Canadian Idol

Well, good morning.

Thought I'd try something just a little different today. Wanted to see how well video would upload from my Photo Booth program.

And so . . . I give you daddy and Sontoo's rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle. I'm no singer, so don't hold it against me. I just thought it was kinda cute. If it works, Enjoy!

Tummy Trouble

So, rough day yesterday.

And it started so optimistically. Got a decent night's sleep, blog completed before anyone else woke up, good attitude.

In spite of the forecast of "flurries" overnight and into Sunday, I awoke Sunday morning to a good four or five inches on the ground and plenty falling. This continued and the forecast was modified to include a snowfall warning. Hmm. A little off there boys. Enjoy that job!

Anyhoo, the snow didn't bother me as I had no plans at all to leave the house. Neomom was working and the boys and I were quite happy to hunker down for some Mario Kart, a little laundry, a little cleaning . . . a typical kinda day, plus Mario Kart.

Just before breakfast, however, Sontoo projectile vomited all over the kitchen, himself and me. No biggie. My optimism was alive. At least he didn't hit the carpet, or one of the couches, chairs or dog. Easy clean-up and it gets me started on the laundry early. See? A silver lining on the cloud of puke.

I'm watching Sontoo from here on. He seems happy, no fever, good appetite at breakfast. Must have been the milk he had earlier. Didn't agree with him.

So, he's playing in the living room about half an hour after breakfast and . . . FIRE TWO! This one got his favourite blankets, an area rug and his fresh pajamas. In the process of pajama removal, it also got his hair pretty good.

Okay, the area rug is machine washable, as are his clothes. At least he didn't get the furniture.

Got that one cleaned up, Sontoo got a bath and then it was just all smiles and sunshine until lunch. Oh, I mean smiles, sunshine and diarrhea. He's now fillin' diapers like sandbags in New Orleans before Katrina.

So, my shirt smells like puke, there's the aroma of poop everywhere, my fingers have that Desitin stuff smell (to ward off related diaper rash) . . . but hey, it's almost lunchtime.

Sontoo turned up his nose at the Kraft Dinner. Usually loves the stuff and I figured it was important to get some food in him. Fair enough, the most critical element is drinking and he did put away a fair bit of liquid.

After lunch and another diaper change he settled in for his nap and made it through until 3:30 without another gastronomical eruption.

Again, happy, smiling, no fever when he got up. More juice. And then Round 3. The living room chair took a small hit, and his favourite blankets were mortally wounded. When I got him out of the chair, he did his impression of a moving lawn sprinkler, walking five steps, puking, five more, more puke: covering the maximum amount of floor space.

(Now this is where Sonwun nearly lost his life. As I am scrambling to minimize damage and maximize paper towel use, he has the nerve to say "Daddy, you're in the way. I can't see Mario Kart! Relax, he's still alive.)

Anyway, to wind up this long story and make it a little shorter, we made it through supper and bedtime. But after about 2 hours in bed, the poor little sucker woke up and created a pool in his bed and destroyed about five books with Volley Number 4.

As I write this at 5:20 a.m., I can now hear him in the baby monitor calling for me. A new day begins. (Pause to fetch Sontoo).

Wow, a dry diaper and he's now sitting in the living room chair (which is covered by a blanket) downing his first juice of the day. Here's hoping it comes out where it's supposed to. Wish me luck.

Have a great Monday!

Short and Sweet

Well, the day started almost perfectly. Sontoo, who is still in the early phases of communication, covered all the bases.

He calls from his crib at 6 a.m., daddyyyyyyyy, daddyyyyyyyy. I hear it through the baby monitor in the basement, where I'm enjoying my coffee and Andre Agassi's book, OPEN. I'm several chapters in and so far, it's interesting and very readable. I admired Agassi when he was in his prime, the whole rebel thing in addition to his outstanding play. But when you find out where it all came from . . . I'll let you read the book.

Anyway, I make my way upstairs before Sontoo wakes up momma. I open the door, walk in, close it.

"Hewooe Daddy!" he says, in a chipper little voice that always makes me smile.

"Hi Sontoo."

I turn on the little lamp and turn to see him on his back, smiling. He rolls over, gets to his feet and balls up the gramma blankets. He has two, and he won't go to bed without them.

He collects them in his arms, stands and waits to be picked up. I oblige and he snuggles into my shoulder as we take the short walk to the change table.

"Towmater," he says, pointing to the brown tow truck character on his Cars wallpaper.

When the change is over, he rebundles the gramma blankets and snuggles back into my shoulder for the trip downstairs. It's early, so I'm hoping we can settle in together on the couch, maybe snuggle and rest for a few minutes

"Dwink pees," he says, just as I get comfortable.

I get back up and go to fill a sippy with milk.

I return. He laughs with anticipation when he sees the cup.

"Denk oo," he says upon receipt of said cup.

For me, that's the perfect start to any day. Happy, content boy. Please and thank you. Not yet 2 years old.

It's gotta be a good day.

Bad Weekend

Crap, what a weekend.

I'm seriously questioning my daddy skills following two near disasters yesterday. The first scared most of the crap out of me and the second got everything that was left over.

Let's start with Sonwun. Sonwun likes mints, the Scotch mints, spearmint to be specific. Each ride in the van begins with the question, "Daddy, may I please have a mint."

Yes, we have worked on his pleases and thank-yous and we are quite proud of it.

But I digress.

He's been enjoying the mints for more than a year and we have become quite confident in his ability to enjoy them without choking. Well, yesterday he requested and received his mint and we were on our way to the store when I heard a gurgle-cry-moan from the back of the minivan. I looked around and there were tears flowing down his face and he was half crying, clearly having trouble. I yelled at him to speak, wanting to know he wasn't choking, and at the same time I was trying to look for a place to pull over. Speak, speak, speak!!

In the three or four seconds that it took me to pull off the road, I was going over anti-choking measures I'd learned when he was a year old. At that time, he was choking on some food at lunch. I called 911 that day and, by the time I was able to reach someone ("all of our operators are currently busy, please stay on the line . . ." Seriously) I had turned him upside down and thumped him on the back. Technically, it was the wrong thing to do, but it turned out right. The food was dislodged and I stopped shaking about 8 hours later.

Immediately following that episode, I looked up choking and learned that, even at that age, I should have Heimliched him. I read up on the procedures, determined that if it ever happened again, I'd be ready.

SPEAK!!

Fortunately, yesterday, the Heimlich wasn't needed. He started speaking and crying and everything turned out fine. But it was about 10 seconds of pure terror for both of us.

And then it was Sontoo's turn. I was in the middle of cooking supper. Sonwun was watching Finding Nemo. Sontoo was upstairs exploring. The bathroom door was closed, so I knew he couldn't get into trouble. All of the other rooms have been toddler-proofed.

So I stepped outside for a minute and was sitting on the back steps when, off in the distance I heard a crash, a loud crash, and I heard a baby starting to cry. I wondered what was going on over in those apartments a block or two away. I didn't want to listen, so I went back inside and closed the door. But the sound didn't go away. In fact, it was louder.

I rushed upstairs to find Sontoo standing beside an overturned dresser. Thank goodness he wasn't under said dresser. But he was standing in a sea of broken glass. A glass jar that we'd been using as a piggy bank, an antique clock with a glass face, several little porcelain statues - all smashed and littering the carpet.

I scooped him up and started inventory. I was sure I was going to find blood somewhere, or at the very least a nasty bruise. But, miraculously, he was fine; not a scratch. I still don't know how he managed to pull the dresser over, but until I figure it out, that room will be off limits as well.

In spite of the fact that it all turned out well, I spent a rather sleepless night, getting up at 2 and 3 to check on Sontoo, thinking I might have missed something, expecting to find a bruise that took time to develop. I checked on him in his crib and then went downstairs to listen to him breathe through the baby monitor. It was a long night.

But this morning, everyone seems fine. I'm very tired and very leery about letting either one out of my sight. All part of being a daddy, I guess. Still, I can't wait 'til mommy gets home so that we can share the paranoia and the panic of parenthood together.

Four days, four hours, 28 minutes to go.