Vegas for Kids

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!

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

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.

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?!

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

*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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(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

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

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

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)

**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!

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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.