(click photo to see set)
Category Archives: Porter
as in, Magoo.
Trouble. Starts with T, which rhymes with P, and that stands for Porter.
Last week, Porter started attending a new day care facility.
Although I lucked out in getting Stella into an amazing preschool program, I knew that with Porter, I couldn’t count on that luck again a second time, and so I needed to jump on my opportunity to get him ‘into the queue’ (so to speak). Plus, the logistics of having them in two different towns was really beginning to take its toll. It was a truly difficult decision to make, as Grani-K has been the central force in allowing us to easily and comfortably balance our lives between work and home. She took care of Stella from the time she was 8 months old, and Porter from shortly after his 4 month birthday. She has practically become part of our family, and we will forever be thankful for her seemingly endless generosity, kindness and flexibility. We will all miss you, Kathy.
And so began a new routine.
Not only had Porter just officially transitioned from infant to toddler, but he was tossed into a whole new routine, new environment, new napping, new faces, new diet – you name it. And have I mentioned the teething? The big, ugly monster molars that have been s-l-o-w-l-y creeping through his gumline? And that stubborn fluid buildup in his ears? Blech. What does all of this add up to? An irritable, obstinate, toddler who moves like the wind and exhibits an endless supply of tenacity.
It’s a good thing he still has all that cute going on, because it has just started sinking in that we are all on the the bus back to toddlerville – and I’ll give you one guess who’s driving. Our home is no longer a safe haven where I can freely tend to things while he plays innocently on the floor. I have learned the hard way how much damage can be done in under 30 seconds. There are times where he is actually mid-stride towards my jewelry box before his feet even hit the ground. Aside from his bedroom, every door in our house has to be securely shut. And not just mostly shut either, because Porter? Yeah, he knows the difference. Even in his room (one of the only ones he is still allowed free access to), he has managed to wound himself, and/or seriously mangle the various items he has figured out how to pull off shelves. He has yanked Stella’s lamp from her nightstand and shattered the bulb (twice), removed an entire layer of skin by jamming his his thumb into Stella’s CD player, and taken a header into something (I’m suspecting the coffee table) hard enough to have a huge scabby remnant just above his left eye. Each time, ironically, getting mad at me for attempting to remove him from the scene of the crime. I get read the riot act by a 1-year-old about 500 times a day. And take it from me, his manifesto – it’s a long one.
His new day care also allows him a leisurely morning snooze, which means there is no more easing us into our afternoon with a well-timed nap. Instead we get home in a giant, rolling ball of elbows, backpacks, and empty stomachs. The first couple of days I had to strategize my unloading process so as to not leave The Destroyer to his own devices for any length of time. Plus, he gets mad if Stella gets to leave the car before he does. Tough. I need time to secure the perimeter before I can turn him loose.
Fortunately, his perpetual motion personality also comes with an amazing amount of humorous moments. We often find ourselves laughing just about the time we might otherwise want to set him on the curb. Just the other night, Stella and I were quietly laying in her bed (something I routinely do with her for a few minutes just before she goes to sleep) listening to the one-man house party going on in Porter’s crib. Stella and I both began to giggle uncontrollably listening to him talk to himself, the wall, the stuffed animals. Then we watched his silhouette as he stood there waving – at what, we still are unsure. More times than I’d like to count, I have walked by his room only to spy an unusual amount of daylight pouring out from underneath his door. Ah yes, instead of napping, he has yanked down the curtains and is now busy surveying the backyard. Again.
So you had better get prepared for me to start making all those whiny toddler posts again. Like the ones where I bitch and moan about never being able to get anything done because of the Toddler Effect, but rest assured, I will also be making the ones where I get to wax poetic about how it really is the time that, later down the road, I will want back the most.
Indoctrination
The rule of thumb for a kid’s party guest lists is ‘Age +1’. Our formula goes something like this: ‘Age +10 +All the adults you can think of’. There. That should do it. Fortunately, not everyone on the guest list could make it, and we, therefore, didn’t look like complete hedonists. Well, except for the two pitchers of sangria. And the beer. And the two grey haired ladies standing over the sink eating the liquor-steeped fruit from the sangria. But other than that, it was your completely typical 1st birthday party. With tacos.
Although we were scheduled for rain, the skies miraculously parted, and I am left thinking that my children each have meteorological super-powers due to their ability to conjure perfect birthday party weather. But then, it’s not like it would have even occurred to this bunch that rain might have actually been something that would slow them down. Mostly, they seemed to enjoy eating fistfuls of refined sugar (Stella actually hid a secret stash of gummy fish under her pillow), dodging and weaving between all of the adults and playing on the behemoth, adjustable teeter-totter that Steve forged from a beam with the dimensions equal to that of a mid-sized car. (The quotable comment from this particular project being: “I am either building a teeter-totter or a trebuchet – I am not quite sure yet.”)
Us? Small-scale? Yeah, we don’t roll like that.
(click on image for full set)
Happy 1st Birthday, Porter McGoo!
Well Buddy, today you officially turn one!
I am excited, amazed, a little sad, but mostly just plain old proud that you, me, your dad and your sister have all made it through this year with appendages still attached and sanity within arm’s reach. There were some moments there when I really thought one of us was going to snap, then some miracle would occur: you would sleep through the night, your sister would extend a kind gesture, your father would ply me with liquor, Dore would call to offer a Stella-sleep-over. In every instance – just in the nick of time.
When people ask me about you (and they often do), I tend to hedge a little. You have put us through one of the most rigorous sleep boot camp programs this side of the Equator and it, therefore, is always the first thing that seems to come out of my mouth. But then, I am always quick to follow that up with a comment about how ultimately easy going and good-natured you are. And cute. Have I mentioned the cute? Oh God, where do I begin with the cute.
I had always thought that if I had a son, I would find myself not knowing what to do or how to relate. After all, my experiences to-date do not involve Y chromosomes. As it turns out, this was one of my more significant miscalculations. From the moment you were born, I felt an immediate and overwhelming closeness to you that can only be matched by how I felt when your sister was born. Except here you were; my son. All I could think was how lucky I was to get to experience it all over again with you, my one and only son. I am reminded of this on a daily basis when you give me a belly laugh, or use your I’m-talking-to-the-cat voice, or wave and say good-bye (A-Gah!). You make it so easy, little man.
Being that you won’t be reading this for a while, I feel it is my duty to take this time to inform you of a couple of things that you may find unbelievable later. The first thing is that you adore your sister. Yes, really. You will be appalled to know that one of your favorite pass times is to follow her around from room to room, having to endure her increasingly torturous tendencies, and be regularly told that you can’t play with your own toys. The one-sidedness of your relationship doesn’t seem to phase you in the least. You would follow her to the ends of the earth, and knowing her, she would most likely lead you there. Most recently, you made it clear that you are no longer interested in your standard-issue tippy cup, but rather insist that you have the kind with a straw…just like her. And when it comes to these kinds of things, you won’t take No for an answer.
Another couple of things that I think you may find interesting are your love of broccoli, your complete obsession with carrying around the remote control, and your borderline addictive behavior when it comes to loitering around the toilet – all things that I am sure you will thank me for bringing up during future pre-date interviews.
I guess what I am trying to say is this: This year was about so much more than just developmental milestones and reports on sleep and teething. It was about the four of us becoming a family, and realizing how much more fun, full and enriched our life is by you being part of it.
Happy Birthday, McGoo!
Love,
Mama
Easterpalooza
This year’s Easter festivities included a barbecue, a brunch, an Olympic-scale easter egg hunt, a metric ton of candy and enough champagne to inebriate the entire state of Rhode Island. I guess you could say it was about the perfect holiday.
Don’t believe me? Click on the photo below…
