For my Grandmommy and Granddaddy

I have nothing pithy to say. I just wanted to say hi to my grandmommy and granddaddy 'cause they miss me.

Santa came to see me last night!

I must have been really good, because he brought me a whole mess of stuff.

I got a big stuffed crocodile, a basketball set, my very own piano, some books, a stocking full of surprises, some blocks, a new bathtub - whew! And lots of other stuff.



Stop it, daddy. I know what to do with it.










Stop it, daddy. I know what to do with it.



Dunking like Dorsey! Hey, Cal -- look at me! Class of 2030.




My mom apologizes for the poor quality of these pictures. She was having camera issues. And lighting issues. And composition issues due to the size of her "space." And "it's still early and I can't function" issues. What can I say? My mom has issues. Pick one.

I hope you all had an even merrier Christmas than me. It's going to get better yet because tonight I get to see my Abuela, my Grandpa, my G.G., my Uncle Chris, my Aunt Mandy, my Aunt Michelle, my Uncle Cesar, my Aunt Sandy...and so many more!!!! I get to see, well, EVERYONE.

All I want for Christmas...

...is peace on earth. But if that's too much to ask for, could I have a small shred of human dignity? Please?

Ho! Ho! Holy Cow!

Did you know the camera adds ten pounds to your cheeks? I mean, I knew it added ten pounds, but I thought it would be more evenly distributed.

Anyway, this picture is compliments of my grandmommy. Apparently it is going to be her Christmas card this year. Normally mommies do this kind of thing, but not my mom. She's a total Scrooge. She's threatened to cancel Christmas twice this year already. Once during Christmas shopping when the crowds got on her last nerve. And the other time when the cat ate a whole bunch of the tree and then puked partially digested plastic pine needles all over the dog bed. And the table. And right where she steps out of bed in the morning. She doesn't really have the power to cancel Christmas, does she? Doesn't that have to go through Congress? Or at least an Elf Ambassador or something?


Anyway, me, I like this Christmas thing -- especially the shopping. Man! For a six month old it's like a trip to Vegas. We went to Toys R Us and everything had lights and music and bells and whistles and things that moved. I wanted one of everything. To eat. Including the banana chocolate milk shake that mommy had at lunch. Did you know I love bananas?

And the mall! Did you know Santa Claus lives there? And apparently other children who have parents who don't emotionally abuse them get to stand in line for hours to sit on his germ laden lap and cry in a poorly composed photograph. Man, I wish my mom would slow down and let me do that!

And then there were people literally everywhere to look at -- hustling and bustling. Shopping with gusto...and purpose. As opposed to mom who ambles aimlessly up and down all the aisles touching everything and going, "Do you think she would like this? What about that? I just don't know" until she drives my daddy crazy.

And then after people buy the presents, they wrap them in -- get this -- PAPER! Paper is, like, my new favorite thing.

I think Christmas is going to RAWK!

Oh, and I know what you're all getting. But I'm not going to tell you. 'Cause I can't talk yet. But next year, you might be able to coax it out of me...

I'm almost six months old!

Now that I'm almost six months old, I'm learning how to do lots of stuff that big boys do. For example, I can sit up by myself. I'm trying to crawl but I keep scooting backwards. I'm trying to feed myself, but my aim could use a little work. I've even written my very first symphony.



What do you think?

My First Hand Turkey

Mommy says she thinks I have talent.

Even as a newborn I knew right from wrong

My Aunt B "tagged" me. Here's the rules:

1. Pick the fourth picture folder on your computer
2. Pick the fourth picture in said folder
3. Post it with an explanation
4. Tag four more people

This is a picture of me when I'm about two months old. You can tell my grandparents were in town, otherwise I would never be caught dead wearing orange on this side of Nashville. Why? Because orange is yucky! Blue brings out my eyes so much better. See?



Told you so.

Tagging four people is going to be problematic, as I only know three people who have blogs and one of them tagged me. So everybody is tagged. Except Aunt B. You're excused. :)

Does this make my bum look big?

Know what that is? Besides proof positive that my mom is nutso? That's a cloth diaper. How did I find myself in this predicament? Well, it all started two weeks ago...

Mommy was emptying my diaper pail and carrying the bag to the dumpster. Predictably the bag broke, there were diapers everywhere, mom looked around, sighed and said, "What kind of world am I leaving my son?" Um, one with the convenience of disposable diapers, yes? No.

So she went online, ordered a "trial package" of cloth diapers and that brings us to today and my present predicament.

Well, just so happens I'm working on my own "trial package." We'll see how long this experiment lasts.

Want some?

I had to go to the doctor today. I have croup AND an ear infection. They gave me this nifty little thing called a nebu -- nebucanizer -- nebulabizer -- a breathing thingy. This is me trying to eat it. It makes me feel much better! I also got some banana flavored antibiotics. Did you know that I love bananas?

And Uncle Bob, mom got your request and she's working on it. :)

I've got courage, yes I do!

I've got courage, how 'bout you?!

This is me wearing the new hoodie towel that my Aunt B gave me. It's chocolate brown, super soft, and has a picture of a lion that was drawn by one of the patients at St. Jude. Don't I look, erm, courageous? And the best part about it is that it helps sick boys and girls beat ugly things like cancer! That takes a lot of courage!

Because "Eight Toes" would be dumb!

Daddy took another crack at clipping my finger and toe nails the other day. I was a little nervous he might clip a "little" too much like the first time. I am happy to let you know I was not maimed this time around and I am glad there was no pain, crying or blood. If he had gotten another one I would have had to rename the blog "Mikey Eight Toes" and that just sounds silly to me.

You didn't tell me you were going to kill it!

Mom was sick and I was cranky, but that didn't stop her from dressing me up like a Jack-o-lantern (costume compliments of my rockin' Aunt B! *waves*) and forcing me out on the porch for this bizarre ritual called "pumpkin carving."



She didn't tell me she was going to kill it!

I'm not high maintenance

I just know what I want.

After a solid month of my clueless parents trying every conceivable combination/recipe of rice cereal, oatmeal, applesauce, and formula, they have finally figured out my meal preference. They're not too quick on the uptake. For future reference, this is what I want:

1 tbsp oatmeal
2 tbsp Good Start Natural Cultures formula at room temperature
2 baby spoons of bananas

mixed together
microwaved for five seconds
served in my bouncy chair
while wearing my blue plastic bib with cars
eaten from my pink baby spoon. Because I'm secure in my manhood.

Was that so hard?! Try to feed me applesauce again. I dare you.

Yo Dawgs!

Mommy said living in the city is making me gangsta, so we need to move to the burbs.

Memphis Madness!!!!

Before I get into my post about Memphis Madness, there are a few prefaces that I need to make.

1. My mom is a total techno-tard. Seriously. Just to give you one example, yesterday when she took me on a walk she finally figured out how to unlock the front wheels on my stroller. I'm 4.5 months old. And then I had to endure her going around in circles in the parking lot going, "Look, Mikey! We can make circles now!" I say all of this just to let you know you'll have to forgive some of the layout issues she's having with this blog. She'll figure it out in good time.
2. I have lots of Aunts and Uncles. All are related by love, but only some are related by blood. So, when I call someone "Aunt" this or "Uncle" that, it doesn't necessarily mean my grandparents were the most prolific people on the planet.

Now that we've established that, let's talk about Memphis Madness!

First -- and not to brag -- but I was the cutest baby in the building. Like, seriously. All those mothers with cute little girls with ringlets wearing cheerleading outfits? Pshaw. They've got nothing on me. I make being a boy COOL.

We had lots of fun and I got to see some of my favorite people! Uncle Bob held me up high so I could see CDR raise the tournament banner from last year. Then we bet on who would win the three point shoot-out. I bet a dirty diaper on Taggert. I won. Somebody needs to pay up!

I fell asleep during the scrimmage, so I'm not sure how the team looks this year. How does the team look this year, anyone?

Diaper changing is always a challenge for my mom, but even more so in public restrooms. Getting me out of my tiger costume and changing me while two rather unusual women offered my mom unsolicited parenting advice was pretty awkward. Now, don't get me wrong, my mom LOVES parenting advice -- from proven parents she knows and trusts. But random people in public bathrooms? Not so much. She has this technique that she learned from another mom (that she knows and trusts) to deal with this type of advice. I think this method probably originated with Clark Gable (mom and I used to watch a lot of TCM during our 3 am feedings). Whenever someone gives you random, unsolicited advice, you take what they said and turn it into a question, thereby implying that: a) you care b) you're curious c) you just may do further research on the topic. So when these two unusual women looked at mom and said, "What about all the germs here? And the noise? Did you talk to your doctor about it?" my mom just looked at them and said, "I should talk to my doctor about taking my baby in public?" Yeah, that technique didn't work so well in that scenario. It probably goes over better with thumb sucking advice. "Little Bonnie has been sucking her thumb. I just can't get her to stop." "Captain Butler, did you try a little quinine on the thumb?" "A little quinine on the thumb?! Why, I never thought of that."

Besides, I'm a boy. I love germs. And noise. I plan to make plenty of both during my lifetime.


We tried to meet up with Uncle R, Aunt B, and my friends T and F in the lobby, but by that time I had stayed up three hours past my bedtime and was ready to go HOME.

Good times.

I don't really have nine toes...

I have ten. Count 'em.

Okay, in this picture, you can only see nine. But there are ten, I promise.

But I almost had nine, compliments of my dad. Hence the nickname, "Mikey Nine Toes." It has sort of a menacing air, don't you think? Almost like I'm from South Jersey and have spent time in the back rooms of casinos. Like I -- how do they say it? -- know people. What happened was this...

(cue dream sequence)

Daddy was perturbed by my baby super power ability to grow talon length nails overnight. Determined to remedy the situation, he reached for the baby nail clippers. That's how all these horror stories start. He had successfully completed both hands with nary a problem, he had wrestled me to the bed and clipped nine toenails to his satisfaction, but on the last remaining nail -- the big toe on my left foot -- I decided I had had enough. A boy's gotta have his limits, you know. What happened next was kind of fuzzy, but let's just say there was lots of blood, wailing, gnashing of teeth (my parents' teeth, I'm still toofless), and drilling questions from mom. Things like, "What did you do to my child?!" "Who's blood is that?!" "What the heck happened?!" And some other things that can't be posted here.

Thirty minutes, five bandaids, a call to the pediatrician, and a soothing bottle later, the flow of blood had been staunched enough to properly assess the damage. Turns out, daddy had not clipped my toenail at all -- HE HAD CLIPPED MY TOE!!! Took a huge chunk right out of it.

And that's how I got my nickname, "Mikey Nine Toes." It's also how daddy got permanently reassigned to swaddling detail.

Daddy had to take me to the doctor for an unrelated incident a few days later and the nurse there said that daddy's faux pas was nothing -- that same fateful day, another daddy not too far away had literally cut the entire toenail OFF. Of his baby's FOOT. I couldn't make this stuff up.