it's complicated

Two completely unrelated things happened today which are worth noting. Punkin likes to talk about "dad" and even calls respite workers, summer school employees, and perfect strangers "daddy" with a great deal of enthusiasm. This is not embarrassing in the least. I'm sure he's picked up the word from seeing other children with their fathers at school and from seeing father figures on television, most recently on Word Girl.

I've been trying to figure out the best way to approach this subject, as he doesn't have any relationship with his father at all; therefore the concept of what a dad is and what a dad does is difficult to explain, especially to someone with limited comprehension skills. Do I just keep saying, "No, he's not your dad; he's so-and-so" and leave him wondering "Well, then who is dad?" And then if I talk about him more often, is he left secretly wondering where the heck this guy is and when he's coming over to play? Bottom line, I don't want to leave him hurting. And then, of course, maybe I'm just projecting my own feelings onto the situation; maybe Punkin doesn't give a hoot.

So this morning he's playing with some paper kites that he made at summer school with one of the most patient young women I have ever met in my short life and he says, "Where's the dad?" We found the dad kite; I grabbed his baby book off the shelf and sat down, "Here's Punkin's dad. Here's your dad. This is Dad."

"Ya. Dad." He smiled.

"Ready to go?"

"Let's get outta here."

So we went to an outdoor festival in the city to watch some friends play in their band, which brings me to the second even worth mentioning. He saw an older friend go dance and wanted to join him. So I got up.

"Sit down!"

"Honey, I have to come." I walked a few paces.

"Stay right der!"

"I will just watch."

He practically ran away from me, stood and twirled in front of the stage, and then noticed the growing line of people grabbing each other's backs to form a train. He hopped right in -- with mom. When we joined Oma after the song his first words were, "I DID IT!"

people? who needs people?

I'm unsure of Red and Brown's final destination, but I can assure you that their safety belts are properly fastened.

is there enough soap for this?

I'm writing this particular post for a friend from college who once surprised me by telling me that he read my blog and then requested more poop stories. It's been a while, but I think this one should satisfy.

I generally go to the laundromat during my respite hours, something my therapist hates because I should be out having fun and being youthful or some such thing. But it's sort of peaceful there. And they have free wifi.

Anyway, last Thursday Punkin was forced to come with me, which normally would have scared me. But since he's started that third dose of ritalin in the afternoon, I knew there wouldn't be any threat of climbing in the machines. He was awesome. He sat and watched Word Girl in such peace that I almost missed him squatting on the bench. "Punkin! Let's go potty."

"No potty."

"Yes potty. Let's go." At this point I knew we were racing the clock and I was left wondering which kind of spill I'd be left cleaning up if we lost. We rounded the corner past the last row of 60lb washing machines when I saw it, plop, right there on the floor -- a Punkin turd, rabbit sized.

Inside my head I was saying, OKAY, OKAY, We're almost to the bathroom. It's solid. It's small. No one can see, right? ARE YOU SERIOUSLY DOING THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW? And on the outside I just bent down and picked it up with the pair of swim trunks I had thought to grab out of the basket and kept walking. Oh, good gravy it's another one. Oh dear. Okay. Two more steps. They just keep getting bigger. Why does this stuff happen to me? They're just falling out of his underwear. This stuff doesn't happen to other people. There's the door. Of course a guy is sitting right there. "Go in, honey. No, Punkin. No, honey. Don't pick that up." Please don't put it in your mouth. Please don't put it in your mouth.

So now I'm stuck because the trunks are dirty and so are the shorts he's wearing -- and I have no underwear. To save both of us from a meltdown, he wore the trunks for approximately 25 seconds while I found a new pair of slightly damp pants and underwear in the dryer. And I was full on sweating.

As we walked out of the bathroom for the second time I realized two things; first, I missed a turd and second, the premise is under video surveillance.

just wanted to let you know

That I think you're amazing.

Every day you get up and you do it - you face the world - all over again. You deal with people who despite their most sincere intentions do not understand you. Hell, even I misunderstand you and I'm the mom. You fight through dozens of sensory hailstorms being thrown your way and are unable to articulate your thoughts and feelings. And yet you still manage to be the happiest, funniest, and most affectionate person I know.

Life sucks sometimes, huh? It's hard. I sure am glad you're here to help me through it.

I love you.

this is why i carry my camera in my purse

"Ge a baby. Ge a biaper."

"Ge a biaper on."

"Good as new."

"Wan a drink. Drink, Baby."

"Night, Baby. Bye, Baby."

I didn't prompt him at all -- not even to play with the doll.

our fourth of july weekend

We used sparklers, which was a little intense for me to be honest. It worked out, though. Nobody was rushed to the emergency room.
Then my parents, Punkin, and I met my sister at an indoor waterpark. Before we went swimming, though, we had to honor our family tradition by attending a Revolutionary War camp. Hence the obligatory photo in front of an old log house.
And then we swam! Here's Punkin practicing his Winnie the Pooh song, "Up down/Touch the ground/In the mood/for food." I was very impressed by his willingness to play among the sprinklers. It took a lot of convincing, and ultimately I think he agreed to it because of the promise of a super awesome water slide at the end. Because let me tell you, it was as if the entire structure surrounding the slide was raining on us. The faces he made were priceless.