[Editor's note: J actually wrote this a couple of weeks ago, but there have been any number of good reasons why it hasn't been posted until now, including J's not having become familiar with WordPress yet and thus relying on your anonymous Editor to post things, the existence of the Scramble and/or Wordscraper games on Facebook, and possibly the raising of the child described herein. My apologies in getting this to you so late; please do not see this as reflecting poorly on Simon's development.]

A few weeks ago [which would now be about a month ago --Ed.], Simon discovered that his hands are useful tools. Previously, he had been keeping his thumbs tucked tightly into his fists, thinking, I guess, that they were useless vestigial appendages. Then one day, all of a sudden, grabbing started.

It started with grabbing my hands. As I was rocking Simon before his nap, he got really interested in what my hands were doing (which was ”just sitting there”) and grabbed my fingers and flailed them around. This, of course, had the added benefit of derailing the nap-prep, much to his delight.

Then he started face-grabbing, also while rocking. On days that I wear my glasses, this is especially entertaining for him.

At his last physical therapy appointment, his therapist held him all scrunched up in her lap and showed him how to touch his toes, and it was like a lightbulb went off. Prior to that, he had shown no interest at all in flexing his stomach muscles, and would just lie around with his legs straight out. But, literally, the next day after she showed him this new skill, he was all about the toe-grabbing. All day long, all the time.

At the grocery store, I’ve taken to letting him pet the produce we’re buying, just to show him what food is and get him interested in it. Last week, I was absent-mindedly holding a peach up for him to touch while I looked over the vegetable display, looking for something Todd would eat. I looked down, and the peach had little gouge marks cut out of it. I figured I had just picked up a bad one and was ready to put it back when I realized there were bits of peach under Simon’s nails.

And now, he’s into grabbing toys. He’ll pick up cups from the stacking-cup display and wave them around. The other day I saw him grab one with one hand, then hold it with both hands, and eventually transfer it to the opposite hand. Clearly this boy is very advanced.

The most popular game by far is bopping the stacking cups. We have two sets of seven, one of which sits higher than eye-level when Simon is sitting in front of me on the floor. He is perfectly content to spent twenty or so minutes bopping the cups with hands and feet, trying to get to them before I have a chance to stack all seven back up for him. He also likes to grab them and shove them in his mouth.

In other news, he has started up the most mellow bedtime routine I could imagine. After his bottle and a few minutes of rocking, Todd and I kiss him and put him in his bed and leave the room. I’ve spied on him to see what he does, and it consists mainly of looking around for a few minutes, sometimes with singing, settling his arms straight back by his bottom, crossing his legs at the ankles, and gazing dreamily off at nothing until he falls asleep. Sure beats the days when we had to stand over him breathing on him and holding the pacifier in his mouth indefinitely.

Several weeks ago, I got to do an upper-gastrointestinal-and-small-bowel X-ray. While I can’t say that it was “enjoyable,” it was interesting from a scientific point of view — my being, you know, a chemistry teacher and all. Seeing pictures of your insides is both macabre and fascinating, and it was nice to be told by the technicians (two of them, separately) that the curlicue pattern of my small bowel is “unique to me.”

The worst part of the whole process, aside from the slimy and gelatinous barium sulfate emulsion I had to drink, was the waiting. The technician would take a picture every thirty minutes, and my job was to help speed the barium through by walking up and down the twenty feet of hallway in the middle of the building. I had taken my crossword puzzle along, but I’m not very good at those, so it didn’t relieve the boredom very much.

Now, since infants aren’t allowed in the exam room with their moms (and really, I can understand why), Todd stayed at home with Simon that morning. And while Todd is an excellent father and I knew Simon was probably enjoying the change of pace, it was frustrating not to get any cell phone reception as I was pacing the halls. I wanted to call every ten minutes to report things like “barium sulfate: disgusting!” “I just got 39-across!” and so on. I lamented about this to the technician between pictures, and she sent me out onto the balcony in my hospital gown. It felt weird, but I was desperate for news from home and a friendly voice, so I did it. She asked me lots of kind questions about my baby and was generally very nice about it.

After about two and a half hours, they did the upper-GI exam, which involved drinking Pop Rocks (or a very close equivalent) and more barium. I must have looked like I was going to kill someone about the barium because the technician tried to calm me down. “It’s not as bad as the other stuff! It’s thinner!” I must have looked dubious. “You know who really likes this stuff?” she continued. “Babies! It’s because we don’t let them eat for several hours before they have to drink it, so they just suck it right down.”

All I could think of right then was what a terrible thing that was to mention, not because this is true, which I discovered later, but because the idea of withholding food from your baby only to feed him something completely non-nutritive seemed, well, repulsive. And I had just gotten done telling her how much I missed my baby. Fortunately, the whole experience was over shortly thereafter, and I got to go home and everything turned out fine.

Then a few weeks later, Simon decided he didn’t want to finish bottles anymore. His intake dropped precipitously, and he lost a little weight, which concerned us and the good folks who see him at Doernbecher. There was no obvious reason for him to not want to eat. We went in for a feeding evaluation, and he totally lost it in front of the feeding specialist, screaming and squirming. It was the opposite of taking your car in to the shop. So, the specialist suggested we do a barium swallow study to make sure no food was getting in his airway.

Of course, this involved waiting several hours for Simon to get hungry again, which we spent in the Starbucks at the base of the elevators (for reasons I won’t go into, don’t buy items from the pastry case at the Doernbecher Starbucks). When it was time for our appointment, he was very very ready to eat, and we set him up in the X-ray video machine. I was handed a bottle of the familiar-looking goo and told to go for it. So, feeling kind of deceptive and mean the whole time, I fed my baby an inorganic salt emulsion while the radiologist videotaped his head. And amazingly, Simon didn’t mind. In fact, he
kind of liked it, which makes me question his judgment about food, and which I will remember when he is a toddler or teenager refusing something delicious at our dinner table: “You can’t talk about not liking that. You don’t know anything, you like barium sulfate!”

The X-ray video itself was pretty amazing. They played it back for me later, and I could even see the food dripping down his chin. Next up: Todd? Want to join the Barium Ingestion Club?

Just to tie up narrative loose ends, although this is not the point of the story, we’ve made some adjustments to his feeding routine, the most notable of which is an increase in his antacid medication, which has done wonders for his intake and attitude about eating.

Likes and dislikes

Things Simon likes:

  • Looking at the mirror on the floor at the correct angle to see Mama or Papa sitting behind him.
  • Putting his elbow down Mama’s shirt.
  • Mirror Baby — he grins really big, then turns away and shyly buries his face in my shoulder.
  • Songs about the disproportionate sizes of his belly and rear end, while on the changing table.
  • Rainbow-colored toys (caterpillar, stacking cups …) and bonking rainbow colored toys.
  • Falling asleep on Mama’s chest.
  • Playing with Papa when he gets home from work. By that time of day, Mama is old news.
  • Sleeping for 8 hours at a time at night.
  • Songs involving fake sneezes. Thanks to Kirsten for discovering that one.
  • Staying up late past his bedtime to play.

Things Simon hates:

  • Doctors looking in his ears.
  • Falling asleep in his crib (but staying asleep,  now that’s okay!)
  • Not facing the action.
  • Swallowing his Zantac.
  • Waiting more than 20 seconds for his food.

Or, How to remove cradle cap, as a side effect of an unrelated medical procedure

A few weeks ago, Simon completed a sleep study through OHSU. Now, while it didn’t actually occur at OHSU (but at the Marriott Residence Inn) or really involve that much sleep (for either Simon or me), it did get rid of most of his cradle cap, which makes bathtime much less gross now.

Simon was hooked up to about twenty different data collection wires, ten of which were on his head. On each spot on his scalp where a lead would go, the technician put a layer of salty conducting gel, then pasted the lead on with a white waxy putty, about an inch in diameter. I realize this sounds like an exaggeration, but it looked like his whole head was covered*.

First of all, it’s not quite as sweet to cuddle your child when his head is all full of goop, especially when your child especially enjoys rubbing his head back and forth repeatedly on your chest. It’s harder still to get up in the middle of the night to feed your screaming alien-looking baby with his goopy head nestled, unmoving, in the crook of your arm for fifteen or so minutes. Twice.  Just saying.

In the morning, the technician came in to unhook Simon from all his wires. He saved the head wires for last, gripping them about twelve inches from Simon’s head and giving a slow firm tug. All the leads glopped off, leaving ten blobs of wax putty, all entwined with his hair. I was told the best way to get them off was with a warm wet washcloth and scrubbing. Fifteen minutes and one very cranky red-scalped baby later, Simon’s cradle cap was nearly all gone, and has stayed gone. So yay — thank you, sleep technician!

*A brief derivation: Simon’s last known head circumference was 42.5 cm. Assuming his head is a perfect sphere, his head radius would be about 6.76 cm, and his craniofacial surface area about 575 square cm. Let’s assume that about 40% of that surface area is covered by hair (excluding the face and the part under the skull where the neck attaches) – that leaves 230 square cm of hair, which is about equal to 35.6 square inches. (Estimation check: is Simon’s hairy scalp about 6 inches by 6 inches? Sure…) Now, ten of these square inches are covered with goop: that’s about 28%. So not the entire scalp, but a good-sized portion to be sure.

Simon’s schedule

It is a well-known fact that over half of all blog entries are apologies for not having blogged lately. And we’re not ones to buck trends here at Stadler Headquarters.

It’s not that we don’t have stuff to blog about, of course. We’re raising a child here, people, of course there are stories. But nearly all of them have to do with poop, which unfortunately triggers the bad-words filter on our blogging software*.

But a while back, Julia decided to enumerate Simon’s feeding times, complete with names, as they were rather stable at that time. Of course, in the intervening weeks, Simon has decided to throw off the shackles of his oppressive feeding regime, but for posterity’s sake, here’s the official list:

  • Feeding time with PapaMidnight snack (3am)
  • Pre-breakfast (6:30am)
  • Breakfast (8:30am)
  • Brunch (11:00am)
  • Lunch (1pm)
  • Second lunch (3:30pm)
  • Dinner (6:30pm)
  • European dinner (10:00pm)

I might have chosen to call the 3:30pm feeding “tea time”, but then I am an admitted anglophile**.

Anyhow, for those of you who, until this post, were beginning to wonder why you even bother reading this blog, we here at The Stadlers (“dot org”™) would like to remind you that we also put out content elsewhere — even more frequently than we blog, guaranteed***!

Short random snippets can be found at Todd’s Twitter account****. Photos, nearly all of Simon, can be had at  Todd’s Flickr account. And, yes, the Stadlers have a tube you can watch. Here’s a recent video from the latter that you may enjoy, if you haven’t already seen it:

*This is a lie. Our blogging software doesn’t have a “bad-words filter”, and if it did, we’d be too lazy/busy to install it, which perhaps gives you a hint as to why we also haven’t been blogging as much lately, as if you hadn’t already worked that out yourself.

**Not true. I did very much enjoy our trip to Scotland, with its many B&B tea times, but I have never hinted to anyone about, much less admitted to, my anglophilia.

***Not guaranteed.

****Not to be confused with this guy’s Twitter account, as Todd does not tweet in German. Repeat, Todd does nicht tweet auf Deutsch! Achtung! He does, however, occasionally sprinkle it into footnotes of dubious quality.

When Julia’s mother was in town in the weeks after Simon was born, she expressed not-entirely-serious concern that he was going to grow up confused about what his name was. Apparently, in those heady days, we were coining new monikers with alarming frequency. Some of them have already been abandoned, either due to increasing inaccuracy, or perhaps poor memory caused by lack of sleep. Still, what’s a blog for if not to catalog the minutia of life? So here are some of the nicknames we remember.

Of course, there was his original in utero nickname, Grendel, now largely abandoned (at least after the first few days, when we occasionally forgot Simon’s real name), in part because when we called him Grendel, we thought he was a girl. Yes, in spite of Grendel’s being a male in Beowulf, we know, we know.

I don’t know if it’s due to his cleft palate or if all babies do this to some degree, but early on, Simon made lots of, well, snorting noises. It was actually fairly comforting to us back then, because it made it easy to know if he was breathing in the middle of the night. Still, several names came from this attribute, among them Snuffleupagus and Snorky Doo.

Snorky Doo was likely derived from the similar Simon Doo, no doubt itself derived from the name of popular mystery solving canine, Scooby Doo. (I guess. Julia never actually explained this to me. And since she only ever spoke these nicknames aloud, it’s possible I got the spelling wrong, and these nicknames are actually references to influential punk band Hüsker Dü. Except that Julia is almost certainly more familiar with Scooby Doo than Hüsker Dü. Anyhow.)

Also owing to a particular bleating-like noise Simon was prone to making before turning to a full-blown cry, Simon was also not infrequently referred to as Lambikins or, more simply, Lamb.

Fans of the former TV show Arrested Development may appreciate that, owing to his surname, Simon was sometimes called Mr. S, with the attendant three-note jingle that went along with the name “Mr. F” in that series.

Julia and I share a love of robots (defined as anything from the pre-robotic age, back when robots were cute and didn’t have boring jobs like assembling cars), and it’s difficult not to envision Simon as some sort of mechanical automaton (in a good way). Thus he’s been called Wigglebot, Lovebot, or Rollbot, depending on whatever best characterizes him at the time. Note that Simon isn’t actually able to roll when lying on his back yet, but he does a fine job of dislodging himself from the burping or feeding position, largely by tossing his head to the side and having the rest of his body follow.

But by far the most popular — and enduring — name so far has been Beets, or Mr. Beets (when we’re feeling respectful, I guess). The etymology on this one is tricky, but it seems largely based on how he acts when he’s hungry, turning (beet) red, and exhibiting the rooting reflex (beets being roots, you know). Factoring somewhere in there is an auto repair shop in Southeast Portland called Beets Auto Body, whose sign features the outline of a beet with a man’s face on it. The name Beets often leads to ad-hoc songs, such as the Go-Go’s influenced “I got the Beets”. There is no end to the cleverness in this household.

Anyhow, I’m sure there’ve been, and will be, more, but those are the ones that spring to mind right now. Oh, and I guess we still do occasionally call him Simon.

Simon the eco-zealot

Kids these days! They’re so into environmentalism — radically so!

Of course, Simon comes by this naturally — there was the time his dad, after learning about Earth Day and recycling, insisted that his parents save up all cardboard scraps (which were then not recyclable at the curb), which he then drove many dozens of miles away to be recycled. Because he cared about the environment. Or that was the idea, no matter how much gasoline it actually took.

And then there was the time Simon’s papa earned the nickname “The Recycling Nazi” in college for going through the trash cans outside of people’s dorm rooms, looking for soda cans that had been thrown away (and leaving a note on the offender’s whiteboard — every college door has a whiteboard — about recycling).

But Simon, part of the next generation, has exceeded his father’s environmentalism. You see, he hand-mulches. That’s right. He’s taken mulching to the next level.

IMG_8073

Fig. A: Harvesting more organic material

I guess Simon has noticed that his parents consider hair and lint to be detritus, worthy of throwing in the trash, and he’s concerned about the inevitable effect this will have on our landfills. In response, he seems to have come up with a plan that involves tightly clenching said hair and/or lint in his fists for hours — possibly days — on end, apparently so that, with the attendant moisture, heat, and pressure provided by his fists, he could … um, I don’t know. Make a tiny amount of rich compost for his miniature garden? He hasn’t explained that part to us yet.

But there is definitely lint and hair — sometimes his, sometimes the hair he’s happened to find around the house, hopefully Julia’s or mine — in his fists, and, owing to his frequent desire to keep his fists clenched, it sometimes gets a bit gross. But who am I to question the next generation’s environmental fervor?

Mother’s Day

Like many of you, I have a mother. In fact, I’ve recently gotten to spend a lot of time with her and my father, both of whom have been in town for a few weeks to help out after Simon was born. (Julia’s parents were in town before that to also help out. It’s been sort of a parental torch-passing, really.)

I love my mom, and she’s a wonderful parent (same goes for you too, Dad, but I’m not supposed to say anything for a month — you know, legally).  Loving, giving, patient … all that and the proverbial bag of chips, to this day, even now that I’m old enough that I don’t feel like anyone’s baby.

But this year, on Mother’s Day, I find myself with more than one mother figure to contemplate. Because, you see, my wife has somehow managed to — while still remaining fully my wife — also become a mother. Now, at some level, this was fully anticipated — I’ve read up on all the biological underpinnings of this transformation and all. But it’s still something of a shock that this beautiful, fun woman I’d known for many years had all this mothering inside her. Who knew?

In times past, I had always considered myself the tough one. When hiking up a mountain (or its Scottish equivalent), I was usually the one in the lead. I was the one, say, who went on a bonus hike to the relatively creepy garden of carved wooden objects while Julia rested up from the morning hike to the waterfall. And so forth.

And then Julia told me that she wanted to have a drug-free childbirth for Simon. Now, I will admit that I initially took this in the same way that I might say that I want to have a chocolate milkshake appear in my hand: it would be nice, if not terribly likely. But Julia kept saying it. More importantly, she said it to the nurses when we checked into the hospital the night Simon was born.

And after seeing her go through that labor without any drugs, I relinquished the title of Toughest Stadler. Which title, you know, technically, I had never actually won. But Julia certainly did, that night.

But it wasn’t just some extraordinary burst of strength on the occasion of Simon’s birth. No, her amazing abilities have continued the whole month-and-change that is Simon’s life. It hasn’t always been easy — there have been challenges for both Simon and Julia — but through it all, she’s just kept going. And doing amazingly well, no less.

It’s like finding out that you’re married to Wonder Woman after years of thinking you’d been living with a very nice Diana Prince … only without the invisible plane and so forth. (And yes, I did have to look up Wonder Woman’s non-secret identity on Wikipedia. What the heck, Wonder Woman can fly? I mean, without the invisible plane? What?)

Point being, my wife — and, more to the point on this day, my son’s mother — is amazing. She’s tough, she’s loving, she’s beautiful. And I love her.

Mama loves semi-naked snuggle time

Simon

Do you know where you were and what you were doing on April 8, 2009, at 9:23 am, Pacific time? Well if not, you’d better come up with a reasonable sounding fake answer quick, because I fully expect you to know what was going on when our son, Simon, entered the world.

(Booyah! How’s that for a dramatic opening? And now I’ll deftly cut to the visual payoff …)

My son, Simon

Anyhow, while you’re thinking about whether you were actually in the office bathroom at the time he was born, and whether you’d like to change that to “I was thinking about you and Julia and composing an appropriate celebratory tune upon the hoped-for birth of your son,” here are some statistics to bide the time (but do get crackin’ on that tune, please):

9 lbs., 4.5 oz. Not quite Gigantor status, but no shrinking violet, either.

22.5 inches long. Yes, my metric friends, that is inches, not centimeters. Though born in Oregon, this child is clearly a result of his Texas-sized genes. Whatever that means.

14.5 inch head circumference. I have no idea how that compares in the Baby Statistics Land, but given the size of his father’s head, that’s likely fairly high on the “orange on a toothpick” scale.

So yeah, Simon. Welcome to the world, son.

We won Science Olympiad

So I did my best to avoid this story in the previous entry, since I’m insane and writing two entries in as many days about current events — take that, my former companions in lazy blogging, he said ironically before lapsing into silence for another few weeks! …

Uh, that opening got too complicated. Here’s the upshot: J’s Science Olympiad team won yesterday for the third time in as many years, earning them the right to advance to the national Science Olympiad competition this May in Augusta, Georgia — which competition the careful reader will note J is not attending (somewhat sadly) for the first time, since we will almost certainly have a beautiful new baby to care for and teach simple ion formulae and basic music theory to and whatnot.

But eyes on the prize(s): we won! Huzzah!

Actually, this is a somewhat tricky thing for me to exult in (to be cockahoop, if you will). First off, while winning any competition is reason for happiness, it should be noted that there aren’t a lot of schools competing in Science Olympiad in Oregon — five this year — so the state competition is a bit more like a regional event in more competitive states (like just across the Columbia in Washington, where there are over 100; this also makes hobby shops in Portland suburb Vancouver, Washington much more likely to be able to offer advice on whether you want to use balsa or bass wood in building your elevated bridge for Science Olympiad, say).

Second, there is the awkward nature of being associated with a team that has won first place every year it’s competed. I don’t want our team to become the Yankees, if you will, of Oregon Science Olympiad. The other schools also worked hard, were worthy competitors, won many medals, and I hope will continue to compete for years to come. I was especially impressed by the newcomers this year from Sunset, which fielded only half a team (in terms of the maximum possible), and yet won third place and no small number of medals, including several golds.

But in the end, our team did better across the board and won, and I can’t help but be happy for them. While there were times I was worried they weren’t working hard enough, in the end they worked really hard and pulled it off. And, thinking back to my own very, very late nights (occasionally becoming mornings) of last-minute work in high school, I can’t really fault them. Too much.

And now, some notes from the Science Olympiad.

As can be seen at the national Science Olympiad site, www.soinc.org (pronounced “soink!”), there are corporate sponsors, most of whom are what you might expect in the whole “promoting science and engineering among the youth” milieu: DuPont, Texas Instruments, 3M. There are, however, two sponsors I find a bit … odd, if nonetheless appropriate. One is the National Association of Watch and Clock Collectors, sponsoring It’s About Time, a competition in part about building a functional time-keeping device. I guess I’m just surprised that such an association has apparently as much largesse as your corporations that I assume are generally much better funded. Also: watch and clock collectors? Really? The association of, you know, clock builders was too busy?

And then there is Egg-O-Naut, an event in which the competitors build water-powered bottle rockets, with the intent of having an egg-bearing capsule separate from the main rocket in mid-flight and make it safely back to earth as slowly as possible. Perhaps you saw this coming, but that event is sponsored by none other than the American Egg Board, the people who brought you “The Incredible, Edible Egg” campaign. Actually, they’re still bringing it to you, it turns out — and brought several bright-yellow “Incredible!” egg-picturing t-shirts for the winners of said event, which was our team. I will refrain from speculating as to whether the t-shirt or the gold medal was the better prize.

Regarding Egg-O-Naut, that was a rather difficult event at the tournament, given the strong wind and rains that plagued the area. But the Egg-O-Nautery must go on, as they say, and so most of the rockets, designed for much more favorable conditions, were, my friend, a-blowin’ in the wind after a prematurely short ascent. The winning rocket faced even more difficult conditions, as one section of it — thankfully, not the egg-bearing part — was also run over by a car, what with the event taking place in a parking lot, the winds having carried it beyond the car-free section of said lot. Regardless, the egg survived.

The events at such tournaments are supervised by volunteers, who, in addition to coming from the various competing schools, are also pulled from local Industry, as the academics say. This year, J also managed to snag some of our friends (who do, after all, work in Industry) to supervise, and it was really fun to see them working with the events and kids we’ve come to know so well. Even more fun was hearing that they enjoyed preparing tests or seeing what the kids had come up with. What can I say, we’ve got good nerd friends.

Our team is also, not surprisingly, blessed with many good nerd parents, several of whom helped out over the season as assistant coaches of sorts. Given that these parents come from engineering backgrounds, it’s not too surprising that our team did especially well in the engineering events this year (in previous years, we had been stronger at the knowledge-based test events). And yet this was no case of overbearing parents doing all the work. On the Trajectory event, involving the construction of a launching device that can hit any target within certain parameters, made her own unique mark on the event — she enjoys sewing in addition to Science Olympiad, and I couldn’t help but notice that her device’s launching mechanism involved a Rube-Goldbergian use of fabric scissors to cut through embroidery floss to send her projectile flying. It’s all very clever and endearing, frankly.

I’d write more, but frankly, editing this post has already prevented me from posting twice in one day. I’d hate further writing and editing to prevent me from a still-unprecedented twice-in-two-days series. So, yeah: Science Olympiad! Huzzah!

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