It's a Christmas mess!

My son will someday learn that Christmas is about getting new toys to play with. But for now, he seems to think it's the time of the year that we break out the really cool toys that he's never seen before.

Except, they're not really toys, they're Christmas decorations.

As I mentioned before, my wife made a lot of handmade, soft ornaments to serve as the low-hangers on the tree.
My son loves this, but as is the case with his regular toys, he never cleans up after himself.

He's happy to walk up to the tree and pull the ornaments off. He'll play with one for a few minutes and then discard it, moving on to the next.

Every night, in addition to the regular post-child's play mess, we basically redecorate the house.

All the Christmas tins go back to their designated spot. The various decorative items in the house go back to their spots on the fireplace. Then we put the ornaments back on the tree.

He definitely has that Christmas twinkle in his eye when he looks at the lit Christmas tree, but I have a feeling it's more because he sees all the things he can grab, rather than the sense of the magic of Christmas.

He'll grab branches and pull them to their breaking point. He'll run by the tree, brushing against it, disregarding the frailty of it.

When I was putting the lights on the tree, I thought it would be funny to wrap my son in lights.

My wife watched in horror for a second as I did this, before reminding me that that's probably not a good idea.

"You don't want to give him the idea that those are toys."

"Good point," I responded, forgetting, for a mere moment, to think like a 17-month-old.

One of my son's favorite activities is sweeping. He sees us sweeping the floor after dinner, gathering up all the discarded food he throws over the side of his high-chair.

He'll often grab the adult-sized broom and walk through the house pushing it along the floor. It vaguely reminds me of the sport of curling. I hope he chooses a different sport to excel in, but at least curling is an Olympic event. I suppose it's better to win a gold medal in curling than nothing at all.

But as he's sweeping, he is completely oblivious to the long end of the broom. He'll move about and turn and shift and the handle will hit anything in its way.

He's knocked over a few things. He's tried to sweep the tree away, and has almost knocked off some of the higher-hanging ornaments.

He has a lot of fun sweeping his toys around the house. Don't tell him, but we got him a small, kid-size broom. It's only a matter of time before he's contributing around here.

We've tried to child-proof Christmas as best we can. None of the valuables are out this year. The breakable decorations that we're particularly fond of are on top of the mantle. He's taken to pulling the tree skirt from under the tree and using it as his own personal shawl.

We didn't even break out the traditional manger scene with the fancy ceramic figures given to us as a wedding gift. Instead, we opted for the Playmobil nativity set. We didn't realize all the small pieces it has, so it's taken up a home on top of the TV.

It's not the most stable spot for it. The little guys are not very secure up there. If you walk by the TV too hard, they tend to fall off. Again, because of the small pieces and our son's observant and opportunistic nature, we yell to the other spouse, "One of the Bible people fell off the TV."

My son sees them up there. He's slowly learning that if he shakes the TV, even a little, they're likely to fall to his clutches.

I know he enjoys it and he doesn't know any better. But it does get old, putting the house back together every night. Some nights we skip it and then the days pile up.

After a few days, our home resembles more like a Christmas burglary occurred than the Christmas miracle I always thought it to be.

Almost-disatrous Thanksgiving dinners

Thanksgiving is an enjoyable holiday in my family. The family is continuing to grow-- it seems more members are added each year, and like strength, there's often more fun in numbers.

This was my son's first real Thanksgiving. Last year, he was barely able to sit up straight, let alone enjoy the day.

Thanksgiving Day, as it should be, was filled with family, football, and food. My son and I got in a few throws in the backyard before settling in around the table for turkey and all the other Thanksgiving chow.

Two days later, on Saturday, my dad asked if we'd like to go out for dinner. I always enjoy going out, but my son and his crazed temperament sometimes make that a challenge.

I said probably, wanting to get a feel for my wife's opinion of this before committing. She agreed and then the discussion began: Where do we go.

My parents are the true epitome of simpletons. I mean no disrespect--they are easily pleased, most of the time, and care more about spending time with the family than the details in which they're doing it.

We settled on Mexican food. There's a place close, likely wouldn't be busy, and its fare is liked by all involved.

Sitting in the car in front of the restaurant, my wife commented, "This should be interesting."

When my son goes in public, it always is.

The meal began innocently. My father, a staunch hater of Coke products and all-things related, expressed his displeasure of this restaurant featuring a line-up of beverages dominated by Coke.

He spoke to the waitress, as she informed us she was new on the job, and she failed to understand him right away. His attempt to ask what beverages they provided, as I tried to point out what page they were listed in the menu, led the waitress to begin to explain what beers they offered.

My father is also in strong opposition to alcohol. And so the tension began.

Sensing that she'd make a mistake with her service, which she hadn't, the waitress began every tactic she could think of to ensure that we were doused with her fantastic service.

She even sent out the manager to ask my dad what he could get for him from the bar. It appeared that that misunderstanding had not been let go. The situation was explained and he left us to our meal.

My son was content to eat chips and queso. He's a quad-dipper. He likes to dip, lick, dip, lick, and on and on.

In this situation we were happy to oblige him. The chips and the overhead fans had him well-entertained. (He's a big fan of things that spin.) It's normal to us, but to the average passer-by it probably looked a little amusing to see our son sitting at the table staring straight up at the ceiling.

Then the waitress brought a balloon. Again, sensing that she had failed in her service earlier, she was going out of her way to be legendary.

The balloon was a bad idea. My son loves things that bounce, float or move in response to his motion.

From the moment he took the balloon, I was considering my options on how to remove the balloon from his possession with as little disturbance as possible.

The balloon was bumping into our heads, floating over the table, and at one point, my son caused the balloon to knock over my glass.

I used ever napkin available to clean up the mess as quickly as possible. I knew if the waitress saw the spill, she and the entire restaurant team would be there to assist in the cleaning, probably move us to another table, and further the confusion.

Then my son bit the balloon. The balloon burst and the problem was solved. I immediately read my wife's mind and she mine as we looked at each other, with a terror in our eyes. How would he react to this?

He was startled more than anything and looked at us with a confused look. Of course, as happens in public places when something makes a loud popping sound, the entire restaurant became silent and looked to the source of the sound.

Thinking quickly, I looked around and noticed a few servers rushing around and I made eye-contact with ours. I looked her dead in the eyes and said, "Please, no more balloons."

She got the picture, but in her on-going attempt for a memorable experience, she provided us with some snacks for the kid. Not exactly the kind of snacks that we would normally give him, but at that particular moment we were willing to let go of some of our ideals. It's a fair trade-off for a well-behaved kid in public.

Since his attention-span is short, and the majority of his meal was consumed once our food arrived, he began to rumble halfway through our meal.

I held him and tried to eat with one hand (you try cutting and eating a quesadilla with one hand--not easy!). But eventually, he'd had enough. You know he's had enough when he begins to squirm and try to escape.

He makes it very difficult to hang on to him because he can contort his body to bend over your arm, while raising his legs. It sounds strange, but it's incredibly effective. It's almost impossible to hang on to him when he does this. He knows exactly what he's doing.

So for the first time as a parent, I did what had been done to me. I resorted to what I knew. I tried to conjure up tips from various magazine that I'd read, but in the moment of crisis I drew a blank.

I resulted to the "It's time to go" maneuver. Fortunately my parents were there so my wife could finish her dinner, but I decided to take my son and leave the table.

So while the remainder of my family sat and finished their dinner, in what I would imagine were some awkward moments, I sat with my son in the lobby entrance of the restaurant listening to a Mexican cowboy sing Johnny Cash songs.

One of the biggest lessons I've learned as a father is the irrationality of children. Especially young children, under two-years old.

I can not hold my son accountable for his behavior like I could an older child because he's still learning the cause-and-effect lessons. Rational behavior's is often based on previous experience and almost every day is a new experience for my son.

I've come to grips with irrationality and as my son's persona emerges, I'm learning the ways to communicate with and educate him within the parameters of his understanding and his personality.

It's one of the greatest challenges I've ever experienced, yet one of the most rewarding moments as well. Rewarding in that I can see those moments when the light bulb goes off for him and I know it's going off because of the work his mother and I put in with him.

It's a great feeling and it's those moments of enlightenment that make parenting such a special job.