Those things on your feet are called "shoes"

What do you mean I can't walk around barefoot for the rest of my life?

That was how I interpreted the look Scott gave me this afternoon when I took him to Stride-Rite to purchase his first pair of shoes.

He's technically "owned" footwear prior to this point - we got a couple of pairs of sandals as gifts, but he refused to let me even put them on.

But he now HAS to have shoes, because the big kids in his daycare toddler room go outside to play. Can't run around on the playground in socks or bare feet.  So for about 15 minutes, twice a day, he needs shoes.

I spent some time researching the whole "baby first shoe" thing on the internet this past week, asking my sister and a couple of friends about the best brands for the "early-walker" set.

I ended up at Stride Rite based on its reputation and the fact that it was a mere three minutes from my house (especially key given it was close to Scott's nap time when we went.)

I rolled Scott in in his stroller, and told the clerk we needed a pair of shoes. She takes one look at my Tank and goes, "How old is he? I assume he's walking?"

Me: "10 1/2 months, and no."

Her: "Oh, he's a big boy - and wow, he's got wide feet!"

Me: "Yes, I know - and okay then."

With that discourse out of the way, we then had the fun task of coaxing Scott on to the foot measuring plate - a process he did not enjoy.

The verdict? A size 5W.

The store had about six pair to choose from. I narrowed it to two, automatically eliminating anything with laces. No way he was going to sit still long enough for me to actually tie something on to his feet. I was prepared to buy both -- until I saw the prices, and learned that this wonderful new accessory was going to last maybe 2-3 months before he outgrew them.

You've got to be kidding me. 

These prices ARE ridiculous mommy, but I am worth it, right?

Where is that sales woman? Doesn't she know its considered "bad form" to keep her pint-sized customers waiting?

Anyway, with some more coaxing and nudging we got the darned things on Scott's feet, although he was none too happy about wearing them at first.

These things feel like blocks. Me no like.

Take it easy, would ya lady? I am still mastering this whole "walking" skill!

But moments later he spied a toy on a wall (that a three or four year old was playing with, mind you), and he was off. He crawled right over to it, and pulled himself up directly in front of it, effectively knocking the bigger (and most surprised) interloper out of the way.

Then he gave me a big grin. Shoes good!

And so we have Tank's first pair of footwear. Brown, with red and blue on them. (Yes, mommy was trying to cover all colors in Scott's wardrobe, because, at these prices, we were only getting ONE PAIR.)

We can talk about expanding our collection once the kid is actually walking.

Scott's first shoes!!!

Scott the Bruiser

So I went to pick up Scott from daycare today, and was greeted with this note on the infant classroom bulletin board:

Moving to Room 2 (Toddler):
Scott Rough - 8/15 (parent notification letter not yet sent)

Umm...whaat?

How could my Tank possibly be headed to the big kid toddler room in a mere two weeks? It was my understanding the babies didn't "graduate" until they were at least 12-13 months old AND walking.

Scott is neither, though he tries - a lot - on the walking part. And he will be only 11-months-old when he moves up.

I said as much to Scott's teacher when I saw the note. She tactfully and kindly explained to me that Scott was now one of the older babies in his classroom. There are, she admitted, a couple who are older, but his teachers thought "he was more ready than they are" to head next door.

Hmmm. I called Jim, and not surprisingly, he was thrilled with this news. I believe his exact response went something like "hahahahahahaha. That's MY boy!"

Okay then.

I took this unexpected development a little harder.

I think it's because (and I am blatantly stealing from my friend Meghan's blog here, because frankly she expressed it perfectly in a recent post) I still mentally picture Scott like this:

In mommy's mind, I am still a two month old with a binky. Seriously mom?!?!?

But in reality, he looks like this:

Yes. This is me. The big kid. Get used to it.

And even though Scott has lately been exhibiting all the signs of early onset toddler behavior, I still wondered if he would be able to keep up with a group of kids mostly between 14 and 18 months of age.

I expressed this concern out loud to Miss Hannah.

Her response?

"Don't worry. He's a tough kid. He can definitely hold his own."

Hmmm... Is it me, or does that sound like my Tank might be a non-stop force of destruction who is climbing over or knocking aside anything and anyone in his path?

For the record, Miss Hannah also didn't contradict me when I (somewhat jokingly) said, "So basically you're saying my kid is the diesel engine in the infant room?"

She just laughed and handed me Scott and then my diaper bag.

And so to the toddler room we go.

Some advice: 'Crawl quickly, pull things off shelves and bang a big wooden spoon as loud as you can, and you too can leave those little babies behind."

Invasion of the baby-snatchers

Maybe I've just been watching a bit too much of TNT's "Falling Skies" lately (great show, by the way), but I am starting to become convinced some multi-legged "skitter-like" alien being has swapped out my son for a new-not-quite-the-same-version.

Oh - my kid is still in there somewhere. I see flashes of him - the chill, smiling, giggling, always angelic baby who will happily sit by himself with a cup and a wooden spoon or any other noise-making instrument and play without complaint.

But I am starting to get glimpses of a much more willful Scott - and they are coming with far greater frequency than I would like.


First problem: Scott is in a major mommy phase. He wants to be touching me, climbing on me or in my arms constantly. It's flattering, but exhausting. It's also extremely hurtful to Jim. If Scott doesn't get what he wants (me), he throws himself into an utter, screaming baby meltdown temper tantrum.

Second problem: We are whiny. All of us. Jim and I are whining (me, publicly, here in this blog)  because Scott is whiny. He is suddenly very emotional. He cries when we leave the room, even if its just to go to the bathroom for like half a minute. Doesn't matter if he was belly-laughing 20 seconds earlier. If we plunk him down in his pak n play, or his crib, or his high chair, and he can't see us, he FREAKS OUT. Sometimes he even laughs and cries at the same time.

Third problem: My kid is freakishly strong. And he is exerting his newly discovered strength and independence to the point where it feels like I am engaged in a daily, ongoing wrestling match.
Diaper changing has suddenly turned into an utter nightmare. He squirms, he twists, he flips over on to his stomach, climbs onto his knees. I am afraid if I am going to hurt him if I pin him down, but he fights me so much that I have no other choice.

This latest hand-to-hand combat/back-flipping/I-am-the-strongest-baby-on-earth-and-will-prove-it-to-you-tendency has made everything more difficult. Scott won't sit still for a bedtime story. He swats and pushes our hands away when we try to brush his teeth, he writhes on the floor when we try to put sunscreen or swim trunks on him. And forget going near him with a spoon full of baby food when he's tired. I've been cleaning sweet potatoes off the floor, the mini-blinds and the wine cabinet behind him for days now.

Seriously, who is this kid, and where is my easy-going Tank?

On some level, I get it: who wants to lie on their back -- even just for a short time -- when they can crawl and stand and cruise the furniture??

And I know it's got to be extremely irritating not to be able to talk and convey your frustration about naptime, mommy's poor choice of bed-time story or the fact neither of your parents is nice enough to let you play with that little spoon while they shovel nasty-tasting purees into your mouth.

If I couldn't talk, I'd go stark, raving mad. And this is my child after all. So I feel for him.

But I feel for me and my husband more.

One of my friends just told me to brace myself. "Welcome to toddlerhood," were her sage words of wisdom.

Gulp. Toddlerhood? Scott's not yet 11-months-old. Shouldn't I get a six-month ramp-up period before I have to deal with a toddler? I was kind of just thinking I had this whole baby thing figured out.

 Damn.

Don't be fooled by that angelic face. He's smirking on the inside and plotting against you. Really.

Tapping into others' creativity

It would be untrue to say I just began thinking about Scott's first birthday.
I've been toying with ideas since he was six months old.

But now that Tank is a mere six weeks away from the big 1.0, I need to kick into high gear.

I've been on furlough all week, and while I haven't gotten nearly as much accomplished as I had hoped, I have made progress on The Scott Rough First Birthday Extravaganza.

I have a color scheme, I have a theme, I have invitations and a cake design. Yes, I am one of THOSE moms. The kind that goes waayy over the top for her kid's first birthday.

What I don't have is a creative bone in my body. At least not THAT kind. You know the artsy-fartsy, hand-makes cute little signs and cupcake toppers and decorations and pulls everything together in a jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring, "this is so adorable" kind of way.

Ok, so that Lego party is beyond ridiculously awesome. But you get my point. I didn't get that gene.

My sister has it, as evidenced by the first-birthday blowout she threw her daughter in January. (Nope, no sibling rivalry here...nothing to live up to at all, and yes, she made all that stuff herself.)

(As an aside: I am particularly fond of the way she tells off all the naysayers in her blog:)

"I admit it. I am one of "those" moms who went a teensy bit overboard for her daughter's first birthday. "She'll never remember it." "Is this party for her, or for you?" Blah blah blah. I say, this is the only first birthday party for my first child I will ever throw. So if I want to fly fresh monkey tail flowers in from Hawaii, I can. And all you naysayers can suck it."


Well put, Kristy.

So anyway, I have been in a bit of a quandry. How do you throw a fabulous birthday party for your kid when you aren't creative enough to do it on your own?

Fortunately, for all you non-creative-types like me, I am here to say it can be done.

I have Google, and as a reporter, I have gotten pretty darn good at research and become very immune to asking questions that give away the fact that I am clueless. It simply no longer bothers me if someone thinks I am an idiot. 'Explain it to me like I am a 2-year-old,' I often say.

My sister told me about this amazing site called Etsy.com. It's like ebay, but for Martha Stewart-y types. After much trolling, I found a fabulous woman who custom designed all of the "paper products" for Scott's first birthday party. I gave her the theme I wanted to work with, and she created invitations, thank you notes, a birthday banner, yard signs, food labels...all that cutesy fun stuff. And the best part? It was dirt cheap.

She sent everything over to me via email in PDF form.

Of course I had no idea what to do with what these crafts-y folks call "DIY printables" (Do it yourself printables), but after peppering her with questions, I discovered it was all quite easy really.

I simply took the PDFs she sent me, uploaded them on to Kinko's website, told them I wanted them printed in color and 110 lb cardstock, and voila! a few hours later, picked up instant invitations and other items.

Now granted, I am still going to have to do some serious work. The birthday banner, for example, is actually all the different letter components on different pages of cardstock that I need to cut out and string together (I am guessing using ribbon and a hole punch, but am not really sure).

And I need other decorations - balloons, maybe the pom pons my sister used, I don't know, really. Food, games, etc.

I do know I won't be able to do it on my own. But I also have no shame. I've got a mother with a party-planning business, (who has already sent me a slew of ideas for centerpieces and table decor) the aforementioned craft-genius sister, and a mother-in-law who is coming in early to help set up for this not-so-understated event.

Between the four of us, I am sure we will be able to pull it all together.

My husband, in the meantime, just rolls his eyes. But luckily for me, he's keeping his opinions (somewhat) to himself and indulging my lunacy.

Scott, meanwhile, appears totally oblivious. But I am sure he'll appreciate all my hard work on the big day.

A lesson in bravery

I seriously have the best kid in the world.

No, really, I do.

He is oddly chill. He rarely cries. Very little bothers him. He happily sits in his high chair, a shopping cart, or at a restaurant for up to 45 minutes at a time without fussing.

I don't know where this genetic trait came from -- I doubt it's from me and I am very certain it isn't from my husband. But I am exceedingly grateful its there.

Scott's angel-baby behavior was on full display yesterday morning as I strapped him in his car seat and drove him down to Phoenix Children's Hospital for his long-awaited ear tube surgery. We hope it will keep us out of the pediatrician's office for at least a month.

(Tank has had six -- yes 6! -- ear infections in his right ear since the end of January. That's an average of one every 3.5 weeks.)

Normally, I wouldn't have been surprised at Scott's happy, giggily behavior.

But on this morning I was already on edge, because really, the idea of putting my 10-month-old under general anesthesia to slice a small hole both his ears is just a bit disconcerting, if not outright nerve wracking.

And I was fairly certain Scott was going to be one grumpy baby because he wasn't allowed to eat or drink any food before the procedure. And we all know how much Tank likes his mealtimes.

I tried minimize this problem by waking him up at 1:45 a.m., and giving him an extra bottle before his 2 a.m. fasting cutoff. I am pleased to say this worked brilliantly to some extent.

Mom and I made it to the hospital by our 7:15 a.m. appointment time.

Showing off our ankle ID.

(I should mention: Daddy was at home in bed, having gone to the ER the night before in agonizing pain, where we discovered he had a rather large kidney stone. Umm...ouch.)

Since it was still "there," Friday morning, Jim was in a medication-induced fog during Scott's tubal surgery.

The hospital waiting room has a strict no food or drink policy, because, well, having adults chowing down on Egg McMuffins and coffee just isn't fair to all the little ones who have been denied their morning meal.

It's a good thing Scott was already in surgery when one couple in the waiting room broke this rule and pulled out breakfast sandwiches and lattes, 'cause Tank probably would have gone over there and stolen part of their cheese and sausage. (With my blessing.)

I mean, really, guys? Eating in front of little toddlers? Classy.

In any event, Scott tolerated the first 45 minutes of his pre-op wait really well. But by about 8 a.m., hunger and fatigue had kicked in, and he started getting pretty fussy. Unfortunately, there was little I could do to make it better.

Have you ever tried to explain to a 10-month-old why you "forgot" to give them breakfast? Did you have any success? Yeah. Me neither.

Seriously, I am over this "adventure." Could someone please give me a bottle and put me down for a nap?

We were finally called back to the pre-op room around 8:15, about an hour after our arrival.

The new surroundings settled Tank down for another 20 minutes or so, and he was once again a dream child as the nurses took his temperature, blood pressure and other vitals.

Scott made new friends, and was, in my opinion, exceedingly patient for a 10-month-old. Again, I have the best kid in the world.

Making friends...I noticed that all the babies got to play with mommy and daddy's cell phones as surgeries were delayed and parents became increasingly desperate in their quest to avoid the dreaded "baby meltdown."

But by 8:45 -- a good 25 minutes past our scheduled surgery time -- I was really getting annoyed, especially since my starving, tired child was on the verge of losing his mind. I don't know how doctors get behind when your surgery is scheduled for first thing in the morning, but ours did.

They finally took him back around 9 a.m.

I've been told that some hospitals and anesthesiologists let one parent stay with their child while they put them under.

I asked if I could do this. No one would let me.

In retrospect, I am glad they said no. While we were in recovery with Scott, I saw how small and limp some of the kids were who had not yet woken up, and I know seeing my own precious angel like that would have freaked me out.

There are some images, as a mother, I just don't need.

Scott's surgery took maybe 10 minutes. The doctor came out, said he did great. He also said his right ear was again full of fluid, even though he had just stopped taking antibiotics a mere six days ago. Had we not done the tubes, we most certainly would have been headed for infection #7.

A few minutes later, a nurse said Scott was awake and we could see him.

For me, this was probably the most shocking part of the entire day. Like I said, my kid just isn't a crier. But, as is common, he was delirious as he came out of the anesthetic and pretty much inconsolable. He cried and thrashed and screamed.

I gave him his bottle and he quickly closed his eyes and happily gulped down 2 or 3 ounces. But then he started crying hysterically again. I held him, I rocked him, I wrapped him in a blanket, I shooshed him, I walked with him, but couldn't get him to calm down.

Unhappy Scott. This is probably one of only 2 or 3 photos I have of him not smiling.

Briefly content with a bottle.

Proud mommy of a brave little boy...

I must have looked pretty freaked out, because the nurse quickly assured me that this was normal, and that he would be himself in a couple of hours, usually after a good long nap.

Scott's grandma walked with him and tried to calm him while I got the take-home instructions and filled out the final paperwork. He cried probably for about 15-20 minutes, before the anesthetic finally wore off.

Grandma tries to soothe Scott without much success.

And then, just like that, he was my kid again.

By the time we got him back into his carseat, he was happily talking to his toys. He took a nap when we got home and is now acting like nothing ever happened.

Unfortunately, Jim's unexpected kidney stone leaves us unable to travel to California to see his family as planned this weekend. Both Tank and I are hoping he gets to feeling better very soon.

In the meantime, give it up for my kid: the bravest 10-month-old I know.

Certainly braver than his mommy, who admits to quietly shedding a few tears of relief upon hearing from the doctor that everything went a-ok.

"Awesome ends with me!" Yes, it does Tank. Yes it does. :)

All-Star Fan Fest

So today was basically baseball nirvana for both my boys.
We spent the afternoon at the All-Star Fan Fest, which Major League Baseball describes as the "world's largest interactive baseball theme park.
I prefer to think of it as "the world's largest indoor market where you can -- and are encouraged to -- spend your annual salary on stuff you really don't need."
My big kid (that would be Jim) had a great time wandering from booth to booth, checking out cards, pins, bats and other paraphernalia, and my little kid (that would be Scott) just had a blast checking out everything and anything inside the Phoenix Convention Center.
My parents were kind enough to give us their two extra tickets into Fan Fest, and they met us down there before heading over to the Legends Game.

Eating our ticket and waiting for daddy.

Scott and daddy figure out which exhibit to tackle first.

The coolest exhibits, in my opinion, were the displays that included the World Series and MVP trophies, the Cooperstown exhibit, with a whole bunch of famous stuff from the Baseball Hall of Fame, and the Hometown Heroes exhibit, which recapped the team history and highlights of the Arizona Diamondbacks.
We also had a blast watching part of an exhibition T-ball game, featuring some aspiring young players not much older than Scott.

Checking out the World Series trophy.

Grandpa Scott and baby Scott...Tank adores his grandpa. Can you tell?

Scott seemed oddly fascinated by daddy's drink.

Grandpa, Grandma & Scott in front of the D-Backs' Cooperstown display.

Mommy's lone picture with Scott on what was most definitely "a boys day out."

Jim, Scott and I topped off our afternoon at Majerle's Sports Grill where Scott dined on french fries, cheese quesadilla, a couple of bites of chili and a little bit of mommy's bbq chicken. 
(Yes, I know...I'll have to make sure to up his vegetable quotient tomorrow.)

A battle of wits, and rooms

Last month, Jim went to Denmark for a two week business trip.

The morning of his departure, I drove to north central Phoenix and picked up a BIG yellow school bus that had been kindly donated to Scott by Kennedy and Grace Alltucker, whose parents also work at the Republic.

Did I mention this bus was BIG? It is so large, in fact, that it didn't fit in my SUV. Kennedy's dad had to put it in his car and follow me back to my house where we spent 10 minutes trying to figure out which door to shove it through while incurring the least amount of damage to the bus and the door-frame.

Once I got the school bus inside, I decided the perfect place for it was next to our china cabinet, in the middle of the hallway that links our family room to the rest of the house. Since Jim was "unavailable for consultation" I relocated the pak 'n play to the kitchen and moved other items into Jim's so-called "man room" -- a cavernous space that currently includes a flat screen TV, bar stools and a pool table.

It was my not-so-very-subtle way of reminding Jim that Scott and his toys would soon be taking over the entire place, and that nothing, not even his precious "bachelor cave" was sacrosanct.

He doesn't believe me, so I feel the need to reiterate this point every once in a while.

I was very proud of myself.

Yes, mommy, I think the family room is the PERFECT place for my new toy.

When Jim came home after two very long weeks, he walked in through the garage door and almost tripped head first over the school bus. I laughed. He told me that there was no way that the bus was staying in the family room.

I ignored him. And so the bus stayed. Until Saturday.

Scott and I left the house around 11 a.m. to go tuxedo shopping for my cousin's upcoming wedding. (Our little Tank is part of the wedding party.)

When we got home, the school bus was missing. I found it a few minutes later in Scott's room. In the 57 minutes that we were gone, Jim had DISASSEMBLED the school bus (because it didn't fit through Scott's bedroom door), put it back together, and rearranged half the nursery to accommodate it, moving both the toy-box and Scott's dresser.

He must have started this project before I even closed the garage door.

Jim gloated. He smugly told me that he had "reclaimed" his house and his man room.

To which I say: well-played.

But just for now. He'll travel again, and I am pretty sneaky myself. There might be new furniture or paint on the walls when he returns. Or maybe I'll turn his pool table into a train-set table for Scott.

The relocated bus, reassembled in Scott's room.

Thanks for putting all my toys within arms' reach, daddy!

And as long as I am airing our excellent communication styles, I'd like to mention that both Jim and I have developed a wonderful habit of talking to each other THROUGH our child. Scott has become the ultimate emissary.

After all, Jim is much less likely to get annoyed at something I say, if Scott is the one saying it. And vice versa.

It usually goes something like this:


"Scott, are you done eating? Yes? Well, I think you should tell your daddy that it is time for him to stop playing his video game and get your bath ready."

A few seconds later, I am hit with the following response:

"Scott, mommy never lets us do what we want, does she? I know. She's no fun. Seriously." 

Yes, we're very mature.

  Do I look like a negotiator to you? Seriously, you guys should try talking to each other every once in a while.

10 Months Old!!!

From Scott: 

I am such a big boy now!

And it's so true! Just two months away from his first birthday, and our Tank is pulling himself up with ease, trying to walk, crawling at record speed, and eating an array of real people food. Last night he even tried lamb!!

Scott is thriving at his new daycare and he's constantly exploring new things at home. He babbles and "talks" and is getting good at calling for "mamamama" and "dada" (usually when the other parent is with him and has done something he doesn't like.

Here are this month's winning shots:

On raising a bookworm

When I was a kid I loved books. My favorite childhood story was "The Poky Little Puppy."

When I was a teenager, my mom used to have to yell at me to put whatever I was reading down and go outside and get some fresh air.

Now I am an adult, and little has changed. I still love books. It is a passion that has served me well, and probably led me to my current career. I love words. I love telling stories. And so, I write for a living.

When I became pregnant, I was determined to pass my love of literature on to my son. When Jim and I designed Scott's nursery, I made sure it included a comfy rocker and a bookshelf within arm's reach.

At the time, I assumed the pretty blue "book nook" (which holds approximately 16 stories), would be sufficient for mine - and my baby's -- needs.

But fast forward nine-plus months, and I can safely say that I am out of control.

I now shop for board books with the same zeal and fervor that I once reserved for an end-of-the-year Ann Taylor sale. I've spent enough money on children's literature in the last year to buy two Cole Haan purses and at least three or four pairs of fun, strappy sandals.

And yet, I can't quit -- even though Scott's room is starting to look like a Barnes & Noble outlet.

Books now spill out from the blue shelf, where they are jammed in, every which way. They are stacked five or six deep on top of the bedside table, where they bump up against a little red lamp. They are wedged in the table's single pull out drawer, and on its middle shelf. And there are still more, stacked neatly in a row, in his toy box.

Part of Scott's literary collection.

I counted this morning. Scott owns 61 books. And that doesn't count the new one I bought today. I am sure he'll love it. It's about sheep, who get stuck in a jeep. See? The storyline rhymes! Good times!

Yes, I know, I must be stopped. I've even convinced others to participate in my sickness. Both of Scott's grandmas, his Aunt Kristy and Uncle Martin, his Aunt Kendall and Uncle Sean, his Uncle Chuckie, and my friend Christina have all contributed to his ever-expanding book collection.

I love the way the little cardboard children's books feel in my hand. I love their simple drawings and stories. I love the way Scott shakes them or tries to chew them.

But mostly, I love the idea that maybe, just maybe, he, too, is starting to develop a love of books.

I've read to Scott since he was six-weeks-old. And now, bedtime is one of my favorite times of the day. It's my special, quiet time with him. After his bath, Scott kisses Daddy goodnight, and he and I sit in the big rocker in his room, have a bottle and then read at least two bedtime stories.

My budding book lover.

At almost 10 months, Scott is starting to develop favorites.

He smiles and looks at me when I read "So Big," a Sesame Street book that features a pop up Elmo on the last page. He squeals when I put on the big fuzzy blue mitts that bring "The Tickle Monster Book" to life. He giggles when I make the various sounds in "Mr Brown Can Moo...Can You?" and he happily bangs his hands on the pages, almost like he's trying to mimic the drum-playing monkeys in "Hand Hand Fingers Thumb."

He has favorite "lullaby" books too - the ones that I read last at bedtime, right before I turn out the light. Most nights we alternate between "Goodnight Moon," "I Love You, Stinky Face," and "On the Night You Were Born."

I know that he doesn't really understand the words yet, and that in the months and years to come, his willingness to sit on my lap will dwindle as he becomes more active and pursues other interests.

But maybe -- just maybe -- I'll be lucky enough to raise a bookworm.
And when he's an adult, he'll pick up a favorite novel, think back, and somewhere have a vague, but warm memory, of a childhood filled with magical words and stories.

In the meantime, I think I should probably consider investing in a library card.

Scott's First 4th of July: swings, cupcakes, bears and "Soooo Big"

Okay, so it's not sparklers, fireworks and bbq.

But Scott's a baby. So it's not like he knew the difference. And I like to think that he had a pretty darn good holiday, even without all the typical "holiday" stuff.

Jim and I decided to get the heck out of Hades (i.e, Phoenix and its 119 degree temperatures) for the weekend, beating a fast retreat to my parents' house in Show Low, which is about 3-4 hours north of town.

Grandma and Grandpa call their place there a "cabin." I refuse to -- a cabin sounds like something primitive in the woods, cut off from all forms of civilization and running water. This is a comfortable, three-bedroom enclave with gorgeous wrap-around front and back porch, DirecTV and a hot-tub.

They did get the woods part right, however.

We arrived mid-day Saturday, and Scott immediately proceeded to check out his new digs, fresh off a 2 1/2 hour nap in the car. We gloated, sitting on the deck soaking in the cool breeze and 74 degree temperatures, while the Valley sweltered.
Dinner was at a local pizza place, and capped off by a massive diaper blowout AT THE RESTAURANT. My son actually put his head down on the table - twice - to concentrate on "his business." (Thanks Scott, very classy and excellent timing.)
After cleanup, we all headed to bed early so we could rest up for the day ahead.

Scott and mommy..pre-blowout.

Sunday was full of adventure. We took Scott to a local park, where he went on his first swing ride, giggling with glee the whole time. (The slide was not nearly as big of a hit.) Lunch consisted of puffs, a few bites of veggies and broccoli cheese soup. Have I mentioned my kid LOVES soup?

After an afternoon nap, we were all again sitting on the back deck when my mom suddenly shouted, "BEAR!"...I turned around, and seriously... There was a bear. A big black one. About 10 feet from the deck, ambling through the woods like he owned the place.

Now my first thought - and my mom's - was, 'Must get baby and dogs inside the house stat.'
Jim (who was holding Scott) apparently had a different set of priorities. He immediately said, 'Where is my camera? I've gotta get a picture!' ...as he proceeded to put Scott down in the pak n play...ON THE DECK.

I grabbed Scott and headed inside. Jim grabbed the camera, ready to play Ansel Adams... but alas, the bear was long gone. We waited a short time and then sent Dad back out on to the deck with a slab of raw meat so that he could grill our dinner.
(Thanks for taking one for the team Dad.)

While Scott seemed oblivious to the big bear adventure, he had what may have been one of his favorite all-time meals to date: steak, watermelon, more soup and a cupcake.

We also taught him "Sooo Big" and he spent the rest of the meal putting his hands over his head, smearing his hair and face with cupcake to our great delight.

Practicing "Soo Big"

More practice...with a little cupcake mousse in the hair.

On the actual holiday, we decked Scott in his best patriotic duds and took him into town for the Show Low parade. I don't know that it made much of an impression on him.

Waiting for the parade to start, in our holiday best.

All smiles with grandma.

I did, however, notice, that he's already learned how to play hard to get. There were two little girls sitting in front of his stroller, and they went to great lengths to get ANY kind of reaction out of him.
They made faces. They tickled his feet. They waved flags. They handed him toys. He stared at them stone-faced. So they kept redoubling their efforts, increasing their antics to try to get him to smile.

Finally, I suggested they play peek-a-boo. They did, and were rewarded with a great big grin. They were putty in his hands for the rest of the parade.

Hello, ladies!

Jim and I drove home that afternoon, and were overjoyed when Scott treated us to diaper explosion #2 five minutes outside of Payson, on a two-lane road with nowhere to stop. (Thanks again buddy.)

After all his weekend excitement, he was sound asleep by the time the fireworks started. But I think it was a memorable holiday nonetheless.

Happy 1st 4th of July, Tank.

My kid loves soup

No, I mean L.O.V.E.S. soup.

As in a freakishly weird, would-eat-it-every-single-day-if-I-let-him-kind of way.

Not that I am complaining.

Soup is pretty much close to the perfect transitional baby food. Depending on what you get, it can be packed full of carbs, protein and veggies. It takes seconds to prepare. It reheats well, so there's no waste. And, let's face it, it's cheap.

I first discovered Scott's penchant for this form of liquid nourishment when he and I went out to dinner with my parents at Olive Garden. (Daddy was working in Denmark.) I went through the effort of bringing pureed Gerber veggies, assorted snacks and even ordering a $5.99 kids plate of spaghetti, only to have Tank largely turn his nose up at all of it.

He was way more interested in people watching than eating.

But then Grandpa offered him a bite of his soup of the day. YUM! Scott ate the better part of my dad's bowl of soup, devouring it so quickly that we ordered a second bowl to go. Presto! I had two more dinners later that week.

When Jim came home, we expanded Scott's soup repertoire. Each attempt was an unmitigated success. Whenever we offer him a new flavor, Tank leans forward in his high chair, rocks back and forth and makes an "ehh..ehhh...EHHH" sound until I give him another bite.

Cream of chicken. Yes, please.

My Grandma Stecher's homemade tomato-based vegetable soup with steak. Absolutely.

Broccoli cheese. Is there more?

Tonight we reverted to the basics: chicken noodle (but with noodles shaped like O's and carrots. As you can see, it too was a big hit.

Scott is generally a good eater. So far he's tried -- and enjoyed -- green beans, chicken, cherries, pita bread, watermelon, ravioli, cheese, edamame, french fries and steak, among other items.

But who knew?
Soup = world's greatest baby food. Like, ever.