Just days after celebrating his first birthday, Peter began to walk. My youngest son had been “cruising” around coffee tables and couches for 2 months. He’d sidestep around the house, bracing himself on various furniture with his tiny arms.
He decided he could take a few steps without holding on one morning in the basement. For no particular reason, he took two steps towards a favorite toy and plopped hard on his butt. I played up the event with all sorts of excitement, hoping to encourage him to try again. It worked.
Peter is now doing the Frankenstein walk all over the house. Lately, he uses my pant legs to pull himself up. He prefers to walk hand-in-hand but will also walk solo for brief periods. However, the excitement of Peter’s first steps has already begun to wear thin.
We went to a friend’s house for dinner shortly after Peter started walking. The first thing he did was walk to the coffee table and start pulling out handfuls of potpourri from their centerpiece. Then he attacked their television remote controls. Finally, he dumped a whole pile of newspapers and holiday sales fliers resting comfortably on an ottoman onto the floor.
It’s amazing how excited we get as parents for a child’s first steps, considering the destruction that ensues. Honestly, it’s easier for parents when their babies are crawling. There certainly is less stuff to rummage through at only six inches off of the floor. Even easier is the infant stage, where you can set a baby down for hours and know you will always come back to find them in the exact same spot.
It’s almost impossible not to get excited about a baby’s first steps. But there’s a certain level of comfort that is lost when a baby becomes a toddler. It’s the comfort of setting a beverage down without worrying that a stumbling tot is going to knock it over. Or the comfort in knowing that you can watch TV without a little devil pushing all the buttons below the screen that inevitably results in the television’s brightness being reset to the highest level.
So while I’m very exited for Peter’s first steps, I’m equally nervous for the destruction will follow.
To millions of fifth-graders, what is the coolest thing about having a new First Family?
There will be a 10-year-old girl and her younger sister, age 7, living in the White House.
Being 10 just like one of the nation’s First Kids is really something special, especially since Malia and her little sister, Sasha, are from Illinois. That is something else local kids can relate to.
It does make a fifth-grader who lives in our little house say “I wonder what it would be like to live in the White House!”
Being 10 like Obama’s daughter, Malia, means both fifth-graders are studying many of the same subjects in school.
Our son, age 10, has already shown interest in reading some of the same books as the Obamas, just for the fun of it.
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My youngest son is one year old today. I know it sounds cliche, but I really can’t believe how quickly Peter’s first year has come and gone. Some days passed slower than others, namely the nights when he’d wake up wailing. I often worried his high-pitched screams would shatter the glass windows in his tiny bedroom.
But overall, Peter’s first year seemed at a quicker pace than his now 2-year-old brother. I suspect this is the function of being a first born versus being the second child. Bubba’s first year seemed to pass with a much more deliberate pace. Each month marked some sort of milestone. By the end of his first year, I was ready to light a birthday candle.
Peter’s birthday arrived before we’ve even put away his last of his newborn baby clothes. There are certainly fewer pictures of his first 12 months. Things like teething and cooing seemed so cute and important with Bubba but were viewed with far less reverence for Pete. As the second-born child, I suppose that is expected. Peter’s milestones generally shared the spotlight with his talkative brother, Bubba.
Peter was born two days after Thanksgiving 2007. The day before he was born was Black Friday. We bought a couch on deep discount that morning and had a baby at 10 a.m. the next day.
His birthday falls before Turkey Day this year, but we are going to have the party after the holiday weekend to better accommodate some of our visiting relatives.
Kids’ parties certainly have gotten out of hand. Reality television is filled with stories of ritzy parents spending thousands to rent ponies, clowns and inflatable castles. We are going to a bowling alley. I know Peter can’t bowl, but it will be fun for everyone else.
Tonight, we will just have dinner together. Peter will smash cake into his nose and ears. We will take pictures and plop him into the bathtub. It’s a night I will savor, unlike so many of the other evenings that seemed to pass without pause.
I heard the following “excuse” at a large group gathering recently and it has bothered me ever since.
“With my learning disability, I can’t go to college,” the teen said. I feel it is best to protect his identity, but he is in high school.
Think twice about that decision. A lot of the possibilities have changed as a result of technology. You can make a difference in reading comprehension by using audio books.
A certain young man I know very well knows he has to get used to studying ahead every night.
It’s hard to believe that the Holidays are just around the bend. Though most of us wait until after Thanksgiving, I’ve already heard from several early birds requesting gift suggestions for my 2-year-old son and his 11-month-old brother.
It’s important not to muff these suggestions. If all goes well at Christmas, I could save lots of money down the road. Some good toys could help keep my kids occupied during the winter, thus saving on the cost of entertainment. Clothes in the correct sizes could save me from spending more money at the resale shop.
However, I’m having a difficult time coming up with good gift ideas. I’ve given out the boys’ sizes for clothes. Beyond that, I’m stumped. I really don’t want any more bulky toys to clog up the basement. However, I would be open to some new toys that aren’t too messy and chew up large blocks of time.
To complicate things further, my 11-month-old son celebrates his 1st birthday on Thanksgiving weekend. Plenty of relatives will be in town for Turkey Day, and we expect most of them to attend Peter’s birthday party. I imagine most of my clothes requests will be taken care of at the birthday party.
This brings me back to Christmas. With Peter already stocked with clothes following his birthday, it’s making his list for Santa that much harder to fill out. I could always ask for Babie R Us gift cards or cash, but that sort of gift just seems awkward for a toddler. Where’s the fun in opening an envelope?
I’m asking for your help. Do you have any gift ideas for my kids? Have your childen ever been given the perfect toddler gift? Have you ever been the gift giver and seen diaper-clad baby’s eyes light up after opening the perfect present? Any and all suggestions will be greatly appreciated.
I have always been amazed that adults don’t read more books once they are out of high school and/or college.
Yes, the kids notice this.
Sure, it comes at a time when adults aren’t being asked to stick to a required reading list, but learning is ongoing. Fiction is entertaining.
Children’s books are awesome. You and the child can take turns reading the classics or Harry Potter or the “Inkheart” series; the third one was just released.
As many people as there are, how can there be books in any library that hardly ever leave the shelves? How can they be collecting dust?
It’s harvest time on the farm. The time when combines lumber through dry fields in a cloud of dust. Trucks made heavy with loads of grain follow like obedient dogs expecting a treat.
I grew up on a hog farm. My parents still live on the property, though much of the land we once rented to grow corn and soybeans has become subdivisions with pretentious names like “Fox Hills” and “Ruffled Feathers.”
The hogs are gone. A few acres remain for growing crops. It’s become more of a hobby at this point for my father. For him, this time of year is better than the Super Bowl or the world’s most lavish golf course. It’s a time where he fixes the perennially broken combine, puts on a pair of well worn blue jeans and embarks upon the harvest.
About halfway through the four-day reaping, I received a telephone call asking to bring my 2-year-old son and 11-month-old son to the field. We posed for pictures next to the bulky machine, and the boys rode in “Big Red.”
This year, my brother took Bubba for a ride while grandpa repaired yet another broken farm implement (see photo). Eventually grandpa got back in the combine with his grandson. Seeing both of them smile from ear to ear was a moment I won’t soon forget.
I have never had the same affinity for farming as my father. To me, farming is a job just like any other. It seems like more of a calling to dad. To see him and his grandsons gathering such joy from the harvest makes me feel that perhaps I missed the boat on this. After all, farming can be a lot of work, but it can also be simple fun. Just boys playing with trucks and tractors.
Using my big, pregnant belly as a shelf on which to rest my reporter’s notebook, I remember years ago listening to the Campbellsville (Ky.) City Council discuss the need to reduce the amount of the city’s garbage sent to the landfill by something like 75 percent by 2010.
My main thought right then was that the child kicking my notebook would be faced with many environmental problems in his or her lifetime. Then a council member stated the obvious, but it stuck with me. To paraphrase, if each and every citizen doesn’t do his fair share and continue to do so, the next generation will suffer more.
Sorry I cannot remember which child I was carrying; my memory is starting to fail me the closer I get to 40.
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The Wife was born in Chicago. Her family moved to South Texas when she was six years old. Her grandparents retired there, and her parents followed.
As she and I walked our two boys up and down the block on Halloween (see photo of the Ludwig family in costume), she told an interesting story about her first Halloween in Big Sky Country. Her mom had made costumes for her and her brother. They went to grandma’s house to show off their outfits early that afternoon.
They then decided to take a walk up and down grandma’s block to kick off their trick-or-treating. It was about 4:30 p.m. The Texas sun had yet to set on the dry horizon. Something seemed awry since they were the only kids outside. They knocked on several doors and were greeted not with grins but grimaces. 
They soon learned that in Texas, Halloween doesn’t start until sundown. This is very different from our northern tradition where trick-or-treating is an activity for the afternoon hours. I’ve always been told that our hours are in place to keep tots and teens more visible to traffic.
The Wife and I theorized on why this might be different in Texas. Certainly, motorists there aren’t equipped with night vision. The best reason we could come up with was the weather.
Although this Halloween offered great weather with temps in the 70s and a clear forecast, most of the time Halloween weather in the Chicago area is lousy. Costumes are usually hidden under winter coats or umbrellas. Whereas in Texas, parents and kids must deal with the heat. Perhaps trick-or-treating after sundown is designed to keep little Texans from getting overwhelmed by the hot sun while in their costumes.
It’s just a theory… the best I could come up with anyway.
