Confession...

I’m a bad parent. I’m here to beg forgiveness. I would like to thank the Academy for this honor, my induction into the 2010 Parent Hall of Shame (hat tip to Sarah).

Every morning when we arrive at day care, Mikey’s hair is horrible. Oh, it's still cute, but he has bed-head. The back sticks up like a demented cockatoo or like David Beckham on a really bad day. He also has chunks of dried banana caked in his hair. Why he insists on rubbing banana slices on his head during breakfast, I’ll never know. Let’s just assume that banana slime nourishes his hair, making it shiny and full of body.

Then there’s the nose. Snot-nosed kid is not an insult, it’s a daily reality. I can barely get myself ready for work in the sluggish, groggy early weekday mornings. It’s still dark outside, and Mikey looks a-ok to my bleary eyes. Then we arrive at day care, and I truly see his face up close in the light of day. His nose is a horrifying dried green snotscape. It’s like a topographical map of the Hill country drawn in green. So, here I am with a banana-crusted, bedhead, booger-enameled pitiful child specimen. Please don’t turn me in to CPS.

It gets worse. One of my other responsibilities in the morning is putting clothes on this child. This is nearly impossible. Children grow so darn fast that at least 90% of the clothing we have is too small. The stuff that fits must still be boxed up somewhere, because I ain't seeing it. My objective is simply to find clothes that fit and get them on the baby as efficiently as possible. Details such as style and matching colors are secondary. I see the other kids at daycare (mainly the girls) wearing their cute-as-a-button matching outfits with everything from hair bow to frilly socks in perfect harmony. Then, Mikey comes strutting in looking like a nightmare version of a Bill Cosby sweater. Oh well. If there's ever an open casting call for extra street Ragamuffins for an Oliver Twist show, then we're golden.

On other mornings, Mikey gets to be Shoeless Joe Baby. I beg for forgiveness here. I also beg for forgiveness when I don’t bring him wearing a jacket on a cold day. See also the laundry passage above.

How could I possibly forget the animal hair? We have a gigantic tabby and a corgidor that can shed enough white hairs daily to reconstitute an entire new dog or maybe a Betty White. Pet hair is omnipresent. Shannon goes through several cases of those fly-paper lint rollers trying to stay presentable. No matter how diligent our efforts, there are some mornings that Mikey shows up at daycare looking like he’s wearing a Mohair sweater. Our banana-crusted, snot-nosed, mismatched, shoeless, jacketless little Dickensian street urchin baby also appears to live in a filthy animal barn.

Please forgive me. I promise to do better. I’m sure Mikey will be fine too, after a few years of therapy.

Corgidor Photos

About 2 years ago, we rescued a scraggly young Corgi / Yellow Lab mix from the Waco Humane Society animal shelter. She's become an indispensable, maddening part of our growing family.

A funny thing has happened with her on this blog. A single post I made way back when has steadily risen in the google search results for "Corgidor." To honor our intrepid Corgidor-seekers from all over the planet, here are some more Corgidor photos.

My Favorite Super Bowl Commercial

Bella, the yellow lab / corgi mix, teaches us that dogs will go to great lengths to get food. Despite the fact that her dish was completely full of expensive dog food (with fancy shredded chicken bits), she still went counter surfing this weekend. Poor Sherman and Paula walked into the kitchen to find Bella standing on the counter on top of their freshy cooked Mediterranean chicken pizza chowing down.

While it is impressive that this stumpy Corgidor can jump up on the kitchen counter, this was an appalling move by the dog. At least she didn't do this:

On Diapers

In the carefree days before little Mikey actually arrived, when I tried to conjure up a mental picture of the toil and struggle of parenting, it would always be diapers. I would see the America's Funniest Video's clip of the hapless dad, clad futilely in a goofy bandanna, trying to change a dirty diaper. He is overcome by the abject nastiness of the dirty diaper and succumbs to pitiful uncontrollable gagging. In my mind, dirty diapers were the worst that parenting had to offer. Boy was I wrong. But, let me give them their due. Diapers do suck in their own special way.

It all starts with the very first diaper. For me the first diaper came mere minutes after the absolutely mind blowing experience of watching the birth of my son. Suddenly I was a fish in an aquarium in the newborn nursery at the hospital. A crowd of family and friends were on the other side of the glass, bristling with cameras and holding little mylar balloons tied to teddy bears. I was on stage, so every motion and gesture became cinematic and awkward. Was I looking doting enough? Should I sigh? My little Mikey, hot off the presses and still covered in Poltergeist goo, lay before me under the warmers wearing naught but his ill-fitting Huggies diaper.

My spiritual guide was the wizened hospital nurse. When the time came, she said, "Are you ready for your first diaper?" Here it was. I was going to reap what I had sown. I undid the little psuedo-velcro tabs and grimaced in anticipation of the horrors that I would behold. I won't explicitly describe what I saw, as I believe that parents talk too much about poop as it is, but it wasn't pretty. We wiped and scrubbed and fought against the vile ichor until all was ready for a clean diaper. The nurse handed me a neatly folder clean diaper and simply stared.

I could feel the eyes from the other side of the glass watching expectantly. I could also feel the panic building inside. What the velcro do I do with this thing? Which freaking side is the front? Which is the back? How does it buckle? Where are the buckles? I knew I would fail at parenting. I should have just had cats. They use a litter box.

The nurse finally stepped in and showed me that the tabs always go at the back. For any of you single guys or expectant dads out there: there might come a day when you are changing your first diaper. Just remember, the tabs go at the back, under the baby. When your moment comes, take this knowledge and diaper that baby like a hero.

Since that day, I have changed hundreds, if not thousands of diapers. The vast majority are the extremely harmless wet diapers. These are identified by checking the feel of the diaper. Modern diapers feature dryness technology, so they turn jelly-like when they are wet. The only problem this variety of diaper causes is the horrific clogging of landfills.

The parent's real enemy is the euphemistically-named "dirty diaper." Oh, these diapers are dirty in the same degree that Niagara Falls is "wet." We parents have many words and phrases for this ever-present threat: swamp butt, dropped a deuce, got a problem, might have something going on in the diaper region, ridin' dirty, Oh gross, or here, honey, you take him.

In the early days, the diapers are more an oddity, a carnival of strange colors and textures. These lull you into a false sense of security. I began to wonder just what that guy in the video clip was making all the fuss about. Then came solid food. Do you have any idea what happens after a baby eats a pound of edamame? Pray that you never find out.

The funny thing is that diapers really are not that bad. The thing that I dreaded turned out to be one of the easiest things about parenting. Sure, they are a ridiculous money sink and the occasional source of pure disgust and fear, but most diapers are harmless (until it is time to clean out the diaper genie, that is).

The real enemies turned out to be subtle things: sleep deprivation, rhinoviruses, head bonks on the floor, and baby shoes that are hard to put on. Those are a tale for another posting.

More Dancing Moves

We will be compiling the dancing video soon, but here's a teaser...

Food

I hear horror stories from other parents about how their toddler won’t eat anything. These picky eaters end up hovering around the bottom percentiles of the growth charts. They receive ominous “projected adult height” prognostications that would imply a future of standing in the front row of pictures and having plenty of leg room in coach.

Let’s just say that we don’t have that problem with Mikey. He enjoys foods of all types, and he is moving up the growth charts nicely.


Here are some favorites of our 26 pound gourmand:
1. Banana: This oblong yellow fruit is much loved by primates everywhere. Clad in its very own wrapper, and shockingly inexpensive ($.41 / lb..what what!), this food is a parent’s dream. Our little monster goes all Chris Floyd on these things, consuming a whole banana in mere seconds. What Mikey calls it: “Nana”.

2. Edamame: These green steamed baby soybeans feature a rich meaty flavor and great nutritional value. These small beans are a perfect baby food: finger-sized, minimal choke risk factor, and no gunk or sticky juice. Michael eats these by the bushel while sharing liberally with Bella. We are thrilled that he is loving a green vegetable. What Mikey calls it: “ ___”.

3. Cuties aka Clementines: This variant of mandarin orange peels easily and features no baby-choking seeds. They have a delicious mild orange taste that Mikey enjoys. He also enjoys crushing clementine segments in his meaty little fists. I like to imagine that he has just threatened a rival and that he is crushing the orange to send a menacing message. He likes to rub the juice and pulp in his hair and on his clean outfit for the day. I take him to day care like that. What Mikey calls it: “Aaaa-puhl”, aka apple.

4. Whole Milk: It was a joyful day when we switched from powdered gold, ie formula, to good old whole milk. Michael has also transitioned to sippy cups. Michael’s favorite thing about sippy cups is that they can be inverted and shaken violently to send a flood of milk splattering everywhere. Fortunately, we have a dog that likes to drink milk. What Mikey calls it: “Ba-ba”.

5. Lemon Wedges: This is a rare treat, mainly enjoyed while dining out. There’s a love-hate dynamic here. I want to eat you, but you are so sour! Why can’t I stop!

6. Cantaloupe: When Michael eats cantaloupe, he enters a melon-lust frenzy. He yells for more while frantically making the ‘more’ hand sign. Cantalopes are a bit unwieldy to cut up, and they score very poorly on the mess-o-meter. What Mikey calls it: “Aaaa-puhl”. Any round fruit is apparently an apple.

Other Objects Eaten, For Better or For Worse:
1. A nice shiny quarter.
2. Purina Pro Plan Dog Food with Shredded Chicken Bits
3. A fistful of wasabi

Another Weekend In Austin

It was a cold and windy night. The scent of joint liniment, Just for Men hair dye, and Geritol wafted in the air. It was my birthday. 33 years ago in a humble log cabin or Birmingham hospital, I was born into this world.

Birthdays used to be about having a cartoon-themed party or maybe a sleepover. Action figures and cap guns would be gifted, and one kid would always throw up. In mellow old age, the party shifts. It is less about awkwardly cementing friendships with classmates and accumulating the latest GI Joe figure and more about just having a great time with friends and family.

So that's just what we did this weekend in Austin. We started with a laid back family celebration at home on Thursday night. Michael was afflicted with another accursed cold, but he was still able to run and play with his little role model, Uncle J.J. We dined upon the reformulated Domino-s pizza. Apparently, the old stuff was cardboard and ketchup, but this pizza rocked the house. Three words for you: bacon, glorious bacon.

We tapped a couple of fantastic red wines. The first was a Spanish Red, Ludovicus. This was an excellent and intriguing wine especially for the $9 price tag. The attractive, modernistic orange label looks good enough to bring to classy parties. The second bottle was another fantastic Spanish garnacha, Mas Donis Barrica. This one featured smooth delicious dark fruit and complexity way beyond the $9 price tag. My apologies for this vino diversion if wine is not your thing. For those who do like wine, check these two out.

For birthday loot, I was the lucky recipient of a pair of ridiculously awesome Shure SE210 Headphones. Thanks, mom and Carl!

The celebration continued Friday night. With Mikey kicking it with grandma, Shannon and I joined friends for dinner at Sazon, a fantastic interior Mexican restaurant. Holy mackerel, the Cochinita Pibil hit the spot. We had a great time with Rob, Andrea, Chris, Steph, Squish, and Carl.

We closed out the night at uber doughnut trailer, Gourdough's. The tagline is "Big.Fat.Donuts" and boy are they. Just browsing the menu raises your cholesterol by 15 points, but it is so worth it.

It was a perfect birthday weekend: the perfect antidote for feeling old and decrepit. Thanks to everyone who sent good wishes and celebrated with us.

Food Detritus

The toddler sits in the wooden high chair, as his parents fuss over him. They offer morsels of food, sippy cups, and pacifiers. Maybe he smiles, and maybe he screams. Diners seated nearby curse their luck, as the table adjoining "the baby table" is certainly not the best seat in the house.

The meal ends, and the baby and his entourage pack up for the road. It is the wreckage they leave behind that this blog posting is concerned with.

We've all seen it. The table is covered with torn and shredded bits of food. Shattered teething biscuits lay scattered. The floor is even worse. There's a 4 foot blast radius littered with food detritus and crumpled napkins.

I pity the bussers and wait staff who must contend with this mess. In the years before Michael, I remember looking on such scenes with disgust and anger toward the parents. How dare they inconsiderately leave such a mess behind.

Now I know better. The food disaster zone just goes with the territory. We try to clean up as much as possible, but the food on the floor lingers like pants on the ground.

At home, we just rely on the Corgi food-a-matic to gobble everything up. She usually gets it before it even hits the ground. Dogs are great with babies. It's like having a Roomba that never needs charging.

There should be a new class of service dogs for parents dining at restaurants. Our specially trained "Eating Pie Dog" could join us in restaurants proudly wearing a working vest emblazoned with a knife and fork emblem. She would sit at the foot of the restaurant high chair to intercept and dispose of any food thrown, dropped, or otherwise ejected from the dining toddler. The dog gets a meal, the floor stays clean, and the restaurant staff doesn't have to deal with the disgusting baby food blast radius. Just an idea.