He Stands Uncorrected

It is Christmastime, my favorite time of year. It was 9 years ago that Nic and I started dating, and even then, both of these wonderful children were not even eye-glimmers.

Gamble's been going through a rough stage of defiance and boundary definition. He is clearly trying, struggling, and really wants to be a good boy. Most of the time, he doesn't even seem to care that it's Christmas, and he's not spooked by the idea of not getting presents.

Sometimes, however, he is concerned.

Before they left for Ohio, Gamble and I were talking about being good for Mommie while he's gone. He said he wanted to be really good.

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, because otherwise I'll get bacole."

"Uh... Buh-cole?"

"Yeah! Bacole. And I don't want Santa to bring me a bacole, so I'm going to be a very good boy."

"What are you saying, Gamble? Bacole?"

"Yeah, Daddie. If you're bad on Christmas, Santa's going to bring you a bacole."

Ah. I get it. We keep telling him that if he's not good, he's going to get a lump of coal. Except I'm pretty lazy sometimes, and I probably say "lumpa-coal"...

I didn't correct him. I've corrected him too often. How I miss him saying "buggage."

Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope you don't get a bacole!

Whistler's Daughter

Sometimes it's hard to tell just what kids like. And sometimes it's not.

Random likes it when I whistle. Has for over a month now. You can really tell that she likes it, as she lights up and smiles so big when I whistle, usually along with one of the music toys in her crib.

That's weird, too. I figured that most people find whistling annoying (except the whistler, that is). Or maybe she just loves her Daddie!

Random Ran-ta Santa

Well, she didn't run, but if she could have, she would have.

We took a family trip to the Woodfield Mall this weekend. It's not far from our place, and is insanely busy this time of year. A long time ago, our band Lost Dog wrote a song called Parking Lot about this kind of craziness, and it's always a treat to see it in action.

You never know exactly how a baby's going to react to Santa. I mean, he's a big guy, and very iconic. Random loves her Baby Einstein Christmas video, so she's seen plenty of his image. That, and you're handing her over. She's leaving your company, if only for a minute, to be held by a stranger.

But we were unprepared for her reaction. She could not take her eyes off Santa. She was utterly agog. Transfixed. Looking up at Santa with her eyes smiling.

Which is okay for her, but it made it tough to get a decent picture... We did it, but she only looked away for a second or two at a time. When I did finally take her from Santa, she wouldn't look back at him. I don't know why, but either way, I think we made her Christmas season.

This year, Santa is making a special visit to the baby girl only. He's visited the boy cub for the past couple years running, and this year, the girl cub gets an exclusive Santa glimpse. I think based on her mall experience, it will make her Christmas.

Manicure

Random's nails grow really fast. They grow so fast that Mommie has made the check for long nails part of the bathtime routine. The funny thing really was that the first time she went to do it, Nicole held her hand out for Random's hand.

And in one precious, perfect gesture, she put her hand out. Not like a baby, but in a dainty, girlie way. She didn't reach out - she presented her hand for her manicure.

I almost didn't believe her. Tonight, I left the boy at the dinner table and went in during bathtime for baby girl. As I watched, she put her hand out, and Nicole clipped two of the nails. She got distracted and dropped Random's left hand to talk to me.

I watched in disbelief as Random extended... her right hand. Could have been lucky, but could she have known that Mommie wanted her other hand?

They know more than you think.

Will

With the newest child upstairs cooking at the moment, I thought I'd tell a quick story:

We were browsing through the videogame section at Target, G and I.

We do that a lot. Most games are too old for him, or too complex for controlling, but he continues to ask to play them. He prizes his game time with Daddie, possibly above everything else, and he’s currently in the mode of finding out about the characters in the games he likes. He’s into almost everything Mario or Pokemon at this point.

So we’re browsing the games in Target, and he’s saying something. As usual, I’m partially listening, and he keeps talking about someone named Will. “Daddie, what’s that game? It’s for Will.”

And, of course, I have no idea what he’s talking about, so I tune in. “And that’s another game for Will. And that one has Mario and Sonic. It’s the Fi-nal Count-DOWWWWNNN!” he finishes, singing almost at the top of his lungs. This cracks me up so much that my brain realizes who he’s talking about.

Up in the upper right corner of each game case is the “Wii” logo. Gamble reads really well, but sometimes, it’s obvious he’s cheating, trying to fit words he knows in after a few letters. Once I figured this out, I corrected him, and now his cute little tendency to talk about Will games is gone. Bit of a shame, actually.

Our Newest Child

So I was shopping at the Jewel tonight, and I picked up a new family member. I've decided to call him Steve. As you can see, Steve is a small, tentacled, yellow alien cyclops.

And his butt smells a lot like lemon.

I think that calling him Steve is a lot nicer than calling him a creepy little fruit thing, despite that being a deservingly accurate description.

I was at the Jewel tonight when I saw this little orphan alien, sitting with his two brothers by the bananas like three day-laborers in front of a Home Depot. Except they did not have a sign saying, "Painting, shingling, decking." They didn't have a sign at all.

So, really, I had no idea what planet Steve was from, or what species of alien fruit he might be.

Except you know me. I thought I knew exactly what it was. And it turns out, I was right.

But I didn't tell the people in line that. In fact, the cashier had never seen an alien fruit like Steve. She asked me what he was, and I told her I couldn't tell for sure. The bagging girl said he looked like a scary alien, and I assured her that I would keep my other fruits safe from Steve.

They called produce; they called the store manager; they had someone come out and appraise Steve, but they had no idea what he was. He must have been cleared by the MiB during the day shift and abandoned in the banana-land.

Eventually, they allowed me to leave the store, having discovered a workaround to their strange alien immigration laws.

As soon as I got home, I had Nicole verify that I had bought what I thought I'd bought. Wikipedia is wonderful for such things. On showing Gamble, he cracked up. He thought Steve was really cool.

First he asked if he is a pumpkin. When I told him that he needed to smell Steve's butt (where all the tentacles come togther), he cracked up again, and he did.

"MMM! Smells like lemon," as I've already mentioned.

"You see, Gamble, this fruit is called Buddha's Hand. It's a citric fruit, like lemon." Except it has an additional delicious scent. Something absolutely fabulous. Like the smell of a mouthful of fruity Mentos (that's what it smells like. Really. It's better than it sounds).

"When can we eat Steve?" asked my little cannibal Gammible.

"Maybe tomorrow night."

"Maybe tonight?"

"No way. It's way past your bedtime."

And I went and sang him a lullaby about a very special toy at Christmas.

Then I came back to the kitchen to sniff Steve again. Wow!

Better Than Sparkly

Good days and bad days. Gamble differentiates between them using the word "sparkly".

As in, "You know what would make my day sparkly, Daddie? If we could play Super Mario Galaxy. Just a couple stars? Please?"

Of course, I like to give into these whims of his.

He's always rating his day, and if it's going well, he's hugging and telling you his day's sparkly. If he's bored, he claims it's the worst day ever. It's been going on a while, and didn't really seem that important.

But today he went beyond.

Today we played Super Mario Galaxy, and we also played Pokemon Pinball, but in addition to that, I did something I'd not done in years. I made cutout cookies. The recipe turned out very similar to what I used to have with my mom years ago, which was exactly what I was going for.

As a result, he got to help me in the kitchen, one of his favorite things, and he also got to eat a frosted sugar cookie, a rare treat for him.

Later in the evening, after his bath, he and I were sitting at the kitchen table. "Daddie? You know my day today was cake-ish."

"Cake-ish? Is that what you're saying, Gamble?"

"Yes, Daddie. Cake-ish. It's even better than sparkly, and it means I love you more."

"Ok. I'm glad your day is cake-ish, Gamble."

"And maybe tomorrow, we can have a day that's two cake-ish."

"Uh. Ok. I'll see what I can do."

With that, the conversation was over. I've never heard him talk about "cake-ish" before. He pronounced it very clearly. All I can think is that he heard the term "kickass" and misinterpreted.

Then again, it just could be that cake beats sparkles...