Bigger Than I Was Yesterday

This ain't fair.

Mommy and Daddy, they're done growing. They've stopped. They don't have to deal with their bones enlarging. Or their skin stretching. Or their whole frame expanding.

No, they can just lay there in their beds, comfortable in their own bodies, and wonder what the heck is going on with me, and why I'm crying with so much pain.

No, Mommy, I don't have gas.

No, Daddy, there's no poop down there.

And no, Mommy, I don't want your boob right now.

I just want this growing stage to stop.

Make it stop!

Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree

Mommy and Daddy drove me all the way up to Petaluma to go shopping for something called a Christmas tree. Seems that there's this big holiday coming up, and one of the prerequisites for celebrating it is that you put some large shrubbery in your living room. So that's what we were doing up there. Searching for large shrubbery.

They had a great many trees on this lot, all of different sizes and shapes. Mommy worked with Grampa and Gram and Auntie Vanessa and Petra to find just the right tree for our living room. Of course, I was given the right of final approval, and we found one that was nicely full and symmetrical (a word I learned today).

Then it was up to Daddy to saw it down. Slowly. Eventually. Unevenly. But I was able to learn what it is to be a real man of the earth, as I looked past Daddy and watched two guys use a chainsaw to chop down their own tree. Daddy, embrace modern technology. It's yours for the taking.

Anyways, we couldn't fit it on the Prius because, you know, it's a Prius. So Petra took it to her place for Daddy to pick up tomorrow.

But I have an idea about how Mommy's gonna decorate it.

And if it has lights on it, it'll be the best big shrubbery ever.

In Defense of Motored Vehicles

My parents drive a brand new Prius. It's silver. I sit in the back seat, strapped snugly right in the middle. It's quite silent. It handles really well. And my parents listen to really great music while they're driving.

After my yellow pacifier and my Mylocin, it's my favorite thing in the world.

Drive me anywhere, and it'll put a smile on my face. Calms me down. Puts me asleep. Takes me on a nice trip away from whatever troubles I might have. It's not a car. It's a dream machine.

Sometimes, when we approach the house, I'll begin to cry hysterically. Not because I need anything urgently, mind you, and not because I'm in great duress, but because I'll quiet down if Mommy and Daddy just drives around some more.

Yep, I've turned Mommy and Daddy into those people.

Suckers.

Giving Thanks

Today is Thanksgiving, and my 53 days on this planet have given me much to be thankful for. He's my humble little list:

I am thankful for my Mommy and Daddy, who have given up their sleep and independence to cater to my every whim and need.

I am thankful for my grandparents, who are succeeding in their lifelong tasks of spoiling me to no end.

I am thankful for aunts and uncles and cousins who are setting amazing blueprints of what I can become.

I am thankful for the proper genetics that allows my Mommy to have two boobs for me to suck from.

I am thankful for Mylocin and the amazing hallucinations it gives me.

I am thankful for the way my head fits perfectly in my parents arms that allows me to fall asleep.

I am thankful for my poop and pee and the wonderful ways I use them for attack purposes.

I am thankful for my argyle sweater that makes me look so damned hot.

I am thankful for the days when I don't have diaper rash.

And, most importantly, I am thankful for my yellow pacifier. Not my blue or purple one. My yellow one with green handles. Only that one.

Tuxedoed Friends

Mommy and Auntie Jenn took me to the new museum in the park where we met Gram, Grampa, Uncle Aaron, Auntie Nessa, Uncle Shannon, Petra and my two cute cousins, Katie and Buddha. There was a long line outside, due to the museum just reopening and with today the day before something called Thanksgiving.

Eventually, we got in.

Every so often, I'd like to throw curveballs at everyone. When Mommy decided to take me here, she figured that walking me around would put me to sleep. That it would calm me and get my mind off pooping or eating. That all the bright lights would take their toll on me.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

I dug all the exhibits. Animals are cool. If I were able to read (or have someone read the signs to me), I'd have an idea about their genetic makeups, their histories, their homes and their mating habits. But that's okay. Furry things look cool.

But what blew me away were the penguins. There was one penguin that made sure his family had everything (like Daddy), and he brought supplies back to the Mommy penguin, who was taking care of their children (like me). It was easy to see their teamwork in action. And now, I think I kinda get what the whole dynamic is at home.

And I think that's kinda cool.

I Am Beloved

I learned something very crucial today.

You see, I've got two very cute first cousins, both of them girls, whom I didn't meet until today. (Yes, it's "whom" and not "who". It's never too early to learn the difference). Anyways, I've heard many things about them, heard them sing to me over the phone, saw photos of them and awaited their arrival anxiously. And when they arrived, that's when I learned this:

When surrounded my cousins who love you and can't get enough of you, your skin becomes just a soft layer to absorb and save their endless run of kisses.

How cool is that?

First Shot

Nobody told me about needles.

Look, when I came out of the warm place, I was stuck with a bunch of needles by all those nurses. And, to be honest, I thought it was over. I thought my time as a pin cushion was all done with.

Oh no. Liars. All of them. All of you.

So Mommy took me to the doctor, whose route by car I am beginning to memorize and will begin terrorizing the ride in a very short manner, and I was given a shot. Right in the leg. Needle in and needle out.

That hurt. That was unexpected. That was not fun. So, I began to voice my displeasure as loud as I can, so every infant in the waiting room would know what was coming for them behind these closed doors. Hopefully, one of them heard and made a dash for it to freedom.

Anyways, while I was making the most disruptive commotion I could possibly summon from my 12 and a half pound body, something amazing happened. Something unexpected. Something fun.

Mommy stuck her breast into my mouth.

Sweet, sweet manna from booby. My delicious milk from the fountain of wonderful. My white-colored life blood. My liquid human dessert. My...well, you get the point.

It was the most amazing meal I ever had.

And I can't remember what happened right before that.

Wyatt's Law

While at brunch with Mommy, Daddy and their friends, I began to cry. But it wasn't just a normal cry. This cry was award winning. Ear piercing. Avalanche causing. And I didn't stop.

Mommy fed me boob, but that wasn't it. Daddy burped me, but that didn't work. I just woke up, so I wasn't sleepy. So Mommy held my butt up to her nose, and hell yes.

Still, they were perplexed. I had pooped and cried before, but not as loud as this. So Mommy and Daddy left and began walking me up the big hill to the car. But still, with each step, I cried louder and louder. Uncontrollably. So impossibly loud that Daddy had to run up to the car and drive down to me and Mommy. He opened the trunk, laid down a pad, put a clean diaper underneath me and opened up what I was wearing to take a look.

If you're eating, I ask you to please put your food down and take a seat. If you're one with a weak stomach, I ask of you to move on to the next post. If your poop smells like roses and dandelions, then you have a serious problem and should seek medical attention.

Not only did I poop my pants - and this was a royal world-class poop, by the way - but I was able, through my superhuman powers, to also poop all the way up my back, even managing to squirt a couple of kernels behind my ear.

Yes sir. My poop defied gravity.

So, for every science book that preaches Newtown's Law of "what goes up must come down", let me introduce you to Wyatt's Law: "What comes out can also go up".

Also, an addendum to that law: When I get to be over 12 pounds, upgrade my diapers.

Everything Looks Cute On Me

Mommy, Daddy and Auntie Pua took me shopping, and by shopping, I mean that they hold up clothes and say "Wouldn't he look cute in this!" followed by Daddy complaining that it's got buttons because he can't handle the complicated process of snapping one end into the other, and then Mommy looks at the sizes and can't believe that someone my age can fit into something so big, and then Auntie Pua finds something even cuter for me to wear, and then the process begins all over again, and I sit there watching them, wondering how in the hell they ever get anything done.

Still, they did find my Christmas outfit. And I gotta say, there wasn't a word of debate about it.

But like any good snowman worth his salt, I can't wait to make that white snow yellow.

And you know I will, diaper or not.

Hear Me Out

Mommy and Daddy can claim that they know my different cries and what they mean. And, I gotta say, they pretty much nail it about 82% of the time, which isn't bad for two people who don't speak infant. So, for a primer for the rest of you, here's a quick read of what I'm trying to say:

I'm hungry = "Oooooohwahhh, oohwah, oohwaah, ewaaaaaah, hulla, hulla, hulla." (repeat until fed)

I've just soiled myself = "Waah, waah, waah, sniff sniff, waah, waah, sniff." (repeat until naked)

This gas is making me uncomfortable = "Eeeeuhh eeeuhh, waaah, waah waah, sniff, sniff". (repeat until burped)

I'm tired and leave me alone = "ooooommmm, ah, ah, ah, oom oom, waaaaah, waaaah." (repeat until REM)

You'll be tested on all this.

My First Cold Not

I wasn't able to sleep much last night. It seems that every time I put my head down flat on the bassinet, I would get all congested in my nose. And considering I don't breathe through my mouth yet, congestion wouldn't be good.

I sounded like there was a loose rattle somewhere inside my nostrils.

And because I was uncomfortable, Mommy and Daddy were uncomfortable. Even when they sat me upright, it was better, but the rattle was still there.

They took me to Doctor Google, and he predicted that I had my very first cold.

So Daddy took me to the real doctor today, and well, I didn't have my very first cold. What had happened was that some milk went down the wrong pipe and some of it was just lingering around. It's no big deal. No cold. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to see here.

Take that, Doctor Google.

Reunited

Well, it's been all fun and games for the past couple of days, hanging out with Mommy, Grampa and Gram up in Marin. I've been hiking, eating, pooping, sleeping and watching Grampa blowing tiny bubbles out of his lips.

But now it's time to go back to the apartment because Daddy's on his way back home.

You know, he's been gone for five whole days. That's like 1/8th of my entire life. That's a pretty big chunk of change there. And considering that I can't remember what I ate for breakfast this morning (and the options are only between breasts and formula), it'll be like a stranger walking into the house. You know, a stranger with curly hair, curly chest hair, straight short hair coming out of his nose, straight short hair coming out of his ears...a stranger who looks like me.

I miss that guy.

I can't wait for him to change my diaper tonight.

Grampa's Dirty Mind

While at Gram and Grampa's house, I decided it was time to spread my love around. So when Gram was changing my diaper, it was a perfect opportunity to do what I do best: pee directly up in the air and try to aim at whatever's around. This time, I hit Gram right in her glasses. Yes, I'm that good.

Anyways, Grampa saw this and yelled something so strange that it took everyone for a loop. He said, and I quote, "You gave Gram a Golden Shower!" Mommy then yelled "Gross!" at him, and Gram hit him in the arm.

But what is this "Golden Shower" that Grampa speaks of?

So, when nobody was looking, I got on Google. (What, you think someone six weeks old doesn't know how to surf the web?) I took a guess at how to spell "Golden Shower". And then this came up as a selection.

Grampa, we need to have a chat.

First off, I'm still an infant. Although slime like this might exist in the world, I don't need to know that it does. Allow me the freedom of living in a world where something like that could never happen from one human to another unless that person was really asking for it and you couldn't get caught doing it.

Secondly, this was my Gram I was peeing on. It's a rite of passage, a sign of love. I can't figure out how you would tarnish the sanctity of that bonding experience.

Third, how the hell did you know what a "Golden Shower" was to begin with?

And fourth, I think I might need to hang out with you a little more often.

Take a Hike

Mommy packed me into her Baby Bjorn and took me on a hike with Gram. It was fun. I got to see the sun, some flowers, parched trails, hills, sand, grass and all things that have to do with nature. And the weather was beautiful. I'm beginning to believe that I'm gonna become an outside person. Living in California will do that to you.

One of these days, I'll be able to do this with Gram. Maybe it'll be our thing to do together. That is, if she doesn't leave me somewhere in the dust. That woman can motor.

Sweet Nectar From the Gods

Whenever I begin to cry and start kicking my legs, it's my way of telling Mommy and Daddy that I've got gas. So they'll sit me down, lean me forward, pat my back and wait for me to burp. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't.

Daddy will then take the next step of throwing me over his shoulder and patting my back. That rarely works, but I like how it feels.

So, when everything fails, and I'm still kicking and screaming, they'll then drop a couple doses of something called Mylicon into my mouth.

Let me tell you about Mylicon: It smells and tastes like bubble gum. It goes down real easy. It works immediately. And it's the most wonderful thing in the world. My eyes roll back. I kick my feet up in relaxation. I sprout wings and fly around. And if I were able at this early age to, you know, make it rise from 6 to 12 (if you know what I mean), Mylicon would be the thing that would allow that to happen.

So, the next time you see me kicking and screaming, ask yourself: is he gassy or is he looking for a quick fix?

Holy crap. Just typing about it gets me...you know...wow.

Shown Off

I'm beginning to get the feeling that I'm being used.

Mommy and Daddy invited their friends Uncle Will and Aunt Kristine over because their other friends, John and Becky, were in town. I met everyone, and everyone got a chance to hold me at some point. And everyone made googly eyes at me and told me how perfect I was and so on and so forth. And when I went to sleep, supposedly that was a cue for everyone to go home.

And that got me thinking: I believe I am a pawn in Mommy and Daddy's neverending quest of impressing everyone they know. They hold me up as a tribute of what they can create if they put their minds to it. I am the very best they can do, and they're damn proud of it.

And that got me feeling mighty flattered.

Argyle. Who Knew?

Daddy had to take off for a work trip, and that left me with Mommy to go to a party in Marin for some family friends. It was their 40th wedding anniversary, which kind of really blew me away, considering I've only been alive for 39 days. I salute them. Well done.

Mommy dressed me in this extra sharp argyle sweater she bought for me at Babies R'Us. And I gotta say, everyone thought I looked hot in it. And truly, I'm a fashionplate in it, especially when I'm sporting a fauxhawk.

In fact, I think the whole "adult" look in my size really works for me. I can really pull that off and maybe score some chicks along the way.

So bring me your vests, berets and chinos. Bring me your stripes, argyles and vintage looks. Bring me your fitted and loose cuts. I will wear them and I will rock them.

But I won't do a monocle.

Oh hells no.

I Have Been Faked

It took Mommy and Daddy a couple of days to finish my birth announcement. They must have taken a thousand of me already, so finding the best one was a monumental task. But the one they find is one I like. I didn't have final creative approval, but they did a good job.

But here's the thing, and I want everyone to know this loud and clear: what you see is not what it is.

Or, plainly spoken: I was Photoshopped.

So for all those waiting for the announcement to come in the mail, the delay is their fault, not mine.

You see, although Mommy and Daddy think I'm "perfect" and "without blemish", they still took the liberty of Photoshopping out all my baby acne. Hey, look, I got dots. It happens to the best of us. But it's who I am.

And what are you trying to set up for me by demanding an impossible level of standards for me to live up to? What, am I still not "perfect" or "without blemish" if I am riddled with tiny red spots? Is that what you want from your son, to have skin as clear as bottled water? Is that what you expect?

Look, I know I am impossibly good looking, but I don't need any work to get there. Hear me?

I'm just saying that if you want me au naturale, then send me out to the world like that. And leave the Photoshopping to the ubermodels that actually need it.

(Although, I do admit, they did do a great job on my complexion).

Mommy Overestimates Me

Mommy took me to the corner shop to meet her friend Peter, who's the guy who not only owns the place but also makes Mommy the best iced coffee in the world. He's gonna have a kid of his own pretty soon. Methinks I'll make friends with her too, and we'll be playing together within the mustards, drinks and paper towels.

Anyways, whenever she takes me over there, I'm usually asleep. But not this time. I was wired. Maybe it was the thought of Peter's iced coffee that got me going. So he finally got to hold me, and I enjoyed it (although it wasn't like when Daddy holds me).

But that's when Mommy freaked out.

"Peter, I'm so sorry. Do you smell that? I think he pooped! That's disgusting, Wyatt!"

Then Peter took a deep breath in, thought about it and said, "No, that's not him. That's just the egg I'm microwaving."

Thanks, Mommy. My butt smells like a microwaved egg. Nice.

But if that is a request...

Playing with Cousins

I had a great day with my cousins Tanner and Dylan whom I never met before. They're a little bit older than me, but that's okay. I have a feeling they're gonna be looking after me as we all grow up together. You know, when they're not giving me a wedgie and hanging me from a tree limb.

I also got another chance to hang out with Petra, and she was just as sweet as she's always been. I know it's been tough for her, not being the youngest and newest member of the family. But I get the feeling she's over it now.

At least, that's how I'm reading the gentle kiss she planted on my cheek.

(Okay, who am I fooling? She's still a little jealous).

10%

One of the best things about being new to this world is that you can contort your body into different positions and everyone will think it's cute. When, actually, all I've been doing is tinkering with a bunch of physical experiments.

Here's one that I figured out.

When I'm laying on my back, if I pull my feet closer to my head by arching up my back just a little bit more, and move my heels just 10% closer to my ears, just 10%, I can push out a fart that's 10% louder.

Just in case you were wondering where that was coming from.

Hooter Hider

While Daddy was picking out some frames at the optometrist, I got a little hungry. Okay, I don't get a little hungry. I get a lot hungry. So I began to cry, and considering that we're in a public place, Mommy was left to her last resort: The Hooter Hider.

For those who can't figure out what that is by reading the name of the product, the Hooter Hider is a cape that is placed over a Mother and Son when breastfeeding so that they can do it under a shroud of privacy. It covers her front side so you can't see that she's giving out milk, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out what's happening.

Still, as I was on my first boob, a strange man came up to Mommy and naively asked, and I quote, "So what's going on under there?" That made me shoot some breastmilk out of my nose because I was laughing so hard.

One more time: "So what's going on under there?"

Here's my quick judgments of this guy. He's either:
1. An idiot who never heard of the concept of breastfeeding and how it's done.
2. A perv who wanted a quick glimpse of Mommy's boob.
3. An FBI agent who thought Mommy was hiding some contraband.
4. Thirsty.

I, for one, pray for his spawn.

Role Model

This morning, I watched Mommy plant trees in the medium between my block and across the street. That means she got dirty. Lifted dirt from the ground. Placed tree into hole. Dumped dirt back in. Patted everything down to keep it secure. She did this for a good ninety minutes or so, all in the good name to help beautify the neighborhood.

Here's the thing: She didn't have to. The trees were gonna be planted whether she lifted a shovel or not. But she just felt inspired to volunteer time from her busy schedule towards helping out. In fact, she was looking forward towards doing it. But like I said, she didn't have to, and having a one-month-old in tow is a good excuse. However, that's not Mommy's way.

I get the feeling that my Mommy just likes doing good, no matter how it may inconvenience her.

And considering that Mommy makes up 50% of me, that makes me 100% proud to be her son.

Afterwards, we went up to Novato to hang out with the two people who made Mommy - Grampa and Gram. They just got back from San Diego. Even after a long drive, they still wanted to see me. So despite how tired they were, they still stayed awake just to have the opportunity to hold me, kiss me, hug me and make silly noises to me.

It's clear where Mommy gets her goodness from.

Hopefully, when I get older, people will say the same about me.

My Bassinet is Hard

Check out how cool this is:

1. Begin crying hysterically when it's not feeding time. I usually get fed around 11:30 at night, and then 2:30 and 6 AM (give or take). So there's no reason for me to be awake at 4 AM. So that's when I begin crying at the top of my lungs.

2. Keep on crying until someone gets up. In this case, it's Mommy because she's got the 2:30 AM feeding and she's also closest to the bassinet.

3. She'll get up and give me my Binky. After a couple of seconds, stop crying and calm down. She'll return to her bed.

4. Repeat steps 2 and 3 over and over again for about seven times, which is when Mommy's had enough.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you get moved from a hard bassinet to a comfortable bed.

I'm One Month Old

Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday dear Wyatt
Happy birthday to me.

And to think, until today, I thought that song was only something Mommy and Daddy would sing to me just to calm me down.

Talking about birthdays, yesterday Mommy took me to Fort Mason to her first Mommies group meeting. There were four other mothers there with their children, who were all born within a week or two of me.

Here's the thing: I was the only boy there. Five mommies, four daughters, one son. That's nine chicks to one chick magnet.

When we all decided to change locations, I had a revelation. It was as if Daddy summoned me from his office to take advantage of this situation. So I began crying my lungs out, and Mommy had to keep the crowd from leaving so she could feed me. It took about a half hour. I'm not sure if anyone had somewhere else to go, but tough cookies. I wasn't ready to leave.

So, let me set the scene for you: there were nine women there, waiting patiently, for me, the only man present, to finish what he's doing.

As Daddy told me afterwards, I've got the rest of my life to deal with the reverse.

Good job, son.

Let's Be Loud and Clear About This

When it's 5 in the morning, and I want my favorite binky, give me my favorite binky.

Don't give me the deformed looking green one.

Don't give me the strange red one.

Give me the yellow one with the blue handles on the side.

I don't care if you can't find it or are looking for it. It's 5 in the morning and I want my favorite binky right now and nothing else.

So gimme my binky right now. I want my binky right now.

(And, if you're wondering, when I cry at volume level 8 with an alternative falsetto and baritone, that means my favorite binky is under the pillow in the bedroom. So stop looking under the living room couches for the third time).

Just sayin'.

On a lighter side: Daddy is Granny's son. Granny has a fascination with fart sounds and touching my diaper. Daddy doesn't have that. I think he's caught up with the idea that when I poop, there's probably gonna be a follow-up poop coming soon.

So, he's a seasoned veteran.

And that means I have to adapt my game.

Here's what I came up with (and other infants, you can borrow this trick. It's awesome):

1. Poop.
2. Poop again. This second poop means you're done - or so Daddy thinks.
3. Play it cool as your Daddy takes you to the changing table.
4. Play it cool when he takes your clothes off. You want to be as calm as possible so you can make him as calm as possible.
5. Summon up all your gas inside you.
6. Wait until your Daddy touches your diaper for removal. When he touches it, fart. As loud as you can. With everything you've got.

Watch how far back your Daddy jumps.

Try it. It never fails to be funny. I've done it about six times, and it's still hilarious. Trust me.

Election Day

Both Mommy and Daddy thought it was really important that we go vote together, so we walked down as one unifed unit to the polling booth on Valencia and waited in line to do something that's distinctly American. Mommy told me how important it is to have my voice be heard. I do that when I want my binky. But I think she means that I have the ability to make a difference in a country, and it's my duty to do so.

Got it, Mommy. Will do in eighteen years.

For the record, I'm an Obama guy. I like his ears. And his voice comforts me.

Anyways, ten hours later, when my guy won (that would make my record 1-0), we watched as the new President-elect made his acceptance speech. Daddy and Mommy were so proud to be Americans. They hung on his every word. And as I rested on Daddy's chest, I gripped harder with each sentence.

It was cool seeing my parents react like that about something that didn't immediately involve me.

But, after listening to them talk about what just happened and after reading over Daddy's shoulder as he updated his own blog, I realized something that really touches me (and something I'll never forget or try to exploit): that everything that happens in their lives is always about me.

Wow.

If I could have voted for them as my parents, I would have.

Like Father, Like Son

Daddy's back from New York where he got a chance to see my cousins Nicky and Ava. Of course, when he landed late at night, he wanted to stay up with me and just stare at me. And, of course, I was happy to oblige him.

So he did this thing where he would look into my eyes, and then manipulate his lips so they would open and he would show me some teeth. I've heard that this action is called "smiling".

Anyway, he did it, and I tried to copy him. I couldn't do the teeth thing because I don't have teeth, but I was able to pull off a "smile", although it was off-center and I looked drunk while doing it.

We did this three times.

He was really happy that we were able to connect like that.

And I was really happy because I was able to pull off making fun of him to his face without him realizing it.

Spoiled

Daddy had to leave for another business trip (at least these are quick ones), but Granny and Grandpa had to leave too. That sucks. I liked having them around. All they do is hold me, stare at me and make me feel even more special than everyone tells me that I am (if that is even possible).

Bye Granny and Grandpa. I heard you'll be back soon. Make it fast.

I'm also learning that I also serve the role as a gift to people - even when I don't have to do a thing. Auntie Pua came over for her birthday. Mommy went out and got her some gifts from Williams-Sonoma that she could use. But the best gift Mommy could give her is to hand me over to her.

So Auntie Pua really wanted was to hold me, burp me, change me and feed me bottles.

This was a prize to her. Me. I was a prize.

Anyone else think that's, you know, weird? Because if you do, don't tell me. You'll spoil everything else for me.

This life thing don't suck.

Songs of my Childhood

Here's another entry into things people do that I think entertains them as much as they think it entertains me.

Whenever Granny is holding me (and not checking my diaper for poo because I farted), she looks me right into the eye and sings a song to me:

I saw a little birdie going hop, hop, hop.
I told that little birdie don't you stop, stop, stop.
I opened up my window to say, "How do you do?"
And the bird spread his wings and away they flew.

Far, far, far away they flew.
Far, far, far away they flew.
And they all came back again.

Nice song. I like how Granny sings it. I have no idea what that song is about other than animal teasing, but I like it.

Mommy has a song for me too:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are gray.
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.

I like when she sings it too, although it seems to be about child abduction of some sort. Whatever floats her boat.

At least that's better than Daddy's song to me:

She's got eyes of the bluest skies
As if they thought of rain
I hate to look into those eyes
And see an ounce of pain.
Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place
Where as a child I'd hide
And pray for the thunder
And the rain
To quietly pass me by.
Sweet child o' mine
Sweet love of mine

Yes, Daddy sings Axl Rose to me.

Let's keep this post in case it's ever needed by my future psychiatrist.