This is what happens...

When Daddy makes poor little Caroline's bottles for school:

How am I going to explain this excessive esprit-de-corps to the ladies at daycare? I thought we had learned our lessons with the flippers episode..

Jackson Standard Time

We have really been doing the Lord's work trying to get Jackson to sleep like a normal human. The first 9 months, he didn't really sleep (at all), but for a while thereafter we seemed to be on the right track, going to bed at a reasonable hour and with reasonable effort, making it through the night, waking up around 6:30 or even 7 on the occasional weekend. But then, a month or two before Caroline was born he just started waking up earlier and earlier, to the point where a couple of weeks ago he rose at a dawn best determined by, say, Newfoundland time (GMT -2:30), demanding that breakfast be served RIGHT NOW. We've tried bringing him to bed with us (Fail), leaving him in there to scream (not much better), and everything in between.

Just a week or two ago, my brilliant wife Doc had the great idea of getting a binary image clock, with a picture of a sleeping bunny tucked soundly in bed that is illuminated during the night, and then a waking playing bunny that lights up when it is "OK" to get up. We've had mild success training him to (more or less) stay quiet and lay down until the waking bunny lights up, at which point in time he proudly leaps to his feet, shouts "UP!", and starts screaming if relief doesn't promptly appear. We've already convinced him that the kitchen doesn't open until 6:30 regardless of when he gets up, but he seems happy to catch 30 minutes of Sesame Street on the couch pre-Cheerios, while Dad nods off until Elmo shows up (c'mon: I challenge you to find anyone that can actually sleep through Elmo. I am a much bigger fan of Cookie and Snuffy, myself).

But then there comes along the timeless enemy of Daylight Savings Time. Or rather, it's evil twin Eastern Standard Time. Not that one is better or worse than the other, actually - it is just the changeup that throws us for a loop. How do you explain to a toddler that 6am is now just 5am? I have no idea.

So we gave it our best shot, changed the clocks over about halfway through UNC's miraculously lucky win over FSU, and instead of getting an hour of extra sleep (or bar time) like we used to in years gone by, we all had an extra hour of afternoon.  Then off to bed to await the impending disaster, the bunny clock faithfully set for the "new" 6am. And wouldn't you know it, he popped up at 5am and started screaming, but 3 minutes later quieted down and slept (or was at least quiet) until I walked in to check on him at 6:15 - or was it 7:15? (I am already losing track). Needless to say, I was surprised, and have absolutely no expectations about Monday morning. Whatever happens, we are apparently not in charge - we're all just on Jackson Standard Time.

UPDATE: Much to our amazement (and frustration, since our alarm still went off at 5:50), intrepid young Jack slept until 6:45 this morning. Great parenting or Luck o'the Irish? We'll let you decide.


You know, writing this blog post made me wonder a bit just how important Daylight Savings Time is. I mean, I would keep it around (if I didn't have children) but only for reasons of nostalgia, not anything approaching practicality. But it is funny how much we adults have just come to accept its strangeness, almost by rote force of habit. In the Fall, we say "sweet, another hour of sleep (or bar time), and in the Spring we grumble but we know that is the penance we pay for staying at Top of the Hill until 3am instead of 2. So we go forth and don't even consider for a minute "not playing along." Ah, the innocence of youth.

Caroline Rachel Garrison - July 16, 2010

Congratulations, Matt and Rae! Welcome to a great family, Callie.

Sweet Dreams, Baby...

It's funny how the things you come to rely on have a tendency to change without you really noticing, until one day you look over at you wife and son and think: "My God, when did THIS happen?"

Jack (after about 7 months) used to be a reliable go-to-bedder, as long he could get his little paws on a worn-out, purple screeching monkey. He would clutch the little creature to his face, sucking on a thumb or mouthing the monkey's tail, as his eyes rolled back in his head and he drifted off to dreamy wonderland bliss for (hopefully) a dozen or so hours.

We owe those months of bliss largely to Great Granny Frannie, who had the wisdom and foresight to buy us this little purple monkey while we were at the beach last summer, and it has carried us through a complete cycle of seasons. Little did we know, a stuffed singing bear that she gave us at the beach the year before, while Jack was still a bun-in-the-oven would soon be of near-equal importance.

Our going to bed ritual now includes, as absolutely necessary, Little Monkey, Big Monkey, a Blankey, and Roy Or-bear-son, an electro-mechanical singing stuffed animal, crooning his classic ballad "Sweet Dreams, Baby". Every night, we now rock for a half-hour in Jack's room, clutching both monkeys, wrapped in our Blankey, and repeatedly listening to Roy Or-bear-son sing his song as we nod off to dreams in Mommy's arms.



Sometimes we get fuzz in our mouth. Maybe we should just listen to Bear, instead of trying to eat him.

Hot and Now: A Play

< The scene is set: Sunday morning at 6 am; birds innocently (but annoyingly) tweet in the soft spring breezes outside our open bedroom window... >

Jack: "Waaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!!!!"
Doc: "Ugh.."
Matilda: "I'll get him.."
Doc: "Does KrispyKreme deliver?"

< a moment of silence passes while Jack wails softly in the background; the birds continue to innocently (but annoyingly) tweet >

Matilda (realizing he has just been impliedly authorized to go buy doughnuts on a Sunday morning) :
"I'll see what I can do"

< The scene is the car at the drive-up window. Having cunningly applied his Joyner Elementary School Krispy Kreme Fundraising Card to the transaction, Matilda absconds with two-dozen doughnuts for the price of one. Actually, slightly less of a deal when you factor in the money he gave to the elementary school, but whatev. A dozen assorted (mostly chocolate) and a dozen glazed Hot & Now's gently await their impending conquest. Jack sits happily in the back seat cooing. >

< The scene returns to the house, two hours later. A somewhat sticky and very hyperglycemic 15 month-old toddles uncertainly back to his sleeping mother. >

Doc: "Good morning, sweetie.."
Jack: "Bo-nahts"
Doc: "Why are you so sticky and warm and glazed? Oh, your fingers taste so good! Sweet bliss!"
Matilda: "Honey, we've been eating doughnuts for a while now. I think he ate three - I wouldn't shake him too much like that.

< The end. >

Tradition!

Who, day and night, must scramble for a living,
Feed a wife and children, say his daily prayers?
And who has the right, as master of the house,
To have the final word at home?

The Papa, the Papa! Tradition.
The Papa, the Papa! Tradition.

Who must know the way to make a proper home,
A quiet home, a kosher home?
Who must raise the family and run the home,
So Papa's free to read the holy books?

The Mama, the Mama! Tradition!
The Mama, the Mama! Tradition!

I had to laugh a bit tonight when Doc raised her eyebrows at my invocation tonight of "The Papa, the Papa! - Tradition!" Of course I didn't realize she hadn't seen the movie. L'll be the first to admit that my comments were a little (ok, a lot) tongue-in-cheek, since there is only one person in this house with a job and it ain't Good Ol' Matilda. But it is the very fact that we have our own very wonderful traditions - partnership, equality, appreciation - that makes this sort of exchange something we can really laugh at. Kaynahorah!

Little Stinker

A big big Jackson-sized hug goes out to our wonderful Auntie Heather for her birthday gift of three Little Books - the story of Little Oink, Little Hoot and Little Pea. This hilarious (to parents) collection is quite an addition to our rapidly growing collection of 4-inch books made of cardboard and limited to 10 pages.

Little Oink is about the struggles of a poor little pig that just wants to keep his room clean. Imagine that. Even after his pig-parents' exhortations to dig holes, get dirty, scatter countless toys about the house and wear dirty clothes, this little piggy just can't wait for the chance to finally play the game he loves: "house." He sweeps and cleans and stacks his things. Pity those poor little other piggys whose parents require them to always make a mess, and never let them discover the pure and simple joy of cleaning.

Would it surprise you to hear the saga of Little Hoot, the young owl that, in order to be old and wise, must master the dreaded skill of staying up late? All he wants to do is go to bed early, but instead he must stay up playing, jumping on his bed and make a ruckus. If only he was lucky enough to be tucked into bed early, like all of his non-Strigidae friends. Alas, no.

To be honest, the only story that really scares me is Little Pea. This subversive tale of an adorable little vegetable is a thinly veiled attempt to trick young innocents into eating things that are green and better left in the woods. Imagine the agony as Little Pea is forced to eat ALL of his candy, all the while yearning for the heaping piles of spinach that await him for dessert. What a bunch of horsehockey.

Now if only we could find the book that tells the story of the cute little boy that never ever wants to terrorize his parents with another diaper worthy of a CBIRF intervention.. I guess we'll just have to make these book reviews a regular thing. Thanks Heather!

High Fives

Jack learned how to do high fives this weekend. Sweet!

Firsts

Happy Birthday, son. Can't believe it has been a whole year.

More Fun With Jack

Since Jack has learned to walk, he has developed several interesting habits. Take, for instance, the thing he likes most to do in the morning while we are getting ready for work (Doc) and school (me). He wanders around, pulling things out of containers and off shelves, sometimes with the exploratory chew. Then he wanders into the bathroom, where he heads directly for the toilet paper roll mounted on the wall:

Number Two

For all of our faithful readers, we have some great news: we are expecting Number Two in early August 2010. My, how quickly two becomes five (I insist we count Dean as a family member). Here's a pic of the little lad / lass:

We are understandably excited about this terrific news, and on the ultrasound he/she looks like a vigorous little creature. We'll keep you updated with more info as it becomes available.

Best regards,

The (slightly larger) Shaw Family

Hillbilly Bone

I am glad that we have a very tolerant dog. Dean is, well - he's special. He's smart (but not all the time) and he is obedient (some of the time) and graceful (hardly ever). But at the very least, he is tolerant of the growing interactions between him and his little brother from a different mother.

For instance, when he was just a pup I taught him to calmly play catch while laying on the floor across the room from me. He lays there and I roll the tennis ball towards his snout. He catches it, chews on it a bit and rolls it back in my general direction. He'll do this for about a half hour before he starts to lose interest (which is about 5 times longer than I'm willing to do it). Recently, this dog-bility has worked well with Jack's newfound penchant for throwing things. Jack sits on the ground and rolls the ball to Dean; Dean rolls it back to Jack. This usually only lasts for a few minutes, since Jack's new throwing skills usually end up in a errant toss behind his back or over his head (we're still working on his release timing).

Last Saturday, we were sitting on the floor playing and watching hunting shows on VersusTV (which is fast becoming our Saturday morning routine when Doc is working). We topped it off with a little country music in the background. So it was fitting that Jack and Dean's newest game - Dog Bone Keep Away - was fit to the soundtrack of Hillbilly Bone by Blake Shelton. Jack would taunt Dean with the bone, Dean would lick it and try to take it away. Then Jack would triumphantly remove it from Dean's snout. And then try to lick it himself (but I stopped the game right there). For most dogs, I think the kids life might have been in peril at that point, but not with Dean. Good dog, indeed.

"Three Lessons of Fatherhood" and "Lost In Space"

1. Feeding bananas to a toddler, particularly as a matter of habit, has a fairly substantial constipating effect;

2. Not feeding bananas to a toddler for approximately two days substantially diminishes the aforementioned effect;

3. "Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!"

Lego Time

Do you realize how fun it is to play with Legos? Why did I ever grow up and go to law school, when I could have been staying home playing with these multi-colored snap-together wonders of modern engineering?

Look what I built last night:

Jack helped me take it apart later - it turns out that is his specialty. It's funny, he seems to have a peculiar disposition that requires things to not stay connected, stored, boxed or in place. From the very minute we got him some toy blocks, he was just totally dissatisfied when the blocks were in their container and he had to take them out. Same deal with the Legos - it his absolute mission to disconnect each and every one from the other. We though it was a great idea to get these neat storage baskets that fit right under the changing table, so we could store extra diapers and wipes and stuff. Apparently, the only thing that is an even better idea is whatever gets in Jack's head when we put him on the floor - he heads right for them with his gimp-legged little gangster lean and triumphantly pulls out the baskets, emptying their contents all over the floor.

Between that and Legos, I hope he finds his calling. I'm thinking demolition.

Turning the corner...literally.

It happened so fast. One day he was inch-worming and the next day he pushed up on all fours and took off and he has not been stationary since. The kid loves to crawl. In fact, he loves to do anything non-baby, like stand and cruise and chew adult foods. Forget baby food, he wants spaghetti and crackers and real whole veggies. Heaven forbid I try to give him mush. He gives me one chance where he fake chews it as if to say, "No Momma, chew. I want to chew. See?" If I persist with the puree, he slobbers it all onto the highchair tray and then swirls it around with his hands just to reiterate the point.

Getting ready in the morning before work has become like trying to put a hat on a monkey hanging upside down in a snowstorm. Stephen and I are doing well if we manage to get clothes on that match. Oh it'd be super easy if we let him have the electrical cords or the laptop or let him crawl into the bathtub unassisted. But alas, we do care about the little man's safety and so we corral and redirect and entertain with Stephen's old cell phone or my sunglasses or, when it really gets difficult to entertain him, my new leopard print slippers that now have drool stains on them.

Despite how different our lives have become in one short week, there's just not anything more heartwarming than watching Jackson crawl around to find me and smile up with the biggest "I found you, Momma!" grin when he does.



Welcome to mobility, my little one. May you always be able to find everything you want just right around the corner.

One Giant Step for a Small Man

Jack has some serious ants in his pants about starting to walk. I think he has figured it out in his mind and knows what to do, he just can't control his legs because his Jedi force is still weak. But anytime he gets the chance, he pulls up on whatever he can grab and does the little two-step shuffle. He has resigned to a little inchworm-type crawl when he has to get something (like a cell phone) that lies just outside his reach. But I think as soon as he gets his sea legs, he's going to take off running.

Jackson "Birdman" Shaw's First Book Review

"A resounding literary success..."

"Piercing prose and scintillating satire."

"Two Thumbs Up!"



"So darn good it almost knocked me over."

Of horse-theivin' and child-rearin'

The first rule of parenting and horse-stealing is: "Keep your mouth shut 'till you make it back to the barn."

We had the best luck with Jack driving to Spartanburg and back last weekend. On the way down, in the middle of the day, he slept the entire way except for a few minutes of happy cooing around Kannapolis. Not bad for an-almost-3-hour car trip at 6 months. Then, on the ride back we left right at bedtime and he slept all the way to Greensboro, until I opened my big mouth about a mile from the house. No sooner than I had said "What an amazing kid, I can't believe we made it all the way home without him crying," a shrieking wail bereft of all hope and peace erupted from the back seat.

Needless to say, I drove that last mile with my head hung sheepishly and a finger in my ear. And I learned my lesson.

Good People

I knew there was a reason I liked this company:

Culture

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Our friends,The Piners

Dear James Evett,

We love you and have adored seeing you grow in all your pictures. We think you might have a future in modeling. Consider forwarding this picture on to the nice folks at White Rain.

Love,
The little Shaws