September 16, 2012 at 6:58 pm , by Nick Shell

22 months.

If you ever fly into Nashville, you will see our house as you are landing; just look out the window, down on your left side.

Anytime I am outside with my son Jack on a walk, he looks up at the sky about every 15 minutes and proclaims, “Airplane. Airplane.”

So I guess for his sake, it’s pretty cool that we happen to live along the landing path of all planes heading to the Nashville airport.

Jack is also intrigued by trains, as I suspect most nearly 2 year-olds boys are. He can’t go anywhere without a Thomas the Train character in his hand.

Therefore, it’s no surprise that for his birthday (exactly 2 months from today) Jack will be a train conductor.

And when it comes to automobiles of any kind, Jack just can’t get enough. He even distinguishes between “big cars” and “baby cars,” whatever exactly that means.

Jack recently confirmed with us that for his first car when he turns 16, he wants a pick-up truck.

So in review, what is my toddler son into these days? Planes, trains, and automobiles.

Oh yeah, and pooping, too.

Last week during bath time as Jack was sprawled out in his Superman position, he looked up at my wife and said, “Butt? Butt.”

“Do you have to use the potty, Jack?” My wife propped him up on the toilet while embracing him.

He strained. He concentrated. But nothing happened.

Even still, he reached over, grabbed some toilet paper, and pretended to use it the right way.

I soon would learn that Jack has been observing another boy at his daycare, Troy, who is being potty trained in the 2 year-old class.

Pooping is not something that Jack is ashamed of. To him, it’s like learning to eat with a fork. It’s nothing special, it’s just the next part of growing up.

So every time Jack stops what he’s doing to say “poop?” or “butt?” we’re going to take him seriously.

We’ll take him straight to the potty and he’ll get a chance to go like a big boy.

One day when we least expect it, it will happen for real.

But it won’t be any big deal to Jack. The way he sees it, poop happens.

August 20, 2012 at 11:01 pm , by Nick Shell

21 months.

“Oh! You have the son that sleeps like a baked potato!” That’s what someone said to my wife at a birthday party a few weeks ago.

She and her husband had just met me downstairs and somehow I ended up explaining how Jack looks whenever I go to check on him at night before I go to bed.

When he sleeps, I just imagine my son as a baked potato, half-wrapped in foil, with butter, sour cream, chives, and pepper. He always has his back curled in away from me, like a little amoeba.

Please know that as I say these obscure things about my toddler son, I say them adoringly. I mean, what’s not to love about a baked potato? Everybody loves a baked potato!

Jack officially became a baked potato when he was three months old. That’s when he got this completely unflattering pajama looking-thing that made me embarrassed for him to be wearing it. Even if it was only at night. (Pictured below.)

A year and a half later I have fully embraced, and now celebrate, how he looks like a baked potato when he sleeps.

Jack also makes me think of that Taco Town commercial on Saturday Night Live; where they advertise a taco wrapped in a tortilla, wrapped in a burrito, wrapped in a corn husk, wrapped in a pizza, wrapped in a blueberry pancake.

I’m the one who puts Jack to sleep for naps and bedtime: He has to be holding his water cup, a toy, and his Mimi (thin security blanket) all while wrapped up in a regular blanket.

Without all of those peripherals, there is no chance of him even thinking about falling asleep.

Yet still, once he actually does fall asleep, it’s often in the most uncomfortable-looking positions. Sometimes he’s balled up in his baked potato position with his head mashed up in the corner of his bed.

Other times, his ankle will be caught in the wooden bars of the crib.

You would think this would lead to a night of restless sleep. But how does Jack sleep?

Like a rock.

Or maybe more like a baked potato.

August 4, 2012 at 11:20 pm , by Nick Shell

20 months.

This is my son, Jack. As you can see, he is a very happy little boy.

Especially with Mimi by his side. That’s his blanket/girlfriend.

We have no idea how she got that name.

Yes, I do recognize the absurdity in the fact that my wife and I daily refer to this thin little blanket A) as a female and B) by an actual human name.

One day a few months ago he just starting calling it Mimi. None of his friends at daycare have a Mimi and his teachers didn’t know anything about it either.

And even despite knowing that Jack is fairly limited in what consonant sounds he can make so far, I just can’t figure out how “Mimi” could translate into “blanket.”

Therefore, Mimi is a proper noun. I base her gender on the way he acts like he’s in love with her… or it.

Mimi is on every car ride. She’s always there during playtime. During dinner too.

We do draw some lines, like bath time.

Interestingly, right after he gets out of the bath, his devotion briefly changes to Tara, the bath towel we dry our son off with.

Basically though, he’s just imaging that Tara as Mimi since Mimi doesn’t really like the water.

What’s really funny though, in the likeness of Michelle Tanner on Full House, what Jack somehow doesn’t realize is that there are actually two Mimi’s!

The other one is actually blue and has little dogs all over it. (It’s true when they say that love is blind.)

We just alternate the two blankets every couple of days so that Mimi is always clean.

Since turning Jack’s car seat around, facing the front now, Mimi has found herself a hostage victim on a near daily basis.

About halfway home from daycare most days, Jack will “drop” his water cup or some random toy from his back seat collection. (Basically he gets bored and wants my attention.)

He then says “uh oh” as if it were an accident, though it never is. Five seconds later, it’s a constant stream of him annoyingly whining.

I explain to him every time:

“Jack, I’m driving right now and it’s my job to keep both of us safe. I can’t reach what you’ve dropped because the car is moving. Once we get to the next stop light, I might be able to reach it for you.”

Usually the whining persists after my clear and logical explanation. So I give him a 2nd and final warning:

“Jack, just chill out and have fun back there. Otherwise, I’m going to have to take Mimi.”

If he’s feeling adventurous, which he usually his, then he continues his distracting moaning to see if I will live up to my word.

I always do.

Then I reach back and grab Mimi as my hostage in the front passenger seat. I wait about 2 minutes, during which time Jack responds:

“Mimi! Mi-mi! Mimi! My Mimi!…”.

Once I return Mimi, all is good in the world and Jack completely forgets about whatever stupid plastic cow that “fell” out of his cup holder in the first place.