The House of Alexander

WEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

2011-05-02T13:47:00.000-07:00

This pic has been my phone wallpaper for the past month. I love it. We pass things every day that have become commonplace or no longer excite the adult in us, like carousels.

If I hopped and rode the carousel by myself, it wouldn't be very much fun. And it would look super creepy. But riding with Benjamin and seeing him look around at all of the horses and mirrors like he had just stepped through the looking glass - man, it was an awesome $2 investment. Then another $2, and another.

That's what this picture means to me, a child's sense of wonder and joy when they're experiencing something for the first, or twelfth time.

DA BEARS!

2011-04-19T20:04:00.000-07:00

I moved around a lot as a kid, so I never really had a team that was "my team." I have always had a soft spot in my heart for the Chicago Bears thanks to Walter Payton being an exemplary human being, The Fridge being huge, and the Super Bowl Shuffle being my first rap single.

Emily's family are serious Bears fans, like being in a foul mood the Monday after a loss. This shirt was a gift from them trying, no doubt enlisting their latest recruit. Benjamin and I were watching the NFC Divisional Playoffs and I noticed that he was making the "Touchdown!" arm signal each time they scored.

So I sat in front of him for the next quarter waiting for da' Bears to score again. They did, Benjamin made the call, I snapped the pic. Touchdown.

Christmas 2010

2011-04-18T18:58:00.000-07:00

Now this is the reaction every parent hopes to get with each toy their child opens - pure unadulterated joy. Thankfully Benjamin is a pretty excitable little boy, or he is fantastic at faking it.

When he opened up Toy Story 3, there's a chance the guys at Pixar in California heard his squeal. Wide-eyed, mouth open, "Mommy-Daddy-Doy-Storie-Free!!"

The runner's up gift - "Butz Aightyear FashAight!!"

Christmas 1950

2011-04-18T18:43:00.000-07:00

Every old Christmas movie has a scene where the kids are pressed up against the glass of a toy store window, just trying to get a better look at a train set or a rocking horse.

My assumption is that if it's in the movies, that's what little kids really did back in the 50's. No video games, no brats guilting parents into buying something - just kids marveling at the wonder of a new toy.

That's what this picture reminds me of, a simpler time. Benjamin was so quaint and gentle looking at this little Christmas village display. He was peering at the little people and wondering what each one was doing. It also helps that we was wearing long sleeve shirt/sweater combo and a festive holiday necktie. Don't judge me.

Geez, what year is it?!

2011-04-18T14:23:00.001-07:00

The good news is that I've been trying my best to live life. The bad news is that keeping up with a blog clearly isn't on other people's list of "Things Dale Should Be Doing". Alas, I have the best intentions, so there is no time like the present to try and get back into the swing of things.

This will be more of an update via pictures over the course of multiple postings. Numerically it will really feel like you're getting some serious bang for your buck. A great value in this economy.

Enjoy the pics and I make a pledge to the 3 of you still keeping up with this I will try and make up for lost time. Or at the very least do a bi-weekly entry.

I love this picture. If I didn't take it I would swear it is a fake staged moment in a J. Crew catalog for sensible wool scarves.

Benjamin loves picking leaves. We always take them home and then they are forgotten, but until that time Benjamin feels like a rich botanist collecting different treasures.

This one goes in my digital and mental scrapbook marking a lovely autumnal afternoon.

While the Cats Away...

2010-11-22T10:53:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-16T13:50:00.000-08:00

(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

2010-09-20T20:52:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-10T15:47:00.001-07:00

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

2010-09-05T15:08:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-07T17:49:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-27T10:10:00.000-07:00

(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

2010-05-17T08:18:00.000-07:00

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)

2010-04-06T08:20:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-26T15:14:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-03-09T14:29:00.000-08:00

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!!!

2010-02-14T12:05:00.000-08:00

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!!!"

Christmas in Pictures

2010-01-20T17:03:00.000-08:00

Despite having 2 weeks off, the holidays were a blur - because time flew by and Dallas had its first white Christmas in 80 years. People in Dallas freak out when it rains, so imagine when snow actually sticks to the ground. I think people were burning their furniture to some how survive the cold in their climate controlled houses.

Benjamin still wasn't into the whole presents thing. We had to half unwrap each present for him to see the neat gizmo underneath, THEN he was interested. But even that was fleeting. Thinking back, Schmax was more into opening presents to the point where we had to pull him off a package or two. Mental note, don't wrap gifts in bacon.

I think what Benjamin truly enjoyed was having two people dote on him all day - which sets up nicely for a future entry about a soon to be 2-year old's budding attitude and pushing of his parent's buttons.

And now for the part that some of you are more interested in - pictures instead of my ramblings. If a picture is worth a thousand words, consider yourself rich in words!

We often read together as a family sitting side-by-side. Benjamin threw in the nice touch of looking up at me as if to say, "Pa-pa, I do love you so..."

Something about this pic reminded me of the first Superman movie, where little baby Kal-El is in his asteroid ship wearing a super-absorbent red and blue diaper.

Clearly the hilarity of fake sleeping for a picture is lost on Benjamin. Again, nice touch at least putting his head down on the blankie. Maybe in his mind he had 1st watch.

I love this photo. It says "Christmas Morning" to me in so many ways. And you can never tell that Benjamin had a dirty reindeer diaper.

EXTREMELY rare footage of a baby yeti.

Benjamin loved the idea of snow, until it blew into his face. And his shoes started to get cold and wet, because we don't have baby mucklucks. He also hated getting pelted by snowballs. To be fair, I did tell him numerous times to duck.

To give you an idea of how crazy the weather was, this picture was taken the next day. Benjamin is sitting in his sweet new ride - a spacious wagon complete with cup and snack holders. It gets terrible gas mileage though.

Doesn't it look like Benjamin and Emily stopped to admire a stuffed dog in this person's yard?

Turkey Day Without My Turkeys

2010-01-05T21:43:00.000-08:00

Yeah, yeah, this is about Thanksgiving, which was a few months ago but I am a “businessman” which by definition means I’m a man that is busy. If this is too old for your reading pleasure, you have the freedom to stop reading here.

That’s what I thought.

The main delay for this entry is my instinct to combine prose with pictures of the event, and this is the only picture I actually took on Thanksgiving Day.

The Alexander’s called a last minute audible for the holiday where I would go to the Texas A&M vs UT game in College Station with a buddy of mine, and Emily and Benjamin would fly north to reenact the first Thanksgiving with her extended family in Shee-cog-goe.

When we put this plan into action there was an excited Dale getting to see the game and having the house to himself to do with what he pleased, and a excitedly reluctant Emily dreading traveling with an 18 month year old by herself.

I did the best I could packing up bags, giving what little tips I had to help weather the flight and loaded up an iPod Touch with little videos to act as visual morphine for Benjamin. Seeing him with white earbuds in his ears was cute, but it also looked like he had remedial hearing aids from the 80’s. I’m told the Touch worked great… for one flight. I’ll leave the rest of the “hilarity” for Emily to retell some day.

For fun I posted on Facebook something to the affect of “Hey it’s time to bachelor-it-up!” This was misinterpreted by many (including my wife) that I was setting sail on some kind of booze cruise through the sacred holiday break with a collision course toward sloth debauchery. The reality of course was me using the time to clean the ENTIRE house and do a metric ton of laundry.

I did this project, I did that thing, and I put everything back in its proper place in order to create what I would consider the perfect living environment. I succeeded, and yet failed. Everything was just “so,” but it looked like a runner’s up photo entry for Modern Living cover. It looked empty and surprisingly void of color. Like when you take your Christmas decorations down and things seem acutely barren.

I had thoughts like, “Wow, that’s what that chair looks like without a diaper bag and seat cover strewn over it?” And, “Man, the hallway is really dark with Benjamin’s door closed during the day.” I actually pondered a couple of times if this is what it would really be like if I never married and was just a 32 year old schmoe living by himself. At one point in my life this would be the gold standard of living.

But man, it was quiet. I mean qui-et. Too quiet, like the kind of quiet where some dude jumps through your back door with a hatchet. I’ve just grown accustomed to the controlled chaos that is our house with all of Benjamin’s chirps and chatters. This is what I now knew as my gold standard of living, albeit the gold is a little stickier.

All of these thoughts brought me back to a few days earlier when I dropped Emily and Benjamin off at the airport. I took them to security and stayed to watch them pass through and it was so funny seeing tiny little sock-footed Benjamin walking through the metal detector, excited to see all of these new sights. Once they made it through, Emily picked up Benjamin and they both waved one last goodbye and I could hear a faint, “bub-bye dad-da…”

That’s when it hit, I choked up and my eyes instantly glistened. I was going to miss those guys. I’m usually the one leaving for work and you get so busy trying to get to your destination and do your deal or whatever and you never really reflect on the “missing someone part” until maybe that night. But this was instant and would last for 5 days. What seemed like the “coolest” Thanksgiving holiday suddenly felt like it would be the “coldest.”

Feel no pity for me, I made it through just fine but my maturity muscles are still a little sore from being stretched. I don’t want this to turn into an epilogue from “The Wonder Years”, but their absence allowed me to recognize how much I appreciate having them around. If I am the clean black lines on a white piece of paper, they are the colors that fill in the blanks and add vitality to the picture even if it goes outside the lines. Though we weren't together to break bread on Thanksgiving, my family is definitely what I was most thankful for.

P.S. A&M lost the game - boo.

P.P.S.S. Thanksgiving week was without a doubt Schmax's favorite week all year.

Happy Halloweiner!!

2009-11-11T13:06:00.000-08:00

I have fond memories of Halloween as a kid, before it was dubbed the devil's holiday. Back in the 80's it was about kids dressing like The Hulk or Wonder Woman and frolicking around the picturesque neighborhood, whimsically asking people for some candy. Everyone seemed happy and everyone was filled with the crisp autumnal air.

Over the past two decades, however, Halloween has lost its luster with me. It has become another highly marketable event for people to drop some serious coin on candy, deco and booze. And is an alibi for women to dress up as "a sexy (fill in blank with any occupation or character here)." At work I had built a rapport for some inventive costumer-y, but even that has faded a bit. I am pleased to announce that thanks to Benjamin, me and Halloween are back!!

I've heard before that when you have a child you get to relive some parts of your own childhood (hopefully just the good ones), and I can attest to how great this Halloween was seeing it through Benjamin's 21-month year old eyes. He had wide-eyed wonder trying to make sense of all these people running around with crazy wigs, rubber masks, and ill-fitting pantaloons.

We started off at his cousins' Halloweiner cookout where neighborhood kids gather to feast on salted meats before they chase it with sugary treats. He was able to debut his Itsy-Bitsy Spider costume for the family and get hugged to death by nearly everyone at the party - mental note: cute baby in spider costume could be the key to curing arachnophobia.

While Emily was visiting with some friends, I walked hand in hand with Benjamin to his first "ToT" customer. You could tell that he had no idea what we were doing or why he was carrying a plastic jack-o-lantern that was bigger than his torso. We quickly went over our lines, "Trick or treat" and knocked on the door. A nice lady answered and Benjamin peeped, "Tweet? Tweet?"

She "ooh'ed" and "aah'ed" and then she said, "Aww... she is the cutest little octopus I've ever seen!!" Candy obtained = (1) Tootsie Roll® midget

Little did Benjamin know that he just got about the worst loot you could get on Halloween - one inedible brown nugget. I'd rather get a penny. BUT, the fact that she dropped something into his little bucket, the entire "extort cuteness for candy" concept immediately clicked in his head. He was now a spider on a mission.

Benjamin didn't want to be carried, he wanted to hoof it on his own, but he was moving really slow for having 8 legs (RIMSHOT!) So he and I are holding hands while other kids and turtles are passing us, but I'll be darned if he never complained, never dropped his bucket and never threw a tantrum for the entire night. The funny thing to me is that Benjamin has no concept of candy and wasn't terribly interested in the stuff - he just enjoyed people putting stuff into his bucket. The one exception is when he scored a mini Play-Doh® container, he recognized the shape and thanked the couple with a, "Whhhhooooaaaa..." You'd think Indy had just discovered the Lost Ark.

We make it back to the house and ended the late night with the ol' candy dump to see whatcha got. I loved this part as a kid. Letting your eyes take in a treasure trove of brightly colored candies and discover new unknown treats (What's an O'Henry Bar?!). I have never been into candy, but it was the currency I would use to trade with friends in order to score an action figure or two. I may have been the world's first candy-launderer.

Benjamin dumped out his bucket and the little guy scored a nice mound of goods. We've never given him candy (except for a Dum-Dum® during hair cuts) so the fun-size bars were lost on him. The true delights were the stickers, a fake spider thingie, said mini Play-Doh® and a full size bag of Goldfish - which was definitely the score of the night.

The costume, the pictures, holding hands, walking down the dark streets and the smile plastered on his face were the ingredients I needed to welcome Halloween back into my good graces. After 20 years of Halloween being filled with scantily-clad vixens and various brews, I had forgotten who the night was truly for - the kids who get excited about dressing up like their favorite heroes, going on a quest for a bounty of treats, and blissfully falling into a candy-coated stupor.

Realistically Benjamin won't remember anything about his first "real" Halloween, but I will every time a midget Tootsie-Roll® is dropped into his bucket for the next 10 years.

"What'd you do this weekend?"

2009-09-22T10:08:00.000-07:00

You know how Mondays go - easing back into the work week, remembering all of the things you put off on Friday, and sharing "happy talk" with coworkers about what you did over the weekend. I work with a smattering of single people and hear their weekend exploits and it goes a little something like this:

"Yeah I didn't really do too much, we went out for drinks on Friday night and then went over to this club and ran into a bassist I knew in this samba band. We went back to his loft with a couple dozen people and ordered $400 of tapas and feasted on the sweet meats until 4AM. Saturday we just cruised on my friend Theo's yacht and did some whaling. The weird part is that we met up with some Mer-people and they took us to this sunken ship where we found gold coins and precious gems. After that, we hot-air ballooned back to shore and walked across hot coals, straight into a trance-Goa rave. Sunday was super low-key, we just had brunch with Obama at The Hague."

As these people are talking, I'm trying to think back to the weekend and tally up all of the cool things I did. Let's see - looked after Benjamin, maintained my home, went to church, ate 7-9 meals and didn't get enough sleep some how.

Ta-da!!

Ordinarily my shoulders slump a little bit after we do this exchange, especially when their response is something to the effect of, "Oh, well that sounds fun too...(ahem)...(shuffling of papers)"

But things shifted into perspective for me Labor Day weekend. We got back to the office on Tuesday and I'm hearing of people riding on wild unicorns and circumnavigating the Earth on the Concorde, and I thought to myself "Man! I had a great weekend!"

While these people were ticking off things on their Bucket List I was able to hang out with Benjamin during the sweet "play time" part of his day. We had family walks, kicked around a ball at the park, got in a work out, made and ate some delicious meals at decent times, went swimming with cousins, had a night away with the Missus, saw a movie IN the theatre, and still got some stuff done around the house.

I didn't get into detail when so

meone asked what I did that weekend, because I think they would still give me the "you poor suburban schmoe" look. But I truly think I had the better weekend filled with laughs, baby hugs, naps, some more first words, kissing of boo-boos - all thanks to Emily and Benjamin.

So next time you feel like you're getting big-timed by someone comparing weekend feats, just conjure up a little moment in time where your

little one put their head on your shoulder, laughed at your antics, or just splashing around during bath-time. You've got them beat, hands-down.

Photo Fun

2009-08-26T12:03:00.000-07:00

This is short and sweet and more about the pictures than anything else. Benjamin is a real hoot the more and more he attempts to speak. It is almost a little game trying to discern what he means when he blurts out "Dah..." Is it "door" or "dog" or "dock" or "dork"?

I do sense that he is on the verge of some major speaking breakthroughs. And I secretly look forward to answering the endless string of "why" questions.

Enjoy the pics.

"Hi, I'm a Hollywood baby. See how casual I am?"

Not a bad family pic considering it is 9AM and both parents were running on zero sleep.

"The siren's call of the sea beckons me. It is rivaled only by the call of my Goldfish snack crackers."

It is still undetermined which side of the family he gets his latent vampirism gene.

A Complete Tragedy

2009-08-09T11:44:00.001-07:00

No, you haven't accidentally logged into a different blog. And no we haven't undergone Father/Son plastic surgery. This posting is dedicated to a truly great friend of mine that recently passed away - Shannon Childre.

I really have (and still do) the best intentions of posting more often, but his death has forced me to hit the pause button on a lot of things over the past two weeks. Shannon and I have been creative partners for a good portion of the past 10 years. When I was an intern, he was the first person to really give me a chance and show me the ropes around the agency. We had plenty in common so we hit it off and made some great memories over the past decade together.

Shannon and I traveled out to San Diego for Comic-Con 3 weeks ago with some other coworkers to help our client man their booth. The second day we were there, he went out for a jog along the boardwalk by our hotel and collapsed from a heart attack, at the age of 39. One of our mutual interests was eating the right kinds of foods and giving our body a good sweat when we had the chance (it's harder to work it in with kids). A total and complete biological fluke left him dead shortly after he got to the hospital.

To add to the situation, he wasn't carrying an ID and we didn't discover that he was truly missing until he was a no-show at dinner that evening. We raced around the city to try and put the pieces together, went to the hospitals looking for injured John Does, and we sadly discovered him as a deceased John Doe. My body went into a complete shaking shock, the only other time I experienced this sensation was right before Benjamin was born. Except that was shaking from excited shock, not sad shock.

The whole event is filled with a series of "firsts" that I never wanted to perform a "second." Packing up his hotel room, flying his stuff home, trying to find words that will console his wife and two children, planning a memorial service, trying to work with his blatant absence. The entire flight home my body was completely tensed up trying to fight off tears, and I couldn't wait to get home and hug Emily and Benjamin.

There is hope though. Shannon's death has brought people and emotions out of the woodwork. About 500 people attended his memorial and is was a time for tears, laughs and celebration of who he was and a chance for all of these people who he positively impacted to get together in the same room to say "thanks" to him. And "thanks" to everyone else there. Compliments came off the tongue easier, people told one another how appreciative they were of one another - it was a great evening.

The tragedy is that Shannon wasn't there to see it, and that it took his death to shake people out of their rat-race funk and rediscover their own humanity. I eulogized him at the service (another First) and I tried to leave people with a positive message that they were his legacy, and for them to recognize the traits they admired in Shannon and apply them to their own lives. I also tried to pass on a simple lesson that came out of a conversation Shannon and I had - he recently started to learn how to speak German. I asked him, "Why?" and his playful response back was, "Why not?" It was just something he had always wanted to do, so he made a move to learn German.

My challenge to the audience at the memorial and to you today is to say "Why not?" more often in your lives. Yank those things off the backburner and just do it - take that trip, learn that skill, take a class, volunteer somewhere, or suck it up and ask that person out that you've been eyeballing for weeks. Shannon's passing is proof that life is clearly to short to not roll the dice more often.

The saddest part of this whole incident, and one that I haven't cared to dwell on too much, is the fact that his 2 year old boy (Griffin) and his 1 year old girl (Lily) will have to learn about their dad through stories, old pictures and mementos from his past. Something no child should have to endure. This obviously makes my imagination go crazy thinking how that could have been me and what Emily and Benjamin would do if I were gone. And that really makes me sad.

Who Taught My Baby How To Be A Jerk?

2009-07-18T06:56:00.000-07:00

Is that bad, calling your baby a jerk? Benjamin has just turned a corner where his new found mobility has emboldened him to have a bit of an attitude. And some of the things he does, if any of us did them, we would be called jerks. Actually, we would be called something worse.

I'm not really calling Benjamin a jerk and he hasn't become "Damien" from the Omen movies, but he is definitely testing the limits.

For instance, if he's messing with an object he desires (phone, marker, remote, gold bullion) and we don't let him have it, he will run away squealing from us and then throw said object into the corner.

THEN, if we put the object back he will go back over to it, look you right in the eye and zing the object haphazardly behind him. And the look on his face says, "Oh yeah, you want this so much, go get it (ZING!)" There are some choice days where we call timeout for him more than the last 2 minutes of an NBA game.

And the absolute worse part is when he does the "Marlin" - a full body contort were his head and feet stiffen and fling in the opposite direction from his body. Much like a marlin jumping up out of the water and flopping around on the deck of your boat. At least now I know what it's like to be headbutted and kicked in the ribs at the same time. I could soooo make it in the UFC.

For full disclosure, he still has plenty of good moments and isn't filled with vinegar that often. The times that he has an attitude make up probably 5%, but going from 0% to 5% makes you think "oh no, is this it? Is the cheese sliding off his cracker? What did we do wrong? Whose teaching him this stuff?" Like everything else in the media, I guess we should blame the parents. Wait a second...

Life's a Zoo

2009-07-09T10:11:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just need a break, so I took one for 2 weeks. A break from pretty much everything except family. I had two big revelations, the first one is that I am programmed to remain busy. Even if I don't have work to do, I fill my time with some other form of work rendering me completely incapable of relaxing. That's why I never book a massage, I'd rather just rub my own shoulders so I feel like I'm accomplishing something.

The 2nd revelation is that every day I go to work, I am completely missing the sweetspot of Benjamin play time. I see him in the morning when he can't wait to eat breakfast, and then I see him at night when he can't wait to eat dinner, mess around a little bit and then go to sleep. I had two weeks of seeing him in his element and doing things that I didn't know he was able to do, like play piano. I kid.

(3rd revelation is how are all of these other people at Target at 2PM on a Tuesday??)

One treat is that my folks came in to town from TN to stay for about a week. They hadn't seen Benjamin since we was 2 weeks old, and Benjamin really has never seen them. They just looked like black and white polka dots to him. He had a blast, they had a blast, we all had a blast. They marveled at Benjamin's ability to do some things that are just kind of commonplace to us now. It was a great experience to see their joy from our little bundle of joy.

I did plan a family outing to the Ft. Worth Zoo while they were in town, which was the inaugural expedition for everyone. I thought that Benjamin at 16 months would be able to understand that there were exotic animals running around him, I was wrong. Let me set the stage a little bit with these three words - Texas, June, Hot.

We got there right when it opened to hopefully catch the animals in the midst of wrapping up their breakfast before they start running and swinging and breaking into dance in order to entertain the patrons. What we saw were animals submerged in water, huddled under any shade they can find or buried in a hole somewhere. To me, the looks on their faces read, "Please, send me back to Africa where it's cooler"

The animals that did play ball weren't interesting enough to pull Benjamin's attention away from people watching everyone around him. "Oh Benjamin, look at the huge gorilla right in front of your face... orrrr keep trying to touch that girl's barrettes in front of you" All in all we got to see about 1/3 of the park before we called it quits to find sweet relief in a room piping super cold A/C. And unfortunately there were no penguins to be found.

Spoonman

2009-06-18T08:20:00.001-07:00

Benjamin's favorite appliance in our house is the dishwasher, sorry rice cooker. And the other day I was doing my household duty of emptying the dishwasher and Benjamin did something outside of his usual routine of trying to climb into the dishwasher.

He pulled out two spoons from the utensil caddy and trotted out of the kitchen. A few seconds later he came back to the dishwasher empty handed and pulled out two more spoons. I assumed he was playing a little game where he grabs the spoons, hoping that I chase him, and then tosses them into the dogbed like he does every other one of his toys (sorry Schmax).

I let him do it a couple more times until I realized he had taken every spoon we have and put them somewhere (these were clean by the way, so it also hit me that I have to watched all of the flippin spoons again). Curiosity finally won out and I followed him on his final spoon heist, only to discover that he has arranged (not thrown) all of the spoons on the window sill in our office.

Clearly, I know that he is not an artist in-residence with high-level cognitive thinking, but it was amazing to see how he was actually evaluating the current structure to determine where best to place the next spoon. It was a neat moment, and then a creepy moment. It reminded me of the Matrix where that little psychic girl is bending spoons with her mind.

Ultimately, it was one of those instances where you wish you could peek into someone's mind to see exactly what's going on in that noggin. There is, however, one thing I knew for certain - how Benjamin would react when I gathered up the spoons. Let's just say I'm glad they weren't knives.

It's Summer Baby!

2009-06-09T10:36:00.000-07:00

(insert excuse for not posting stuff in nearly two months, but it involves saving orphans from fires and helping to topple the Taliban)

Since last we met Benjamin has gone through a bit of a renaissance progressing from "baby" to "toddler". It is amazing that in less time than a pro

motional period for free Time Warner cable a life form can go from craw

ling with little

understanding of language to a bi-ped that can communicate through sign language and remedial mutterings of english.

It is also a relief to my biceps now that I don't have to lug around 27lbs of dead weight everywhere. In fact, if I try and hold him too long he wants to bust loose and explore his house. He actually kind of struts a bit when he cruises around the living room and kitchen, like this is his joint. But then you get him in some of the other bedrooms and he is tentative like he is creeping around a haunted mansion with no flashlight. His eyes go wide

not knowing what lurks behind every nook and cranny. He also issues out a "Hmmpf..." sound almost like it is a sonar ping.

The decibel level in our house has also increased. He is definitely... finding his voice, not crying just doing his best impression of a caveman. Before I would get nervous if I heard him making noise, now I get nervous when he's not making noise. A sure sign that he is up to no good.

That's the other part of his renaissance, he dabbles in the arts of mischief. I call it mischief because he knows that he's not supposed to do something but he tests the boundaries anyway. Like turning on our bathtub faucet - he'll go over to it, look my way, and then turn it on and quickly turn it off and scurry away. I'll warn him with a timeout, and you can see him pondering the repercussions and still do it anyway. And he

takes the punishment like Steve McQueen in the Great Escape - he sits in his room and does his time with smile about how he tested "The Man".

There are a dozen other things to go on about, but I will stop here so I have more topics readily available to write about in the near future. Thanks for coming back to check this out, you're making sure that the terrorists don't win.

Sick of Being Sick

2009-04-01T15:45:00.000-07:00

This is more of a pamphlet entry instead of a full-fledged slice of life, but I am so ready for March to be over. Sickness has ping-ponged between Benjamin and I all month, I think we've made it through though.

This past month has been riddled with co-pays and empty medicine bottles. Good riddance March, we'll reluctantly see you next year.

I think this picture says a thousand words of sick baby misery.

Down with the Sickness

2009-03-20T10:04:00.000-07:00

I remember being sick as a kid as a somewhat enjoyable experience. People give you lots of attention, you get to lay around, watch TV and hot soup is yours for the asking. Now, being sick as an adult with responsibilities is terrible. Because you can't not (nice double negative) take care of some things - key work assignments, life obligations and helping care for your child. It is exhausting.

Up until this year, I have only get one unseasonal summer cold each year. I typically take lots of vitamins, lay low for two days and it is gone. I have been sickly since Valentine's Day, and I blame Benjamin. He has been sickly too, so I think we keep rubbing our sickness on each other through random wrestling and smooching. Oh, and we share the same pacifier.

Dealing with a sick baby is not ideal, but doable. Dealing with a well-baby while you're sick, not fun. Both of you sick? Terrible. Combine my ear infection, which totally messes with my hearing, and Benjamin's loud wail of discomfort and you have the real March Madness. I crave some kind of hibernation technology where I can go to sleep and wake up refreshed, Benjamin is better and my biceps are stronger. I can show you some preliminary drawings I have on cocktail napkins.

One thing that is interesting about having a sick baby, is that they are still really cute. They are super-cuddly and want to be held, and they have a cute-glum look on their face that says, "I-dun-feel-soo-gud..." Benjamin sneezed the other day and he blew a little snot bubble out of his nostril. If I saw you do it, it would be so disgusting. But to see him do it, it was cute as kittens. There is nothing cute, however, about sick baby diapers. Nothing.

The one-upside to this is that Benjamin loves taking medicine, to the point where he whimpers when the eyedropper of fake-cherry serum is empty. So when he gets older we plan on giving him a bottle of 'Tussin for his birthday.

Happy Birthday Benjamin!

2009-02-22T09:48:00.000-08:00

February 13th marked the one year mark for young master Benjamin. Being 1-years old, we was oblivious of the the significance of the date and gave no speeches that regaled his first year of life. So I wrote one for him taking some educated guesses at what he wanted to say.

"Greetings friends, and salutations to my family. Let me first thank you all for taking time out of your busy lives to celebrate me completing one of your Earth years. Why, it seems like only yesterday that I emanated from my mother's womb covered in humanity, and stared upon my gracious and extremely good looking parents. These two people, who for simplicity I will call "Mom" and "Dad", have sacrificed greatly to get me where I am today.

I look back at pictures of myself when I was first born and I hardly remember that kid, I was so young and naive. But now I'm pretty self-sufficient - except for feeding, drinking, diapering, bathing, dressing and walking. Baby steps, people, baby steps.

I would also like to thank all of my extended family and babysitters for giving me the highest level of care possible, outside of that Super Nanny woman or Mary Poppins. I cherish all of those moments that you sneak me soda pop and candy while my parents are away doing whatever it is they do. I would also like to thank Pampers - you are truly the superior diaper that lovingly cradles my bo-hiney.

I leave you with this, who's the cutest baby in the world and has two thumbs? This guy! I now realize this joke would have made more sense in person so you could see me pointing to myself with my two thumbs. I'll work on the delivery before I turn 2. Thank you for coming, drive safe and goodnight."

My personal sidenote is that I felt like Kindergarten Cop during the party to make sure kids weren't killing themselves or pulling up our hardwoods - "Dher horribull..."

Snip, Snip, Sniff

2009-02-12T07:41:00.000-08:00

There is a first for everything and it was time for Benjamin's 1st Haircut. Emily and I had grown tired of reading in between the lines of people's comments like, "Oh, look at THAT hair..." or "Poor little guy, he's got hair in his eyes" or "He looks like a baby Blagojevich!" We actually thought his longer hair was cute and endearing, plus we had a business model put into place for creating Baby Toupees.

He is approaching his first birthday so we felt the time was now to embark on this rite of passage. After a little investigation we found three business chains that specialize in cutting kid's hair. By the way, that seems so American that we need baby salons AND that there is enough demand and profit to support three different chains. U-S-A!

The correct name of the place we picked escapes me, but it was something to the effect of "cOOl Kutz 4 Kydz" - the more mispelled the kooler, right? This place looked more like a daycare than a barbershop - video game consoles buzzing, Playskool toys strewn about and the distinct smell of bubble gum and fear filled the air. Obviously the theory goes that if your kid is distracted enough with bells and whistles, they won't shriek like a banshee during the haircut. I doubt a licensed sociologist came up with this theory, but it works.

A couple of weeks before the haircut, I posited the question to Emily, "what is it about a haircut that freaks kids out?" If it was the fear of the scissors, I recommended holding a pair of scissors in our hands while we fed Benjamin in his highchair, you know, to get him more comfortable around them. This was vetoed for reasons unknown. My other cause of our kid's fear, I think, is us. In our efforts to make it special or memorable, it looks less like a haircut and more of a coronation of the Chosen One.

Despite our own hype, Benjamin did really well during the whole process. He sat in a customized fire truck chair and was thoroughly intrigued by a comb, I think he was also wondering why there is a "b" in the word. The only part of the experience that stirred his pot was getting spritzed with water to wet his hair. After that he got back into his exploration of his comb, nearly oblivously of me taking over 120 pictures with my new camera. I think I'm turning Japanese.

After the cut was done and his hair dried, I looked at him and saw a version of myself from 1978 staring right back at me. The "Bowl Cut" was all the rage when I was kid and when you have super straight hair like myself (and Benjamin) there aren't too many cut options. Looking at him, it was evident that after a few snips he had gone from baby to little boy. Our onesie wearing baby with crazy hair had passed the baton on to this penny-loafer wearing toddler.

This moment of recognition of childhood's fleet-footedness almost got a tear out of me, luckily the $28 bill for the "1st Haircut Package" slapped me back to reality. Seriously? I could have performed the 6 scissor snips myself. It's not like they were stylish snips, it looked like she was cutting constuction paper with safety skizzors. I'm trying to talk Benjamin into starting a baby mullet trend or to become a really artsty baby whose in touch with his inner-inner child.

That or I'll just fire up the Xbox, grab a mixing bowl and start up "Dalez HaiR-Do's 4 Childrenz"

The Little Gremlin

2009-01-29T08:32:00.000-08:00

There are two things roaming the floors of our house on all-fours: Schmax and Benjamin. Benjamin has quickly become mobile and very proficient at his quasi-crawl. He doesn't do the typical forward, left-right-left-right crawl; it is more of sideways hopping-a-fence type maneuver.

When he does it once, it looks completely wrong and he appears disabled. But then he gets going and moves like the wind, it borders on watching someone walk and break dance at the same time. His new found mobility has forced the "baby-proofing" of our house. I put it in quotes because no amount of store bought goods can turn your house into a completely safe environment, unless you coated it in Nerf®.

I put off "baby-proofing" for as long as I could for two reasons: 1.) I'm not the handiest of people, I'll eventually get things right on the third or ninth time. 2.) Dealing with safety latches/covers/gates is a nuisance. Yes - I want to keep Benjamin safe, but I also wish you could simply explain to a 1-year old why you shouldn't drink Windex® (although it does look like delicious blue-razberry juice).

His new favorite place is on the kitchen floor, because that's where we are. Emily and I trying to prepare or clean up after a meal now looks like a couple's ice skating routine - constantly moving, cognizant of our footing, and wearing matching unitards. At some point during our figure-8's I'll need to quickly grab a dishtowel from a drawer and CLACK - the safety latch catches. So I skin my finger for not remembering the latch was there - it's like penance.

We did opt to not baby-proof one of the lower drawers so he can explore. He used to sit there quietly and gawk at his treasure trove of goodies. Now he treats it like a challenge to empty it out as quickly as possible. He doesn't even look at what's in his hand, he just chucks it aside like a little Gremlin.

Remember them from the movie? They were always getting into something and in a nano-second they will have some how completely dismantled it. What used to be machinery is reduced to nuts and bolts. This is Benjamin now. He is attracted to phones, remote controls, DVD cases and books. It also amazes me how his random button pushes will unlock functions on our remotes or phones that we didn't even know existed. I kid you not, he had the remote for 12 seconds and he some how turned on Spanish subtitles - no me gusta.

I do have a new favorite thing to do with him now that he can scoot around - The Chase. What is it about a chase that excites us humans? It's scary, yet exhilarating. We don't want to get caught, but we want to get caught.

I'll get down on all fours and stick my head out down the hall. Benjamin sees this and, smiles and scrambles away. If I don't chase, he pokes his head out and scoots down where he saw me last, I then lunge out and send him into a gleeful panic. The plot isn't very deep, but he eats it up. I feel like that is the first signature thing that he and I have created. And since his birthday is Friday the 13th this year, I think I'm going to perform The Chase in a hockey mask. I hope he appreciates the movie reference.

Sleeping with the Fishes

2009-01-18T11:00:00.001-08:00

I've pondered and asked fellow kid-havers this question - what is the perfect age to start taking your kids to see/do stuff? In pre-Benjamin excursions I would see families dragging a newborn to the zoo/amusement park/state fair and wonder why this poor blob of a baby wasn't clapping and dancing a jig. But on the other end of the spectrum, I would see parents trying to make memories with their elementary school kids who were too busy playing their Nintendo DS to even give an apathetic roll of the eyes.

My unscientific study has pegged the sweet spot at 4-8 years old. This window of time is where you and your kids are getting the most out of the family excursion to zoos, caverns, rodeos, Disney World®. There are of course some things like amusement parks that have a wider span, but the 4-8 period is where it is fun for everyone and the kids are big enough to participate - in my completely unsubstantiated opinion.

We have gone and seen some things in the past year with Benjamin, but it had always been Emily and Dale taking in the sights - oh, and we have a baby with us. Benjamin is 11 months now and his mind has shifted into "sponge mode" where he is curious about everything. So we spontaneously hopped in the car a few weekends ago and went to the Dallas World Aquarium - side note it was about 80 degrees at the beginning of January. Take THAT East Coast!

It has been about 15 years since I have been to an aquarium, and a majority of my experiences were overseas in Asia. So things that are exotic here in Dallas were like catfish over there. And I've always known aquariums to be 90% fish, 10% not-fish. The aquarium here is about 40% fish, 30% birds, 20% mammals, and 10% gift shops.

So what did Benjamin think about it? Well, his reaction was valuable data in my query above about "how young is too young." He was still too young to really get into it. There were times where sea otters are practically doing a hip-hop dance routine and Benjamin was more fascinated by the ponytails of a girl standing next to us. The aquarium has a free roaming sloth on display, which by the way is one of THE most bizarre species on the planet, I held Benjamin right up to Mr. Sloth and the look on Benjamin's face read, "Eh, what else you got?" He also didn't get any of my Goonies references.

There were a small handful of moments in the main open atrium where birds and monkeys are flying/swinging back and forth that got Benjamin to perk up. One bird actually buzzed us and took roost on a pillar about 2 feet from a very cautious Benjamin. He looked at it, looked at us, looked at it again, and did the swatting motion with his arms for us to make it go away - so I shot it. With my camera.

The best part for me was interacting with Benjamin - pointing stuff out to him and being excited during those moments where he got excited too. I looked at it as nice foreshadowing for those future family outings where he is digging on the surroundings. His babyness did kick in at the end - sleepy, hungry, just done. Which shifts the way you look at exhibits from "Wow, look at the intricate colored striping on this Guatemalan Tree Frog!" to "Yeah, yeah shark, blah, blah stingrays."

I did have a daydream moment (I have these graphic hypotheticals often) when we were looking at this hu-mong-ous alligator. The display was pretty open and we were looking down, so this nightmare scenario began with me turning one direction and turning back only to find that Benjamin had some how made it into the gator cage. My solution was to throw the stroller down into the sand in front of the alligator, grab the nearby fire extinguisher and jump the barrier. You see the stroller would confuse the gator and delay his frontal assault, giving me time to get down there and spray his maw with the flame retardant chemicals, therein blinding him long enough for Benjamin and I to make our escape. The back up plan was to jump around his muzzle and hold the gators mouth shut, rodeo style until someone helped Benjamin out. Hopefully now you will never question my parenting skills. Well, at least not my hypothetical skills.

The Holidays

2009-01-06T10:05:00.001-08:00

Part of me doesn't even want to write this, because I may come off as sounding too negative or down on the holidays. But I stand by my unspoken mission statement that I will straight-shoot people and peers about what having a kid is like. Despite the bill of goods I was given, which read something to the effect of "kids are nothing but lollipops and magical memories for you to experience with no personal cost."

Having a kid will reshape you and open your eyes to your own selfishness. Not selfish as in material things, but the intangibles - "time" and "your way of doing things". I am fortunate enough to get 2 weeks off during the holidays from work, and I have filled that time in year's past with reading, watching, playing and doing taxes (I know, I'm sick). This year had a totally different complexion with Benjamin - there was time to spend good quality and fun moments with him for sure. But there were other times I just wanted to pack him up and put him somewhere so I could go have some different kinds of fun. Basically compartmentalizing my child.

Half way through the break I threw a 48-hour pity party for myself and then came to terms with the evolution my life has undergone. Another positive to come from this temporary trough was that I want us to do more "fun" things. Emily and I are always busy, but it is doing routine stuff to maintain the status quo. I have created this legalistic dogma of doing work until it is done, and then and only then do I allow myself some fun. I lose, Emily loses and Benjamin will definitely lose if I keep that up. His childhood memories will be filled with Dad sweeping the house, grocery shopping and folding clothes. Not exactly Kodak moments.

For me, everything stated above is the best thing I got out of the holidays - it was a stretching process. Benjamin's first Christmas was not the storybook Christmas that Emily and were expecting. He actually got sick on Christmas Eve, which made for a rough day(s). He wasn't himself at all, wanted to be held and didn't really get into any of the gifts or the paper/boxes that they came in. His sickness also forced us to cancel some plans with friends (catalyst for my pity party) and for some reason I couldn't wait to take down the decorations around the house.

We did get together with our families for some fun times and it was neat to see Benjamin playing with his cousins and forming those bonds. I told myself that next year will be different when he is a little bigger a little more mobile and hopefully a lot less sick. But until then I look forward to creating more frequent events for the Alexander family to go do and experience. We have already kicked this new way of life off with a spontaneous trip to the Aquarium last weekend, and then I came home and did some housework. Hey, it takes a while for a leopard-seal to change his spots.

The World's Most Annoying Sound

2009-01-05T13:22:00.000-08:00

(Yeah, yeah, yeah...make with the posts. December was a rough month and my time off didn't really seem like time off. More to come soon, I think I'm going to go for shorter more frequent posts)

Have you seen "Dumb and Dumber"? There's a scene where Jim Carrey's character (Lloyd Christmas) is on a road trip with a stranger and he asks the guy if he wants to hear the world's most annoying sound. He then lets out this grating, tinny sound that drives you crazy. I am pleased to report that Benjamin has become the new champion of annoying sounds.

He is capable of a noise that's hard for me to physically replicate. It's a mix of a cry, a yelp, a frustrated grunt and a malfunctioning clock radio alarm. And he does it...all...the...time. The first couple of times you hear it you rush over to help him do whatever he is doing. Then you realize he's doing it for effect and attention. So then you ignore it - ignore as much as you can a bombing raid or a train locomoting behind your house. I think I've mentioned before that our house echoes too, so that amplifies the noise and sends it directly into our eardrums.

Needless to say, I love him lots but I can't wait for him to talk.

Vegas for Kids

2008-12-02T08:04:00.000-08:00

The LIGHTS, the SOUNDS, the hope and promise of turning your MONEY into thousands…of tickets. What heavenly place is this? Chuck E. Cheese, the Vegas for kids. Our niece celebrated her 3rd birthday at this pizza playland, which marked the first time I’ve been in a CEC since I celebrated my own 5th birthday inside one in Singapore (I remember a lot more Asians at my party).

This was of course Benjamin’s first run-in with Mickey’s very distant cousin Chuck. CEC has a very distinct smell – one part cafeteria pizza, two parts industrial cleaning agent, one part diaper. I’m not a germaphobe, but I wanted to run home and put on my hazmat uniform before I touched anything. All of the kids running around looked like little gremlins – wide eyed, showing off their tiny chiclet teeth and had mucus on their muzzles.

We took Benjamin around to check things out, but he was still too young to really do, play or ride anything. The cacophony around us did excite him enough to do his version of a touchdown dance a couple of times. I also put on a Skeeball exhibition for everyone there, 43000 points. I’m just sayin’.

My Skeeball efforts tallied up (drumroll please) a whopping 167 tickets. What can that get you from the CEC prize wall? A box of Nerds®. It is cliché, 80’s stand-up comedian material to complain about how the amusement ticket thing is a rip-off, but it is almost illegal how terrible it is. A $6.00 action figure costs 6000 tickets. I would have to Skeeball until Benjamin leaves for college to make that amount of tickets.

But just like Vegas is the siren’s call for middle age white guys, CEC revs kids up with the hope of walking out a winner. At least in Vegas the drinks are free and the food is subsidized. The CEC birthday show could also stand an update. I felt bad because they play a prerecorded version of the bash on all of the TV’s in the birthday area while they are doing the live version. And the TV version had kids doing cartwheels and Chuck was like Fred Astaire. But the live version had a 16 year old in a grey rat suit that either couldn’t see out of the suit very well or could care less about truly getting into the role of Chuck.

Again, I recognize that CEC is not for us, it is for the kids and they were eating it up. The party was a success. I gifted my Skeeball winnings to my nephew and Benjamin got his first taste of weirding out at the sight of a dressed up spokes-animal. I’d tell you more about the party, but what happens at Chuck E. Cheese STAYS at Chuck E. Cheese.

Happy Halloweiner!

2008-11-28T12:54:00.000-08:00

There are three phases to celebrating Halloween. The first is when you’re a kid and you are hyped about your costume and acquiring as much candy as possible to ration out over the course of the next year.

The second phase is when you’re either apathetic to the event entirely and leave a bowl out on your porch so kids don’t kick in your gutters, or you’re a party guy who dresses up as niche characters (The Big Lewbowski?) or a party girl who dresses up as a sexy version of anything (Sexy Margaret Thatcher?).

The third phase of Halloween celebration is when you have a little kid yourself who is experiencing phase I. This was Benjamin’s first Halloween and truthfully he was too young to really understand or get any of what was going on. He did (we did) dress (him) up and he was easily the cutest cowboy at the Kryzak’s Halloweiner cookout.

Dressing up babies is funny. They look cute as a button dressed up a chicken, ladybug or a dragon, but they look beat down. Kinda like squeezing your dog into an x-mas sweater. They don’t quite like, but they don’t hate it enough to pitch a fit – so they just sit there propped as you paparazzi them the entire night.

Our plan was to stay at this party and head home when everyone else went trick or treating so we could pass out candy at our house. This of course didn’t happen. So we get back to our neighborhood to find a candy swept ghost town, and there is 10lbs of candy sitting in our pantry AND now our house is where crabby Old Man Alexander lives.

We did attend a Halloween party the following night at a friend’s house and brought Cowboy Benjamin along to help amortize his $60 costume (don’t get me started). I know what you’re thinking – being at a party with a baby is probably both fun and easy. Negative. Imagine the last party you went to. Now, imagine you were cradling a 25lb dumbbell against your chest the entire time. Now imagine this weight is squirming around you trying to touch everything. Now also imagine holding a drink in your other hand, oh, and you are dressed up like a Mexican wrestler.

So Halloween will forever be changed. But I really look forward to the next couple of years taking Benjamin trick or treating, I just hope he doesn’t mind being escorted by a Luchador.

Bantha Poodoo

2008-11-05T12:45:00.000-08:00

If you are a Star Wars fan, you know what this about - poop. I have become unphased by baby poop, yet dog mess is still #1 one on the Yuck List. Seriously, what's in dog food, manure? Moving on.

Some good friend of ours were throwing a Star Wars themed birthday party for their 4 year old son Drew. We have close ties to them and Drew so we of course attended. I even reprised my role as a Jedi in full costume to help add as much legitimacy to this party as a 30 year old dressed like space monk can do.

So Emily had an awesome idea to dress Benjamin up as a Jedi youngling. First, let me acknowledge how great it is being married to someone who not only tolerates my inner dork, but enables it to thrive. She put together a very cute ensemble that invokes what a toddler on Tatooine might look like during a moisture farm harvest. I was glowing.

We show up to the party and our friends pulled out all of the stops putting together a production that would make rival parents cringe. The sights, the sounds, the festivities - the Force was strong at this party. My role was to help lead everyone in Jedi training, each kid received their own lightsaber to learn some moves. The Master then feels a disturbance in the Force, goes to investigate while I continue tutoring these kids in lightsaber skills, out comes Darth Vader, I fight him using the moves we just learned, then all of the kids get the chance to take on the Sith Lord. Super fun.

Here comes the curveball. Benjamin got a small ear infection earlier that week, and his medicine has a small side effect - loose stool. So the party is winding down, he's having a ball sitting and playing on their living room floor (white carpet, foreshadowing). We notice that he's missing a sock, and I spy it behind him, I grab it and there is some discoloration on it - 3 guesses what it was. Yep.

There is (ahem) "discoloration" all up his back and pants and he's just bouncing up and down listening to the Max Rebo Band as Emily and I have panicked looks on our faces and sinking sensations in our stomachs. I quickly grab Benjamin, butt-up, and carry him to their 9 month olds room. Benjamin's not a huge fan of being on his stomach so he freaks out as I'm trying to limit his "discolored" clothes from touching anything.

Now to complete the mental picture for you, I am still dressed in full Jedi garb with a huge draping brown hooded robe and sleeves. I probably looked like a wizard conjuring up some black magic as I hovered over a sacrificial crying baby. I am doing everything possible to keep Benjamin from rolling over, not get poo on the robe, pull off his clothes, unearth the vile source of the situation, clean him, change him and get him to calm down. Needless to say, it was a dicey process.

And in my head I wanted to go out and explain to all of the other parents that our baby wasn't always like this and that he usually doesn't create sasquatch-like messes on people's floors. But by the time I was done, the party was over and everyone had packed up and left. Literally making us the party-poopers.

I now open it up to you to come up with the winning concluding reference that ties up the story by using some form of "the Dark Side".

I am...a ninja.

2008-10-21T20:56:00.000-07:00

Well at least between the hours of 9-11am, 3-5pm, 9-8am. Because like giants and dragons, you don't want to wake a sleeping baby. Not so much for them, but for you. I have seen significant Dad-duty the past couple of weekends to help Emily do some fun stuff and volunteer. These past couple weekends have forced me to move like the wind that stirs no leaf (cue Asian flute).

The biggest hurdle is that we have high ceilings and wood flooring - some people call that a concert hall. Sound carries in our house with ease. So you set a glass down harder than usual on the kitchen counter and it sounds like a blacksmith forging an axe. All of these factors have been the iron that sharpens my iron - I am now able to operate and function with Low Decibel Output (LDO for you science types).

I walk heel to toe. I level out a glass and slide on to the counter. I can navigate our house in the dark. When I pour Schmax's food into his aluminum bowl, you'd swear it was the sound of a butterfly flapping its wings. I fully turn a door knob so as not to stir the inner-tumbler. I have WD40'ed all of the door hinges to eliminate the haunted house factor.

Am I proud of these things? Maybe. Do I like doing them? Absolutely not. It ends up feeling like a monastic existence. I had to turn on closed captioning on our TV because I was tired of Emily and I asking each other, "What did he say?!" Sidenote - once you turn on closed captioning you can't not read the text. It turns a show your liked watching into a subtitled film you're forced to watch in high school English class. The typos are funny though. During a Packers game it kept coming up as "Bret Farth".

All of this has become a necessary evil. I am a doer and weekends are prime-time for doing stuff - albeit not fun stuff. Floors don't sweep themselves, things don't fix themselves, laundry doesn't wash itself. So a Saturday afternoon has become a Mission Impossible type operation for me where I covertly get things done as to not set off any alarms (Benjamin) in the base (house). If I don't try and make things fun, I'd go crazy. Like literally talk to Mrs. Butterworth crazy.

The net result of this equation is that the opportunities for that thing I remember having called, oh what was it..."fun" - are a little compromised. Yes, playing with Benjamin is a certain kind of fun, but I require activity that either works up a sweat or stretches my mind. At least playing with Benjamin sometimes makes my mind sweat.

So the next time we see each other and I just appear out of nowhere, don't worry. I mean you no harm, it's simply the way of the House Ninja (cue Asian gong).

**Picture explanation - despite our protests Benjamin has enrolled in the 1920's Navy. And his first words were "Yeah-see, you better show up at the docks with the money-see. Or it's curtains-see. Curtains-I-tell-ya!"

Where'd My Baby Go?!

2008-10-04T08:24:00.000-07:00

There are tons of expressions that I've heard other parents mention in the past, but I passed them off as pure cliche. One notion has become abundantly true and clear to me these past couple of weeks - babies/kids grow up too fast.

Time is, however, extremely relative. Benjamin is 7.5 months old, but it seems like we have had him longer than that, like years - at least that's what the skin underneath my eyes tells me. Then there are moments where I find myself trying to shove the sand back into the hourglass and keep Benjamin right where he is.

He is on the verge of no longer being what we technically call an "infant" or "baby", closer to "toddler" or "safety hazard". I do look forward to hearing the pitter-patter of feet across the floor, playing chase and having kinds of fun where speaking or remaining upright are critical, but it comes at the cost of losing this snuggle cushion that contours perfectly to my shoulder. The rolls of baby fat will start to recede like the ice caps and sounds like "Gwatp!" will be replaced with "No!" Bittersweet.

I actually have a memory of my mom and I playing cards when I was little and she said something to the affect of, "oh I wish you could just stay this age forever." And I said something like, "Okay, but how about just a little older so I'm better at playing card games with you?" My kid-logic made total sense to me at the time, but thinking about it now it probably made my mom tear up with a mixture of happy/sad thoughts. In one sentence there was the promise of new things to do and experience with a child, but also the reality that you can't go back.

Here's some fun stuff, I am consistently being punched in the chin by a baby. It usually starts off as pats to feel my scruff, then it turns into some excited slaps, followed by a Sonny Liston 1-2-combo. I'll let you know if he ever leans in to take a nibble off my ear. I also learned the hard way that he REALLY hates the sound of a weed whacker, zero to death-scream in a nanosecond. And my simulated sound of an elephant whinny didn't go over so well either. He's either afraid of elephants, or my elephant noise sounds like a weed whacker.

Photo Update

2008-09-29T08:49:00.000-07:00

Time is a treadmill and I'm struggling to not fall off of the edge. The problem with shooting so many spots last month is having to edit them all this month. So at the end of the day I don't even want to see my computer, oh and I dropped my laptop and broke the screen for a week - good times. The IT department is loving me.

I do promise to write something soon, but to satiate you for now here are a couple of recent pictures of Benjamin. He is in the midst of transitioning from baby-to-little boy, way too soon for my liking. Enjoy!

Endless Summer

2008-09-06T06:58:00.000-07:00

In case you couldn't tell from the picture, we've installed a pool in our backyard complete with a 2' 6" lifeguard. The pool was a father's day gift to me and we finally busted it out this past weekend to get Benjamin crankin' on his training to shatter Michael Phelps medal record in the 2024 summer games in Baghdad (the place will look totally different by then, right?).

We of course take 25 minutes to prepare the water so it is the right temperature and slather him in baby sunscreen that was so thick you could have iced a cake. We get him in his trunks, put his hat on, bless the water, call the Coast Guard, etc. I'm sure the kid is thinking, "Uh, can you just dunk me in already!?"

It's always funny to me when you see a baby react to something that is so second nature to adults, like sitting in water, and how they spaz out in a good way. Benjamin had a fun time in the water and we had fun looking at him splish-splash and make wild noises. But you can't turn your back on a baby. You could stare at them for 30 minutes and they'll stay completely upright. Turn away to sneeze and they will have some how fallen over, pulled a towel on top of them, deflated the pool and step in an ant pile.

I embellish, but he did tip over once and was like a turtle flipped on its back. I think it's God's way of making sure you don't get too cocky, "Oh, think you got everything under control Hasselhoff? Watch this - ZAP!"

Seeing a baby in swim wear it hit me that a baby's physique has a lot in common with men's physiques when they're over the hill - little pasty, plenty of rolls and a wrinkly butt. Their taste in clothes are the same too - bizarre color combos, overuse of hats and pants that don't fit right. The difference is that all of these things are cute on a baby. Men, not so much.

The pool was a success. It will probably be the only time it will be used because of the impending changing of the seasons and Benjamin's growth chart. And by next summer Benjamin will be concentrating on streamlining his Breaststroke for the 800M medley. Go for the gold son and eat your Wheaties®!

Hapy Birfday Gammy!

2008-08-25T20:31:00.000-07:00

It is my mother's birthday today, August 26th (by the time you read this). She has never been super into gifts, so I am teaching Benjamin the art of playing to people's Love Languages.

When I think about it the most vocal people about their childhoods are the ones that didn't have a very good one or maybe it's the mental scars that don't let them forget their not so rosy formative years. And it seems that people who had a great childhood don't really think about it until they get stuck in a conversation with someone who didn't - this makes them realize how lucky they were to have a drama-free experience.

I fall into the category of what my mind tells me was a great childhood. Was it Ward & June Cleaver where the grass is green and the toast is perfect? No. But my parents did a good job of figuring out what the right amount of attention should be. Too much, you get a brat. Too little, you get a belltower sniper. Looking back I never really got into trouble, I enjoyed playing with others, I could keep myself company and I actually enjoyed schoolwork. Perfect kid? Perhaps. Humble? Definitely.

Whatever crazy mix of parenting my Mom and Dad cobbled together seemed to turn out well and will undoubtedly be a beacon for me to harken back to with Benjamin in the years to come. To dote on my Mom on her birthday, I will single out one of the many special things I remember her doing for me as a kid - playing games.

I love games - board, video, role-playing. You name it, I'll play it (except Russian Roulette). I don't know how many times my Mom and I squared off against each other with the classic kiddie board games, eventually graduating to the founding fathers of Parker Bros. - Monopoly, CLUE, Battleship, Life. I love the challenge, I loved learning strategy, I loved that she didn't just let me win because I was kid. If she had, I would have lost interest in the games and her as an adversary. "Hey lady, you're like super old and stuff, but I kill you at Connect Four. What gives?!"

To this day I love to put my skills to the test against others in a friendly competition and I attribute a majority of that to my Mom and her willingness to take the time to teach me, play me, beat me, then allow me to beat her fair and square. The art of gaming also allowed for a nice hand off of the baton to my Dad in the world of competitive sports, but that's an entirely different subject and entry.

Happy birthday Mom! Maybe this weekend we can show Benjamin the basics of gaming. You know start him off with something lite like Risk®.

Cereal Killer

2008-08-19T07:56:00.001-07:00

Man, is it me or does it seem like life never takes a break? Weekdays and weekends have smushed together into one long day called Montuesatunday. August has been particularly heinous for me at work - either shooting or preparing to shoot a TV spot everyday of the month (except Labor Day, which I plan to do no labor).

Since my last update Benjamin has started riding a bike and speaking fluently with a British accent - I kid. He has, however, shifted from ye olde Mother's Milk to the exciting world of mono-ingredient cereal. Everyone's advice is to start with Rice Cereal. I tried to help the kid out by slipping him some Cocoa-Krispies®, but was told that it didn't count as rice. As you can tell from the picture, rice cereal really didn't give him that "kiss the cook" feeling.

Emily was the server while I video taped the feast, another tape that would bore you to tears but I would fistfight you if you tried to erase it. It was one of those quintessential parent moments seeing your baby make a big evolutionary step in what they are capable of doing. The first spoonful went into his mouth and created the same reaction we get with Pepto-Bismol® or Milk of Magnesia®. He emoted, "Oh gack! What is this? Why is it so thick? Guys, this milk is spoiled or something, it's all chunky and stuff!"

It made me consider what his eating existence has been - the same thing, +6 times a day, for 5.5 months. I love Hot n Sour soup, but if I had to eat it 6 times in a week I would stage a formal hunger strike.

So this "cereal" we're feeding Benjamin has an entirely different taste profile, texture and smell so it gives him total eating confusion. PLUS, the whole swallowing thing has been pretty much involuntary until now. After he reacts to the weird taste, he finally swallows it but the look on his face reminds me of a movie scene where someone is forced to swallow a key.

Rice served its purpose for a week and then we moved on to the greatness of oatmeal. I love oatmeal. I love oatmeal cookies. I love oatmeal soap - my fondness for oatmeal has passed on to my progeny. Benjamin loves the stuff. Give him one spoonful and he gives you the "what the ?!" reaction, but then the taste kicks in and his eyes light up. Next thing you know his mouth opens up wide like a Bonobo monkey, yearning for another sweet taste of the staple grain.

My plan now is to stir in some whey protein and bulk Benjamin up to 50lbs of pure lean muscle before his 1st birthday. That way he can stay on track to make the Chinese Men's Olympic gymnastic team by the 2016 games.

Quick Hit - Don't Wake the Baby

2008-07-29T22:38:00.000-07:00

This was just a funny life moment to me - I'm standing at our kitchen bar working (my new past-time, ugh) and Emily says that she is making a treat for us. She cuts up some fruit and all of the other fixins for a smoothie, pours it all into the blender and walks to our office at the other end of the house and runs it with the doors closed.

If an alien ship was observing us it would be inexplicably bizarre behavior, "Why does the Woman transport their foodstuffs into the Data Transmission Room for smoothization? Does not compute...DESTROY!"

But I totally understood her motives and completely appreciated her effort to not wake the baby with some late-night smoothin'. That's all. Life is funny and smoothies are delicious.

The Family Vacation - Part 2

2008-07-28T21:34:00.002-07:00

As promised, the conclusion to the cliffhanger that was our vacation up to Wisconsin for the 4th of July holiday. When last we left off I had regaled you on how fantastic Benjamin did in the actual traveling part of our trip, and mentioned that he got sick.

Before I get to the sickness, let me tell you about the one vacation day we did have with Benjamin. It started out with Emily and I getting to join the breakfast caravan to a legendary Scandinavian restaurant called Al Johnson's, WITHOUT the baby. This was a simple pleasure that we both enjoyed, and probably was the reason we slowly sipped our coffee and chewed our food 32 times to stretch out the occasion.

Al Johnson's is renowned for its Swedish pancakes, everyone gets them, except for me. I just don't like them, but I give them one bite each year to win me back over. I prefer some nice old world oatmeal with fresh berries - yes, I get sufficiently made fun of. Even when I place my order the waitress looks at me like, "We serve oatmeal?!" And it usually takes forever to get my food because the guys in the back are trying to quickly read the instructions on the back of the oatmeal box. Oh well, my cardiologist appreciates my choice.

We get back from breakfast and it's time to hit the Door County Fourth of July parade. I really do love this piece of small town Americana, where a parade is made up of war vets, local businesses and patriotic people who love their families and country. The kids go crazy for the candy, I just enjoyed the moment seeing my son sitting on my wife's lap waving a little American flag. I never thought those words would ever come out of my mouth. Now THIS was a nice family vacation moment I could check off my list.

The next opportunity to make some more memories was at a local man-made beach on Lake Michigan. But with the amount of gear we had in tow you'd think the beach we were going to was Omaha. It would almost be easier to bring sand and dump it at the lakehouse and turn the sprinkler on. We get to the beach and the fun begins - all of those picture book memory moments were about to happen. But the reality quickly sunk in that Benjamin is just too young to really partake. Emily dipped his feet in the water (freezing lake water) and he was nonplussed, but he was captivated by seeing the little waves trickle over the sand and stones. Each wave brought with it a new bit of magic to him, that was neat to see him transfixed on something so natural and simple that adults routinely dismiss it.

I'm told I hated the sand when I was a baby. I have passed this loathing on to my son. Totally hated it. We quickly ran out of things to do with a baby at the beach. We smeared $7.00 worth of baby sunscreen on him and it was so thick it felt like trying to swallow peanut butter with a dry mouth. Then we just took turns holding up a tented beach towel over him to make sure he wouldn't get burnt. Then he had to eat, followed by sleep, so our beach blanket bingo was short and sweet.

That night we had a nice meal with all of the family at a place that fries anything, I think my menu was even battered. He who eats oatmeal also chooses to shun deep-fried foods, so I ordered the "Broasted Chicken". Take a moment and think what the preparation method of "broasting" could mean. If you're like me it means a combination of "broiled" and "roasted" - sounds delicious, right? Negative. "Broasting" means you deep fry the chicken in a pot with the lid on it, because you don't want any of that fat and oil to bubble out of the pan now do we? Barf. It was a great event, but I wanted to smack the cook up side his head with this broasted carcass sitting on my plate.

(The next order of events may not be 100% accurate, but it's the way I remembered it)

Even though it is summer time, Wisconsin nights drop down to the low 60's. Perfect for us, problematic for babies. Towards the end of this night we noticed that Benjamin was feeling really warm and wasn't his usual jovial self. We took his temperature and he was a little warmer than usual, nothing to go crazy over. This was, however, the first fever Benjamin had ever had. We made him as comfortable as possible and went to sleep.

I can't remember what time it was (3:30am?) when we wake up to the sound of choking/coughing/death knell of a forest creature, to instantly discover that it is coming from Benjamin. We pull him out of the crib and his hands and feet are freezing, but he was burning up. We took his temperature again and it kept rising like an oven preheating - 100...101...101.5...oh no. Panic sheared through our sleepiness, not really knowing what to do with a feverish baby and the closest real hospital is 45 minutes away. The hilarious thing to me now is that we were trying so hard not to disturb anyone else in the house, to the point where I'm using my iPod's illuminated screen to shine on us instead of the lamp - dumb.

Our sister in-law and mother of 3 was thankfully in the next room and gave us some great advice and calmed our fears as much as possible. We gave him baby medicine and after 24 hours the fever had broken, but there were a few moments where Emily and I shared some serious non-verbal communication to each other that said, "Is our baby going to live through the night?" New parent hysterics, sleep-deprivation - call it whatever you want. I had a genuine sense of fear for the life of my little baby, even to the point where I started to imagine about all of the things he wouldn't have a chance to experience. I don't even want to think about it again.

The legacy left from his sickness is something called...The Croup. Not to be confused with the C.H.U.D. The Croup is a respiratory affliction that blah, blah, blah WebMD stuff goes here. It is a cough that makes babies sound like a sea otter. My non-professional diagnosis is phlegm in the deep throat, but a baby has no idea how to get it out like we would. The trouble with the Croup is that when your baby does cough up some gunk, they could choke on it. Maybe Hendrix had the Croup too.

So began "Baby Watch 2008." Emily and I elected to spend the rest of our vacation (for the most part) staying close by Benjamin's side in order to suction out the crud when he coughed it up - not something you'd find on a Carnival Cruise brochure.

My wave of emotions went like this - relief that his fever broke, concerned about the Croup, frustrated that the prototypical vacation was compromised by the Croup, came to terms with the situation, then really enjoyed the time with Benjamin. It occurred to me that maybe him getting sick was actually the best thing to happen to our trip this year. Emily and I had already done everything there is to do in Door County in years past, but how often do we both have a week away from work to just interact with our baby?

The rest is sorta history. We cut our trip a little short to get him checked out by someone a little more professional than the small town Dr. Quinn, but even that was a fun little experience. So all in all, it was a nice family trip. Still not a "vacation", but we have plenty of time to scratch those off our lists in the years to come.

Can I Press Pause? - by Mom

2008-07-22T10:26:00.000-07:00

*Mom is back by popular demand, because I've been (you guessed it) shooting and traveling, so thanks "Mom" for your contribution!*

Do you know what a contagion is? It describes what a drill team does when the first girl throws her hands in the air and just slightly after, each girl behind her does the same, until the motion is completed by everyone. It’s similar to what happens when you push down the first domino in a carefully set up pattern of dominos.

This is a perfect metaphor for Benjamin’s development. He’s not only doing new things, but each new thing leads to a subsequent new thing that seems to happen in quick succession. At the beginning of the month, Benjamin’s first tooth broke through. Less than two weeks later, a second tooth appeared. A couple days after that, I was giving Benjamin “tummy time” and he rolled over onto his back. In the time it took for me to call Dale and my mom, he had rolled back over from his back to his tummy, completely unassisted. The grin on his face after doing this seemed to say, “Did you just see that??? I’m awesome!!!”

Wow, I feel like everything is going so quickly, and our little boy is growing up fast. And if these things weren’t enough, Friday night, Benjamin emphatically uttered the phrase, “Oh yeah.” He seriously did, I’m not making this up. Dale heard it, too. I know you think we’re just eager parents trying to pass random sounds off as words, but the phrase was so clear. We both just looked at each other in amazement and laughed. I’m not sure why he said this… perhaps he loves Kool-Aid… or perhaps he loves Ferris Bueller’s Day Off… we’ll never know. Regardless, he’s a genius!

These things are met with excitement and a sense of pride. However, strangely enough, an unexpected emotion comes with it. There is a bittersweet feeling that occurs as I watch my little baby grow up. I love all the new things he’s doing and I’m excited for what’s to come, but I also love his sweet “baby-ness" and am not ready to move beyond that just yet. Is it okay for me to forbid him to grow up any more… at least for a few months so I can give each stage a bit more time? I wish I could just press ‘pause’ and enjoy this sweet moment a little longer…

…though I could do without the “nursing with teeth” thing.

The Family Vacation - Part 1

2008-07-14T09:59:00.000-07:00

We made it back. The Alexanders packed up our goods and went up to the Wisconsin side of Lake Michigan (Door County) via Chicago for a 4th of July extravaganza. This was the 5th time we had gone up there with Emily's extended family for a week of amazing weather, Americana celebration and family fun.

So naturally I expected all the fun of year's past PLUS the additional fun of having our own child there to join in the memory making. At least that's how the brochure read inside my head. But there was an X factor that I hadn't banked on or even considered as I planned our Normandy-like travel plan - Benjamin getting sick (a whole nuther entry).

This quickly shifted the event from "Family Vacation" to family trip. The distinction I make is that a "vacation" is where your fun quotient meets or exceeds 75% of your time. You are able to relax, live more care-free and your only real concerns are tan lines. A "trip" is not void of fun, but it is no longer your main or only goal. Your time is occupied with near constant resource management (time, fuel, foodstuffs, etc.) and your head is on a swivel so everyone in your party survives. It's the difference between going to Mexico versus discovering Mexico.

In my previous post I cited that when I travel by myself I am like a machine, tuned with German precision. So I had to deal with self-inflicted worry trying to manage myself along with wife and child. And my temper did flare up once, no one's fault but my own (sorry). And looking back, the airline flight was THE smoothest part of the entire process.

Sidenote - flying is on the verge of getting really pricey. We traveled on my miles and I have status so all of the nickel and dime charges don't apply to us, but it would have been an additional $100 each way just to get our bags there. I'm surprised they don't charge you for the little paper bag tags. Hear that? That's the sound of a guy at American Airlines emailing his manager with a new "profit center" idea.

Benjamin was PERFECT on the flights. He proved my patent pending adage - everyone loves a baby who isn't crying. It was interesting for me to look at people's reactions on the plane as we walked down the aisle carrying a baby. They see the baby and then casually look away, but their body language reads "please don't sit by me, please don't sit by me, please don't sit by me..."

It's like those scenes in WWII movies, where a German officer is walking through a train car and people don't want to make eye contact, but they also don't want to look away like they have something to hide.

But when it looks like they are in the clear they get all cutesy with your baby, because they know some other sucker will have to deal with in-flight crying/pooping/spitting up.

One final thing for this installment that stuck out to me: Typical flight by myself - flight attendants speak less than 12 words to me - "Hi..." "Ice?" "Bub-bye..." Fly with a baby - they will practically let you fly the plane.

This guy (TJ) was our first flight attendant. He was a very nice friendly guy, but he mistook the in-flight PA system for an AM radio talk show mic. He started with some DFW airport trivia (it's grounds are bigger than Long Island) followed by how he had overcome various illnesses (ahem...) and ultimately how he had to move home (bing-bong, turn up air, fan self with magazine). We thought it would make his day to take a picture with him, so this one's for you Teej!

More to come soon, toodles.

My Real Life Barbie Doll - by Mom

2008-07-07T18:03:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, I loved playing with Barbies. I had several of them. I also had the Dream House, Dream Pool, Silver Vette, furniture, tons of accessories, clothes, shoes, etc. But the funny thing was, I didn’t really PLAY with my Barbies. What I mean by that is I didn’t make them move or walk or talk, I just dressed them in different outfits, posed them, and when I finally got my LeClic disk camera, took pictures of them. But beyond that, there wasn’t much actual “play.”

Until four months ago, the fun memories of dressing up Barbie were long gone. But now, I have been blessed with my very own, real live Barbie Doll. I don’t know what it is about him, but I love to dress Benjamin up and put him in funny scenarios.

You may have noticed my affinity for this activity from earlier Blog pictures, such as ‘Benjamin with a mustache’ and ‘Benjamin reading to a bunch of rubber duckies.’ On my camera, I have many more of these types of photos… so many, they would bore you.

It’s just funny to me to imagine my baby doing non-baby things, like reading a newspaper or lifting weights, or in this case, a rapper rapping about why his momma is a pla-yah hay-tuh. (If you don’t get this, ask your kids or neices and nephews.) When an idea for a funny scenario pops into my head, I grab the camera and any necessary props and start taking pictures. I am 100% sure those are the pictures he will come to hate, roll his eyes at, and try to destroy before we show them to his future fiancé, friends, and family at his rehearsal dinner.

The greatest thing about it is that he’s so cooperative. He loves the attention, and he likes to stare at the camera when I shoot. Other than the costume changes, which he could probably do without, he goes along with just about anything Mommy wants him to do for the picture. (We’ll see how long this lasts.) The latest scenario: naked baby wearing bunny slippers. Way better than Barbie!

Get a Grip

2008-06-29T21:02:00.000-07:00

Hello friend, it's been awhile. As I stated in my last entry, the past two weeks for me have been killer. There were highs (shooting with Peyton Manning) and lows (waking up at 5AM and getting home at 9PM). Despite my back-breaking schedule, I was able to get some decent time in with Benjamin. A medley of other noteworthy events have happened in the past two weeks - Emily's birthday, Father's Day and our wedding anniversary. Mental note - buy Hallmark® stock before next June.

So as I get a grip on life, Benjamin is getting a grip on anything within his reach. It's definitely a hoot to watch him, because he is about as accurate as the crane game at your local pizza place. But when he does clinch on to you your options are: a.) wait until he loses interest b.) tickle him to loosen his grip c.) gnaw your finger off. I've mentioned it before, a baby's grip is surprisingly strong. I could still totally beat a baby arm wrestling, but they have a shocking amount of torque in their digits.

It's funny to see him react when he is grasping at something in particular. When he successfully grabs it, the look on his face starts off as "holy cow, I did it!" And then it turns into a perplexed look that says, "umm...who put this in my hand?" We also think that he has some latent simian genes in him. His foot dexterity is very impressive. If he's really riled up Benjamin will clap with his hands (sorta) and with his feet (definitely) at the same time. His absolute favorite thing to do now is put both of this feet up in the air and grab on to them (the Baby Pose if you take yoga).

His foot tendencies are so monkey-like we actually put a banana in between his feet to see if he could hold it - of course. And the cherry on top of the experience is looking over at Schmax (he wears a cone due to allergies) staring at us and then slowly lowering his head back to the floor, as if to disapprovingly say, "you people are sooo weird, and I'M the one wearing a lampshade."

So the next big thing for the Alexanders is...air travel. We are going on a little(big) family vacation up to the lakes of Wisconsin. I will no doubt have something good to report in the near future. Just thinking about it stresses me out. When I travel by myself I am like an well-oiled piece of German engineering, looking out for #1. Even traveling with Emily makes my kettle whistle a bit. I just don't want to be that person/couple/family that holds up the line and is the target of every person's headshake and eyeroll in the terminal. And this is coming from a former eyeroller.

Best case is that we travel with little to no incident. Worst case is Benjamin cries the entire flight, barfs on a business man behind us, I'm forced to land the plane using my video game skillz, and they some how lose our suitcase and carseat. My sippy cup is definitely half-empty headed into this adventure. All travel aside I am looking forward to the vacation part. Benjamin is still a little too young to do some truly cute things - playing in the sand, splashing in the water, cherry picking, etc.

Aha! It just hit me, I can put his power-wench grip to use in the cherry orchards. I'll just hold him up to a branch and he pick with all four of his monkey-hands. Cherry toejam for all!

Don't Hate Tha Playah

2008-06-11T19:24:00.000-07:00

Hate the game...the game of life that is. I seriously haven't had a chance to think, let alone write this past week. And it only gets worse. I'm producing 7 TV spot over the next 10 days and it has drained my creative juices. Contrary to my parent's belief, I don't sit in my office and play with toys all day.

I have lined up another cameo from Emily in the near future and this picture was taken mere moments ago.

Talk at you soon

The First 100 Days

2008-05-31T07:30:00.000-07:00

The first 100 days of a new presidency has always been lauded for some reason as a good measure of whether or not they're going to make it as an effective leader. So with the political hype-machine in full effect, I'm going to pour a cup of coffee and document the little mental bits that come to mind as I reflect on my first 100 days with a baby.

- Baby's are surprisingly strong. I mean I can still take them down if I need to, but their grip can be like a power-winch. Especially if your hair is involved.

- Baby poop never truly comes out of clothes. Even if you get it out of the fabric, the mental stains are still there.

- As much as I wanted to believe that the generic store brand (le$$) diapers are just as good as a premium brand, like Pampers®, they aren't. Not even close. The best comparison is the nice toilet paper you use at home to the transparent rice paper they have in airport bathrooms.

- In a short amount of time diaper changing goes from a delicate procedure (removing a kidney) to an exercise in efficiency (pitting out a NASCAR).

- I still stand by my theory that socks you lose in the dryer are compiled by gnomes and restitched into onesies that appear the next time you go to the closest for an outfit. Those things are like kudzu.

- Living room furniture no longer serves as comfortable seating for entertaining, it becomes various staging areas for changing, feeding, playing with your baby. And it all has a faint smell of baby powder now.

- Let's say your big, strong baby happens to some how push himself 18 inches in about 2.1 seconds and slides off your low-riser couch - your heart will skip a beat.

- The amount of home-cooked family breakfasts has increased by 400%. Which is odd, because the new addition can't even eat food yet.

- If you own a beagle, it will howl like a coyote at the moon when your baby cries. It is either part of the pack-mentality or a way for the dog to get you to come in here and shut this thing up.

- The amount of time I have to workout has decreased, yet I've gone down a pant size. I attribute it combined work and baby stress, or I am slowly rotting from the inside out from my caffeine intake.

- If you are about to have a baby and have access to your medical insurance and your spouse's insurance, enroll in both so you are double covered. The monthly premiums will suck, but your total cash layout for the birth almost becomes non-existent. Total medical bills = close to $7500. Our $ spent = less than $500.

- If you are the one that consoles and puts the baby down to sleep, you are hypersensitive to the noises your spouse makes - "Uh, why are you using the microwave?! Did you just flush the toilet!?"

- When your baby is 18lbs at 3 months, the baby carrier feels like an oxen's yoke.

- Parenting magazine is HEAVILY skewed to moms, which is understandable but it took two to tango and it takes two (most of the time) to raise a baby. Oh, and they repeat their tips and article subjects often. I suggest a subscription to Dale Monthly.

- If you're in a crappy mood, the best medicine is a baby smiling at you just because they saw your face. And then if you can make them laugh, you won't even remember what your problem was in the first place.

- I don't baby-talk, but I do speak sing-song-y. Diaper changes or putting on clothes goes so much better if you free-style rap about it or turn it into a rock power-ballad. Plus, it's a baby. He doesn't know how terrible my voice is...yet.

- Benjamin is a large baby. He is often mistaken for a baby many months older, because of his size. When you tell someone his true age their reaction is a cross between, "Clearly you don't know the real age of your baby." and "Are you feeding him calf-starter?"

- Baby and vacation pictures are similar in that you have the nicely posed ones where everyone is smiling and standing in front of some landmark/location. But the pictures you really treasure are the ones that are imperfect, capturing real life in the brief moment in time. Life's not perfect, so your pictures shouldn't be either.

- Time means nothing and everything. It feels like we've had Benjamin for a year already, and I want him to hurry and grow up so we can do some fun stuff. But in the same instant I want to freeze him amber to keep him as this cute giggling baby who doesn't hate me yet.

- The experience of being a parent pulls the curtain back to give you a glimpse of what your parents went through with you. And as I make sacrifices of my time and money for Benjamin, it gives me a new appreciation for the sacrifices they made for me. But I guess that's what parenting is in a nutshell, giving a piece of yourself to someone else so that they can grow and thrive. It's a shame that it can take 30 years for this life lesson to dawn on you.

There you have it. Coffee cup is empty and as if he were cued, Benjamin is crying after his nap. Meaning...(Drums and guitar kick in) "It's TIME TO CHANGE A DIAPER-BAYBEE! YEEAAHHH!!"

Rutbusters

2008-05-18T14:32:00.000-07:00

I distinctly remember times when Emily and I were at an eatery or catching a movie (pre-Benjamin) and we would see a couple out with their baby at 11:00PM - Emily and I would give them looks and mutter to ourselves, "Egads, what parents would have their kids out at this time of night?" I would like to apologize to every couple I prejudged, because I have now joined your ranks.

It struck me last Friday night that Fridays used to be special. "C'mon! I'm Friday night, not some run of the mill Tuesday or Wednesday. I have a restaurant named after me for cryin' out loud!"

But sadly our nights were starting to blend together, becoming a bit formulaic. So I made the executive decision after dinner that we're going out somewhere for dessert. Emily's reaction was part glee and part dish-dropping shock - I hate dessert and this was very out of character for me. But we needed what I am dubbing a "Rutbuster."

We eat late, so after dinner meant we rolled up to Cheesecake Factory around 10:30PM. And we had a great time. Some laughs, a little cheesecake and a few couples give us the look I knew all too well. But Emily and I had a Teflon® attitude about the whole thing. We needed some time out doing something out of the norm, even if it was as mundane as Apple Strusel Cheesecake. If they had a problem, well that's their problem.

Driving back home I did try and pinpoint why seeing a couple out sorta late with their baby seemed so wrong. I guess it seemed selfish, as though the couple was imposing their need to have a glass of Reuniti on ice on their hapless baby. I now know how baby's schedule's work - allowing small pockets of time for you to do whatever while they sleep. I also know that baby carriers are like a morphine drip for babies - give them one minute and they're out.

So my final ruling is that some times it's worth putting up with a mildly fussy baby the next day if it means you and the Mrs. get a little respite. I am an advocate for Rutbusting, but not for taking your baby to The Club to get your drink on or to a casino. If you do that, I will slowly shake my head and deep sigh at you.

Ode to a New Mom

2008-05-10T21:09:00.000-07:00

(Technically I don't think this qualifies as an ode, work with me)

You are more than a vessel, the bearer of child.
You are a beautiful woman filled with feminine wile.
But there's no denying that you have a new role in life,
To Benjamin you are "mommy" and to me your are "wife"

To proclaim you a Natural would be a disservice,
Because you have discovered your life's one hidden purpose.
And it has opened my eyes to a truer meaning of love,
A passion so pure, so strong it mirrors God up above.

Whether it is changing a diaper or pumping it out,
You broadcast joy from your face when others would shout.
Although he can't speak, I can see it in his eyes,
Benjamin's falling in love with his Mommy even when he cries.

And when he's a little older, I have something to tell him too,
It's what I learned over a decade ago - that I'm so in love with you.

Happy Mother's Day Emily

Secret Admirer XOXO

World's Most Boring Bachelor

2008-05-07T20:54:00.000-07:00

First, let me apologize to the three people still reading this about taking forever to write an entry - perfect combination of work, travel and life junk. Now...let's PARTY!!!

Emily has been and will be at a work retreat in east Texas all week. Before you call Child Protective Services and give them my address I should let you know that Benjamin is with her. So not only is Emily being a mommy and a food-source, she is also running a retreat for 50 people. I've already filled out the paperwork for sainthood.

So that leaves lil' ol me at home left to my own devices - this is where the boring comes in. I mentioned my newfound bachelordom to some people at work and they were excited for me, "Aw man, you're gonna go out like EVERY night!" or "Dude you should host like a POKER party or something (high-five)!"

Let's see how I've used my time: cleaned the house, took Schmax on long walks, worked out the proper amount of time I would like to, read some magazines, feared Obama's nomination and played a very humble amount of video games. And the kicker is that I have LOVED every minute of it. Which brings me to the Benjamin related point of reflection, I haven't missed him in the way I hear other people talking about missing their kids or the way they depict it in movies/TV. This makes me ponder again, am I a robot with no heart?

The first thing I did when they left was banish every baby related item back from whence it came in the nursery - I was reminded of what our furniture actually looked like. Then I turned on my euro-techno music to levels that would typically disturb a baby. Followed by Schmax and I roughhousin' all over the place. Which led to using the blender to make a smoothie at 11PM. And all of these small things really made me happy, which is sad.

Do I secretly wish I was single? No. Do I miss the things I did before a baby? There's no deny it, I clearly have not completely severed my ties to the Old World. So now the question is will I harbor ill feelings when Emily and Benjamin come back and I can't be all Burger King and have it my way? No, I'll probably suck it up and keep a stiff upper lip and try to continue being the helpful partner that I've been. But I can tell you this, I'm definitely checking the calendar to see when Emily leaves on her next retreat.

(Good news, I just looked at the clothes basket picture again and I felt a flutter of emotion. Therefore, I am not a robot. 101101001001001!!!!)

Code Brown

2008-04-27T22:19:00.000-07:00

This posting is going to make you think that Emily and I are big into scatological humor, we're not. We are simply playing with the cards that we've been dealt - and we've got a handful of 2's IF you know what I mean.

Sunday, the day of the rest, the Sabbath - hardly. We had great intentions of joining our Hometeam after church to go see a movie, the first movie viewing for either of us since Benjamin. Everything was on track until a routine diaper change turned catastrophic. We undid his onesie and it looked like a chili dog exploded - stuff was absolutely everywhere. I still can't even understand the physics behind it - how did poop go up his back all the way to his shoulders? Seriously!

Emily and I tried to figure out how to get him out of the clothes without spreading his filth all over his face. I made the executive decision to get the scissors and cut his onesie off of him - I felt like I was in an episode of ER. There was something funny and sweet about the whole moment- here is a baby covered in what looks like Smucker's Natural Peanut Butter, but he is just laying there with a smile on his face cooing at us. Cute, but I ain't touching him. Emily took the bullet and hopped in the tub with him, because it would have taken 200 wipes to handle this mess.

Needless to say we didn't make the movie, but we did have a good laugh at dealing with a diaper blow out that was SO bad that we had to cut our baby out of his stained onesie. Wait a minute, it just occurred to me - this may have been Benjamin's first attempt at mommy/daddy-time sabotage. If it was, he plays a dirty game. An extremely dirty game.

I am Hilarious

2008-04-20T13:13:00.000-07:00

I have a new favorite audience, and "yes" he is a drooling baby who can barely see in three dimensions. Nonetheless, he smiles or giggles at everything I do - even the stuff I copied from Carrot-Top. Benjamin's new awareness is beginning to restore my faith in the brochure-like talking points that our friends with kids were trying to sell us on. "Oh, it's the best thing you'll ever do in life!" "Oh, it'll just melt your heart the first time they smile at you." "Oh, being a parent is so rewarding."

Notice all of the "Oh's"? Some intelligence handbooks would tell you that when someone starts a sentence off with words like "Oh...Well...You know..." - they are lying.

All deception aside, I do have to say that getting a full ear-to-ear grin from Benjamin can convert my mood from "crappy" to "yeehaw" in an instant. And like Lay's potato chips, you can't have just one. I'll sit there from 3-20 minutes just making stuff up to keep his smile streak going. Benjamin enjoys such hits as: sticking tongue out, zerberts on the belly, freestyle nursery rhyme raps, synonyms, antonyms and repeating the word "boogie".

His reactions are priceless too. If I try something new on him, his first reaction is a wide-eyed look with a furrowed brow. It's the kind of look that makes me think he's saying, "What kind of witchcraft is this?! How are you sticking your tongue out so quickly!?!" After this mild look of panic, he becomes ecstatic and all of his limbs flail around as if they were controlled by three out of sync puppeteers - even if I tried I can't get my body to move that chaotically and random. Then he looks at me with a sense of, "What else you got?" So I do the same bit again and again until I get bored of doing it.

And the way I really know I'm doing a good job is when I hear applause coming from his diaper. I've never made someone poop their pants at an improv show, but I have in my living room. But then I had to clean it up. Makes you wonder who had the last laugh.

Let’s Talk About Poop (by guest writer, Mom)

2008-04-17T12:39:00.000-07:00

**This blog is straight-up yo-momma style - feat. Emily Alexander**

(For the faint of heart, read no further. I’m warning you.)

Yes, I said it… Poop! The subject takes on a whole new meaning after having a child. Now I know this isn’t appropriate dinner conversation, but I gotta tell you… I probably spend about a quarter of my waking hours dealing with it: changing diapers, doing ‘accident’ laundry, or providing the foodstuff that will eventually become… you guessed it, poop!

I was a bit scared, then, when a whole day and a half went by and there were no poopy diapers. At Benjamin’s two month visit, I asked the pediatrician if I should be worried. She told me that when babies get all they need from mom’s milk, they can potentially use it up completely, leaving nothing to waste… literally, no waste. They could go up to three days without a dirty diaper. I was relieved to hear this. However, it didn’t last long. His well check also came with three shots that caused a bit of a fever and some “loose stool.” How “loose” you ask? VERY.

I was playing with Benjamin on my lap, making silly faces. He, too, was making silly faces, but not those of jovial response, rather of labor as he filled his Huggies claimed “ultra-dry” diaper with a load that rivaled Santa’s sack of toys. It crossed over from being a “number two” to a “number three.” As I picked Benjamin up, there was poop all over his new outfit, all over my shirt, the shirt under my shirt, my jeans, and eventually my watch (don’t ask). And it all happened in a matter of seconds. We made our way to the bathroom for a bath, as it was too big a job for baby wipes.

Later that night, I came home from a friend’s house, only to be reminded of our messy experience. To my horror, I discovered that I had left the poopy diaper out… not in the Diaper Champ like it should have been. I had wrapped it tightly inside of another diaper and set it on the couch (temporarily). The dog, with his affinity for poopy diapers, got to it… in a big way. There were shreds of dirty diaper all over the living room floor… tons of them. Later, I found out there was more to come. (And here’s the last warning for the meek to stop reading!) When I took the dog for a walk, he had a ‘number two’ like you wouldn’t believe. Actual whole pieces of diaper came out with the movement. I know I shouldn’t have been watching, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I was like a curious kid… or a creepy vet.

With this experience under my belt, I’d like to thank a few people: my mom and dad, for cleaning MY poopy diapers… any family member or friend who may clean Benjamin’s future poopy diapers… Pampers, for making a diaper so much better than Huggies… Tony, for referring us to a contractor who will inexpensively replace our living room carpet before our baby learns to crawl… and finally, me,… I’d like to thank me for being able to laugh at things like this while slightly crying at the same time.

Storm's a-brewin!

2008-04-12T13:36:00.000-07:00

If you live in the DFW area or just really like watching the Weather Channel, you may have heard of the phenomenal storm that came out of nowhere on Wednesday night. I am oblivious of weather forecasts, is Willard Scott still doing them? I also had the dubious honor of working with my team at the office until about 2AM (yay!). I later crawled into bed and slept for what felt like 5 minutes, before we were awoken by a maelstrom outside of our window at 4:15AM. It sounded like someone put our house in an automated car wash - water pounding, wind gusting, etc. Then the tornado sirens went off.

I'm still half asleep wondering where my dream mates Alf and Cookie Monster vanished off to, when Emily says with a sense of urgency, "Quick, go get the baby and bring him in the closet." It seriously took my brain a couple of seconds to process her request - "Baby? What baby?" Then a slice of realization cut through my mental cobwebs as I pictured the prototypical twister hitting our house just as I made a break for Benjamin's room - debris whirling at me as I dispatch it with swift punch and kick combos, barely making it to his crib just as Benjamin is about to be sucked out the window, clasping on to his booties and pulling him to safety.

The reality is that I strolled into his room, picked up a sleeping baby (again, how do babies sleep through storms and restaurants, but wake up if I take a hard swallow of water?) and carried him into our closet. We hung out there for 20 minutes, the storm passed and we all went back to sleep around 5-ish. And then my alarm went off after what seemed like 10 minutes of sleep - I had an early morning flight to catch, which ended up being 1 of the 2000 flights canceled by American Airlines (I'm considering class-action).

As I drove to the airport, I noticed that our surrounding area looked like God and Mother Nature played a game of Jenga - entire trees uprooted, huge branches splintered, foliage reconstructed in ugly piles in the road. Yet, three styrofoam peanuts that were in my front yard (origin unknown) the day before some how managed to not move an inch. But seeing the destruction made me very thankful that our house survived and that our family came out completely unscathed.

And I was too tired the night before to really acknowledge that I am totally responsible for this other human being. If there was no me, it wouldn't be able to survive. This is an incredibly basic concept, but it was the first time a "me-focused" person had to really look out for someone else incapable of helping themselves. I also recognized that this didn't even scratch the surface of things to come later in Benjamin's life - running across the street, kidnapping scares, getting into country music, etc.

On a totally unrelated note, onesies are multiplying in our closet like rabbits. I'll put away laundry and the amount seems like it quintuples each time. The only theory I have to explain this is when socks get lost in the dryer, they are quilted into onesies by some breed of gnome.

Night Shift

2008-04-04T21:17:00.000-07:00

Working a night shift can't be fun. Even if your job was "professional leisurist", I really believe that your body and mind are better off sleeping when it's dark and waking when it's light. I've always been a nightowl, however, and when I sleep I'm thankfully out until my trusty alarm clock beeps at me in that familiar generic tone. So I genuinely don't hear Benjamin crying in the night, I promise.

And fortunately Emily has been such a great sport that she goes in there to tend to his needs when he cries while I'm off to Sleepytown to play lazer-hockey with Millard Filmore and Bea Arthur. So the news that makes everyone happy in our house is that young Benjamin slept for around 8 hours TWO (noncontiguous) nights last week. That's right folks, 8 hours through the night with no crying, waking, feeding, bathing, changing. Emily was elated to taste the ambrosia of deep REM sleep for the first time in a long time. I told her she should have joined me for doubles lazer-hockey.

Everyone we shared our news with tempered our expectations that we had more than likely caught lightning in a bottle, and not to expect this to be the norm. Emily and I are choosing to be positive, we see the Sandman's bag as half full. And they clearly don't know how Ambien® For Kids works.

What a Week

2008-03-31T21:26:00.000-07:00

No it wasn't a week filled with hair pulling, sleep deprivation or a mountain of diapers, it was sadly work related. I filled out my billing sheet for work - 76 hrs. I took a moment to remark on the amount of work my team and I were able to accomplish - shoot 5 spots, create 3 new ones and ship 5 others for air. But as I learned in my first economics class, there is always an opportunity cost to everything.

My cost this week was overall depletion of lifeforce, a near zero fun-factor, being more of a relief to Emily and of course getting to hold, smooch and stare at young Benjamin. I did spend more than my previous low benchmark of 6 minutes with him each night, but I secretly craved the cool embrace of my pillow.

Our little family did manage to have some fun with a mustache growing contest at my agency. I elected not to ruin Easter pictures with a mustachioed mug, so I simply put on a fake mustache and submitted "Lip Toupee". This prompted Emily to try it on, instantly transforming her into a deadringer for George Harrison circa '72.

The attached picture was Emily's idea to keep our family's mustache solidarity entact, I entitled it "Lawrence O'Pootentoot." He looked like a fancy lad pugilist who defended the rings of the roaring 20's. It got a verbal chuckle out of me at work today, a fantastic pick me up to spur me past the legacy of my 76 hour week.

You have SUCH a good baby!

2008-03-24T20:51:00.000-07:00

Thinking back to times I visited friends who had a baby, I remember making the comment on more than one occasion that they really lucked out, because their baby was so quiet and docile. And their reaction always threw me off - it was a mix of "surely you're joking" and "I need a drink." Now I know exactly how they were feeling and what the night before was like for them.
Family time was in full swing during the Easter holiday. The days were filled with visiting and making merry, and Benjamin was quite the gentlemen electing to snooze for the entire time.

Then, the clock stuck midnight.

He...would not...go to sleep. He was up, had on his birthday suit and wanted to party. The only problem is that I've developed this habit of going to sleep at night. So it was the meeting of the immovable object and the irresistible force - as I clutched for sleep, he repelled it with all of his will. I was so desperate I was trying to remember back to my WWF (I will never recognize the WWE) watching days how you execute the Sleeper Hold. Long story long, we finally would go to sleep close to 2AM. Not super late, but multiple hours of crying feel like an eternity.

The mornings came sooner than had hoped and we would meet with family for breakfast or lunch. To look the part of "innocent sleeping baby", Benjamin would curl up in his carrier and snooze. Setting everyone up for the "oh, you have SUCH a good baby" line. That's when I had to try and muster up my own acting skills and smile politely and say something to the effect of "yeah...we're real lucky..." Then I look down and notice that I'm pouring salt into my coffee instead of sugar due to fatigue.

Emily and I shared a moment thinking about how her mom dealt with twins, while Emily was 2 and her brother was 6. One, is an adventure. Two, is rough. Two with a toddler, like a Rubik's Cube®. Two with a toddler and a 1st grader, like striking a peace treaty in the Middle East. So our hat goes off to Nana Kryzak.

Easter was nice. Great day, plenty of family and some nice pictures of people in their Sunday best. I'm going to quickly hop on my "kids have too much" soapbox for a sec - (ahem) when did the Easter egg to kid ratio get so high? I remember (and have photographic evidence) when I went on Easter egg hunts where I have a small basket with 12-15 eggs in it, and I felt like a real winner. Like I had some how beaten the Easter Bunny and his egg hiding skills. Now kids practically need a caddy to walk behind them carrying their loot. Gone are the days of petite baskets to make room for the bushel baskets. Where I "beat" the Easter Bunny, these kids had blown him to bits and extracted his candy-creme center. I'm stepping off the soapbox now.

As I videotaped our nieces and nephew scurrying around the yard picking up eggs, it did make me eager for the day Benjamin is old enough to be out there. And seeing the joy on his face at the little treasures he finds. And then seeing the joy fade when he realizes that his dad filled them with raisins, collectors quarters and coupons. Hey, I have to pay him back for all of these sleepless nights somehow. That's the way I roll.

New Dining Dynamics

2008-03-22T15:54:00.000-07:00

Emily comes from a large family, so going out to eat with everyone can sometimes rival the Normandy invasion. Or at least the meal the night before the invasion. And it can be particularly large when her extended family comes down from Illinois for holidays. It's great having family together to share an evening meal with each other. In years past I've found myself on the adult end of the table where we enjoy our food with a nice smattering of conversation - politics, global warming, neoexistentialism, etc.

This past week we met at the Macaroni Grill to welcome everyone who came in town for Easter weekend. I show up and high five the kids, hug the adults - just like old times. The new wrinkle came when we walked over to our 50 ft long table (it reminded me of a table in a 10th century Viking Hall). When the music stopped in this round of musical chairs I was holding the baby carrier and saw that the only open chair was at the other end of the table - the kid's end.

So instead of clinking glasses and talking about money markets, I was hunting for missing crayons, snapping lids of perpetually loose sippy cups, and scarfing my food as fast as I could. Luckily Benjamin is still so young he just chilled out in his carrier and didn't make a peep the entire time. I did recognize, however, in the short amount of time being a parent to Benjamin, it came natural to help my little nieces and nephew navigate through dinner. But I would be lying if I didn't issue a "sigh" every time I heard uproarious laughter at the adult's end. I told myself that they were probably remembering something I had said earlier.

My hope is to have dual citizenship some day soon so I can recommend a good book to an adult while I read the the climactic ending of Blankie to the little ears sitting around me listening to my every word.

Six Minutes

2008-03-18T20:18:00.000-07:00

That's how much time I spent with Benjamin yesterday. Needless to say, I'm feeling the weight of ALL the Ides of March at work. You would be surprised at the amount of work that goes into creating a :30 commercial, you know the ones you fast forward through thanks to Tivo - jerk. Our agency works smartly to stretch our client's dollars, so we shoot 5 at at time. So I am prepping these spots and in the process of creating the next slew of spots that shoot the following month - ergo, a whoppin' 6 minutes with Benjamin.

It didn't even occur to me until I laid down in the late a.m. - "Did I even hold Benjamin today? Yeah, of course I did...right?" I guess if it was a really big deal I would have rushed in and swiped him from his crib and rock him until the rooster crowed. No, I let the wheels of justification grind away and concluded that he is still in deep infancy and my face probably resembles a warped potato in his eyes, - therefore my absence was not even noticed.

But, I do feel like I missed a little sliver of his life. No tears were shed and I didn't feel the guilt that drives fathers out to buy their children a diamond-encrusted pony, but it was significant enough for me to notice. And know that I want to avoid that from happening again, especially when he is older and I no longer look like Mr. Potatohead®.

Steady As He Goes

2008-03-14T21:24:00.000-07:00

Benjamin celebrated his 1 month birthday a few days back (I told him your card was still in the mail). It wasn't necessarily a momentous occasion, but it was hard to believe it has been a month already, only 215 months left in my tenure as Benjamin's legal guardian. Oddly enough, that's fewer months than my mortgage.

And with the 1 month marker comes the 1 month doctor's visit. I am happy to report that young Benjamin has gained (drumroll strikes up)...3 lbs in 3 weeks. Our 1 month-old weighs 12.4 lbs and is 23" long. His vertical jump is still pretty low, but the pediatrician was willing to give me a couple more months to workshop him. His gain also affirms our hypothesis that Cheetos can in fact add the proper amount of weight to a baby's frame. I'm sure it's also the cause of his baby acne, and his affinity for jazz-lovin' cheetahs.

The doctor was very positive about his development, making the first part of our visit a smile invoking success. Then came the second part, ye olde Hepatitis B shot. I'm fine with getting shots. I don't look forward to them and I don't plan them as a leisure activity, but I suck it up and take my medicine. The difference between me and a baby is that I'm aware of what the needle is for, what it's going to do and what it is going to feel like. Babies are naturally clueless.

The sweet nurse is chatting with us and rubbing his thigh with an alcohol rub, telling us about how she hates this part of what she has to do. Then she pulls out a 12 gauge needle, one that would make both horses and junkies run to the hills. And as soon as I see the shimmer of the needle - poke. I look to Benjamin's face, his primordial nervous system is slow to react - the pain hasn't registered yet. And then - GWAAAAAAH! Not a "Wah", not an "Aah" it was a guttural "SOMEONEJUSTPOKEDMYLEGWITHAFRIGGINNEEDLE!!!" cry.

This cry was new to both Emily and I. And I think it made both of us want to punch this sweet nurse in the face for doing this to our son. Emily's eyes welled up with tears and all I wanted to do was make him feel better AND to make sure he knew that I wasn't the person that did this to him. He calmed down quicker than Emily did, but she said something enlightening, "Seeing that made me realize how much I love our little boy."

I thought about that statement as I drove to work. All too often we don't really think about or consider how much we like or love someone until something tragic happens to either you or them. And sometimes, you're even denied the opportunity to do that. It wasn't the birthing, it wasn't the 200+ feedings and it wasn't the dozens of kisses that truly brought out a parent's special brand of love. It was seeing him in pain that ignited the instinct.

So I guess my advice for you this weekend is to give a loved one a Hepatitis B shot so you can tell them you love them. It will be totally worth it.

The First Trip Away

2008-03-12T22:52:00.000-07:00

It's late. I'm physically beat, but my mind is still on West Coast time. I had to travel for work this week, making this the first time away from the baby for any real length. And it was a bit of a personal dilemma - I didn't want to leave Emily and Benjamin per se, but the trip required me to go to the Presidio in SanFran (home of Lucasfilm and Industrial Light & Magic) to view some hush-hush stuff. Needless to say my dork meter was redlined.

I was excited about the trip, I enjoyed the trip, I'm glad I went on the trip. But the flip side of the coin is talking to Emily on the phone and hearing between the lines and detecting that she would REALLY like me to step into a teleportation device and be there right then. Other than consoling words and sweet nothings, I couldn't really do much. And I'm sure in the dark recesses of her mind she was picturing Obi-Dale Kenobi having the time of my life playing Dejarik holo-chess with my new Wookie friends and blasting womprats. Well she is mistaken...we were blasting Ewoks.

I did load my iTouch with pictures of both E & B and enjoyed looking at them when the whimsy hit me - it so beats have the trifold picture holder in your wallet which usually holds, mildly bent and sweaty outdated pictures of your family. I beat down a stewardess on my return flight with an impromptu slideshow - "Conception to Present: A Benjamin Alexander Retrospective Pt. 1"

That's all I got. Like I said it's late. It did feel nice to pick him up from a snooze and sniff his baby hair. He never opened his eyes, but he did wince at my cold hands so at least he knows that Daddy's home.

Parenting Advice From The FAA

2008-03-09T15:23:00.000-07:00

During Emily's pregnancy I pondered more than once what kind of father I would be, but it is impossible to prognosticate such things. So I thought about the types of fathers I didn't want to become. Obviously I didn't want to be an abusive father or one that checks in on his kid(s) on a quarterly basis. I also didn't want to be the vicarious dad that forces his child to pick up the torch of my own youth and run it to the finish line.

And there was another archetype I wanted to avoid too, the father that is too into his kids. Before you "well, I never!" me, allow me to explain. I have seen plenty of parents, first and secondhand, that become husks of themselves because they invest so much of their lives and revolve everything around their kids. All conversations are about their kids, cool life events are missed because run-of-the-mill kid activities take precedence - they cease being "Steve" or "Randy" or "Jill" and are simply "Mom" or "Dad."

"Well obviously you don't love your child, because raising your kids is the most important thing in the world." Wrong and wrong. And this is where the FAA comes in. Their helpful advice for when you hit turbulence and the airmasks plop down is to first put your mask on and THEN put your child's mask on them. The logic goes that you need to be running at optimal efficiency so you can actually best protect and service your child. I think this logic carries over nicely to parenthood too. In fact I've already put this into practice.

I am a better person, husband, father, employee when I'm able to workout and have some leisure time (reading, video games, etc.). All work and no play makes Dale something-something (Simpsons wink). If I am deficient in these areas, the sparkle in my eyes just isn't there and I am more reluctant to help out or work after hours. I have 30 years experience of being Dale, and I don't want to throw all of my hard work away. And I don't think parents should look at life as an all-or-nothing proposition - person vs parent.

I know everything cannot remain the same as pre-kid. You have a child and it takes a lot of time to do the daily necessities and also do the fun stuff parenting allows you to do. And I absolutely recognize the sacrifices that parents must make to make sure their kids stay alive and thrive. You can't have it both ways, but I contend that you can have it some of the way. If you were into music before, keep the amp plugged in. If you were into crafts, keep your beads out or whatever. If you played video games, carve out some time to frag people.

It's those things that made you "you", and what's the point of raising your child so all they know if this caregiver of a person and not the real "you". Until of course when you pull out the photo albums and they gawk over a picture of you on a motorcycle "whoa, you had a motorcycle!?" or the picture of mom wearing something besides sweatpants, "Wow Mom, you were hot?!"

Beyond fighting for your right to be yourself, there is also the responsibility to your spouse. If you too are a Christian, we should strive to keep God first, our spouse second and our children third. I'm guessing kids don't agree with this hierarchy, but that's too bad for them. I feel bad for the couples who wake up the day the kids leave and wonder who this stranger is sitting across from them at the dinner table, because they ceased to relate to each other on a level that wasn't kid-centered.

That's my story. I know, I know - I've only been a parent for 1-month and I already know everything. The people reading this without kids will probably high-5 me. The people with multiple kids are probably giving me a different hand signal. That's fine, I'm off to play some Call of Duty before I enjoy the simple pleasure of giving Benjamin his bath, cuz that's the kind of Dad I want to be.

P.S. Benjamin is doing great!

This Genie Needs A New Job

2008-03-05T21:31:00.000-08:00

Another item that modern parents are brainwashed into putting on their "must have" list is some kind of dirty diaper holder unit. This dirty business gets even dirtier because I think it is an oligopoly that needs to be investigated by the Anti-Trust committee. It is run by two factions, the Diaper Champs and Diaper Genies.

Diaper Champ made me think of Mike Tyson's Punch-Out for some reason. It sounded like a ridiculous buffoon of a character you have to box and all he wears is a diaper and gloves, passing gas as you belt him in the stomach.

The Diaper Genie carried a sense of mystique about it, as if it were a portal to the netherworld where you simply drop the diaper and it is banished to the 5th Circle of Hell. It also made me imagine a jovial Genie who would wisecrack with me every time I had a new deposit.

Genie: Greetings, what gifts do you have for me today?
Me: Hey Genie, this one's got a #1 AND a #2.
Genie: An embarrassment of riches, huzzah!
(Musical dance number goes here)

Sadly, the Diaper Genie is basically a double-layered plastic trashcan that costs three times as much. Nothing magical about it, but it does work and I can't say that I've smelt any offending odors. I also recognize that it is an inanimate object, but I feel bad for its station in life. I felt the same way about public toilets when I was younger too, they got a bum deal. No pun intended.

This evening I pulled out a trash bag from the Genie and it felt like I pulled a calf from its mother. It weighed about 25 pounds. 25 pounds of dirty diapers. Barf. So the poor Genie has been sitting there with two Thanksgiving turkeys worth of poop and pee in its gullet for a couple of days. That's a terrible existence.

And after reading a popular children's book, I've got more bad news for my Genie friend, Everyone Poops.

I will pay you $10,000 to stop crying

2008-03-04T14:12:00.000-08:00

Nothing is more frustrating than trying to calm a crying baby. I wanted to sell Benjamin to a roving band of gypsies yesterday. Here's the set up: all was calm on the western front in the afternoon and Emily needed to get out and do some personal errands. I encouraged her to go and the baby should be fine since he was just fed. As soon as the garage door was closed...WAAHHHHHHH!!!

I pick him up to calm him down and he is not having it. I change his diaper, nope. I try the swing, nothing. I swaddle and rock him, unh-unh. He is crying at a decibel level unsafe to the human ear. I can feel the tightening of the vises on my temples. Now he is trying to eat his hands, obviously he is hungry and I can't do a thing about it - his food source is out and about and we aren't using bottles yet. We don't want to give him, wait for it - nipple confusion (clinical term).

The minutes are dragging by on the microwave clock. All I can do is hold and bounce him to try and give him some comfort. It is about now that I want to find those gypsies and take their first offer. I of course start to get defensive and daydream of Emily driving around with the windows down, sipping on an iced Starbuck's® treat, singing background for whatever is on her easy-listening station, intentionally taking the long way back home.

I hear the garage door open, the baby goes silent into a nap - perfect. Emily walks in and my face apparently spoke a thousand words. I needed to pass the baby off and not be around him for a bit. I wasn't going to hurt him, but I instantly could see how some of the horror stories you hear on the news about parents mistreating their babies could be possible. Not condoning it, but now I know that it isn't fiction when I hear about it.

On a lighter note, it snowed here in north Texas last night. We didn't get outside in it until the morning, but it is still technically his first snow day. Emily and I took turns pelting him with snowballs, he was a REAL easy target.

You only need 146 things to raise a baby

2008-03-02T10:33:00.001-08:00

I have been mulling over whether or not technology is a help or a hindrance to new parents. You want to prepare your nest with everything you may need to aid in the rearing of your child. But there is SOOO much stuff (junk) out there. There are holders, warmers, coolers, bracers, pouches, genies, champs, bags, bags to hold bags, boxes to store bag-holding bags.

The factory workers in China making all of this stuff (junk) must think that Americans never actually touch their children until junior high. Especially when they go home to their government mandated one (1) child and wrap them up in simple blankets, cloth diapers and use the same set of pots to cook their meals and sanitize their baby wares. The cumulative eye rolling of 1.4 billion people is probably what keeps the Earth spinning on its axis.

Think about it, before Spongebob was a global hit, the Chinese workers creating all of the toys and plushies must think we are nutz. "Why Americans play with dish sponge? And do they put pants on all their dish sponges?!" I digress.

Baby Monitors - helpful Walkie-Talkie® that allows you to do other things while keeping tabs on your baby, or fear-instilling device that lets you think the worst is happening to your baby...in stereo-reo-reo. The first time we set up the monitor we huddled around it so closely you would mistake us for Cold War KGB agents at a listening station in Irtusk, minus the Sobranie cigarettes.

"Is he breathing? Was that an inhale? I think he's awake? What's that clicking noise? I'm GOIN' IN!!" Of course things are fine 99.2% of the time, but your mind and ears will play tricks on you. The ambient sound of the room to an already frazzled parent sounds like your baby has some how pretzel-tied their onesie around their nose and mouth. Then your own paranoia sets up stage two of this trap: you check on your blissful baby, you see them, they see you, you creep back out, and "WAH!!! Come back...why are you leaving me...is it because I keep pooping on myself...I'm sorrie!! (for authenticity, babies can't spell yet)"

Ultimately, with time, the monitors will undoubtedly be one of the baby gadgets that will definitely be useful. But the sci-fi lover in me is secretly wishing that during an electrical storm our monitors will some how be able to listen to the future or pick up an other-worldly transmission. Should that happen, I must not rule out the possibility that it is a ruse by the People's Republic having some fun with America's wacko parents.

Babies Are Useless

2008-02-29T11:24:00.001-08:00

Once you get over your, "(gasp) How can he say that about those precious little angels?" you'll agree with me. Think of all the animals within our mammalian phylum, they can at least support their own head's weight once they shoot out of the womb. A baby deer practically sprints out of his momma. Sure that could be to escape the 12-gauge pointed in their general direction, but it is impressive nonetheless.

I've monitored Benjamin's growth over the past two weeks and other than a few extra ounces and a few random gas related giggles, I see no progress. He's only 2 weeks old, but I feel like we're already a month behind. He's not even speaking Spanish yet, summer school looks to be inevitable.

I of course love seeing his slow progress and he is very cute, but that's about all human babies have going for them. God designed them to be incredibly cute so people would stick around and give it stuff. I read a new theory by "experts" that the original gestation period for human babies was actually 10.5 months - which would better prepare them to function with an extra month in the ol' oven.

Apparently carrying a baby for over 10 months was causing a slight case of death in mother's as they tried to push the gi-normous baby from their...area. So these early humans evolved to a shorter gestational period so the baby's head would be easier to fit through. This, however, rendered the baby to be completely useless for that first month in the world. I see some validity, but it is just a theory until I add my soon to be gathered empirical data.

One up-shot of a newborn baby's uselessness is that it makes them incredibly easy to use for impromptu puppet shows. I'm hoping the muscle memory will kick in, because he's been playing a mean air guitar and air drums. He can also put his hands in the air, and wave them like he just don't care. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to make sure that Benjamin is still pooping at 1st grade level.

What is Heaven?

2008-02-26T20:16:00.000-08:00

If you ask Biblical scholars, they will tell you it is God's address. If you ask the women in yogurt commercials, it is strawberry Yoplait® Lite. But if you ask me, it is 7 hrs of sleep - which I can proudly say I got last night.

We implemented a few countermeasures to young Benjamin's routine last night to ensure that he falls asleep at the proper time and stays asleep - they seemed to do the trick. The real litmus test will be tonight and tomorrow night and the nights leading up to his college going away party. I won't bore you with the minutia of what we changed (different time, different sleep location, no swaddle), the important thing is that a pleasant night was enjoyed by all - unless you are the breastfeeder (she's a trooper).

I never really needed very much sleep to function at a high rate, in fact I used to pride myself on how little sleep I needed. In college, I was the first one up clanging the cereal bowls together and the last one clanging the midnight snack cereal bowls together. Sleep was actually a bit of a nuisance, it was the thief that stole primo hours from my night to read/play/watch/do/think. But now, I love me some Zzzz's.

Now if I don't get proper sleep for an extended period of time, I get headaches. Migraines that would put a water buffalo down on the ground. You seen the Hulk? It's like that, except my clothes don't rip apart and the only muscles that bulge are in my temples. You ever had a headache that made you throw up? Welcome to my world. For about a year I got a garden-variety migraine once a week, but I had to work so I dealt with the pain. But every now and then, like a sighting of Bigfoot or the appearance of Brigadoon (kudos if you got that reference) I will get a migraine so off the charts that the only relief is A.) Ice pick to cranium B.) find a cold bed with zero light in the room and shove my head into a pillow.

I give you all of this setup because my Benjamin induced sleep debt was reaching critical levels, not because of him or Emily, it has just been a shock to the system. I would hate to subconsciously link my pain to my child, but that's the way we humans work. When are vitality or sanity is compromised, pushing us to our primal edge, we lash out. You can see this behavior in action at your local pizza buffet on a Friday night.

So let's review: Yogurt, good. Headache, bad. Sleep, heaven.

I've Discovered A Wormhole

2008-02-25T17:08:00.000-08:00

Having a baby has totally ripped a hole in my space-time continuum. Time is trickling right through my fingers like the sands of an hourglass, never to be spent again. This isn't "man, he's just growing up so fast (sniff)", this is literally reflecting on how the hours of the day feel like minutes.

In my typical work day, I feel really productive - I'm movin', I'm shakin', writing this, concepting that. Then I come home and get a workout in, eat some food and hang out with the Missus. Now, I feel like I'm doing 1/3 of my usual routine and burning twice the midnight oil. Some how, and I can't get the math to compute, everything takes 30 minutes to do. Feed the baby, 30 minutes. Bath the baby, 30 minutes. Walk the dog, 30 minutes. Cook Minute Rice®, 30 minutes.

And the real kick in the pants is that I feel like I'm moving twice as fast - helping Emily help the baby, cleaning up the house, food prep, bath prep, prep-prep. When I finally feel like I can kick back, it's 9:00 PM and my own fatigue is starting to seep in. I know, woe is me. There are plenty of people out there that do twice what I do, but they're called "Nannies" and they are getting paid.

It just occurred to me, my little cycle has a very Groundhog Day feel to it. Which helps to explain the loss of time - time remains the same but the incessant repetition of the actions blend them together so it feels like I'm only doing 4 things all day. I developed a helpful equation to represent this phenomenon: Freedom (F) equals Activities (A) multiplied by Repetition (R) divided by Time (T) or in other words: F=A(R)/T.

I have no idea how couples who have Quintuplets do it. Feeding one (1) baby = 30 minutes. Feeding five (5) babies = 90 minutes (assuming double dipping 4 of the kids). By the time you've burped and changed them, guess what, it's time to fire up the rubber nipples again for another feeding. So I suppose the lesson here is to be thankful for your own situation and treasure the time you do have before it ticks away.

By the way, writing this took 30 minutes.

I wonder, is it frowned upon to put a baby on an IV milk-drip? Sure, I may get glares from people, but if it means reclaiming 30 minute pockets of my life back - let's the self-righteous judging begin.

The Crying Game

2008-02-23T19:25:00.000-08:00

Alright, let the real fun begin - implementing the disciplined schedule to a newborn baby. Goodie. I've heard some parents say that there is nothing more beautiful to their ears then the sound of their baby crying. Those people need to be committed. A baby's furious wailing is a mind-numbing noise that, when heard repeatedly, doesn't even sound human.

In fact, your own personal level of sleep deprivation bends and contorts the sounds of a baby's cry so it sounds like: the bah'ing of a baby goat, a Geiger counter hovering over a pile of Uranium, a dishwasher with you inside of it. Forget water-boarding, they should pipe in a play group's worth of infants into an interrogation chamber, that'll get the Taliban gossiping like US Weekly.

Getting back to the task at hand, we are following the routine of - feed, waketime, naptime. So after a hearty meal, it is 20 minutes of waketime activities (like wind-sprints) and then it is off to bed with him, whether he wants to or not. Here is where the crying comes in. Obviously the baby wants to keep the good times rolling, but if they stay up too long, the schedule is thrown into flux. Emily and I encountered severe push-back on this last night, and we made the mistake of attempting this regime change at 3:00 am. Kids, nothing good ever happens at 3:00 am.

Being new parents we could easily fall prey to "letting it ride" or "I'll just hold him for a bit." From what we hear, that is the first step down a slippery-slope that some parents can never recover from. They will forever bow down to their baby's every whim - MaMa....PaPa...kiss the ring. Thankfully, I can put up a nice stonewall of emotion and not give into the cries of my child to keep the greater good intact.

You see it's not my heart-strings that are pulled by a baby crying, it is my sanity strings. Too much of any sound ('cept the sound of $$, holla!) will drive me crazy. Music, alarms, bird cackles (the worst) - the simple repetition of the right/wrong frequencies is a cheese grater to the very core of my being. I disassembled a coworker's Big Mouth Billy Bass after hours one time. I was secretly thanked by the entire office.

I can't wait to get to the other side of this part of parenting. Oh, and I could do without the yellow deli-style mustard poops too.

Baby Skin

2008-02-22T21:56:00.000-08:00

So many cosmetic companies tout their products as "baby soft" or "smooth as a baby's bottom" - this is simply false advertising. There is nothing on Earth softer than a newborn baby's skin. The only rival I can possibly think of is an angel's hair that has been recently cream rinsed.

Benjamin's skin and hair are so soft, in fact, there are times when my fingers can't even register that I'm touching something - void of friction, void of surface tension, void of capillary detection.

His skin makes mine feel like a dry Acme® brick covered in five o'clock shadow. Which makes me wonder what he must be feeling as I dredge my mitts across his soft, chubby cheek - over, and over, and over again.

You know what's not soft on a baby? Their fingernails. I was all up in his face giving him an Eskimo kiss and SNIKT, he swiped my forehead with his Wolverine claw. It didn't hurt, but much like a paper cut, it was a severe annoyance. Probably worthy of a Purple Heart in the French Army (le zing!).

We would trim them, but both of us are nervous about clipping or filing his nails down, the same way he don't like to trim our dog's nails. Because if you mess up, overshoot the nail by a micron...we're talking pain jack, serious scream your guts out, call Child Protective Services - pain. So we may let it ride and just insist that he takes an interest in playing the guitar or banjo.

The Love of a Big Brother

2008-02-21T20:58:00.000-08:00

It may be news to some of you, but Benjamin is actually our 2nd child. Emily and I adopted our first child in 2003 and he has been the sole recipient of our love, wisdom and discipline. Sure, he is covered in hair and poops outside, but a parent's love knows no bounds. I am of course talking about our beagle/cocker spaniel wonder-mutt, Schmax.

I have a special place in my heart for dogs. The only times I have teared up at the cineplex was during the Passion of the Christ and Homeward Bound. I wanted to sack Mike Vick right between the numbers the more I heard about his deprave canine escapades. I just love dogs and everything they represent. Except Chihuahuas, those were grown in a lab somewhere.

Schmax is a great pooch. And he is a little "special." Out of all of the dogs in the free-world, we of course adopt one with allergies; allergies so bad that he will literally scratch his ears until they bleed. Thus the $50 dog food and the cone he is cursed to wear like a scarlet "C". All of this is to set up the fact that not only was Schmax the top dog (groan) in our house, we cared for him in special ways. Needless to say Emily and I were VERY interested (concerned) to see (monitor) how Schmax would react (pounce) when we brought home a new lifeform that requires even more attention than slapping on a plastic cone.

Without having any background whatsoever in zoological studies, I have been able to observe both subjects in their natural habitats, trying not to insert my presence unless it is totally necessary. My findings follow the classic stages of grief:

Denial: This was incredibly easy to spot. "Hey Schmax, come meet your baby...Schmax...hello...o-kay." He gave Benajmin an initial sniff and then went about his arduous schedule of sleeping 21 hours a day. We would try to coax him to come out and he clearly preferred to lick himself.

Anger: Luckily this one hasn't truly manifested into anything physical. It was more passive-aggressive. The 2nd day we were home, Schmax walked over to the pack-n-play and saw Benjamin. He then shot a glare, dripping with humanism, that we interpreted as "Hmph, HE'S still here? Whatever." It was starting to seep into his lemon-sized brain that this "thing" was going to be here awhile.

Bargaining: This was the funniest to me. If Emily or I were ooh'ing or aah'ing over Benjamin, Schmax would quickly run up to me with one of his squeaky toys, as if to say "Hey, remember how much playing 'chase' is with me? Let's play it right now, c'mon, whatareyouwaitingfor?!?"

Acceptance: Schmax has made a breakthrough. He is still curious at this new creature and all of the new sounds and smells, but he seems a lot more comfortable with the new family dynamic. In fact, and this is a true story, Benjamin was laying on our couch 2 days ago and Schmax hopped up on the couch and dropped his precious football toy next to Benjamin.

It was a sweet moment, despite our baby being covered in toy slobber and our dog hopping on the couch (a forbidden zone punishable by death). But that's what dogs do, they just love. And I can't wait to teach Benjamin about what a cool older brother he has in Schmax. And I truly can't wait for the day when my two boys and I can watch Homeward Bound together.

Give it to me straight Doc...

2008-02-20T14:21:00.000-08:00

I have been blessed with decent coordination and a fairly strong immune system, so I have rarely had to go to the doctor for anything other than a cough-n-turn check up. I have not, however, been inside too many pediatrician's offices. So today was new for both Benjamin and myself.

First, the parking lot is packed (never a good sign). Second, they must tell everyone to just come in at 9:00 AM. Third, I didn't want to look or touch anything or anyone there. Again, I am not a germ freak, but I don't want my baby to catch whatever these walking dead were infested with (harsh?). I seriously held the baby carrier in both arms as if it were the last parachute on a crashing plane. This waiting room looked like the leper colonies of Calcutta, minus the lepers and the cattle, but you get the point.

Thankfully I slipped the nurse a $20 and she let us wait behind closed doors (I avoided the pun of slipping her a 'benjamin, you're welcome). The doctor is a very nice woman and seems competent in every way, but there's one thing I can't get out of my head - how much she looks like "Stands with Fist" from the movie Dances with Wolves. She is explaining how great Benjamin is doing, gaining weight, etc. but all I can hear in my head is "John Dunbar", "Kicking Biiird", and "Ta-ton-ka!"

Enough of me. Benjamin is back to his birth weight (9.6lbs) and has grown an inch. He has lost his bellybutton-thingy and skin is looking good - thanks Aqua Velva! He does have one little malady, a blocked tearduct. Not a big deal, but it gives his eye a very alien-like quality. When he opens it, it looks like a xenophobe egg is hatching, yellow strands of mucus preventing the eye from achieving full breach. There may be some hyperbole in the last sentence.

He is a trooper. Life is good. And we thank God for blessing us with a healthy baby, xenophobic eye and all.

Good Cop, Bad Cop

2008-02-19T12:26:00.000-08:00

You're familiar with this term from cop TV shows (cue the Law & Order sound). There is always the rough cop that shakes the perp up to rattle his cage, and then his soft-spoken partner comes in and calms things down so the perp will give up the goods. The Bad Cop is the grizzled vet who is always named something like Scagnetti, while the Good Cop is usually easier on the eyes and wears a nice Windsor knot.

Take a guess which role I have sloughed into? Dale Scagnetti reporting for duty.

It has only been 6 days and I have already become the bane of Benjamin's existence, and it mainly stems from the coldness of my hands. I could seriously make you a scoop of ice cream with some milk, rock salt and a little patience. They feel great to me, but to a newborn they contract every muscle fiber in their body and invoke a lip-quivering grimace.

So my duties include waking the baby up for feeding (quiver), keeping the baby awake after feeding (shudder), and swaddling him to go back to sleep (dad, quit touching me!). His interaction with Emily, however, teeters on reaching the 7th plane of nirvana. Her warm hands and body cradle him (ooh), he gets a nutritious milkshake every couple of hours (aah), and she is all-around more pleasing to the eyes and ears (mom, i wuv you).

I guess the one saving grace is that there is no Good Cop without Bad Cop, there would just be "cop." Much like other relationships (sun/moon, night/day, hot/cold) you have to one to appreciate/loathe the other. Maybe me and my hands will be more useful in the future when Benjamin is swoon with the flu or has eaten too much salsa. We'll see...now, who wants ice cream!?

I'm already tired of washing my hands

2008-02-18T11:50:00.000-08:00

I am a pretty neat and tidy person, some of you would call this an understatement. But in the past week I have washed my hands so many times, you may not be able to fingerprint me. Let the cat-burgling begin!

I have always washed up after bathroom breaks and before cooking, etc. but it has never been an activity that randomly hits me, "Hmm...I think I'll wash my hands, just cuz!" But I've caught myself doing that a couple of times, just in case a baby touching event is about to happen. There is also a direct correlation to my increase in hand washing with my increase in handling poo-poo.

We keep a bottle of hand soap in our guest bathroom and it seriously seems to last us a month or two. Now, I would be surprised if it lasts the week. Time to rework the budget I suppose.

I do not like hand sanitizer, there is just something wrong with a liquid that instantly evaporates taking all of the bio-material on your hands with it. Theoretically, if it is airborne, won't we inhale it? A guy at Proctor & Gamble is reading and just stole my idea for Nostril and Mouth Sanitizer.

I'm sure all of this mega-cleanliness will fade when the baby still gets sick, and I rationalize that all of my scrub-a-dubbing is a waste of time. Plus, I don't want to become a parent that sterilizes every single thing a child comes in contact with. I am a big believer in keeping a healthy amount of bacteria in and on our bodies to help protect against the really bad kind. That's why I'm going to rub Benjamin down every night with active-culture yogurt, and follow the instructions on the container and put the "fruit on the bottom".

It's official, we are not babysitting

2008-02-17T09:12:00.000-08:00

This entire time we have had Benjamin, some part of me in the back of my head is still looking at this as an extended babysitting session for some friends of ours. Like any minute they will show back up and take their bundle of joy back to their house and we can resume life a la Alexander-style - sleeping in, playing some Xbox, chasing Schmax around.

Not so. That small piece of my brain is slowly coming to the realization that that mythical couple is never showing up and we are the primary caregivers for this baby. I am pretty sure that this is one sided, Emily has taken to parenting like a fish to water.

Beyond the babysitting allusion, my brain has also reverted to what I know best - video games. There are a lot of times in my travels from here to there that to pass the time, I play out the task at hand like it were a video game - the better I complete the task, the more "points" I earn, like a Sims® game (no, I don't keep a tally of points in my coat pocket, but let's say I have 17,835). So I have noticed that I've been doing this with the baby, parenting as if I were in a parenting simulation.

I don't think I'm "winning" at this game yet, I'm learning the layout of the controller so to speak. But I also don't want to deprive myself of the warm and fuzzy moments of parenting because I'm so busy trying to optimize how well I can change a diaper and clean up afterward (47.3 sec). Even typing this passage makes me consider - am I really a cyborg? 101010010010101

Benjamin has arrived

2008-02-16T16:24:00.000-08:00

This is admittedly quick and really more of a test of the site, but Benjamin Grant Alexander is now home and life with a baby has begun for Emily and myself. My first comment is that I feel like a magician's assistant to Emily's magician - never really doing the trick but always whisking away the elements from the last spectacle and prepping for the new illusion - tada!

I hope I keep up with this and don't run out of steam. So here's to writing a blog that less than 10 people will ever read. Enjoy!