Baby Clothes Paradox

It doesn't matter how many tubs of baby clothes you own. It could be 5 cubic yards of outfits, the result of picking up hand-me-downs from friends and dozens of pricey shopping trips to Target and Carter's.

When it's time to get the kids ready in the morning, the only thing you will find in the drawer is an outgrown 6m onesie, a strange pair of overalls, and an off-brand jersey made out of an awful synthetic fabric. Where did the thousands of outfits go?

It is a great mystery. One thing is certain. The outfits will magically return to the scene as soon as they know that they have been safely outgrown. Box 'em up and hand em off to the next happy expectant couple. Say something like, "Little Billy is going to look so good in that outfit." They can discover the baby clothes paradox on their own.

CHANGES...

I'm not the writer in the family, but I noticed a lack of posts for say...all of 2011. The reason is named OWEN. With Michael, Chris and I could always have someone on the bench, "you take a nap, while I watch him," and vice versa. Now, with baby O in the picture, we run man to man defense 90% of the time and zone defense when one of us has a late night at work. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade my two precious babies for anything in the world. It's amazing how when you are young, you never know how incredible your love can be for your children. I didn't know how much love I actually had to give until I met Michael and Owen.

Although running man to man defense, I always manage to keep a camera on hand because for some reason, I just can't stop taking pictures of them!

Here's a few updated ones of the family...

Sacred Secrets of a Two Year Old

Hello Blogosphere, it's Shannon here so don't expect a masterpiece of writing on this one, but I had to share a little funny thing that happened between Michael and I today.

We were taking a little weekend trip to Fry's Electronics to purchase a birthday present for Michael's teacher at daycare. Once we arrived at our assigned cashier, Michael placed the present gently down on the counter, and he noticed the small number pad device to enter your pin number when paying via checkcard. He immediately asked, "That phone?" My reply was, "No, that's where mommy puts in her secret number." Michael's response, "Oh!"

Then as I'm completing my transaction, at the top of his little lungs Michael started yelling, "Secret Number, Secret Number, Secret Number!" The cashier got a kick out of my toddler's little outburst. Lesson learned: Secrets are not sacred with two year olds.

Side note: Mom-he doesn't know the new baby's name, I don't even know it yet...so don't even try to get him to talk!

Happy Friday + a "That's What He Said" Update

Welp, friends, we have made it through another week. I made some kick butt spreadsheets, sent the great American work e-mail, and boy howdy did I drink a lot of coffee. That's just how I roll, especially in a week that the Mad Dog has decided to be a bad sleeper again.

This week also marked Shannon and my 4th anniversary. I'm not sure exactly, but I'm guessing that the odd taxonomy that equates years of marriage with raw materials would mark year 4 as burlap or perhaps dish towel. Year 4 has been a wonderful and industrious time:  a year chock full of the prosaic work of building a household, making career moves, and parenting a rambunctious child.

I remember that whirlwind day 4 years ago. It was hot as the surface of the sun for our ceremony on the banks of Lady Bird Lake in Austin. Fortunately, we had the shortest ceremony in recorded history probably since some caveman officiant grunted "You married." Shannon was a beautiful bride, and I look back wistfully on the pure joy of that day.

As we sweated under the arbor that day, we both said vows. There was the usual stuff about pestilence and destitution, and we added one of our own about promising to go on adventures. I think we've hit the mark, even if it is a bit of a stretch to count wading knee-deep through a particularly horrific diaper as an adventure..It still counts.Anyway, love ya and I look forward to another 11 or so more of these 4 year marriage chunks (at which point my coffee and wine ravaged body will implode).

Moving right along, here is a bonus Friday "That's What He Said." I've been fighting off the remnants of a cold, and the final stages involve coughing up some gunk. I had just finished a spirited hacking cough this morning when Mikey chimed in, "Oh, daddy, that's juicy. That's icky."  He's getting more like his mom every day. Thanks for reading! See you next time.

Let the Indoctrination Begin

Now that Michael's verbal and reasoning skills are getting up to speed, it's time for us to start indoctrinating him to like the things that we like. Sure, we'll take care of the stuff like reading books, enjoying healthy/locally grown/in-season food, and exercising. Yada, yada, yada. The important thing will be securing his allegiance to our sports teams of choice, the Texas Longhorns and the Alabama Crimson Tide.

Clearly we have excellent taste in football teams, as these two programs are near the top of the heap every year. With awesome tradition, great looking uniforms, and fantastic fan support, Michael is very fortunate that we are choosing these teams for him. Even better, our rivals, Auburn, Tennessee, Oklahoma, and Texas A&M, make such juicy targets that the jokes practically write themselves.

Methods of indoctrination:
Passive exposure:
We will provide Michael with a huge supply of licensed logo clothing from each of the schools. He started out in tiny burnt orange onesies and I'm sure he'll be wearing some sort of Longhorn backpack when he heads off to kindergarten in a few years.

We will take him to each of the college campuses and show him how awesome they are. He will be posed for photographs in front of famous campus landmarks to set the ole nostalgia hooks and create a historic connection to the school. I will be sure to emphasize that walking through the Auburn or A&M campuses would involve dodging smelly cows and trying to avoid their leavings. "If you go to A&M, you have to wear overalls to class every day. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

Mikey's nursery features an Alabama pennant and a gigantic Bevo mascot growth chart poster. The idea is that the constant exposure to these images will create a permanent imprint on his malleable little proto-brain.

Active Support:
We watch Alabama and Texas games together, and role model excellent cheering for our teams. Mikey will begin to associate Longhorn touchdowns or Alabama sacks with outbursts of family joy and a sense of loving well-being. We will teach him to signal and yell "touchdown!", and he will be praised effusively for doing so. Some of my earliest and best memories of time with my dear sweet dad are during early 80's Bama games. I remember his maniacal screaming and hooting. "HE'S GOT THE BALL..WOOOOOOO!", etc. I hope Mikey will have his own fond memories of watching Texas and Bama games with Shannon and me. Here's hoping he can block out the naughty words and the periodic offensive coordinator rage that can bubble up.

We are also working on cheers and slogans. "Michael, what does the elephant say?" "Rooollllllllll Tide-dah," he sometimes replies. "Michael, what does Bevo say?" "Bevo's drinking the milk!," replies Michael. The above-mentioned Bevo poster in his room was sponsored by a Dairy company, and Bevo is indeed enjoying a fine glass of milk in the photograph. It's not perfect, but we'll take it.

Overall, we are confident that this strategy will result in a well-adjusted young man who has his college football rooting interests in good working order.

Sorry, Dad

We all collaborated to select your grandfather name. You've always been referred to as Grumpaw or Grampaw. Michael has heard the correct name hundreds of times.

Toddlers have a way of sidetracking the best laid plans. There's a quirk somewhere in Michael's developing verbal skills. Some consonant sounds are just difficult to correctly speak at the tender age of 22 months. I'm sure that your grandfather name will be corrected as soon as Mikey's little mouth develops a bit more. We'll continue to work on it. Don't worry. We will not rest until your grandfather name reflects the respect and dignity that you deserve, dad.

Until then, our hands are tied. Before we conclude here, please be aware that we make no guarantee as to the ultimate disposition of your grandfather name. Sometimes the name chooses you, not the other way around. This one might stick.

Once again, we're sorry to be at this point, and we hope that your grandfather name is resolved very soon, Dad, I mean, Pee-Paw.

That's What He Said (Recurring Feature)

I'm going to try a new feature here. That's What He Said will be quick-hitters documenting funny things that Mad Dawg has said recently.

1. Michael has just moments ago woken up from a nap. As he's rubbing his eyes, he looks at me and says, "Daddy, I need airplane." Really? That's what you need right after waking up?

2. Scene: Mikey sitting in his high chair eating lunch. Bella is barking loudly at some dog or cat outside. Michael, in a mean, growled yell:  "SHUT UP, BELLA. SHUT UP, BELLA!"  Oops, I guess mom and dad need to choose our dog admonishing words a little more carefully. Please cease barking at once, you scurrilous canine!

Daddy, I want fireworks

When Mikey was a wee little newborn, I always wondered just what he was thinking. What did he think when he came sliding into the world under the bright lights of the delivery room? What exactly was he crying about all those late nights when he was well-fed and dry-diapered? Did he have fantastical daydreams about our gigantic heads floating above him or our strong hands always picking him up and moving him around?

Now that he's a talking 22 month-old, the mystery is pretty much demystified. Two simple words describe what a baby is thinking most of the time:  I WANT.  A toddler is a rapid-fire infinite wanting machine. 95% of voluntarily uttered sentences (excluding stuff that we always try to make him say by repeating, like "Bye, bye everybody" or "I love you") involve the expression of a want. Most are pretty reasonable and prosaic. You know, stuff like pacifiers, water, Thomas Train, juice (sigh), and even "Daddy's coffee."

Some things point out to us just how new and magical the world is to Mikey.

Let us rewind several months ago to the 4th of July. Shannon and I met up with Carl, JJ, and Grandma to watch the Georgetown fireworks display. Eschewing the main party area out of fear of the hellish post-show traffic, we wove our way through some winding back roads. Eventually we found a perfect spot with clear sight lines that we guessed would be close to the action. It was close, indeed. 

The shells were bursting almost directly overhead, filling the entire sky above us with brilliant light. We didn't hear the shells exploding. We felt the reports deep in our guts, as if a giant Taco Bell burrito had come to life and was fighting to escape.

Needless to say, it was pretty freaking sweet. I can't remember a more spectacular fireworks show.

And there was little Mikey. He didn't cower or cry at the explosions. He just gaped, little eyes sparkling with his mouth hanging slightly open in astonishment. He had spent the last couple of hours playing frenetically with his beloved JJ. It was way past his bedtime, but he was not tired. This was too awesome to miss.

Fast forward a few months. We attended an outdoor play one evening in Zilker Park. Conditions were similar to the 4th of the July night. In other words, it was dark and hot as heck. This triggered a memory in Mikey's little brain.

"Daddy, I want fireworks."

It's touching that he thinks that I can just summon up the amazing fireworks he saw that night in July. That 15 minute show that cost thousands of dollars and took months to coordinate? Meh, just another little request for the toddler. Pacifier, milk, Thomas Train, go to playground, see spectacular fireworks display on demand. Gotta love him.