Time To Get Angelo Out Of Diapers

I realize that Angelo is not yet 3 years old but I am going to have to put my foot down after the pre-breakfast joy I experienced this morning. First I must set the stage. For those of you who are not acquainted with Angelo (a.k.a the Dr. of Destruction) he could care less whether his diaper weighs 4 pounds and hangs down to his knees. To the untrained eye one would surmise that he was trying to smuggle out a shot put in his 3T pants. Yesterday he was waddling around the living room when I asked him if he needed a diaper change. His response was "not yet." Imagine if you will a diaper-clad penguin waddling through the living room and you will get the gist of what I'm talking about. This has become something of a daily routine as he will hide or go to another room to take care of his business and then waddle in our midst as if nothing has changed. Normally a diaper change is no big deal, but this morning got out of control.

So as I was trying to make toast Angelo insisted that he "help." Help in quotations because when my children "help" it often takes 5 times longer than when I go it alone. So I have to pick up Angelo to put the bread in the toaster, since it resides at the back of the counter top for obvious reasons. About 30 seconds later I look down at my shirt after noticing that all-to-familiar odor and I realized that I had been branded. I immediately took off the shirt and doused it with Spray N Wash when I realized that my wonderful son would also need similar attending to. His clothes had to be removed and I then proceeded to change what had to be one of the worst diapers of my life...I used the better part of a dozen wipes. I told him that it was now officially unacceptable to use diapers and that from now on he would have to use the potty like Antonio. Unfortunately I have a sneaky suspicion that he didn't fully understand the severity of the matter.

Being the eternal pragmatist I insisted that he eat breakfast in just his diaper not wanting him to soil a clean outfit just for the sake of 10 minutes at the table. He offered no objections and ate his breakfast without issue. Interestingly with no shirt on he became concerned with his personal cleanliness, a feat not easily achieved by my son. It wasn't until I returned to the kitchen after donning a new shirt that he began his mischievous laughter after which he proclaimed that he would now "poop on that shirt." Clearly the importance of being potty trained that I had stressed not 10 minutes earlier totally eluded him. If you're scoring at home that's: Angelo 2: Daddy 0.

That was the last straw. I bid adieu to my children leaving them in the ultra-capable hands of my wife and sequestered myself in my office for the remainder of the morning.

Potty training will commence shortly! I am running out of excuses!

Antonio at the Golf Course

This took place a while back, but I was reminded of it a few days ago and it is definitely blog worthy especially if you know Antonio.

Stage: Before Giancarlo was born I took Antonio to the driving range while Angelo was sleeping so that Misty could have a little alone time. What ensued was one of those experiences where you feel like pulling your hair out before you understand it from a 4 year old's point of view.

I had an old putter and seven iron both cut down to Antonio's size so that he would have real clubs to play with. He chose the grips from Golf Galaxy and they installed it before his very eyes. We then took the clubs to our local golf course and began on the putting green. I attempted to teach him the proper mechanics of putting. Talk about a waste of time! He didn't listen to a thing I said except "Make the ball go into the hole." He got that part...everything else was lost. His mindset and putting stroke both closely resemble Happy Gilmore. After about 5 minutes I finally gave up and left him to his own devices. Enter Antonio "Wayne Gretzky" Gallizzi the horse-riding legionnaire. He would gallop around the putting green stopping only to "sword-fight with the bad guys" and then occasionally try to hit a slap shot into the hole. More often than not the "putt" would go clear across the green and roll down the bank to the cart path that runs behind the green. Luckily we were the only people on the green so I didn't have to worry about him shooting balls at other golfers.

After the putting green we decided to go to the driving range and I reminded Antonio to pick up his putter and 7-iron so that he wouldn't lose them. I led the way and when I looked back I only saw him carrying his iron, but the putter was nowhere in sight. I asked him where his putter was and using his thumb he pointed behind him back towards the putting green. I got very frustrated and asked him why he left his putter on the green when I just told him to pick it up. He then explained that he didn't leave it there. So I asked him "why did you point back at the green then?" He said "I didn't...it's back here!" he exclaimed as he turned around and I saw the putter tucked into the back of his shirt as if it were a sword. I almost died laughing and I had trouble composing myself on the tee box for the next five minutes or so.

The rest of the day is a bit hazy but I will never forget my son striding towards the driving range with a 7-iron in hand and a putter tucked into his shirt. It is classic Antonio memory that will be etched in my memory forever.

Newborn Smiles: Signs of Affection or Gas Pains?

Over the past week or so as I have held Giancarlo in my arms I have noticed him smiling ever so sweetly as all my boys have done. As my paternal instincts return to me and I caress my newborn I would love to think that he is smiling because he knows me, or has heard my voice for months and it is a comforting sound, but I know way back in the back of my mind that this is just the universal expression of gas pains (and subsequent relief). Surely there can't be much pressure building up inside because his tiny body simply can't hold very much, which I suppose makes gas all the more frequent in newborns. True to form every bit of flatulence is invariably followed by a toothless grin as he revels in the most instinctual form of self-gratification.

The faces he makes during flatulence range from simple smiles to the wide-eyed to the "that was so loud I just scared myself" types. Today as we were attending the Baptism class at St. Ann's Giancarlo's eyes rolled back in his head, smiled widely and then he proceeded to drop a massive load. The expressions are priceless and sometimes I can't help but laugh along with him.