Boys Who Love Dogs

Because we are crazy dog people, we often talked before Billy was born about a potential problem: what if Billy hates dogs?

It is a possibility, after all. Case in point: I wouldn't say my mom hates dogs, but until recently, she didn't really like them that much. Even then, it depends on the dog. She's a fan of the laid-back type that doesn't pee on the floor or shed or preferably, stays outside. Most of our 13 family and rescue dogs (I know, I know) live outside, but four are inside, and between them, they have all the problems you can name--Elvis sheds so much we clean with a ShopVac, Lucky jumps up when you walk in the door or carry food. Little Theora is going through a stage in which she pees on any absorbent material left on the floor--rugs, bathmats, etc. -- and also likes to get up off the cold floor (which no longer has rugs on it in dog areas--gee, wonder why?) by crawling up into our linen closet. Crazy--well, her name speaks for itself. A passing car on our dirt road or a dog outside the window or the UPS truck can make them all bark like mad.

BUT--perhaps because he was exposed to this racket in utero, the barking has never phased Billy in the least. He sleeps right through it, usually. And now that everything has become a potential playmate, he loves the dogs--especially Lucky and Elvis. He laughs out loud at Lucky, and crawls over to the baby/dog gate in the living room and tries to touch her nose through the bars. To her credit, she stays stock still and is patient. Elvis is the smartest of the four, and has figured out where to hang out during Billy's dinner. As the cereal flies and little food-coated hands shoot out to pet him, he gets to lick up the overflow. Billy has actually pulled hair out of Elvis's head during these sessions, but Elvis is a sweetie who just looked over at me with an eyeroll that said, "Kids."

See our mischievous little guy:


Speaking of mischievous little boys who love dogs...

In our family, we have something called Josh Stories. These are the always entertaining escapades of Ace's 8-year-old nephew, Josh. My Thanksgiving post had pictures of him--he spent the night at our house in order to be close to his true loves--all those crazy dogs.

Josh is not a bad kid by any stretch--he is courageous, kind, inquisitive, and has one of the sweetest hearts you've ever seen. When he was five or so, I watched him defend the honor of a little girl by facing down a group of older and bigger boys--and honestly, my money would've been on Josh. He's different from most kids in every good way--creative and eccentric and strong and a lot of fun, naturally athletic and good-looking, like everyone in Ace's family. But trouble seems to follow him around. He just can't help it.

All that preamble for the latest Josh Story:
Josh loves dogs. Inexplicably, his favorite dog is Crazy, one of our fosters. He's been begging for a dog for years--since he could talk. His mom, Paige, made him a deal--he had to behave for a certain amount of time and Crazy would get to come live with him. He'd get close to the good behavior deadline, and then blow it at the last minute by talking back, or being mean to his brothers, or some other minor infraction. For the last few weeks, though, things have been going well. We were making plans to take Crazy with us on Easter weekend to Ace's mom house to complete the turnover.

And then, a doozy. Josh apparently was cruising the internet and came across a dog rescue group site. He fell in love with one of the dogs, Dawson, and even made the dog's picture their screensaver. The site had a button for donations--you could actually sign up to sponsor a dog. So Josh got his mom's credit card out of her wallet and pledged $119 per month to Dawson. Why $119? Who knows. I'm a little fuzzy on the details of how Paige figured this out, but he first denied it, then said it was only $5, and then admitted the full amount.

How sweet is this kid? He wanted to help a dog so much that he acted impulsively. He's never used the credit card to buy something for himself. Don't you want to just hug him?

Although Paige agrees about the sweetness, she had to ground him to drive home the point that he should not be snatching mom's credit card to buy stuff online. Also? Kids grow up fast these days. I'm not sure I knew what a credit card was when I was 8, much less how to use it. So he gets a second kudos from me for being smart enough to fill out the information and complete the transaction.

So looks like we're stuck with Crazy a little while longer so that Josh can learn his lesson. Still, aren't you in love with him now? Josh is the best.

Of course, maybe I'm not the best judge of these things. My baby likes beer:


Kidding, kidding.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa Jack

Happy 60th birthday, Old Man.

For those who know my daddy, call him today and wish him a hearty congratulations for making it this long, what with the skiing 60 mph straight downhill, drag racing, paddling an inflatable raft past the horizon into the Atlantic, being kicked out of every go-kart track on the eastern coast (seriously, y'all. his picture was posted and everything), pulling his emergency brake on ice and sliding out, Dukes of Hazzard style (not once. every time there was ice. or even loose gravel), his enthusiasm for death trap carnival rides, and never, ever being able to turn down a good dare.

There are more, including his death-defying ability as a teenager to always win the daily country road race against a 1964 Corvette with his beater of a 1954 Plymouth (hint: it involved a lot of cheating and open doors while driving).

Here, he demonstrates his dancing skills at my sister Julia's wedding with my sister Marsha. I think Julia's in-laws thought he was drunk. Those who know him well knew he wasn't--that's just how he dances.

At my wedding, we didn't have a father-daughter dance, but we did clap and sing along to "Mountain Dew," a moonshining song I have known all the words to since I could talk thanks to my dad.

That one, and the Battle of New Orleans, and the Beatles' Rocky Raccoon, and Bobbie Jo Gentry's Ode to Billie Joe, Johnny Cash's Cocaine Blues, and countless others that he just made up as he went along.
My dad can make anything fun, even taking trash to the dump on Saturdays in a beaten-up old truck (there was a song to the tune of the Lone Ranger theme--"to the dump, to the dump, to the dum-dum-DUMP").

He's silly, yes, but he also always took care of us. He worked two jobs my entire life but still found time to coach our soccer teams (the fact that he knew little about soccer did not deter him). When I came home from college on a weekend, by Sunday afternoon my car was always washed, vacuumed out, and the oil had been changed. When we were upset, he always knew just how to hug us to make everything okay. Unlike the archetypal distant father figure, my dad never hid his emotions from us--we always know he loves us beyond measure, without saying anything.


Well, I could go on forever. Instead, cheers to Captain Jack--the best friend, father, and grandfather a kid could have.

From Baby to Boy in Three Short Weeks

The physical transformation we're experiencing right now is awe-inspiring. Billy could only wiggle and roll over for the longest time. Now that crawling finally clicked, though, everything else happened fast. Go to You Tube right now to watch him pull himself up to standing. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3b6f7gZpLb0

I kid you not. Billy pulled himself up to a stand. He's six months old later this week. I am so proud.

Nekkid Baby

I couldn't resist this.


Billy is notoriously hard to diaper. He rolls, he crawls, he wiggles. And he LOVES being naked. No pesky clothes to impede his progress.


So, one afternoon at the office, I just let him go.


Look at that mug.


He's figured out this crawling business. No hitting his head so far this week. Although,we're still working on reverse.

Working Life, Part 2

Oh, how lovely it must be to be a full-time mom. But for the majority of the known universe, that's just not an option. Plus, I like working. I'm good at it. Since I was about 9 or so, this has been how I have defined myself--although that definition has evolved over time. Never thought I would leave reporting, but since I'm not into poverty, per se, I had to adjust.

Plus, my job now allows me certain freedoms--like bringing Billy in to my office for half the day. In November, the marketing group of my former company set off on our own, starting a new branding/marketing firm called Southern Growth Studio. There's only seven of us, and I have a lovely office with a door that closes instead of a cube. Plus, the work is collaborative, so I need to be here. So I started working from home in the morning and bringing Billy in with me in the afternoon.

That punishing schedule in which I worked all the time (my productive hours were 12 to 2--AM) but got very little accomplished made me feel like this:
So, about a month ago, Ace came up with a solution. I come into the office super-early, and he spends the morning with Billy at home. I leave when they are both snoozing. He reasoned that with us at home, his mornings were pretty shot, work-wise, already. Plus, I think he saw me sinking into the sleep-deprived abyss of frustration. I come in, crank out a few hours of hard, focused work. Then, I either head home at lunch or Ace brings Billy with him to town. Billy spends the afternoon in the office with me, and Ace heads home to crank a few hard hours of work on his own.

It's not ideal--I wish Ace could have the whole day, because he really needs intense focus to write. But I'm not exaggerating when I say this arrangement saved my life.

So three cheers for Ace! Father and husband of the year!

Billy really loves the time with Dad, too.

Here, he plays in my office. As he gets more mobile, we may have to come up with some new strategies.

Yesterday, he banged the crap out of his head four times. He's crawling, but then he tries to crawl using his feet instead of his knees, which tips him off balance and he pitches forward onto his head. The floor in here is carpeted, but just barely, and by the end of the afternoon, he was just inconsolable--but wouldn't let me hold him, either. He wanted down, wanted to try out his legs, but didn't like it when he fell and would start screaming bloody murder.

But man oh man, what a cutie. I uploaded a video of some of his more successful crawling. Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WSL16dunNwQ
The best part is when he gets distracted by his hand.

Billy Likes to Eat

Sunday marked a momentous occasion. Not the Super Bowl--the First Bowl of Rice Cereal. As you can see, Billy took to it rather well.

For about a month now, Billy's been eyeing our food, trying to slap things out of my hand and off my plate. And more than one person has remarked with wonderment that I alone have been able to sustain our 20-pound behemoth of a five-month-old.

Still, we were waiting for solid food for two reasons:
1. Research says starting solids at six months decreases the likelihood of future food allergies.
2. Anything other than breastmilk=stinkier poop.


Also, after our misadventures in bottle feeding, I expected a little more flailing around. But he really seemed to like it, putting away a lot more than I thought he would on the first go-round. He must've been watching us eat, because he really understood the whole concept of putting the spoon in his mouth.

In fact, he polished off the entire bowl, though I must admit about half ended up on him. Considering my mother could discern, down to side dishes and dessert, what I had for lunch every day from preschool through the first few years of elementary school by reading it on my shirt, I don't guess that's much of a surprise.



Also, you may be able to see in these pictures a faint mark in the center of his forehead. He popped the crap out of his head Friday at work while playing on a so-called safe play mat. He pulled the foam tube out of the hard plastic holes, and then fell face-first on the hard plastic. It really, really hurt, but he recovered well, because he is from tough stock.

This last picture is for Aunt Marsha. Go Heels!