Saturday, July 18, 2009
Sibling Rivalry, in Advance
So, I have this horrible fear that if and when we have another baby, Paxton is going to be ruined. See, my brother is about two-and-a-half years older than me. I'm pretty sure my arrival destroyed his life. He never liked me. I represented the demise of a world that revolved around him. I was Enemy #1. Fast forward 35-years and here Chris and I are raising the most adored little boy ever. He has a home overflowing with toys. He constantly has loving eyes staring at him. He's become accustomed to the sound of applause when he does anything from taking a bite of food to repeating a new word. Seriously, this kid is living the good life. He loves other kids, but he's never had to, say, share his mommy's adoration with them. Or her nursing "nins". He shares his home with an array of pets, but he knows full well that they all rank lower on the totem pole than him. Just this morning, he wanted Lula to move so he could play, so he smacked her on the rump with his Hot Wheel and meanly told her to "GO!". What on earth would he do to a little sibling?
Maybe it's because we waited so long to get our little boy, but Chris and I are wildly and madly in love with him. We think he makes the sun shine just a little brighter and the air smell just a little sweeter. He's the light of our lives. We don't do a very good job keeping that under wraps. He knows we find him hilarious, and he lives to make us laugh. When we're playing in the bed, and I get up to get something, he immediately moves into my spot, complete with his head on my pillow. He's even gone so far as to grab my book and pretend he's reading it, just like me. When I come back and find him there, he cracks up, knowing that he's a clever little monkey who has already mastered a fine impression of Mama. And doggone it, he's right. The kid's a hoot. I find myself laughing all day long at his antics.
So what happens when a newborn arrives, screaming for my attention? And I can't constantly watch Paxton and anticipate his needs or what he is trying to communicate to me? Do I then just sit back and watch the happy little imp become the squeaky wheel just so he can get some attention again, even if it becomes negative attention? Or do I risk infertility and wait until he's old enough to cut a few more of the apron strings and not lean so heavily on me? In two months, I'll be 35. In the fertility world, that's a tricky number. I will get the dreaded "AMA", Advanced Maternal Age, stamped on all of my medical documents. I'll have to undergo more fetal testing. And let me just admit that this body is not getting any younger. I can run and play and frolic with my toddler until the cows come home, but I better stash away a little extra money for massage therapy, because this sciatica is kicking my butt. Advil keeps me doped up enough to get through Paxton's waking hours, but when he goes to sleep, I dive for the couch as quickly as I can. I hate to be a slave to advertising, but I'm pretty sure I'm buying some Calgon with this week's groceries.
Probably I shouldn't worry about all of this yet. Cross that bridge when we come to it, and all that. I'm sure that whatever happens, our family will just grow with love and patience and happiness with each new adventure. We will hopefully teach Paxton that love can and should be shared. I would love for him to have a healthy sibling relationship. Family means everything to me. I want to raise him with the understanding that we all look out for one another. We take care of each other. There will always be enough love to go around. And we'll always believe he hung the moon.
Maybe it's because we waited so long to get our little boy, but Chris and I are wildly and madly in love with him. We think he makes the sun shine just a little brighter and the air smell just a little sweeter. He's the light of our lives. We don't do a very good job keeping that under wraps. He knows we find him hilarious, and he lives to make us laugh. When we're playing in the bed, and I get up to get something, he immediately moves into my spot, complete with his head on my pillow. He's even gone so far as to grab my book and pretend he's reading it, just like me. When I come back and find him there, he cracks up, knowing that he's a clever little monkey who has already mastered a fine impression of Mama. And doggone it, he's right. The kid's a hoot. I find myself laughing all day long at his antics.
So what happens when a newborn arrives, screaming for my attention? And I can't constantly watch Paxton and anticipate his needs or what he is trying to communicate to me? Do I then just sit back and watch the happy little imp become the squeaky wheel just so he can get some attention again, even if it becomes negative attention? Or do I risk infertility and wait until he's old enough to cut a few more of the apron strings and not lean so heavily on me? In two months, I'll be 35. In the fertility world, that's a tricky number. I will get the dreaded "AMA", Advanced Maternal Age, stamped on all of my medical documents. I'll have to undergo more fetal testing. And let me just admit that this body is not getting any younger. I can run and play and frolic with my toddler until the cows come home, but I better stash away a little extra money for massage therapy, because this sciatica is kicking my butt. Advil keeps me doped up enough to get through Paxton's waking hours, but when he goes to sleep, I dive for the couch as quickly as I can. I hate to be a slave to advertising, but I'm pretty sure I'm buying some Calgon with this week's groceries.
Probably I shouldn't worry about all of this yet. Cross that bridge when we come to it, and all that. I'm sure that whatever happens, our family will just grow with love and patience and happiness with each new adventure. We will hopefully teach Paxton that love can and should be shared. I would love for him to have a healthy sibling relationship. Family means everything to me. I want to raise him with the understanding that we all look out for one another. We take care of each other. There will always be enough love to go around. And we'll always believe he hung the moon.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Family Night Out
Mmmm...popcorn!
He gets sillier as he gets more tired. 
Doing a little dance while he eats his popcorn.
Spinning around with Daddy.
Blurry Mommy and baby.Last night, Chris and I took Paxton to a free concert in the park in San Marcos. We saw Terri Hendrix, who has been a local favorite of mine for over a decade. Last year, she performed in the same venue, and I took Paxton by myself. He was about seven-and-a-half months old at that time, and I was so excited to expose him to live music in the open air. That has always been an important and beloved part of my life. Something in me feels inherently satisfied and complete when I am enjoying live music. My mom passed that love down to me and I hope that Paxton finds as much joy in the experience as we do.
I was a little nervous about keeping Paxton up so far past his bedtime. He usually goes to sleep between 7 and 7:30. The concert didn't begin until 7:30 and was schedule to end at 9. Clearly God was in our corner, though, because for the second time in two days, Paxton took a long, second nap. He didn't awaken until after 6, so his bedtime would have likely been pushed back a bit regardless of our plans. Unfortunately, we had no time for dinner, and it was far too hot to pack the mayo-based pasta salad I had leftover from the previous night's meal. Instead, I popped a snack-sized bag of popcorn (one love that I have clearly passed on to my son), some cookies, plenty of water and some pretzels. It wasn't exactly a well-balanced dinner. But along with the bedtime exception, I thought he'd survive one night dining on snacks instead of a hearty meal.
We arrived just in time and found a perfect parking spot. We set up our chairs where we had space to spread out and a great view of the stage. Almost immediately, Paxton was ready to explore. While my mindset is to sit back and watch what he does, Chris sticks close to his boy, both for fear that he should be next to him to protect him, and a concern that Paxton would like his daddy close by as a playmate. This is why Chris is the obvious favorite parent of our wise little guy. Daddy is just plain fun. Mommy--not so much. While I settled in to my chair to enjoy the show, my boys took off to kick a ball.
Okay, so Paxton didn't seem to care too much about what was going on onstage. He probably won't look back at this particular night some day as the defining moment of when he knew he wanted to be a folk singer. He did a tiny bit of dancing and seemed to be entranced momentarily with the "gee-tar", but mostly he just wanted to run and frolic with all the other little kids there. That was almost as entertaining as Terri Hendrix's performance. One little boy was immediately drawn to Chris and Paxton, and the enticing game of ball they were playing. I watched from a distance as the little boy patiently showed Paxton how to catch the ball and urged him to throw it back. It was so endearing to see them interact so sweetly.
Soon, another child joined the fun. A little girl who has Downs Syndrome approached the boys. She was all in pink, and chose to watch the activity rather than joining in. She thrust her tongue, as many children with the syndrome do, and Paxton found that great fun. He, too, pushed his tongue out of his mouth. Again, it was a sweet show of interaction and innocence. The more Paxton is receptive to communicating with the world around him, the more I see his personality shine through.
We stayed for the whole show, with Paxton running in circles around our chairs, devouring his popcorn, and clapping at the end of each song. He definitely enjoyed himself, and I was so thankful that we made the time to share that as a family. He's come a long way in a year. Time is speeding by at a rate I could never have anticipated. Just today, I was watching videos taken on the morning he was born. He was so tiny. Even at nearly nine pounds, the outfit I bought for him to wear home from the hospital just hung on him. He was lost in the furry hood with blue bear ears. His hands were still wrinkled from his long months swimming inside my womb. Aside from waving his little fist like a tiny dictator, he spent most of his time taking everything in with his curious eyes. Eighteen-months-later, he seems ready to take on the world. I know I'm a sappy mom. I know I say it all the time, but his entrance into our lives brought Chris and I more joy than we ever could have predicted. In a way, we came alive again with him. Everything is new again. Everything is touched by magic. We're so blessed to have him.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Happy Independence Day!
We're wrapping up another festive Fourth of July weekend. It's Sunday afternoon, and Paxton is taking his daily afternoon nap. It's only 12:30, but I feel like I've had a full day already. This morning, I had to jump out of bed, gather the dogs and head out the door. I had a job first thing in the morning, and then had to drop off a client's dog (who had been staying with us) at her home. After that, I had to drive my dogs to my mom's house to meet her by 8:30 a.m. She had reserved a time at a private dog park in Dripping Springs. We'd seen it advertised on Craigslist a number of times, but this was our first time trying it out. My mom was concerned that Jelly would be up to her usual tricks of unmitigated aggression, but I had a good feeling. She was curious about what we were doing and seemed to be in an agreeable mood.
We drove down rural country roads until we arrived at our destination. The woman has about ten acres of fenced property, and within the larger fenced area are a few smaller fenced areas. One contained older horses and pony that the woman had rescued, and one held dozens of chickens, ducks, rabbits and guinea pigs--also rescued. There was also a fenced agility course for the dogs. Even at 9 a.m., if was hot. I've always wanted to try Jelly out on an agilitiy course, and I can see that it would be good for her. She jumped the hurdles easily, and until she became too nervous, she climbed over the see-saw and up a ramp. Seymour, my mom's chihuahua, was a brave little fellow, going up a ramp to a raised platform and down the ramp on the other side. He made the trek several times, all for a bite of hot dog. It was very cute.
The dogs ran and frolicked and panted and chased and had an all-around great time. It was only when we finally got into my mom's car over an hour later, and I tried to push my two dogs to the back seat that Jelly snapped. I think she was hot, tired and finally in a place where she felt familiar, and the notion of having Lula thrust at her was too much. She went for the kill, grabbing Lula by the neck. Poor Lula. If we could find the perfect home for Jelly, we'd rehome her, but I don't know who would be able to provide it. Not many people are willing to lovingly take in an inexplicably aggressive dog--even one as smart and beautiful as Jelly. I still am not sure where the answer lies, but I have faith that we'll uncover it.
This was just the icing on the cake of the holiday weekend. In Wimberley this year, the 4th of July actually began on the 3rd. Our local parade was held on the morning of Friday, the 3rd, because the crowd-attracting Market Days is on the first Saturday of the month--thus falling on the 4th of July this year. The parade stretched over approximately a two-mile path. We got a spot toward the end, near several friends, and proceded to sweat bullets under the hot July sun while we waited. Paxton was thrilled to have his daddy at his beck and call, and they played throughout the wait. Finally, the parade reached us and Chris hoisted Paxton onto his shoulders to enjoy the show. After years of fighting sugar-crazed children for candy, this year we had the pleasure of watching people in the parade literally walk up and hand candy to our little guy. Our friend Tatum was in the back of her parent's truck next to us, and I saw several people on the floats use the bed of the truck as a giant basketball rim, making sure Tatum got candy, as well. It was very sweet. That's not to say that I didn't hustle to the street to fight children for Banana Laffy Taffy. I did. I collected a good share of candy, most of which has probably already melted and will never be consumed. It's something about the thrill of the hunt that sends me into competitive hysterics. At least I actually get the candy. My mom points it out and watches while we retrieve it for her. She gets a pretty good percentage of our winnings for just delegating.
After the parade, we walked for what seemed like miles to the annual "Jubilee". Yes, we live in a small town. I had never ventured to the jubilee before, but Paxton's presence in our lives makes us try out all sorts of new family-friendly events. Our friend Jamie walked her bike with us and we all risked dehydration as we treked to Blue Hole, where the Jubilee took place. When we finally arrived, we found we had lost my mom, who was lagging behind with Seymour so he could take his time peeing on trees. We looked for her for a while before we decided that she must have turned back. It took us even longer to realize that the reason she must have turned back was that there was a "No Dogs Allowed" sign outside of the venue. Oops!
Our biggest error in judgment was walking all the way to the Jubilee without having one red cent between us. Note to Self: food kiosks at a Jubilee in Wimberley do NOT take credit cards. Second Note to Self: After years of luring people the aforementioned Jubilee with the promise of free lemonade and hot dogs, even a quaint small town like Wimberley gets dollar signs in it's eyes and charges for EVERYTHING. Even the water that was donated by a local insurance salesman and had his sticker covering the brand label. Yes, even the donated water was a dollar. Seriously. We sat dejectedly on the grass, trying to muster up the strength to walk back to the car. Luckily, we ran into my friend, Sarah, and her family. They were nice enough to loan us some money! Chris went off and returned with 10 bottles of water, which we poured into and onto ourselves.
After that, we were feeling a little more agreeable. A bluegrass band was playing, the grass was lovely, and there was even a little shade. Paxton spun himself dizzy and performed his Music Together songs for whoever would listen. Just before we left, he saw a father and son tossing a football. As far as I know, the kid has never seen a football in person before. But something in his soul came alive when he did. He ran right up to them and joined in the game. At first, he just imitated them throwing, while he watched hungrily. Then they tossed him the ball and he would practice returning it to them. It was so cute. It also send a chill of fear down my spine that we may have our first natural athlete in the family. Oh, God, not a jock.
When we finally made it back to the car, Paxton fell asleep instantly. He never does that. His days of sleeping in the car began to wane months ago. I had to wake him up when we got home to strip him of his wet clothes. He finally went back to sleep, though. I think we all got too much sun. He woke up about an hour later, crying, and I was able to nurse him and get him to sleep for another hour. I could tell he just wasn't feeling 100%. Apparently, neither was I, because I laid down and didn't wake up for nearly three hours. I didn't hear a peep, even though I had Paxton's baby monitor on and Chris had heard him awaken an hour after I laid down and gotten him up to eat lunch and play. I don't do well in the heat. I never have. I feel like I came to Texas by way of Sweden. My skin is pale and it takes a very short time for me to get heatstroke.
That night, after Chris grilled steaks and portabello mushrooms for dinner, we took Paxton to the first annual Wimberley Fireworks show. Although it was advertised to begin at "dark-thirty" (a term I HATE--and hear all too often in this town), we got there at nine and it was just beginning. We were blessed enough to find a perfect parking spot, despite most of the town being in attendance. We jumped out of the car, sat on a quilt in the grass and watched in awe. It was an awesome display. Paxton must have thought he was dreaming. He's never seen fireworks before, and here we were, waking him up from a sound sleep to sit outside with all of these strangers and watch explosions of color in the sky. He loved it. It was such a special experience to share with him.
On Saturday, we went to our friend Harper's first birthday party. I don't know how Paxton feels about Harper the person, but he loves "Harper", the word. He's forever talking about Harper. But I'm pretty sure they almost never actually interact. We're still at the parallel play stage of social development. It was a full house and a great party. Paxton wore himself out and, once again, fell asleep nearly as soon as we got in the car. This time I was able to transfer him to his crib without waking him. Once he was safe and sound and Chris was situated soundly on the couch, I slipped out to visit my mom at Market Days.
It was H.O.T. Burning up, really. I visited for about two hours and enjoyed reliving the old days of our bonding time in the booth. I got home around 2, and Paxton was just waking up from his nap. We ate lunch and then walked to the pool. A guy told us it was 105 degrees when he drove from his house. I felt every bit of that heat. Being anywhere except in the water was unbearable. Even though I was lathered in sunscreen, and drank plenty of fluids, I was drained.
We met my mom for dinner at Hillsedge Grill, but it wasn't the enjoyable experience it normally is. Paxton was tired, so he was acting out. The place was sort of crowded, and the acoustics in that restaurant are strange. Sound carries something awful. I was already overstimulated and bordering on crabby when a woman sat at the keyboard to play annoying melodies last heard on my grandparents' player piano. While we tried to have a conversation, I would find myself screaming over "Roll Out the Barrel...". Paxton was snubbing everything I tried to feed him. I was cramming bites of salad down my throat just to get the once-enjoyable experience of eating out overwith. I thought I might run screaming from the restaurant at any moment.
I had more pet sitting to be done when I got home, and then I returned to put Paxton to bed. I guess the sun had gotten to me, because I felt awful. I went to bed by 8:30 and slept like the dead. Just writing about the weekend has tired me out all over again. I was entertaining the thought of heading to San Marcos to sate my desire for Mexican food with some yummy Mamacita's, but cooking at home might be an easier option. We'll see how we all feel when Paxton wakes up. It should be any minute. This is one looong Fourth of July weekend!
We drove down rural country roads until we arrived at our destination. The woman has about ten acres of fenced property, and within the larger fenced area are a few smaller fenced areas. One contained older horses and pony that the woman had rescued, and one held dozens of chickens, ducks, rabbits and guinea pigs--also rescued. There was also a fenced agility course for the dogs. Even at 9 a.m., if was hot. I've always wanted to try Jelly out on an agilitiy course, and I can see that it would be good for her. She jumped the hurdles easily, and until she became too nervous, she climbed over the see-saw and up a ramp. Seymour, my mom's chihuahua, was a brave little fellow, going up a ramp to a raised platform and down the ramp on the other side. He made the trek several times, all for a bite of hot dog. It was very cute.
The dogs ran and frolicked and panted and chased and had an all-around great time. It was only when we finally got into my mom's car over an hour later, and I tried to push my two dogs to the back seat that Jelly snapped. I think she was hot, tired and finally in a place where she felt familiar, and the notion of having Lula thrust at her was too much. She went for the kill, grabbing Lula by the neck. Poor Lula. If we could find the perfect home for Jelly, we'd rehome her, but I don't know who would be able to provide it. Not many people are willing to lovingly take in an inexplicably aggressive dog--even one as smart and beautiful as Jelly. I still am not sure where the answer lies, but I have faith that we'll uncover it.
This was just the icing on the cake of the holiday weekend. In Wimberley this year, the 4th of July actually began on the 3rd. Our local parade was held on the morning of Friday, the 3rd, because the crowd-attracting Market Days is on the first Saturday of the month--thus falling on the 4th of July this year. The parade stretched over approximately a two-mile path. We got a spot toward the end, near several friends, and proceded to sweat bullets under the hot July sun while we waited. Paxton was thrilled to have his daddy at his beck and call, and they played throughout the wait. Finally, the parade reached us and Chris hoisted Paxton onto his shoulders to enjoy the show. After years of fighting sugar-crazed children for candy, this year we had the pleasure of watching people in the parade literally walk up and hand candy to our little guy. Our friend Tatum was in the back of her parent's truck next to us, and I saw several people on the floats use the bed of the truck as a giant basketball rim, making sure Tatum got candy, as well. It was very sweet. That's not to say that I didn't hustle to the street to fight children for Banana Laffy Taffy. I did. I collected a good share of candy, most of which has probably already melted and will never be consumed. It's something about the thrill of the hunt that sends me into competitive hysterics. At least I actually get the candy. My mom points it out and watches while we retrieve it for her. She gets a pretty good percentage of our winnings for just delegating.
After the parade, we walked for what seemed like miles to the annual "Jubilee". Yes, we live in a small town. I had never ventured to the jubilee before, but Paxton's presence in our lives makes us try out all sorts of new family-friendly events. Our friend Jamie walked her bike with us and we all risked dehydration as we treked to Blue Hole, where the Jubilee took place. When we finally arrived, we found we had lost my mom, who was lagging behind with Seymour so he could take his time peeing on trees. We looked for her for a while before we decided that she must have turned back. It took us even longer to realize that the reason she must have turned back was that there was a "No Dogs Allowed" sign outside of the venue. Oops!
Our biggest error in judgment was walking all the way to the Jubilee without having one red cent between us. Note to Self: food kiosks at a Jubilee in Wimberley do NOT take credit cards. Second Note to Self: After years of luring people the aforementioned Jubilee with the promise of free lemonade and hot dogs, even a quaint small town like Wimberley gets dollar signs in it's eyes and charges for EVERYTHING. Even the water that was donated by a local insurance salesman and had his sticker covering the brand label. Yes, even the donated water was a dollar. Seriously. We sat dejectedly on the grass, trying to muster up the strength to walk back to the car. Luckily, we ran into my friend, Sarah, and her family. They were nice enough to loan us some money! Chris went off and returned with 10 bottles of water, which we poured into and onto ourselves.
After that, we were feeling a little more agreeable. A bluegrass band was playing, the grass was lovely, and there was even a little shade. Paxton spun himself dizzy and performed his Music Together songs for whoever would listen. Just before we left, he saw a father and son tossing a football. As far as I know, the kid has never seen a football in person before. But something in his soul came alive when he did. He ran right up to them and joined in the game. At first, he just imitated them throwing, while he watched hungrily. Then they tossed him the ball and he would practice returning it to them. It was so cute. It also send a chill of fear down my spine that we may have our first natural athlete in the family. Oh, God, not a jock.
When we finally made it back to the car, Paxton fell asleep instantly. He never does that. His days of sleeping in the car began to wane months ago. I had to wake him up when we got home to strip him of his wet clothes. He finally went back to sleep, though. I think we all got too much sun. He woke up about an hour later, crying, and I was able to nurse him and get him to sleep for another hour. I could tell he just wasn't feeling 100%. Apparently, neither was I, because I laid down and didn't wake up for nearly three hours. I didn't hear a peep, even though I had Paxton's baby monitor on and Chris had heard him awaken an hour after I laid down and gotten him up to eat lunch and play. I don't do well in the heat. I never have. I feel like I came to Texas by way of Sweden. My skin is pale and it takes a very short time for me to get heatstroke.
That night, after Chris grilled steaks and portabello mushrooms for dinner, we took Paxton to the first annual Wimberley Fireworks show. Although it was advertised to begin at "dark-thirty" (a term I HATE--and hear all too often in this town), we got there at nine and it was just beginning. We were blessed enough to find a perfect parking spot, despite most of the town being in attendance. We jumped out of the car, sat on a quilt in the grass and watched in awe. It was an awesome display. Paxton must have thought he was dreaming. He's never seen fireworks before, and here we were, waking him up from a sound sleep to sit outside with all of these strangers and watch explosions of color in the sky. He loved it. It was such a special experience to share with him.
On Saturday, we went to our friend Harper's first birthday party. I don't know how Paxton feels about Harper the person, but he loves "Harper", the word. He's forever talking about Harper. But I'm pretty sure they almost never actually interact. We're still at the parallel play stage of social development. It was a full house and a great party. Paxton wore himself out and, once again, fell asleep nearly as soon as we got in the car. This time I was able to transfer him to his crib without waking him. Once he was safe and sound and Chris was situated soundly on the couch, I slipped out to visit my mom at Market Days.
It was H.O.T. Burning up, really. I visited for about two hours and enjoyed reliving the old days of our bonding time in the booth. I got home around 2, and Paxton was just waking up from his nap. We ate lunch and then walked to the pool. A guy told us it was 105 degrees when he drove from his house. I felt every bit of that heat. Being anywhere except in the water was unbearable. Even though I was lathered in sunscreen, and drank plenty of fluids, I was drained.
We met my mom for dinner at Hillsedge Grill, but it wasn't the enjoyable experience it normally is. Paxton was tired, so he was acting out. The place was sort of crowded, and the acoustics in that restaurant are strange. Sound carries something awful. I was already overstimulated and bordering on crabby when a woman sat at the keyboard to play annoying melodies last heard on my grandparents' player piano. While we tried to have a conversation, I would find myself screaming over "Roll Out the Barrel...". Paxton was snubbing everything I tried to feed him. I was cramming bites of salad down my throat just to get the once-enjoyable experience of eating out overwith. I thought I might run screaming from the restaurant at any moment.
I had more pet sitting to be done when I got home, and then I returned to put Paxton to bed. I guess the sun had gotten to me, because I felt awful. I went to bed by 8:30 and slept like the dead. Just writing about the weekend has tired me out all over again. I was entertaining the thought of heading to San Marcos to sate my desire for Mexican food with some yummy Mamacita's, but cooking at home might be an easier option. We'll see how we all feel when Paxton wakes up. It should be any minute. This is one looong Fourth of July weekend!
Friday, July 3, 2009
Paxton is going through another "tongue phase". He is constantly sticking it out the side of his mouth as shown in the picture.
Last week, we filled our Sunday with a day of fun for Paxton. We took him to Chuck E. Cheese in Austin first. I haven't been there since I was a kid. I was a little concerned about him being trampled by bigger kids, but he came through the experience fine. I don't remember the pizza at Chuck E. Cheese being so horrible. It was the worse pizza I've ever eaten. We also ordered an apple/cinnamon "pizza" for dessert that tasted like bugspray. On top of that, while the animatronic characters were apparently rocking their Chuck E. Cheese band the whole time we were there, we couldn't hear a word of it. The volume was so low, it just appeared that jerky giant bears, rats and purple blob (I don't know what that was!) were giving one another paranoid glances repeatedly. 
There were plenty of things for a toddler to enjoy at Chuck E. Cheese, but Paxton was leery of most of them. He clutched me and cried in terror when I tried to get him to sit on one of the little rides. While he was happy to be able to recognize and name the horse, he didn't want to enjoy the gentle, mechanical trotting. He was much more comfortable with skee-ball. He liked handing Chris and I the balls as we rolled them to ticket glory.
This Hot Wheels track was a Christmas present for Chris one year. Paxton instantly fell in love with it. He knows how to feed the cars into the little mechanism that sends them flying through the loop. He gets in a zone, lining up one Hot Wheel after another and watching them go. On this particular day, he would take breaks for a moment to reach out for more Salt and Vinegar potato chips from Chris. This picture captured the look on his face as he reacted to the bitter taste. I cannot handle that taste, but Paxton just wanted more and more. In the picture below, you can see how Lula did her part by licking the crumbs from Paxton's chin between handfuls. They're a good team.
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