Blind Memphis Patrick

He got a harmonica for Christmas. And so begins the career of another blues legend.

A Post for Your Stocking

Here's Walt reading to Patrick.  They are this good about 1/3,567th of the time.

 

Last week, as one of the KK02 room parents, I got to help out with the class Christmas party.  Thanks in part to the entertainment of my fellow room parent, Chris Lareau, a good time was had by all.

Here are the kids playing "freeze dance".  The way they all cut loose at the end cracks me up every time.

 

The party also featured a chocolate fondue fountain.  Yes, you read that right.  Their teacher, Ms. Malland, has things so completely under control that she can turn eighteen 5- and 6-year olds loose with liquid chocolate and marshmallows.  Needless to say, she is incredible.

At Peabody, all the kids learn Russian from day one.  Kindergartners through 5th graders have 30 minutes a day of Russian.  I knew Walt was starting to pick up the language just from what he came home saying, but until I got to sit through one of their lessons (which, because of a scheduling conflict, landed mid-way through the Christmas party), I had no idea just how much they were learning.  In the entire 30 minutes, I think the teacher said about ten words of English, and yet all the kids followed right along and answered all of her questions -- in Russian.  This video isn't great (the lights were out for the overhead projector), but just listen and prepare to be amazed.  Remember, these are kindergartners.

I can't wait to take a family trip to Russia in a few years and use our kids as interpreters.  "Excuse me, kind sir, can you tell my parents where they can get some tasty borscht?"

And, finally, the 2010 Spickler Family Christmas Video.  I know many have seen it already, but we gotta post here on the virtual baby book for posterity.

 

Merry Christmas to all!

Helping Out

Patrick was a big help earlier this week when we were installing new hooks in the lockers in Walt's classroom. (Not really.)

 

Overheard 12/6/10

Walt was having less than good behavior at dinner tonight.  Typical Christmas insanity.  Bouncy and loud. 

Ginger: "Walt, Ms. Malland says you're quiet at school.  Do you have good behavior at school?"

Walt: "Yes." 

G: "Why don't you have good behavior at home but you do at school?" 

W: "Because Ms. Malland has a conduct chart, and she's serious."

He probably shouldn't have said that.

Who Loves Santa?

Hint:  His name does NOT begin with "P".

In Case You Were Wondering . . .

. . . this is why we never post.

Both parents home, backs turned for two minutes, tops.  Clearly he'd been eyeing them. 

Happy Birthday to Me!

Walt and I found two hours yesterday in the middle of soccer games, family lunch and the wedding that brought us to Murray to watch the second half of the Murray State - Tennessee Tech football game.  

Afterward, I and the good people of the Murray State Athletics Department blew his mind . . . 

 

The look on his face may have been the best birthday gift I got all day.

Note: he catches an imaginary pass on the 5-yard line.  That was all him.  Not sure who threw it.

Catch-Up

What have we been doing since September 12, when we last posted?  Oh, nothing much.  Just . . .

 

Learning how to walk (which explains much of the lack of posting since then) . . .

 

Starting to talk (he has since conveniently forgotten how to say "thank you", but does a charming impression of a baby pterodactyl when you don't give him something fast enough) . . .

Playing soccer (the kid definitely has a future in the sport -- he can flop with the best of them) . . .

Entertaining visiting foreign dignitaries (do you know how many Hollands will fit into Tennessee? because Ms. Malland's kindergarten class does) . . .

Helping to plan and execute two major community-wide events (one for Josh, one for me) . . .

Going on our first field trip (can you identify seven different kinds of gourds?  because Ms. Malland's kindergarten class can) . . .

Hanging with our buds (and watching the classic, "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" in the Grishams' backyard) . . .

 

Getting better at reading and walking (though maybe not filmmaking) . . .

Learning new tricks (you should see him pull a quarter out of his ear) . . .

And just generally being cute (one of Patrick's core competencies).

So that about sums it up.  Things are pretty crazy, but also pretty great.  See you next year! 

(Kidding!!  Probably.)

 

 

 

 

One Year - Patrick Style

A few days ago, Walt asked Josh why we had another baby.  

"Well," Josh told him, "we wanted to have another child and wanted you to have a brother or sister."

"But isn't it harder?" Walt asked, in the understatement of the year.  "It's kind of like level two on starwars.com, right?"  

Or level 413, but who's counting?

Despite the fact that we now simultaneously have light saber fights with Darth Vadar, navigate asteroid fields in the Millennium Falcon, rescue the princess from Jabba the Hut, and save the galaxy from the evil empire (all without the benefit of The Force), we wouldn't change a thing.  

Patrick turned one last week, which makes this post shamefully late, I know, but I wanted to be able to give it the time it deserved.  It just seems that with two kids, there is much, much less of that to go around.  So, five days late it is.  Here's Patrick a year ago today . . .

And now . . .

How does this happen?  One day you've got this little soft, sweet-smelling lump of nothing that sleeps twenty hours a day, and the next, he's a loud, sticky bundle of energy who's chasing the big kids around the backyard in his walker.

After reading Walt's one-year post, I see that the two are tracking pretty closely in many ways.  At his one-year check-up, Patrick was 20.2 lbs (which includes his snack-trap, which he refused to give up for the weighing) and 29.5 inches.  So, slightly lighter and longer than his brother at the same age.  Also, both had an ear infection on their birthdays.  ("Happy birthday to you!  Have an antibiotic!")

Patrick is a cruising machine these days, as Walt apparently was at the same age as well.  Though he doesn't seem quite ready to take off on his own, he can cover some ground holding onto walls, furniture and REALLY loud push toys.  (For heaven's sake, why don't they put a volume switch on those things?!)

He does a lot of babbling and occasionally utters noises that seem like actual words . . . "uh-oh" and "bye-bye" he even seems to use in context.  "Dadadadada" and "mamamamama" are directed at anyone or no one in particular, but are sweet to hear nonetheless.  

He does seem to be a bit more of a picky eater than Walt was at the same age.  When presented with most new foods, he wrinkles up his little nose and shakes his head back and forth vigorously.  His favorite foods are bananas, cheese (especially macaroni that is covered by it), buttered toast, and any kind of melon.  We're continuing to supplement this diet with baby food, which he INSISTS on helping to feed himself.  Two spoons are required for any feeding.  And also a bath afterward.

But like his big brother, his best girl is a Lareau girl . . .

. . .  though that doesn't mean he wants to share his Slicky with her!

All in all, he's a sweet, lovable little guy who we wouldn't trade for any other little Wookiee in the galaxy!

(And I just have to post this picture because I think it's kind of hysterical.  These are the birthday birds who invaded Patrick's party at Gram and DeeDaddy's house!)

 

 

Lockers and Backpacks and Tears, Oh My!

OK.  I've finally been to Peabody Elementary and back home without shedding a tear.  Kindergarten Orientation.  Tonight.  Done.  No tears.  What's that you ask?  Me?  Oh, yeah.  This is Josh.  The daddy.  The one who spends the least amount of time with these two hoodlums, but has enough emotional clinginess for the entire family.  I finally made the journey dry eyed.  On the third try.

Walt corrected me earlier today when I asked how his second day was; today was his "third day" of kindergarten.  One preview day last Wednesday.  (Sobs in the car.  Just ask Nana.  She got a call.)  Monday.  A misty-eyed, head-down walk back down Tanglewood.  And this morning.  Ginger finally had enough and took him herself.  No tears.  But I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't sit on the front porch with Patrick in my lap the whole time Ginger was gone and not let him down or even consider that he would ever walk much less disappear around the corner, sprinting toward the schoolhouse.

If you're just catching up with the Boys in the 'Hood, Walt is going to the neighborhood school just down the street from us.  Inspired by our amazing neighborhood, good friends and a dedicated group of educators, we decided to stay local.  Two blocks away local.  We're very excited.  So is Walt (he actually did sprint to school on the first day), and so are many of his friends (Adam was sprinting, too) and their parents (no sprinting parents, but I think I heard Chris Lareau ask if he could get a meal pass).  For more on the whole process that brought us to this point, read Ginger's recent article from our community newspaper, The Lamplighter.

Here are the three amigos on the front steps on the first real day:

 

I hope their geography teacher didn't draw that globe.  Pangea is long gone, last I checked. 

 

They have lockers!  If you stand outside a classroom door and watch your five-year old open a locker for the first time, hang his brand-new, monogrammed backpack in it, and gently shut it and you don't tear up, you probably also enjoy the high comedy of Old Yeller.  It's even worse when he's showing his best buddy how to open HIS locker because it got stuck.  It's almost as if they are self-sufficient and must now depend on each other for things like this . . . . Oh my.

 

Ms. Malland seems particularly well-equipped to handle this: she had tissues for me AND Chris.

 

When I look at this last picture, I don't see myself in it.  But I do see the other person; only I see him at about my height, walking around the corner . . . of that car (probably the same one.  Ha!), getting in and driving off . . . to high school or college or some other place where they only allow parents to come and drop off money.  And at the current pace, I see this happening tomorrow.  And I'm so not ready.

 
In other, less sad news, I did manage to get some video of me putting on Patrick's diaper and pajamas tonight (that's me in the red):

 

Eleven Months

You may be tuning in here expecting a first-day-of-kindergarten post, but I think we all know that Josh is going to do that one more justice, so we'll save that topic for an evening when he's home to write something that will make us all weep.  In the meantime, I'll play a bit of catch-up and do Patrick's eleven month post.  Only four days late -- sorry, Patrick.

 

Geez, it's not that late, P! 

 

There, that's better.

Patrick is in that stage I remember all too well with Walt -- into everything within reach.  The only difference between him and his big brother at this point is that Walt was still pretty much floor-bound -- crawling, but not much else.  Patrick is cruising and climbing (and subsequently tumbling -- hence the bruise on his forehead), which puts a lot more within his reach than Walt's at the same age.  All flat surfaces have been cleared.  Magazines are stuck in strange places on the bookshelf.  The board games which used to reside on the shelf under the coffee table have moved to higher ground.  It's definitely a minimalist decor at Chez Spickler these days.

 

And speaking of his brother, the hero worship continues unabated.  In this picture, he's watching Walt assemble his Nerf gun.  Awesome.  Thanks for that, Putty.

Let's see . . . other developments.  No real words to speak of . . . maybe "uh-oh", though that may be in my imagination.  He does occasionally sign for more, though that's pretty selective, as well.  Again, much like it was with his brother at the same age, it's all "Da-da-da-da-da".  Which seems to have little to do with Josh.  But we're not pushing the talking thing.  Trust me, there's plenty of talking going on around here without adding to the cacophony.  We thought about not teaching him to talk at all, but that seemed like maybe it would come back to haunt us.  Plus, since Walt NEVER SHUTS UP, he's bound to pick up a word or two.

Also, he still has no teeth.  Walt was also slow on the tooth front, but he definitely had at least a couple by his eleven-month mark.  Patrick . . . nothing.  Not that that stops him from chowing down.  The kid can gum an impressive array of foodstuffs.  Honeydew melon is probably is current favorite (if you don't count Fruit Puffs as a food, which I definitely do not -- they're more like a gateway drug to hard junk food).  But he also likes bananas, peaches, cheese, and macaroni and cheese (which is practically its own food group in our house).

So, all in all, he's the same sweet little baby he's been since the Prevacid kicked in at four months.  Just a lot faster.

 

Official eleven-month picture here! 

And Then There Were Twelve

Ah, I remember the summer of 2004.  Our dear friend Beth had fallen in love with a great guy.  And not just any great guy, but a great guy whose family has a lake house.  Score for all of us.  That first trip to the lake house in scenic Cherokee Village, Arkansas, was great -- sleeping in, reading magazines, floating around the lake without a care in the world, and then enjoying a leisurely dinner from Landon's grill at the end of the day.  Ah, those were the days.

But these are the days too.  The lake house (two bedrooms and a sun porch for sleeping, and ONE bathroom) now somehow manages to contain six adults and six children, ranging in age from 10 months to 5 1/2 years (yes, we have both the oldest and the youngest kids of the group).  Lake trips are different now.  I'd be lying if I said they were just as relaxing because they most definitely are not.  Things are a lot louder, earlier, and stickier than they were in 2004.  But every year, when we watch them line up at the front of the boat to see which swimming spot Landon (aka, Captain Windshadow) is going to choose today, we're astounded to see how they've grown since the previous year, and just grateful to be along for the ride.

 

 

 

 
 
 
 

Overheard 7/22/10 (Birthday Edition)

The scene: Walt is in the bath playing with his motley assortment of bath toys.

W: Daddy, come look.

Daddy: Yeah.  That's pretty fancy.  What are you going to do with it?

W: Well, it's Mommy's birthday; maybe we should give it to her.

Daddy: What is she going to do with that?

W: She can put it on the table in the hallway.  As a decoration.

Daddy: Yeah, Buddy.  I don't think she's going to put a plastic beaker filled with water and a tiny rubber shark topped with a chili pepper bottle stopper on the table for decoration.

W: Why not?

Daddy: Well, because girls like to put nice things out for decoration.  That's something that only a boy would use to decorate.

W: Well.  We could put some stickers on it?

It's sitting on the table.  Happy birthday, Ginger.  Your boys love you. 

Ten Months

I guess I'll take a stab at this monthly update thing.  This is just one more area where Patrick will one day realize he got the short end of the stick (if this is a stick that even matters): monthly update posts by Daddy.  Walt most certainly got more than one before he turned ten months old.  Someone can verify that for me if they want, but the point is made.  Here goes . . .

The big news is obviously the crawling.  Or the Stanky Legg, as I like to call it.  Ginger has successfully shielded you all from my description, but . . . well . . . she's not paying attention right now, is she?  [EDITOR'S NOTE:  Yes, I am, but carry on.]  As we've noted, Patrick has a distinctive, stiff-legged crawl.  Well, somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, I recall a dance move coined by some rap group that Patrick must have copied when he decided to crawl for the first time.  If you get curious, you can certainly check it out for yourself, but we are not in the business of linking to music videos of Dallas-area, one-hit-wonder rap groups, now, are we?  Instead, here's Patrick's version:

The mobility has, of course, changed everything.  There was a flurry of P-proofing.  Outlet inserts, a baby gate, closed doors, etc.  But he decided to go ahead and start pulling up at the same time, too, so the "No, Patrick's" have also started in earnest.  Television: "No, Patrick."  Bathtub: "No, Patrick."  DVD player: "No, Patrick."   Evie's food and water: "No, Patrick."  And on and on.  Sometimes he stops.  Sometimes he doesn't.  But he definitely knows.  Sometimes he even bee lines it straight to the forbidden object, stops, pivots on his rump like babies do and looks back at you to wait for the "No."  Then, he usually does it anyway.  Amazing how fast they pick up the defiance, isn't it?  I remember being amazed with Walt, and I'm amazed with Patrick.

 

His hit ratio for picking up and eating Cheerios is getting marginally better, but a feeding session still results in a large nest of cereal in the high chair and a smorgasbord for Evie.  He's also thrilled at the sight of Cheerios that bounce and take flight when he pounds on the trays on his Bumbo and high chair.  He's extended that blast radius to about four feet, which can be cause for an oat surprise in your spaghetti if you're not watching.

As Ginger mentioned in an earlier post, he loves to poke and grab faces, hair, puppies, pretty much anything fleshy and living.  But my personal favorite move is when he sticks his fat, little index finger straight up in the air like its a switchblade and rotates it around while inspecting it slowly.  Then he slowly changes his gaze from his finger to your face, gets an evil little grin on his face and pokes right at your eyeball.  It sounds like comedy that he is way too young to execute (and I'm sure I'm giving it a little fatherly license), but that's exactly how I see it.  Until I have a little finger in my eye that is.  It's classic Patrick.

In the brother worship department, it's going to be bad, I'm afraid.  Thanks to Walt's constant adoration, Patrick is, in turn, constantly watching Walt.  And he giggles at him and follows him around all the time.  Trouble is brewing.

 

[EDITOR'S NOTE:  There used to be a short section here on Patrick's sleep habits.  But what is the first rule of babies and sleeping?  Everybody say it with me . . . we don't blog about babies and sleeping!  Sorry, Daddy.]

His temperament is almost always pleasant.  If he's irritable, it's usually one of three things: hunger, exhaustion or Walt (see "constant adoration" above).  

 

He smiles, laughs and bounces like a baby should.  But the thing is, the second time around, I know he won't be a baby for much longer at all.  As I reviewed Walt's ten month post in preparation for writing this one, I was painfully reminded of how quickly that crawl changes to a toddle to a walk to a run to a climb to a floaty-less dive into the deep end.  Oh dear.

 

But we're enjoying it while we can.  There will never be anything like that shrill little cackle he lets out when I grab his pacifier and hold it in my teeth.  And the way he tries to head butt me when I make him laugh while holding him.  He's a very sweet little baby.  

 Someone please remind me of this when he graduates high school next week.  Ugh.

Overheard 7/12/10

Walt (while tossing a fabric disc in the den):  Daddy?

Daddy:  Yeah, buddy.

Walt:  How many times have you caught a frisbee; I've caught one eleven times.

Daddy:  You mean in my life?

Walt:  Yeah.  How many times?  I've caught one eleven times.

Daddy:  Oh.  I don't know.  Lots and lots.  I've caught a lot of frisbees.

Walt:  How did you get so good at frisbee?

Daddy:  It's called college.

Patrick at Jerry's

Does Patrick like Jerry's Sno Cones?  Oh, yes he does.

And, no, I would never have DREAMED of giving a not-quite-ten-month-old Walt bites of my sno cone.  I guess being the second child does come with some perks.

We Are Family!

Our trip to Nashville this weekend gave us the opportunity to have a photo shoot with Cousin Macy.  Given that one of the cousins is now crawling, it was challenging, to say the least.  But we got a few good ones!

 

 


 

Hitch in His Giddyup

Patrick's getting around better, but he's definitely got his own unique style.  Let's just hope that it someday translates to a sound that will get his song on an Apple commercial.

And speaking of their own unique styles . . . Happy Father's Day to all the wonderful dads -- our own and others -- in our lives.  We love you all!

Posted

We had a bird in our attic last week. So, Walt did what he always does when he needs to advise some inferior creature of the rules. He made a sign. He wanted to put it on the roof.

(Note the international symbol for "No Birbs Allowed" in case there are any illiterate birds in the area.)

It Ain't Pretty . . .

. . . but I think we'll call it crawling!

Nine Months

I will go ahead and say it before either of the grandmothers do -- yes, it looks like he has red hair in this picture, but I PROMISE it doesn't in person!  Not that I wouldn't love that (since I really only married Josh in hopes of having red-headed kids), but it just doesn't look red in person.  Sigh.

 

He wanted me to take this one as a study for his presidential portrait.  I didn't have the heart to tell him that it's not really his best side.
 

Patrick turned nine months old this week and is just a cute, fat, sweet little thing.  Cuddling with him would be lots of fun if he weren't constantly trying to gouge a hole in your face with his little index finger.  He definitely has poking issues.  But still, very sweet.

 

Also, he has very blue eyes.  But so did Walt as this age, and not so much now, so we're just enjoying them while they last. 

P's biggest development of the month has been on the eating front.  In addition to sucking down 6-8 containers of baby food a day, he's also broadened his horizons into finger foods.  Avocado, banana, cantaloupe, watermelon, green beans . . . oh, and fruit puffs.  I now buy fruit puffs by the case (not really, but only because they don't sell them that way).  I'm pretty sure that fruit puffs are to babies what Flamin' Hot Cheetos are to 12-year olds.  I don't know what the great appeal is (I've tried them and was underwhelmed to say the least), but the kid lights up like a Christmas tree when he sees the canister.  And he's improved his hit ratio (the number that actually make it to his mouth as opposed to ending up stuck to his slobbery cheek) significantly in recent weeks.  That pincer grasp really comes in handy sometimes.

 

You can check out P's official 9-month photo and compare it to his brother's.  (Yes, I'm apparently still amused by the dressing them alike thing.)  I think they continue to favor each other, but less so as Patrick's getting older.  And maybe the memory is just getting hazy, but neither Josh or I remember Walt being quite so . . . um, let's say, "spirited" as a baby.  Walt was a kid that you could leave parked on his changing table while you went to the closet for more diapers.  Or out to catch a movie.  Just really pretty chill.  The other day I took two steps to the crib to grab something and turned around to see Patrick rolling off the edge of said changing table.  I caught him about halfway down.  Yeah, we don't do that anymore.  It will be interesting (or more likely terrifying) to see if that plays out in his personality down the road.  Ritalin, here we come.

 

Now, Mommy . . .