While the Cats Away...

Everything needs a recharge once and awhile. We cram electrolytes into our body, our phones are bricks without plugging them in, and the human spirit is no different. I think parents in particular need to monitor their power levels better. Some get so tethered to their kids that they forget how to function without them. They dry-cell themselves.

We love Benjamin to pieces, but we have always been able to leave the house without freaking out and obsessing about whether or not he is upset. We did the sneak out thing at first, but later thought it was more traumatic for a baby to see their parents one minute, look at a toy, and look back to see that they've disappear without so much as a puff of smoke or anything. The last time we did it the babysitter reported that he tearfully searched the entire house for us, woops. Now we just tell him that we're leaving and he practically closes the garage door on us - see-ya!

Emily and I have had staycations before, but they were always within driving distance should something pop up like sickness, an accident or being discovered by a Hollywood baby agent. A few weeks ago Emily and I turned a friend's San Diego wedding (way to go Eric!) into a little vacation, marking the first "real" trip away.

We were giddy with excitement over being in the sun-drenched SD area and seeing so many of our college/improv friends in one spot. Then a gust of reality hit me, we need to stop putting off getting our will drawn up. WOMP-wom. A sobering thought that I only compounded by having speculative daymares of Emily and I going down in a fiery plane crash or launching our rental car into the cold Pacific waters leaving Benjamin to an Oliver Twist-like future.

No one likes "will talk." In college during phone calls with my Dad he would routinely update me, "Well, I've made some changes to my will..." He was of course politely keeping me informed, but I would just mentally cover my ears and go "la-la-la-la..." Wills automatically make you think "death," but they are a necessity now in our society or your things and more importantly the guardianship of your children would be left up to the state to decide. Yeah. That will give you a shiver.

Thankfully my Mom has studied up on will preparation and such, which made everything super easy and avoided going through a lawyer. Plus she billed me much less than an attorney would, I do need to ask her about that "convenience fee" though. And I have to say, a weight was lifted off my shoulders knowing that it was at least done and should Emily and I be eaten by Shamu while in San Diego, Benjamin would be taken care of.

Enough of that happy talk. Our time in San Diego was wonderful. Just the two of us exploring a new city, stopping at places on a whim, not changing diapers for 4 days, eating at places that aren't kid-friendly, being able to cuss all we want (jk) and not having to share my yogurt with anyone.

An observation about the general San Diego area, everyone looks cool (in a natural Californian way, not in the artificial L.A. way), everyone drives an Aston-Martin, and no one seems to really work. I'm told that the city was a big destination for people in the US who made their money, like a white collar retirement city to Miami's blue collar rabble. (p.s. Don't tell Emily I took pics of these cali-hotties around town)

The best part was not worrying once about Benjamin's safety, knowing that he was having a blast with Mimi and Nanny. In fact, we would give one check-in call to see how things were going and Benjamin seemed a little disinterested in talking with Mommy and Daddy. Was he just as happy for us to be out of the house as we were? Did he need a recharge too?

When we returned I found these photos that Benjamin must have taken while we were gone. It looks like he grew up and lived a swinging bachelor's lifestyle in our absence. Here is how I interpret his snapshots - trying to piece together his vacation from us:

Benjamin likes to take bathes so he clearly started things off with a Home Alone-like scenario where he showered and shaved in order to look his best. Axe body spray may have been involved too.

To make ends meet he took a part-time job at the local Krispy Kreme. Since he is only 2.75 and his negotiation skills are terrible, he was paid in donuts. This is him eating his day's wages.

This one is harder to nail down. He either went to the pond area by our house and rescued this Galapagoan Deep Sea Turtle from international poachers, or HE was rescued by the TMNT

and he is simply repaying them for their bravery.

This picture clearly tells me that things just aren't working out with his girlfriend. They seem to have grown apart, like they no longer have similar interests. She's into Dora, he's into Super Why. She wears 5's, he's wearing 6's. It's sad really. The other theory is that these two didn't break up, but instead cut a folk-rock record and this is their album cover - "New Horizons."

In summary, true time away was refreshing for both Emily and I. It was great visiting with friends and seeing how people have matured from their college selves. Having a will gives peace ofmind (go do it). And thank God for having grandparents close by that are willing to stay at your house and watch your son for 4 days, winterize your faucets when the temperature suddenly dropped, and take you to and from the airport in the black of night/early morning.

And in the words of Ron Burgundy, "Stay classy San Diego."

Halloweenies

(Insert requisite apology for delay in updates here)

I love autumn. It is home to cool crisp air, more vividly colored foliage, and ample opportunities to wear costumes. And thankfully 2.75 year old Benjamin is still willing and compliant to wear pretty much whatever we put on him.

One of his good friends had a cowboy themed backyard party complete with hayrides, roping and a sarsparilla geyser. What’s a cowboy party without a few people dress like cow-people, right? Benjamin was the easy costume, he some how had all the trappings for a legit cowpoke.

What you can't tell from the "vintage" western picture is that I'm wearing Emily's red sequins drill team hat that matches my red bandanna and red faux-western shirt. Don't let the toothpick fool you, I looked like an extra from a Roy Rogers musical revue.

Benjamin was the smallest buckaroo there, but had a ball running around with all of the other kids. I love the picture of the two of us because it is reminiscent of a novelty photo I have of my dad and I from a Six Flags type place. We have generational ties to an outlaw in Jesse James’ gang (Douglas Highbarger), I reckon our "ice water running through our veins" looks do our ancestors proud.

For Benjamin this was a trial run for his cowboy main event – being “Woody” from Toy Story for Halloween. He is a big fan of the movies, in fact TS3 was his first movie theater experience, so when we asked what he wanted to be for Halloween, “WOODY!!” echoed through halls of our house.

The surprise was his follow-up request, “Mommie be Jessie… Daddie be Bus Ight-Ear!!” He cast us as his supporting roles. The gauntlet was thrown down. I have a long history of competing in our agency costume contest, 6 years of coming in 2^nd place…yay, but I took pride in always making my costume Macgyver-style. There was NO way I was going to attempt to make a Buzz Lightyear costume. I don’t mind playing the fool, but I don’t like being a dollar store idiot.

I tried to persuade Benjamin to play the Space Ranger role, but he wouldn't budge. The kid costume is 1/5 of the adult costume's price. But a layer of rational-Dale was melted by the auspice of missing out on really doing Halloween with my son.

The net result was a family of three dressed to the nines in Toy Story regalia; we took pictures with other awe-struck kiddos, held hands while trick-r-treatin, and hopefully have some pictures to show Benjamin when he is older that, "Yes, your parents are dorks. But we are dorks who clearly love you very much."

This Halloween Benjamin was more cognizant of the “people inside these houses give me free stuff” concept. We really limit his candy, so the siren’s call of sweets hasn't entranced him yet, except for Dum-Dum lollipops. I could get him to walk over hot coals for a sucker. No, this night was all about the “hunt.”

I modded my Buzz Lightyear costume with a laser-pointer (I had to make it legit), so we would hold hands walking on the sidewalk, then I would project the laser on the path to the front door. Benjamin would chase the light like a trained cat up to the door and deliver his well rehearsed line, “Tick, tweet, CANDY!” I guess he got the important word right.

The highlight was Benjamin scoring one of those huge, big as yo-face Hershey bars from a nice lady on our street who got it just for him – they are New Year’s Eve dates this year, in a non-creepy way.

Sidenote: Packs of high school mungos wearing black t-shirts or sports jerseys trying to trick-r-treat, please stop. No one wants to give you any thing, they only do it so you won’t knock over their floodlights. It is like candy extortion. Go text about how awesome you are at home.

The end of Halloween night is so great - the ritual of dumping out your bag to see what treasures you have hauled home. I just wanted to watch and take pictures of this and I love every candid picture of Benjamin and Emily together. Hearing the “whoa! Wot’s dat one?” each time he discovered a never before seen candy.

Their outfits, the lighting, everything is so warm and Americana to me. Like this is what being a kid is all about. And the fact that our little boy wanted us to dress up with him to be part of his Halloween was the sweetest treat of the night.

Summer Lovin' - Part 3

I promise this is the last leg of the vacation anthology. If you can't get enough you can buy my Guide to Wisconsin Vacation Hotspots: Putting the "Pen" in Peninsula later this year.

Another family activity we planned was going out into the picturesque orchards to pick cherries. Emily has fond memories of doing the same thing with her family as a kid (they vacationed at Door County too). Her version has vague similarities to various Disney musicals.

So she was wanting to forge those memories with us. You get spoiled by the mild weather by the water (80 degrees with a breeze), no such luck in the landlocked orchards. It was h-o-t and we were out there doing manual labor in pants wearing pickin' buckets around your waist. A terrible day to wear leather pants.

It was a bit of a hunt to even find an orchard that still had trees with cherries (early harvest I'm told), but we found one 40 miles away. It was definitely a pretty sight to see, row after row of trees with little red fruit dangling from the limbs.

Something comes over you there, you see tons of cherries and you have the urge to...pick...them...all. Each time you spy a hidden bunch tucked under a limb you get a punch of excitement. I wondered if there was a correlation to using cherries on slot machines; if there is something engrained in our being that gets us giddy at the sight of a pretty cherry.

Five pounds of picked cherries later we had a good time and quite the haul of inedible fruit. Yep, these were canning/pie cherries. It was a big downer thinking you just beat the system by paying $7 for 5lbs of cherries and every one you put in your mouth tastes like tart potpourri. Next year we plan on picking champagne grapes.

Vacation is also a fun time for eating. I try and eat pretty well as a lifestyle, but I am human. The smell of a Chicago dog or the sweet and salty taste of a fry dipped in ketchup have their way with me when I let my defenses down. And they were down brother - to the delight of Emily and Benjamin.

Rarely were the words "no" or "grilled chicken" used when we went out to eat. In fact, please sit down, I have something to tell you - I had ice cream four days in a row. That news is such an anomaly for me that the stock market may have just dipped.

The one exception is eating at the famous Al Johnson's Swedish restaurant. Everyone gets Swedish pancakes when we go there, I do not. I have never cared for this nordic take on pancakes so I always order the oatmeal, which has a record-scratch effect on the waitress and nearby patrons. The waitress sometimes has a look on her face like, "we have oatmeal?" They do and it is delicious, so stop hassling me.

In fact, I seriously doubt Leif Ericson downed a tall stack of Swedish pancakes before allegedly discovering North America. And he definitely didn't pay $11 for them (sheesh). I was pleased to discover that Benjamin didn't love Swedish pancakes either (take that ABBA!), but he would eat an entire pig's worth of bacon if he could. This also pleases Leif.

The rest of the Wisconsin vacation was filled with nothing, the good kind of nothing. I was able to decompress, read for pleasure, take a nap during the day (wha!?) and hang out with Benjamin and Emily during the sweetspot of the day versus my usual dregs of early morning and late evening. It is neat seeing Benjamin interact and feel like a part of a bigger extended family, and I love seeing that he is embraced by them too. Maybe embraced too hard by some of his cousins as a matter of fact.

I wish we could vacation more. Europe has it figured out, they take 8 weeks of sometimes mandatory vacation. It makes sense, because most of the time you need that 1st week to slowly unbind yourself from work (maybe it's me) and then you can kick up your heels and be more carefree.

But like I said earlier, little kids are the ones that REALLY have it figured out. They are on vacation for 52 weeks a year, don't pay for anything AND have a staff of people bathe and dress them. The only other person that gets that treatment is (insert US politician that your political affiliation detests here)! Sorry, I just wanted to see what having a political blog felt like. See you next summer!

Summer Lovin' - Part 2

The good news is that we took 2 weeks off for some family vacationing. So if Benjamin's summer days were regular days on steroids, vacationing to fun places with Mommy and Daddy must be like the stuff Barry Bonds allegedly used.

The sabbatical started with a trip to Chi-town for a family wedding (way to go Chris!) where Benjamin took on the look of an extra from The Great Gatsby - snappy trousers, white loafers, a sensible shirt and a white Gatsby hat (I don't know what else to call them, Buster Keaton would)

The wedding and reception were the cat's pajamas and Benjamin was a dancing machine on the parquet floor. His moves were part Flamenco, part glowstick club-kid, part whirling dervish and his batteries just wouldn't die down. He fed on the power of the music like those people in Xanadu.

A personal triumph for me was taking in my first baseball game at Wrigley Field. You want old school baseball, you need to see a Cubs' home game. No bullpens, no jumbotrons, no automated scoreboard - and I love it. You could almost picture the crowd wearing their own Gatsby hats and talking about how Woodrow Wilson was going to fix the country - 23 skidoo!

After hanging with tons of family, obliterating all bed times and dietary restrictions it was off to Door County, Wisconsin. This place is a real hidden gem tucked in the peninsula tip of the eastern-most part of the state. Benjamin had been there once before when he was 5 months old, somehow he doesn't remember a thing. Weird.

All vacation had two thoughts in the back of my head:

1. I want to do whatever it takes for us to have the best time

2. I hope #1 comes in at a reasonable price

Right before our vacation we had some sudden home repairs and then had to replace a transmission while we were out of town. The total amount was a little over "cha" and "ching."

I wish this feeling on no one, but it becomes a fun-sucker. Luckily we were staying with family (thanks Wendy!) and using a family car up there (thanks Wendy!) and various recreational vehicles (thanks Wendy!). The best part is that with a beach, some toys and some fun folks you don't need the Magic Kingdom® or a ski chalet to have a good time with a 2 year old.

Benjamin loved the beach. I was worried, because I apparently hated the sensation of sand on my hands when I was baby. Benjamin's only hang up was muddy sand on his skin, but who likes that anyway? People that go to day spas, that's who. Gross.

Have you applied SPF 50 baby sunscreen on anyone lately? It's like rubbing old peanut butter on something - it is thick, not particularly smooth and sticks to the roof of your mouth. And the process of slathering every square inch of Benjamin's body takes about 10 minutes. The final result is a little boy that looks like English ghost. Yet somehow he is the only Alexander that left with a tan.

I took him on a jetski and we really opened her up, jumping wakes and streaking at about 40mph. Aaaannnnd in reality we toodled around the shore at a crab's pace. He definitely enjoyed it, but you can tell when he's nervous because he does absolutely everything you tell him and he gets really quiet.

His other favorite activity was standing at the point where the water meets the shore and trying to shovel all of the sand back into the water. We should send him down to the BP site and speed up the cleaning process.

One evening we decided to hit the Links as a family. We skipped Pebble Beach in favor of Pirate's Cove, 18 of the most scallywagging holes of mini-golf youever did see. I've always wondered what the perfect ages are for some "firsts" - like when is the best time for your child to actually enjoy a professional sporting event, a theme park, or hunting bear. Apparently 2.5 years is a good start for putt-putt.

He obviously had no concept for the rules or etiquette (he didn't say "fore" once), but he definitely understood that he needed to hit this ball until it went into the hole. Even if it meant picking it up after the first hit and setting it down right on the lip of the cup to knock it in.

Believe it or not, the little bugger got a bona fide hole-in-one without any help and rule bending. I did commit petty theft by catching his ball on the 18th hole as a keep sake - don't judge me. You know Earl Woods did the same thing and look where it's gotten his son. Oh wait...

Summer Lovin' - Part 1

Ah, summer. A time to lose yourself in the sun's brilliance, reflect on your mastery of life and to spend money freely in the pursuit of leisurely fun. At least that's what I read on the brochure at the beginning of the summer. The reality is that it has been a summer long on work and short on fun, for me at least. For Benjamin summer is like "not-summer," pumped up on steroids.

I will confess that I've had some 10-12 hr days where I am jealous of my 2.5 year old after I hear that his day consisted of: breakfast omelette with mommy, reading books, dancing to music, riding on an indoor choo-choo, hotdogs and a smoothie, a nap, watching some Cars, painting some water colors, collecting stickers for going potty, and getting a visit from the tickle police.

"Wow, I had conference calls and put out fires on projects for the entire day EXCEPT for when I carved out a moment to eat my can of soup at my desk." I really am not bitter, I had just forgotten how awesome it is being a little kid. That day I described wasn't Benjamin's birthday or Christmas morning - it was a Tuesday.

I do get a sense of pride by providing for Benjamin and Emily so they can spend 1-on-1 quality time in these highly formative years, I just wish I could get a piece of that action. I like fun too. Maybe if Benjamin and I both touch some crazy statue at the same time we can switch places for a day/week/year/forever.

Thin Hollywood plot lines aside, the good news is that we took 2 weeks off for some family vacationing. So if Benjamin's summer days were regular days on steroids, vacationing to fun places with Mommy and Daddy must be like Spaceroids!

**Sidenote: The full entry I concocted is 6 pages long, so I'm breaking this sucker up. The good news is that now you'll get some more frequent postings, the bad news is that you'll have to stitch them together in order to decipher the code that uncovers the real JFK tapes**

**Double Sidenote: Mrs. Goldapp, we visited Cam in Chicago and I took photographic evidence to prove that he really is doing well in the big city. I had no idea he plays for the Bears now and will more than likely be Oprah's replacement, at least that's what he told us.**

Dining Out: Code Brown

For some people going out to eat is a real treat. It’s a break from the norm and a chance to be waited on – a taste of the good life. Brother, eating out with a kid is a totally different experience. It should almost be called “defensive dining”, because that’s what I feel like. The moment we walk through the restaurant door, I am a vigilant goalie trying to keep things from Benjamin and keeping him from things.

After 2 years Emily and I have our strategy down and we perform like synchronized swimmers. Most of our maneuvers have even become involuntary so we continue our conversation without missing a beat.

First, you have to clear the radius. That means removing every element on the table that Benjamin can possibly reach. You can tell whether or not a server has kids by where they position items they bring to the table. “Yeah let me go ahead and move that steak knife and bowl of red sauce you plopped down right in front of my 2-year old.”

Second, get them interested in coloring on the placemat or menu as quickly as possible. And go ahead and order the kid’s entrée with your drinks so it comes out early. It’s weird, kids want everything immediately and they don’t understand your rational explanation why food just doesn’t appear in front of their mouth. Weird.

Third, depending on the place, do yourself a favor and ask for extra napkins. The time it takes for a drink to spill is equal to the speed that light travels.

So the fact that I can quickly type out rules for eating out with a child already diminishes the fun-factor of eating out a little bit. And then there are I Fratelli nights.

Picture it, it is Emily’s dad’s (Bob) birthday so the entire family was able to get together to break bread at I Fratelli’s, which excites me. I have one dietary Achilles’ heel and it is the flat crust pizza from I Fratelli’s. Cookie Monster has cookies. Scooby has Scooby-snacks and I have I Fratelli’s pizza.

I had to finish up some work stuff so I show up a little late just as everyone is enjoying some salads and the company. I’m all smiles as I go down the table shaking hands, patting heads and wishing Bob a happy birthday. Then I catch a glimpse of Emily’s face – it is the fake politician/pageant model smile. This is the look that couple’s have that signifies that something is wrong, but you don’t want to make a scene. I’ve used my look so many time that I think they are planning on inducting it into a facial hall of fame.

Like a scene from Casino or Goodfellas, the ones where mobsters are trying to conceal their conversations from the Feds, Emily and I have a complete conversation without moving our lips or letting the smiles fade from our faces. The situation being discussed is that Benjamin has had a diaper blowout that spilled over unto his shirt, shorts and the restaurant’s high chair (even more reason you should wipe down a high chair when you use one, gross).

We take him into the bathroom to better assess the collateral damage and it was not good. This was compounded by the fact that we hadn't restocked the diaper bag since our TN trip – no wipes, no diapers, no back up clothes, no hope.

So after being in the restaurant for 3 minutes, I’m spinning my heels and running to Babies R’ Us to buy a new ensemble and enough cleaning supplies to sanitize a murder scene.

BRU being a big box store, their best deals come in big boxes. So I grab a 364 pack of wipes and 128 diapers – ching! & cha-ching! Now clothes. I didn’t want to spend the money on a completely dorky outfit that we would never put Benjamin in when he isn’t covered in his own mud.

So I’m trolling the racks and discover that Goodwill stores are organized better than BRU. There was a 4-year old’s pants, next to a onesie, next to a girl’s Easter dress, next to some leftover Hypercolor® shirts (this may be fiction).

$60 later I return to the restaurant to find a smiling, half-naked Benjamin sitting in the booth wrapped up in Aunt Amy’s pashmina. We put him in the outfit, everyone is nearly done eating, Benjamin then gets red sauce (thanks waiter) and ice cream on his outfit – but it was okay. Because I have learned that is life. This is my life right now. And it all makes for a better story than if we simply had dinner and went home. If that were the case, you would have been done reading 6 paragraphs ago.

My final dining with kids tip is the tip. Be generous to your server, because more times than not you are leaving them with a table that looks like the Gettysburg of food fights. And sometimes you unfortunately leave them with a little extra something in the ol' high chair. We informed management of the situation and they cordially dealt with the predicament. I Fratelli... mi dispiace.

April pt.2 - The Valley

(Wow, this got longer than I expected. Get comfortable)

As I stated in the last entry, April had its share of highs and lows. The low came in the form of my half-brother, Michael, passing away suddenly from a freak electrical fire in his apartment. I got this news the day before the wedding rehearsal and obviously wanted to keep it close to my chest so it didn’t put a damper on all the goodwill surrounding the events.

It was an absolute shocker to hear and in retrospect, all of the wedding events were an excellent distraction to not immediately dwell on the gravity of the situation. I felt terrible for my Dad having to make sense of everything and deal with the loss of a child. Michael was 41, but all of us are still someone’s child no matter how old we are.

Unfortunately, seeing Benjamin at the wedding and horsing around with him that weekend was seen through an additional lens, one that I had never really thought about before nor do I care to repeat – what if something happened to my sweet little baby boy?

The babysitter we had at the wedding drove him home and I couldn’t wait to get her text to let us know that they made it safely. When I saw them off I actually played the terrible mind game of “what if…” What if they got in a car wreck? What if I didn’t put the car seat in properly? What if the sitter just kept driving to Mexico? That stuff will drive you absolutely nuts. My hope is that “the seal” isn’t broken” where any time I hear a news story involving a child that I launch into an anxiety spiral. Now I know where Moms get their worry-warty-ness.

Fast-forward to the end of the month where the Alexanders were embarking on their first real road trip to Tennessee for the memorial service. We’re talking 972 miles of memories in the making, especially on the trip back (wait for it).

The day before we leave I pick up the SUV we rented – a Nissan Rogue. I think it is called a Rogue because it stole all of the room an SUV should have inside and hid it somewhere. This thing is the perfect car for a high school girl and two of her 5’ tall friends, but that’s what we got.

Until, I get a call an hour later from my dad with some bittersweet news – he found a new owner for Schmax.

Yes friends, Schmax has been given a life upgrade. Some of you know Schmax and may have tracked Schmax’s descent from dog-child to simply house-dog. A dog and toddler are a tricky combo, especially the older the dog gets and the more rambunctious the toddler gets. The fact of the matter is that no matter how sweet your puppy is, he is still an animal with instincts that are impossible to fully domesticate. I dreaded the potential phone call from Emily that goes “something-something Schmax, something-something jugular vein, something-something emergency room…”

I had been saying my goodbyes to Schmax for the past 3-4 months trying to find the best possible home for him and we found it in Tennessee. A sweet woman who works with my Dad has acreage, other dogs and a passion for animals. Gone are the days where Schmax gets two 5-7 minutes walks from me, some kibble and sporadic petting sessions. He is now in Shangri-La.

This news did force an audible - there is ZERO chance of getting a pet crate in the Rogue unless I cut off the roof. $100 upgrade later we are set up with a P-I-M-P electric blue Explorer. And this was barely big enough to fit all of our stuff. I made the comment that we would be the worst missionaries, you’d think we were packing up to restart civilization after the great meteor hits.

The trip there was actually pretty pleasant – some purple mountain majesties, guilty pleasure road trip food and a chance for me to reflect while everyone else snoozed - something I rarely give my self these days. Visiting with family was great and they of course loved getting to see Benjamin in the flesh and not digitally over Skype.

We did some shooting, some pawn shopping, more eating and had some good hangout time against the backdrop of the real reason for the visit, which was the memorial. It was a nice ceremony with some tears and some laughs and it was a pleasant surprise to see how many people Michael had impacted in this small town.

Sadly the week flew by and it was time for us to hit the road on Saturday May 1^st. Does that date stick out to anyone? That day was the beginning of the heaviest rainfall that the South has seen in 80 years. It gets better, or worse.

As we’re about to leave the storm was mentioned, but I usually dismiss parental warnings about weather. “C’mon old person, it’s just rain. Haven’t you seen water fall from the sky before.” The only thing I had on mind was driving as many miles as I could before having to stop for the night.

We’re on the road, the sun is out, and I’m in with the rhythm of the road - the “convoy” zone. Then right in the middle of careening through the Smoky mountains we drive into a pitch black wall of water – splat! The wipers are moving in perpetual motion and they were completely ineffective, even when I slowed down to 35 miles and drove with the hazards on. It seriously felt I was at the helm of a mini-submarine. I caved and pulled over to let the storm pass over us.

While stopped I searched the app store to see if there was a weather tracking app. If you have an iPhone download the Weather Channel’s free app IMMEDIATELY – satellite tracking refreshes every 3 minutes, it gives you GPS severe weather warnings and lists road outages. And did I mention that it is free?

With tech in hand, I see the storm is breaking a bit so we continue to head towards Nashville. The sun is now down (dang it!), people are hungry (dang it!) and more weather is on the way (dang it x 3!). I wanted to get to Memphis so I would only have to drive 8 hours the next day, now it meant that I would have like 12 – barf.

Let’s take a moment to talk about Benjamin’s road trip demeanor – all in all I give him a +B. He definitely succumbed to road malaise from time to time, but you try being strapped into a chair and sit on a mildly moist diaper for hours on end. I looked the other away on his snack and juice consumption, and we introduced the portable DVD player.

Soapbox: I liked road trips as a kid and loved playing games with the family. I have high aspirations of doing the same with Benjamin, but I recognized that we’re just not there yet with the whole speech give and take. So the DVDs would keep him happy as I chewed up mileage. I will, however, stand my ground that the DVD player is the dessert and family time is the meal on future trips.

Back to the road. We’re making awesome time 30 minutes outside of Nashville and it is barely raining, then we came across an eerie sight. Both sides of the highway were lined with 18-wheelers that had pulled over. Not 1 or 2, like 100 to 200 – it looked like a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie where people don’t know where to go, they just know they need to get somewhere. Clearly the truckers know something we don’t and have CB’ed it to all of their buddies.

What they knew was that I-40 has been shut down for 60 exits due to flooding on the highway. 60 exits, that means at least 60 miles. Gulp. The highway patrol was forcing people to exit at Dickson and the post-apocalyptic vibe was strong here too – cars and trucks parked anywhere there was a spot to park. Like stragglers banding together to stave off an attack by “Marauders.”

In vain Emily and I hopped on our phones to call every hotel logo we could see from our car – like Joseph, Mary and baby Jesus there were no rooms at the end. Think, think, think. I pull up Google maps and see that there is a country highway that is the scenic route to get us to where we want to go. I gas up the Smurfmobile with a critical fill-up and off we go.

The rain comes in droves, I white knuckle drive behind a car that unbeknownst to them was my high-water guinea pig. I would watch their tires to see how high the water was splashing, and it kept getting higher and higher and higher. Now I feel like the big guy in Jurassic Park driving through the rainforest trying to escape. The wipers are practically smoking they’re moving so fast, Benjamin is starting to get restless and Emily is starting to worry.

It was no longer safe to be on any road and my weather map was showing nothing but intense patches of “red.” We come to a stoplight, I take a left toward a derelict gas station that at least had an awning for us to sit under. A pickup truck at the stoplight turned right and was instantly sitting in water up to its windshield.

On the outside, and I think Emily will attest to this, I was calm and collected trying to figure out the best course of action. On the inside I was wringing my hands rocking back and forth repeatedly muttering “oh boy, oh boy, oh boy…” The water was 2” high on our tires, then it came up to our rims, then the water rose higher than all of the sidewalk and parking partitions causing the water to come up to almost half of our rims – and the rain was a constant deluge. This gas station was no longer the place to be.

Thank the Lord for my iPhone and 4-bar AT&T service during this maelstrom. I was able to determine where we were (Waverly, TN) and every major landmark or retailer (this gas station, a McDonalds, a grocery store and what’s this… a hospital!) My instincts told me that a hospital means infrastructure, back up generators and obvious medical care should something happen. Maybe it would even be on high ground.

Emily was… concerned. I told her that it was basically now or never for us to move, we drove over a precarious bridge with water splashing up to our windows, but we made it to Three Rivers Hospital (George Romero would be proud) which sat up on a hill like a heavenly sanctuary. When I put the car in park, I allowed myself to blink for the first time in 4 hours.

How to describe this hospital to you, especially on a dark and rainy night like this? You know in horror movies when the people escape the crazed killer, and make it to a rundown hospital thinking that everything is going to be okay, but the crazed killer cuts the power and stabs the only nurse on duty? You could have shot that movie here. Super creepy, but I am still thankful for its existence.

The rain is a constant, there is talk of tornado activity around us, and every road of this town is flooded. Folks, this is where we were going to spend the night. Emily was able to make a little backseat bed for Benjamin, and she was able to get a little sleep while I caught my third and fourth wind.

I attribute my ability to stay awake and focused all night to the protective instinct that is written into every papa bear. I listened to the emergency radio transmissions, while tracking the storm on my phone, and keeping a pistol (recently gifted to me by my dad) close to my side. The rain pelting the car, the pitch-black night and the lack of sleep had me on high alert. I tracked every pair of headlights that came close to our general direction and assessed whether they were friend or foe. For all I know, Waverly could be home to cannibal Appalachians. And the Alexanders were not going to be on the menu.

The storm finally passed over us at 6AM, right as the first trickles of daylight appeared. The sense of spooky danger is gone, I am now REALLY tired. We left the hospital to see more flooded out cars, houses and a town without power, except for the golden arches of the American dream – McDonalds. And they were crazy enough to open up and sling people their McMuffins.

A gallon of coffee later, we take the Loretta Lynn highway to get back on to I-40. No one is on the road in either direction. There are downed trees, asphalt spill-over bridges are missing 1/3 of their width, and the terrain is covered with thousands of tiny ponds. I’ve driven over as many bridges as you have, and I’ve never once worried about it giving way.

There was a bridge about ½ mile long where the rushing brown brackish water was almost touching the road surface; as I sped across it I was quickly trying to determine what my first moves would be if it collapsed and we drove right into the water. Not a fun daydream scenario. I just wanted to be home.

We run into more rain, we make it safely home and my body feels gross from being in the car for two days and only consuming coffee, Monster energy drinks, Baked Lays and Starburst.

The “more rain” we drove through was apparently the knock out punch to the city of Nashville. You really should do a search for some the images or video, it is like Katrina II without all of the looting. And to think that we were in the middle of that, yikes. Next time I’m going to listen to old people and their worrisome weather talk, maybe.

April pt.1 - The Peak

April had its shares of peaks and valleys. Family wedding was a peak, family death was a definite valley (See pt.2 - The Valley to come soon). But there is humor in every situation if you look hard enough, and luckily Benjamin is a reliable go-to in my search.

Uncle Jeph (no, he is not European) and Aunt Amy II (there is already an Aunt Amy) tied the knot near the beginning of the month and it was a full family affair. Cousins came down from Chicago, not all of them actually made it to the ceremony thanks to alcohol-induced "food poisoning", extended family were dressed in their Sunday best, and Emily helped out by being the florist for the event.

I'm not anti-flower, I am anti-flower arrangements being concocted in my kitchen. There is a nice precedence of botanical designs taking place in my kitchen at 3AM, the after math looking like the end of Little Shop of Horrors. I had declared a cease and desist on Emily's floral endeavors, the one exemption being family. Said exemption was granted. With some pre-pre-planning and help from family the executional beauty of the plan was only eclipsed by Emily's arrangements. Alexander's House of Petals - now officially closed.

What about young Benjamin? Like Frodo and other great ring bearers before him, Benjamin accepted his responsibility and performed as good as any 2 year old could do. First the outfit, have you ever heard of a Shortall? Me neither. It looks like Lederhosen if it were designed by Banana Republic®. And costs about what you think this mythical garment would cost. I'm not denying Benjamin's cute-factor, it just wasn't the baby-tuxedo look I was anticipating. At least if he had a baby-tux we could play dress up and put on fake magic shows. I got nothing for the Shortall, except a Sound of Music tribute number.

The biggest risk you run depending on a 2-year old to do anything, is the total system shutdown where they either cry uncontrollably or freeze like a doe in headlights. Thankfully we avoided both and he played his part splendidly. I did, however, feel like a Falconer calling in his bird of prey. After the Mothers procession, I snuck to the corner of the aisle so Benjamin could see me, and more importantly the tiny little blue bag of fruit snacks in my hand. He saw me and gave a little grin, he got closer and saw the fruit snacks and he sprinted toward me - KA-KAW!

A second later, he saw his cousins coming down the aisle dropping flower petals and that triggered Benjamin to immediately start saying, "Oh no... oh no-oh no-oh no..." The tidiness he inherited from me kicked in and he wanted to pick up the mess that was being made. The fruit snacks satiated him, for the moment, but he went and picked up all of the petals after the ceremony. I think they got their cleaning deposit back thanks to Benjamin.

I thought I was pretty clever with my bag of fruit snacks. Next time, bring TWO bags of fruit snacks. He plowed through the first bag like he was at the movies, so I had to (ahem) escort him out of the ceremony with about

3 minutes left.

The reception was a hit. It was the perfect blend of people actually having fun and doing the usual agenda events. The biggest revelation (not for Emily and I) is that Benjamin is a dancing machine. We goofy dance at home all the time, but he had never seen dozens of people doing the same thing before. His joyful grin looked like your face the first time you saw fireworks explode in the night sky. Happiness from a simple pleasure.

Then he got knocked down by a little girl slam-dancing to "Hey Ya" and I had to (ahem) escort him from the dance floor.

For me, watching Benjamin at the wedding totally made the experience different for me. The typical 30 year old has been to at least 10 weddings ranging from "eh" to "ehmazing." At some point you start to lose your joy and notice the connecting of the ceremonially dots: ceremony, go to reception, eat some cheese, wait for bride and groom, "At Last," they dance, you eat, they eat, "Chicken Dance", cut the cake, half the people leave, bouquet toss, "Let's Get It On," half the people leave, "Celebrate," blow bubbles as they leave, go home, hang up your "good" tie until the next wedding.

But wrangling Benjamin was super-fun. He was constantly excited - cake, dancing, bubbles!!! Having him there with me actually helped me reflect on the love and the journey that his Aunt and Uncle were about to venture. Which of course reminded me of my own adventure with Emily almost 8 years ago. It was a rejuvenating walk down memory lane and made my next hug with Emily super long.

That said, I can only handle one wedding per quarter so please plan in advance. But Benjamin's ring-bearing services are filling up pretty quickly, and he is not cheap.

Happy Easter with one Eggception (sorry)

It is Easter Sunday, birds are chirping, the dawn is breaking and we are gearing up for what I consider the "magic year" for Benjamin going on an egg hunt. The "magic year" is when he is old enough to understand the premise of collecting eggs and excitedly toddles after each and every one he sees. But, he isn't old enough yet to be ultra competitive, chukking elbows at the competition in order to snatch the candy coated treasures.

My gut was right, it was a magical year. And you'll just have to take my word for it, because I don't have the pictures to prove it. Except this one taken on my phone.

In the mad dash to get out the door and to the family festivities, I packed the car with about 40 things, none of which were my camera. You know the camera that I splurged on buying so I could take pristine pictures of events like, oh I don't know, Easter. I may have said a cuss word. Actually there's a chance I said two.

I did, however, remember my camera for a practice-run egg hunt held at a local church the day before. They touted a hunt with "22,000 eggs!!" We knew there would be a crowd, but this looked like a Wal-Mart Black Friday combined with a Wiggles concert. The kids were SUPPOSED to be corralled by age, but anarchy prevailed and you had 13 old dudes with the 3 year olds.

When the "hunt" started there were entire families with trash bags sucking up colored eggs like they were putting on a Dyson vacuum demonstration. Heaven forbid these little toddlers, trying to carry baskets as big as they are, get in the way of these pros. So out of 22,000 eggs, Benjamin liberated 5 from the herd. And I took zero pictures, because they would have been of other people's shoulders and mullets.

Like all parents, we were more perturbed by the situation than Benjamin. In fact, he marveled at the 5 eggs he did get and had a ball popping them open to see what was inside. And best of all, you could tell his fires were stoked for future eggpeditions (zing!).

Our Easter Sunday started off smelling like Hell, literally. Emily is always responsible for preparing deviled eggs for our family luncheon, and they stink like an open vent from the netherworld piping in sulfuric gases. With a dash of a yetti's butt. I can't believe people eat those things. To balance that out, we went to a fantastic service at church, reminded ourselves of the true meaning of Easter, and then hit the road to spend time with the cousins.

The food was eaten, the bushels of eggs were hidden, and Benjamin got syked up with the Kryzak kids for the hunt. It was so funny seeing Benjamin holding his basket in his little preppy outfit, screaming "YAY!" over and over again as he stumbled across another egg sitting in the grass. Each egg was like a fresh Christmas morning to him, only to be topped by the next one he spotted.

It was such a neat, parent-y moment following him around, pointing out eggs that were right in front of him that he somehow didn't see. In fact, there were some right in front of his face, surely he was faking it just to make me feel good. "I'll pretend I don't see the egg so the ol' man feels like he's helpful. You know, to make up for the camera thing."

In this egg hunt, Benjamin came out a winner. His basket was so heavy that he could no longer carry it himself, and he can bench a lot for a baby. Like all kids, he used his spoils as currency to trade with his cousins, and by "him" I mean

"we." Chocolate for fruit snacks. Hard candy for lollipops. Because that's the way Daddy "no fun" Alexander rolls. Next year I'll be crazy and give Benjamin a Lorna Doone®.

Thankfully the event won't go completely undocumented thanks to other family members who didn't forget their cameras. I'm just hoping for that one magic shot that captures the vibe of Benjamin's "magic year" of Easter (I attached two favorites from last year).

Worst case scenario, I stage the first ever Mother's Day egg hunt.

Vintage Photos

This is a quick little popcorn entry. I like my iPhone. I hate the iPhone camera - the image quality is terrible.

A friend, however, pointed me toward an iPhone app called Hipstamatic that instantly applies effects to your shots giving them a 1960's-70's look. It takes the iPhone camera's weakness and turns into a benefit, sorta.

I don't know about you, but nearly all of my baby photos have an instamatic, 35mm feel to them, so I've enjoyed taking a step back in time while taking pictures of modern day people.

The photo to the right is a picture of Benjamin taken a few nights ago, but it seriously could pass for a photo of me when I was 2 years old. Some days Benjamin looks like me and some days I think I put the wrong baby in the car from the grocery store.

But this photo brought me pause as I admired the details of the vintage look and how it seemed to seal this moment of time in amber. Seeing this photo brought back a rush of my own good memories as a kid in Virginia - playing in the snow, raking leaves, trick or treating. It made me realize that Benjamin and other kids will have a hard drive with 5,000 hi-res 10MB snapshots to look through as their "baby book." Which makes me think they won't treasure them as much as the people that may have 100-150 aging pieces of film that was their childhood.

So I'm going to try and take some antiquated shots to give Benjamin something vintage to look at when and if he cares to do in the future. The sad thing is that now I will truly look like a tourist when we go out with my SLR in one hand and my iPhone in the other. This is where "dad's a dork" starts I suppose.

Happy Birthday Benjamin!

It's official, on February 13th, 2010 Benjamin turned 2 years old. This is a personal triumph for Emily and I, in that we haven't screwed things up too badly over the past 24 months. In fact, some may say that we've done quite well with our first endeavor raising a child from scratch. I guess the only person that could really give us bona fide feedback would be Benjamin, but I saved him the trouble and filled out his evaluation form with "Exceeds Expectations" in all of the applicable categories.

Man, 2 years. Some days it feels like it's been 10 years, and some days it feels like 2 months. I treated myself to a little trip down Memory Lane and looked through my slew of Benjamin baby pictures (diehards should look at some old blog entries for reference).

My first reaction was, "Uhh, who is this baby?" There seriously are some pictures that look nothing like present day Benjamin, like someone inserted a picture of a stand-in stunt baby.

My second reaction was, "He was sooo tiny!" He was definitely larger than your average newborn baby, but there are some pics that it looks like I'm hugging a Kaiser roll smothered in blankets. A far cry from the 35lb squirming barbell that he is today.

My third reaction was the fact that I didn't really miss his super tiny days. Newborn babies, while cute, are more like nurturing a science experiment. You are constantly monitoring it, checking it for new data (or poo-poo), and anxiously awaiting for a breakthrough moment. The fun really kicked in 10 months later when you actually feel like there is some give-n-take between the two of you.

So what do you get after 24 months? Your first grey hair, seriously. I saw one on the side of my head today and it had Benjamin's new "personality" written all over it. In some instances he seeks total independence and self-sufficiency, in others he is lovingly holding my hand and leading me around the house to either show me something or so that I can help reach/get/grab/pour something for him. The trick is that his personality swings from moment to moment, and you're not sure which moment you're in until, well you're in it.

After 24 months you also get a 2 year old's birthday party. Okay, not to be a big-timer, but this little shindig some how eclipsed the $200 price tag. I GUARANTEE you I never had a birthday party when I was a kid that cost Two Bills. "But Dale, you must have flown everyone to the Bellagio and treated people to Pegasus riding lessons?"

Umm... we rented a church's indoor playground for two hours and had some chicken nuggets with juice boxes. Two Bills. And the playground violated my cardinal rule, don't swap a "z" for an "s" just to make it "kool."

Don't get me wrong, the Pajama Party themed event seemed to be a huge hit with a full compliment of pajama-ed friends and family having a squealing good time. I was just sticker shocked by what a modern day, somewhat modest birthday party cost. What made it swallowable was seeing a flush-faced Benjamin run around the playground, riding on slides, climbing up cushions and downing Capri-Suns® like a marathon runner.

And because I'm the no-fun parent, we only let him have about 1/3 of his presents and the rest went in the closest for a rainy day surprise or to donate during a toy drive. He has way too much stuff. I don't know how it happened, it all snuck in somehow and accumulated in various depots around the house.

His big birthday gift item was a tricked out handyman workstation with all kinds of little tools, bits and pieces. He is a little too young to actually build the projects, but he loves dressing up and hammering stuff. And his OCD comes out when all of the tools aren't put back into place at the end of a work session. Sure, I'll take the credit/blame for that behavior.

All in all, he is still my little baby boy right now, and I know that they will change pretty quickly. But I take comfort knowing that he will forever be my little buddy no matter how old he gets. Happy Birthday Benjamin.

Snow Day!!!

The most recent sign that Hell is close to freezing over is the 9" of snow that our north Texas-burg received last week. These white flakes were as pure as... well snow. Vancouver wishes it got this pristine powder for their Olympic games. Sorry hosers.

There is just something about snow that brings the kid out in people - the whimsical side wants to build a snowman, the mischievous side wants to chuck a snowball into someone's back, and the romantic wants to curl up in a blanket and watch the flurries.

Benjamin, on the cusp of turning 2, couldn't get enough of the stuff. Sadly his parents (or just me) opted to not buy $100 of winter weather gear earlier in the year. "We don't need that, it's not like it's going to snow in Dallas!" I think this was a direct quote. Here's snow in my eye.

So Benjamin has a decent coat, hat, scarf, but only has fabric mittens and a pair of cowboy boots to slosh around in. I didn't help the situation when I dug out my ski jacket and ski boots ready to hit the slopes while Emily is Scotchguarding her fashion over function Ugg® boots and Benjamin is doing a line-dance in his kicker-boots. Gotta pay to play people.

During the big snow day I was actually at work while Emily and Benjamin were playing outside with the neighbors building a snow man. I've never cared for snowmen, mainly because it is really depressing to me to see a snowman on Day 3 of the meltdown. He is discolored, mishapened, and is clearly dying a slow, wet death. "Kids, KIDS! Remember playing with me? I need...your...elp... (drip-drip-drip)... Rosebud..." Poor guy.

The next day was the official no-work, no-school Snow Day! We dressed up the family and headed outside and you wouldn't believe you were in Texas. It could have easily passed for Valley Forge circa 1776; never mind the houses with snow covered satellite dishes.

And it was so bright, like flash grenade bright. I had to squint even with sunglasses on. There were times Benjamin looked like a little blind boy walking in the snow with his eyebrows raised and eyelids shut, like he was trying to use extra sensory perception.

We took a stroll to the park where there were nice patches of untainted, picturesque snow for us to take pictures and taint ourselves. It was beautiful and still and one of the moments that I look forward to remembering with Benjamin in a few years via our pictures. It reminded me of pictures when I was little in Virginia after 2' of snow - where I'm standing in a Hoth-like trench of dug out snow that is as tall as I was. I don't remember the actual instance, but I have fond memories of the pictures.

Benjamin also had the chance to perfect his snowball throwing skills, but they kept rolling off the back of his hand during the wind-up. Now I know why most pitchers choose not to wear 2 pairs of mittens when they play. After about 10 tries and 100 botched pictures, he launched one successfully into the sidewalk, but it was so fast I think it actually evaporated before impact. Nolan, call me, let's talk.

The cutest moment was Emily dropping down to the ground to make a snow angel. Benjamin looked at her and immediately followed suit without any questions or regards. He plopped into the snow and started waving his arms and legs as he giggled. And then, much like the kid in A Christmas Story, he couldn't get back up from all of his layers. Good times.

I look forward to more global warming snowstorms in our city so I can hear Benjamin's excited little voice yell, "sNOo, sNOo, sNOo!!!"