Potty Step Stool

Elijah loves anything to do with the potty. Except the actual act of going in the toilet himself. He loves books about potty training. He loves to inform you about what you are about to do, what you are doing and saying goodbye to what you just did.

When his cousin Finn comes over, Eli insists on watching him go to the bathroom. To which Finn says, “Uh, ok…”

Last Saturday, Diana and I were drinking coffee in the kitchen when Eli padded by purposely. He walked up to the toilet and began removing his pants, saying, “Pee pee?”

Di and I looked at each other shocked. “Is this happening? Is he about to go pee pee in the potty?” Diana raced over and yanked down his diaper and said, “Go nuts!” It was a false alarm. He was merely practicing his one act play, “Finn Goes Pee Pee.”

But we realized we needed to step up the potty training from potty theory to potty practice. We brought up his very own tiny potty from the basement and proclaimed it his forever. Or until he has to go to college. I really don’t think he wants to explain it to his roommate.

He of course wants nothing to do with it. He views it as a nice blue step stool that allows him to access poison hidden in the bathroom cabinets.

George Monkey

I believe it goes without saying that Elijah is the epitome of cute. From his floppy mop to his obsession with elephants to his saggy diapers, he just melts your heart.

So why would I try to force a cute affectation on him? Because I am an unfit father, that’s why.

Let me back up. My friend Pat Hanna and I like to swap cute kid stories. I think it is in a secret attempt to make sure our kids aren’t seriously deranged. “Eli bangs his head on the floor when he’s really ticked. Do…do your kids do that or do I have to take him to a baby psychiatrist?”

A while ago Pat and I were talking about our Toddler’s obsessions. After acknowledging that we can’t even count Elmo anymore, Pat mentioned his daughter Noley (HamannEggs trivia, Noley is Eli’s arranged prom date) loves Curious George. But she refers to him as “George Monkey.” She constantly asks, “George Monkey? George Monkey?”

Cut to me reading books to Eli. Some friends of ours gave us a nice package of Curious George books a few weeks ago. And Eli had taken a mild interest in them. Not the kind of interest he holds for any book dealing with potty training, but interest nonetheless.

So when he points to a Curious George book I immediately say, “George Monkey? George Monkey?” I think it’s a little bit of bad parenting to purposely refer to something by the incorrect name. Like calling bananas oranges and then sending him out into the world to forever be ridiculed at the supermarket.

Thankfully, Eli usually looks at me like I’m an idiot. I imagine him sitting around with the other toddlers in “Everybody Move” class.

“My Dada calls Curious George ‘George Monkey.’ Do…do your dads do that or do I have to take him to an adult psychiatrist?”

A Word From The Dog

Hey everybody! It’s me. Your loveable pal Grover. I haven’t written in a while because I’ve been busy completing my self-help book for dogs, “A Toddler In The House. Your Life Is Over.” I detail my step-by-step program to draw attention away from impossibly cute toddlers.

Here is a sample:

STEP 215: PLOP AND SIGH
The Man is much more gullible to faux emotional distress than The Woman. If you come upon The Man laying on the floor next to The Competition, simply lay down heavily and sigh. I recommend trying to wedge yourself between The Man and The Competition. You also may want to put your paws over your nose and utilize the Boo Hoo Eyes (STEP 14: SAD EYES SAY SO MUCH).

This usually results in The Man having to pet you and ask what’s wrong. However in rare cases this will result in drawing the attention of The Competition. Which as we know leads to tail pulling, eye poking and the disgusting fingers in your mouth syndrome. If this happens, refer to STEP 311: SO YOU WANT TO MAUL THE BABY...


Well, you get the gist.

I’m still looking for a publisher. Not being able to speak human does slow down the process. As does not having thumbs. And my terrible breath is not helping. Wish me luck.

Grover Out!

DG

Diana and I decided to take a stand against TV. Well, Diana decided to take a stand against TV and I said, “That sounds fine, dear.” Elijah inherited his father’s addictive personality and he LOVES TV.

The other day I tried a test. I stuck my face in front of his face while Elmo was on. He craned his neck to see. Then I moved in his way. He craned his neck further. I moved in his way. Eventually he fell of the couch. Whatever injuries he sustained were lessened by his ability to see Elmo again from floor level.

So Diana instituted a no TV after 9am rule. Eli spent the entire day Sunday saying, “DG? DG?” But Diana and I are tough customers. We said, “No! No TV. But we will go buy you $100 in new toys to distract you.” So we bought him a bunch of plastic jungle animals and a tool kit and some blocks. What’s that word when milk stays around way after its due date?

I excitedly tore into the toys in Eli’s room.

“Oooh look. Elephants! You love elephants!”

“DG?”

“No. No TV. Let’s play the game where peace loving townspeople build beautiful high-rises and then the Elijah Monster destroys them.”

“DG?”

“No. No TV. Here. Take this block. I’ll give you one free shot at my face.”

“DG?”

Thankfully, Eli’s addition seems to have waned over the last few days and he only asks for TV 80% of the day.

First "I Love You"

Today is Diana’s birthday. And as you know, the #1 present in the Hamann house is sleep. But we upped the ante by going out to dinner with a gaggle of Diana’s old high school chums last night. Steve volunteered to baby-sit, and added the bonus of bringing along Finn. To avoid any late night Finn freak-outs, Steve decided to sleep on our tiny guest mattress with Finn in Elijah’s room.

So technically, that counts as a first sleep over. But just barely. There was no pizza or sticking bras in the freezer or rooting through the phone book for listings of Michael Hunt.

Diana and I got home relatively late (11pm. Call Missing Persons) and we stepped over Finn and Steve and went to bed.

Eli, still kind of sick, woke up at 4:30 again and started howling. Not wanting to wake up our only guaranteed baby-sitter, I ran into the room and snatched the angry toddler, swooping him into our room. Diana and I tried to calm him down for the better part of an hour, but with no luck. Eli was coughing mad.

Suddenly, out of the shadows I saw a young, blonde haired boy of 4 or 5 by our bed. I was petrified, thinking it was Elijah back from the future, coming back to warn me of some terrible parenting mistake I was about to make.

But then I realized it was Finn. He said, “Uncle Rick. I don’t like it when Eli cries. Make him stop.” I sighed and took both boys downstairs for Sesame Street and milk. Finn noted, “The sun isn’t up yet, Uncle Rick. When is it going to come up?”

Diana got her favorite birthday present several hours later. Eli finally told her he loved her. But she had him pinned to the ground and she was begging him to say it. It sounded like one of those trained dogs owned by weird old ladies. “Ry Rove Rou.”

You know what? Ry Rove Rer too. Ry Rove Rer more and more every day.

Ears Like a Hawk Pt 3

It is minus ten in Evanston right now. Minus. Ten. Elijah, Grover and Diana are hold up in our house burning my old Star Wars figures for warmth. Chewbacca burns the hottest.

The only real bummer about the cold snap besides the fact that it can kill you, is Eli has acquired a severe case of the snots. Someone turned on the nose faucet and broke off the handle. His goo is everywhere. Ew. I can handle the gross, but the general stuffiness is causing him sleep problems. He can only get a slight whistle of air through his nostrils and when he tries to breathe through his mouth it causes a cavalcade of hacking coughs. At which point Diana and I ask, “Was that a ‘Whoop?’ Is he ‘Whooping?’”

Last night I applied Vick’s Vapo Rub to his bare chest just before I put him to bed. He loved it. Eli rubbed his own chest and giggled creepily. I said, “Don’t be weird.”

Cut to 4:30 am.

“Sniff. Sniff. Cough. Cough. Whaaah!”

I got him out of his crib and saw that he was covered in his own snot and his pajamas were open at the chest from him rubbing his Vick’s chest. I rocked him back to sleep. But not before he wiped his snot all over my left arm.

This morning I woke up at 7 and heard Eli still snoring in the other room. I tip toed downstairs and showered and crept back up to our room. Eli was still miraculously asleep.

I then attempted to dress in the dark, silently. I opted out of wearing my chain mail armor or my silver bells pants. But I remembered it was minus ten degrees outside and I’d need a sweater if I was going to make it through the day without, well, dying.

I opened my closet and found a dry cleaning bag containing a sweater. I silently lifted it out of the bag and then I heard it.

“CRINKLE.”

Those dry cleaner jerks had the gall to put that dry cleaning paper in the sweater. I got to the point where putting the sweater back in the closet would make more noise than just removing the damn paper. So I quickly snatched the paper out.

“CRINKLE. CRINKLE. CRINKLE.”

I turned back to the bed and saw Diana sitting upright with an expression of horror.

“Sniff. Sniff. Cough. Cough. Whaaah!”

I ran out of the house and into the cold where I could die in peace.

Move, Everybody.

Last week I promised a blog entry about Elijah’s dance class, Everybody Move. The near deafening lack of request for the subject matter from all 8 HamannEggs readers really has me charged about the subject.

Everybody Move is taught at the Evanston dance center. It’s nestled in a strip mall between a Christian book store and a clearly drug front clothing store that features baseball hats with messages spelled out in rhinestones like, “Beat” and “Street.”

Eli and I arrived at class and removed our jackets. The class features a padded ramp and some other padded mats. In the center of the room stood a Medieval torture contraption. It looked like two wooden ladders precariously leaning together to form an inverse V. Before I could ask the moms in attendance if this was used to punish bad children, the aging hippie teacher arrived.

Eli began saying, “Ju? Ju?”

I said, “Yeah. I guess she’s Jewish. But that’s not cool, man...”

I then realized the aging hippie was pouring juice into Dixie cups on a nearby table. She covered the cups with a tie-dyed cloth and said, “That’s for later.” For the rest of the class, various teams of children attempted to scale the table to no avail.

The class was essentially the hippie playing fun songs surrounded by small carpet squares. The children would sit for a moment and then tear off to climb, then fall off the Medieval contraption or try to pole vault onto the juice table.

There were props and dancing and I sang along so loudly that the other mothers looked at me like I was Eli’s “special” older brother. Sometime during class Ryan, the cute girl Eli ignores showed up with her mom. Eli did his best to not pay any attention to them.

Finally, the hippie announced class was over and began to hand out juice cups. This was the only time the class actually paid attention. They sat on the carpet squares quietly like little yogis.

It broke my heart a little to see him drinking from a real cup. I prayed he would dump it onto himself and stay a baby. But he held his cup out to the aging hippie and said, “More Ju? Pee (please)?”

Today’s picture has nothing to do with dancing. But check out his huge paws on that steering wheel. He could knock out a buffalo with fists like those.