One of the things I’m constantly challenged by now that we have two kids is keeping the two year old sufficiently corralled. This can be especially difficult when the baby needs to be fed and I forget to close the gate.

Every once in a while something like this happens.

I guess I should just be happy that he was trying to do something nice for his baby sister.

I’m making her a bed from PJ Mullen on Vimeo.

As we headed home from my mother’s house on Christmas day the snow began to fall. And fall it did – at least for the Queen City, anyway. When we woke up this past Sunday morning there was between three and four inches on the ground and at first inspection it seemed like it would pack well.

For us this was pretty exciting as it is only the second time in our son’s short life that there has actually been accumulation of any significance. A standard snow fall here might mean that we get an inch or two that has completely melted away by two in the afternoon the day it fell.

Like usual this snowfall didn’t accumulate on the roads, so driving wasn’t a hazard. Still, had it been a weekend I can guarantee everything would have been closed and had I felt like venturing out the stores would probably have been striped bare of milk and bread.

In any event little man and managed to scrape together enough warm-ish clothes to go out and play in the snow for a little more than an hour. Given the lack of regular snowfall here we were woefully unprepared for the event as both little man and I had to resort to wearing pairs of gloves that belong to my wife.

Still, we had a lot of fun and got to build his first real snowman. I even took the opportunity to fire up my video camera to record the occasion.

Snow Day 2010 from PJ Mullen on Vimeo.

This is the song
La la la la
Road trip song.
La la la la,
La la la la,
Road trip song.

La la la
La la la la, la
La la la
La la la la, la

I love to drive,
La la la la,
Road trip song.
La la la la,
La la la la,
Road trip song.

I filled the tank up.
I paid the tolls.
That’s the road trip song.

This is what 16 hours in the suburban assault vehicle each way with two children under the age of 2.5 does to your brain.

Photo credit: johnbrian on Flickr

Today marked my wife’s first day back to work from her maternity leave. It goes without saying that I had a good deal of anxiety heading into today.

I stayed up late last night due to the anxiety, plus I was compulsively refreshing the Pepsi website to see how CureJM would fare in the August Refresh Everything contest. (Big congrats to them for their win and to Kevin @ Always Home and Uncool for his tireless efforts promoting this worthy cause).

Nervous energy had me up and showered before six in the morning, which is so not like me. With both kids still sleeping away I managed to get a number of things done like refill the diaper bag for our days adventures and field strip some baby bottles in 9.8 seconds. As my friend Eric would point out, R. Lee Ermey would be proud.

Little man got up a little after seven and I had to stave off a few meltdowns when he was informed that Mama was not home. I successfully bribed him with oatmeal and grapes, then redirected him with talk of his weekly Gymboree class.

Baby girl announced her presence just before nine and thus began the toughest part of the day. Unsurprisingly she woke up hungry, but I could not get her to feed for the life of me. While she is primarily nursed, we did introduce her to bottles occasionally so it wouldn’t be new to her when I’d have to take over some of her feedings.

The most troubling part of the whole thing is that she had taken to the bottles without issue and was protesting now that I didn’t have the appropriate backup supplies. Fortunately, my wife happened to call in the middle of this episode and offered up a suggestion that turned out to work like a charm.

As a stay at home dad I’ve never once felt emasculated. Call me “Mr. Mom”, a “househusband” or a “beta male” if you want, I don’t care. I’d say what I’m really thinking, but I try to keep this a family show.

However, I reached a new low today when the only way I could get my daughter to take her bottle was to wear my wife’s fuzzy pink nursing pillow. It made perfect sense in that that is how she has been feeding her short life thus far and I’m sure there was the comfort factor in that it carries the scent of her mother.

The actual act of wearing it wasn’t the low. No, it was when I answered the door for FedEx still wearing it.

Undeterred I brought that thing with me when we left for my son’s class in the event she decided she wanted to make another pass at the bottle. I didn’t need it then, but I would need it again this afternoon at what constituted our third attempt at a feeding. Apparently third time really is the charm and she took the bottle down like a freshman at a rush event.

While the feeding itself went well for the first time today, it wasn’t all wine and roses. If my wife had gotten home five minutes before she actually did, she would have encountered quite the scene.

I was sitting on our couch with the nursing pillow around my waist and the baby resting comfortable while munching away on the bottle. My son was doing everything he could to get the bottle’s cap from me, including reaching under the pillow between my legs and nailing me in the family jewels – repeatedly.

To fend him off I was pushing him away from me with my leg, which did absolutely nothing to deter his resolve. Frustrated by the balancing act of trying to keep him away while feeding our daughter, I finally sternly asked him to “Stop hitting me in the nuts”.

Armed with his new vocabulary term, the parrot that he is, he proceeded to straddle the leg I was using to corral him and asked for a “horsey ride” while screaming “nuts!”. All the while baby girl was drinking away, oblivious to her brother’s antics.

The day went much better than expected and while the living room looks like a scene from Platoon, I survived the day.  In even better news my wife is off from work tomorrow.

Keeping a toddler occupied is no small feat. They have severely limited attention spans and grow bored with things quite easily. Few things would keep my son entertained like his blocks and his books until we got a magna doodle.

Back in early November we were at the eye doctors getting our annual exams. When the doctor was finished with me I went to collect my son from my wife so she could go in for her examination.

Our son was in the children’s play area of the office sitting quietly at a table playing with a magna doodle. As I needed to pick out new frames and check out I asked him to come with me while momma went to get her eyes checked.

Without even acknowledging me, he stood up, collected the magna doodle and marched straight into the exam room with his mother. By all accounts he took his place on a chair in the room and intently worked on his magnetic masterpiece.

Since we had yet to buy him anything for Christmas, we quickly scoured the internet (i.e., Amazon) for a magna doodle and procured not only a full sized one for the home, but a travel size one to keep in the swagger wagon. As far as toys goes, they were the best $22 I’ve ever spent.

Now in between playing with books and blocks we spend a good deal of time drawing on the magna doodle. Sometimes he will draw things, other times he will command me to do his bidding. So far we have covered things like his favorites shapes:

A review of ABC’s & 123′s, in no particular order:

He particularly liked it when I showed him how to trace our hands:

As momma’s belly grows one of his favorite things has been for me to draw a baby (that apparently needed to play with a block):

And, finally, no magna doodle lessons would be complete without a little Madden Telestrator. As you can see, this particular offense employs the Wildcat against a 4-3 defense:

Meet the newest member of our family, Maximus. Maximus is my son’s puppy, a stuffed one at that, and we are very excited to welcome him into our home.

To understand my excitement, you have to know a little more about me. You see, I’m not much of an animal person. It’s not that I don’t like them, I just don’t like them in my house. Or, as my grandfather, a butcher for 50 years, would have said: “I like animals, stuffed”.  I have enough trouble taking care of myself, let alone something that can’t do much of anything for themselves – ever.

We have a cat, and by “we” I mean my wife had a cat when we met, so now “we” have a cat. He is cool, though, and over the years my wife and I have been together we have come to an understanding. He’s no longer allowed in the bedroom and in exchange I make sure he gets fed twice a day and has clean water.

Just so you don’t think that I’m some big meanie I’m very allergic to him and when my wife and I were first dating I had to take drugs before I got to her house. It was so bad at times that I strongly considered buying stock in the manufacturer of Claritin. Having dinner and a movie in wasn’t a whole lot of fun when your eye that isn’t swollen is watering like crazy and you can’t breathe. And I like being able to breathe.

Anyway, so, about two weeks ago I get a flyer in the mail from Build-A-Bear offering a free birthday animal. I thought it was very cool that they would send my little man a gift card for his first birthday, until my wife pointed out that they actually sent it to me. While my birthday is shortly after his, I was at a loss as to why they would send it to me considering it’s been several years since I made a bear for my godson. Regardless, I thought it would be fun to take him there and make him a bear for his birthday.

Last weekend my wife was in the middle of a five day stretch of second shift at the hospital, so I recruited Grammie (my mother) to join us and we made the trip up to the mall to see what we could find for him. I’m not sure if they were giving stuff away at the mall we went to, but it was crazy busy. I’m pretty sure I remember reading something about the economy being bad and these people obviously did not get that memo.

In any event we got to the store and immediately started showing him different animal options to see which one he would pick. We showed him two animals the first go around and let him hold onto whatever one captured his interest the most. Then like some deranged scientific experiment we would introduce a different animal to see if he would keep what he was already holding or choose to exchange that animal for the new one. He seemed to be quite decisive (or he just liked playing with the tag) and the first animal he chose was the one we ended up turning into Maximus.

Now, you are probably wondering where we got the name Maximus. If you answered the movie Gladiator, you would be partly correct. Once we had the 18 week ultrasound and found out we were having a boy, I immediately offered up the name Maximus as my pick. I thought it would be cool and that we could call him Max for short – don’t judge, besides they would have been my therapy bills, not yours. Unfortunately, this grand revelation was not met with great – ok, any – enthusiasm by my wife. In her own mind she probably wondered how she could have married, and now be having a child with, such a lunatic.

However, my wife, being the calm and rational one, kindly informed me that when the cat is no longer with us and we got a dog I could name him Maximus. My response to that was great disappointment at her lack of vision, and I kindly informed her that we would never be getting a dog if I had anything to say about it. The discussion that ensued obviously put into question the degree to which I may have a choice about pet options in our household. Still, the cat is healthy and will most likely be around for a while, so that was a conversation for another day.

After little man made his selection and we made our way about Build-A-Bear to bring his puppy to life it was time to create the birth certificate. Seizing my grand opportunity, I named the stuffed pooch and presented him to my son who pretty much had lost interest at that point.

Later that night when my wife got home from work I showed her the puppy – who was intentionally dressed in overalls because she loves putting little man in them. Her response when she saw the birth certificate? What are we going to name the dog when we get one if this is Maximus? Ugh. Somehow I just don’t think I’m going to win this one and now I’ve gone and wasted the coolest name ever.

This past Monday was a day of firsts for us, as we not only discovered that our son had finally had his first tooth break through, but we also made the pilgrimage to the local mall to purchase his first pair of shoes. We realize he isn’t walking just yet, but he will walk along furniture or anything else he happens to be holding onto at the time. Besides, I just feel weird when we are out and about running errands and he’s only wearing socks. It feels like I’m doing something wrong as a dad and now that we have some cool kicks for him to wear when we go out I’m more at ease.

As with most purchases in our household the driving force behind the search for his shoes was driven by a coupon that was set to expire. Very rarely do we make a purchase, even for things we need, and I can’t find a coupon for it that my wife has stashed in the omnipresent coupon holder, which has now taken up residence in my suburban assault vehicle.

Maybe it is a guy thing, or even a single guy thing, but I can’t for the life of me remember ever hunting down coupons for anything, ever. Not that I didn’t like getting a deal on things, I just can’t remember ever consciously pouring through flyers in the off chance there would be a coupon for something I might need. Ever since I met my wife that has all changed and I even find myself sorting through things looking for deals. I’ll even try other brands or stores just because I’ve got a coupon. Don’t even get me started on two for one dinner deals, but before the kid came we were addicted to restaurant.com.

In any event, after the obligatory stops at the other children’s clothing outfitters in the mall we marched down to Stride Rite to look at baby shoes. As we entered the store I had a very surreal, out of body experience. It was almost as if I had been taken back twenty five years in time and was there to get my latest pair of shoes for school. What brought me back was that not only were the shoes much cooler than what I remember them being, but they were freaking expensive. I don’t think I paid that much money for my last pair of shoes, let alone for some that my son might wear for three months if I am lucky.

We looked at a number of different options and were helped by a very friendly and knowledgeable salesperson – a rarity in today’s retail world, just ask Circuit City. As luck would have it the store was running a buy one, get one half off sale that week and we were impervious to resist. I mean really, deals like that are like crack to the bargain shopper. So, about an hour later we departed the store with not one, but two pairs of shoes for little man. He seemed to like the ones for him to wear now so much that we left them on him with the second pair for when he is really tearing it up safely in their box in the stroller.

All in all it was a good day with the family. Little man was wearing his new kicks as we annoyed him by constantly peeking at his little tooth nub, my wife was relaxed after a long weekend working second shift and my doctor took me off the insulin injections during the office visit I had earlier that morning. We retreated to the confines of a corner booth at The Cheesecake Factory for a celebratory early dinner. The only kicker to the whole day? With the sale we never even got to use the coupon that started us on this whole expedition.

Every day with my little man is an adventure. Whether we are just playing on the floor, entering intense negotiations over nap time or just out and about there is always something new to explore and discover. Most of our adventures are a lot of fun and generally result in him flashing his big toothless grin at me. Unfortunately, not all of our adventures are that much fun. Sometimes there are adventures that we would prefer to avoid all together. In preparing tonight’s post I realized that it has been three months since our least fun adventure took place and would present my wife and I with our first true test of parenthood.

My wife is in the healthcare industry (something I’ve very thankful for in this economy) and has a varied work scheduled. This particular evening she was on second shift and had left for work leaving little man and me to our own devices. It had been an otherwise normal afternoon for us. We had our nap after the early afternoon feeding followed by some play time. After his first bottle of the evening it was time for a diaper change, so off we went to do our thing. I got his diaper off, cleaned him up, got the new one on and then noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Is that blood?

Taken aback I checked again as my heart began to race. Now, I’ve always taken a look at his dirty diapers so I know what to report back to the pediatrician when she asks. Before having a child you couldn’t have convinced me that I would become that well versed in the color and frequency of bowel movements, but now I’m downright petrified. Looking over things a few times I’m convinced that there is blood in the diaper I have just changed and I am at an absolute loss as to where it came from and what to do to stop it. As luck would have it the doctor’s offices are closed for the day by the time our little adventure begins and so I reluctantly call my wife at work to discuss the best course of action.

While all of this is going on nothing is any different with our little man. He’s still laughing, giggling and smiling like he has no care in the world and nothing is bothering him. After a quick conversation with my wife we agree that the responsible decision is to take him to the emergency room and have him evaluated. So, I quickly pack him up, grab the diaper bag and steer the suburban assault vehicle towards the hospital.

Once we are at the ER there are forms to fill out, disclaimers to sign and co-pays to, well, pay. After a relatively short wait we are ushered into triage where they check his vitals. While this is happening I take the opportunity to let my wife know that we are being seen if she wanted to come down from her floor to be with us.

When we are done in triage they put us in a room, ask me to strip him down to his diaper and then hand me a tiny hospital gown to put on him. As I look at the gown in my hands they apologize to me for not having a smaller one for him as it is late in the day and they are out of the smaller sized gowns. All I can think while doing this is they make these things smaller than this? And how many times a day do they get infants in the emergency room that they are out of them?

We were just getting settled and playing on the hospital bed waiting for the doctor when my wife made it down to the children’s ER. Now, until this point I had been holding it together pretty well. I was very concerned about what was wrong with our little man, but took a good deal of consolation in that he didn’t appear to be in any discomfort or pain. As soon as my wife entered the room and saw her baby boy in a hospital gown she went from calm to crying in about three seconds. I know that men aren’t supposed to cry unless it’s their sports hero’s retirement press conference, but the confluence of events and my wife’s reaction to seeing our son on a gurney took me down.

Managing to collect ourselves before a nurse came into the room to do some tests on the diaper in question and our suspicions that it was blood was confirmed. Only two hours and three doctors later we were given our walking papers. The diagnosis? A milk protein allergy that appeared to be slow to develop because my wife largely avoided dairy products after our son was born. However, once she returned to work she resumed eating a yogurt and a protein bar for breakfast and the increased dairy intake finally started causing problems.

As little man and I headed home while mommy returned to work to finish her shift we had a quick sigh of relief. We made it through our first parenting crisis relatively unscathed and were confident that with a few changes to my wife’s diet that she would be able to continue nursing without issue.

Even as I think back now there really is nothing in life that can prepare you for seeing your four month old in a hospital gown. With all of the things it could have been we are very fortunate that what happened was something that is relatively common and will not have any long term effects on his growth or development. That being said here’s to hoping we don’t see the inside of an ER for another dozen years or so.