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.)

I'm not a girl! I just have fabulous hair.

That was the rally cry around here recently, as more and more people (mainly, little old ladies) kept referring to Sam as "her" and saying how pretty she was. I would politely say "thank you" and move on. Adrian, on the other hand, made sure to correct them and walked away with his head held high...and, we're assuming, with the women thinking it was a crying shame that no one got that poor little boy a haircut.



I liked his "crazy hair" and the "no worries" look it gave him. Wouldn't it be nice to have that "no worries" look and feeling, if even for a day? But, it was starting to get a little long in the back and, in my opinion, we were nearing official mullet stage. An absolute no-no. So, we teamed up with Sam's friend Davia (Princess Leia, for those of you keeping track) and her mom and dad and headed out to Cookie Cutters, a hair cuttery geared specifically for tots and complete with a slide, video games, toys, movies, cartoons, and fun things to sit in while getting coifed. Davia elected for a pink truck, while Sam opted for your standard red fire engine. She seemed to handle it okay - we're assuming it was the X chromosome - while Sam didn't want any part of it. None. Zero. Zilch.

We managed to get through the entire haircut, though, thanks to Dad's comforting (read: holding him down). I think he ended up looking a little less carefree and a little more "dork," but I suppose it will grow out.

The holidays were fun, although Sam didn't enjoy the opening of presents as much as we thought. We had grandiose ideas of him getting excited and tearing off the wrapping paper, anxious to see what each package held in store. Instead, he played with Louie's leash, walking around and around. Didn't care about paper-ripping, didn't care too much about new toys, but had a hell of a time lapping the kitchen with an old red leash. If I would've known, I would've gotten Louie a new one.

We did enjoy New Year's Eve, celebrating the holiday with children for the first time. Again, we got together with Team Davia and had a great time. Compared notes about our tots, gossiped about daycare and found the Captain and Cokes and beer going down surprisingly easy. We called it an early night about 10 p.m., so the kids weren't total monsters in the morning. Adrian and I "celebrated" by watching the ball drop and were both asleep by 12:15 a.m. Happy New Year!


Chicago has seen a fair amount of snow this year, so we've made sure to introduce Sam to the white stuff. We've pelted him with his first snowball (he laughed), showed him how to throw them to Louie so he eats them, and gave him a sled ride. With a lot more winter still to come, we're talking with Louie about the possibility of a harness to pull the sled. He's not excited, but we're negotiating. He's demanding that the kid stop messing with his dog food and quit chasing him with his tyke-sized vacuum. We're not sure we can agree to those terms. Talks are stalled.

In the meantime, Sam waits for his cousin's arrival.....("Hurry so we can play!")