Dear Berkley: You Don't Have to Wear That

When Berkley was about 6 months Courtney bought him some leg warmers. And no, by leg warmers I do not mean pants. While 99.99954% of the free world just puts on pants when wanting to keep their legs warm, Courtney figured what Berkley really needed were literal leg warmers, as in tights, in ridiculously bright yellow and black stripes.

They were sort of cute, for a ballerina impersonating a bumblebee.

Those lasted one wearing and I had to make an executive decision. Now mind you, Steverino making a "this is how is has to go" statement is not normal in our household. We both embrace the "You're Probably Brighter Than I Am" concept the vast majority of the time and work it out together. In truth, she's a big brighter. But I can work a computer and unclog the toilet, so I stretch the mileage on those talents.

But not on my boy in ballerina tights. This is non-negotiable.

So I said they have to go. And bless Courtney's soul, she just gave a pouty look and we were done with it. No more tights for Mikhail until he can do a triple lutz, or chooses to put them on himself to woo the boy or girl next door, or show up at a Halloween party dressed as his mother's dream.

All that said, Courtney still dresses him pretty cute at times.

Cute = Girly.

Every day around Easter week he wears a shirt with a giant Easter Bunny and his name on it. In fact, now that I type this, I realize he has apparel with his name on it for each holiday. All super...cute. He's routinely in outfits I would wear if we belonged to a ritzy country club and I was going out for a round of golf of a tennis match. He's got multiple pairs of Toms and Crocs.

So son, my message to you is simple: you don't have to wear that. Come see Daddy and we'll dress you in your favorite outfit of all time, rain boots, striped whitey tighties, and a sweet orange pajama top with a picture of a tiger on it. That's not girly at all!

Dear Berkley: You Are a Tricker

Berkley can crush some sleep, always has been able to. This makes mama and daddy so very happy. Each night he goes to bed between 7:30 and 8:30, each morning up 12 hours later.

This was so for 2 years, until now. Now he's more along these lines:

Any Adult: TIME FOR BED
Berk: You said bed? Sweet, let's play.
Any Adult: For real Berkley, let's sbrush teeth, take a bath (pee in there, will you?), drink some milk, read 43678 stories, go pee again, beg for a few minutes to play, read another story, sing some songs, say some prayers, ask for the Lord's prayer to be said 14 times, get very sleepy and nod off.
Berk: Okay, can I play for a few minutes.
Above scenario plays out, with little variation, he's basically asleep, and we leave his room, locking the door on the way out...

WHAT? We lock the baby in the room?

Hell yes.

WHAT IF THE HOUSE CATCHES FIRE?

Really? He routinely runs into the exact same table with his head. You think he can navigate around a blaze? The door being locked is the best place for him if the house is on fire.

Back to the story.

UPON DOOR LOCKING
Berk: Go pee pee?
Any Adult: For real?
Berk: Goooooo peeeeee peeeeeee!
Any Adult: Hunh, let's do it.
BERK ON TOILET, ONE DROP COMES OUT
Any Adult: ok, back to bed.
Berk: Say the Lord's Prayer?

Shit.

Dear Berkley: Sleep Well

We're about 5 days into teaching Berkley to lay down in a big boy bed (no more crib), stay there, and then sleep there all nightttttttttttttttttttttttt. Sorry, I just fell asleep for 30 minutes from being awake for 4.92 days.

Berk moved into a real bed about 3 weeks ago. He was crawling out of his own bed, so it made sense. 3 seconds later I got a concussion mountain biking. So, for a good week I was useless, and Courtney wasn't up to the whole sleep training while as the same time I wasn't up to not sleeping. On the contrary, I slept about 20 hours a day. Thanks Courtney.

After that Courtney picked up a rough cold/cough. I think she's got tuberculosis. She sounds like Doc Holliday on Tombstone. Finally Sunday that started to let up.

So Sunday night, off we go. A typical evening can go like this:
7pm to 8pm: Go through normal relaxing bedtime routine
8pm: go up and put Berkley to bed
8:01pm: sing some songs, read a book, say some prayers
8:05pm: kiss obviously sleepy child, go to leave room
8:05pm + 1 millisecond: crying begins, followed by tantrum
8:15pm: Berkley comes out of room, Courtney puts him back in bed

Oh yeah, she's right there, sitting in a chair outside the room. Want to know what's super fun? Sitting on the other side of a door from your screaming child. Yay.

8:16pm: repeat crying, open door, back to bed routine 13 times.
8:40pm: Berkley goes back to sleep
11:56pm: Berkley wakes up. Nap over mama! Repeat back to bed, scream, door, bed scream, want to commit suicide routine 9 times.

So you get it. Admittedly, it's gotten easier the last couple of nights.

Nap time? Yeah, that's pretty much gone.

Dear Berkley: Nobody Likes a Copycat

Whenever I start to do something now, and I do mean anything. Berkley wants to do it too. Or, just do it instead of me.

Today, I was going to mop the bedroom floor and get rid of the dust bunnies. But oh no, Berkley decided he wanted to "sweep." Awesome, go sweep then. Except Berkley's sweeping is not so effective. I think it's roughly 4% coverage, or lasts until his attention span rolls onto something else. That's about 19 seconds of sweeping.

Berkley, let Daddy sweep when he gets started, it doesn't happen often.

Dear Berkley: You Make Vacation Kinda High Stress

We dont' really have time for summer vacation. I have a few organization-defining projects due this fall, and Courtney is working out of town about 562 weeks this summer. BUT, we found some time, and here's how it went with a 2 year old.

Myrtle Beach.
Did you notice "beach" in the name up there? Well, I should just call it Myrtle Swimming Pool, because that's where I'll be. You can have the beach and every single sweaty, dirty, sticky grain of sand on it. I have no love for this sand. And if it's not the above type of sand, it's soft, fluffy sand between the house and the packed down dirty sand that has warmed to roughly 4000 degrees by 9am. Oh yes, let's walk around on that as long as possible while dragging three armloads of beach crap that will be forgotten the second a giant hole is dug by yours truly. Next year I'm just bringing a full-size shovel.

Berkley was pretty dang good on the beach trip, I have to admit. He slept well, played in the pool in at least 45 second blocks, and in general did not drown. Here's a typical day for him at the beach:
1) Wake up
2) Shit! I'm in a room with other people? Well, let me say their names as many times as humanly possible until they get me out of here.
3) Thanks for getting me up. Now, where is that train the other kid brought?
4) I SAID TRAIN, DAMMIT!
5) Whew, the train. And I'm hungry.
6) Pancakes are the elixir of the gods. I need more. What is this bacon you mention? I need all of it.
7) Time to swim. Yes, I hear you say it's 8am. Get your bathing suit on, slave.
8) Nope. Tricked ya. I am going to open and close the gate to the pool 700 times. You stand in the pool and call my name over and over.
9) Allrighty, let's swim, mofo.
10) Throw me. Again. Again x 100.
11) GATE! Now, x 500.
12) LUNCH, now. I will literally die of hunger if I'm not fed in 14 seconds.
13) Ham? WTF? I like pancakes, and bacon, but I'm starving so this will do.
14) Train please. TRAIN DAMMIT.
15) The TV is on? WTF is this news stuff? YO GABBA or you die.
16) Swim.
17) Got you again, sucka. GATE!
18) Actual swim. I pooped in the pool. Whose your daddy now?
19) Hey, all these adults are laughing a lot. Must be that giant cooler of beer.
20) Empty beer bottle? Yes, that is a toy. I should play with all things that I do not recognize.
21) Why is Mom always saying "No" to the toys I pick out?
22) I'm swimming with you, but I'm thinking... Train.
23) Beach? Hell yeah. Dig me a hole you man slave.
24) What is that? Ocean? I should run into that without an adult.
25) This sand is annoying. I should shove it in my eyes.
26) GATE. Seriously, I have to open and close this here gate. Somebody said if I close it 100 more times I get a train set.
27) FOOD. SNACK. HUNGRY.
28) Oh, everyone is on the porch relaxing after taking a shower? That's sweet. I'd like to go to the ocean now, unless I can play trains.
29) STILL HUNGRY. Whew. Thanks for the dinner. Pizza is my fav.
30) I'm dead tired, but can I play with the train? That wasn't a request, BTW.
31) Read books, sleep.





Camping.
This one was a grand total of one night. But it was pretty good. Berkley has no concept of "our campsite" so he just wandered all over the campground looking at other people's stuff. They were nice about it. The water was too low to swim in the lake by the campsite. I'll remember to check that next time, because camping 100 miles away was the same as camping at my house, except it was 80 degrees in the tent as we tried to sleep. Super fun.

Berkley was very good for this trip too. Even slept in the tent alone while Courtney and I lit a campfire which lasted long enough to roast a grand total of 2 marshmallows before it burned out.

We're going to Knoxville for Labor Day to see old friends. Report to come.

Dear Berkley: You're Pretty Heavy For a Skinny Kid

Anyone who sees Courtney's blog on Berkley knows he's a skinny guy. I say good. Clothes are expensive, and I saw a report not long ago showing that people who are slightly starving live longer. We've got him on the part to happiness: starvation.

But for a skinny kid, he's pretty dang heavy when I load him up in a jog-stroller and try to run a 5k. That was the case this past weekend when we ran a 5k in downtown GSO to benefit the Children Museum.

Of course, I ran to benefit my wallet: so I wouldn't have to buy new pants for my big ole' butt. And I figured pushing Berk would be no big deal. WRONG-O.

He's heavy, and our ridiculously nice and expensive stroller has an equally ridiculous tendency to turn right at all times. Sort of like when you're in the car and it's always drifting one direction.

So Berk: eat, don't eat, whatever. I'm not encouraging you to gain any more weight as long as I'm doing the pushing.

Dear Berkley: Hats Are For Outside

Really, that's all. I just want to remember to educate Berkley to dress like a grown up once he's out of school. That means no hats inside.