like the one above and emerged with a thoughtful look on his face. He was trying to determine the exact scent that lingered in the enclosure. After much deliberation he came up with...urine.

It's not much of a prize compared with playing at the park or walking around the lake. But it's better than unending stretches of staying in the house, reading the same books a gazillion times, playing with the same toys over and over, and wearing grooves into the wood floors after tracing the same hallways ad infinitum.

It's been fun too to see how Bry approaches the play structure in different ways on each subsequent trip back to the mall. The first time we brought him, he wasn't yet walking and Steve and I were on high alert, scanning the area constantly to watch for children who would surely trample Bry with their reckless frolicking and playing. But they always managed to avoid him and he was totally oblivious to their frenzied running about. Now, he's still mostly oblivious to the presence of others, even though he's been bumped into many times, usually as he's trying to crawl up the slide while the other kids take the traditional route and let gravity do the work. He can kind of run-walk from one end of the play area to the other, but he typically sticks pretty close to Steve and me. I try to imagine further down the path of this developmental trajectory, but I just can't picture it. Steve and I have mused off and on about what Bry will be like when he's older. Even though there seem to be hundreds of models of 2-, 3-, and 4-year olds racing around the mall, we can't quite translate that to what it will be like for Bry to grow into those ages. Right now I can't imagine a time when a trip to the mall doesn't result in this:

And I'm not sure I want to. Not just yet. Maybe the fact that Steve and I have such difficulties conjuring up images of an older Bry is a subtle reminder that we're here now, in the present, so we better enjoy it while we can. A cliche, perhaps, but true nevertheless.

Oh the Messes You'll Make

Messes. They're the sine qua non of babyhood, right? Cleaning up under the high chair after every meal and every snack. Doing more laundry than I ever knew was possible. Toys EVERYWHERE. These messes, while a nuisance, are tolerable.

Then there are the messes that are a bit more of a strain. Especially on our gag reflexes. A week ago it was Bry throwing up all over his crib and then subsequently lying back down in the contents of his stomach. So at midnight we got to peel off his pajamas, dunk him in the bath, change the sheets, start the laundry, put him back down and hope for the best.

Two days ago, Bry stuffed a plateful of cantaloupe into his mouth, neglected to chew, and then apparently attempted to swallow the whole lot of it. His gag reflex kicked in (this is a good thing), followed by the contents of his stomach again being heaved across the table, his high chair, the floor, and into the trough of his bib (this is not a good thing). Cue stripping Bry down, dunking him in the bath, starting the laundry, etc.

And then there was tonight. Bry seemed uninterested in dinner. He pushed away the veggie burger, quinoa, mixed veggies, and tofu we attempted to feed him and steadfastly demanded "nana!" the whole time. We relented and gave him more cantaloupe (which Bry also calls "nana"). And then halfway through the meal, Bry screwed up his face into his "I'm pooping" look. I sighed and thought briefly to myself, "Can I wait until the end of the meal to change him?" The answer was no. I went to pick him up and noticed that his back was disconcertingly wet. This was on account of the diarrhea that had shot out the back of his diaper. EWWWWW. And so, once again, Bry was in the bath earlier than intended and we fired up the washing machine one more time.

After the emergency bath, Steve and I looked at each other resignedly about the state of the kitchen, across which the detritus of Bry's many attempted and discarded meal options were strewn. Another mess to clean up. Bry was as chipper as usual, babbling to himself over the dry toast that we offered to settle his stomach. I peered back at Steve hopefully, "Maybe the power of Bry's cuteness can take care of this mess." Unfortunately, the answer was again no.

When Daddy's on Duty

Daddy thought it would be funny to dress Bry like this yesterday morning while mama was still sleeping:

Note the striped shirt, differently striped pants, and Santa hat. Not visible: argyle socks.
(Definitely not Aunt Dana-approved!)

Bryson, oblivious to his huge fashion faux pas, doing a little cooking.

Very funny, daddy. Now go try again.