15 months: doctor visit, dustups and one serious 'do

First off, I would like to note that I am not responsible for the hairstyle in these pics. I have no earthly idea how Jerry got the kid's hair to fall (or rise?) like that, but in my mind's eye it involves repeated swirlies in the toilet followed by long periods of blowdrying. But, looking at it, it's amazing how much hair changes a face. I think Wilder, especially in the second photo, looks kind of like a rockabilly boy. Like he should be singing Stray Cat Strut or something.

Anyway, we had our 15-month doctor's visit this morning. He's 32.5 inches and 26 lbs. His head is 48.5 cm, as if that means anything to anyone (who measures their head anymore??) Anyway, he's 75th percentile in weight and head size (again, that's just odd to write) and 90th in height. Or, as his doctor likes to say: "You have a tall, skinny son with a big head." Err, thanks doc. She also refuses to quit calling him "Chunk" even having said the aforementioned statement. Or maybe she was referring to me ... At any rate, Wilder is healthy and besides the fact that he refuses to point to his body parts when you name them (that's on his "developmental checklist"), it seems his brain is growing as it should, too. I like to think that when I say, "Where are your EARS honey?" he's thinking "You have eyes to see them with, idiot ... why are you asking ME where they are."

On another note, Wilder had his first takedown today. I dropped him off at daycare and his contemporary there -- we'll call him Chase in case he has a litigious mother who ever finds this blog -- anyway, Chase runs up to Wilder with a wicked gleam in his eye after I put him down, grabs a fistfull of his jacket and literally drags him to the floor, at which point he refuses to let go. What does my tough boy do? Well naturally, he does what I would do if one of my 30-something-year-old co-workers insisted on dragging me to the ground as I walked through my office door. He starts crying and screaming. I mean, I was thinking "What the HELL kid?" at this "Chase," so I'm sure Wilder was too. Anyway, we got through it OK, and I was assured later in the day when I picked him up that it was an isolated incident. I know he's gonna have to learn the rules of playground justice, but I hardly want him suffering at the hands of a young Genghis Khan at the tender age of 15 months.

Finally, I feel photo No. 3 needs some explanation. When your kid has jacked up hair, you should make him feel better by jacking up your own. He loved it (I had a wee pony tail in the back, too). And, incidentally, this is the first time I've put ponytail holders in my hair in nine months. I'm planning on wearing them to work tomorrow. Hopefully no one will take me down in protest.

Love to all, K, J & W

Agh! I mean, "AGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!"

As I write this, I'm mopping blood from my ears. My skull has split open. My eyes are permanently locked into an expression that would make a sane person wonder if I'd just seen a grizzly bear saunter into my house and eat my cat.

Yep, as the picture at right clearly illustrates, we've entered the screaming stage. As far as I can tell, there are three things that make Wilder scream:

1. A scream of delight. As in, "The kitty looked at me!! ... AGGGGHHHHHHHH!"

2. A scream of displeasure ... i.e. "I will continue to make this noise until daddy gives me his beer! AGGGHHHHHHHHHH!"

And, my personal favorite ...

3. A scream just to scream. "I have recently concluded that I have adjustable volume. AGGGHGGGGHHHHHH!"

(I swear he is screaming at me right now.)

Now I know this is normal. I know that I cannot scream back at him because it only encourages him. I know that his intent is not really to make my head pop off.

But I really, honestly, in that rookie-slash-clueless parent way, that my boy was too cute to scream. "He won't be a screamer," I thought. "Just look at that face. His international appeal would be ruined by acts of random and pointless screaming. He knows that. Nope, not my boy. He won't scream."

God I am the dumbest woman alive sometimes. Oh well.

The books and websites say funny things about coping with a screaming toddler. I'm supposed to say completely ridiculous stuff like, "Honey, use your INDOOR voice." He doesn't even know what "indoor" means. Furthermore, when your mom plays really loud music and sings at the top of her lungs while jumping around the room with you, I think those words would tend to lose a wee bit of their meaning. And I'll be damned if Wilder and I are giving up our aspirations to be future rock stars just so I use asinine phrases such as "indoor voice."

Gotta go. He's working his way up to a bloody good screamfest.

SNOW DAY!! (In Pictures)

So, with 1/4 inch of snow on the ground, more than 400 schools and businesses are closed in Dallas/Fort Worth today. Including Wilder's daycare. Which means I'm home, taking the morning shift, until Jerry relieves me after noon. This makes two snow days in one week. Which is all fun and good, and the kid is of course great to hang with on a snow day -- but there is this little matter called "work."

Wait ... work? I forgot what that is already.

Anyway, in an attempt to make snow day more interesting, I've been taking pictures. Trying to document what it means to spend a whole day with Tazmanian Wilder. I'll try to post more pics throughout the day. But then again, this might be the only batch I get around to. These do not, of course, document the many hugs, climbs and body slams (hard to focus the camera when those are happening) -- just what goes on inbetween.


Mama, look! ...


It SNOWED!! (And by the way, I just pooped my pants ...)


You don't think this diaper change is gonna be easy, do you Mama?


First, I'll take my socks off ...


Hey, give me that foot. I wanna chew on it.


Feet, feet, feet, feet ... wait, feet are boring.


I think I'll sit up while Mama wipes the poop off her hand.


Sitting is so 10 months old. I (grunt) think (ooph!) I'll try ... (fart)


STANDING!!!! Wait, why is Mama putting the camera down so fast?


Ooooh, pretty pictures! I wonder what "you ruin your eyesight" means ...


Ducks! DUCKS!!!


Pooh? Pooh? Are you in there?


Come out come out wherever you AAARRREEE!


Hi Pooh!


I sure do love you.


I wonder if this is edible?


I'll cook Mama some eggs and bacon. She'll love it!


But I don't WANNA be a lacrosse player!


Wait ... I think ...


I need ...


a nap.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ...

Hey Mama! I'm awake now, and ready for four more straight hours of non-stop activity!!!

Nooo, look at the CAMERA Mom!

This Michael Jackson fella sure makes good dancin' music.

Hey, why you lying down Mama? You tired or something? Get up. Get up. Getupgetupgetup. Dance!

Mmmm, the letter W is yummy.

Mmmm, so are Ramen Noodles. Thanks Papa!

(At this point, there is a six-hour break in picture taking while Wilder's mom goes to work)

I know I smell good after my bath, Ulf, by geeeesh! Stop with the kisses.


Nice grip Mama!


Did I mention that I am a devilishly handsome young man? Yes, well ... I am.


Ahh, one more round of Sesame Street with Papa before bedtime. Nite nite!

And, with that, we close. We had a FANTASTIC snow day. Thanks for sharing parts of it with us!

Love to all, K, J & W

No Hat, Mama

I forgot a little jewel of a tale that has something to do with Wilder's aforementioned dislike of winter clothing. I put a winter hat on him this morning. He took it off. I put it back on. He took it off. As I prepared to put it back on, he grabbed it and sneezed on it. Leaving a dime-sized glob of snot. Yep, that's one way of getting me to give up on the hat.

Sneaky little booger.

We Apologize For the Unscheduled Interruption ...

First, my apologies. Life has most decidedly gotten kind of crazy lately. I'll spare you the mind-numbingly boring details, but there just hasn't been much time to take pictures or write. I feel like I'm back at that point I was when Wilder was a newborn: I'm lucky to get a shower in. Only now I still have to go to work, shower or not. My lucky co-workers ...

We've had a spell of cold weather here lately. I realize my Colorado readers are thinking to themselves right now: Girl, your weak Texas butt doesn't know cold anymore. And they're right. I'm unbelievably thin-skinned now. But still, for Texas it's been damn cold. So we've had the opportunity to dress Wilder in a few more layers. He loves this, of course, and shows his love of scratchy wool and hats that cover his eyes and not being able to fully lay his arm down by his sides by showering us with crusty eyeballs and little peeps of (dis)pleasure.

Not much else to report. He's been remarkably healthy lately, and by noting this I've no doubt just induced a case of double pink-eye, strep throat and the chicken pox by next Tuesday. He's growing like crazy. Strangers never fail to comment on his size. I've heard comments lately that he's starting to look more like me. Poor little guy.

Speaking of comments, I just want to say thanks to those of you that visit regularly (or even unregularly) and leave comments. It means a lot to know you're reading and enjoying seeing Wilder grow up. And it encourages me to keep at this even during my busiest weeks. So, yep ... thanks.

Anyway, my pillow beckons. Some recent photos:


Look at me! I'm in LAYERS!


A typical late afternoon scene: watching the dogs play in the back yard.


Wilder hanging upside down, roughhousing with Papa. We do a lot of roughhousing lately. It brings us all great moments of pure bliss.

Friday Night Baby Club

Wilder's friend Lea came over tonight. In this photo, I think he's practicing his "devilishly handsome" look before he swings around to turn on the charm. They're quite cute together. Lea: "Baby!" Wilder: "Baby!" Aww, you two crazy kids.