Be Careful What You Say

It is becoming abundently clear that we need to watch what we are saying at all times because little ears are listening. I noticed this first with music -- Riley singing "...cold beer on a Friday night..." or "...so here's my number, call me, maybe." On the drive to school this morning though, he had me in silent hysterics. The car in front of me stopped abruptly and then was going super S-L-O-W as it proceeded. And of course I was annoyed, although I didn't say anything. Then, from the back seat in his sweet little voice I hear, "C'mon, folks!"

Sweet Big Brother

I know I talked in a prior post about how special the evenings in Maine, when Riley and I would "help Chase sleep" were so important to me. I did not realize that they were special to Riley too. Back at home after our vacation and back to our regular routine, Casey was in charge of getting Riley ready for bed while I was feeding Chase and putting him down. Not long into this, I heard Riley crying, saying, "But Daddy, I help Monny* put Chase sleep." It was so sweet, and alone in the dark in Chase's room, I got teary. Tonight it struck me that although I think Riley enjoyed that time with me, he also geniunely liked feeling like he was helping Chase. By the time Riley was in his jammies and ready for bed, I had already left Chase's room. When he saw me, Riley got a very puzzled look on his face and asked why I wasn't helping Chase sleep. I explained that Chase was such a big boy now that he could put himself to sleep without our help anymore. I'm not sure who is more disappointed, me or Riley. I will miss those sweet times together with my two boys. *Yes, Riley still calls me "Monny". After reading one of these blogs, Casey realized that I loved having my own special label and started referring to me as "Monny" and Riley picked it back up. I love it!

Maine Adventure - Week One

Last fall, when we were throwing around weeks that we'd like to be at the cottage at Drakes Island, we tried to get our usual week which includes Labor Day weekend. As luck would have it, no one else wanted that week or the week following, so two weeks were reserved for us even though we were certain we'd only be able to use one of tehm since taking two weeks off of work is out of the question. A few months later we found out I was pregnant with Chase. A few months before Chase was born, Casey suggested that we do as we had done when Riley was a newborn -- drive the whole family, including the dogs, up to Maine, Casey would stay for the long holiday weekend, then fly back to North Carolina to work for a week, return to Maine the following weekend, and then stay for the entire next week. My initial thought was "no way". I remembered how hard it was being alone with an infant and two dogs for an entire week and how tired I had been. I especially remember the end of the days when I was so exhausted that I had to set an alarm clock so that I could stay awake for Riley's 11:00 PM feeding. And that was without an extremely active 3-year-old boy to keep up with all day long. In the months to follow, I continued to give the idea some thought. I did what any female would do -- I asked friends with two or more young kids if they thought I could handle it and if they would attempt it, we over-analyzed it, and they concluded that it would be nuts to attempt it. Which is what led me to decide that I was going to do it. As we got closer and closer to Chase's arrival, I began to think that I was, in fact, crazy to think I could pull it off. And then when Chase arrived and I remembered just how exhausting a newborn is, and how they have their days and nights confused, and how very little "regular" sleep the parents of a newborn get, I was almost paralyzed with fear. So, two days after sweet little Chase came home from the hospital, I began working in earnest on training him how to sleep. I will be the first to admit that I was a complete sleep-training nazi. He was on such a highly-regulated schedule that I would flip out if Casey tried to do anything the slightest bit out of line with what the books said. I vividly remember one night when Chase was screaming and not easily being soothed. Casey picked him up out of the crib and said he was going to take him for a walk (exactly what he did almost every night when Riley was a baby with absolutely no complaint from me). I snapped at him and said, "I am not going to have that luxury in Maine in the middle of the night. It's not like I can leave Riley alone in the house." Valid points, but still. To his credit, Casey (probably thinking I was completely irrational) agreed to try to find alternate ways to calm Chase down and get him to sleep that did not require leaving the house. And slowly, over the course of a few weeks, we figured the little guy out enough to be able to soothe him in his own bedroom. Still, when the time came to leave for Maine, I will admit that I was dreading that first week alone with just the kids and the dogs. I was pretty sure I could make it through the day, but was afraid that it was going to be just too difficult at night to put two kids down by myself, especially since Chase needed me (or Casey) to sit in his room with him for 30 minutes or so as he slowly fell asleep, putting his pacifier back in every time he dropped it and immediately woke back up screaming his head off. But you know what? Bedtime, the time of day that I thought was going to be absolutely horrible, turned out to be my favorite time of day and my favorite memory of our week alone in Maine. Sure, walking the boys and the dogs on the beach and watching Riley delight in all of the things the beach offers (sea glass, shells, rocks, sand castles, tidal pools, seagulls, etc) was incredily fun. Strapping Chase to me in the Baby Bjorn and taking him and Riley and the dogs to play in the ocean and jump over waves in the evenings was one of the purest forms of joy I have ever experienced. Putting Riley in a wetsuit and letting him play in the pouring down rain on a chilly day while Chase, the dogs and I sat in the shelter of the garage and watched him have a blast for hours was more fun than I possibly could've imagined. But those night times that I had so much dreaded were some of my most contented moments as a mother. As I was feeding Chase, Riley without argument or attitude would go to his room and get himself dressed for bed. After Riley was in his jammies and Chase was fed, changed and swaddled, Riley and I would sit on the bed in Chase's room, iPad in hand, and watch the Red Sox or the Cubs and "help Chase sleep" as Riley called it. The dogs, exhausted from the day's swimming and beach walking, would lie at our feet on the floor next to the crib. The first few days, it took about 30 minutes of Riley and I very quietly sitting in Chase's room watching baseball to get Chase fully asleep. On those nights, Chase would scream and cry and pitch a fit, clearly overtired. As the week went on though, we had to spend less and less time soothing Chase, leaving Riley and I with more and more time before his bedtime to have a some quality time together doing what he loves most, watching baseball. We'd talk and cheer and give each other high-fives, and when I'd eventually tell him it was time for me to leave, he'd give me a hug and a kiss and tell me he'd miss me. And then I would close the door, go downstairs, clean up from the day, and make Chase's bottles, exhausted but recharged. And when that was done, I'd pour myself a glass of wine, help the dogs who were either too exhausted or getting too old get into bed, and read a book with two of my favorite companions snuggled next to me until it was time for Chase's 10:30 pm feeding. And after Chase was back into bed, I would say a quiet thanks for two amazing little boys and two wonderful dogs who allowed a day without my husband in a place that is so special to him to become so special to us too.

Back to School

Hard to believe that this is the start of Riley's 4th year at "school". The past three years I have been anxious the night before, wondering how he would like his teachers, if he would be scared, if he would miss his friends that aren't in his new class... With the recent addition of Chase to our lives, the exhaustion level at night is high, and except for getting the paperwork ready and making sure we had all of the required supplies, I really didn't have much time to worry about the new school year. Casey's parents were visiting for the weekend, and were still here this morning (thank goodness), so I was preoccupied as Riley got ready for school and out the door. Chase was crying in the backseat on the drive to school, and all I was thinking about on the drive was how his crying felt like nails on a chalkboard. By the time I even got to think about this being the start of a new year, we were already walking up to the entrance to his school and I figured it was too late then for any sort of emotional reaction. I had been spared. Each year during the first week of school, it seems like the first day has gotten progressively harder for Riley. Last year he clung to my leg, sobbed and begged me not to leave. It was horrible and made me feel like the worst mommy ever. I almost scooped him up and walked out the door, and might have had I not had a job that I needed to go to. His teachers had to pry him out of my arms and distract him as I walked out the door. I was expecting a similar if not worse reaction this year. Instead, with the exception of saying he didn't want to go upstairs (where the "big kid" classes, which sadly includes his, are located), Riley didn't bat an eye. When we arrived at his new classroom, we found a note on the door stating that the class was out on the playground. As we trudged back down the stairs we had just gone up, I was thinking enough time had passed since we'd entered the building to allow him to fully realize that we weren't going to be greeted for the day by Mrs. Sherrill and Mrs. Vanessa who we had all loved dearly and who had taken such great care of my little guy for the past year. Not so. When I opened the door to the playground, he didn't even hesitate. He didn't look back, not even when I said good-bye. So much for needing his mommy. In case I needed proof, here it was right in front of me -- my little guy has turned into a big boy. And so I left, traumatized not because he was so sad to see me leave, but because he wasn't sad at all. I held it together until I got to my car and then had a good cry... right until Chase started crying because the car wasn't in motion. And then it was time to pick up the pieces and move on with my day, now grateful that the baby was crying in the backseat because he needed his mommy. Official tally: School - 4, Riley - 2, Mommy - 0.

Lucky

Dear Riley, I know you do, but on those days down the road when you are mad at your dad for some reason, I hope you realize how lucky you are to have a dad like him. I am struck by this often, but particularly tonight as I sat at a party and watched from afar as he threw pitch after pitch to you and all of the other children for hours as afternoon turned to evening and evening turned to dusk. There might be a lot of dads that would do this, I don't know, but I don't think there are many who would do it with the enthusiasm of your dad, making up silly rules ("you can't hit the ball until you recite the one rule - no hitting the pitcher"), announcing each batter, falling over when a ball came anywhere near him, hooting and hollering each time a child made contact with the ball, and just genuinely loving the experience of spending time with you and your friends. You could tell that all of the other kids adore him and I couldn't help but think that your daddy is the "cool dad," the one that they all wish they had. The one that not only spends time with his kid, but also clearly has no place he'd rather be. As I watched you all playing, I couldn't help but notice the look in your daddy's eyes -- a combination of happiness, contentedness, mischievousness and pride -- and I felt so happy for you that of all the daddy's in the world, you get the privilege of calling him yours.

All American Moment

Tonight we went to see the Kane County Cougars play some minor league baseball with my sister and her family. The weather was perfect, the baseball was good, the hot dogs and beer (for those who were drinking) was plentiful, the ball park was full and energetic, and I couldn't have asked for better company. Looking around the stands at one point, I was struck by how many families were at the game enjoying the simple pleasures of a Friday night. You saw parents dancing to "YMCA" enjoying themselves, but no doubt enjoying most the delight on their kids' faces as they acted silly and carefree. You saw small children plenty old enough to walk, but instead being carried out of the stands silently sleeping peacefully in their grandparents' arms. You saw little girls flirting with the boys from their class sitting two sections over and older brothers taking their sisters to throw the ball without being embarrassed that their friends might see them. And I had the pleasure of seeing an almost three-year-old boy enjoying nothing more than sitting, watching the game he loves, sandwiched between a cousin he idolizes and a daddy he worships. As the game came to a close, you could hear a buzz of excitement in the air as the children learned that there would be fireworks after the game. My life with fireworks has been somewhat mixed. As a child, I didn't like them much. Frankly, the loud noise scared me, and although the flashing lights were neat, they were not neat enough to make the booming worthwhile. As a teenager, fireworks became the event to look forward to with your friends on the 4th of July. You'd bring a big blanket to the high school, walk around the big field next to the football stadium like you owned the place, dress to the 9s, and watch the fireworks with your friends, secretly hoping the boy you had a crush on would come sit next to you. Nothing, however, compares to sitting next to your child as he snuggles up to your side, sleepy, but completely enchanted with the lights sparkling overhead. It was Riley's first time at the fireworks, and it was my first time truly understanding what all the fuss and excitement is all about. It isn't about the lights themselves, it is about the look on a little boy's face as he stares in amazement at the wonder of the world around him and is perfectly content with nothing more than sharing that amazement and wonder with you.

Pancakes

Due to our kitchen being what it is (an outdated, completely impractical nightmare), we have not made pancakes in a very long time. Turns out that Riley has not outgrown them. It was Casey's idea to make pancakes for dinner tonight. Riley is at an age where he is starting to take an interest in cooking, so I thought he might like to help make the pancakes. We pulled out the step stool and he stood on it while he helped me crack the eggs (a slightly frightening experience, but only one tiny piece of shell made it into the bowl, so I consider that a victory), add the milk, butter and pancake mix, and then use the electric mixer to combine it all. I think his favorite thing was poking his fingers into the eggs, but a close second was using the electric mixer all by himself. (I will note here that Riley clearly takes after his father when cooking -- it's not cooking unless a big mess is made. Also, if anything gets on your hands, it's clearly the best idea to wipe it off on your clothes. But I digress. I should also add here that Casey has taken over much of the kitchen clean-up and nearly all of the laundry since I got pregnant, so I really can't complain about the mess-making at this point.) I figured he would have had enough of the cooking experience by this point, so I started pouring some batter into the pan. Next thing I knew, he was hauling the step stool over to the oven. Hmmm, does this spell disaster to anyone else? Hoping to avoid a catastrophe, I pulled out another pan, gave Riley a spatula and an already-made pancake and told him to flip his own pancake. This seemed to satisfy him for awhile... until (a) he got hungry and (b) the dogs started to hover. After all the pancakes were made, we sat down to dinner where Riley ate four adult-sized pancakes (mind you, Casey only had four also, and I had three, so this should tell you something about the portion size). And then he talked about how Mommy and Riley are good cooks (probably the only time I will ever hear those words spoken about my cooking!!!). Clever kid. I imagine more pancakes and cooking are in our near future.

Chicken Fried

I have no idea how it started, but before leaving his room for the night Casey started asking Riley for his "chicken fried." Translation, a kiss. This evening we were all hanging out in the backyard listening to the radio while Riley was hitting golf balls. At one point, the Zac Brown Band came on and was singing, "You know I like my chicken fried, cold beer on a Friday night, a pair of jeans that fits just right, and the radio on." Riley picked up on the words of the song, ran over to Casey, gave him a big kiss on the cheek and had a big grin on his face. This verse is repeated many times throughout the song, and each time, whether he was putting the ball on the tee or getting ready to take a swing or concentrating on something else, he would pick up on those words, stop what he was doing, run over to Casey, give him another kiss on the cheek and smile as he ran back to whatever he had been doing. Cutest thing ever.

Fragility of Life

Tonight we met some friends after work/school for a Winston-Salem Dash baseball game. Riley was excited and had been talking about it all week. There is nothing he loves more than going to a baseball game. Baseball glove in tow, we made our way to the game. We arrived early enough to watch the pre-game warm-ups (ah, so much different than the law school days when we'd stroll in 45 minutes late, head directly to the beer garden and watch very little, if any, of the game). Then we made our way to our seats, which, for this game, were in one of the sky boxes courtesy of our friend's company. The nice thing about the sky boxes are that there is plenty of room for the kids to run around and play when they need a break from sitting still to watch the game. The box we were in was pretty much behind home plate, so the view is great. It is also nice to be behind home plate because there are nets in place to catch foul balls... or so we thought. The next sequence of events starts out innocently enough. The guys left the box to go grab some food and drinks leaving the girls behind with the kids. It was around the 7th inning, so Riley was at a point in the game where he needed to be moving around. Riley and I were playing "baseball" in the box, which was nothing more than hitting a rolled up paper towel with a hat. I heard it first, the big CRRRAAAACCCCK of a ball hitting a baseball bat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it next. The ball was most definitely heading in our direction, and at an extremely high speed - basically a line drive foul ball. I saw the ball heading right towards Riley, but he was too far away from me for me to do anything about it. I had enough time to feel real fear, but not enough time to react. Fortunately, the ball missed his head by no more than six inches. Probably less. It hit the seat next time him with a loud thud and then bounced off of the seat in the direction of my stomach (with baby inside), still traveling at a pretty high speed. After taking a few more bounces and rolling around for a few seconds, the ball came to a rest right by my feet. By this time Riley was right next to me and was THRILLED that he "caught" a baseball (after all, isn't that why he'd brought his glove to the game). The guys returned to find Riley soooooo excited about his baseball, the other little boy crying because he didn't have one, and me sipping (ok, halfway chugging) a glass of wine to calm my racing heart. So the story ends up OK. No one was hit by the ball, no one was hurt. But it does make you ponder the fragility of life. I am fairly confident that had the ball hit Riley, it would have seriously harmed if not killed him. And that does happen sometimes at sporting events. One second you're just sitting enjoying a Thursday night at the ballpark with your family. The next second life is forever changed. Lucky for us, it is just a good story of how Riley got his first foul ball. But you better believe that I replay that moment in my head time after time and count my lucky stars for fate or whatever it is that made that ball curve those live-saving six inches to the right.

Someday

So Riley seems to have learned the notion of "someday." Not sure if he's learned it from us ("The house will be finished someday." "We will go back to Nantucket someday." "We'll be able to relax on the weekend again someday.") or if it's a concept they've been discussing at school. Regardless, it is funny to hear the things he's been coming up with lately. For example, on the way to school this morning we passed a dilapidated old building and he said, "I want to go in there someday." Further down the road he saw what he referred to as a motorcycle (but was really just a mo-ped) and said, "I want one of those someday." Then tonight, on our way to the Club for dinner, as we passed one of the enormous houses in our neighborhood, he said, "I want that one someday." Thinking he meant that we should move to that house someday, I made a comment about how I loved "new house" (which is what he calls our current house) but hoped Mommy and Daddy could afford a house like that for our family someday. Without missing a beat he said, "No Mommy, I want that someday. You and Daddy can stay at new house." Oh.

Cows

I believe I have discussed in the past how most of our morning drives to school feel like Groundhog Day with Riley saying the same thing each morning. During winter, it was asking about Baby Jesus and what he was doing. Now, with the nice weather, the cows are out in the pasture at the Children's Home. Each morning, as we are rounding the bend that brings the pasture in sight, Riley will ask, "Are they inside or outside?" (meaning are they in view or somewhere else). Most days they are outside. When he asks what they are doing, I usally respond, "Eating breakfast" or "playing with their friends" or something equally as clever. Today, he again asked if they were inside or outside. Expecting him to say "outside" as the cows came into view, I was completely thrown off when he gasped, "Look Mommy, there's Ferdinand! He's sitting under his cork tree!" And sure enough, there was a lone cow sitting under a tree just like Ferdinand does in the story. And I swear he was just sitting quietly smelling the flowers. (For the record, Ferdinand reminds me an awful lot of Winston.)

Rainy Day

Two sweet stories from today... First, it is "Teddy Bear Week" at school, which consists of the children in Riley's class brining in their own teddy bear and hanging out with it all week while learning spatial concepts (over, under, next to, etc.). The week will be capped off with a picnic with their teddy bears on Friday. True to form, Riley took this assignment very seriously and reminded me at least 10 times this morning that he needed to remember to bring his teddy bear to school. But as we were leaving the house, and I asked him to put his rain coat on because it was raining really hard, he panicked. What on earth was Mr. Bear going to do in all that rain?!? Certainly he couldn't get wet. Luckily, he had just received a new shipment of hand-me-downs from his cousins Mac and Grif, and in the batch was a raincoat and rain boots identical to the ones Riley already had. So after bundling up Riley in his rain gear, he and I bundled Mr. Bear up in Mr. Bear's matching rain gear. It really could not have been cuter. The moment he walked into his classroom holding onto his identical twin, Mr. Bear, Riley's teachers immediately began gushing all over him. One of them even got up to take his picture so that she could send it to her sister ("My sister will love to see why I talk about Riley all the time"). It made my heart smile. Quite frankly, this was nothing compared to what transpired this evening. I may have mentioned before that Wrigley has developed storm anxiety in recent years. Not sure what has caused this, but she is terrified of storms. Tonight was no exception and it was a pretty major storm. Unfortunately, Riley seems to have caught on and tonight was absolutely terrified of the storm as well. Casey, being the good daddy that he is, told Riley he'd come sleep on his floor with him. So as I climbed into a large king-sized bed with only Winston, Casey and Wrigley settled down on the hard wood floor in Riley's room where they all drifted off to sleep to the sound of the Red Sox playing on the iPad. Never have I witnessed anything sweeter.

Mother's Day

I woke up early today. Not exactly sure why. Quietly got out of bed and went downstairs to make some coffee. It was a beautiful morning and although a part of me wanted to wake up to a sweet little three year old bringing me breakfast in bed, I found myself thoroughly enjoying a peaceful cup of coffee on the side porch by myself with my first two babies, Winston and Wrigley. A little while later Casey came out to join us (it is an extremely rare occasion that I am awake and out of bed before him, so I think he was a bit confused). Riley slept in fairly late, and most of the day was spent doing the usual things -- bagels and coffee, walk to the park with the dogs and Riley (luckily no injuries this time), a trip to the pet store (Riley LOVES to look at the birds and cats and fish and could spend an entire day there if allowed), a trip to a home and garden store (a continuation of my quest to find a cushion and pillows to fit the window seat in the master bedroom, which has now spanned more than a month - guess Casey and Riley were my lucky charms - the first thing we came across was the PERFECT size and we both actually liked the look of it too), lunch and then nap time. During nap time, Casey ran out to run some more errands. I spent about an hour working on the nursery (still not much progress, unfortunately). Then, having realized that we never painted the window seat when I went to put the newly purchased cushion and pillows in place, I began painting (a task I have found to be much more fun with a glass of wine and a friend). Casey returned from his errands and started some yard work. Riley woke up and we decided to let him watch the Red Sox game on the iPad on the side porch while the two of us worked in the yard. When I went to check on Riley at some point, I realized that Casey had purchased some lovely hanging plants while he was out running errands. A nice Mother's Day surprise and they look great. Then Casey allowed me to use his new electric trimmer to trim some of the grossly overgrown bushes. Oh my gosh, is that fun!!! Midway through, I realized that I needed to pull some of the ivy that surrounded them so that the ivy would not kill the bushes. Much to my surprise (although Casey swears he has told me this already), I found that there is a brick border around the bush are indicating that this was an intentionally planted area at some point. This started an ivy pulling frenzy and I got so sidetracked that I didn't even realize that it had started to pour down rain. The rain was a very convenient excuse to stop working, although I have to admit that I was having fun determining that half of the "bushes" I had been trimming were actually weeds that were so large they appeared to be something more exciting. With this new-found border, I am certain that making this area (which runs all the way down the side of our backyard) much more managable will be a whole lot simpler now that we know what is in the intentionally planted area and what is nothing more than a really, really large weed. Casey treated me by making a fabulous dinner. Since it was raining and we couldn't take our usual pre-bedtime walk, I spent some quality time building a city of blocks with Riley while Casey did the dishes (have I mentioned that I have a wonderful husband). Sometimes I think I enjoy the blocks (which are pretty much large legos) as much if not more than Riley. Riley, on the other hand, enjoys "accidentally" knocking over my wonderful creations much more than I do. Then, sadly, it was time for Riley to go to bed. Per our normal routine, Casey supervised as Riley brushed his teeth, got his jammies on and used the potty. Then it is my turn to take over for the fun part - reading the bedtime story. Lately, Riley has become a master of stalling at bedtime. It used to just be that I'd have to sing him a song when he got into bed. Then he started asking for another glass of water. Then he added a question and answer session about anything he could come up with. Then he started asking if he could read the story to me after I finished reading it to him (I mean really, who can refuse this request?). But still, the bedtime routine (or at least my part of it) was starting to get ridiculous, so I had to make up new rules. Only one glass of water. Only one of us could read the story. If he had to ask me questions, my answers were very brief and and to the point and there was little room for follow-up questions. Well, today, I figured I'd make an exception. After all, it was MY special day, so if I wanted to spoil him with a bit of extra mommy time (or, more accurately, if I wanted to spoil myself with a little more Riley time), so be it. So tonight after the story was over, I told him we could take a few minutes to rock and snuggle in his nursery chair that is growing much too small for us on a daily basis. He was thrilled, and snuggled into my side as we rocked. I have no idea how much time had passed, but at some point, I woke up to find that Riley and I had both fallen asleep. I can't remember the last time that happened, and it was such a sweet and perfect ending to a fantastically simple Mother's Day. I am very lucky indeed.

Independence

It must be birthday season. It seems that about 3/4 of Riley's class is turning three this May. It has been fun. Some have parties at school, some have parties at home, some have parties at the park. Riley is definitely starting to understand that birthdays are special, and has been very excited to share in his friends' special days. Today was his friend Everett's birthday party. It was held at Hanes Park, which is home to the tallest playground/slide I have ever seen. I remember driving past the park last year when they finished constructing the slide and thinking that surely no one under the age of 10 could use it. It looked terrifying. Riley's known about Everett's party for a few days and kept talking about it as I was putting him to bed last night. It was also the first thing he mentioned this morning. He practiced signing "Happy Birthday" in the car on the way to the park. When we arrived, I expected him to hold our hand as we walked into the park. Instead, as soon as he recognized a few of his friends, he let go of our hands and ran towards the playground. Normally when he's at a playground, he'll want us to be nearby, if not right with him on the slides. Not today. We watched from at least 30 feet away as he climbed the scary, tall ladder that led to the to top the scary, tall slide. And then down he went. I expected him to come out the bottom crying, or at least fearful enough about the experience that he'd need one of us to help him up the ladder and down the slide if he was brave enough to try it again. Nope. He didn't even so much as glance in our direction to see if we were watching/cheering. He just ran back to the ladder and started climbing again. Neither Casey nor I discussed it at the time, but after leaving the party and putting Riley down for his nap, we both commented on how it took all the willpower in the world to not get closer to help him in case he fell or to just be with him as he experienced this brave new adventure. He's growing up so fast and seems to need us less and less, which is sad but also amazing at the same time. Independence is a good thing, even if it breaks our hearts a little bit each day.

Muffins with Mom

Each year on the Friday before Mother's Day, Riley's school sets out muffins, juices and coffee for the moms to enjoy with their children on the way to drop the kids off in the morning. Due to Riley's love of sleep, we are almost always the last to arrive, and typically all of the other moms and children have finished on gone on their way by the time we arrive. This year was no exception. Truth be told, I like it that way. Gives me a chance to spend a little quality time with Riley. As previous posts from this week may have indicated, I have not been terribly stellar on the mommy front this week. The awesome thing about Riley is that he either quickly forgives or doesn't seem to notice my shortcomings to begin with. Our breakfast together made this abundantly clear. He insisted on picking out my muffin, putting it on a plate and then bringing my plate to the table for me. He then did the same for himself. There were two chairs at our table, but he insisted that we sit together and share one. As if that wasn't sweet enough, about halfway through our muffins, he looked at me and said, "This is your special day." Yes, my sweet boy, it most definitely is.

Who knew?

All this time, I have wrongly assumed that Riley really didn't get the concept of my pregnancy, or at least didn't really care. However, this morning, when getting ready to leave the house for school, he looked at me and said, "I have a baby brother. My baby brother is right here (pointing to my belly)." The sweetest thing happened next. He said, "I like my baby brother" and immediately gave my great big belly a great big hug...

Mysterious Condition

This morning I noticed that Riley seemed to have red bumps all over his arms and legs. Let me start out by saying that I had been at a meeting last night, and was not there during bath time. I'm sad to admit, the first thing that popped into my head was that Casey had used the wrong bath soap. Seemed like a plausible explanation. So my first phone call was to Casey. Nope, he was able to describe in perfect detail the bottle of soap that he used (which is amazing in itself and almost suspect). Being the stellar mom that I am, it never crossed my mind to call the doctor. Mommy failure #1 of the day. We headed straight to school. After all, it didn't seem to be bothering him any. However, when I dropped him off, I noticed that the red areas seemed to have gotten larger and more violent-looking than they had seemed at home. Still, I was convinced that it was an allergic reaction of some sort. (Who knows what goes on when I'm not around, right?) Mommy failure #2. By the time I got to work (a 5-minute drive from his school), I was convinced that the explanation was the result of one of the following scenarios: 1. When hitting "laser shows" in the backyard last night, he must've gotten into some poison ivy. Very likely given the overgrown state of our backyard. 2. It was some sort of strange infection he got after slicing his finger open on my razor on Sunday night (I know, I know, who leaves their razor out in a bathroom also used by a 3-year-old? I swear I usually make a concerted effort to put it away after use, but I had been in a hurry that morning.) 3. The injury to his eye from over a week ago was wreaking havoc on his little body - probably from all the germs on that stupid playgroud that had undoubtedly seeped into the large cut on his eye socket (did I even mention this ordeal?). 4. An infection from the large bloody scrape to his knee that he got after falling off the curb at the baseball game when trying to use the curb as a balance beam (woo hoo, though, for the first time ever, I was a good, well-prepared mom and actually had band-aids in my purse when this incident occurred). (Is it at all clear that we are going through an injury stage? I swear I have seen more blood in the past two weeks that I have in my whole life combined. I wonder if this is a stage that all almost-three-year-olds go through of if this is a sign of my life to come as the mom to not one, but two, boys. But I digress.) I decided that a good mom would call the doctor's office. After asking me a number of questions, the triage nurse asked me if Riley's rash was getting any worse. How would I know? He's at school. Pause. "Well, ma'am, I can't do any sort of triage if he's not there with you." Oh. Mommy failure #3 (at least). Well, ok, I thought, I'll just run to his school, take a look at him, call the nurse back while I'm in his presence, answer her questions and be back to work shortly. Mommy failure #4. Decided instead to compile a day's worth of work to bring home with me, pick him up from school, and spend the rest of the day with my little man to make sure that he was ok. Phone call #2 to the triage nurse. Go through her list of questions again. All seemed to be going well until she was wrapping up. Then came, "Ma'am, is there any possibility you could be pregnant?" Uh, yeah, I think there's actually a pretty good possibility of that. "Oh. Well, we're absolutely going to need to see Riley today then." Thinking it was the impending arrival of his brother that was causing him to break out in hives, I immediately determined this was all my fault. Fortunately she followed up by saying that they wanted him to be seen in case it was something contagious (like rubella - didn't we get him vaccinated for that???) that could pose a threat to me or the baby. Oh, ok. As I got my wits about me again, and tried to listen to an answer the rest of the nurse's questions, I realized that Wrigley was acting strangely. Turns out she was acting strangely because she was throwing up all over the rug in Riley's room. Awesome. Still on the phone with the nurse, I tell Riley not to play in Wrigley's vomit (the things that come out of my mouth some days...) and head downstairs to find some paper towels. Which, of course, are all gone. Luckily I remember that Casey was kind enough to run out late the other night to pick some up and locate them in the linen closet. Back upstairs to where Winston is happily trying to eat what Wrigley had thrown up. Super. Nurse tells me she'll have someone from the pediatrician's office call me back to set up an appointment. Good, off the phone now and able to get Winston out of the room, Wrigley outside to keep throwing up, and Riley properly supervised. Of course, he is extremely interested in Wrigley's illness (see post on "Why"), proceeds to tell me how icky it is and that he doesn't like it (really, because that is helping me so much right now as I'm seven months pregnant, quesy, barely able to bend over and trying to clean it up), and then starts unraveling the roll of paper towels so that he can "help". This is really shaping up to be a great day. Fast forward ten minutes. Appointment for Riley scheduled for an hour later. Wrigley no longer throwing up and is back inside. Things are under control. Get lunch made, call Casey with an update, bribe Riley into eating half of his sandwich, head out the door for Riley's appointment. Semi-calm by the time we get to doctor's office. May have even been able to pull off looking relaxed as we waited to be called and watching "Nemo" and "Jonah" swimming in their tank (the only two fish names he knows). Appointment with doctor was relatively uneventful. Riley could not have been better - he was so brave and it really didn't even seem to bother him to get poked and prodded. I think after all of the fake calls we've made to Dr. Anderson when trying to get Riley to laugh off his minor injuries ("Dr. Anderson, Riley skinned his knee, what should we do? Oh, yes, sure, we'll tell him that the only cure is to take a nap."), he is fascinated by doctors. In fact, he was so good and brave while he was being examined that the doctor even thanked him for being such a good boy (proud mommy). The only thing he would not cooperate with was opening his mouth really wide and saying "Ahhh" really loudly (guess the "inside voice" discussions we've had are paying off). I finally convinced him that it was ok and he grinned really wide before he opened his mouth really wide and yelled. Funny kid. Turns out that the rash is the tail end of some sort of throat virus that's going around. We hadn't even noticed that he'd been sick. Mommy failure #100 of the week. We were sent on our way. Back home to take a nap and then have some quality time together since I'd pulled him from school for the day. Got some work done while Riley napped and was feeling pretty good about things until Riley woke up and I stepped in another pile of vomit on my way to get him out of bed. In my bare feet. Great, will come back to clean that up in a minute. Get Riley out of bed and send him to the bathroom so that I can clean up that mess. Not 2 seconds later, as Riley enters the bathroom, I hear him say, "Uh oh." Big sigh. This can only mean one thing -- he didn't make it to the bathroom in time. Wrong again. Wrigley has thrown up all over (and I really do mean ALL OVER) the bathroom floor. Again instruct Riley not to play in the vomit while I retrieve the cleaning supplies. Two rolls of paper towels later, I have cleaned up both of these incidents. Time to call Wrigley's doctor. Take the dogs and Riley out to the car in the pouring rain, load everyone in, and climb into the driver's seat, only to find that there is at least a half an inch of standing water on the driver's side floor. Seriously??? No time to deal with that now. Head to the vet's office. An IV and a $400 vet bill later, we were sent home with all sorts of instructions. If this is what a day "off" feels like, now I understand why I'm not a stay at home mom.

Why?

Well, we have officially hit the "Why" stage. Truly, I had no idea I would find this to be such a challenge. After all, I could just say, "I don't know." Or make something up. Plenty of options. Instead, I find myself trying to actually answer his questions. For example, on our drive home from school today Riley said, "I'm a husband." No idea where that one came from, but I quickly told him that he is, in fact, not a husband. To which he replied, "Why?" Me: "Well, in order to be a husband you have to be married." Guess what his response was? "Why?" My next answer, "Well, only grown ups get married." Riley: "Why?" Ugh. Reaching for straws, "Only grown ups are emotionally capable of loving each other that much." This clearly did not satisfy him (and may actually be incorrect, who knows). Desperate, I found this coming out of my mouth, "Only adults have the legal capacity to enter into a binding commitment like that." Mercifully, he accepted that answer. I just hope he doesn't tell me that he's a daddy.

Chick Magnet?

This morning when I dropped Riley off at school, he almost immediately walked up to one of his friends and asked her if she wanted to see his boo boo. She answered, "Yes, I do want to see it." His teacher looked at me and we both had a quick laugh about how cute the conversation was. As Riley explained how he got his boo boo at the baseball game, his teacher explained to me how he is "all boy." She then proceeded to tell me that I better watch out when he is a teenager. Thinking she was talking about him being obsessed with sports, I agreed. However, she then went on to explain that she thinks the girls are going to flock to him. She said, "Not only is he so handsome, but he's also clearly going to be an athlete. But the best thing of all is that he's sweet too." Of course, I couldn't agree more, but it made my heart swell with pride to hear his teacher acknowledge the special qualities that make him him. But now, after having all day to reflect on her comments, I am struck by two thoughts: uh oh (we really will be in trouble when he is a teenager) and oh no (someday some other girl will steal his heart and replace me as the most important woman in his life). I am prepared for neither...

Sunday Busy Sunday

Like most weekend days, today was a busy one. Can't complain. We try to devote as much of our weekend to fun time for Riley as possible since we don't spend nearly as much time with him during the week as we'd like. The day started out with our normal trip to the bagel place (Riley insists on a "special toast bagel" (large bagel coated in mass quantities of cinnamon and sugar) in his own bag). Sadly, we are such regulars at The Bagel Station on the weekends that they know his order before he even places it. Then we drive across the street to Starbucks for some coffee and to eat our bagels. We pass by a used book store on the way (one which only bought about 5 of our two laundry baskets full of books). Riley must have a vivid memory of Casey getting mad that they didn't buy more because each time we pass the book store he asks, "Daddy, are you still mad at them?" After finishing our bagels, we walked with the dogs over to the park, played soccer on the "soccer field" (otherwise know as the bocce courts), used the lacrosse stick to throw the ball for Wrigley, hit "laser shows" on the "baseball field" (a different bocce court), spent some time on the big boy swing (no more baby swing for this kid), played in the boat (slide/play area designed to sort of resemble a boat) and then walked back to our car. We arrived home at 10:40 and had to divide and conquer in order to get ready for his friend Grace's birthday party at 11:00 (incidentally, the way to Riley's heart is to send him some mail - he was so excited to get the party invitation in the mail that he actually gasped before grinning from ear to ear and clapping). We spent the rest of the morning at Grace's wonderfully non-overdone and very relaxed, fun birthday party where, I should note, Riley was the only little boy invited (except for the baby brother of one of Grace's friends). Apparently Grace kept asking her parents if she could invite Riley and they finally gave in (I should note here that Riley before, in spite of knowing her first and last name very well, has referred to her as Gracie Otis - uh oh). Anyway, he had a blast and was worn out by the time we left. We came home for nap time which consisted of Casey running around town trying to pick out suitable tile for our bathroom floors and me trying to go through the insane amounts of baby clothes to semi prepare the guest room for its transition to the nursery. Three hours later, Casey had returned with the tile and had treated the yard with something that will hopefully get the weeds in our front yard under control, while I managed to get at least a decent start on the nursery preparations. Time to wake Riley up from his nap so that we could leave in time to make it to the Western Carolina vs Elon college baseball game which our former neighbor, Connor, was playing in. In spite of the 45 minute drive to get to the game, Riley was super excited, randomly shouting, "Let's go Connor" from the back seat. When we arrived at the game and started walking towards the stadium he kept repeating, "I'm excited!!!" Guess the trip to the game was a good decision. After we paid, he cried when I told him he had to use the potty before we could watch the game. After using the bathroom, he practically ran to the stands where he promptly sat down in the first seat we encountered. He stared intently for quite awhile until Connor's family came to talk to us between innings. From that point forward, Riley became Connor's 8-year-old brother's shadow. He thinks Whit is the coolest kid ever. Fortunately Whit is an active little guy too and was perfectly content to play catch (if you can call it that) with Riley for the next hour or two. Eventually Connor and Whit's other brother (Ty) joined in too and pitched for Riley so he could hit some laser shows. I do not think he could have enjoyed himself more. He talked all the way home about being a baseball player and playing with the big boys. By the time we got home, it was almost 9:30 (a full two hours after bedtime) and we were all exhausted. Just a typical Sunday...

Singing

One thing I love about Riley is that he's not afraid to sing. Sometimes it's a song I know, sometimes it's one that he's making up on the fly. Typically you know the song is over because he either tells you to clap or sings without missing a beat and without any sort of transition, "the end of the song...". Sometimes you really have to be paying attention. Today, as I was in my closet picking out something to wear, he spotted Casey's old guitar and started strumming it and singing, "I love my mommy... and my daddy... and Winnie... and Wrigley." which of course made me stop and smile. Before I knew it, he was ordering me to sit down. Casey then came into the bedroom to see what was taking so long and Riley commanded him to sit down next to Mommy. Before we knew it, we were being treated to a concert, us sitting on the steps in my closet, him standing on the floor below. First the "I love my mommy and my daddy" song. Then "Itsy Bitsy Spider." I could've sat there all day. He may be off tune, and he may not be Jimi Hendrix, but with that killer smile, those goofy dance moves and his crazy "just got out of bed" hair, he gives one heck of a concert.

Breakfast

One of my favorite times of day is breakfast time. Not much beats the 20 or so minutes of uninterrupted quality time I get with Riley. The nice thing is that given The choice between eating at home with me and eating at school with his friends, he will still choose me about 99% of the time. I know the day will come (and probably not too long from now) when he chooses his friends over me most all of the time, so for that reason, I treat breakfast with Riley as the sacred event that it is. If my phone rings, I ignore it. No checking email, no reading the news. No tv. Just me and my little man (well, and the dogs too). We talk about whatever is on his mind. We talk about what he's going to do at school that day. We talk about whatever it is that I know he's learning at school that week. We practice his letters and numbers. We sing songs. He has transitioned over time from spilling most of what he's trying to spoon into his mouth to getting upset if a single piece dropped (although now he has realized that Wrigley likes it when he drops a few pieces, so he "accidentally" spills a few now). He has gone from having to ask me to help him get the last few pieces in the bowl to grinning widely and saying, "See?!?!" and tilting his bowl over slightly to show me has finished very last piece by himself. Now he gets the box of Cheerios, his bowl and spoon and even pours his own cereal and milk (with close supervision - he gets the concept of pouring but not so much the concept of stopping). He has grown up before my eyes a little bit every morning and I will gladly be a little later than I should be for work to share these simple little moments with just him. Even after breakfast is over and I get up to clean up our dishes, I still love to take my time. Wrigley likes to lay under the breakfast table (no doubt to catch the accidental spills) and Riley calls it her bedroom. he likes to climb down from his chair and hang out with her in her bedroom while I clean up. And each and every time I come back into the room, he is snuggling with her and they both look up at me like, "What?" and then Riley asks me to take their picture. Still have yet to get a good one that captures the sweetness of the moment, but this will at least give you an idea.

That Makes You Happy?

Riley asks me this every time he does something that he knows is good. He says it in the sweetest voice and it just about always makes me want to cry. Today, when I picked him up from school, he did something so kind that I actually did cry. His teacher did too. When I walked up to his classroom door, he was one of three children still in the room (the rest have good mommies and daddies who come to retrieve them earlier). Each of the children had his own balloon. Anyone with kids probably knows that balloons are a sacred item and it is a super big deal to be allowed to play with one, especially at school. One of the other children in the room was his friend Luke ("Lukie" as Riley refers to him). Luke's balloon met an untimely death a few minutes after I arrived, and knowing from experience with Riley just how traumatizing this can be, I was not surprised to see Luke break down in tears. We left shortly after with Riley explaining to me that Lukie had popped his balloon and was sad. After we were out of sight and out of earshot, I asked Riley if he wanted to share his balloon with Lukie because he was sad. He looked at me and said he wanted to take his balloon home to "show Daady". I told him that was fine and that it was his choice since it was his balloon. I could see him consider this and then start walking. We took one step and then Riley announced that he wanted to share his prized balloon with Lukie. He turned around, walked back to his classroom, opened the door, walked straight up to Luke and handed him his balloon and said he wanted to share it. For an almost three year old, it was probably the kindest and most heartfelt gesture I have every witnessed, and I was so proud to know it was my son on the giving end of such a gesture. I hope I can capture the image of him extending his arms with ballon in hand in my mind forever. All the way home he told me that he had made Lukie happy. I asked him how it made him feel and he said it made him feel happy too. I told him that I was proud of him and he said he was proud of himself and that Miss Vanessa and Daddy and Wrigley and Winnie were proud of him too. And I'm quite certain that they were.

Baseball

Riley, it seems, is addicted to baseball. Truth be told, he's addicted to most sports, and is happiest when playing just about anything that involves a ball. Part of me blames Wrigley for this, part of me attributes it to the fact that we did not let Riley watch TV for the first 2-1/2 years of his life and therefore spent much of our time outside playing, and part of me thinks it's just genetics. Apparently Casey was quite obsessed with baseball growing up too (not that he's really outgrown that much - have I mentioned that he wants his dad to paint a replica of the Green Monster in our "man cave"?). But still, Riley is obsessed. He knows the words to "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." He will sit still (a small miracle in itself) and actually watch a baseball game. He knows the name to all of the local teams: the Dash (minor league team), the Deacons (Wake Forest's team) and the Demons (the high school team). He will gladly watch any of them play. He seems to follow the concepts - knowing which team has the "bad guys" and which is the good guys. But the best part of all is watching him play baseball in the back yard. He wants to play every night after he gets home from school and will sometimes actually cry when it's time to eat dinner because he doesn't want to come inside. Casey (fortunately or unfortunately, I can't decide which) has coached him to say "Laser Show" each and every time he makes contact with the ball. He has also taught him who Dustin Pedroia is. It's pretty funny, although I'm sure our neighbors are really sick of hearing "Laser Show" over and over, night after night. I guess that's a good sign though, in terms of how much he actually makes contact with the ball. I confess that I don't know much about what almost-three-year-old boys are capable of, but I think it's pretty impressive that at least 75% of the time, he actually hits the ball... which is being pitched to him (no tee for this kid anymore - he gave that up a few months ago). Throwing is equally impressive, although we still have yet to determine whether he is right or left handed. So, as a reward for being completely potty trained (yes, he even wears underwear at night and stays dry), we bought him a baseball glove. And then proceeded to buy him a baseball glove for his other hand later that week when we decided maybe we had guessed wrong about which hand he should be throwing with - very confusing. He seems to rotate between the two gloves, so who really knows. No matter, we're just banking on his career in MLB to get us through the retirement years. Sample video of his batting prowess to come soon.

It's Our Birthday

May 1st already, how is that even possible? I noticed when I logged in the my last post is from January, a fact of which I am not terribly proud. What can I say, it has been a busy year, although that really is no excuse. I should start out by acknowledging the obvious. Not once has the new baby been mentioned on this blog. I promise that is no reflection on our excitement level. We are thrilled to be adding another member to our family, and the fact that we are going to be welcoming another little boy is awesome. Perhaps we are biased, but I cannot imagine that there is a better thing in this world than a son. You will get a sense of why I think this when reading through this month's posts. A few things about the new baby. First, after past experiences, there has been a whole lot of fear and paranoia during the early phases of my pregnancy. Losing a baby is an awful experience in general, and we were so sad to suffer through the miscarriage before Riley. But, at least to me, losing a baby after you have a child and know just how much they bring to your life, well, it was devastating. The cancer scare that came with it may have ultimately been a blessing because I could focus my attention on the tests instead of dwelling on the loss. Truthfully though, the loss and resulting "what if's" may very well explain why we have been procrastinating all of the things we had already done at this point during my pregnancy with Riley - choosing a name, decorating the nursery, packing my hospital bag, installing the infant car seat. Or maybe it's just the second baby syndrome that everyone refers to (I hope not). Second, although Riley has been told that he's going to have a baby brother, I'm not sure he really fully grasps the concept (which may be a good thing). He'll do sweet things like try to feed a banana to my belly. He's chosen a name: Alice (I should note here that Alice is the name of the lunch lady at school - see past posts regarding his rocking horse and most other inanimate objects that he has named Alice - she clearly has made an impression). Today as we were driving home from school, we past a woman holding a baby and he said, "Hi cute baby!" and then proceeded to tell me that he likes babies. These things make me optimistic about him welcoming his baby brother in July. Riley is such a sweet little guy that I have no doubt he'll be a wonderful big brother, at least after the shock of it all wears off. Finally, this is likely the last post in which I will mention the baby until June. This is Riley's birthday month, and for the last two years, I have devoted the month to writing posts about what it is that makes him so special. Especially during this, his last birthday month without sharing the spotlight with someone else, he deserves some special attention. So I will start out the month of May with a quick example of what a kind soul Riley is. Wrigley, for reasons we can't really understand, seems to be getting nervous of loud or unexplained noises. She hates thunder and will hide in the bathtub any time it storms. She also dislikes being in the yard lately (which is quite odd considering how much she lives to play ball), which we have attributed to barking from neighbors' dogs that she cannot see due to the privacy of our yard. So now, when Wrigley is inside moping, Riley will come inside, bend down so that he's eye to eye with her and say, "Sweetheart, you ok?" And then he'll give her a hug and a kiss. It is so sweet and so kind that it makes me want to cry each and every time he does it. Speaking of Riley and Wrigley, they are hilarious to watch together. Often, during our walks, the two of them will run ahead of Casey, Winston and me. Just watching them makes you smile because you can tell that they are going to get into trouble together. Wrigley loves to roll in the grass, especially during the spring, and especially in our new neighborhood where it seems that everyone's lawn is immaculate, almost carpet-like (in fact, Riley calls one neighbor's yard his baseball field and insists that no one walk on it except him). But I digress. The funny thing is that Riley seems to have taken to this idea, so on most nights, you will find Wrigley and Riley in a random yard rolling around in the grass together. I hope neither of them ever outgrows this...

Growin' Up

Look who just graduated to a big boy bed?

(Incidentally, he is SO proud of himself.)

Groundhog Day

As I was driving Riley home from school today, I was reminded of the movie "Groundhog Day". You know, the one where Bill Murray relives the same day over and over again until he gets it right. This is often how it feels when you are driving around with a toddler.

Each day we pass by the Children's Home on the way to and from school. They always have the place decorated for whichever holiday is approaching. For Halloween, there was an enormous spider by the front gate. This was promptly replaced by a large turkey for Thanksgiving. Immediately after Thanksgiving, the turkey left and a nativity scene went up. After each item was replaced with a new one, I'd get peppered with questions. "Mommy, where's spider?" "Mommy, where's turkey?" "Mommy, what's Baby Jesus doing? What's cow doing?" And each day I'd answer the same way. "Spider/turkey went inside for the winter." "Baby Jesus is sleeping. Cow is keeping Baby Jesus safe and warm." Now, since Christmas is over and there's no holiday in sight, there are no decorations to talk about. So instead, it's now, "Mommy, where's Baby Jesus? Where's cow? What are they doing?" "Baby Jesus is inside the house. Cow is in the barn. They are keeping warm." It's the best I can do, and seems to satisfy him until the next drive when he asks the same questions and I repeat the same answers. And so there we are in Groundhog Day...

...until today. Typical drive home. Typical questions about Baby Jesus and the cow and what they're doing. Typical answers. Atypical response from Riley. "Mommy, I want quiet." Two solid minutes of silence followed. At first I was insulted ("why doesn't he want to talk to me?"). Then I was thrilled ("oh my gosh, silence...in a car...with a 2 year old!!). And then it hit me, I missed the constant questions and chit chat. I wonder if this is what it feels like to have a teenager.

Alice

Without so much as directly telling Riley that he's going to be a big brother, we have started asking him questions like, "Do you want to have a baby?"

"You are such a good brother to Winston and Wrigley. Do you want another brother or sister?"

For the most part, his responses are pretty typical and are generally pretty accepting of the concept. A lot of his friends at school have baby brothers and sisters, which I think helps. He thinks babies are fascinating.

My favorite question/answer, however, was as follows: "If you have a baby brother, what do you think his name should be?" His response, "Alice."

Hmmm.