The Keys of Parenting!!

   Guys, Wyatt is so cute!! Lately he's been hiding things and it's adorable and in no way disruptive. For example, I wasn't able to find my wallet for like two weeks. It turns out it was behind the shredder. Under a desk. Against a wall. Case solved!

This picture pretty much sums up our interactions lately. Thanks to Kaela Mey Photography.

   One day our remote was dead. I set it on the couch, figuring I'd change out the batteries once I found the strength to get up and walk over to the closet that might have the batteries. The next day, I noticed the remote wasn't in the living room at all. I asked Wyatt where the remote was. He said "I put it away because it doesn't work." I ask where he put it. He does something he does all the time: Put a finger on his chin, look off into the distance, and say "Hmmm, let me think," like he's young Sherlock Holmes or something. Don't get me wrong, he's smart enough to be Sherlock, just like his dad, but this is just a role he likes to play. He says, a few moments later "Oh! I know! It's under the couch!" He goes under the couch and grabs the remote, where it was safely stored because it was broken. "Here you go! I put it under the couch."

   He's the best.

   Well, it's been about 4 weeks, and I have no idea where my keys are. Like, none. I have torn the house to shreds, checked every drawer, box, cabinet, corner, and under every bed. I know they are in the house somewhere. Remember how bad Wyatt is at hide and seek? He's really good at Hide The Keys. Almost every day, I ask Wyatt if he knows where my keys are.
 
   Yesterday, when I inquired as to the location of my keys, he exclaims "I know!!" (I get excited). "Let me check my map!" (I groan). He grabs my hand and excitedly runs to the map of Africa in his room. Well, South Africa. Not the country, just, like, a map of not-all-of-Africa. It's the weirdest map. We got it for super cheap at an Oregon State University warehouse sale, when Cara was on a "let's decorate our house with maps of very specific geographical regions that we've never been to" kick. He runs to the map, points to a few places, and says "Here it is!" (Mopepi, Botswana). "Let's go there dad!" We then run to the Mopepi part of the house. It's not there.

This map of Central/Southern Africa hangs above Wyatt's bed. Crookedly, apparently. We're preparing him for that big geography test on the region that he'll take some day, hopefully.

    He says "Oh I need my finder machine." He runs to his DUPLOs and builds a finder machine. It is a bunch of bricks with a window on top, I think supposed to be like a magnifying glass. He says "This will help us find it! (Lincoln is totally enthralled and following us everywhere). "Finding machine says letter "e," Gad!" (He still calls me "Gad" and this will last forever).

Finder Machine 3.0

   If you're struggling to keep up, he built a finder machine that spits out letters. He built a weejee board. Because that's how you spell that.

   He asks "What's "e" start with?!" This is how he asks "What words start with the letter "e?"" I do a good job of parenting and say "KEYS." "Kuh-EEEEEEES." He says "Oh we need Yittle Red Car!" Little Red Car is his favorite car this hour. He grabs Little Red Car. It may or may not be a blue car. Little Red Car drives along the couch and does a few flips. I ask him where my keys are. He says "Wait dad, Yittle Red Car is still doing tricks."

   When the pretty-awesome tricks are done, I ask where my keys are. He decides we need help from "The Pups." The pups are his imaginary puppies that run everything in this household. I have to open the trunk when we hop in the car so they have space. Sometimes, one of them sits on my lap when we drive. Often, they need to be fed or rescued or are tired or are not tired or do something funny.
   The pups are no help. Keys are not found. Spare Keys are starting to become Only Keys.

Here's a picture of Lincoln in his Halloween costume. He was a dragon, Wyatt was a knight. Who didn't want to wear armor or have a shield or a helmet. Wyatt was a kid with a sword. Who had his mom hold the sword. Wyatt was a kid who got candy.

Although, from this angle, it sort of looks like Sarah from the purple dinosaur show. That was her name, right, Sarah? No I will not google this,

   The other day, Cara jokes and says "I am going to change the locks on the house while you are at work." I said "Actually, all you have to do is just lock the doors right now. I don't have any keys. You could even come home, walk past me on the porch, unlock the door, go inside, and lock the door. No need to waste our money on new locks." She considered this at length.

My mood: So very irritated (while waiting for Cara to come home and let me in)
Wyatt's mood: Excited about everything
Lincoln: Thinking hard about taking a step.
Cara's mood: Thinking hard about upgrading at husband.

Pretty Hungry!!

Lincoln was crying before this picture was taken, and Wy never knows what to do with that.
I knew: Stop everything, take a picture.

   There are things that people never tell you about parenting. Granted, these are precious, precious few things, because everyone and their butler has opinions to share with you. And they will share them with you, but seriously, some things you don't think about until it's too late.

   Here's a big one: Sharing your food with the children. Cara and I are horrible about this. There have been times we've taken the kids to a restaurant (still getting used to that term, "the kids." Like how my students have a tough time getting used to calling me "Overlord Gilchrist"), ordered food for just her and I, with the intention of sharing some with Wyatt. Then, seven minutes after the food has shown up, it's gone, and we realize that Wyatt hasn't even sniffed at a french fry.

   I hate sharing my food with Wyatt. I also hate making him food and not eating it myself. I loathe the idea of food existing and it not being for me. Are you eating right now?! STOP IT!! Put the food down and I will come over and eat it for you. No judgements.

   You have to understand. Growing up in the house I did, you had to eat your food fast and you had to claim it in a hurry. Not because there were a lot of kids, mind you. Not even because there wasn't enough food. It's because I wanted all of it and I would eat it all so my siblings and parents really had to get aggressive. Sometimes they'd even call me to dinner late so they could get a head start. Joke's on them, though, because whenever they did this I'd just go to the kitchen at night and eat most of the noodles dry so they wouldn't have any spaghetti the next day.

   Today, I made a meal that Wyatt and I were going to share. Screw Cara. He was outside playing with the boys, so I figured I'd eat my portion and then give him the rest. You have no idea how much self control it took for me to not eat the entire thing. Maybe you do have some idea, because you are thinking "Holy Crap, Grant, this isn't a big deal. You just don't eat some food. Stop acting like what you are talking about is important," to which I reply "Please don't say the 'crap' word around me."

You're thinking: "Awwww, that's so cute! Wyatt is giving Link a kiss!" No! He's just really hungry because there's never leftovers for him. I knew just what to do, though: Grab a snack and then take a picture. A very blurry picture.

   I saved him a Wyatt-sized portion. When he came back inside, it took some convincing, but he started to eat it. He ate freely and gladly. I started to panic. This meal was good. What if he wanted all of it?! What if Cara saw that I made some food and she wanted some?! I convinced Wyatt he'd had enough. He said "No dad, Wy still hungry!" Ugh, fine. Eat more.

   Parenting is hard.

   I only ended up with like two additional bites. Here I am, a full-grown man. A stinkin' lion, master of his pride, and I am down to counting bites and weighing portions with the little lion cubs. This is not how the jungle intends it. Or the savannah. Why on earth are lions called "the king of the jungle?!" That's clearly malaria. 

   There are other things that are hard, too. Letting your kid play your video games, which will totally ruin your stats. Watching the little brat build a Lego toy when yours would be so much cooler, or when he wants you to read him a book and all you want to do is not read him a book.

Wyatt blowing bubbles from the top of his car. Yes, I know: My pictures never match the theme of my posts. Get over it.

   See, this is the truth. Other mommy blogs out there might tell you that parenting is hard because you LOVE SO MUCH or because you are just SO EXHAUSTED FROM GIVING YOUR KID THE WHOLE WORLD but it's like "come on chill out and ease off the caps, lady." Parenting is hard because being awesome is hard, and adding a kid to that mix just makes it that much harder for me to be constantly awesome.

Wyatt's mood: skinned knees all the time
Lincoln's mood: aloof
My moodSOHUNGRY
Cara's mood: watching Hunger Games
Listening to: Third Eye Blind

Wyatt's Best Hero!!

We had our friend Betsey Jaskilka over at Framed Living take some photos of us. Here are Lincoln, Wyatt, Cara, Grant, and Grants' Chins.

   Guys, I am just in a really good place right now. It's a Tuesday night, and the kids and the wife are in Portland with Cara's family, planning a fun zoo day tomorrow. This isn't why I am in a good place, but it certainly helps. I, of course, am choosing to spend it with you, talking incessantly about myself. This is generally my move at parties, and everyone seems to love it and want to talk about nothing else, so we will just keep that trend moving forward.

   I teach math to high-school kids. This means that I can do things that they can't and it makes them think I am a genius. It helps that I teach a lot of freshmen, who know next to nothing, so whenever I factor or complete the square, their jaws drop. I get to spend most of my days telling people that I am smarter than them and that they need to listen to me, and they do!!

   I also have a three year old son who thinks I am the greatest thing to happen to humanity. I am starting to agree. One of Wyatt's most common phrases is "You my best hero, Dad!!" HIS BEST HERO, GUYS. There are other heroes out there, but I am by far the best. And if I help him beat a level of Mario - I mean, no, he's not playing Nintendo at our house, just reading and drawing and abunchofsticks in the back yard and nature and none of those electronicsohmygoshstupjudging me. Anyways, if I help him beat a level of Sticks, he is unbelievably impressed. He thinks I can fix anything, if "anything" means a light bulb and definitely not my car. (We have "Mom's car," "Dad's truck," and "Broke car.") And the other day, when I made a turn into a parking lot, he exclaimed "Nice turn, Dad!!" Seriously.

Look at these two little guys. Also, we have NO IDEA whose hands those are, and it's freaking us out. 

   So between the students that are in awe of me, my son who idolizes me, and my wife who hangs on my every word, action, and thought, I am pretty much the king of my little hill. Which is why I don't go to parties or interact with adults. For one, it breaks the illusion, and also I don't seem to get invited to parties anymore.

   I am untouchable. I coach kids in ultimate frisbee, a sport no one ever plays, so no one out there is better than me. I was once the a top-20 ranked player at Tetris on Facebook. Top 20, guys. Sure, the game had only been out for 4 hours, and within two days I wasn't in the top 10,000, but I don't think you can claim top-20 at anything, can you? I mean, I even ride my bike to work for crying out loud, so I can win any argument about global warming. But that's not why I bike to work. I bike to work because I saw my belly in the mirror one morning and thought "Oh gosh it's happening" and hopped on my bike, hoping that one ride would cancel out two whole packages of E.L.Fudge cookies that I consumed in one night. Hour. It was one hour.

   I mean, they say that fat weighs more than muscle, which is probably why I've gained a little weight in the last year or so. Also YESIKNOWFATWEIGHSLESSTHANMUSCLE why is it so important for you to always correct me on these things?

   With a free night and the world at my fingertips, a man-about-town like myself wants nothing more than to do some laundry, watch Zoolander for a record ninety-third time, write a quick note to his dozens and dozens of blog followers, and drink some tea. Well, dozen. I mean, hi mom. I'm great.

   I am not even 30, so clearly, "man in his prime" looks a lot like me.

My mood: just being honest and accurate.
Wyatt, mom, and Lincoln's moods: I have no idea but I can safely assume they are missing me terribly.
Listening to: all kinds of music with words we don't want Wyatt or mom to hear.

Y'all Are Dropping The Ball!!

     With this being the time of Thanksgiving, I have a simple question to ask of those that know me: What the heck?!

     I don't know if there is any any polite or socially acceptable way to discuss this, but, how come no one has thrown me a second baby shower? I mean, that is a thing, right? Y'all gave us presents when Wyatt was coming, so, what, is this new one not good enough for you?

This is Wyatt's rendition of a Christmas Tree. You can even see it has presents at the base. It is his first true piece of art, and, sadly, is a little better than anything I have ever made. Clearly, he has a baby-shower on his mind.

     Sure, yeah, Cara had a bunch of girls throw her a shower, but she got things like gift cards and diapers and clothes for New Wyatt (still the working name of the baby). When do I get stuff? This new baby needs a dad that has Smash Bros! Do you really expect me to raise a child without the support of the community?! Or without night vision goggles?

     Now, I think I've been pretty patient up to this point, but the baby is due to come any minute now. The doctor recently described Cara as "Holy crap!" and this was at least three weeks before the due date. So when little Bruce Wayne shows up (the new working name of the baby!), I sure hope he's coming into a world where his dad has every season of Animaniacs on DVD.

Wyatt and Lil' Sebastian

     Please don't think I am trying to be selfish here, because, as always, I only want what's best for my growing family. It just seems like none of you have remembered the age old tradition of the second-baby-shower-for-dad that our culture has held dear for ages. You know, we play those classic everybody-hates-them shower games like "Who can eat the most ribs" or "Halo," tell stories about how great I am, and then open presents while the second round of food is being delivered (Please, no pizza, we aren't in college).

     I get it. You just thought that other person was going to be in charge of setting it up, haven't you. I've been there. It's like when I thought Justin Timberlake wanted my phone number so we could be friends, but then I realized he was talking to that girl directly in front of him and he didn't even know I was there. I still gave it to him. You're embarrassed because you think it's too late to throw me a party. It's not!! And it's okay if the party takes place during the baby's birth, even, because it is more important that this little guy know that his dad loves him so much he had to miss the big event to acquire some necessities like a cute little onesie for the baby or a cute little onesie for the daddy. It's worth it.

While Cara was taking this picture, I put my hands on my head.
Wyatt did the same, and I think we have a new tradition.

     So go ahead, take the initiative, throw me a party. It's not too late. Let's not make this a missed opportunity that we'll all regret but most of all you will regret.

They guy who took this picture started getting very, very uncomfortable.

It... it was me,.. I took the picture.

My mood: depressed without any new toys.
Wyatt's mood: depressed without dad having any new toys.
Cara's feeling: unable to sleep and always sore and totally uncomfortable but really excited to make me breakfast.
Listening to: "5000 Candles In The Wind (Bye Bye Lil' Sebastian)"

Poop It Out, Little Man!!

This little guy loves leaves but bashes bathrooms. I am a good writer.

   Guys, here's the deal: Wyatt hates pooping. It is easily his least favorite thing about being a person. He hates it so much he'll postpone it as long has he can. I've talked about this a little, but let's really delve deep into the issues here.

   One of the best things about having a little kid is how freely and often you get to talk about these sorts of things. When you are in middle school or college and want to make fart jokes, there best not be an adult or mom around. But now?! Talking about a toddler?! It's all fair game again!!

This is the face Wyatt makes when we tell him he'll be happy if he just poops.
I love that I get to write the word "poop" so much.

   When Wyatt was a little baby, he had a couple of big hard poops. I had to help them out, actually, pinching through the diaper. This taught him that pooping is scary and painful and he has avoided it as much as he can. He holds it in. His record is 13 days. I am not kidding. It made local news as "Wyatt Watch 2014" and they had one of those graphic calendars that started counting on day 9. He spends days in constant motion, even just rocking side-to-side, because he knows once he stops moving he'll be in pain and need to poop. He doesn't like to poop.

   Which is crazy, right? If I were to ask you (which I would), I'd bet you'd list pooping as one of the best parts of your day, if you really stopped to think about it. Which you now are. Thinking about it. Gross. And little boys potty-train so easy. Wyatt LOVES going #1 outside. He rightly knows that is one of the best things about being a guy. We'll be 5 feet from the bathroom, he'll have to go pee, and scream "Wy go pee!" and run outside. One time at Costco he had to go, so we just dropped his shorts by some Arborvitae bushes that were for sale and let him go. Then we bought some other ones for our fence. Pee is no problems. Poo is the problem. (My lawyers are telling me that I should put in a disclaimer: That Costco story is not true. But one day, it will be.)

   We've given him laxatives and lots of juice, we've fed him the right foods and kept him moving. Nothing. So please don't call me with your advice for how to get a kid to poop. Call Cara. She loves that stuff.

Wyatt sleeping while watching George on the Kindle. He gets to play on Dad's iPad when he ... you know ... does that thing. When he doesn't he has to play on a Kindle like a sucker.

   Well, go back to September. Wyatt got a star-balloon for his birthday. It was a balloon in the shape of a star. He loved it and slept with it and took it everywhere and wouldn't let us help him hold it on walks. One day he and I were walking and it got caught on a light-pole and pulled out of his grasp. He yelled, I lunged for it, then scaled the light pole to the top, then jumped from the top to grab it. It was just beyond my reach. I fell softly to the ground with only a bird in my hand to show for my efforts. None of this is true except that he lost his balloon to a light-pole.

   He cried for days. And weeks later, he'd ask me to go driving around, looking for his star balloon. I mean, this was his first real loss, yknow?! Well, that and he's lost every time we've ever raced. But when he'd ask for a star-balloon, he knew in the back of his mind he could get a new one if he'd just go poop in the potty. (The whole "in the potty" part is quite critical, really.)

   I'd say "Wy, do you know how you can get a new star balloon?" He'd stop crying and pause, then sigh and say "Yeah, Wy poop in potty. Wy no want star balloon." His love of the balloon was outweighed by his fear of the poop. This was in the midst of his 13-day marathon.

   When he finally went, all tired and shaking and red and crying and scared, he sat on the potty traumatized. Then he stopped, got brief glimmer of hope in his eye, and weakly said "Star balloon?!"

   We've made a lot of progress since then. Now he goes about once every three or four days, no longer holds it in to the point he gets streaks in his underwear (wish he'd teach me this trick), and doesn't fight it and cry when the dirty deed is starting. We have hope that we can get this thing nailed down before New Wyatt comes in a month. That's the baby's name, we think. New Wyatt.

Wyatt and mom, both happy to have pooped. I mean... wait, what?

Wyatt's mood: bit of an earache *sadface*
My mood: can't wait for a 4-day weekend.
Cara's mood: "I was walking today and I thought the baby was just going to fall out."
Listening to: More Than Just A Dream like a million times.

Big Boy Backfire!!

   When Wyatt turned three a couple weeks ago, he had a proclamation to make: He had entered the world of the big boys.

   "Wy three, Wy not two-half. Wy not little boy, Wy big boy." It was easily the longest story he had ever told with words. (You should have seen the story he told with his hands when his star balloon floated away. Tragic.) It was the closest thing he's come to a full sentence since that time he said "Why doesn't dad pay any attention to me when he's playing Nintendo, mom? It hurts my feelings." (Kidding!! He never said any of that stuff!! It was more like whine whine fuss fuss "dad pay me pease?" So there's no scarring of any sort going on in this home!)

   Well, I've been holding the "big boy" card over his head for a long time now. You see, his favorite people in the world are a pirate named Jake, a certain fire-truck driver named John (who he just calls "J" now, because they are on a nick-name level of friendship), and the four boys who live across the street. These boys are aged 5 - 13 or something, and I've talked about them before, so stop making me repeat myself over and over.

   Wyatt wants to play with them all the time, but when they are playing a real game of basketball or soccer or "throw the littlest one in a trash can," I tell him. "No, Wy, that's for big boys."

   Big boys. All he wants to be in the world is a big boy. So when he turned three, he was ready.

Big boys sleep with the sharks.

   But do you know what else big boys do? Poop in the potty. Eat their whole dinner. Go to bed without fussing. Grade daddy's papers. Pick up their toys. Make dinner. The list goes on and on.

   This worked for a while. Sure, he never once pooped in the potty for this reason, and he has no idea how to grade anything, let me tell you, but he went to bed well and put on his clothes and ate all his food and even made a decent roast.

   But now?! Oh no. The magic is gone. I asked him to take a bath, like a big boy, and he said "Wy not big boy, Wy little boy." It was horrible, Then, later we were at a two-year-old's birthday party, and everyone kept saying how the little punk was a Big Boy now, and Wyatt was kind of in shock. His eyes were all like "Wait, what, THAT'S a big boy? I was a big boy when I was two?! You've been lying to me this whole time. I still like you better than mommy, but this hurts." Shut up, eyes!!

   I had to do something. So you can imagine how awkward it was when I screamed "No! Jason is not a big boy! He's only two!! How can a two year old be a big boy!?" Jason wasn't really getting it, so I had to get down on his level and say into his face YOU. ARE. NOT. A. BIG. BOY. Then I turned and winked at Wyatt, grabbed some pizza, and left.

   Saved the day there.

Big boys take artsy photos. Wyatt grabbed his baby cow, put it on the couch, grabbed mom's phone, logged in with the password, opened up the camera app, took this picture. Big boy stuff. Cara still can't manage to get her thumb out of her iPhone pictures.

   Wyatt gets that the definition of "big boy" is very fluid. He's starting to use it to his advantage. He's very smart, which is a direct result of me sleeping with my head really close to his on most nights. It's going to be a problem, how smart he is. Because, if you haven't noticed, he's also really cute. So he gets pretty much whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. And he's also kind of spoiled by absolutely everyone who comes in contact with him. And he's just the best little thing in the whole world, so I guess there's no way this could turn bad.

See!! I wasn't kidding!!

   What do I tell him next year? That he's a super big boy? That he's a huge boy?! How many superlatives can I tack on to the front of the word "boy" to keep him maturing and growing as a person over the next 15 years?! This is going to be hard. Crazy, enormously, gargantuanly, insanely, immensely hard. Okay, maybe not that hard.

My mood: hoping I didn't ruin a pretty good friendship with Jason's parents. Or Jason.
Wyatt's mood: not wanting to poop like a big boy
Cara's feeling: bigger and pregnanter.
Listening to: Future Islands

New Skills!!

   Wyatt has been doing all kinds of fun new things lately. He still loves his walks and his cars and playing at the park and renaming all my files on the computer to "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasd", that hasn't changed, but this stuff is going on too:

   He's doing that fake-reading thing. Nick Miller once said "I'm not convinced I know how to read. I've just memorized a lot of words," and that's where we find our hero in this adorable little video:

   Ohmygosh that's adorable. Probably the cutest thing you've seen in days, right? Well, he also went to the dentist for the first time!! Since I am a great dad I don't miss important firsts like this, so I can tell you all about it.

Hanging out. Like a boss. You know how they say you are never more than eight feet from a spider? First: Gross. Second: Wyatt's never more than two feet from a car.

   We walked into the dentist's office at 6:00am and went up to the desk and said "Here we are!" and the dentist behind the desk was like "whoa okay great let's get right to it!" and Wyatt sat down in the chair and the dentist checked his ears and took his heartbeat and then brushed his teeth and then brushed Wyatt's teeth and gave him a shot of fluoride in the shoulder and wyatt didn't even cry! and then the dentist put on his dinosaur costume and made the "rawrr!" sound and Wyatt just loved that. Soon another dentist came in and was all "these are the best teeth I have ever seen on a kid." and I said "Well we brush them every week!" which probably isn't true and then they gave us our little ice-pick-for-your-teeth like they give everyone and OKAY FINE YOU CAUGHT ME I WASN'T THERE. YOU HAPPY!? I MISSED WYATT'S FIRST DENTIST APPOINTMENT BECAUSE I WAS TOO BUSY AT MY JOB WORKING FOR THE MAN. IT LOOKS LIKE I WILL NOT WIN "FATHER OF THE YEAR THIS YEAR" AND NOW I'LL NEVER HAVE A STORY TO SHARE ABOUT WY'S FIRST DENTIST TRIP. WHEN ALL THE OTHER DAD'S ARE LIKE "OH LITTLE AEDEN WAS SO BRAVE" OR WHATEVER I'LL JUST HAVE TO TRY AND MAKE SOMETHING UP AND WE CAN ALREADY SEE I AM NOT GOOD AT THAT AND I'LL PROBABLY JUST START YELLING LIKE I AM RIGHT NOW.

   So, yeah, Cara took him to the dentist. And Cara is the one he reads with. And Cara feeds him and does art projects with him. Great, Cara, we get it. You'll probably get a nomination for "Mother of the Month This Month" or something and we are all impressed. The worst part is, while she is collecting trophies, I still can't even get nominated for a "Best Mommy Blogger" award that I am sure is a real thing. They keep telling me I "don't have the right equipment to be a mommy blogger," and I'm like "what do I need an iPhone 4 or something?" Then they say "Grantina isn't even a real name - much less a girl's name - please leave us alone!"

   What else... what else. Oh, he loves to look for things he can't find, and walk around in circles saying "Oh no we went in a circle!!" Watch this boring video:

   There's one other skill that Wyatt has learned. For some unknown reason, Cara taught Wyatt to scream all his favorite noises in my face to wake me from my peaceful sleeps. It's the worst game ever, and yet it probably only endears her even more to the anti-dad voters on the board of Mom Of The Month This Month. Look:

 
   So there you go. That's my life, now. Getting screamed at and stepped on whenever I try to sleep at the wrong time, or in the wrong place. Now you know why I sleep during church. Or when I am driving. Or at work.

My mood: underappreciated and overworked!!
Wy's mood: don't let dad sleep!!
Cara's feeling: sore and cranky
Listening to: Red Hot Chili Peppers

Big Announcement!!

   Yeah okay let's get this over with we're having another baby.

   I thought about mustering up some excitement and throwing down lots of my trademark double exclamation points!! and trying to build up some suspense or something, but that wasn't going to work. Let's face it: This new one isn't going to be our first one, and that means you aren't going to be as excited.
   My parents already have their first grandkid. My brother and sister already became an aunt and an uncle for the first time. Wyatt's cousins already have cousins. Now it's just more of the same old same old.

   But!! We can still make this exciting!! I'm talking about photos and updates and pinterest and fruit and all kinds of good things!! Here's what I mean.

   Spend half an hour on Pinterest (which my wife does like 6 times a day), and you'll see that pregnancy announcements and gender announcements are A HUGE DEAL. You have to let the world know how cute and artsy you are and how happy you are to be having a baby and also that you are going to be the best parents evar!! So, we've got that covered:

   These are 6 images that appeared on the first page of searching "Pregnancy Announcement" on Pinterest. Let's see what we've got:

Can't spell. Is that ring both an "o" and an "a"? Just trying way too hard here.

Whoa! I don't want to see people making out unless it's me and a steak. Also, walking around on those shoes must've been stressful.

Um, hmmm. Well, so, I guess anyone who can recognize those feet knows who this girl is and that she's pregnant. Angela?

Ah yes, the chalkboard with arrows and colors. Classic.

So, wait, boy + girl + tree = 3? I don't get the math on this one. Maybe it's boy tree girl plus sign three?

And this one!! Okay, actually that's really funny. You guys win.

   As you can see, there's a lot of pressure to pull this thing off right. People need to get excited for you and also know how wonderful you are, all at once. A while back, Cara and Wy and I were bored and decided we'd get a head start on this whole "baby announcement picture" thing. These were the results:

This is the creative process at work.

We realized people would take this the wrong way. WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!

True story: We had a friend take these photos. The friend is actually a photographer. The friend didn't want us to use his name because he didn't want anything to do with these things. Thanks, Jake!

We figured we'd make a few with some random dates, just hoping to get the due date right. Notice we didn't put down any years or anything.

What fun we were having.

Our try at the whole mathy thing. Because there'd be four of us. I guess I forgot to add a tree in there somewhere. During this photo-shoot, someone actually walked by and said "What does that even mean? Are you having a baby or something." I politely replied with "MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS AND DON'T LET THAT DOG POOP ON MY LAWN!" (It wasn't my lawn.) (She didn't have a dog.)

It's not... you know, Cara ...  the baby's not going to be in my belly. Why are you doing this?! You know I've had body image issues ever since we were pregnant the first time around. It changes you.

What is with this belly obsession!?

Do you get it!? Cara drinks water, dad drinks whatever's in that bottle and we're not telling but it's probably just used for cooking anyways, and Wyatt LOVES milk.

Here, we gave Wyatt a bag of chips and said "spell out "I'ma big brother!" or something" and then came back a few hours later.

   So there you have it. The secret's out: Not only are we pregnant, but we aren't photogenic, clever or going to be featured on any pinterest boards.

   Now, I'm sure you have a ton of questions, so let me answer them for you.

   How did this happen?!

   That is not a question I am going to answer. This is a family blog. Well, it's a blog about a family. No, it's really a blog about a dad who needs attention. 

   Are you going to change the name of the blog?!

   To what? "My Kids Is Special!!?" That doesn't even make any sense. You should be embarassed for even suggesting that.

   You should be embarrassed that you can't spell "embarrassed" right. Those aren't my questions, Grant. I have questions like "When will-

   - "When will I get a new little plushy batman drawing for the new kid?" Great question. I probably need to update Wyatt's anyways to reflect his age and sensibilities. We don't know if the new kid is a boy or a girl yet, so the plushy image could be Link or Spider-Man if he's a boy, and Zelda or Samus if he's a girl.

   You are awful at this. At least you answered the question about the gender. When is the soon-to-be-forever-screwed-up-by-this-blog kid coming?

   The "doctor's" tell us it's coming in December, but I think I know my own body and have a good feeling about late August.

   Ugh. Are you going to find out the gender in advance?

   Probably. But not because of ultrasounds or anything. We have a neighbor who has visions about these sorts of things. He accurately predicted that Wyatt would be a boy and he'd be super cute and he'd grow up to be a rock star, so he's pretty reliable. He also knew in advance that Hillary was going to run for president.

   Ugh. How's mom doing?

   Yeah great fine who cares what else?

   Have you thought about names at all?

   Yes. If it's a boy, probably Link or Spider-Man. If it's a girl, um, can you trade those things in for boys?

   What, you don't want a baby girl?

   No no no, it's not that at all. I'd love a baby girl. I don't want a middle or high school girl. Those things are terrifying.

   Aren't you a teacher?

   Yes and if the girl's knew how scared I was of them and their drama they'd have all the control.

   Okay let's wrap this up.

   Well, I'm in charge of this blog. I ask the questions around here.

   No, seriously, I've been asking questions for like 15 minutes.

   Wait, what? Seriously?

   Yes!! That's been your whole gimmick!

   Are... are you sure that's right?

   Well, now I guess we've switched and you are asking stupid questions.

   How did you do this? Are you like a spy or something?

   You keep asking questions. And if I were a spy I obviously couldn't tell you.

   Okay. Got it. You can't tell me. I'll just have to do some digging on my own some other time. 

   I need to be moving on. I can't just sit here and entertain all day. I've got important things to do like mail a few more wedding thank-yous. Let's wrap this up.

My mood: ecstatic! Also, I can't believe any of you would read this far!!

Wyatt's mood: kind of understanding what's going on but not really!

Cara's mood: Sleeping okay these days!!

Listening to: The Shins.

I'm A Failure!!

Sure, I might seem like a good dad way back in January. It's all a mirage.

I really thought I'd be the best dad ever. It was in the cards for a while. It's pretty clear now, after 2.5 years of trying this, that I might not even be in the top three dads ever.

There are just so many things that Wyatt can't do that I thought he'd be able to do by now. Can't read, can't poop on the potty, can't count to ten without some help, can't tie his shoes, can't say "andromeda," doesn't know how long a mile is, can't do a pull up.

Ugh. That's a long and complete list of failures so far. He hasn't even been discovered by any talent agencies or booked his first commercial. Not that'd he be any good at it. He'd just stop whatever cute thing he was doing, stare at the camera and walk closer to it, and finally put his hands on the lens.

Sure, he's done some interesting things. He has started a car. The keys were already in the ignition when we were playing around, and he just grabbed and twisted them. He can unlock Cara's iPhone, navigate to the camera, and take videos or pictures. He can turn on Netflix and choose the show of his choice. He has put on his own shorts a couple times.

And he's pretty good at dancing. And picking his nose. (Two skills he gets from his dad)

I guess I have a lot to work on this summer. Now that school is out and I am home for a couple long, glorious months ever, I have some goals for the special little kid:

1) Potty trained.
2) Consistent sleep schedule
3) Eating what I make for him or nothing. None of this whining for pancakes all day like he gets when mom's at home.
4) Able to count to 10 on his own, and none of this one two pee po fi crap, either.
5) Exercise every day, and no TV as many days as possible.
6) Abs. Total 6 pack abs. Just like his dad.
7) Write at least two blog posts. (This last one was originally a goal for me, but I think he can do it!!)

That's a long list, but that's okay, because this summer will never end!! I'm telling you, guys, I just have this feeling that it's going to be July forever and school will never start again and I'll never have to go back to work but I think they'll keep paying me because September never happens.

My mood: denial
Wyatt's mood: not poopy in the potty, that's for sure!!
Listening to: Disney Soundtracks

Color Symmetry!!

   Hey guys! Listen up! Wyatt's starting to color coordinate things! Wow is it fun. I need to show you like a hundred pictures to prove it.

You're really glad we got these new, larger, high-quality photos here at MKIS so that you can really enjoy these blocks.

   He did this while we were at the aquariam in Monterey, California. Yeah that's right we went on a trip to the California Sunshine and I didn't even facebook or blog about it because whatever it's not like it's a big deal and I don't have to announce it to the world or anything. Also, Yeah, uh huh, while at the aquariam that had actual sharks, otters, and lots of pictures of jellyfish without actual jellyfish, we spent most of our time playing with blocks that we have at home. Still, this color action was new for him, I hadn't seen it yet.

   Full diclosure: I am not convinced this was Wyatt. There is a chance it was Cara, because this is about at her level of craftsmanship and (in)attention to detail. I think it was the special kid, though, so we'll go with that.

   Man, can you believe it?! Coordinating and symmetric with colors already!! Most kids aren't doing this until they are, I don't know, twelve? (No, seriously, I don't know. Fifteen? Judging by my freshman, it's probably after 15.) And my brother still doesn't quite get that YOU CAN'T WEAR GREY SWEATS WITH A GREY SWEATSHIRT TO OUR AWESOME DINNER PARTIES!! Heck, based on how the girl students at school point at me and laugh, and have even suggested a fashion tumblr for me to follow, it seems that Wyatt is really getting these color-matching skills without any help from his dad's side. Regarding that tumblr: I didn't follow it, but instead sent in a picture of myself and asked what I needed to work on.

 

And so you can really enjoy... whatever this is.

   They did not respond. There's only one way to interpret that: I have nothing to work on.

My mood: so proud Wyatt is inheriting my color-awareness genes (and jeans, if we're lucky)

Cara's mood: trying to stack the blocks higher than ever!!
Wyatt's mood: george george
Listening to: Magic Schoolbus Theme Song

Thomas Time!!

No, no, Wyatt didn't solve that all on his own. I did. No, no, I didn't solve that, the neighbor boys did and then I stole it and gave it to Wyatt.

   There are a couple things that Cara and I find inevitable. For example, we know that one of these days I'll post something on the internet that forces us to move, because I've alienated all of our neighbors or told the bad guys that we've never once locked our front door, because we never actually got keys to our house. We know that one day she's going to go a little crazy, because every mom ever has gone a little crazy. Yes, even yours. And we knew that Wyatt was going to get obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine.

   Thomas the Tank Engine. First off, I have no idea what a tank engine is, besides the thing in the tank that powers the tank. Now it's just called Thomas, or Thomas and Friends, or, more accurately, Thomas the train that just looks side to side because he can't actually move his face at all!! There are roughly seven trillion episodes and movies on Netflix Instant, and Wyatt's Grandma has little wood train sets that he loves, so we've known that Thomas is coming. One day, when Wyatt kept saying "George George" over and over, we finally realized that he was trying to say "choo choo." (Yes, that's how it works. He says "George" if he wants to watch the antics of the curious monkey, he says "George George" if he wants to watch the trains, and he says "Geo-George" if he sees a dollar bill. Many of his sentences right now go like this: "Abba Dabba Dabba George." It is adorable. I'll try to get some video to show you later, but he changes when he sees, but I can't be getting off ... track).

I tried to find the least creepy picture I could, and I failed.

   A few months ago, Cara and I found an absolutely killer garage sale. They were basically selling an entire nursery, with lots of toddler stuff in brand-stinkin-new condition. Cara and I almost wished we'd needed new stuff, because, well, it was all so cheap. We bought as much as we could with the cash we had on hand, just so we could be prepared for when our friends are having showers for their babies, because nothing says "Congrats on having a baby!!" like "Here's a used pack-and-play we bought from strangers!!" BUT!!! Boy oh boy did they have Thomas stuff.

   You might not have a child under the age of 6, so you might not know that a single Thomas train can cost $13 new, sometimes on sale for $10. Thirteen!! Now, if we go ahead and get a Thomas (the cheeky one) James (he's vain but lots of fun), Percy (pulls the mail on time), Gordon (thunders down the line), Emily (really knows her stuff!), Henry (toots and huffs and puffs), Edward (wants to help and share) and Toby (well, let's say he's square), we're looking at $104, and that's just for the trains that appear in the song!! A set of tracks costs, oh I don't know, millions of dollars? The point is this: I'd never buy him all of this stuff (I'd throw him a birthday party and have you do it). I mean, if we're going to spend hundreds of dollars on toys, you can be sure that those toys are going to be for me.

   But this garage sale was ready and waiting for us:

 

That pink VW Bug is not part of it. You can tell because it lacks a creepy face, and doesn't have its name written somewhere on it.

This wasn't even all the Thomas stuff we bought!! Lots more track!!

   We are only using like half of our track here, and we aren't even showing four or five engines, because Wyatt is clutching those ones at all times. Look over at this next slide!!

All those creepy, terrifying faces. Smiling. Always smiling.

   So it's been established that all of this stuff could easily cost $300, right? I hope I've made that point clear. Now, I'm not one to haggle-and-tell, but I will say that when I walked away, that 10-year-old boy that wanted to sell his stuff so he could buy big-kid toys learned a valuable lesson about intimidation techniques when negotiating. That's really what I gave him: the gift of growing up and seeing the real world.

   We've only let Wyatt see and play with about three or four of these trains, and all the track. The rest of the engines are hidden in his room. We'll probably give him one for Christmas and one for his Birthday for the rest of his life. However - and I want this to go on the record right now - Wyatt will never, ever be aware that a certain purple dinosaur exists and wants to be his friend. Every time that creepy grin and odd voice hits the screen, I'ma say "George!!" and start making sounds like that curious monkey.

   I've learned so much about trains in the last month. Did you know that "shunting" isn't a bad word? Did you know that steamies are great steamies are fast, and that diesels are mean? Did you know that Sir Topham Hat is able to talk to trains!?

   You can tell that my life is super exciting because I just wrote like 5000 words about a creepy train show for toddlers, and am totally pumped about it!!

My mood: trained out!!
Wyatt's mood: george george
Listening to: "They're two they're four they're six they're eight"