Spiderman is for your birthday; Batman is for Christmas

Duh. Who doesn't know this already? Apparently my son thinks everyone should; it's obviously common knowledge. That's just one of the things new to me in what's been a whirlwind holiday season. And now that the holidays are officially over (or, will be when I get the Christmas tree down), I thought I'd take some time to share some of the lessons I've learned recently:

Spiderman & Batman and Their Rightful Places
I'm not entirely sure why Spiderman is a superhero reserved just for birthdays, as Sam celebrated his with Disney's Cars theme, but we were all about Batman for Christmas. Sam had a couple of opportunities to chat with Santa and wanted to be sure he was aware of the parameters for our masked heroes. To ensure there was NO mistake, he even took along the Target sale ad to make sure Santa knew just what to get and, of course, where to get the best price. It was successful. Santa delivered a Batman figurine, a toothbrush holder and cup and one very cool Bat Cave.

Juggling Two
Despite this blog being on hiatus for quite some time, I'm sure all of you already know that Sam welcomed home Baby Meatball late last year. Born on Nov. 25th, it took us several days to decide on a name for Cooper and so even the hospital staff was calling him Baby Meatball, a name that Sam selected several months ago. Randomly. We thought that Peanut would survive as a nickname for Sam and it's slowly faded away. Not so with "Meatball," especially considering that all of Sam's friends think his name is actually Meatball. Sorry Cooper; blame your brother.

We're working on figuring out how to juggle two kids and their various needs and have our get-out-the-door routine down to 30 minutes. (We'll let you know if we're able to break that record.) It's a challenge, but is one that we're absolutely loving.

Leaving the Door Open
We've also been learning that, all of a sudden, we're able to leave our front door open when lugging groceries or kids to and from the car. Sadly, we lost our best pal Louie in November, just two days before bringing Cooper home to meet him. He was 11 and showing some signs of age, but his passing took us all by surprise. We're still in the habit of closing the door and think of him all the time.

Act Your Age
Another important lesson at our house. And it's not one we've been teaching our 3-year-old. It's one I've had to learn again and one that has me repeating...I'm the adult, I'm the adult, I'm the adult. Sam's been, shall we say, testing the waters lately and knows precisely how to push my buttons. "I don't wanna put my shoes on. I don't wanna go to bed. I don't wanna wake up. I don't wanna!" It's a lesson that I knew I needed after realizing that I stuck my tongue out AT MY PRESCHOOLER (behind his back, but still) during one of our discussions. It's going slow, but I'm making progress.

Brothers are Pretty Cool
Even though Sam and Cooper are just two months into their brothership, it's obvious that there are some distinct advantages. Sam is able to translate Cooper's cries and explain to us what he needs - be it a diaper change, a bottle or his specially-made teddy bear, Stewie. Cooper, on the other hand, is enjoying learning how Transformers fly and that a toy held 3-6 inches from your face should cure crying.

I'm sure there will be additional lessons for me and Adrian...we'll keep you updated!

Laverne & Shirley....and Shirley

Schlameel, Schlamaazal, Hassenpepper Incorporated!

I'm sure you recall the catchy chant that opened the popular 1970s TV show "Laverne & Shirley." Who could forget those nutty ladies and their antics in life and love? It was that sense of warm friendship and camaraderie that we were hoping to create when we welcomed the two newest members of the Mendez clan. No puppies, kittens or other furry animals. Instead, Santa was kind enough to bring us two beta fish...aptly named Laverne and Shirley.

Now, before you tell me that two beta fish can't be in the same tank, we were assured by the fine fish experts at Petsmart that as long as both fish were female, we would be fine. They would live in harmony and one day grow to love one another. What we didn't count on was that Laverne would quickly turn into a fish-eating maniac.

Poor Shirley tried valiantly (and desperately) to swim away, but Laverne continued to chase her and gradually bite off all of her fins. Adrian and I had a little moment of silence for her and sent her swirling off to the big fish tank in the sky.





Enter Shirley #2. (Same color. Similar look.)

Once again, before you tell me it's not fair to have replaced Sam's fish with a look-alike and to have "tricked" him, it's been done to all of us. The "new" Darren on "Bewitched?" You know you didn't like him as well, but he did a good job. Same thing for Vivian Banks on "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air." It happens all of the time. Deal.

We had high hopes for Shirley Part Deux. She was a little larger, a little livelier. The two of them got along famously. For awhile. After three weeks or so, it started again. A little nip here, another there. Eventually, Flushing Ceremony Part Deux.

We decided, then, to become a one-fish family and I cleaned out and freshened up her tank. Although I earned good marks in both high school and college chemistry classes, I apparently didn't learn enough to follow simple on-bottle instructions and Laverne joined her co-stars a few weeks ago.

The tank still sits there, and Sam still wishes both of them a good night before settling down in his bed. It's as if the show is on hiatus and we're watching re-runs. With $6 and another trip to Petsmart, we'll have all-new episodes soon.

Jingle Bell ROCK

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Pancakes, syrup and Santa

We're gearing up for a visit from the Fat Man in the Red Suit, so it's all Santa, all the time here at the Mendez house. We had breakfast with him a couple of weekends ago and it went really well. Sam wasn't afraid and even sat on his lap. To our surprise, he also had an answer to Santa's "What do you want for Christmas, little boy?"


"Presents."

Nothing specific. No grand demands. No elaborate assembly required. Whew.

We've wrestled with what Sam should find under the tree this year and I think the two of us are getting excited about a movie-like Christmas morning. After much discussion, it's been settled. Drums. A full set. With four loud barrels to bang on and two loud sticks to bang with. Clearly, we've already fallen victim to the craziness of Christmas and the insanity of trying to rock our kid's world.

But, really....we don't care.

Disclaimer: I also requested that we buy a toy designed to teach our little rock star how to tell time, so he'll have a clear understanding of what "it's too early" means. Daddy disagreed, but I predict a quick change of heart.

We've already made our purchase - er, Santa's purchase - and have stashed it away in our Super Secret Parental Hiding Place (also known as the closet).

I guess now we begin saving up for his first tattoo. You can't be a real rock star without one of those. Hmmm....I'm envisioning a heart with "Mommy" written across it.

Ty-D-Bowl-tini

As many of you may remember, I was Mother of the Year in 2007, thanks to the dislocation of Sam's elbow. (Not to worry, he's recovered and, even though it's his pitching arm, we're sure he's in tip-top shape.) It seems as though I'm a finalist this year (or at least an Honorable Mention). My son drinks out of the toilet.

While disgusting, I do think it's important to note the ingenuity and resourcefulness that was displayed. I work from home and, during busy times, it's often necessary to multi-task. Sam and I sometimes sing songs while he marches around and I check email or draft stop-the-presses caliber news releases. At one point, he wanted a drink of water from downstairs. I was in the middle of said news release and couldn't stop the writing mojo, so I told him "in a minute." I hear slurping noises. No worries; Sam's recently started pretend play and he pretends to eat things and feed his stuffed animals. I hear more slurping noises and this time assume that he's drinking from the sink, like we taught him to do when he brushes his teeth. No worries. Can't stop the writing mojo. I take another minute or two and finish up. I stepped around the corner, and he's proudly drinking out of his hand, just like I thought, but...from...the...toilet. "Look, Momma. Drinka water." Oh. No. I wasn't sure if I should run for a camera or a toothbrush. Who am I kidding? It's an easy decision. The batteries in my camera were dead (dang!), meaning there aren't any photos. Teeth brushing commences.

It's been awhile since the last update and Sam's growing more and more each and every day. He's talking all of the time, singing songs and, just today, asked "why?" for the first time. I guess I should note it in his baby book, except the answer to the question was "because you'll pee all over the floor if you don't." Not exactly Norman Rockwell. Except maybe when he was learning to use the potty.



Halloween was eventful and Sam took on the holiday with a sequined jumpsuit, dark glasses and a guitar. It's Elvis, baby! We teamed up with Davia for trick-or-treating as well as a trip to the pumpkin patch. They both took time selecting the perfect pumpkin...and then tried to lift it. (Needless to say, they weren't successful in actually carrying them and we quietly and non-chalantly left them behind.)


Sam also had fun playing with his cousins at Rend Lake this summer and seems to be a budding baseball player. When he's not criss-crossing the yard with his bubble mower. (We're working our way up to one that runs on gasoline. We'll let you all know when he's taking summertime clients.)

We'll start talking about Santa soon, in hopes of a lovely, overpriced mall photo. Fingers crossed.

Bye, Bill.

Sam can't really pronounce the "f" sound all that well (unless it's in regard to the aforementioned exclamation), so his greetings to our cat Phil usually sounded like "Hiiii, Bill" and "Bye, Bill." I never noticed the cat return the greetings, but I'm sure he appreciated them.

We all said goodbye to Phil last week and he's now in Kitty Heaven, likely rolling around in the largest pile of catnip he could ever have imagined. He was an old man and, as you all know, had a nice and sometimes exciting life. Despite having only one eye and being mostly blind in it, he recently took a three-day excursion around our town, visiting a construction site and some apparent pools of motor oil before settling in at the police station. He wasn't an active cat, until it was time for vacation apparently. When we lived in Georgia, he took a several-day vacay every Christmas, despite our dedicated friend Mindi looking in on him and shelling out some food and love each and every day. He did this to her three years in a row, and never even bought her a gift.

He also made an impression on our former neighbors, who - on the day of their moving in - discovered us on the back porch wearing leather coats and oven mitts in an attempt to shave and free Phil from the tar he'd rolled in. Again. It wasn't quite so "nice" to meet us at that point. But, they came around to like us and to love Phil, and to send him home when he was meowing on the wrong porch.

Sam obviously won't remember these stories and may not remember Phil, but that cat did teach him some important life lessons. Mostly about personal space and that sharp things hurt. The "sharp" lesson was learned pretty quickly, but the "personal space" one came a little slower. Needless to say, the lessons went hand in hand. Phil was patient, though, as Sam learned what it meant to pet gently and Sam delighted in helping feed Phil and dishing out treats.

Thanks, Phil.
We love you.

"Oh, f---"

"Oh, fuuuudge." Only he didn't say fudge. That's right; he said it. The f--- word. The coup de gras of all swear words. It was a flat tire incident that brought about Ralphie's foul mouth during Christmas. At the Mendez house, it was a new set of blinds for the family room. It happens in a split second; you're not even sure that it's happening; you're unaware of the four-letter word lingering in your subconscious, ready to jump out at a moment's notice. All it takes, apparently, is a metal ladder and a stubbed toe. Then, the flood gates open.

Right away, there erupts a toddler chant of "oh, f---, oh f---, oh, f---." Adults stifle the laughing. We keep talking, about anything, anything at all, ignoring the smallest of smut mouths, ignoring him, giving him no attention, none at all. And trying extremely hard not to bust out laughing. The swear words subside.

Until dinner.

When Sam drops his fork, he also drops yet ANOTHER F-bomb. Again. Must. Stifle. Laughter. I'm not sure why we think it's so funny. Perhaps because it's so inappropriate.

A few weeks have past since the "ladder" incident, and we were swear word free. And then Sam tripped down the curb at daycare. And guess what? That's right. "oh, f---."

I imagine some of you are worried about his future, about eternal damnation and about mandatory home schooling. Instead, we choose to focus on how bright and, dare I say, gifted he appears to be. After only one "lesson," Sam has grasped the new vocabulary and has used it in a variety of instances, all with incredible accuracy. I'm sure future teachers will note just how bright he is.

Sam's romance continues to blossom and he took his special girl to "Baby Loves Disco" a few weeks ago. It's amazing how much toddlers will dance if you hop them up on juice boxes, cookies and pizza and then turn on the loud music and a bubble machine. Davia seemed to enjoy the dancing more than Sam did (who was basically in a trance when they kicked on the bubbles), but still saved a couple of dances (and a little downtime) for him.

As many of you know, we recently took our first family vacation. Packing up the suitcases (which tipped the scales at 55 pounds and cost us an additional $100....thank you, United Airlines), we headed west to San Diego. It seemed both kid- and adult-friendly and none of us had really visited before.


Somehow, our week of vacation coincidentally coincided with Sam's first tryout of the tantrum. And, in yet another display of his giftedness, he not only tried it for the first time, but also MASTERED it in just minutes. It was a rocky trip, with some trying moments (mostly on the airplane) and some very sweet ones (saying "hello" to the ocean every morning). We came home with a few scars, a digital camera full of photos and some wonderful memories. And we continue to brace for the "Terrible Twos."

Inmate in Charge of the Asylum

It's official....the inmates are running the asylum.

In recent weeks, Sam's figured out how to slide quite quickly down the stairs, shimmy under the baby gates (we keep them high so our poor blind cat doesn't freak out), actually remove the gates and place them gently against the wall (extra points for neatness, I guess) and even open doors. He continues to work on the intricacies of the locks.

Luckily he's terrified of the Tickle Me Elmo that we recently purchased. With some strategic placement of our new furry friend, the removable gates aren't as much of an issue.

Valentine's Day was pretty eventful for Sam and his relationship with Davia seems to be blossoming. They've both been officially moved to the Toddler Room and while the toys are cooler and they have their own slide, Sam's not too thrilled. So far, he's rather distraught during drop off, but we hear that he bucks up pretty soon after we leave. If it's really bad, Sweet Davia will make him a sandwich. (Made of plastic, but it's the thought.)