"Is it today?"

"Is what today?"

"Today."

"Is today today?"

"Yeah."

"...Yes. Yes it is."

20 minutes later

"Is it still today?"

"Yes. The answer to 'is today today?' will always be yes."

"Is it today, or Tuesday?"

"It's today. Though if you ask me that question on Tuesday, it will be both today and Tuesday."

Later that evening

"Is it still today?"

"It'll be today until you go to bed. Then when you wake up, it will be tomorrow."

Next morning

"Is it tomorrow?"

--
* Except for the two Tuesdays, where the conversation varied slightly.

Posted by omar at 10:18 PM | Read entire post | Comments (15)

A few weeks ago, while visiting my parents' house, whatever TV program was on mentioned something about someone having a "baby brother or sister." My mom, who couldn't pass up such an opportunity, asked my boy if he wanted a little brother or sister. While he responded that he wants a baby sister, I shot daggers out of my eyes at my mom. I think she chose not to notice.

A few days later, I was driving with the boy in the car, and he mentioned something again about a sister. So I asked him, "you really think you want a baby sister? Why do you want a baby sister?"

He replied, "So I can play with it."

Just as I thought I was going to have to suppress some emotions, he continued.

"And frow it."

"... I'm sorry, did you say 'throw it'?"

"Yes."

This is one of many many times where I've found myself having to hide laughter while discussing something that is supposed to be serious.

"Listen, you don't throw babies. Babies are not for throwing." What else was I supposed to say? "You can play with babies, though. And help them learn how to do things. But you don't throw babies, OK?"

"Ok daddy," he agreed.

--

Tonight, the boy picked a story at bedtime that I don't normally read to him, and one the wife hasn't read to him in quite a while. It's called "More More More Said the Baby." I don't love the book, but whatever, I let him choose. So I started reading it. The first part is about a baby boy and his dad who were playing together. They were playing some little game of chase, and after the dad caught the boy, it said something like, "and Little Guy's daddy threw that baby high in the air..."

I paused. And then I burst out laughing. At least we now know his desire to have a baby sister so he can throw it isn't malicious.

Posted by omar at 10:01 PM | Read entire post | Comments (10)

Five statements about the last 48 hours. Four are true, one is a lie. You decide.

1. The boy vomited on my foot.
2. I've cleaned up lots of vomit.
3. I haven't gotten much sleep.
4. I have done lots of laundry.
5. It's been an awesome last two days in the Phillips' house.

Posted by omar at 4:40 PM | Read entire post | Comments (23)

Friday night, after dinner, the boy told me and the wife that he wanted to go to Home Depot. One might wonder, as the wife did, why a two year old - with no job and who is not particularly handy around the house - would want to go to Home Depot. Me? I didn't care why. My son wanted to go to Home Depot. Not since the day he was born have I thought an event was so worthy of a scrapbook page.

Before we went to Home Depot, we went to the shoe store, as he's growing out of his current sneakers. After trying on two or three pairs, he started to lose his patience. Using my stern dad voice, I told him, "Sit still or else we're not going to Home Depot." The lady from the store who was helping us, who I didn't realize was still standing behind me, started laughing hysterically. I didn't bother trying to explain that it was his idea to go there. (We did end up going to Home Depot, it turns out that he wanted to look at ceiling fans... ?!?!?)
--

Saturday morning, after breakfast, he told me that he wanted to go to the Apple Store. I almost wet my pants.

--

Saturday afternoon, he told me that he was going to go to work and fix computers, "like daddy." This was like two-for-one, because not only does he want to do something like daddy, but I've been waiting for two years for him to get a job.

--

I have this annoying habit where I'll randomly repeat part of something you just said and add "dot com" at the end. If I'm feeling particularly saucy, I'll switch it up and add "dot org" or "dot us" at the end instead. I'd give you an example, but really, it's not worth it. Anyway, as I was giving the boy breakfast, the following conversation happened:

Boy - I want more milk.

Me - Then you should try asking for it.

Boy - Daddy, I want more milk, please.

Me - Close enough. (I get up and get his cup of milk.) Here you go, more milk.

Boy - More milk dot com. Thank you, daddy.

--

Sorry to bore you with these incongruous stories about the boy, but it was such a good Dad weekend, I felt that I should jot these things down and archive them. If nothing else, I can refer to them in the event that, 14 years from now, he comes home and tells me he got a girl pregnant or something.

Posted by omar at 6:33 AM | Read entire post | Comments (21)

My boy, age 2, to another toddler with a pretty big "outie" belly button:

"I think your belly button has a penis on it."

Posted by omar at 1:06 PM | Read entire post | Comments (13)

Recently, we had quite a few coins laying around the house, so we decided to put them in the boy's piggy bank. He thought it was fascinating, and he wanted to help. So we had fun taking turns putting coins in the bank.

(Now that I write it out, I realize that it might not actually sound all that fun. But it was. Hey, did I think I'd ever regularly talk about the consistency of someone else's poop? No, but I did just that. It's a side-effect of parenting. Having kids changes your perspective on a lot of things, like poop, money, and sleep. Those were not listed in any particular order, btw.)

The boy was really into it. And while I'd like to think he enjoyed the family time, or maybe the idea of saving money that will one day go towards his Playstation 5, I'm pretty sure he just liked the noise the coins made when they fell in. In any case, when we ran out of coins, he made it known that he was not ready for it to be over. He put on his mad-face, and loudly stated: "I WAN MONEY! I WAN MORE MONEY!"

On one hand, I felt like we were bonding, because dammit, I also want more money! Having the money supply run out is not OK with me, either! We were finally on the same page. Solidarity, brother!

But on the other hand, I thought I had at least a few more years to wait before I had to deny his requests for money.

Posted by omar at 6:50 AM | Read entire post | Comments (12)

"Crosty the SNOWMAN! Was a jolly happy so..."

"Frosty, with an 'F' sound."

"Crosty the SNOW-"

"No, 'F' like 'fox'. Frosty."

"Crosty the -"

"Efffffff. Like 'fuh fuh fuh'."

"Fuh fuh fuh."

"That's right! Efffff. F is for Frosty."

"Frosty."

"Yes! That's his name! Now go ahead an sing!"

"Crosty the SNOWMAN! Was a jolly happy so..."

Posted by omar at 6:58 AM | Read entire post | Comments (19)

There's a Chappelle's Show skit where Dave's kid makes him a necklace out of macaroni. While the necklace itself is very unremarkable in its craftsmanship, the fact that his son gave it to him made him get a bit emotional.

My kid didn't exist three years ago, and I only first saw him 25 months ago. For several months, all he could do was cry, eat, and poop (and for the record, he did these things like a true champion). I think all the time about how quickly he's growing up, but I didn't have my first real macaroni necklace moment until yesterday, when I brought this picture in to decorate my office:

It's an outline of a Christmas tree with dots of paint on it. It's hardly something to get worked up about. Yet I was actually getting a little bit emotional when I brought it in.

Important Note: No, I didn't cry. I repeat, there was no crying.

Quick, somebody tell me a fart joke...

Posted by omar at 6:19 AM | Read entire post | Comments (8)

For his birthday, the wife and I purchased the game Elefun for the boy. I may have mentioned before that he likes elephants, and what kid doesn't like fun? So it seemed like a perfect fit.

And it turns out that it has been, as he greatly enjoys playing the game. For those unfamiliar with the game, there is an elephant with a fan inside, and the fan blows little paper "butterflies" up through the trunk and into the air. Each player holds a net, and the object of the game is to catch as many butterflies as you can.

The unexpected thing is that I also enjoy the game. I enjoy it, primarily, because I have won 100% of the time I played it. It's natural to enjoy doing things that bring you success. Some might think that I should be ashamed of myself for bragging about beating a two-year old at a game of catching paper butterflies, or for gently pushing him out of the way to catch that 19th butterfly to beat the house record (previously also held by me).

To those people, I say that you clearly don't know what it takes to raise a champion. Charles Jeter, he never let his son Derek win at anything. Derek now makes in excess of $20 million per year, plus endorsements. Earl Woods didn't give Tiger any free passes, and Tiger now is a skillionaire, and I have a man-crush on him (I feel comfortable saying that because thousands of other straight men also have man-crushes on Tiger). William Gates Jr. probably never played Elefun with his son Bill, but I bet that if he had, he wouldn't have let Bill catch a single one.

My point is that I'm teaching my boy to earn his victories. I'm making him tougher. In turn, he'll parlay that toughness into millions and millions of dollars, with which I will retire.

My secondary point is to brag about that new house record I set.

Posted by omar at 11:10 PM | Read entire post | Comments (13)

The boy likes horses. The boy needed a chair to sit on. So, for his birthday, he got one of these:

It's a super-comfy chair for toddlers. And it would be perfect for the boy, except for one thing: it scares the crap out of him.

He was terrified when the present was first opened. Though he's calmed a bit since, he still won't go anywhere near it. Of course, if he doesn't want to sit in the chair, we're not going to make him do it. We don't want to minimize his fears, we make sure to acknowledge them and try to help him work through them. Particularly in cases where the subject of his fear is something we know is safe, it's our job as parents to help let him know, both with words and by example, that it's OK.

So, internet, let me ask you this: until he gets past this fear, is it wrong for me to strategically place this chair in order to keep him away from my computer desk? How about if I bought a second one to keep him from touching the DVD player and TV?

Posted by omar at 9:38 PM | Read entire post | Comments (17)

The boy and I went to the grocery store to get a new battery for the remote for my garage door opener. As we got to the battery section, I took a look at the batteries, and it occurred to me that I had no idea what size to get. I knew it was a non-standard size, and I had it narrowed down to two possibilities, but I didn't want to have to worry with exchanging a purchase.

With the boy riding in the shopping cart, I went back to the car to get the current battery out of the remote. I stopped the cart next to my car, open the door, and leaned in to get the remote and remove the battery. As I was fumbling with the battery, I heard the boy say, "Open!" As I looked up, I saw his hand on the handle of the rear driver's side door of the car next to mine. He had not only been fooling with the handle, but apparently it was unlocked, as he had slightly opened someone else's car door. (I know he knows how to open car doors, but when he's standing on the ground, he doesn't have enough leverage to be able to lift the handle and pull the door, because he's too short. But apparently, he has no problems doing it while sitting in a shopping cart.)

I pulled his hand away, and I went to close the door. As I was doing this, I quickly got a bad feeling inside. You know what I'm talking about, it's that "oh crap, I'm being watched as I close some stranger's car door and now I'm going to have to explain that my one year old kid did it but nobody is going to believe me because I'm a young unshaven black guy with dirty pants on" feeling. Sure enough, out of my peripheral vision, I saw an older gentleman standing at the back of the car. It was the car's owner.

Embarrassed, I awkwardly smiled and offered my apologies. The guy said nothing, nor did he smile. He just gave a little nod, then got in his car and left. I can't blame him, as I too would not see the humor in coming back to my car to find some stranger closing the door.

I'll have you know that I spent the first 28 years of my life without ever having a family member try to frame me for a crime, and in the past year, my own son has done it twice. Earlier this year, it was misdemeanor petit larceny. Now, felony auto theft. I had to give him my "you've got one foot in the orphanage and the other on a banana peel" warning speech. He may not have understood it fully, but I think he got the gist.

Posted by omar at 8:16 PM | Read entire post | Comments (13)

This morning, the boy was eating his breakfast (or rather, his "pancake sasach") while I was getting my own breakfast ready. The entire time I was getting my bowl, getting some cereal, milk, etc., he was talking. Admittedly, I wasn't paying all that much attention. I was tired, and let's be honest: he talks a lot. I appreciate that he talks a lot, and I think it's fantastic for his development and such, but I can't keep up with his toddler mind. He jumps from topic to topic so quickly and randomly, it's way too hard for me to follow before 7 am.

As I sat down, I heard him say something like "napkins help?"

"I'm sorry, but daddy doesn't have any idea what you're talking about."

"Talkin bout George. Pancakes. NOOOO! Made it worse!"

The translation of that is that he was talking about the book, Curious George Makes Pancakes. As I thought back to what parts of what he was saying that I did catch, I realized that he was basically reciting the book. There's a part where George gets sticky with syrup and the narrator asks "George wondered, would these napkins help him get clean?" Then on the next page, it says, "No! They only made it worse!" When we read it to him, we always over emphasize the "no," and he copied it perfectly.

He recites books all the time, but it occurred to me that I said "I don't know what you're talking about," and he replied appropriately. I didn't ask him a question, there was nothing in my tone to indicate that I was seeking a response. He understood me.

"You blew your cover, boy," I said. "No more ignoring me when I tell you to do something or ask you a question."

He pretended to not know what I was saying as he kept eating.

Posted by omar at 7:17 AM | Read entire post | Comments (6)

Kids sure do grow quickly. It seems like just yesterday that the boy's little baby arms couldn't reach but an inch over his large baby head. Now, he can stand up on his tippy toes and reach high enough to turn on all the lights in the house:

The trouble is, he can't reach high enough to turn them back off. Instead, he just walks around turning on lights, saying "Ooh, iss bright!" I hope the employees at the utility company enjoy the holiday party I'm paying for.

On a similarly wasteful note, he knows that dirty paper products (napkins, tissues, paper towels) go in the garbage. And if he sees them around, he'll say "GARBAGE!" and proceed to throw them out. (Not that we have dirty paper products all over the house or anything, but I've been known to leave balled-up napkins and paper towels around on occasion. It's a guy thing.)

Just when I was starting to think, "Yes! This is why I had kids," he's now getting a little bit TOO eager. If he gets his hands on a box of tissues, he says "TISSUES," takes a couple out, and throws them on the ground. He then says "GARBAGE!" You can see where this is going.

I bet all this money wasting is going to be much less cute when he's old enough to cut out the middle man and take the cash directly from my wallet.

Posted by omar at 5:42 AM | Read entire post | Comments (13)

Last night, I had to move the boy's carseat from my car to another car. I check the boy's carseat to make sure that it's positioned securely every once in a while, but it's not often that I completely remove the seat from the car.

I loosened and shifted the seat, uncovering about a dozen Goldfish crackers, two dozen Cheerios, and a few dried up peas. I was starting to worry that I might find some bugs down there, when all of the sudden, a small man, who I visually determined to be of Laotian descent, hopped out from under the carseat! He yelled something at me in another language, then jumped out the car door and ran away, so I never got to find out what his story was. Crazy stuff.

On the positive side, I did find $.65 in coins and one of my socks.

Posted by omar at 6:27 AM | Read entire post | Comments (19)

Yesterday, the boy and I were about to share a bowl of oatmeal. When I say "share," I generally mean that there's one bowl with two spoons, and I maybe get in a bite or two before I am reminded of just how much saliva children manage to get all over their food. Then it turns into me supervising him, making sure minimal amounts of oatmeal make it into his hair.

Occasionally, I'll notice that he's putting too much oatmeal on his spoon. This often results in oatmeal getting on the table or on his clothes. To avoid this, I'll use my spoon to knock the contents off his spoon back into the bowl. He doesn't love it when I do that, so I keep it light by saying a Simpsons-inspired "Yoink!" when I do it. That word makes him smile.

Back to yesterday. I got the bowl out of the microwave and sat down at the table. I gave him his spoon as I stirred the oatmeal around to make sure it wasn't too hot. A moment after I scooped some up on my spoon to try it, he reached out with his free hand and, pulled the oatmeal off of my spoon with his fingers. He looked up at me and proudly said, "NOINK!"

Then he rubbed his hand on his shirt to clean it off.

Posted by omar at 5:32 AM | Read entire post | Comments (9)

I walked into the boy's room to get him out of bed this morning. We exchanged pleasantries (typically involving me saying "hey buddy!" and him replying, "hey body" or "hey bunny"). When I picked him up, he was looking around for something. Then he uttered:

"Where the ef-fant book, daddy?"

At which time I just about lost it, for the following reasons:

• I've never heard him string together a 5 word sentence
• He wakes up in the morning thinking about elephant books
• A year and a half ago, he was just a little ball of chub that ate, pooped, and cried. Now he's asking where his elephant book is.

When I started acting all crazy and happy, he was looking at me like, "I still don't see my book."

It made my day. He made me so happy, I'm considering calling the orphanage to cancel the drop-off.

Posted by omar at 7:18 AM | Read entire post | Comments (16)

As I've mentioned before, watching the boy learn the language and pick up new words has been one of my favorite parts of parenthood so far (behind only the tax break and the fact that he gives me an excuse to take a lot of pictures). By my count, he's picking up a new word about every 10 minutes, which makes for a pretty fun time in between the screaming fits.

For a while, we were keeping track of all the new words he used. Before long, we realized that there was no way we could keep up with him unless we each had BlackBerry devices on our sides at all times so that we could enter new words into a shared "new word" database stored on the Phillips family server. How else would we avoid duplicates? What other options do we have, pen and paper? Why don't we sell our house and live in a cave?

Anyway, there has been much conversation about what actually is a "word." It's very clear cut when he says things correctly, like "stairs" or "peacock" or something. Likewise, I don't count it when he says something like "boogeyboo" for "shoe" or something (which he never ever did, as I would not permit him to say "boogeyboo" around the house). But what if what he says rhymes, or is pretty close? Something like "damas" for "pajamas," for instance? Or what if he mispronounces a word just because he can't yet say a sound? He can't make "L" or "F" sounds, so when he tries to say "elephants," it sounds like "AAAH-nuss" (NOT pronounced like "anus," Becky) or "ehnuss." Grandma is "gumma." Milk is "mick." He can identify an elephant or his grandmas or milk every single time, but the words aren't said properly. What counts and what doesn't?

Internet, please chime in.

Posted by omar at 6:07 PM | Read entire post | Comments (17)

Attached to the rails of the boy's crib is a little music box thingy that we affectionately call his "stereo." It's got options for him to listen to lullabies, classical music, or peaceful ocean sounds.

Let me go on a quick tangent here. Can I just say how much I hated it when I was young and people would say that you can hear the ocean in a seashell? I would always put it up to my ear and not hear any oceans. Then I'd say, "you mean, can I hear that air?" And they'd say, "well, yes, but it sounds like the ocean!" I've been to a couple of oceans, and they didn't sound like air in a seashell. For some reason, that's never been something I could just shrug off or play along with. "No, I DON'T hear the ocean. I hear air in a shell." Or if I'm feeling clever, I'll reply with a "wha- whoa! I can hear the ocean in my HAND too!" So note to readers: don't ever give me a shell and tell me I can hear the ocean. I'm not threatening anyone, but I don't want to be held responsible for whatever happens next.

Anyway, back on task. The boy will regularly play his music when he's in his crib but doesn't want to sleep. Recently, he's discovered that he can also adjust the volume of the music. He knows that we don't really like it when he turns it all the way up. This is partially because the MIDI loops can get rather annoying, but mainly because the volume almost reaches Giggle Doodler levels.

This morning was one of the mornings when he didn't want to be in his bed, so he cranked the volume as high as it could go. As the wife was walking out of our room to go to his, we both had to laugh about how we never thought we'd have to tell our one-year-old to turn down his stereo. They do learn quickly, don't they?

Posted by omar at 6:44 AM | Read entire post | Comments (13)

Several weeks ago, the boy was sitting on my lap while I was at my computer desk. I was online trying to find directions somewhere. It was made slightly more difficult by his random pounding on the keyboard, and occasional clicking of the mouse. After I finished, I opened up Notepad and let him have a minute where he could type to his heart's content. A few seconds later, I briefly saw the words "Preparing to go into stand by mode" (or something like that), then the computer went to sleep.

My keyboard doesn't have a sleep button, and as best I can tell, in order to make it go to sleep, you have to press the Windows key, then the up arrow, then enter, then the left arrow, then enter. While that's not as complex as up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, A, B, A, B, Select, Start; that's still quite an accidental sequence of keystrokes.

I had forgotten about that until yesterday. The boy was playing with the wife's cell phone. We try to discourage him from playing with real phones, because we're afraid he'll either call 9-1-1 or Brazil. And while we can lock the keys on the cell phone, we have to be consistent, so I went towards him to take it away. When I took the phone out of his hands, I saw the words "saving changes" briefly on the screen, before it went back to the general options screen.

"What did you press?!?!"

Blank stare.

"Daddy's not mad at you, I just want to know what got changed."

"Beep. Beeeeeep beep," he said as he pointed at the phone.

"Yes, the phone says 'beep,' but daddy wants to know what option got changed." I started going through the options individually, but I couldn't find anything. More and more, I'm starting to not believe this "he's too young to know what he did" crap. He knows what he's doing, and he's probably laughing at me on the inside.

We'll see who's laughing when he's old enough to ask about his college fund.

Posted by omar at 6:40 AM | Read entire post | Comments (14)

Genetically speaking, my boy is 50% me and 50% his mom.

Last night, the boy and I were having dinner at the table. He had a cheese sandwich, yogurt, some Cheerios (CHEE-YAHS), and he skillfully avoided a few pieces of fruit. The boy had his straw in the corner of his mouth, slowly sipping some water. At the same time, he was trying to cram a couple of CHEE-YAHS in the other side of his mouth, without losing suction on the straw.

I couldn't help but laugh hysterically at the sight of him attempting to eat and drink simultaneously. All that kept running through my mind was that old anti-drug commercial, where the dad confronts his kid about some drug paraphernalia found in the kid's room, and the kid replies, "...from you, alright?! I learned it from watching you!"

Sometimes, I think my kid might be more like 51 or 52% me.

Posted by omar at 6:36 AM | Read entire post | Comments (11)

Yesterday, the boy started using two new words. Watching him learn the language is one of the most amazing things I've ever witnessed. He surprises us just about every day with some new word he has picked up. But these two particular words from yesterday really warm my heart.

The first is "hug." There's nothing like seeing your toddler come up to you, arms outstretched, saying "hug." (Just make sure not to hold the hug too long. He's very busy and has other crap to get into that is way more important than hugging.)

The other word is "poop." I don't know of a word that will sufficiently describe how happy this makes me.

Posted by omar at 10:16 PM | Read entire post | Comments (14)

"When they say one year olds can go, we should run right up the side of the building and head to the back of the property. It'll be a few minutes before the other kids get all the way back there."

"Omar, he's one year old, and he doesn't like to walk on grass. We're not running anywhere."

"What's the goal, here? If we're on a hunt, let's hunt. We can go for a stroll some other time."

"The goal is to have fun and to let your son find poorly hidden Easter eggs."

"This is not an 'Easter egg fun search'. Now get ready, she's about to give the 'go' signal..."

"Oh for the love of --"

"GO!!"

Posted by omar at 11:32 AM | Read entire post | Comments (15)

The boy was standing a few feet away from me. I was holding one of his stuffed animals, and he wanted it. He stretched his arms out and started making his "gimmie that" noise. Being the good father that I am, I tossed it to him. Unfortunately, at the same time, he started to walk towards me. The physics of it didn't really work out as planned, and the bear hit him square in the face. It didn't bother him, in fact, he laughed about it.

"You're going to have to work on those reflexes, boy," I said.

Fast forward to dinnertime. He was in his high chair, I was trying to sneak a spoonful of applesauce in between some spoonfulls of oatmeal. Visually, it's not that different, I didn't think he'd notice until it was already in his mouth. Within a fraction of a second of the spoon entering his line of sight, he determined that it wasn't something he wanted, swatted at the spoon with his nearest hand, turned his head, and covered his mouth with his other hand.

"Never mind. I guess your reflexes are working just fine."

Posted by omar at 10:20 PM | Read entire post | Comments (6)

A couple of days ago, I took the boy on a trip to the grocery store. Now that he's mature enough to not want to tongue the shopping cart handle - the very same handle that has been fondled by the snot and feces covered hands of dozens of previous shoppers- I can sit him in the cart. This is a huge convenience, as we previously had to use a stroller, which either required two adults, or it severely limited the amount we could buy in one trip.

I don't remember if I've mentioned this before, but the only time it's possible for a parent of a toddler to get anything done that doesn't involve yelling "GET AWAY FROM THE STOVE," is to always keep the kid's hands occupied. Even while we're carting through the aisles of the grocery store, I always give the boy something from off the shelves that he can hold on to. It has worked like magic in the past, where he spends the remainder of the trip occupied with figuring out how to fit the container of Nestle Quik in his mouth while I finish shopping.

This particular trip, one item was not enough to keep his attention. He wanted to hold EVERY item I took off the shelf. While this wasn't as fun for me as it was for him, it was still working to keep him calm. I was educated at the "pick your battles" school of parenting. However, we started to go wrong when he began to throw the item he was holding to the ground in anticipation of the next item.

"Please do not throw the box of crackers on the ground," I said in my stern dad voice.

While we maintained eye contact, he obeyed. The second I looked away, the box was on the floor.

"OK, the box goes in the cart. If you're not going to hold onto things I'm giving you, then you don't get to hold onto anything."

As expected, he began to pitch a mini-fit when I did it. There were few enough people in the store for me to be able to ignore it without the concern of someone calling Social Services. Within a minute or so, he stopped. The next item I got from the shelf, he stretched his arms out in anticipation of me giving it to him.

"I'll give this to you to hold, but so help me -- if you drop this on the floor, you're out of my will."

As I said that, a man was walking by my cart. He grinned at me and said to the boy, "It would never hold up in court. If you need a good lawyer, let me know."

I chuckled outwardly, but in my mind, lasers shot out of my eyes and severed his body in two.

Posted by omar at 7:25 PM | Read entire post | Comments (12)

"He seems warm, maybe we should take his temperature."

"Yeah, we -- oh wait, he just had some cold water to drink, so we'll have to wait a bit."

"... wait for what?"

"You can't take someone's temperature right after they drink something cold, it skews the results."

"What? Omar, a glass of cold water isn't going to really change your body temperature."

"I think it's more of a surface temperature thing, because your gums and tongue stay cold."

"...did he drink the water through his rectum?"

"Oh, right."

Posted by omar at 7:13 PM | Read entire post | Comments (15)

When the boy is done eating, he likes to take everything that is left on his tray and throw it on the ground. It's his way of declaring that he's done.

Similarly, when he's in his crib, once he's finished sleeping, he'll throw his blanket and stuffed animals out of his crib.

All I keep imagining is him at age 18, deciding a date is over and literally throwing the girl out his car. I had better get us a good lawyer.

Posted by omar at 10:04 AM | Read entire post | Comments (10)

Yesterday, I took the boy to the mall to browse. He enjoys being pushed around in his stroller and getting plenty of things/people to look at, and I enjoy the chance to spend money on stuff (particularly during Tax Free week). It works out well for both of us.

Keep in mind that when I say stroller, I'm not talking about one of those little umbrella strollers that are convenient and small. I'm talking about the GRACO QUATTRO DELUXE TOUR TRAVEL SYSTEM, which, when you consider the name and my use of capital letters, needs no additional description.

So we were rolling through JC Penney looking for some good sales on sweaters. As we wove through some of the tight aisles between shelves, the boy stuck his arm out and grabbed an entire stack of 5 or 6 sweaters. He pulled the sweaters into the stroller with him. When we got out into the open, I went around in front of him and explained to him that daddy would never wear those horrid colors, and I put the sweaters back on the shelf.

Several minutes later, I had my fill of Penney's, so we left. As I pushed the GRACO QUATTRO DELUXE TOUR TRAVEL SYSTEM stroller through the main entrance, the alarms started... well, alarming.

Let me interrupt here to let you in on a secret. I would make a horrible shoplifter. I am the type who, when the alarm goes off, starts putting my hands up and proclaiming my innocence. Doing that makes me feel like I'm acting guilty, so I try even harder to proclaim my innocence.

However, something about these gigantic strollers has been known to cause store alarm systems to go off. While Christmas shopping, it was a pretty regular occurrence for store alarm systems to go off when we were walking into stores. As a result of this, I had kind of stopped paying attention to the alarms when they happen. This time though, a store employee came out after me.

"Sir! Excuse me, sir!"

It was at this point that I began my hands up in the air routine, where I said I don't know what happened and I started emptying my pockets.

Sufficiently convinced that I didn't know what was going on, he said, "I think it's the sweater."

"This sweater?" I asked as I pointed to what I was wearing. "I've been wearing this all day, and it was purchased at Old Navy."

"No sir, that sweater," he said as he pointed towards the GRACO QUATTRO DELUXE TOUR TRAVEL SYSTEM stroller. I peeked around the side of it to find a sweater, half tucked in where the boy was sitting, half dangling over the side. I guess the boy got one that I hadn't seen.

I stammered through my explanation, concluding with "...if you have to take him away in cuffs, I'll understand."

"That won't be necessary, sir. Thanks, have a good day."

We quickly walked away from the store. When we got far enough away, I sat on a bench in front of the stroller. "I never thought I'd have to give you the 'no stealing' talk so soon. But that sweater could have cost you up to one year in prison, plus fines and court costs. Also, it was UGLY."

I don't think he understood the severity. Anyone know if those "Scared Straight" guys do house calls?

Posted by omar at 6:30 AM | Read entire post | Comments (14)

This past weekend, we decided it was once again time to clip the boy's toenails. One might not think this would be such an ordeal, but one would be wrong. It's quite possible that he hates getting his nails clipped more than he hates it when we wipe his nose. His reaction is akin to how I imagine I'd react if someone 4 times my size pinned me down and threatened to cut off my limbs.

I should clarify, at no point did we threaten to cut off his limbs. In fact, we couldn't be any nicer about it. He sat in his mom's lap with a toy, and she quickly began to get to work. I think she got one nail clipped before the squirming and screaming started, and it only got worse from there. At her request, I stepped in to attempt to distract the boy. It started off nice, as I held him and tried to talk and sing to him.

After that didn't work, I had to use my size advantage. I held his two arms with my hands, and trapped his free leg between my knees. To passers-by, it probably would have appeared as though we were performing some 18th century surgery, back when they used whiskey as anesthesia. Not that we gave the boy whiskey, though now that I mention it, I bet it would have helped. Frankly, we would have been a little bit more shocked than them to see someone passing by our bathroom, and we probably would have stopped to ask them what they're doing in our house.

Anyway, a few minutes later, the wife finished his toes, and I could release my vise-like grip on his limbs. We hugged him and tried to explain that we understand he doesn't like getting his nails clipped, but that it has to be done.

He wasn't really paying attention though, as he was too busy picking up the baby nail clippers and pretending to clip his own toenails. Apparently, it's OK when done on his terms.

Posted by omar at 6:26 AM | Read entire post | Comments (16)

"Can daddy have the ball?"

The boy hands over the ball.

"Thank you!" I say.

(later)

"Can daddy have the remote control?"

He hands over the remote control. "Dee deeee," he says, with the exact inflection I used to say "thank you."

"That's right, I should say thank you. Thank you."

I spend a lot of time asking him to give me stuff. And now, every time he gives me something, he says his version of thank you. Oh, so cute, you say. Maybe so, but cute or not, it's wrong.

"No son, when you give me something, I say 'thank you'. You say thank you when I give you something. Got it?" I handed him a toy. Nothing.

He handed it back. "Dee deeee."

"You need to work on your listening skills."

Posted by omar at 8:58 PM | Read entire post | Comments (5)

This past weekend, we celebrated Christmas with some of our out of town family. It was a good time. The boy got a handful of new toys to enjoy, he was quite pleased.

The one that has become his favorite is this, the Fisher-Price Sesame Street Giggle Doodler:

It was a timely gift, as he has just started taking interest in pens and paper. Instead of having to say, "where did you get that pen from?" or "Please stop writing on the bank statement / the wall / daddy's magazine / your face," we can just sit him down with his new Giggle Doodler.

As you can see from the photo, the doodler has Elmo on one side and Cookie Monster on the other. As you write with the attached pen, it makes a... a writing noise? I guess I don't know how to describe it. But it's supposed to sound like writing. Then occasionally Elmo will say, "that tickles - hehehehe." If you grab the lever and pull it up and down, it will not only erase what's on the pad, but it will make a sound that is supposed to indicate something is being erased. To me, it sounds more like when you move a straw up and down in a fast food cup. Additionally, if you push the lever all the way towards Elmo, he'll say "ELMOOOOOO." Pushing it towards Cookie Monster will result in a scary as hell voice saying "COOOOOOKIEEEEEEE."

My primary concern with the Giggle Doodler is the volume of the sounds described above. It's loud. Mind bogglingly loud. Painfully loud. In fact, it's late enough in 2005 for me to feel comfortable saying that "It's loud" might be the understatement of the year. Neighbors have started complaining. We've had it for less that a week, the cops have been over twice telling us to "keep it down."

As you can tell from the following chart, I'm not exaggerating:

I guess I should be thankful they kept it below the "Death of Hearing Tissue" threshold.

Posted by omar at 6:15 AM | Read entire post | Comments (13)

Let's say you have a kid. When the kid goes to bed, he wears those one-piece footed pajamas. Additionally, he or she typically sleeps very well through the night. And your kid almost never poops in the middle of the night, he/she is a late morning pooper.

While we're talking about the poop, it should also be noted that the poop consistency changes quite often. It could be messy today, tomorrow it's little hard poop nuggets.

So you typically get up with your kid in the morning. You typically go in the room, take the kid out of their crib, put him/her down on the changing table. Note that you have not turned on the lights in the room, because you're hoping with all your might that your kid will go back to sleep with a fresh diaper. It happens sometimes.

With the kid on the changing table, you do a quick poop sniff check. You don't smell anything, so you continue (if there were to be evidence of poop, you would certainly turn the light on). Over the past 12 months, you've mastered the diaper change in the darkness, so you go ahead and whip the old diaper off, throw a new one on, and sit with your kid for a moment in the rocking chair. You kind of think you smell poop, but you know it's not coming from your kid, since you just changed his/her diaper. You assume it's the diaper pail and move on.

You put the kid down and go get your own breakfast. Five minutes later, the kid is up again. You finish your breakfast, then get your kid up and bring him/her downstairs. After 45 minutes of playing, the kid seems hungry, so you put him/her in his/her high chair for breakfast. You put down some Cheerios on the tray and then go prepare whatever it is you're feeding the kid for breakfast.

As you feed your kid breakfast, you still smell poop. You double check to make sure it's not on your hands. You double check the kid's butt area. In doing so, you pass by the kid's feet. The sinking feeling in your stomach is coming from the realization that your child has been playing around your living room for an hour with poop on his/her feet.

You rush the child up to the changing table. You examine the foot of the pajamas, you don't see any poop on the outside. Thank goodness. You take off the pajamas, and you see a poop nugget roaming freely inside of your child's sleepwear. It must have fallen out during the diaper change in the dark. After disposing of the nugget, you determine that the pajamas are still clean enough to wear. You dress the kid and carry on with your day.

Should this scenario happen to you, just know that this does not affect your status as a good parent, and it's not your fault.

Posted by omar at 6:47 AM | Read entire post | Comments (15)

Last week, I had to get up and walk three steps from my spot on the couch to get the remote control. This upset me. I grumbled to myself about it. My parents, I'm pretty sure they weren't notified. And if they were, I'm quite sure they didn't call any other family or friends to tell them.

The boy also stood up and took three steps. His parents got all giddy and started making phone calls and telling the internet.

It almost seems unfair.

Posted by omar at 8:04 PM | Read entire post | Comments (13)

The boy has a minor cold, so he's been a little bit irritable. When that happens, his meltdowns come frequently and with force. To manage, we have to make sure to have planned activities so there isn't much down time.

Yesterday, one of these activities was for dad to take him to the store to pick up a few things. Temps are cold here, so I had to get him all bundled up in his hat and jacket. I know I'm biased, but when he gets all bundled up in his winter gear, he's quite adorable. Anyway, we get to the store, and I sit him in his stroller. As I strap him in, I adjust his hat, make sure his shoes are still on properly (he enjoys removing them while in his car seat), and give him a general once-over to make sure he's OK. People always look at babies, and when they do, I always feel like they're judging me as a parent. So I like to make sure he looks good. And of course, he looked as cute as ever.

We made our way into the store. There were only 3 things on the shopping list, so this wasn't expected to take long. Unfortunately, one of the things on the list was for me to pick up a greeting card, and I'm one of the ones who can't do that quickly. As I'm reading a couple of cards, I notice that he was trying to pull his hat off his head. We're inside, and the kid has a lot of hair, so I took it off so he didn't get too warm. Then we moved on.

I picked up the other two items on my list, then headed for the check-out. When I started to move, I noticed that there was something being dragged underneath the stroller. It turns out that it was one of his shoes. Apparently, he enjoys taking off his shoes in the stroller, too. So I pick up the shoe and put it in the little bag on the back of the stroller, along with his hat. We wait in line, then check out. Before we went back outside, I wanted to stop to put his hat and shoes back on. I sat down on a bench and turned him towards me in his stroller.

In front of me was a kid wearing one shoe, with some crazy mad-scientist hair and disturbing amounts of snot surrounding his nose and mouth. I looked at him and couldn't help but laugh. He laughed back.

"I don't know what you're laughing at, you're the one who looks like a runaway," I said. "You know how many people saw you looking like this? Why don't you just wear a sign that says, 'PLEASE call social serivces'?"

He started laughing even harder. A lady walking by peeked around the stroller. "He's so BEAUTIFUL!"

I smiled politely. "Thanks."

As she walked away, I said to him, "Wipe that smug look off your face. I still think you look like a runaway."

Posted by omar at 8:41 AM | Read entire post | Comments (11)

Thanks all, for the birthday wishes for the boy! It's been a fantastic first year. And since I'm still feeling all fatherly and stuff, I thought I'd pass on a list of lessons that I have learned over the past year.

• When you don't have a lot of muscle control, clenching your stomach while relaxing your rectum is apparently quite a struggle.


• And while we're talking about poop, it doesn't get much easier on the nostrils over the course of a year. I mentioned early on that the poop of breastfed babies doesn't really smell that bad. But when they start eating real food, it turns into real poop. One year in, I'm not over it yet.


• You should phase in new toys, rather than giving a bunch at once.


• In fact, save your money on toys at all. Wanna know what the boy most enjoys playing with? An empty two-liter bottle. That's $.79 plus deposit, and it keeps him occupied for hours.


• The answer to successful diaper changes is to keep the kid's hands occupied.


• When they cry during the first several months of life, it's for a reason. It's because they need something. They need to be fed, they need to be changed, they need to sleep. After the first several months, they learn to cry when they want something. That's when it gets tricky.


• If the kid likes to play with the stuff on the entertainment center, wait until he gets close, then rewind or fast forward a tape in the VCR. The noise scares him away, and in a cruel sort of way, it's funny.


• The Wiggles are like crack for the ears.


• First time parents have no reason to believe they should know the answers to everything.


• When it comes to sleep, it changes a lot. It'll get better, then worse. Then better again. And then the cycle will continue a few more times.


• It's difficult to prevent a kid from watching TV when you like to watch a lot of TV yourself.


• Babyproofing is only effective when installed correctly.


• When they start to move, kids want to get into everything. And the more tired they get, the more likely they are to try to go for stuff they know they shouldn't have. That way, when you say "no," they can have a reason to throw themselves on the ground and cry.


• A lot more people want to talk to you when you are walking around with a kid in a stroller. Especially when it's a cute kid with lots of hair. The hair is an easy icebreaker.


• Installing car seats isn't really all that fun. I recommend looking for a car seat clinic and letting local law enforcement officials do it.


• Pediatricians that will communicate with you over email (promptly and for no additional charge) are AWESOME.


• There's a part of my heart that I didn't even know about prior to having a kid. I thought I knew, but I didn't know.


• Because I don't want to end this list on a serious note, one more thing about poop: It changes a lot over time. The color, the consistency, the frequency, everything. It all changes. And by the time you convince yourself that the yellow gelatinous stuff is normal, it'll change to something else.

Posted by omar at 12:29 PM | Read entire post | Comments (17)

Chapter 1: Introduction
This week, my kid turns 1. In my opinion, this qualifies me to write a guide on parenthood. Seriously, you think Dr. Ruth is getting any right now? Me neither. Yet she publishes book after book.

Chapter 2: Filler Text
I had to add some filler text in here, because really, I can tell you the only thing you need to know in just one sentence. And what kind of a guide would it be if it was just one sentence long? One that would not be very well respected, that's what kind it would be. Why do I keep asking questions and then answering them? I don't even know! It must be my mood.

Chapter 3: The Fine Print
Because this guide is so revolutionary and is expected to be so well respected, your credit card is being charged right now just from you reading this post. The amount charged depends on how long it has taken you to read. Know that it's going to a good cause. And take your time.

Chapter 4: The Answer
The key to retaining your sanity in the first year of parenthood is to understand and accept that you don't know the answer to 95% of the questions that arise.

(If I was on stage delivering this message as a speech, I would have dropped the microphone, thrown my hands up in the air, and then slowly walked off stage. I don't know what the blog equivalent to that is.)

Posted by omar at 9:10 PM | Read entire post | Comments (21)

It's a big responsibility for me, as a dad, being my boy's primary male role model. I have to teach him how to be a man. A good man. It's a responsibility I take very seriously. And occasionally, I get that little piece of feedback from him that lets me know I'm doing my job.

We're in the kitchen preparing breakfast this morning. As he's crawling around, the boy says, "Da da da daaa..." In writing, it looks like nothing. In person, it sounded like the theme song for Monday Night Football.

That's my boy.

Posted by omar at 12:30 PM | Read entire post | Comments (15)

I had a hard day at work, I leave, and go to pick up the boy. I arrive, and as soon as he sees me, he gives me a big, happy, two-toothed smile. It's one of the greatest feelings ever, and it happens every day.

Then there's the flip side. Like this morning. He was crying and upset, because he's a little mama's boy and she walked out of the room for two seconds. So like a good dad, I pick him up and try to comfort him. His response was to cry harder, because I was preventing him from staring at the bathroom door that his mom just walked through. I make funny noises, I smile, I tickle. He pushes, cries, and twists to look towards the door.

I sat down with him on our bed. As I did, I realized that I sat down on the remote control. I pulled the remote out from under my butt. He immediately stopped crying, grabbed the remote from my hands, and proceeded to spend the next 5 minutes giggling and playing with it, and chewing on it. I'm not even sure he remembered I was still in the room.

"Hey, how come the remote can make you stop crying, but I can't?" No response. "Hey! I'm talking to you! ... I FATHERED YOU!!" Nothing. He didn't even look up.

"Well fine. Enjoy the remote. Good luck getting it to pay for college."

Posted by omar at 7:57 PM | Read entire post | Comments (11)

A new milestone was reached today. As the boy was crawling over towards an electrical outlet, I stepped over to intervene. First, I tried diverting his attention.

"Say hey, boy. Look at this hand grenade! Come play with this instead!"

He looked up briefly, with a rather disinterested look on his face. He continued towards the outlet. After a few more unsuccessful attempts to divert his attention, I let out a stern "NO."

Slightly startled, he looked up at me. Then he proceeded to laugh. Not just a smile, not a giggle. He laughed at me.*

I'll give him one free pass. Next time? Military boarding school. You think the drill sergeant is going to put up with that? Me neither.

I bet if I grew a goatee, he'd take me a little more seriously. Too bad I can't.

---
* - Following his fit of laughter, he did in fact turn away from the outlet, most likely in search of some other device with the same level of perceived danger. I picked him up and didn't give him the chance to find anything. He's so dang cute when he laughs, I couldn't resist.

Posted by omar at 9:39 AM | Read entire post | Comments (18)

The boy's got a cold. I don't think it's much, just a runny nose and cough. I'll let you know how severe it really is in two days when I catch it.

Anyway, it turns out that babies really don't like to have their noses wiped. When he was younger, he'd fuss. He got a little older, he'd fuss and turn his head side to side to avoid it. Older yet, he'd fuss, turn, and push my hands away. Yesterday, he fussed, turned, pushed, and tried to file emancipation paperwork with the state.

I slipped him a couple of extra veggie puffs and he forgot all about it. But I'm curious to see what'll happen next time.

Posted by omar at 8:12 PM | Read entire post | Comments (20)

Important Note: This is NOT a message to future parents. I promised last week that my next message to future parents post would be positive. That's still in the works.

When you have an infant, you generally just want them to go to sleep. But not just sleep, you want them to sleep at the right times. When the kid wakes up at 4:00 am, you sigh, get up, tend to needs, try to get him/her to go back to sleep, then try to go back to sleep yourself. As I mentioned in my Sleep, Interrupted post, that's just how it goes. Your sleep will be disrupted, welcome to parenthood.

What is more annoying, however, is when the kid sleeps, but you keep yourself up. I asked the boy, I said "boy, please sleep until 6:00 am tomorrow." He pretended like he didn't hear me, but guess what he did? He slept until 6:15.

So what's the problem?

I STILL GOT UP AT 4. Then I think, is he ok? should I check on him? I nudge the wife. I turn up the baby monitor. Still don't hear much. I should go check on him. I have to go make sure he's OK, he's usually up. But I don't want to wake him up if he's sleeping. No, I'll let him sleep, I'm sure he's fine.

This internal dialog went on until approximately 6:15, when he woke up.

Either he wakes up and wakes me up, or he sleeps and wakes me up. There's no way to win.

Posted by omar at 6:48 PM | Read entire post | Comments (8)

While I never wanted the boy to grow up too quickly, I did yearn for some interactivity in his younger days. Though younger babies might not understand cause and effect relationships, they demonstrate them regularly. For example, babies are born with a handful of reflexes. Like when they're scared, their fingers extend out and their hands raise up towards their heads (known as the "Moro" reflex, it happened 100% of the times that we closed the microwave door for several months). And while this was fun to be able to cause a reaction from the boy (no matter how involuntary), it made me feel a hint of cruelty knowing that I was scaring him and enjoying it.

The cause and effect things we generally find the most fun involve either farts or poop. After all, I'm his primary male role model. Who better to enjoy farts and poop with?

For a short while during his early infancy, pushing his knees up towards his chest would induce a fart. Many Saturday afternoons were spent enjoying this. I'd laugh, he'd laugh, it was great. But what was, and continues to be, even more fun is the phenomenon of the "poop chair."

He's got one of those Fisher Price Kick & Play bouncy chairs, with the calming vibrations. With a success rate of over 95%, putting him in this chair would make him poop within 5 minutes. Again, I'd laugh, then he'd laugh (then I'd call someone else to change the poopy diaper). Naturally, it became known around our house as the poop chair. Probably not what Fisher Price had in mind.

Now, we can have the same sit and poop experience by putting him in his high chair. It's still funny, though now it's a little more gross. Do you know how bad some baby food smells? Combine that with poop. *shudder*

All I'm really saying is that I often marvel over what little things about my boy make me smile.

And that sometimes, I wonder if my maturity levels have gone up or down since becoming a father.

Posted by omar at 6:13 PM | Read entire post | Comments (10)

The fact that babies put things in their mouths is not news, even to those who aren't fans of the pint-sized humans. Another item that isn't news is that when people see a baby, they do one of three things:

1. Pinch or rub the baby's cheeks
2. Stick a finger out so the baby can grab on, then marvel out loud about how good a grip the baby has
3. Pretend like they don't exist, and avoid making eye contact at all costs

Future parents, you have to worry about those who fall into categories 1 and 2. Since the birth of my son, I have been painfully aware of how often people rub their eyes, pick or rub their noses, or pick at their teeth, all with the same fingers that they stick out towards your baby. KNOWING that babies put their hands (and everything else in their reach) in their mouths, why would you subject this baby to your snot? Or saliva or tears? Would you dig in your nose and then put your finger directly in a babies mouth? Of course not! Yet by touching the baby's hand after rubbing your schnoz, this is essentially what you are doing.

But this is not a message to those in categories 1 and 2, this is a message to future parents. Don't let me get off track. (Did I mention I'm on vacation and I have an IQ of 130?) Parents, you will have to reconcile your politeness with your desire to keep your kid from ingesting your neighbor's snot. For those who are typically polite and soft spoken, this is tremendously difficult, no matter who the offender is. With family members, it's tricky. You don't want to imply that your family members are dirty, so saying "are your hands clean?" may be considered offensive to them. With strangers, you don't want to come across as being weird or rude, saying "um, please don't touch my child, because I don't know where your hands have been." Really, there are very few situations where the parent comes out looking good. And it's unfair, because you're just looking out for the welfare of your kid.

For little babies, I advise you to put their hands in those no-scratch mittens, which serve the double-purpose of preventing facial scratches and deterring strangers from touching their hands. But once the kid gets old enough to pull or bite these mittens off, you're on your own. People will typically ask permission before picking the baby up, so it's easy to say "yes, but we have a hand washing rule." But people don't ask permission before (essentially) sticking their snotty fingers in your baby's mouth. So when they go to do it and you stop them, it makes you seem all the more rude. But you know what? You're a parent. Time to grow up and set some rules, not just for your kid, but for those adults who interact with him/her.

Just keep in mind that your job as a parent is to keep your kid safe. And while keeping the kid safe from R-rated movies gets a lot of press, keeping the kid safe from Uncle Willie's boogers is important too, because it has a direct impact on your kid's health. What's more important than that?

Posted by omar at 8:53 AM | Read entire post | Comments (30)

I woke up too early. I got caught in traffic on the way to work. I was stuck waiting for a train at a railroad crossing. A guy dressed in a Big Bird costume tried to rob me. A cat got my tongue. I stubbed my toe. I got a papercut on each thumb. I've got the sniffles. My arthritis flared up. My intestines hate me. I lost a million dollar winning lotto ticket. My lawn is dry. I was rejected for the next "America's Top Model" season. I got strip searched. I got cut from "Dancing with the Stars." There was a larder beetle crawling on my floor. There are new vole tracks in my back yard. I have to go to the bathroom. The air conditioning at my job (that I love) is still broken. My fantasy baseball team is underperforming. My cell phone battery died. There was a fly in my soup. A black cat crossed my path. A rain cloud followed me around all day. I ran out of gum. The grocery store is out of Lactaid milk. My head hurts. My parade, which I have been planning for months, got rained on.

But I don't care.

Because the boy said "dada" while looking at me. TWICE.

Posted by omar at 6:19 AM | Read entire post | Comments (7)

Important Note: I didn't intend for this to be a weekly series, but dammit, I've got a lot of messages. So for those that are bored by the MTFP series, I've got a small bag of TOO BAD for you.

Other Important Note: That last sentence may not be gramatically correct. It's an awkward apostrophe situation saying "do's and don'ts," and "dos and don'ts" just doesnt' look right. I struggled over that for a while. Most of the day, actually.

DO whatever she says. It doesn't matter, just do it.

DON'T bring it up when she tells you to do the opposite thing ten minutes later. Let it go.

DON'T complain that your back and leg are getting sore from standing next to the bed for so long. Likewise, keep any complaints about the amount of sleep you got last night to yourself.

DO know where the button is to call the nurse. And the remote for the TV.

DON'T tell her to "hang on a sec" while watching the TV. Even if it's your favorite episode of Saved by the Bell.

DO remember to have the camera ready for once the baby is born, you'll both appreciate it later.

DON'T get the camera out too soon.

Finally, DON'T be a wuss and sit in the waiting room and miss an amazing experience. Or be in the room and faint. Don't do that either.

With these things in mind, you guys out there should have a very pleasant birth experience. Ladies, even with more prepared guys, it's still probably going to suck for you (but in a good way). No advice I give is going to change that.

Posted by omar at 6:25 AM | Read entire post | Comments (17)

We probably heard this, or some variation, 1000 times while the wife was pregnant. Sleep deprivation is the one thing I really thought I knew was coming, and that I was ready to handle. I was mistaken.

I don't know where I got my expectations from. For some reason, I had it in my mind that the boy was going to keep us up late, wake us up early, and give us some breaks during the day where he would nap. Though I expected that the total number of hours I slept would decrease, total hours of sleep isn't the biggest problem. Consecutive hours of sleep is.

Adult humans, or at least this particular adult human, need and expect to get one "big" chunk of sleep per day. Naps are great, but there is the need for one stretch of at least a few consecutive hours of sleep per day. Apparently, newborn humans don't give a damn about this adult need.

Prior to the boy's arrival, I typically required somewhere between 5 and 6.5 consecutive hours of sleep per night. Mornings never bothered me, I might have even gone so far as to call myself a morning person. I was also a pretty heavy sleeper, it took a lot to wake me up. The wife required 6 to 7 hours, and is certainly NOT a morning person.

Then came the boy. Quickly, I came to two realizations:

1. Newborn babies eat FREQUENTLY, particularly when breastfed (breast milk is so easily digestable that it doesn't stay in their system long).
2. Newborn babies don't know if it is night or day; and frankly, even if they did know, I don't think they'd care.

"But Omar, if your wife was breastfeeding the boy, couldn't you just stay asleep?"
Guys out there, I dare you to try this. Tell your baby's momma that you're going to stay asleep, since she has to do the feeding anyway. Let me know how that works out for you.

I slept well the night he was born for two reasons. First, I was exhausted. Second, and more important, the hospital staff took him to the nursery overnight.

Important Note: I don't know if they do this everywhere now, but the boy stayed in the room with us during our stay at the hospital when he was born. The staff will let the baby stay in there at night if you want, but they also give the option to take the baby to the nursery for the night. At first, I felt very guilty that I didn't spend the boy's first night with him. We tried, we had him in our room initially. But newborns are still full of mucous, and they make noise (not crying, just little noises). If you are not used to these noises, however slight they are, YOU WILL NOT SLEEP THROUGH THEM. Take the hospital staff up on their offer and get a good night's rest.

Over the past 7 months, his sleep schedule has changed many times. Now, he'll sleep through the night (7:30 pm to 5:30 am) probably 4 nights out of the week. It does get better. But for the first few months, it is rough. If there's a way to teach yourself how to fall back to sleep quickly after being woken up, study that technique now. Master it. It will pay off later.

Posted by omar at 6:07 AM | Read entire post | Comments (14)

A bit of background: I am relatively handy (except with TVs). I can figure out how to put stuff together. My dad (the former electrical engineer who likes to build stuff) and I assembled the boy's crib last year, because we thought it was silly to pay someone else to assemble it. There were approximately 500 parts in this box, and they were accompanied by a two-page instruction manual. Right off the bat, we knew there was going to be some imagination required. Several hours later, the crib was assembled. I had hoped to never need those instructions again.

It turns out that I did. This weekend. Not surprisingly, there is no section detailing how to adjust crib height, only a line indicating that there are three heights you can set the crib to. Please take a look a the following crib diagram:

(Note that though I created this image in 45 seconds with laptop trackpad precision, it is 1000 times better than any diagram inside the crib's instruction manual.)

The image is one of four corners of the crib's frame. There are five oddly-spaced holes in the frame, then one on each of the support beams. Screws fasten the support beams through the frame. Math majors out there might see where I'm heading with this.

They claim there are three possible height settings. There are five (unlabeled) holes. There are way more than three damn possibilities. Two hours later, the crib was finally evenly lowered and safe to lie down on. It came down to me making diagrams. I will not be trying that again.

Pretty much everything purchased for the boy requires some assembly/installation. High chair, stroller, car seat (I could easily do another post entirely about the car seat, but I'll spare you), stationary play center, bouncy chair, crib, changing table, toys, more toys, etc. Typically when assembling stuff that requires screw drivers, it sends the testosterone levels upward. (I've already mentioned what happens when the testosterone gets flowing.) But the fact that I'm assembling brightly colored baby toys and furniture does take away from that.

I've got no advice for you about this. I'm just looking to prepare you for the assembly headache. Enjoy.

Posted by omar at 5:10 PM | Read entire post | Comments (8)

So the boy will be turning 6 months in a couple of days. I'm generally not into half-birthdays, but when it's your first, and you have me for a dad, it's a big deal. Not like "cake and presents" big, but big enough to do something special.

Me: So, what do you want to do for your six month birthday?

Boy: Dollywood? Graceland?

Me: Wha -- who are you?

Boy: Nah, I'm just playing. But Disneyworld would be the bomb.

Me: Riiiiight. I was thinking more like you getting to try applesauce for the first time, or something along those lines.

Boy: Well, how about you let me post an entry to your blog?

Me: Interesting idea, what do you have in mind?

Boy: Could I tell the joke about the hooker and -

Me: GAAAH. No. No you can't. Applesauce it is.

Boy: OK, I'll keep it tame. I'll just tell one quick story.

Me: Well, OK. Not like I can't delete it if your story gets too crazy.

Boy: Rock on, pops. Lets go!

So here goes, straight from the fingers of a soon-to-be six month old:

i ctyghhh8h9u cccc , mnu (*edited*) h 76ccccccccccc rftvcg9h8n uhr v67xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxg mzx 344 tc b7v8tuy ygu n9m n

Hm. It sounded funnier than it reads. Next time, I guess we'll try voice recognition software.

Posted by omar at 3:38 PM | Read entire post | Comments (4)

Let me start this post by acknolwedging that I have no idea what the phrase "space-time continuum" actually means. I was a Finance major in college, we didn't spend much time discussing it. (I often look for an excuse to use words with consecutive U's. My opportunities are limited.)

At first, I had a theory that having a baby really changes your perception of time. A few recent events have me changing that theory a bit. I now believe that babies actually have the ability to control time. With their limited understanding of what this power could be used for on a global scale, they only actually use it to mess with their parents. This explains why I have been so tired over the past 5 months.

Last week, my wife and I decided to alternate nights of tending to the baby, so that at least one of us was getting some sleep. Wednesday was my night. The times indicated below are according to my atomic clock. They won't seem like they're in order. That's my point. Observe:

7:45 pm - Boy goes down to sleep

10:00 pm - Boy stirs, makes a little noise. I go check on him, he stops making noise and goes back to sleep. Crisis averted.

11:30 pm - I go to sleep

So far, so good. Continue.

1:15 am - I hear a little coughing and "clicking" over the baby monitor, but it only lasts a few minutes. I go back to sleep.

3:10 am - He's awake, and hungry. I take him in so my wife can feed him.

4:00 am - He's back in bed, finally back to "sleep." I go back and lie down. I look over at the clock again.

2:30 am - I'm still awake. Wait, what?

3:00 am - Confused, I finally fall back to sleep.

4:15 am - I start to wake up, thinking it's time to get up for work. It's not.

3:30 am - More clicking heard over the baby monitor. I go to his room to investigate. He is fully awake, and gives me a big smile and laugh when he sees me, which makes me forget that I came up to investigate the clicking sound. I sit with him in the rocking chair for a few minutes, he falls back to sleep.

5:00 am - My internal clock insists it is time to get up for work. Still no. Crack self up thinking about the picture of the vole selling drugs. Eventually doze off.

6:35 am - Alarm goes off, it finally is time to get up for work. Get up to check on the boy. I walk in his room, yet another smile.

Me: What's going on in here?
Boy: Gaaaaaaahhhhh EEEEEEEYahhhhh
Me: Don't give me that, you can talk. (as mentioned here)
Boy: HeheYAAAHHHH

His room will be under video surveillance tonight. I'll keep you posted.

(This may also explain how the 30 minute Blogger outage last night felt like it actually took 3 hours...)

Posted by omar at 8:54 AM | Read entire post | Comments (7)