After the Yankees game, I fell into a bit of radio silence because we got a little busy. The weather in NYC on Friday wasn't helping, with the heavy, wind-driven rain bringing traffic to a halt and forcing us to wrap up every box we carried down to the venue in plastic. But we made it through all of that and then some. To catch up, here's some highlights from the rest of the weekend and a question for you parents about next week...
3B Escapes
During the wedding reception yesterday, Mama called to see how 3B was faring with his Grammy, Great Grammy and Aunt D. Turns out that our little Houdini had climbed out of his Pack N Play, which is a first.
Grammy was in the living room and heard screams, so she ran back to 3B'sroom. When she threw open the door, she found 3B standing outside his Pack N Play, apparently no worse for the ordeal. Grammy calmed 3B down and asked him what he wanted. He replied that he wanted to read stories and picked one out (The Vanishing Pumpkin, for those of you keeping score at home). After Grammy finished reading to him and lay 3B back down in his Pack N Play, he did stay in it and go to sleep.
Here's hoping the crib at home is a bit more secure for a little while at least.
Wedding Parade Through Times Square
I survived performing the wedding ceremony without mishap, which was a relief. Fortunately, the bride and groom are both highly organized and excellent planners, so there wasn't much for me to do except be there and read my lines. It helped that most of the ceremony was contained in the readings and their vows, so I did more MC'ing than ministering.
I wasn't too worried about it, but as the best man said of himself giving the toast, I didn't want to be remembered as "that fast-talky guy with the flopsweats and facial tics who broke down cursing at himself in the middle of speaking--'Stupid! Stupid! Why did you say that? Stupid! Stupid!'--and then started sobbing and ended up curled in the corner behind the bar, rocking back and forth, muttering to himself."
With the bar set so low, it was hard not to succeed, but I have to say that we soared above it, thanks to a beautiful couple who inspired and moved us.
After that was all over, a small knot of us ended up on the rooftop, lit by the glow of the NYC skyline, remembering old stories and hearing new ones about each other. It was nice to catch up with friends from high school who are also parents of young kids, and to make some new friends as well. 3B will be able to have playdates with peers across the country, and Mama and Papa have a new bar downtown to play darts in.
And then, a little after midnight, we walked the bride and groom to their hotel in Times Square, stopping for photos of them outside a hot dog shop, at a pretzel cart, and all of us together in Times Square. Was it wrong that throughout the whole walk, I kept thinking of Curious George and all the places he went when he was lost in the big city?
This morning, after we got up and got to our respective trains, we found that the wedding was in the NYTimes as one of the Weddings/Celebrations announcements in today's Sunday Styles section. As 3B would say, "That's pretty cool."
Hot Foot
The groom treated the best man and myself to a man spa visit before the ceremony. It wasn't my first massage, so I was ready--more than ready--for the melted-puddle feeling that follows, but it was my first pedicure. My only question about the pedicure: why have I never had one before?
Really, she could have stopped after the tub full of warm water and glass beads. But it just kept getting better. There was the Barca-Madrid match on the big screen, then the mint scrub, the lotion and heated booties...again, why have I never done this before?
Of course, as soon as we were done there, we were late for our arrival, so we grabbed our bags, sprinted uptown, changed into our comfy rented tuxes, sprinted downtown, and so within about 30 minutes, our muscles were as knotted up as when we walked into the spa.
I can't imagine how we would have survived through the night without that spa break.
Missing My Internet Dates
Something else that I'd like to do next time we're in NYC is to make the time for some other friends. A lunch with MetroDad got scrubbed in favor of a last minute decision to have the groomal party take trip to the house that Ruth built, and there was just no way to get out to see Anthromama, who lives a short distance outside the city. Of course, next time we won't be there for a wedding, so we'll be more in control of the schedule.
Perhaps I'll even get my buddy, the groom, to meet some of these folks, so he'll see what good people they are and stop scoffing at them as "my internet dates."
After all, I didn't make snide remarks when we went to Midtown Comics on Thursday to pick up his weekly fix of junk delivery of new releases and mingle with the Aged Teenage Boys Club, did I?
OK, I did toss a comic book reference into the ceremony, but it was a great laugh line--helped loosen up the crowd. OK, and one action figure reference, but that was it.
Until the best man gave the toast, anyway.
Under One Roof in the House of a Mouse
In a few days we're off to the happiest place on earth, and I've got a question for the parents out there who've traveled with a ~2 year old: how does bedtime with everyone in one hotel room work? Does everyone just go to sleep at 7:30?
Anything else we should think about, take along, do--or not do?
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Wedding week wrap up
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Boys playing with bats, balls and tractors
It was a great game. A couple of nice shots over the wall, some nice plays, and great weather to sip a beer, eat some Cracker Jacks, and chill with friends, like the bride and groom:
Or, if you're on your Great-Grammy's farm, it was a great day to drive a tractor (and yes, he does get to ride on ones that actually work too) ...
... and play with your cousin ...
A California yankee in Babe's house
On four hours of sleep--why did I leave all of that cleaning until the last minute?--I made it to the train, made it to NYC, and made it through yesterday, which culminated with martinis on the rooftop of the bride and groom's building, overlooking the George Washington Bridge and the Hudson River as the sun set behind them.
I checked in on Mama, 3B and Barky, and all are well. 3B has been asking for me, which is both heartwarming and heartbreaking. I'll post more pictures of him on large farm equipment soon. He's taken to going out with Uncle P on the shit spreader every day for about half an hour.
But right now, we've got to run--we is the best man and myself--we're going to a Yankees game. I know. Mama's from New England and so is a Sox fan, and I'm...well...let's just say not a Yankees fan...will 3B still respect me after finding out about this?
Monday, May 05, 2008
The road years
I'm hoping that unlike Kerouac's travels, this phase we're going through doesn't last for years--or involve cross country jags with speed freaks, hopping freights and ducking yard bulls with dharma bums, and misogynists shooting their wives in Mexico. I'm too old for that shit.
I figure that the rest of it--the trains, planes, taxis, subways, and crazy car seat swaps--will be manageable. The hardest part will be missing 3B when the next loneliness whiplash hits...
OK, so what's the deal with the travel?
Backing up a bit, last week, Mama was in Uganda. She would call and say things like, "I'm sitting in front of my cottage, eating pineapple that they just picked in the garden." And, "I'm sipping a beer out by the pool, which overlooks Lake Victoria. The evening is cool and beautiful; everything is green since it's rainy season; I can hear the music floating up from the city."
I would say things like, "My coffee is cold, and my cubicle is particularly gray today."
She came home, said "hello," kissed me, unpacked, packed, kissed me, said "goodbye," and left with 3B for Great Grammy's farm. We've been videochatting every night, so I get to see the boy for a minute or two, before he has to squirm down to play with all the tractors that Great Grammy has, or run outside to play baseball with Grammy, or go ride a tractor, or see cows at the barn. Last night, Mama was able to take the laptop outside and so I could see (a slightly pixelated version of) 3B playing ball with his Grammy. He would run over every once in awhile to check in. When he did, I would forget about all the half-finished chores surrounding me, the strain and fatigue that strains my face into a semi-permanent wince, and I could feel my heart beating and my breath slowing down. 3B's saying things now like, "Be careful, Grammy." And Mama reports on how much he liked eating Great Grammy's macaroni and cheese, and how much she--that would be Mama--liked eating Aunt D's cookies, and how she's relaxing during 3B's five-hour naps.
I report on how 3B napped for 45 minutes while she was gone and how today Barky pooped on a totally different part of the lawn.
Later this week, I'm headed to NYC to officiate at my best friend's wedding, which Mama is coming down from the farm to attend with me, leaving 3B with Grammy. That will give us one night to get all, like, likkered up like we were in Chicago that one time where Mama ended up aikido rolling me down the aisle of the train. (For the record, it was all her fault, Mama started it, I was just sitting there, I wasn't even touching her seat, I wasn't the one who thought we needed two pitchers of sangria, it's just not faaaaaair!) The next day, Mama and I will return to our respective corners--her to the farm, while I detox on the train ride back down here to home in Dixie.
Mama and 3B fly in the next day, which gives us almost a whole day before we have to head back to the airport to fly down to Orlando, where I have a seminar that happens to be located at the happiest place on earth. (OK, has anyone figured out which is the true happiest place on earth--Disneyland or Disneyworld? They can't both be the happiest. One has to be happier. If none of you has the answer, I'm definitely going to be the grumpiest mouseketeer on earth until I figure that out.) While I'm learning about the intricacies of taxonomies, ontologies, and information architecture, Mama and 3B will be frolicking in the pool, riding the monorail, and enjoying the happiest place on earth. They'll say things like, "We met Cinderella."
I'll say things like, "I learned how to structure term dependencies to improve findability."
Then, we fly back home on the same day that Grammy flies down here. We all converge at our house for almost a whole day before Mama and I fly out to Brussels while Grammy babysits 3B. This is yet another business trip for Mama, and my boss was generous enough to let me go along*. I will actually be working from Brussels since I can, I don't have that many vacation days to burn, I've got a boatload of work to keep up on, and since Mama will also be working all day. Sure, I could go wander the streets by day while Mama's working and scout the best places to go, so when she got out of her meetings, we could go straight there, but I like the idea of discovering the city together. Besides, if I took the vacation days, when Mama got out of her meetings, I would say things like, "I spent the afternoon drinking the most amazing beer while watching this thrilling kermesse." And Mama would say things like, "The coffee was cold in my plenary session in which we strategized on the logistics of commodity delivery."
Then again, perhaps I should take them as vacation days.
But seriously, I can't afford the days off for a number of reasons, and so if I seem a bit absent or absentminded, now you know why.
(And yes, creepy innernets stalker types, our house will be protected--this time by our neighbor of the military persuasion. If you try anything, here's hoping you know a good battlefield surgeon. Also, we have only two requests: please, no sucking chest wounds in our house--take that shit into the hallway (or just toss yourself off the balcony), and if you do feel the need to bleed out, please do so in the bathroom. We need to redo it anyway.)
*Not that I'm saying this because my boss' wife reads this blog, although she does. He really is a great guy to work for and with...what's that you say? Mid-year reviews are right around the corner? Really? Who knew? Hey, hi there, Christy.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Loneliness whiplash
One week ago, I was on day seven of my tenure as a solo dad; today I'm on day four of my tenure as a dad without a boy or his Mama.
Two days after Mama flew in from Kampala, she and 3B flew out to the farm to visit 3B's Grammy, who is looking after her mom, 3B's Great Grammy, who had a stroke a few weeks back.
The adjustment from being a solo parent to being simply solo has been hard. That first day, I couldn't shake that feeling that I'd forgotten something. I walked out of the house without a boy, a diaper bag, a stroller, or even a sippy cup, and it took all of my concentration to keep moving toward the car. I felt like I needed to run back into the building because surely I couldn't be traveling without any of those.
It almost felt like that first day back at work after 3B was born, but I think this was different because for a whole week I'd been focused on nothing but him, and now he was gone. It was loneliness whiplash, and it got me thinking about what each of us goes through as a parent, as a mother, or as a father.
Before becoming a parent, I could see that the expectation of mothers was that they be nurturing, compassionate homemakers who were content with nothing more than the joy of their children's achievements. I often wondered how mothers who didn't fit any or all of that profile dealt with the tacit pressure from all sides to conform to that model, but I never wondered about the expectations placed on fathers.
As it turns out, despite any social changes periodically heralded by the media, fathers are pretty much still expected to be tough, strict working men who are content with nothing more than supporting their family financially. A father certainly isn't expected to have a tough time saying goodbye to his wife and child, to worry about them, to ache for the comforting chaos of a long summer day spent together, to stand in the doorway of their child's room feeling as though a hole had been cut through his gut.
And yet, I've spent most of my days without them distracted and somewhat confused, as though I woke up and were suddenly right-handed. I can still do everything that I used to...but everything seems somehow vaguely out of place.
I'm not even sure what to do by myself. Go sit at the playground and watch other kids play? Take a ride on the little train in the mall by myself? Push an empty stroller along when I walk Barky?
When a friend in NYC asked if I was going to see Iron Man this weekend, I realized that I could go, and so I did. Yes, by myself. I debated asking various friends, but then it dawned on me that I was not only free to go to a movie, but free to go without having to coordinate two or three or a dozen people's schedules to do it. I also did one thing I love to do, and made a little half-and-half movie myself.
Half of it is for 3B and half of it is for me, who misses 3B and Mama. The original idea was to create a vehicle to allow 3B to hear his favorite John Lee Hooker song while he's at Great Grammy's. According to Mama, he was "playing the blues" on his ladybug xylophone all the way to the airport in the Super Shuttle. Mama was glad that he was preoccupied, but she wasn't so sure that the other shuttle passengers were.
(And while we're talking about lonely papas, go over and give MetroDad some companionship. He needs it right now.)
Updated: Added in paragraphs 3 & 4, which I realized that I'd thought out in my head, but never put down. What can I say? My mind isn't all here.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
John Lee Hooker up to something
Quotes of the day...
- Tractor is upside down (after turning it upside down)
- This pad is for changing / This pad is for laying on (during a diaper change)
- Don't talk with your mouth full (Mrs. K takes credit for this--obviously, since we have taught him no good manners)
- Boat goes in to the dock (no idea where this came from...maybe he watches Love Boat at Mrs. K's)
- Be careful with the ride on toy (neither Mama nor Mrs. K claims this one, but someone must have said it to him...maybe it was Barky)
- 3B is ready to eat now (this is often the case...and I think I may regret teaching him that most of the time when he's saying "first," he means "now.")
- Doesn't close very well (referring to a flap on a book at Mrs. K's)
- Thomas is turning around, spinning, puffing smoke (apparently Thomas has been hanging out with Paula Abdul)
- John Lee Hooker plays the blues / That's John Lee Hooker, playing the blues (repeating what Papa said, unprompted, 10 hours later, as 3B made music with his ladybug xylophone)
- Listening to John Lee Hooker in the car at Mrs. K's (putting together what we did with where we were)
- John Lee Hooker up to something (attaching toy tractor to some other piece of equipment or inheriting Papa's sense of humor--sorry about that, 3B)
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Good things come in fives--Threes, sir--threes!
- Mama is home. This means that 3B's development can now continue.
- Toilet training has begun. Well, sort of. While Mama was gone, 3B's interest in peeing on the potty waxed again, so we passed many great moments reading stories while he sat on the potty not peeing.
However, every night at bathtime, as soon as I had his pants and diaper off, 3B would run into the bathroom and sit on the potty to try to pee. We would sit there while the bath filled, but nary a drop of pee fell the entire week.
The first night Mama was back, though, lightning struck, much to her surprise. It was especially surprising because she wasn't aware of the traditional nightly Running of the Potty ceremony, and was herself enjoying a brief moment of solitude in the john, the head, the library, the doobluh vay say, if you will.
In burst 3B, with a huge grin across his face, yelling "Pee on the potty! Pee on the potty! Pee on the potty!" He plunked himself down as Mama closed the door again to grant them the privacy together that such intimate social events deserve. A moment later I heard her cry out, "Oh, what good peeing in the potty!" I went to get some cookies for the boy.
Want to know what's even better? He did it again tonight! - Today, because our elevator was once again out, Mama and 3B were climbing the seven floors of stairs to get home when Mama asked 3B if he could count the steps. Most of our requests like this, if they get a response at all, garner nothing more than a look that says, "Do I look like an organ grinder's monkey? If you want someone to do tricks for you, why don't you get a border collie?" This time, though, 3B methodically said, to himself, of course--he don't work on Maggie's farm no more, "1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10."
Sunday, April 27, 2008
This is why we can't have nice things
*title stolen from the World's Largest Rock and Roll band.
Even though it was her alma mater's band and they played some of her favorite songs, Mom always rolled her eyes at them while she laughed at them. She used to claim that they weren't like that when she went there, although she could never provide evidence of that.
I believe it was somewhere around the time of John Elway's final college game, a victory that was stolen from him by some criminally bad special teams play and a trombone player, that she started referring to the band from her alma mater as "your band." Although I went to a Cal-system school, I felt that was a fair euphemism for them, so whenever I was speaking to her, I also referred to them as "your band."
Mom would roll her eyes and laugh at that too.
And so I can imagine her hearing about 3B and rolling her eyes and laughing. She would roll her eyes when I told her that he loves to burp, and when he can't, he just shouts out a loud growl, and then says--or yells--"Excuse you!" See, Mom not only used to hate how loud a few of us kids--and grandkids--belched, but also that we'd make a point to follow up with an Emily Post "excuse me" afterward.
"Why don't you just not belch?"
"I can't help it."
[Eye roll.]
For the record, the fact that 3B says "excuse you" rather than "excuse me" is all on Mama.
And Mom would laugh--at me--when I told her that 3B loves to wait until my slow digital camera and I are ready to take a picture and then a) run straight toward me b) grab the camera c) turn away d) stop what he's doing, sit down, stick his thumb in his mouth and give me his best "what the hell are you looking at?" scowl e) all of the above.
See, Mom also loved to take pictures. Mom had a keen eye and took photography classes to learn technical skills and even had our upstairs bathroom outfitted so that it could be converted into a darkroom. She kept a roll-away enlarger in the broom closet next to the bathroom.
Especially because Mom couldn't instantly see her shots as she took them, she would often take several pictures of one sitting or setting, to make sure she got what she wanted. When she would say, "Just one more." I would roll my eyes and laugh. It was never just one more.
So, perhaps it's all my fault, or perhaps laying it at my feet is merely blaming the victim of photophilia, but at some point, I do admit that I did start messing with Mom. OK, we all did. Back in those days, she had a split-focus viewfinder, which was easiest to focus sharply on a vertical line. There must be hundreds of pictures of us standing with our index fingers held up in front of us for her to focus on. ("OK, just one more...without the fingers!") Actually, it might have been Dad who started the finger thing.
That became too easy, however, so when she would focus (This was back when people actually had to focus cameras themselves--oh, the horror!), which could take a few seconds or weeks, I would slowly lean forward and backward. Of course, this only doomed me to more hours before the camera, but it was fun to watch her get it in focus, and then...no, not quite...OK, now it's in focus...no, not quite...OK, now...what is going on? Of course, Mom caught on and that time passed.
And then there were the timer shots with my blue nose, but we'll leave that for another time. Suffice it to say that Mom would find 3B's efforts to thwart my harassment-by-camera amusing. Had I known then what a pain in the ass karma is, I might have been a better kid.
No, you're right, probably not.
And as a kid, I was, as I am now, a boy. Very much a boy, except the part about the stuffed animals, and later on with the makeup, oh, and the earrings...but I digress. So, it should come as no surprise that 3B has some of those same traits, especially since he's a boy. Actually, I suspect that more of this comes from his age than his gender. With his fascination in pushing everything to, and past, the breaking point, he could either be a regular toddler, or a future failure analysis engineer.
I understand the instinct, having conducted several similar experiments myself, some of which pushed me past my breaking point. I even broke one of Mom's favorite vases, and so I understand that these things happen--that even though I gave this to Mama for Valentine's Day, along with a ride in a rented Mini Cooper, that one small red-headed object of her affection would do this to another small red-colored object of her affection:
And, I think that the next time a firefighter offers 3B a helmet, we'll decline. After all, we've got enough scattered around the house for a squad of firefighters, however, they're all in a state similar to this:
At one time, I believe I asked Mom why there weren't more pictures of me from a particular time, she just leaned slowly forward and backward, rolled her eyes and laughed. I'll have to remember to keep at least one helmet nearby and intact, so that when 3B asks why we didn't indulge his love of all things firefighter-related, I can slowly tear it apart and say, "Daddy break it. Daddy rip it." And roll my eyes and laugh.
