Baby John is Two, aka, THE RECKONING

Dear Baby John,

Yes. I still call you Baby John. I will call you that until the end of time because you are just that. My baby.

But.

You aren't really a baby any more. According to your stats at the doctor yesterday (height 37.75 inches and 34 pounds), you are the size of a 3.5 year old. You still love "baby" things like your cow lovie Mimi, and your binkie, which you call "see-see" or "he-see". Your Dad is hot to trot to get you to ditch the binkie, but I am holding on to these last little baby items for dear life.

You are such a spectacular kid. You are both quiet and sweet, but also loud and crazy. When your sister would pick on you when you were small, we would warn her there would come a time when you would be bigger and be able to fight back. Well, that day has come. You are no longer afraid to grab her hair and throw alarmingly heavy toy cars at her.

Your aim is impressive.

You appear to be left-handed. You love the movies Cars and Planes. You will flex and yell "VROOOM! Ka-CHOW!" (Lightening McQueen's tag line) and like to call yourself "Keen", short for Lightening McQueen. You love Nilla Wafers, bananas, meatballs, and fish sticks. You are a questionable sleeper and I am sure one of these days you will shake the cold you have seemingly had since birth.

You are all boy.

You love Captain America, though you have never, to my knowledge, seen a TV show or movie with this character. I think you just seem to know he's very manly. You love tools and trucks and cars and heavy equipment. You are a real man's man at the ripe age of 2.

You are very charming and have pretty much every person in this family wrapped around your finger. You cry when Annie is hurt because it makes you sad to see her sad. You cuddle up and touch the side of my face when you think I am sad or mad. Your favorite place is on your Dad's lap.

You two love to take baths together, but when I say it is getting CRAZY, that's an understatement. How there is any water left in the tub at the end of each bathing session is beyond me. Wine consumption is up on bath nights.

This face. Ugh.

It is not uncommon to walk in and find you two snuggling and holding hands. Lord, please let them stay this close forever. I understand there will be a few breaks when they are teenagers and want to kill each other, but for now, they are truly best buds. Except for when there's throwing of cars and pulling of hair....but nothing's perfect.

You are so wonderfully weird and fun. I love every day we have with you.

And your Dad. Oh how you love your Dad. He's the only one allowed to put you to bed at night or retrieve you in the morning. He's your go-to guy for all things parenting, and he loves it so much. Now, were I a more sensitive person, I might get my feelings hurt by you yelling "NO! Gaga!" (your word for "dad" right now) at me when I come in to check on you when you are crying in the night. Or when you yank your hand away when you realize it's my hand you are holding and not your dad's. But no worries, my little man. I know your Dad is awesome and I know, or hope, there comes a time when you are looking for your mom just as much. And when you do, I will be right there.

I love you, sweet boy. Happy birthday.

~Mom

Of Loves and Fishes

Annie received a fish for her fourth birthday from the Hagemann family. The fish's name was Linda. Linda was a Betta fish and lived on our fireplace mantle for six months. She was a good fish. Since I am referring to Linda in the past tense, I am sure you see where this is going.

One morning last week, I hear a shrill cry from the downstairs, followed by some sort of moaning and I assume Annie has fallen and hurt herself. In my long three step journey to the top of the stairs to assess, I hear Rick say, "Kaly (it's never good when he uses my real name), Linda is dead."

Ok, so Linda and I were never that close. One of my stipulations for getting a fish was that I never wanted to change the water. I can handle a lot of grossness but I draw the line at slimy fish water. Rick was on board for the roll of fish-carer and dutifully changed Linda's water every week. So needless to say, I was not expecting to feel much when Linda made her departure.

But Annie was sad. So, so sad. So then I was sad and the next thing I knew, I was crying over the dead fish. Annie went to school that morning and promptly drew this picture, forever memorializing Linda:

Linda's poor fish body probably wasn't halfway to the sewage treatment plant when there was already talk of a replacement. But, the show goes on, as they say, and Annie and I headed out yesterday to get a new fish. Also named....Linda.

In an effort to give Linda 2.0 (actually 3.0, because the original Linda, the namesake of all these fish, was Linda the gelato lady in Miami. Turns out if you give a 4 year old a cup of sprinkles five days in a row, it buys you naming rights for all future fish purchases) the best life possible, we purchased a betta specific tank that was on sale that day. It was fancy with a pump and filter, touch lights and a little feeding hole. We even got her a cute pink castle she could swim through. This Linda was SET and I imagined us all growing old together.

Imagine my surprise when, a short three hours later, I walked by to see poor Linda stuck to the side of the pump filter. I used a nearby chopstick to dislodge her and she kind of limped away, but was still alive. I informed Annie (because she was right there) that Linda had a bit of an incident, but she should be ok. Again, Annie busted out the drawing materials to narrate the happenings of Linda.

This is Linda being sad that her evil fish tank hurt her, but apparently crying happy tears to be alive.

Ok, so we brush ourselves off, because we are Erwins and we don't let this stuff get us down! But secretly, I informed Rick that Linda did not appear to be doing so well and we needed to keep an eye on her. A quick trick to pick up a "backup Linda" was discussed. Well, approximately four minutes later, Linda was gone. And by "gone", I mean DEAD. Sleeping with the fishes. Or dead with the dead fishes. I have no idea. I thought that since we had this fish for approximately 1/5,000 the time we had the first, that Annie's reaction would be directly in proportion to the amount of time with Linda.

Wrong. Apparently there's an inverse relationship at work. The shorter the time, the more dramatic the response. I, however, was fine. Until I saw.....this:



Oh, why yes, that's Linda, in her new tank, with her new castle, crying endless tears because she DIED. I can only imagine that's her fish soul floating up to fish heaven.

So, now Annie and I are bawling and I am realizing this is really the first time Annie has seen me cry like that. I mean, if you don't look at that picture and feel real emotions, then you might want to either start taking/stop taking mood stabilizing drugs.

Presently, we are fishless. Annie has decided her heart can no longer take the emotional strain of another fish. I will return to Petsmart and try to return the fancy fish tank of death and we will try to move along with our lives. If they even try to give me any push back on the return, I WILL bust out that picture.

Now Annie wants a cat.