Grandpa Merrill

(from Josh)

This month marked the passing of my Grandpa (Papa) Merrill. He was the kind of man who lit up every room he inhabited with a great big smile and warm hug. He made everyone feel welcome and accepted. He was an eternal optimist, eager to get on the floor and play cars and trucks with the boys (and me once upon a time!), was an avid scrabble player and reader, and was always up for a new adventure. In their 50s, he and Grandma built their own log cabin on 67 acres in central Kentucky. And he always considered himself last -- a fact I noticed when trying to find pictures of him for below - his attention was always on someone else in the photos). 

(from Carolyn)

I met Grandpa Merrill 16 years ago, and since then I can't think of a cross word he ever spoke. He was that perfect combination of gentle and strong, perseverant and compassionate. He experienced more major medical events than anyone I know, yet he always came back. Several years ago, he was out chopping wood when he had a stroke. He finished the wood, then drove the tractor back to the house, where he sat and waited for Grandma to get home so they could rush to the hospital. One Christmas dinner, he passed out, then got back up and they finished dinner, only to learn a week later he'd had a heart attack. His quiet persistence in the face of adversity was inspirational, to say the least. As Josh mentioned, Grandpa was also a great reader, going through several books each week, and it meant he always had something interesting to discuss. I loved hearing his take on Harry Potter or Aerotropolis or The Devil in the White City. Or their latest Bible study. His wisdom and cheerfulness just bubbled out of him.

(from Josh)

Grandpa had his wit and intellect with him until the end. I'm so glad he got to know all three of our boys, and that our boys got to know him. When we visited Grandma after the funeral, Aaron searched the house, and asked "Where'd Papa go?" We know where and are thankful that he is free. But he is still missed.

Preschool Parties

We are blessed with such great teachers for the boys. It was fun seeing that in person as they celebrated the holidays with their friends...

Aaron's teacher told me that for a long time, when she said, "I love you, Aaron" he would respond, "I love my mommy." Such fidelity. Though he also loved his apple-jacks necklace, which I caught Noah and Aaron both eating while he was wearing it.

Noah's class played Christmas Bingo and then sang "The 12 Days of Christmas" with gestures that the boys made look akin to jujitsu. At their age, it's any excuse for a fight. We had to pull them apart at church today, and they're all best buds. This I will never understand about boys.

 

Fortunately, there was no sparring on-stage at Noah's Christmas program. I was a little surprised when he told me he was going to be a tree. Like, a palm tree? by the stable? When I found out the program was based on The Tale of the Three Trees, it made a lot more sense -- as did the songs he was learning: "The Old Rugged Cross" and "The Trees of the Field." It was the first year he was really interested in the program, so I was thrilled his grandparents were able to come see it (as was he)!

A Kentucky Thanksgiving

(Some of the pics may look familiar - I tried uploading them on the blogger app, but it didn't work quite as I'd hoped, so I've redone with commentary and additional photos here.)

When Noah and Aaron were each 6-8 weeks old, they started sleeping longer stretches at night. We got excited. Then we packed everyone up and left town for one reason or another, and the sleep schedules went to the dogs. They weren't comfortable sleeping somewhere else, and I wasn't comfortable letting them cry somewhere else, so we lost naps and slid back into frequent nighttime wakings. It took me months to get us back on track (partially because this usually happened just before the holidays and flu season).

This time around, I'd vowed not to let this happen. We were STAYING HOME.

Well. Mostly.

A couple weeks before Thanksgiving, we realized that ALL of Josh's relatives would be gathering 3 hours away for the big dinner, and it would be a perfect time to see them and introduce Isaac. Thus begins the slippery slope...

But, I'm proud to say we found a happy compromise. We left Thursday morning and returned Friday night. I figured we could endure anything for 24hrs and correct any regression once we got home. This proved true. It was really wonderful to see all the family...

We all had a fabulous time and it was great to come home Friday night to our own beds. Now we're going to give Isaac a couple more months to solidify his sleep schedule before we haul off to points south for a crazy caper with Mickey... More on that lunacy later.

My Investigator

About a month ago, Josh found out he had been chosen for the "New Investigator Award" by his trade association (AMIA). It sounds like he's joined the police force, but actually it just means he's the best thing to hit biomedical informatics since sliced bread. Not that these scientists necessarily love sliced bread... Come to think of it, they might like Josh better.

Anyway, the award would be presented at a special dinner on the Saturday night during their annual conference in Chicago. Dinner. Award. Saturday. Chicago. Sounds like an excellent time to go support my man. So I called in reinforcements (Grand-ma!) and flew out for 36hrs in one of my favorite cities.

After all the prep involved in leaving 3 little guys, it wasn't till Saturday morning that I realized I had a full day off on The Magnificent Mile. We met my uncle and cousins for a yummy breakfast, and then I hit the stores while Josh went to bring home the bacon that would pay for me to hit those stores.

The awards dinner was at the University of Chicago business school, and to his surprise, Josh was asked to give a few remarks to the room of 200+. As his boss said afterward, he did a great job and "left them laughing." I was so proud and grateful to be there to see it.

After dinner, we visited the top of the Hancock and then ended the evening at the hotel for dessert. By the time I arrived home Sunday morning, my mother was still in one piece, and she still liked our boys. Which she may live to regret, as Josh and I are ready to do it all over again. ;)

The Golden Years

I'm not particularly nostalgic. It may have something to do with my terrible long-term memory, but as a born optimist, it means I'm usually facing forward in hopeful ignorance.

Lately, some of that ignorance has been tested:

1. I had to read a book for work that was about parenting older children, and the line "The bigger the kids, the bigger the issues" burned itself into my brain. 
2. I've bumped into several examples (real and fictional) of grown sons who are not very close to their mothers. 
3. I've been walking with friends through an issue that scares the bejeezus out of me, but it doesn't really apply to the prepubescent crowd.

Meanwhile, my newborn is a saint. Sleeping through the night, happy during the day, growing like a weed. He could not be a better ambassador for the baby years.

Not that I needed the reminder. I've always known these pre-school years are more labor-intensive but also more sheltered, carrying less risk. I've still got the chicks in the nest. Mistakes--both mine and theirs'--tend to be smaller and easier to rectify.

But now that's really hitting home. Many of my oldest's friends started kindergarten this year. I can see the baby phase being eclipsed by The Next Phase: The School Years. And now, it scares me.

Which is really what this is all about. Fear. Taking my eyes off the God I know, the God who is good and sovereign. Who holds us in his hand. I knock Peter for taking his eyes off Christ. Then I do it.

A dear friend sent me this verse this morning:

"Lift up your eyes and look around; all your sons gather and come to you. As surely as I live," declares the Lord, "you will wear them as ornaments; you will put them on, like a bride." -- Isaiah 49:18

It sits in the middle of chapters that describe God's sovereignty and comfort -- how he is protecting His people and providing for them through His Son. I need this verse. I need this Son. And I need to remember that needing Him more over time is ultimately a good thing.

For further reading: Parenting is Hard for a Reason by Christina Fox

Pardners

Getting ready for the big night with my best buds...

Our handsome "real cowboy" (i.e. not Woody)

The talented Mr. Lightyear (the toy and the boy)

Guess who?? Yep, Tigger 2007 and Tigger 2012. I think they're brothers... ;)

Did you know Tigger's favorite food is black-eyed peas? Well, at least this Tigger, and this black-eyed P.

We're surrounded! By princesses! (at the neighborhood pre-party)

And finally out on the trail...of chocolate!

Pals

Our Space Ranger

The boys are changing so fast, I literally can't keep up. Here are some highlights of Aaron's latest exploits...

Mr. Personality
I have to start with Aaron's playfulness, because it's one of his best features. He runs to greet anyone with a smile and "What's your name?" He usually has a twinkle in his eye and loves to make jokes, calling us by the wrong names, impersonating the characters from Sesame Street (you should see his Cookie Monster), or using inflection and facial expressions to make us laugh out loud at the dinner table. All of which has led to one of his favorite refrains, "I'm funny!" Most of the time, he is.

"I Baby Isaac!"

"I put my pants on, Mommy!"

"I a cowboy!" (Time for a round-up?)

"A pocket, Mommy!"

"Faster, Mommy!"

BMOC
His teachers wrote on his first progress report: "Aaron is such a joy to be around and he already has many admirers throughout the school. He plays nicely when peers are around and he is willing to participate in any and all activities."

Which according to him includes a lot of sleeping... Whenever I ask what he did at school, he says: "My teachers say, 'Go nigh-night!'" (nap is their last activity every day)

Thanks to their other school activities, he's stringing together fuller sentences ("I want to watch a movie with my blankie.") and his reasoning is getting a little too good:


A: Get my toy, Mommy!
Me: I can't while I'm driving. We'll get it when we get home.

A: At a stop sign, Mommy!

On the Throne
Perhaps all this progress is what finally made me snap. September 28th at 7:30am, I reached my limit. Suddenly Aaron was too big to be wearing diapers. So I stopped putting them on him. That was it. Well, that was the end of it, and the beginning of something else. Sept 29th was our first breakthrough (peepee in the potty!), Oct 1st was another (no accidents!). By the end of the week, he was almost entirely potty trained while awake. I cannot tell you how much this both surprises and relieves me.


And Everywhere Else
There is one, itsy-bitsy GINORMOUS catch: rest time (awake time alone in his bedroom). Last Thursday, just after a new neighbor arrived for a playdate, I walked into Aaron's room to find poopoo in places poopoo was NOT meant to be. And really, you never want to find poopoo pretty much anywhere. The music from "Psycho" started playing in my head. I stripped and washed the boy, closed his bedroom door, and tried unsuccessfully to focus on my neighbor for an hour.

Later, I discovered my rags & Resolve are no match for poop. I thought we'd have to get new carpet. So I took a break for dinner (I'm getting better at denial). In the nick of time, my knight came riding home with flowers, ice cream, and a rented carpet cleaning machine that worked its magic but could not prevent little man from doing it again Sunday. We've upped the ante for Not Touching Poopoo, and I'm praying it works before I switch us all to a clear liquid diet.


Floored
A couple weeks ago, I walked out of Isaac's room around 11pm and thought Darth Vader must be standing in the hallway. It was freaky. Deep breathing but no one in site. Turns out Aaron had decided he'd rather sleep curled up on the floor at the base of his door than in his nice comfy bed. Now it's routine. I tuck him into bed and as soon as I close the door, I can hear him shuffle over to it and curl up with his blankie. It's too precious. It would be heartbreaking if it sprang from loneliness or fear, but he actually likes going "nigh-night." He often asks for it and heads upstairs on his own. So we're going with the theory that he's just unexplainably adorable.



And Beyond
I was sitting in a quiet training session with 200 lay leaders from our church when Aaron burst through the side doors, flew toward me with arms outstretched and a big smile and shouted, "Mommy! I Ba-Bightyer! I 'ave wings!!" It was adorable. And loud. ;)

That boy LOVES Toy Story. He played with his Buzz Lightyear action figure so much that it now falls apart spontaneously, so I just got him a less-destructible version which he flies through the house saying "To infinity!" He asks to watch the movie(s) at every opportunity; Thank the Lord there are 3 of them, or Noah and I would be bonkers by now.

Lightbulb...Lollipop?
It's possible Aaron already is. When I walked into his bedroom first thing this morning, I found his nightlight removed from the plug behind the couch, uncovered, and the bulb broken down to a stub. Upon interrogation, he told me "I ate it!" then showed me where the glass was shattered on the carpet and...wet. I was dumbfounded. I still am. WHO EATS THEIR NIGHTLIGHT? Miraculously, he didn't get cut and doesn't seem to have ingested any glass. But I've added this to the list of no-nos. Not Touching Poop. No Eating Lightbulbs.

My Boy

Despite the glass-eating incident, I see so many signs that Aaron is no longer a toddler. It struck me most at his first school-classmate party. Usually he's tagging along to Noah's parties, which makes him look younger. This time, it was his people, and he was thrilled. He spent 30min on the tallest slide in the joint and another 30min climbing the mountain nextdoor. Seeing his perseverance, his confidence, and his joy, I could see more of the boy he is becoming. He often reminds me, "I a boy" and "You're my mommy." I am so, so very glad. And so thankful that he still loves to sit on my lap, give me a hug, greet me with exuberance, and hold my hand.

His Mommy
Especially this week. Aaron has a tender heart, he obeys more than he disobeys, and he learns rather quickly. But I have still felt more stressed and stretched than usual. The quandaries that arise whenever a child is in transition wear me out...

Should I let him leave the light on in his bedroom all night?
Should I make him put his pants back on every time he goes potty?
Should we drop rest time?
How long should he have to sit at the dinner table?
Should I discipline him for ____?

Which is all to say that while I want to catalog my kids' adventures with humor and grace, don't think for a minute that I'm coasting through them myself. And anytime you have advice to give, I'm all ears. Cause this job is tough. Good, but tough.

8 Weeks Post-Partum

Isaac is an easy baby. Praise God and Hallelujah. I was prepared for nightly hours of screaming and a constant desire to be held (him and me).

Instead, he only cries when there's a reason I can figure out. He'll hang out in the bouncy seat, on the floor, in the Ergo, in the car, on the boppy, and of course, in my arms. Eye contact makes him light up with smiles (which started at 5wks), and just yesterday he chuckled for the first time.

I have enjoyed each of my newborns -- their feathery hair, warm skin, rubbery necks, squishy-soft cheeks, teenie fists, frog legs tucked under their rumps, and that baby smell that is miraculously delicious. Still, I feel like I'm soaking it up even more this time, perhaps because I'm more confident with him, perhaps because he's been less complicated, and perhaps because I'm getting more sleep.

Yes, more sleep. Ahhh. The schedule has worked well with Isaac. Sometimes I feed him more frequently before bedtime, but otherwise we've stuck to it. He reached 11lbs at 5 weeks, so I was tempted to push him longer at night, but then I got mastitis and needed him to eat at night. So we waited, and I got more tired.

By 7 weeks, he was 12.5lbs and went 7-8hrs on his own twice in a row, so we decided to keep it going by feeding him at 10:30pm and setting my alarm for 6:30am. I don't use the monitor at night, but I can usually hear him if he's really screaming, so I'll feed him anytime after 5am. Which puts us lightyears ahead of where I was with my other boys at 8wks.

And does it show. I'm already running and swimming again, ready to go back to work (my freelance writing), and jumping into the fall schedule.

Sort-of. Lest you get the wrong impression, here are a few reminders that we're still in transition, I'm still nursing, and yes, I have baby brain and the body to go with it...

-- My 3- and 5-yr-old do not need sleep during the day, but I do. They play through resttime in their rooms while mommy sleeps in hers.
 

-- A few weeks ago, I was sitting upstairs nursing Isaac when I heard honking outside. I casually ruminated on the fact that someone--probably a teenager--would resort to honking rather than just knocking on my neighbor's door. Thankfully, a friend pulled up to drop off Noah at that very moment, saw the school bus sitting in front of our house, honking, and ran to help Aaron off the bus and into the house. Oh, yeah, I do have three now, don't I.

-- Then there's last Tuesday night, when I got two texts confirming carpool for the next day - from two different people. When I counted up the kids I was committed to bringing home from preschool, I realized they would not physically fit in my minivan. Nice.

-- Or early one morning, when I took a swig from my coffee mug and thought, This coffee ain't right. Good reason: It was cranberry juice, which I had poured in the mug minutes before.

-- Or last weekend, when I blithely walked into Old Navy to buy a few clothes and was stunned to discover I'm still twice my pre-pregnancy clothing size. That's like, a multiple of my old self. Bummer.

-- Or the time I took the boys to meet Josh for errands and forgot...the diaper bag with e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g inside it. I mean, every time we leave the house I forget something. This time, it was more than something. At least it wasn't a child. I've learned to count them now.
 

Not that it's all fun and games. The fog that comes with transition and interrupted sleep has affected my thinking. I can see it in my sensitivity to others, the way some fears haunt me, and the frequent feeling that my mind is cluttered with more than I can coherently understand.

For me, the best antidotes are silence, prayer, writing, exercise, time alone with Josh, and many alarm/reminders on my phone. Now that school is in full swing and Isaac is taking a bottle (!!), I'm thankful to have more of each so that when I am with my beautiful boys, we enjoy each other all the more.

Playing With Boys

I love being a mother to boys. They can be playful, thoughtful, physical, and forthright. There's something about their energy that makes me proud and their quiet intensity that makes me even prouder. I am eager to introduce them to the world in all its variety, and I am humbled to think that someday they will be grown men. I also love that right now I get to enjoy their adorableness, before they sprout beards.

However, amidst all this happy testosterone, there is a dark side... Giving birth to boys does not mean I naturally love all the things boys love. As they grow, I'm discovering just how male their interests can be.

In a vague way, I've known that men tend to like competition, vehicles, hunting, fighting, etc. I see the popularity of superheroes, football, boxing, NASCAR, the Marine Corps, action movies, and the NRA. Still, it's another thing entirely when you see these bents embodied in your 5-year-old. 

Growing up fast!

My oldest loves to think about, talk about, and pretend epic fights: good guys, bad guys, vehicles, weapons, explosions, and--yes--death. With legos, play-doh, action figures, blocks - anything can be an enemy, a spaceship, a projectile. He mines his friends for information about Star Wars or Ninjago, asks us lots of difficult questions (What's a bazooka?), latches on to any references he encounters (they're everywhere, including the grocery store), and weaves his own complicated tales of intergalactic wars far, far away.

Even as I write, I think how fun this probably sounds. And it can be. For about ten minutes. After days and weeks and months of discussing every crevice of the Millenium Falcon, I don't find it so enthralling. In fact, I've found it a bit disturbing.

You see, while my 5-year-old can tell you what's real and what's pretend (we've discussed this at length), he does not understand the realities of violence, pain, or death. I'm pretty sure this is a good thing, as it would be traumatic if he did. But it means they're just abstract concepts, plot twists in his lengthy stories. So he has no problem walking around talking about decapitation, planets exploding, skeletons and snakes fighting to the death, etc, etc, etc.

Since I've never before lived with a young boy, this has all taken me by storm. He's a really sweet boy! Loving, gentle, obedient, helpful. He knows the gospel (on some level), loves rules (he makes them up just for fun), his teachers rave about him, and his preschool told me he helps balance out the "rowdier" boys in his class. How could this boy--who loves his newborn brother SO well--spend the day talking about war!?

Having a very weak stomach for violence myself (even weaker while I was pregnant), I've tried a number of responses to temper his references to it:

1. The Reformer: We don't want to kill anyone; we just want to help the bad guys become good guys!
His response: He was so bad he would never become good.

2. The Creationist: We don't want to kill anyone because God made them!
His response: It was a bad robot. God didn't make the robot.

3. The Diverter: Let's talk about your Sunday school lesson instead!
His response: David should have used a different weapon against Goliath.

4. The Challenger: Let's see how long you can go without talking about death or dying!
His response: Let's not.

5. The Cautionary Tale: Be careful what you pretend, because if you pretend something enough, you could eventually want it to be real.
His response: It's not real.

All of which has recently led me to...

6. The Enabler: We watched Star Wars with him, read the Ninjago story together, and played with the Batman Lego set.
His response: To discuss each all the more. The "forbidden fruit" didn't become less enticing once they were legal.

But something else did change: What was a source of tension has become a source of fellowship. We're bonding, and he is beyond thrilled. I've tried to stop my reflexive resistance to his interests (and my not-so-subtle attempts to brainwash him into being a pacifist - not that I am). It finally occurred to me that I love a good saga (Hello? Lord of the Rings? Harry Potter? The Hunger Games?), I want him to fight evil, his interests are not unusual for his age, and our relationship is far more important to his future than the stories he makes up while playing legos.

I do want to set appropriate boundaries to protect him from overly mature content. But I also never want to hide the world from him, dampen his inclination toward heroism, or let my prejudices limit our friendship. Which means that I am spending more time in the world of men. Thankfully, I'm finding it's not unkind to women. You should see my fencing skills...

Mastitis, Take 3

If you find any discussion of breastfeeding uncomfortable, please skip this post. It'll just be embarrassing for both of us. However, if you're a young momma who could benefit from my mistakes, well, then they'd feel a little less like mistakes.

Most girls I know who breastfeed have had mastitis with at least one child. It's incredibly common. It's also particularly inconvenient. It usually occurs in the first couple months of breastfeeding, when you're busy adjusting to a few other things. It's painful in a very sensitive area and is accompanied by the flu. Not the actual flu, but it feels like the flu. Its treatment is squeezing and otherwise torturing the sensitive area while taking drugs. And if you get the wrong type, it can lead to hospitalization. Attractive, right? Now let's get to the good stuff: my mistakes.

I've had mastitis with each baby, but this time was memorable for several reasons:

1) FULL: It was preceded by a day of less-than-stellar choices. I've missed church terribly since Isaac was born so Sunday I decided to take him for service (and keep him in the Ergo). All was well until after church. There was a big picnic on the lawn with tents and foodtrucks. It was magnetic (food trucks!), so I went "just long enough to give Isaac a bottle and get myself some fun food." Two hours later, we got home hot and tired and close to his next feeding, so I skipped pumping. Then, I was so full, that he just ate on one side per feeding that evening. I spent the night full. (Which is not to say I caused my illness, but I created a nice cozy habitat for it.)

(I figure his chagrin is much cuter than mine.)

2) A AND B: Monday morning, I woke up in pain. A) Clog or B) infection? I felt around for a lump just under the skin, but found nothing. By 11am I had fever/chills/aches. Mystery solved: must be B (mastitis), so I called the doctor for antibiotics. I made sure Isaac nursed on the affected side, but I stopped looking for A. As time went on, Isaac didn't seem to be getting much from that side - nor did I when I pumped. It wasn't until Tuesday night -- 36 hours after the mastitis began -- that I found the clogged duct, hiding deeper in the tissue, easily overlooked or confused with...like...a rib. By then, it was much more stubborn and had me worried.

3) PANIC: It's really never helpful to assume the worst, so uncharacteristically I homed in on the worst case scenarios immediately. Either this deep duct had blocked the milk flow long enough that I wouldn't be able to get it back, or it was a tumor. And I chose to deal with this late Tuesday night, from about 11pm-12:30am. Very rational hours.

4) TURN UP THE HEAT: My usual sissy remedies for a superficial duct weren't cutting it, so sweet friends came to the rescue with advice: A long and very hot shower while massaging the spot, then pumping/nursing frequently while massaging the spot. Then massage it a little more because it feels so good (not). Now repeat. It's like boot camp for your breast. And it did help, though in my befuddled state I still found it hard to tell if I was detecting the clogged duct or a rib. To this day (Thursday), the lump isn't entirely gone, but the milk is flowing and with time (and killer drugs) it's settling down. Miraculously, I haven't dried up, and I seem to not have cancer. I even went on a mini-date with Josh. Which led to...

5) INSOMNIA: When you are starting to feel better, don't eat anything with beans in it, and don't order coffee out unless you're POSITIVE it's decaf. Otherwise, you may be unloading the dishwasher and blogging about your own foolishness at 4:15am.

Tummy Time

We've learned a lot from our previous boys, and one of those lessons is the importance of tummy time. So Isaac gets his daily dose, and his push-ups are really coming along! Now if only he could figure out where that lovely fist goes when he's on his back...

Baby Carriers

There have always been moments when I don't have enough hands, but now that I have more boys than hands, it's truer than ever. Which is why I've been on the hunt for a good hands-free baby carrier. It's like buying a new stroller and (gasp) costs as much. So, I'm going to share my findings in hopes I save someone else from hours of research and fittings.

Here were my priorities in order of their importance to me:

1. Ergonomic - If it makes my back hurt, I won't use it.
2. Self-donning - If I can't put it on alone, then I can't use it when I need it most.
3. Local - I really wanted to try something on before buying (to ensure #1 and #2).
4. Cool - It's August. I'm hot. He's hot. We don't need to contain all our heat.
5. Washable - I give birth to spitters.
6. Scalable - If I'm gonna pay big bucks, I want it to last beyond his 3-month birthday.
7. Front or Back-Facing - Allows the baby to face me when sleeping but out when awake.
8. Cheap

I scoured Amazon for reviews and CraigsList for used carriers. I considered:

-- Beco Baby Carrier Gemini, but it wasn't self-donning, local, or washable.
-- BabyBjorn Air, but it wasn't ergonomic or scalable.
-- Slings (like this Moby), but I can never get the baby positioned right, plus I don't find them ergonomic or scalable.
-- Ergo Original, but it wasn't as cool or washable as the...

Ergo Performance, which is what I ultimately bought. It fit #1-6 so I gave up #7-8. I've wasted $20 on cheap knock-offs before, so I went for the most popular carrier. And judging from CraigsList, I should be able to sell it someday and recoup some of the cost (much like the Bob joggers).

In the meantime, Josh finished his 18-month odyssey of looking for another kind of baby carrier: a new car. In fact, you should ask him about it. He has always loved car talk, but now that he has a new "baby" to carry his new baby, he could use a few more listening ears to absorb all his enthusiasm. Tonight, he even asked what errands he could run, just so he could drive it. And that grin. My big boy. So cute.