The Somewhat (infrequent) Daily Quote

Mommy, I'm done talking now about the days of the week. You can focus on your driving and I'll just sit here, okay?

Followed a minute later by...

Mommy, how is your new hair color?

-Ian Burpo, Age 3, heard while driving to school this morning after I had been quizzing him for a few minutes on the days of the week. I guess he got tired of playing along. So thoughtful of him to ask about my hair though! (It was a big day yesterday on the hair front - I finally took the plunge and got it highlighted to help hide the gray that was overtaking my head at light speed.) So the answer was, "I'm quite pleased with it, thank you very much for asking."

Until I write again.

Arlington: The Rap

A friend posted this hilarious video from YouTube on Facebook. I thought it captured our old hood so perfectly that I had to post it here. And sadly, it made me feel terribly homesick. Not sure what that says about me but I could make a couple of guesses.

Until I write again.

Add this to the list of things no one told me about parenting (May milestones, part two)

In addition to moving into a real bed, we also tackled the potty training issue once and for all in May. With surprising success, I might add. After nearly a year of casually "practicing" on the potty, Ian still appeared to be taking very little initiative on his own to advance toward being trained. So, with the clock ticking on a couple of different fronts at this point, we decided that it was time to push him off the deep end, so to speak. Enter Operation Potty Training Boot Camp (OPTBC).

We selected Memorial Day weekend for OPTBC because we knew that would give us four solid days where he was not scheduled to be in school and we could stay tethered to the house. (Adios annual Memorial Day day trip to Cannon Beach.) Now, Memorial Day weekend in Portland is known for its awful weather. Cool temperatures, rain, lots of clouds...according to local sources, it's been this way for years. Except, of course, the year we decide to stay at home all weekend. The weather could not have been more gorgeous, really. But was this surprising? Of course not. And to be fair, we did have a ton of beautiful weather in May - except the first week when Chris and Karen were visiting where it just so happens we had some amazingly soggy and dreary days. But again, was this surprising? Of course not.

So, we started warning Ian about a week beforehand that come Saturday morning, he would no longer be wearing diapers. Against my better taste, but going by my Good Mother Training Manual, I even took him to Target to pick out some underwear. He picked out Thomas the Train. Yippee. (Actually, it was better than some.) He also got to pick out his own candy reward. He originally picked out Snickers or something like that but I gently suggested M&Ms might be a better choice. (One for you...one for me. One for you...one, two for me!) In all seriousness, the M&Ms were another book suggestion because they are small and easy to give as frequent rewards. Versus say, a whole mini Snickers every time. I mean, I love Snickers and all but something didn't seem right about potentially feeding him multiple little candy bars in one day.

So, Saturday morning we all woke up bright and early with positive attitudes - ready to tackle OPTBC with zest! On went the underwear and away went the diapers. (Okay, well they were actually just in the closet, but whatever. You get the point.) By approximately 10 a.m. we had dealt with three "accidents." Luckily, all on the hardwood floor - which may have had something to do with the fact that he was banned from sitting on the couch or really going anywhere that didn't have a hard, easy to clean surface. Just kidding. Sort of. Okay, we did make him sit on a towel on the couch. Still, attitudes were positive. After all, accidents were all part of the OPTBC agenda. Then came another. And another. And another. And...somewhere between 2 and 3 p.m. and the sixth or seventh accident - Patty Positive left for the beach and Nancy Negative showed up. It was somewhere around this general time frame that, after cleaning up yet another accident and taking a few deep breaths, I recall that I got down on the floor with him, took him gently, yet firmly by the arms, looked him in the eye and said, "Ian, do you want to go on the potty?" He said yes. "Then you need to tell us and get to the potty before you go. We can't do this for you. You have the power to decide if you want to go potty on the potty or continue having accidents. So, just let us know when you want to start going on the potty." Or something profound like that.

Not all that long after that we were downstairs and I heard, "Mommy, I have to go pee peeeee!!!" We all jumped up and ran to the bathroom like our lives were at stake. He sat down. And he went! There was jumping. There was cheering. There was hugging. And most importantly, there were M&Ms. For all of us! Now, I can't recall the exact sequence of events at this point - but from the hours of approximately 4 or 5 p.m. and 8 p.m., and into Sunday - suddenly Ian was declaring his need to use the toilet about every five minutes. And a few times he went. But more often, he'd eek something out and declare that he was deserving of an M&M. We'd no sooner have him put back together, hands washed, stool put back, sit back down and the process would start all over again. Hmmm....now wait a minute here. It didn't take us long to figure out that we were being played like a fiddle. Barely one challenge conquered before another one began. Sigh. Later on Sunday - when we couldn't take being tied to the house anymore (minus one quick and frantic trip to Fred Meyer earlier that day) - we ventured over to the neighbors' house to check out their new margarita machine. Correction. One of us checked it out while the other one "enjoyed" a strawberry icee with the three, four and five year olds. (Are we having fun yet?) Our neighbor said, "Are you using the M&Ms as reward for going?" "Um, yeah." "Oh, we made that mistake too." "You have to reward them for staying clean and dry all day." "Oh, that makes much better sense!" I guess I missed that page of the manual. So after we got back home we informed Ian that there had been a slight change in the reward plan, which he seemed okay with.

By Monday morning, things were going downright well. The every five minutes thing had subsided and he hadn't had an accident since Saturday afternoon. Things were going so well that we even ventured out on some errands. On Wednesday morning, I happily delivered him to school where he proudly announced to his teacher that he was wearing underwear. Which reminds me that my child - who normally will not say a peep to strangers who try to be friendly with him - also out of the blue announced to the checkout cashier at the grocery store the day before that he was wearing underwear. Luckily she must have had kids or something because she seemed very excited for him.

Our accident-free streak continued, minus one or two nighttime issues that weren't Ian's fault, for several days until just this Tuesday. Just prior to his "rest time" we had a little behavior challenge where I let him get the better of me (bad me) and immediately after that he had a clearly on-purpose accident in his underwear (I won't go into the gory details). But then immediately ran to sit on the potty to finish up, so I guess he wasn't completely committed to it. But that seemed to be an isolated incident. So far, at least.

However, I won't say that the process has been challenge-free. Remember last time when I said that he complied with staying in his room despite his newfound freedom out of the crib? Um yeah, well we regressed on that front slightly. In an effort to help him advance to being completely trained (including at night) we told him that if he was ever in his room and felt like he needed to go - that he should feel free to come out and go to the bathroom, ask for help if he needed it and then go back to his room. I'm pretty sure I saw a little sparkle in his eye and a devilish grin on his face when we revealed this new detail to him. Because not long after he was suddenly needing to go potty an awful lot during rest time - and more surprisingly since he's always been a champ about going to bed at night - after bedtime. One night last Thursday or so he appeared in the living room half naked long after we thought he was asleep declaring he had gone potty! Upstairs we went to get cleaned up and ushered him back to bed, only for it to happen two more times before the hour was up. And it was during So You Think You Can Dance for crying out loud. The nerve!

Once again faced with a new challenge and really not sure what to do in order to continue to encourage him to go while sending the message that games are not acceptable - we finally went with our gut and imposed a consequence for every time he got up to go and didn't actually produce. It sort of worked because things slowed down right after that, but challenges remain. Last night I was out and Jeff found him wandering around upstairs after bedtime - not even under the pretense of needing to sit on the potty. Just out of bed wandering. You know, just because he can. And, we are having issues in the morning as well. Last Saturday he showed up by our bedside just before 6 a.m., which should just flat out be against the law. This, of course, was really the inevitable part of ditching the cage-like sleeping arrangements. And people wonder why we held out as long as possible...

Which brings me back around to the meaning of the title of this entry. For some strange reason, I was under the impression that potty training is, in part, such a huge milestone because no more diapers would equal much less work for mom and dad. But since we embarked on this adventure I have sadly learned that this is not the case. So far, at least. In fact, I could make several arguments to the contrary: that Ian being potty trained is actually MORE work now. First of all, he is far from being self sufficient now. We have finally started to put our foot down (again, and impose a consequence) for his tendency - and clear enjoyment - for pulling everything off, going potty - and then just running out of the bathroom to declare Mission Accomplished! with no clothes on. At which point we have to get him back to the bathroom, help with any necessary clean up, help him get his underwear right side out again, make sure he gets them on by himself without dawdling for 20 minutes, and make sure he washes his hands without throwing water all over the bathroom (or with the case downstairs, he can't even reach the sink by himself, even on a stool). Then there's the whole sleep disturbance (for all of us) and wandering out of his room issue. And I haven't even touched on the whole new level of anxiety associated with outings, especially ones where we know there will not be a clean restroom or sometimes, any restroom nearby.

Still, apparently I hear that this whole learning to use the potty is a good thing in the long run, so I guess we'll stick with it. And I have to say that I probably had more anxiety over how to tackle this whole potty training thing possibly more than any other part of parenting so far. While much of it has been about just going with our gut instinct, I must admit that there was many a day when I just felt lost on how exactly to go about training, despite reading about different techniques. I also had more than one person tell me that I needed to be prepared that OPTBC may not be successful because even though we were ready, he may not be ready. But we are very proud of him and looking back, I have to say that once we all pushed off the deep end and made a focused effort on mastering the core skills, if you will, it was a relatively quick and painless process. Hopefully I will not be eating those words any time soon.

Until I write again.

NOTICE: To protect the innocent, no pictures are provided with this entry.

May milestones, part one

I'd be remiss if I let too much time go by without writing about some big milestones that occurred in the Burpo house last month. (Which, by the way, may have had something to do with the fact that I did not post at all last month.) Of course I already mentioned the big first trip to Disneyland. In addition, we also had a very fun visit from Grandpa Chris and Grandma Karen who were, among other things, kind enough to help us get our front and back yard looking quite lovely for spring. However, there was other big news as well! Three "newsworthy" events, as a matter of fact. And, just so I don't make this one very long and boring post, I've decided to write about them in separate posts. So, here's a recap of the first event of the month:

At last, I'm very proud to report that we can now safely say that Ian will not still be in his crib when he starts high school. Or even kindergarten. Yes folks, as of mid-May he started sleeping in a real, full-size bed. After months of deliberation on furniture, bedding, wall colors, etc., etc. the room finally started coming together on a Saturday morning the second or so weekend of May. And let me say that it was a truly exhausting weekend at that. Grandpa Chris and Grandma Karen had just departed that Friday morning. With Maria still on the DL, the house was due for yet another cleaning, so - after picking up all the paint supplies for Ian's new room - I spent a good chunk of the day doing some manual labor. Woe is me. By Friday eve, as usual, my dogs were barking - which is exactly how you want to feel when you are about to wake up early the next morning to start painting and putting together furniture for a bedroom.

Without going through all the gory details of striped walls that later became unstriped or how perhaps it wasn't the best idea in the world to tackle an all-weekend project the very weekend the grandparents left and we had no time to give Ian any attention - not to mention that his room was torn up - let's just say that by that Sunday eve I was pretty sure that I had been flattened by a Freightliner (run on clean diesel, of course). And Jeff wasn't looking so hot either. It wasn't until a couple of nights later though that we actually put sheets on and Ian spent his first night in his new bed. (And about two weekends later - with the Disney trip in between - that we got the crib down and out of the room.)

The great news is that the transition went off without a hitch, which is I guess what happens when you keep a kid in their crib until almost 3.5 years old. He was so excited to sleep in a real bed and be out of the cage that he even willingly complied when we told him that he was not allowed to come out of his room at nap time or in the morning unless we came in and told him it was okay. Such a naive boy.

I know that a couple of you have asked to see pictures of the finished product. And honestly, I've hesitated to post them because in my mind, the room isn't finished yet and still looks pretty plain. The IKEA lamps I had hoped would work on the bedside tables did not - so that purchase is still TBD. There are picture frames on the dresser with no pictures in them yet (even though the PB signs that come with the frames are quite lovely). We bought knobs for the dresser that need to be installed (more from a functionality standpoint than a looks standpoint). And last but certainly not least - the walls are still strikingly bare. I have a couple of prints (from the Creative Thursday artist on Etsy) on order for framing along with some shelving ideas for above the bed, but it hasn't happened yet. I guess I needed a bit of a break from bedroom decor. So, below is what the room looks like now. I'll post updated pictures in the future when we eventually apply the finishing touches, so to speak.

And as an aside - eventually we'll be replacing the chair and potentially the bookcase since those items will be needed elsewhere before too long. Also, after going back and forth about ten million times on the paint color(s) for the room, I'm happy - no, relieved - to report that I was very pleased with the finished product, which ended being an accent wall of Benjamin Moore's Jalapeno Pepper and another BM more neutral green...of which the name is escaping me right now. Which just shows I'm definitely getting older because normally I would not forget such things. But I guess that's a post for another day.

Until I write again.

Happy anniversary to me!

A woman I know from high school had a status update on her Facebook page the other day saying that she had just been to the Linden High School graduation for the Class of 2009 the night before. Hmmm....I graduated in...let's see...1989 which means that it was exactly (or thereabouts) 20 years ago that I graduated from Linden High School. Holy guacamole!!! Well, A) What happened to my 20-year reunion invite? It must have been lost in the mail (which I'm actually okay with); and B) How did 20 years go by so quickly?? I mean, it was just like yesterday that I recall wandering the halls of Linden High as little Melinda Johnson among the sea of Italian farming families that make up good ole' Linden, California. That, and the Linden Cherry Festival every May where my best friend Melissa ran for Cherry Queen our senior year. That was a big deal. I remember helping her memorize her speech where she talked about her pig Iggy that she raised for 4H. As I recall, she didn't win but she should have. But I believe that she has recovered by now, so it's all good.

Anyway, as I pondered my high school days, I couldn't help but think back to some of my more notable teachers....Mr. Gregory from physics; Mr. Waters from biology; Mr. Miller, my history teacher who also doubled as the Linden High football coach (and looked like one too); and last, but not least, Ms. Niswonger - my typing teacher. I liked Ms. Niswonger because she kind of reminded me of my Grandma. But she ran a mean typing class. "Ready.........tyyyypppppppeeee!," she'd always say. Really, who knows if I'd even be able to write this blog post here today without her. I'm guessing they've ditched the typing class (with typewriters, anyway) at Linden High by now. Ironically, two of the teachers who were probably among the more instrumental in shaping my future (besides Ms. Niswonger), I can clearly see their faces but can't remember their names. First was my Spanish teacher (actually, I think I had two but I remember one in particular) who gave me my start in what would later become my college major and second was my yearbook teacher who helped spark my interest in journalism and writing.

Another class I recall that I actually did not take was home economics. I remember the classroom it was in and that it was a very popular class, particularly among the female students. I went in there once and there was a whole kitchen going on in there; and one of the most popular parts of the class was when all the students would have to carry around an egg for a week and pretend like it was their baby. Of course the goal was to not drop and break the egg. You know, so you learn how to not drop and break your kid later on in life. All I can say looking back on that now is...Wow! They may have ditched the typewriting class on typewriters - but I certainly hope they've ditched the home economics class. I could say more but perhaps I'll just leave it at that. Though, since I can't cook and well, I guess my child rearing abilities are still TBD, maybe a little crash course in home econ wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all.

But while we are on the topic of my 20-year high school graduation anniversary, in California many high school seniors celebrate their graduation by heading to Anaheim for a special "Grad Nite" (yes, that is how they spell it) at Disneyland where every night in June seniors invade the park for an all-night celebration. While I did venture down to Disney World in Orlando once fairly early on in my East Coast adventures, I hadn't been to Disneyland since "Grad Nite '89" until Jeff and I took Ian down just a few weeks ago for a long weekend at the park with my Dad, DeAnn, Summer, Addy and Emmy.

Disneyland is kind of like the U.S. Constitution. It hasn't changed all that much over the years, yet it still seems surprisingly current and relevant - so I have to give Disney some credit for that. But aside from that, taking your three year old to Disneyland is a bit different than going as a kid yourself or in my most recent case, going for "Grad Nite '89". First and foremost, I'm not sure if anyone who has been recently noticed, but that place is crowded. Not just a little crowded. A LOT CROWDED. I mean, if our economy is in the tank, you'd never know it by spending a day or two at Disneyland. Want to spend 90 seconds going up and down in a circle on flying elephants? (Because we did.) Wait 45 minutes. Want to spend a few minutes on a fake submarine ride (these days called "Finding Nemo" thanks to those branding wizards at Disney) where you can view fake fish and fake plants? Wait 1.5 hours. (Ian did...but we didn't.) Want to go on Space Mountain, the Haunted House or the Matterhorn? Forgot it...you only got to do those fun rides before you had young children in tow. Plus that was at least another two or three hours of waiting time and well, who has time?? Want to be sneezed on, coughed on, bumped into and stepped on by every man, woman and child in Southern California and beyond? Go to Disneyland! (And yes, I did come down with a cold shortly after we arrived back home.)

But yeah, yeah - you are probably thinking, "Well, um, isn't the point of going to Disneyland not really for you but for Ian, Addy and Emmy?" Geez, if you want to make it "all about the kids", I guess so. And the bottom line was that they had a great time. Besides just being in overdrive excitement mode over the whole experience, Ian was particularly in love with the Dumbo ride, It's a Small World, the Monorail, the Disney train and the breakfast we had with "Minnie and Friends" (except that Captain Hook...he wasn't so sure about him). And it's always nice to have a long weekend away from the grind and be able to spend time with family. Oh, and as a neat little bonus - perhaps in commemoration of another recent anniversary earlier in May - our approach flying into Orange County took us directly over Catalina Island and as we turned toward the coast just north of Avalon, it was just enough to clearly (well, as "clear" as LA air gets) see the Casino, the bay and a some of the town. We realized it was the first time we had even set sight on Avalon since we departed from our wedding. We pointed it out to Ian but he was more interested in his puzzle and fishy crackers, frankly. Oh well.

Until I write again.

Life without Maria

Did I mention that our housecleaner broke her arm? If not, I'm very surprised because I think about it, and her, at least once every five minutes these days. This was maybe six weeks ago now. She called one day to tell me that she slipped and fell in the bathtub. Ouch. Poor Maria. Even worse, that she was in a cast and would not be able to work for a while. However, in typical Maria fashion, she said that, despite what the doctor was telling her, she thought it wouldn't be too long before she'd be able to come back to work.

So, we left it at that. I hung up the phone, looked around the house and spent about two seconds pondering the fact that I may have to actually clean my house for the first time in, oh, seven or so years. And then it was too much to process so I immediately stopped thinking about it and instead went immediately into the denial stage - which I seem to do so well. No worries, she said she'll be back soon. The house can survive a month without a major cleaning. (Note that it had already been more than a week since she was last here when I received the call.)

Two weeks (or so...I've lost track) later the phone rings again. It's Maria. We had gotten together with our two sets of neighbors (who also use Maria) to send her a "get well soon" bouquet of flowers. Of course she didn't realize how literal that sentiment was for each one of us. No, really, please get well soon! So Maria was calling to thank us (profusely, because she is very sweet) for the flowers and to provide us with an update on her condition:

Maria: So I wanted to let you know that the doctor switched me to my permanent cast today.

Me: Oh, your permanent cast?

Maria: Yes, he said it's going to be at least another three weeks that I'll need to be in this cast and then he'll have to check me again for my progress.

Me: Oh, at least three weeks, huh? (??!!!!!!!!)

Maria: Yes, I'm so sorry for any inconvenience in not being able to clean your house for all this time.

Me: Oh, Maria, it's no problem at all. (What a liar.) You just rest and focus on getting well and give us a call after you talk with the doctor again. Oh, and can you just tell me what you use to clean the toilets?

So, again, I'd lost count but basically at this point we were approaching somewhere in the vicinity of a month w/o a cleaning with clearly no end in sight. As I looked around at the dust bunnies mingling around the floor like best friends at a cocktail party, I knew that denial was no longer an option. Someone needed to clean the house and it clearly was not going to be Maria. Ian offered and I considered it for a minute before deciding that might not be the most efficient route to go. And Jeff didn't really offer. Which is understandable, I guess, since he's got that whole work thing going on.

I spent the next four or so days getting siked up for my adventures in housecleaning. I mean, it's not like I've never cleaned before. I used to be the Queen of Clean(ing), as a matter of fact, before we bought our house in Virginia. But once multiple levels entered into the picture, I decided I was okay with enlisting the help of outside resources. And then it's just hard to go back after that decision is made. To prepare, I spent the weekend doing some deep breathing and stretching exercises, along with reacquainting myself with the myriad cleaning supplies at my disposal. Come Monday morning - with Ian dropped off at school - I was ready. It was a beautiful day outside and I had a lot of energy that morning. In short, it was Me vs. The House and I was determined to come out the winner!

Just like Maria does, I started upstairs in our bathroom. First of all, I never realized how big our vanity was before. Lots to clean there for sure. After that and the toilet, I tackled the bathtub, which took much more bending and general contorting of the body than I anticipated. By that point I was already saying, "Oh, that's good enough!" Next was the shower. I thought, "You know, the shower still looks pretty clean...I've been at this an hour and there's still a lot to do...I'll just skip the shower for now." Well, about 2.5 hours, one more bathroom, four bedrooms, one laundry room later and about two breaks later - I was finally ready to start moving downstairs. Admittedly, I was getting a little tired and it took a little longer than I had hoped. Still, I was not discouraged. One more break and I was ready to tackle the main level.

About 1.5 hours later - somewhere in between cleaning the kitchen, vacuuming the wood floors and getting started on the mopping - is when it first crossed my mind that whomever thought it was a perfectly good idea to buy a 3,000+ square foot home clearly never planned on cleaning it. By that point, I'm pretty sure my energy level was decreasing by the millisecond and breaks were becoming more frequent. Somewhere around that same time Jeff arrived home and sadly, attempted to go up the very same stairs I had just spent 20 minutes vacuuming WITHOUT TAKING OFF HIS SHOES FIRST. I mean, I don't want to exaggerate and say that I flipped out or anything but let's just say I don't think he'll be making that mistake again.

By the time I finished with just minutes to spare before it was time to go pick up Ian, I was not well. For sure it had been Me vs. The House except that I do believe The House came out the winner. By 6pm that evening, every bone and muscle in my body ached. I can only liken it to how one feels when they are coming down with a bad case of the flu. It was, in a word, embarrassing. The next day, I was useless. I did nothing except spend most of the day praying that Maria would return before it was time to clean again. That was about 2.5 weeks ago now. I've recovered but the house is getting dirty again. Especially that shower. And still no call from Maria. As a side note, I can't go without giving credit where credit is due. I did have a couple of helpers that day. Here are some photos of them in action.

Gathering bathroom rugs for the wash:

Overseeing the dusting in (or outside, as the case may be) our bedroom:

Bathtub quality assurance advisor: And finally, taking a break from mopping:

Until I write again.

Fun in a tube

Last Sunday we decided to take advantage of the beautiful weekend weather and head up to Mount Hood. We found out that one of the ski resorts has a tubing hill for kids (and adults...) so we thought it would be a good opportunity to introduce Ian to the world of snow sports.

Because we live on the west side of town, the drive up to the mountains is about an hour and 20 minutes for us. (We have the advantage when it comes to going to the coast.) Skibowl is right at the town of Government Camp, which is a cute little village area just below Timberline Lodge. We arrived just before 11 a.m. and found that the place was practically empty. I guess that everyone decided they'd rather stay in town for the nice weather than spend it on the slopes. And yesterday I heard that there are some avalanche issues right now with the sudden warm weather, so perhaps that was a deterrent (?).

We parked the car, got our tickets and headed for the "Tube Park" which consists of about five groomed paths down a not-too-scary-looking hill. However, once we watched a few people come down, it was clear that this wasn't a total snoozer. They were getting some good speed on that thing! So after our careful tube selection, we headed for the rope tow up the hill. For Ian, this was half the fun. At the top, we were a little nervous about pushing him down on his own at first so we decided that it would be better if one of us went down with him by holding on to his tube. Of course I nominated Jeff for this job. And before I knew it - off they went swooshing down the hill. We really weren't sure what to expect out of Ian...whether he'd think it was the greatest thing ever or if he would immediately be on the phone to child protective services once at the bottom of the hill. Luckily, it was the former. He laughed and giggled the entire way down and before the tube had even come to a complete stop, he was asking Jeff, "Can we do it again??" So, we repeated this process (complete with the request to "do it again") about 10 times while switching off who went down with him. After a while we asked him if he still wanted to go down with us or go by himself. "By myself!" he said. So that's what he did for the rest of our time there.

We had only purchased a two-hour pass, which was plenty of time for tubing fun...not to mention sore bottoms and snow exposure in mild temperatures. (We made sure to put on plenty of sunscreen that morning.) So, we were headed out toward home by 1 p.m. - leaving us enough time to still squeeze in a nap. It was a brief, but fun little activity. Not surprisingly, Ian seems to really like being in the snow and seemed especially intrigued by the skiers. And okay, by the snowboarders as well. He kept saying, "Look at that! Look at them, Mommy/Daddy! I'll do that when I'm bigger?" We are hoping that next year, when he's four, he'll be able to take his first ski lesson. We figure we'll help him to learn how to ski and then he'll probably teach himself how to snowboard. Because I can promise that you'll never see me on a snowboard in my lifetime.

Until I write again.