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.