Denver Botanic Gardens

Charlie and I went to the Denver Botanic Gardens today to check out the Jurassic Gardens Exhibit. Before going, I didn't read the website too carefully. If I would have, I'd have been aware there is major construction taking place on the grounds. While this means exciting new features in the future it also means a few present inconveniences. The bathrooms located in the gift shop were under repair. Plan on your children or adults to hold it until you get the tickets purchased and are able to walk to the main building a couple hundred yards away. Good for us, there was no one ahead of us at the ticket counter.
Once inside the gardens, the amazing outdoor landscaping awaits the eyes with negligible interruptions. However, audibly, the same can't be said. Behind a temporary wall on the North side of the gardens heavy equipment disturb the peace at all hours with very loud earthmoving. The noisy activity can be observed through one of several acrylic windows in the wall. It was distracting to me, but Charlie loved to watch!
Fortunately, the din dies down on the South end of the grounds and you can enjoy the fastidiously maintained gardens in relative quiet. Dispersed throughout many of the thirty-five gardens are impressive full-sized dinosaur replicas. There is also a hands-on dinosaur dig for children and displays with prehistoric plants. At the same venue Charlie learned "Edmontasaurus" and I got some great ideas for xeriscaping my front lawn. Just over two hours was sufficient for us to take it all in before lunch time. After which we enjoyed the nice on-site cafeteria with an edible, if not tasty, menu.
More information about the Denver Botanic Gardens can be found at www.botanicgardens.org.

The Boy Who Cried Diaper

Charlie woke up at 5:45am today. As a consequence, so did I. I allowed him to whimper for twenty minutes until I gave up returning to sleep. Twenty minutes was five minutes past the time my alarm clock beeped. It was barely daybreak when I stumbled out of bed into Charlie's room. His forehead was stretching the white mesh of his crib tent. He looks like a tiny Gitmo detainee in there. I unzipped the tent and wasted no time hoisting him over the crib rail and laying him flat on his back on the changing table. He had mesh indentations on his forehead.

The morning ritual is usually a bigger production. What usually happens is I unzip the tent. Then Charlie dawdles around inside. He might pick up a stuffed toy and hand it to me. He may bounce up and down. He may expel every object lying on his crib mattress. The expulsion takes place in no meaningful order, first Curious George, followed by the elephant that plays "Rock-a-bye Baby," the "learn to zip, button and latch" bear, a blue monkey, Wally the Walrus, Lamby the Lamb, a sheep, a small blue pillow with "Goodnight My Moon" in gold script, and his favorite blue blanket, Silky.

Yesterday he handed Silky to me in the morning and said, "Wash. Darty."

After I smelled Silky I said, "'Tis aboat time."

Then, as quickly as I could, I diapered Charlie, returned him to the crib, zipped him in and dove head first into my pillow without waking Jill. I tossed in bed while Charlie woke every dog in the neighborhood screaming for Daddy. Five minutes into the tirade, Charlie changed tactics. His volume and tone changed. "Diaper," he whispered. "Diaper," he said again, but with greater urgency. I think he knows where the microphone sits. I marveled at his trickery. If it weren't for just changing his diaper five minutes earlier, I might have been deceived. He gave up ten minutes later at which time we both drifted to sleep. We all woke a short time later to his cries for freedom. I wonder how long it will take for him to hire an attorney to get him released from bed.

He lay between us with his bottle of diluted whole milk in hand, staring at the half-moon brushstroke patterns in the drywall mud on the ceiling. All of a sudden he perked up. The bottle nipple popping from his lips broke the morning quiet. He sat up and leaned over, almost putting his nose to my nose. My eyes crossed.

He whispered forcefully. "Saw it!"

"What did you see?" I asked.

"Aye-Aye! Zoo!"

He loves the Aye-aye exhibit at the zoo. Aye-ayes are rather insidious looking nocturnal creatures from Madagascar. To give you an idea of what they look like picture Khalid Sheikh Mohammed with buggy eyes and Gollum fingers. The exhibit is dark since they are only active at night. It's great for the Aye-aye, but not great lighting for me and Charlie. You have to wait for your eyes to adjust which is just about as long as Charlie's attention span. Behind the glass is a dim orange light. It reminds me of being in my high school photography dark room minus the wad of chewing tobacco. After adjusting to the darkness you are able to see the lemur running back and forth across a branch. The cage is small and he really only has a few moves. Besides running back and forth over the top branch, he pauses just in front of the orange light and flips under the branch. He disappears for a few seconds then goes back to the top branch and repeats this cycle over and over again. But I try to make it exciting for Charlie.

"Look, there he is! Do you see him!"

"See him!"

"He's amazing! Look at the Aye-aye go!"

"Go!"

"Wait. Quiet."

"Quiet," Charlie whispers.

"He's watching you with his beady eyes. Don't let him stare at you with the ojo mal." On the informational placard it says the farmers in Madagascar believe death will befall the lunar glare of the Aye-aye.

Here's some interesting facts about Charlie's favorite animal, the Aye-aye. They tap their long fingers on tree branches. By doing so, they can pinpoint grubs moving around in the wood with their super hearing. Once located they dig them out with their middle fingers. Also,the male and female are physically the same, except for the goods. That's called sexual amorphism. The male Abssynian Ground Hornbill has a red throat patch, the female has a blue throat patch. That's called sexual dimorphism. The hornbills have an outdoor exhibit which they share with the Gerenuk which looks like a small antelope.

Today was orientation for playschool. Charlie and I took to the trail on bike before we were to meet Jill at the church building. It was a fine day for a ride. The electronic welcome sign at the West entrance to Cherry Creek State Park said it was 69 degrees and issued a notice to boaters about zebra mollusk inspections. We rode in the direction of the reservoir and the rising sun. The sun seems to be losing strength. The sidewalks were free and clear of goose poop which meant I didn't have to do any fancy swerving to avoid it. The geese are gone, but we saw an incredible number of grasshoppers on the bike path. We also observed one clinging to the outside of the French doors this morning. We counted its legs and antennae. Then we beat on the glass. The grasshopper didn't flee, it only splayed its legs for a better grip.

We rode over a baby snake and later chased after a tiding of magpies. I stopped the bike in the middle of a path behind a large grassy hill that blocked the street noise. I dismounted the bike and instructed Charlie to listen to the cicadas. Then a model airplane flew overhead and ruined everything. "Hear it." Charlie said. Continuing on we passed an old man wearing a ball cap with an American flag patch scuttling on rollerblades. I gave him plenty of room to the left. I turned around to check on Charlie. He was sound asleep, the weight of his flamed helmet caused his head to lean unnaturally forward.

When we arrived at Charlie's playschool it was much as I suspected, women and children. Charlie and I walked straight in, down the stairs, past the classroom, directly to the bathroom. Washing Charlie's hands, I was tempted to leave, but Jill was going to meet us. I escorted Charlie to his new class and he started crying once he caught sight of the teachers. It was hard for me to fake it.

"You're going to have fun here!" I said. He read right through me.

Children and parents began to fill in the small room. As Charlie's manager, I made introductions and small talk while scanning for safety lapses and browsing the selection of books. Charlie found Goodnight Moon, but there was no Poe at all. Strike one.

Including Charlie there were three boys, five girls and two teachers. That's a 4:1 student teacher ratio. Strike two.

Then we all gathered around and the teacher read a story. Charlie tried escaping several times until I sat him on my lap. He moaned for a second. One girl had a tantrum.

We sang "The Wheels On The Bus." Except at the end they changed the lyrics from "All the way to Mexico," to, "All through the town." Strike three. And by the way, if you let your kids watch ONDemand's Baby Boost, they completely remove "God" from the lyrics to "America the Beautiful." The kid's choir sings, "America, America, he shed his grace on thee." Are you freaking kidding?

I really talked things up afterward because I want Charlie to have a good experience. I figure it's only one day a week.

We rode home and I changed his diaper. A little brown ball rolled out of his diaper onto his changing table. Charlie saw it and said "Nemo" referencing the fruit snacks we both love.

I said, "It's not a Nemo. At least not all of it."

Running in the dark

Charlie slipped in the shower this morning. The gray marble tiles of the floor were covered with soap suds. He lost his footing. I saw him do it. He was going under the bridge. Literally, he was walking between my legs. It's a game he likes to play in the shower while I lather up. I feel neglectful. He doesn't have any bath toys to play with. I quit giving him baths in exchange for showers with me. Baths were taking too long. Plus kids can drown in water. Water doesn't collect in showers like it does in baths. I have a fear that I won't be able to do CPR properly. Every other day or so I try to replay the CPR steps that I performed on a fake baby in the parenting class at the hospital. It was long ago. Nineteen months have gone by. I get CPR and the Heimlich confused sometimes. I think the Heimlich becomes CPR if you can't get the peanut, hot dog, or grape dislodged. I can't remember how many compressions to breaths to give. Is it two breaths and thirty compressions? The CPR people changed the rules just months before we attended our class. It was all new then. But, the instructor taught us the old procedure too. Rather, she told us about it. It doesn't matter. Either way, she tainted me. I blame her for my feeling of incompetence. The CPR process changes after a certain age too. I don't remember what age that is. What if the CPR people decide to change the rules again?

That's why we take showers. That's why Charlie goes under the bridge. That's why Charlie's only toy is a squeegee which is also used to wipe the glass down. He was just coming out from under the bridge when it happened. I had just kicked the squeegee to the corner, out of his way, seeing it as a tripping hazard. He fell backward and hit his head on the corner of the shower stall base. I picked him up quickly. I held on to him tightly. I was afraid of dropping him. His skin was soapy. I have learned to turn my ear when Charlie screams. The first one is the worst one. I know it's coming. His face becomes red. He scrunches his eyes and widens his mouth. If he weren't about to yell, it would be the perfect posturing to put a good brushing on his molars. He doesn't open wide for his mom when it's time to brush. I don't know how well she can get back there. I don't want him to get cavities. I am cavity prone. The last time I got a filling the dentist jammed the novocaine needle right into a nerve. I had serious thoughts about switching dentists. I don't want Charlie to have to endure that kind of pain. Visits to the pediatrician are nightmares. I can't imagine having to hold Charlie down for a shot in the gum. My childhood dentist was Dr. Hub Hougland. His dental practice had a black chest with brass adornments in the hall that exited back to the waiting room. It was filled with all kinds of crap. I remember getting a pink plastic ring with a spider on it. Charlie's pediatrician has a sticker drawer. I let him get two stickers after his eighteen month visit. I think there is a one sticker policy, but we had to wait for 45 minutes. How do you end up waiting for 45 minutes when you are the first scheduled appointment of the day? I am seriously considering finding a new pediatrician. But that's the catch. The really good doctors are busy. We could probably find a bad one with a smaller patient load and spend less time waiting.

I get afraid when he holds his breath so long. I think he is going to pass out. Right before the ear splitting cry, he fills his lungs with fresh air. That's when I lean back and turn my head. Then he lets it go. It's amazing. It's so shrill and piercing. I turn back to look at him. The subsequent cries are never as bad. He calls out for Mommy. Comforting Charlie is her forte. I recognize it as a weakness. Perhaps it's a gender weakness moreover. I used to wait way too long when he fell before consoling him. I wanted to make him tough. Jill is holding and kissing him right when it happens. I lack her comforting skills. I try to distract him. I stick my tongue out under the spray of the shower head.

"Try thith." I say. It works for a second. His face softens. Then he cries again. I am an imperfect substitute for a mother's love. I check the back of his head for swelling or bleeding. None there. The scary thing is he could have internal hemorrhaging and I wouldn't know it. They say if he acts tired it could be as a result of a concussion. Great, but what if it's his nap time?

I take him out of the shower. The towel I use to dry him smells mildewed. On his changing table, I lather his soft little body with lotion. His enjoys it on his shoulders. He asks for powder. I oblige him. He asks for Desitin. I apply the cream.

I finish dressing him, retrieve silky, warm him a bottle of milk and read The Raven to him on the couch. His eyelids become droopy. His breath becomes deeper. I hope he's okay. He drinks through The Raven and The Bells. It's our old routine. I wonder about telling Jill about his fall. I left him on the porch one day in his stroller. I had to go back inside for something before our run. While I was inside I got to wondering if I had locked the wheels on the stroller. Panic drove me to the front door. Through the screen door I could see the stroller lying sideways in the middle of the yard where it had come to rest after rolling down the front steps and toppling over in the grass. I ran out to the stroller. My heart was in danger of stopping. I was trying to recall CPR. Was it the new rules or the old ones? I turned the stroller upright and peeled back the sun shade. He was still strapped in. He was asleep. Thank God. I didn't tell Jill about it for a few days. I didn't want her to think I was an incapable caretaker. I've decided to tell her. She should know so she can take precautions when she showers with him.

I walk a fine line wanting to ensure his survival but build in him character. I'm also learning that it's okay to pick him up and reassure him. And like yesterday, I'm learning to be faster with my cell phone camera. Charlie had stuck his finger through the straw hole in the lid to a water cup. He held up his chubby hand with his index finger firmly lodged in the hole. "Stuck." He said. As I fumbled for my camera, he started to whimper. People who had been oblivious to us, now were staring at us. His cries became more desperate. Before taking the picture, I shoved the cell phone back in my pocket and began the unimaginably tedious task of prying his finger from the hole. I missed a good picture, but I think I did the right thing by Charlie.