Last Day

Yesterday was Blake's last official day at his nursery and I went to town to do some last minute extra shopping for Christmas, but that's a story for another day (tomorrow if I'm not too lazy).

Since February Blake has been going to Ely's Nursery in Finchley twice a week for the afternoon. Between the two of us, someone is always with Blake, so we didn't really need it, but we wanted Blake to spend some time away from us with other people, particularly other children his age. The added bonus was two afternoons that could be used to catch up on Television shows, naps or nude bangee jumping from the top of Big Ben.  The nursery was also useful when I was teaching up until a few months ago.

Leaving Blake at the nursery wan't always fun. Often he'd start clinging to me and cry, but most of the times he'd just be going through the motions and immediately calm down when one of the girls picked him up for a cuddle. Picking him up at the end of the day was the real treat. Seeing his face light up when he sees me and have him run into my arms, it's a unique pleasure I can't quite put to words.

It was nice to see Blake doing something we haven't taught him, like certain hand gestures to go along with certain songs. Little things like that. At the end of each day we'd get a detailed report on Blake's activities and it was fairly obvious that despite his occasional protest at being left there, he actually liked it quite a lot there.

We're planning to travel a bit in the new year and  then move, so there was no point keeping him there on a regular basis. I was delighted to find out that he can still attend on a day to day basis. So yay.

When we brought Blake to Ely's in February he wasn't talking and barely responded to his own name.  The only way I could grab his attention was singing to him. Now we know he was just ignoring whatever he found boring, but back then we were worried. The staff at the nursery picked on that too and suggested he should be seen by experts. He was and we were assured that there was nothing wrong with him. And indeed by now he dispelled any fears we had back then. I decided to show off just how far Blake has come.

In the principal's office with a few members of staff present I demonstrated Blake's reading skills. I held Blake with one hand, as well as a paperpad. With the other hand I wrote with a pen on the pad. I used a regular pen, not a marker and I wrote in my regular hand writing which I must say is very readable.  Blake immediately smiled when he realized I was writing words he knew. Kiss, he blew a kiss. Hair, he brushed his hair with his hand. Nose, he touched his nose. Duck, quack quack. Blake knows about 150 words now.

The staff was genuinely impressed. I also left a link to my blog because a couple of the girls asked to stay in touch.

I left Blake so I could go shopping and when I returned with big bags of excessive shopping I ran into two of the girls who were on the way out. They told me they were waiting for me to say goodbye so I was glad I ran into them. They told me how impressed they were with Blake's reading. They told me they already read my blog and loved it. They couldn't stop reading even with the kids running around and said I was a great writer and so on. I'm not used to getting such compliments in person, so it's a good thing it was dark in case I was blushing. I guess they might be reading this post too, so hi girls! I hope to see you again in the new year.

When I walked in I was given a package with Blake's spare clothes and these two lovely books:

  

One had goodbye drawings from the kids from his room and the other photos and artwork by Blake.

I unfolded Blake's stroller from the cupboard and packed him in as usual with his coat, gloves and hat. And then we just walked out. An end of an era - I seem to have a lot of those when it comes to Blake.

The principal was also very kind to upload to my memory stick all the photos they took of Blake over the year. Here's a selection from the pictures. I removed a few, but couldn't really narrow it down from there. Not that it matters. My blog is a bit like Penthouse: it has lots of text in it, but everyone is really only interested in the pictures.

So here we go:

Awww, he wants to be a doctor. My inner Jewish mother just high-fived herself.

--Mickey

My Littlest Biggest Fan

I'm a star. I don't perform in front of thousands of people who paid too much for bad seats, but  it doesn't matter. I have a fan-base of one, but in this case its quality over quantity.

Blake adores my singing. He'd drop anything he is doing if I sing one of his current favourite songs. The list changes all the time. Many months ago "Wheels on the Bus" was sung to death  and later on it was "Poker Face", but right now "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and "If You're Happy and You Know It" top our local charts. 

Not every time, only when I deserve it, Blake will clap politely at the end of a song. It makes it a bit problematic trying to sing him to sleep as at the end of each song he'd sit up in his bed in the dark and clap. It's one of those moments that make me feel as if my head is going to explode with sheer joy and happiness. Does he even understand how mind-blowingly cute he is?

Blake also loves watching me play racing games on the X-Box 360. He'd point at cars and various objects on the television, expecting to interact with what he sees just like he does on his iPod. He would watch the race in excitement and if I win he'd raise his hands up victoriously and then clap as if I just played a round of golf. 

Sometimes he'd run to me for a hug and I'll have to quickly raise my hands, both holding on to the game controller, and then bring them down around him. It makes concentrating on the racing action a bit tricky and I lost more than one race because of Blake. But I don't care, because it's all about me spending time with Blake, not playing some stupid videogame. Well, maybe I care a tiny bit. Well, OK. If it's a really long and hard race and I was doing well until Blake made me lose near the end then that could be quite annoying. Infuriating even. Oh, just you wait until he's fourteen or so and plays a racing game, then I'll run to him and hug him and make him lose. Revenge is a dish best served cold.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. Talking about how Blake makes me feel like a superstar. Because when someone so special and incredible like him thinks so much of me, that's a huge compliment. I wouldn't trade my audience of one for the entire world.

--Mickey

A Blake self-portrait using my iPhone

Fa-lalalala-lalalala!

Our home in the snow.

Once again London is snowed under. It's not that impressive for some places in the world, but for London it's a big deal. I've been living here for thirteen years and it never used to snow in my first few years here. Once in a while it might snow just a tiny bit, covering cars in white dust. You might be able to make one snowball if you scraped clean an entire car.

But for the last few years it's been snowing more and more. This time we might actually get a white Christmas. It's a bit of a nightmare because this country still isn't ready to cope with snow. Flights are cancelled left and right and traffic is also a nightmare. Thankfully we're staying home for Christmas and don't expect any visitors from abroad in the next few weeks, so we can just enjoy the good parts.

The dogs love the snow, it works on them like an adrenaline shot. Blake was quite intrigued by the snow, but wasn't quite sure what to make of it. We might make a snowman in the next few days if I'm not too lazy.

We were once on holiday in Lapland and I tried making a snowman, but it was too difficult and cold so I settled for a small snow-duck. Blake loves ducks (quack-quack) so I might get away with it.

Anyway, here's some pics and videos from yesterday of us having fun in the snow.

Blake and Daddy.

Papa, the gentle giant, gifting Blake with a snowball.

Snow is fun!

What is that thing?

Dexter and Blake.

Blake examines the snowball I made for him.

As you can see, Leo's leg is much better.

--Mickey

Dead Ringer

Ten days ago I've written about my lost ring. My friend Elite used Google to look for Tibetan rings and with her artistic eagle eye she spotted some rings with the same symbol, including a website that sells a very similar looking ring.

Miron ordered it for me "for Christmas" but because I couldn't wait and partly because I'm Jewish, I opened the box as soon as it arrived yesterday.

Old ring

New ring

The old ring had little flowers on each side, but the new one has carvings of dragons that are just as nice, if not nicer. The new ring is bigger and better. It fits perfectly. I have to wiggle it to pull it over the joint, so while it's not hard to take off, it's very unlikely to fall off when I wash my hands with soap.

It's not the same ring, but the important elements are still the same: it's a silver ring with the same symbol, it was made in Nepal which is fairly near to Tibet and it was bought for me and placed on my finger by my husband.

Now if I want to bitch-slap someone, it can have a nice extra sting to it. Not that I have plans to bitch-slap anyone, but it's good to know that I can, just in case.

So thanks to a really good friend, the best husband I ever had (so far) and the internet, my right ring finger is not naked anymore. I know many of you were immensely saddened and troubled by the loss of my original ring and probably slept and ate very little (great diet!), but you can all calm down and rejoice.

--Mickey

Day in the Life

Often Blake gets up later than me, but today wasn't the case. He made his way to our bed in the middle of the night and started kicking my head around 6am. By 8am I gave up and got up.

I had a Red Bull breakfast (I hate coffee) and then my mobile rang. Blake was playing upstairs, but he immediately came down. He has a special sixth sense to detect when it's a bad time to demand attention.  For example right now he came to me and demands that I'll pick him up so he's sitting on my lap now, making writing this a bit less comfortable. When I was just browsing the net he left me alone, but when I need to concentrate, that's when he'll suddenly want to be picked up. If Miron and I decide to try and watch a TV show, Blake will show up and sit between us with his iPod blaring random songs and cartoons.

The phone call was the first call I had with an interesting new potential client. We started chatting and the conversation was flowing when suddenly Blake was next to me, trying to get my iPhone while I was using it. I got him an iPod Touch so he'll leave my phone alone, but he still prefers my iPhone because it's more advance with a better screen and louder speakers.

"Is this a bad time? Do you want me to call later?" The woman asked.

"No, it's OK. I'll just move to a different room."

I didn't want to postpone the call because by all likelihood Blake will still be around as we haven't yet reached the point where we'd call Madonna or Brangelina to ask if they want to add a gay-parented baby to their exotic collection of children.

I walked around the ground floor and Blake followed. I walked into the small room at the end of the kitchen and closed the door. Blake was banging and crying out on the other side. I apologized and asked the woman to wait a moment. I grabbed Blake and dashed upstairs to Miron's study... Where Miron was also on the phone. I backed out of the study and closed the door. 

At that point I was determined to get this conversation completed on my terms. I dashed back down to the kitchen, left Blake wailing on the floor and I walked outside into the back garden. It was soaking wet and cold and I was wearing a t-shirt, jeans and socks, but at least I had some privacy. Blake was throwing a tantrum in the kitchen, but his noise was far away and muffled.

The conversation resumed and was pretty good. I was walking on the wet grass, trying to carefully avoid Dexter's land mines that were now rehydrated back to squishy texture. Then I noticed the door from the kitchen open and Blake stepping outside in his PJs and no shoes. The door handle is supposed to be tricky to use, but nothing Blake couldn't figure out after a couple of moments.

I apologized again and ran towards Blake. I grabbed him and went back inside and up the stairs. Miron wasn't on the phone anymore so I dumped Blake in his room, before either one of them could make a pip and rushed down again (not before leaving muddy stains on the carpet with my soaking wet socks).

I resumed talking, but got no answer. I could still hear that someone is on the other side and looked carefully on my phone. Yep, a great feature of the iPhone's touch screen: You can accidently mute the conversation by touching the phone with your ear. I sorted that out and quickly finished the conversation, agreeing to meet up tomorrow, as the dogs decided to start barking their thick heads off at the garbage collectors.

I love my son more than life itself, but sometimes I sort of wish he came with a mute button.

Then again, I bet many people say that about me!

Later I had to go to do a couple of chores in town and I took Blake with me because I knew he'd enjoy it. We went on the London Underground and as expected he finds the train ride soothing and he fell asleep right away. Of course he couldn't have his nap when I was having my important phone conversation.

He slept through the visit to the High Court to drop some legal documents (nothing too exciting). There were tons of people and media at the entrance. Apparently something to do with a guy called Julian Assfudge and his website WinkyLick or something. Must've been a big deal as there were guys with giant cameras surrounding every inch of fence around the court trying to sneak a peek. I don't know, I try to ignore the news nowadays, unless it's a report on some scientific research about the positive effects of eating chocolate.

I made my way through the crowd pushing my sleeping son. I kept my eyes down so no one would recognize me and suddenly point and shout "Hey! It's Mickey Blumental from Taking the Mickey!" and suddenly all the cameras will be on me. Too embarrassing, I wasn't even wearing makeup. Blake missed out on the high ceilings and fancy decorations inside the building and me carrying his heavy stroller every time we encountered stairs.

 

He woke up in time for lunch, though.

On the way back I was going down the escalator with the stroller and some guy asked me if I was okay. The way I was holding on to the stroller on the sloping moving stairs looked awkward, but actually wasn't. I looked up and said I was fine. The older man smiled in surprise and said "Oh, of course. You're a man."

How kind, courteous and sexist.

I guess my hair is getting too long again. You see, I'm quite pretty if I say so myself and with long hair at some angles I'm quite the babe. Especially if you add a baby stroller to the mix. If I wear a red shirt or sweater, forget about it. 

Me and my brother back in 2003 when I was pretty. 

During one flight I looked out of the window and the flight attendant didn't see my face, so after serving Miron he asked me "what would madam want?" When I looked at him he apologized and corrected himself.

Once we landed and got to luggage collection an older man tried pulling his suitcase from the moving belt, but it was too heavy and he lost his grip. I jumped up, grabbed it, and pulled it out. 

"My, you're a strong girl!" He said.

I keep my hair short now.

--Mickey

Viva La Fifa. Not.

I came across this infuriating article and it just reminded me how much work there's still to be done.

Fifa boss Sepp Blatter, when asked if he foresees any cultural issues with the Qatar world championship in 2022, advised jokingly that gay fans shouldn't have sex while visiting Qatar. You see, homosexuality is illegal and punishable by death over there and that's apparently hilarious.

As a gay man I have a zero chance of getting caught having gay sex in countries where its illegal due to not having any intention of setting a foot in any of them. It's a shame countries with such laws are allowed to host any international event.

Fortunately I don't need to rant about this, as John Amaechi, the first openly gay NBA star (and a sizzling hottie), says everything that needs to be said in the linked article. 

Choice quote:

"It's not about people having sex in public and being sanctioned for it, it's the fact that Qatar was one of 79 countries to sanction executing gays at the United Nations [where a vote in November removed sexual orientation from a UN resolution condemning extrajudicial, summary or arbitrary executions].

"One of the first things you notice is that it would actually be an insult to year seven students to say that their reactions, the giggling of grown men, sports reporters and members of Fifa, on this issue, when asked a perfectly simple and reasonable question given the worries about Qatar, that the whole room burst into laughter."

Well said, hottie. Er... Buddy.

*sigh* In another life where I wasn't married and Amaechi wasn't way out of my league... Who knows.

 Douchebag 

Hottie

Suddenly I have a tiny bit more interest in basketball...

--Mickey

I Miss Boredom!

Occasionally one of my friends on Facebook will complain that they are bored and have nothing to do. Not complain that they must do something they're not crazy about, but actually complain that they have nothing to do. I really really don't get that.

I remember vaguely as a kid I used to get bored and my father sometimes still reminds me how I'd pace around the house back and forth shouting "I'm booooooooored!!!" Back then there was no Internet, in Israel we had only one television channel with very few programs for children and I had only a handful of computer games that I already played to death. I was a creative type and drew my own comics and wrote my own stories, but that wasn't enough to keep me busy all day.

Nowadays I have Blake. I have chores around the house. Need to take care of the dogs. A million things that need to be done. Then when I do get free time, some days more than others, I always have more to do than I can ever have enough time for. I got movies, tv shows, books, comicbooks and videogames that pile up and in some cases are still shrink-wrapped and unopened. I want to write my blog and often other creative projects. I want to sometimes just relax by playing various games or browsing the web.

I even used to play World of Warcraft which ended up carving an unacceptable slice of my time and it had to go. It was fun, but it became a little bit like a part-time job.

It came to the point that I find sleep to be a waste of time and Red Bull has become my new best friend.

I miss being bored. Sort of. 

Anyway, I bet it's quite ironic to get bored when reading a post about boredom. Sorry about that.

A picture of me from the time I could still get bored.

--Mickey

Poor Dexter

Never a dull moment. Leo recovered from his leg injury, more or less, and now it's Dexter's turn to be injured. 

Poor Dexter had a lot of bad press around here. Dexter is rowdy, energetic and wild. It seems that he doesn't know that he's a Great Dane and thinks he might be a Husky or a Weimaraner. He's very quick to "lose it" and be completely out of control, resulting in dragging me down the street and getting into dog fights, including with his brother Leo. With that said, growing up a bit and losing his nuts has helped curb that madness a little bit.

Yet, if you take a step back and look at Dexter now you'll see he's just a miserable victim surrounded by bullies. First his fathers, the people he trusts most in the world, have decided to remove his balls. Chop chop. Then his brother Leo started a few fights with him to show him who's boss and bit him more than once, turning Dexter's head into a colander. And now, not wishing to be left out of the fun, Blake has joined the lynch mob.

For a while Blake enjoyed poking me in the eyes, but he quickly found out that I strongly disapprove of attempts to deflate my eyeballs. So the other day we went out and left Blake and the dogs with the babysitter/housekeeper (I can count on two hands the times we went out without him since he was born). When we came back she told us how Blake kept poking Dexter in the eye and Dexter was just taking it. Sweet, huh?

A few days later Dexter started squinting and rubbing his eye a lot against anything he could: his paw, the sofa, the nearest person. A visit to the vet confirmed what I guessed: Blake scratched the inside of Dexter's eyelid. 

Remember the scene in Interview with the Vampire where Kirsten Dunst's hair grows back immediately after she cuts it? Blake's fingernails are like that. You cut them and the next day they are once again sharp enough to cut through steel.

So Dexter is walking around with a lamp shade on his head and I have to put special eye drops in his eyes several times a day, antibiotics and artificial tears. Lots of bumping and scraping around, as if Great Danes aren't clumsy enough without additional help.

My mother was quite impressed when we told her about the whole thing. The fact that Dexter didn't bite or growl by reflex when the inside of his eyelids were being carved show just how dedicated he is to Blake. He didn't even get up and walk away. Bless his soul. 

We were always worried the dogs might hurt Blake, especially when he was younger. Leo once stepped on Blake's hand when he was still crawling and another time nearly sat on his head. Dexter bumped into Blake a couple of times in the garden, but it wasn't his fault: Blake ran towards him when he jumped backwards while playing with Leo. All in all, the dogs are very careful around Blake. So good that they would let him do anything he wants to them.

We got it all wrong. It's the dogs we need to protect! Poor puppies.

--Mickey

My Precious!

I try not to give importance to inanimate objects. I know that they are just a collection of molecules without a soul or consciousness and that they will blow up into an atomic dust like the rest of us when the inevitable nuclear doomsday finally arrives.

Still, it's hard not to hoard stuff that more often than not carry a significant sentimental value rather than monetary value. Unless you are super rich and you enjoy hoarding sport cars in your very own private multi-level car park.

I kept a really nicely shaped coral from our first trip to Barbados, the plastic clip that held's Blake's belly cord, some of Blake's daily nursery reports and so on. Obviously if there was a fire I won't linger around gathering any of it. I'll make sure Blake, Miron, and the dogs are safe and only go back for my iPhone if the house hasn't collapsed yet. Only then I'll check to see how the horrible old woman next door is doing. 

I said check, not help out.

In June 2007 we went on a lovely 19 days trip to China. During one of our stops we received an e-mail from our future surrogate. We were told that we might have to wait up to eight months to find a carrier so we didn't expect that e-mail since it's been only a little over a week since we started looking. We were very excited, as our plan to have a baby was solidifying and becoming a reality. During our stay in Tibet we found ourselves in a big shop full of all sorts of exciting and exotic thing-a-bobs. I really liked one of the silver rings and Miron got it for me. It cost about $30. According to the seller it said "Ideal World" in Tibetan, but for all I know it might've said "I like boobies". 

I immediately liked it. It was going to remind me of this wonderful trip that was wonderful entirely on its own, but also because during that trip our journey to parenthood has really kicked off. It was the nearest thing I'd ever get to an engagement ring and indeed months later after we got pregnant we decided that if we're in Canada we should just as well get properly married. None of that civil partnership nonsense in the UK. When I told our cute receptionist at work that I was going to get married suddenly out of nowhere I was surrounded by several young women I didn't know showing interest in my "rock". I explained that it was just a cheap silver ring and not really an actual engagement ring, but I found the whole thing amusing nonetheless.

That ring was on my left ring finger until I got married and minutes before the ceremony it was moved to my right ring finger where it stayed on and off for years to come. The ring itself broke a few times and had to be welded twice. I could still wear it when it was broken, but it would pinch a little or get stuck in things. I'd sometimes remove it and misplace it, but always found it again.

Here's the silly part. I started regarding it as my lucky charm. I know it's stupid, but it was one of those "can't hurt" things. Life is full of ups and downs and during some downs I needed a sprinkling of good luck here and there. A couple of months ago I went out with the dogs and when I came back I suddenly realized that my ring was hollow. The bit in the middle fell off and I didn't even know it could fall off. I hoped it fell at home, but I was fairly certain it fell when I had to restrain the dogs. They were both pulling me in different directions in a subtle attempt to kill me and escape captivity. I pulled, tagged and slapped them a bit and that must have been when it popped off. I went back right away in the middle of the night, but no luck. Not only I couldn't see anything, I wasn't even sure where exactly I was tussling with the dogs. I came back during the day, but no luck. With it being fall season, everything was covered in either tall grass or layers of leaves. I might have walked over it countless times since, but for all practical purposes it was gone for good.

I tried googling Tibetan rings and "Ideal World" with no result. I couldn't find any ring like this or even similar looking. I remember seeing three of them at the shop when we got it and wondering if I should get more than one. I should've!

I still keep it, but I'm not wearing it anymore, because, well it's kinda ugly and creepy right now. I guess I can stick a chewed bubble gum into that hole, but it won't quite look right either.

So here comes the philosophical part. Was it really a lucky charm? If so how come my ring broke in the first place? That's unlucky, isn't it? Unless, that ring has provided me with tons of luck and then just expired when I used up all the luck in it. Since I got the ring I got married and my beautiful healthy son was born. We have problems like everyone else, but taking a step back and looking at my life I am very very lucky and should always remember to count my blessings, even when something bad happens. 

Like losing my favourite ring.

--Mickey

My Kryptonite.

The other day I was on the phone when suddenly Blake started crying. I ended the conversation and rushed into the study where Miron was watching television while Blake was playing. 

Neither one of us was sure what exactly happened. With teary eyes Blake was crying and walking towards me with his hand raised to show me where it hurts. His face was becoming red, his eyes were tearing up and his mouth was curved downwards and wide open. I picked him up and asked him what was wrong, but he just kept crying holding up his hand. I looked at it and didn't see anything. Just to be on the safe side I took him to the bathroom and started pouring cold water on the hand for a few seconds. No bruises were appearing and Blake's crying was fairly low key. He wasn't screaming his head off. Whatever it was, it wasn't serious.

So I took Blake back to the study and sat down with him to resume watching television. When Miron offered him some satsuma wedges, Blake ate them quietly. The crisis was over.

Now assuming you weren't bored out of your mind reading this cliche anecdote and clicked on one of the links on the right leading you to a more interesting gay parent blog, you must wonder why I'm writing this. Little one gets a booboo, cries, mommy kisses it to make it better. Who cares, right? It happens to all parents and more than once.

For me, the amazing thing is the effect it had on me. Seeing Blake like that, vulnerable and unhappy, it's like someone just clenched my heart and gave it a good squeeze. I just can't bare seeing him in pain or unhappy. I know it's an entirely natural biological instinct to protect your children, but sometimes it's overwhelming; The knowledge that just like my parents can't protect me from bad experiences, I can't always be there for protect Blake. Forget Freddy Krueger or Jason Voorhees, for me a real horror movie will be one about parents with a terminally ill child.

The big irony is that for Blake Miron and I are giant supermen right now. Practically Gods who can part seas and provide mana from heaven (or Jaffa Cakes). Yet he makes me feel so vulnerable and helpless when I find myself unable to instantly fix every little unpleasantness Blake experiences. This giant superman has found his Kryptonite...

--Mickey

Happy 2.5 birthday, Blake!

Well, actually I'm late by over a week, but since it's only a half birthday, it doesn't really matter. It's really all about Christmas and we've already started stockpiling presents for him. Blake is now officially closer to three than two. 

It's still mind blowing that this little human being has been around for such a short period of time considering the effect he had on my life. I just can't imagine life without Blake. Correction, make that Blakes. In this short period of time I got to meet many different Blakes, most of whom I only get to see now in photos and videos: newborn Blake, six months old Blake, one year old Blake... If only I could have a little reunion and have all of them together in the same room. Well, now I'm just being stupid. Well, stupider than usual.

The last six months were quite amazing in terms of his development and I can't wait to see what the next six months have in store. Actually, I'm lying. I can wait. Blake can take his time growing up, there's no rush on my part. I cherish every second and dread the moment when he'll suddenly be a sulky door slamming teenager who shouts "I hate you!". Where was I? Oh yeah, Blake's development.

We were a bit worried when Blake decided not to speak. He said his first word Sunflower (well, it came out more like safla) and then decided it was boring to talk. Being good parents we considered the worse. Was he deaf? Autistic? A Republican? Now that he proved to us that he can read around 100 words we're far less worried (as can be seen in the video posted a couple of months ago). Over the last couple of weeks Blake started showing interest in verbalizing, mostly mimicking animal noises, but also saying lion and tiger (at least trying, and getting better gradually). If I show him a card he can associate with a sound he can make, he'll do it. So if I show him the word CAT, he'll meow. KISS, he'll blow me a kiss. Etc. So it seems the only thing I have to worry about regarding his intellect is him being smarter than me by the time he turns 14. Heck, make it 10.

Blake is inflating in an alarming rate. I used to carry him on my shoulders on the way to the nursery, but nowadays I prefer the buggy since he's just too heavy. He used to open the only few drawers in the kitchen that couldn't be baby-proofed (you can say they were baby-proof-proof, but why would you?). He could barely reach in blindly into the drawers and take out whatever his tiny hand could grab. Now he can stand by the drawer and actually look down into it. It's little things like that that alarm you when you notice them. 

Blake still loves his iPod. I must say that I give the little device some credit for Blake's development. Blake often watches cartoons on it (his cartoon diet courtesy of Papa includes Thomas the Tank Engine, Smurfs, Winnie the Pooh, Dexter's Lab, Muppet Babies, Animaniacs, Spongebob and Ren & Stimpy), but often I'll catch Blake drilling various educational applications and if there's a voice saying names of animals or making animal noises, Blake will try to mimic them. And to think all I had when I was a little boy was a Little Professor. Oh, how much I loved practicing math on my Little Professor. I even took it with me outside. Once I left it on the pavement when I ran to see a near-accident that happened nearby and when I came back it was gone. I cried so much. The only other time I cried so much was when a power failure happened during an episode of the Snorks (underwater Smurfs knockoffs). To this day I don't know how that episode concluded. Where was I?

1980's

                              

  

 2010's

Oh yeah. Blake. I love him so much. Here's to many more half birthdays little guy!

Here's a picture of Blake's first mall Santa trauma.

--Mickey

Yikes! A whole month without writing...

As I said on a previous break, sometimes I don't write in my blog not because I have nothing to write about, but because the things I'm going through are too personal to share. This is not a "dear diary".

Also, a lot of my creative stamina was spent on a couple of projects I'm doing with my Cheese Comics partner, Sally. One is a birth+ children's book which we just finished and started submitting to agents and another is an on-line webcomic with a strong gay-parented family focus which we'll debut hopefully very very soon. It just needs colouring and some touch-ups. I'll probably share a few preview pages here before we premiere it properly.

In other news Dexter is two today, so happy birthday Dexter! Great Danes are people-wannabes and Dexter just happens to be the most dog-like Great Dane we ever had. It sounds like an odd thing to say about a dog, but if you owned a Great Dane you'd get it. I love Dexter, but I won't say I wouldn't change a thing about him. I'd tone down the crazy a little if I could. The boy is mad, but thankfully he's slowly calming down as he matures.

Also, I dreamt I was on the X-Factor (Simon Cowell's British version of American Idol) as a finalist and I was somehow surviving the first few weeks. Then I realized I didn't pick a song to sing in case I was in the bottom two - quite cocky, aren't I? I then had one of those "I may not be one the best singers on this show, but I'm wacky and entertaining". Not quite Wagner-level, but I was dancing and jumping on tables. Then there was this fat girl who claimed I was making her life hell (I never met her!!!) so she had her revenge by saying that I was an unoriginal hack. And there was some black dude who was also in the competition and was booted before me and he was annoyed that I didn't remember his name when I met him. Halfway through my conversation with him our conversation turned from real-life to Facebook message exchange. Not sure how. There was also a bit where I snuck into the girls' toilets to wash my hands, but I can't quite remember the context. 

That's what I can remember fairly clearly. There was lots of other detail that is too confusing to describe. I'd classify it as a nightmare.

A couple of weeks ago I dreamt that we were on this trip and Chuck Norris was piloting our helicopter. Apparently that was his gig now that his acting career has dried up. I wanted to take a picture with him at the end, but then lots of annoying girls I couldn't recognize (except for my friend Sally who wasn't annoying) stormed us to be in the picture and then it was me, Chuck and a hundred annoying girls.

The next day I dreamt about doing some extreme sport (can't remember which type by now) with Eliza Dushku and we were buddies. Forgot the little details. I need to write these dreams down when they're fresh.

I think I need help.

--Mickey

Read It and Weep!

Blake isn't a big talker. When he was a few months old he started babbling and made every possible sound and then even tried saying sunflower as his first word (came out sounding more like "safla", but close enough). Then he lost all interest in trying to talk and obviously it got us worried.

For a while we were worried that he might've had hearing problems, but soon enough we had plenty of evidence that Blake can understand many words. He especially likes to be asked to point out animals either in pictures or from his collection of animal figurines. He can tell the difference between cheetah and leopard instantly while even I sometimes have to stop to think for a second which is which.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I tried the Glenn Doman Teach Your Baby to Read program. Blake enjoyed seeing the big cards with words and hear me read them out loud for him, but I was never sure how much of it he actually understood. A little over a week ago I decided to quiz him for the first time with the body parts cards and to my surprise he pointed out cards perfectly. I would name a card and he would point at it with confidence. The most amazing part was seeing his reaction to his own achievement. Every time he got a word right his eyes would light up and he'd turn around and hug me in excitement.

So my son isn't talking yet, but he can read over 50+ cards (most of them were taught to him only this passing week). I can happily recommend the Glenn Doman method to any other parent with children under six. Get his book on Amazon. It's a facsinating easy read and even better: it actually works!

I created four groups of cards so far: Animals, colours, body parts and a general group with words from Blake's world (daddy, papa, Blake, our dogs, etc.). I simply took cheap flash cards we had lying around and cello-taped on top of them the words I printed myself.

Here's a video proof showing Blake's mastery over the animals cards. He's going to be two and five months in four days.

--Mickey

FCKH8

Thanks to Facebook I was introduced to this fantastic little ad against prop 8.

Here's the uncensored version:

If you're offended by the F word (seriously?) or watching it in a public place/work there's also this bleeped version:

It's unapologetic, foul mouthed and in-your-face. It's angry and raw and I love it for it. An entire group of people had their basic human rights stripped away when proposition hate passed and the time for tip-toeing and playing nice is over. Discriminated minorities shouldn't beg for equality, they should fight for it tooth and nail. 

Some people might be offended by the repeated use of the F word in this clip, especially when they come out of the mouths of young children. But really, it's only a word. People should be far more offended by seeing groups of people being discriminated against and oppressed.

Check out their website. 

--Mickey

Prison Blake

Cots are wonderful because they keep our little ones safe inside- is what we tell ourselves. The real selling point of those things is the fact that once we stick our little angels in it, they can't get out. They might scream their heads off, but they can't get out.

Does sound a bit evil and unfair, doesn't it? At two years and four months Blake has decided to fight for his toddler rights and developed a burning hatred for his cot. Why wouldn't he? Would you like to be thrown into a cage at the end of every day and sometimes at nap time when the only time you can get out is when your evil captors decide it is?

Blake's dislike of the bed turned into sheer loathing. The other night he stood in his bed, screaming harder than I ever heard him do before and he even managed to almost fling on leg over and jump out. So we could've waited a bit to see if he'd manage to jump out and land on his head, but instead we decided to expedite the purchase of a toddler bed.

Which toddler bed we were going to go for was a no brainer. It was really about which Tomas the Tank Engine bed we were going to go for. Miron found a reasonable one on the Internet and we ordered it.

Blake's last night in the cot was business as usual. He woke up twice in the middle of the night and wailed for a few minutes at the time. I felt bad, but I knew that this was the end of an era. From the next night it was going to be us who were going to suffer through the nights as now nothing is going to stop Blake from getting out of Bed and coming to ours whenever he wants to. Revenge is sweet.

Taking the old cot apart and assembling the new bed was easier than I thought. Blake was delighted to discover the big new toy in the corner of his room, but he was still quite suspicious of it. It took him awhile to realize it was the kind of bed he can get in and out of on his own.

The first night Blake just kept wandering around the house, even after I went to Bed. He somehow managed to get his hands on his iPod Touch and decided it was a good idea to watch Spongebob right next to my sleeping face. I remember vaguely eventually picking him up to sleep with me. The next night he fell asleep in our bed again, but I was awake enough to take him to his Thomas Bed. Now the question was, was he going to sleep through the night or wake up in a few hours and come to us? The good news is, he slept in it all night without any incident. At around nine I heard footsteps and Blake came into my study half-asleep and clutching Mr. Slug. Cute overload first thing in the morning. 

Later in the day he even jumped into bed and bounced around a little. His bed is no longer a prison, it's a fun place. So only two nights and we're already in the right direction.

It's the end of an era. I'm not really going to miss the cot. I miss Blake as a younger baby, but that boat has already sailed and keeping him in a cot isn't going to change that.

 

--Mickey