We Used To Throw Rocks

Far back as I remember, my pop would take us kids to the creek to throw rocks. Here's how it worked: Dad would drive us to a different area on the creek. He'd walk us to a bank on the river where there were thousands of rocks ripe for the throwing. Then he'd set a challenge. He'd say, "See that hole in the log across the river? First one to put a rock in it wins."


That's it. That's all that was needed to melt three hours off of a Saturday afternoon. The challenge would often change - hit the hanging branch, throw a rock into the pipe, hit the floating bottle, hit the sign, and so on. Then the throwing challenges would morph into rock-skipping contests. Most skips, highest skips, longest skip, and so on. 


We did this for years. My dad often cites those rock-throwing weekends for my proficiency of throwing a baseball. 


Then my mom did this other thing when we were young. She would lay on her back on the floor, put her feet on our stomach, grab our hands, and propel us into the air on her feet. Lying stomach down on her feet only a short distance off the floor was the biggest rush for a young tot. With her feet in our chest/stomach region, she'd bounce us up and down and pretend we were going to fall. Good times. 


We did this as long as I was small enough to balance up on my moms feet. My mom often cites those stomach bouncing times for my rock hard mid-section. Just playin'. Not hardly. 


Throwin' rocks at the creek, and bouncing my kid on my feet. 


Because those are two of my favorite youngster past times, I look forward to doing both with my own Kicker.


Curious: What have you passed down/will you pass down to your offsprings? 

Tough To Crack

This kid has been around for 5 weeks. We celebrated his one month last week. As he gets older, he spends more time awake. The more he's alert, the more chance I take at talking, and engaging him in current news and issues. 

• We talk about our distaste in a New York/Boston Super Bowl match up. He much preferred the World Series when both cities were knocked out earlier. He agrees that while the media love big match ups like this, the average fan could care less. 
• We talked about the recent internet blackout to protest SOPA and PIPA. He said those bills would hurt smaller internet sites. I told him people would get over it quick as long as they get what they log on the internet for. 
• We talk about the development and economic growth downtown, local food, the GOP elections, Browns drafting options, Obama's singing voice, and more.

Our discussions are usually one sided and his thoughts are typically improvised by me. But we have spent productive time together recently.  Of all that time though, one thing he has yet to do in the last 5 weeks is.......

Smile

While he is very handsome and shockingly strong, he doesn't smile. We've been trying to get him to smile. Anything to start a grin. 

I usually start by acting happy and smiling myself. With a big grin, I get 8 inches from his face and try to encourage the smile out of him. I say things like, "What you got? You gonna smile for Dad? C'mon and look happy!" The image to the right is usually the response I get. I don't blame him either. If you had someone in your grill ordering forth a smile, you would probably give a How 'bout you step back right now kind of look. Get's it from his mom. 

When I back off, I attempt something else. I try dancing. I try rapping (usually go with Biggie). I even try jumping at him like I'm going to fall. Basically, I put my dignity on the line. I'm very happy that he won't remember any of this. It's embarrassing. Based on the picture, he clearly thinks it's embarrassing too. Check back on this blog in 13 years after I chaperone his first school dance and bust out the same dance moves in front of his friends. He'll be older, but have the same reaction. 

When that nonsense doesn't work, I go with jokes. I start, "A guy walks into a bar and sits down..." Before I can get any farther, the kid yawns and begins to fall asleep. Hope those jokes work like that when his mom goes back to work night shifts. 

In a last ditch effort, I attempt to toss him around. As the picture shows, I hold him in the air and put him up real high. But it doesn't work. Rather, it looks like he's thinking  "Geez Dad, what's with your hairline? It looks like the Mexican coastline from space." I wouldn't be happy if I was 5 weeks old and realized I was destined to have receding hair like that. Can't blame him. All the tossing around leads to him spitting up. 

After weeks of no smiles and thinking our child was destined to be a grump, we saw some hope. 

He starts with a tease. 

Looks like he's weighing the chances of smiling in his head. 

And snap. Caught him smiling. 

One Month

It's a big day for the little man.

The Kicker has been here for a month now. A very Happy One Month to the most handsome little man. 


Our lifestyle in the past month stands in stark contrast to what it looked like the whole 4 years prior. Here's what's different in the last 31 days...

• When we watch movies, they can take up to five hours to finish. We gotta stop to change, feed, and often pacify him. 
• Our living room added more furniture: a swing, change station, and some mat with hanging toys on it that he hits around. 
• Way less sleep for me. Not because he stays up all night, but because I worry a lot if he's still breathing. 
• To prevent permanent leaning to one side, I have to switch hands frequently while carrying the car seat from place to place. 
• I've worn a pacifier around my finger (got to be ready anytime) more than my wedding band. 

The biggest change in the past 31 days: Work has been tough. I'll be sitting (actually, standing) at my desk hammering out some work. About 3 times a day my wife will send me a picture text of the baby. Sometimes awake, sometimes yawning, sometimes with crazy hair. Whatever. Thanks for rubbing it in. Knowing he's at home having a great time with mom makes it difficult to continue to focus on work. It does help me work faster though. 


It's been a great first month. Cant wait for a lot more. 

Red Badge of Courage

We were sitting one evening watching the '89 classic Glory - about the Civil War. Denzel and Morgan give a one-two punch performance bringing to life history shaping events from a hundred-fifty years ago. As the battle scenes intensified, I remarked to my wife, "Why do they stand in a line like that? That doesn't seem like a smart strategy." To which she replied, "Yeah, it's like they're just waiting to get shot." 


Maybe its our 21st century ignorance that blockaded us from knowing the real answers. We continued to banter back and forth about the foolishness of the battle strategies. My comments ranged mostly from how I would run in a zig-zag motion and out flank the enemy instead of just standing in a shooting line. Her comments were more like threats about how if I ever leave the baby and her behind to "run in zig-zags" in some war, she would be what I would have to fear the most. Not the enemy. 


Then our conversation got dangerous:
Wife - What war is this movie based off again?
Me - Seriously. 
Wife - I mean, I used to know, I think I just forgot.
Me - We're three-quarters the way through, and you have no contextual reference for which to understand what's going on? 
Wife - Just tell me.
Me - How do you ever appreciate good cinema? Maybe you should stick to the Bachelor.
Wife - Now.
Me - The Civil War. 
Wife - Ooooohhh yeeeaaah............So what war is The Patriot based off? 
(A long silence ensues. I'm scrambling for the most sarcastic line I can think of, but the speaking part of my brain is shocked from the last question)
Wife - Wait, that's a fictional war right?
Me - (When I can't believe what I hear, my eyes tend to close tight, then open real wide repetitiously - kind of like when you get ocean water in them). I...wha....how do.....pause the movie. Now think, who was the enemy in the Patriot?
Wife - the Redcoats. British?
Me - Who were we pulling for?
Wife - Mel Gibson......America.
Me - Now what war is it Britain against the U.S.?
(long silence)
Me - The Revolutionary War! You know, the war that gave our country independence?!
Wife - I thought the war for independence was against Aliens with Will Smith.


That last line was real. But she assured me she was kidding. I believe her, but my chest pain continues. 


This movie reminded me of a book I had to read during the summer back in High School. Bypassing the short cut provided by Cliffs Notes, I read The Red Badge of Courage. War stories have a gravitating effect - they're stories about experiences I've never had. 


Despite the book taking place during the Civil War, the real conflict in RBoC was about an inner war between the character and himself. That was the hook that snagged my interest. In the story, the main character is a private fighting in the Union Army. During a battle, he flees the field in fear of losing his life. He becomes ashamed of running away and wants a battle wound - a red badge of courage - to counteract his cowardice. The book is about his struggle to earn a badge. 


I respect the character's desire for a wound. The wound is a mark of bravery. It's a visual reminder that he paid a high price for the side he took. It's something he can show off to his family and friends. It would be hard earned, but a permanent fixture on his body and in his memory.  


And because of that, I want a red badge of courage too. Something with a story. A visual reminder.  Something I can point to that shows I paid a price. 


But I have no battle wound. Maybe a few scars from sports and mistakes from work. But no real red badge of courage. 


Instead, the past three weeks have left me with badges of a different kind:


Regurgitated formula stains on 2 pairs of my jeans. 
Stinging, red eyes from reduced sleep due to worrying. 
Sore trapezius muscles from clinching my shoulders to my ears while carrying the baby.
Yellow pee stains on my white t-shirt from the crazy spray of diaper changes. 


They're no musket ball wound; nor are they signs of bravery on a battlefield. But they're indications of sacrifice. My wife and I both share these signs. It's not fair to compare a war injury to the fatigue of raising a child. But there is a light correlation. And I'm happy to share with you those badges of courage anytime. 

Quality Time

As I sit here, there are 25 girls to my right. They're competing for the love of a single man who is a wine maker. There is drama, crying, name calling, and prom dresses. We are watching The Bachelor - against my will. All in the name of 'quality time' together. 


You see, Wife wanted to watch the season premier. But she knows I'd rather hang from my earlobes off our balcony in a lake effect snow storm than watch it. She pulled out the quality time card. 


We've been parents for 17 days now. It's been a trip. I think the Kicker is going to start walking tomorrow. He's growing up fast. We've been with him for almost every second of those 17 days. The only time we haven't been with him was during our Date Night a few days ago. It's been a sharp contrast of time spent together compared to 18 days ago and previous to that. 


This night though - for the season premier of The Crybabies The Bachelor - she has decided is when we'll have some quality time. 


Let it be known: I've given up the Rose Bowl to spend some quality time while watching the Bachelor instead.