Fall Family Photo

We took a family portrait today. It doesn't look a lot like us, but it works.

You have dad on the left, mom on the right. Kicker is in the middle there.  And  baby boy due in February is next to him. 

We're a good looking family. What may surprise you is that the third-largest pumpkin is a lot of work to keep up with. When the second-largest pumpkin is working nights, the biggest pumpkin devotes 100% attention (99% if the Browns are on) to the third-largest one. 

All the attention makes it difficult to keep up with the site here. Fans of this blog hang anxiously in the balance to hear about our new adventures. When I do sit down at the computer, the third-largest pumpkin crawls with a vengeance across the living room floor and climbs up the chair I sit on. With his clammy hands, he then he smashes the corner of the keyboard where the Ctrl, Shift, Fn, and Caps Lock buttons are. 

Makes it tough to get any work done. Besides, what kid wants to see the back of his dad's head all evening? 

Here's to short posts and the autumn season.

Happy Fall. Be sure to enjoy.

Bash Brothers

The above image is of our newest baby. Taken today. 

For years I've seen ultrasound pictures of babies and pretended to know what I was looking at. "Oh that's cool," I'd say; when all I really saw was a Rorschach image of indefinable black and white shapes. 

Now I know what to look for. In today's case, we were looking for the gender.

To help those who still view rolls of ultrasound images as some kind of parents-only inside joke, I've added a creative border. In this case, the border is to aid in the announcement of our baby's gender. 

I thought about posting the picture of him with his legs spread and the ultrasound tech's caption that said "It's a Boy!" accented by a little tiny hand pointing at the definable quality. But I didn't want to start this kid's life off by posting a photo of his member online. 

We're very excited. Kicker has a little brother who has yet to earn a name. The evidence on the ultrasound picture was unmistakable, but we asked the doctor just to be sure.

"You're positive it's a boy?" We asked.
To which he answered, "If it ends up being a girl, it'll be a big surprise."

We've been surprised enough in the past year-and-a-half; don't push us.

The Night the Keys Got Locked in the Car

An Ode to Spare Keys

The plan was simple: take the baby to the mall, and walk for a while. The weather was cold and rainy, and he had just been given a shot at the doctor's office earlier. To alleviate a cranky baby  and dodge miserable weather, the mall would be a fine distraction.

But instead of just going up to the mall, we ended up picking a fight with higher forces of irony for the better part of 2 hours. 

We went down to the car. When I unlocked the door, I placed the keys in the ignition and went to get the baby in the car seat. Problem #1 - there was no car seat. No car seat = no safe transportation. Although I admit to debating using multiple bungees and a makeshift cushion; I quickly dismissed the notion.

(This must be the most horrendously boring story to someone without a kid. But these are the dilemmas. I used to think car seats were baskets for transporting children. Now I realize there are 9 stages of them, each required by law, and at times make you feel like you're strapping John Glenn into his space ship to orbit the earth.) 

I made quick Plan B for the evening since we couldn't go to the mall. Problem was, my mind was so enamored with devising the back up plan that my physical body went into auto-pilot. Next thing I knew, all my car doors were shut, locked, and I didn't have keys to get into the car, or the apartment building. 

Things escalated quickly.

"No problem," I said out loud. I can get the spare car key out of the apartment. Problem is, my apartment keys were attached to the car keys, attached to the ignition, attached to the locked car.

I did what any self-confident and in control 26 year old would do. I called my mom. Months previous to this she worked vigilantly trying to get an extra set of apartment keys from the leasing office. She was over babysitting from time to time and needed a set to get in and out of the building when she took the baby out. 

Brrrrrrriiiiinnnnnnggggg....

"Mom," I said. "You don't happen to have that spare set of keys to the apartment..." And then I realized the forces of irony were working their magical spells. 

You see, when my mom was able to get the spare set of keys months ago, I convinced her that the smart thing to do would leave that set in the apartment for any baby-sitter to use. It wouldn't make sense for her to have them solely in her possession - until 7:03pm on a cold, rainy Tuesday night. 

There we sat, Dad and Son. Locked out of our transportation, and locked out of our shelter. We felt like two great warriors sent off to test the limits of our patience and will. We soon managed to get into our apartment building, but still were unable to get into our actual suite. Together we sat in the lobby. That's when the Kicker thought it would be a good time to play the "Ohh-look-my-high-pitched-scream-echoes-really-well-in-here" game. 

All I had left to do was call our building's after-hours line to get someone to come unlock our suite door. Should have been an easy task. But I had to call from my 4-year old, 99 cent with the contract phone that I brag to all smart phone users still works like the day I bought it. But this day, it must have used up it's last cent in value. I attempted 9 calls (literally) to the after-hours manager and the call dropped mid-conversation each time. 

By the tenth call, I spoke so fast to cram in a distress signal about being locked out without trying to be cut off again. After a colorful two hours, we were back in the apartment, and in our suite. As of tonight, my keys sit idly by positioned in the ignition of a car that is locked. 

But Father Irony wasn't done. I checked to make sure we still had our spare set of apartment keys. The key chain on the spare set of keys stood as a final punch in the nose of my pride. "Worlds Greatest Mom" it read. It was like she knew.

The Afternoon I Kicked Johnny

It rained all day today. 

The rain makes it difficult to leave our 750 sq. ft. apartment for a more open place to play. That small square footage can get boring after a while. When we can't go outside, the Kicker gets cranky, and I have to be creative when finding things to do. 

To combat the effects of boredom, I set up the Johnny Jump Up. This contraption clamps to the top of a door frame and has a baby seat at the bottom. Above the baby seat is a spring. This allows the baby to jump up and down in the seat. 

What Johnny doesn't tell you is that it's next to impossible to get a baby in the seat without the help of four other people. I stood next to Johnny Jump Up holding my baby under his armpits trying to position his feet into the two leg holes. When I swung the Kicker left, Johnny went right, when I swung him right, Johnny went left. 

This showdown went on for a while. With every second that passed, my patience grew thinner. When Johnny wouldn't cooperate, I sat the baby down away from the scene. I turned back to Johnny, stepped and planted my left foot in the carpet, and with a long swooping motion that would have booted a Super Bowl winner, I kicked Johnny square in the seat. 

It wasn't a malicious move. There wasn't hate involved. It was more to prove a point that I wouldn't be bested by a child's toy. 

As it turns out, I regretted that kick the second I made contact with the Jumper. I'm not sure when Evenflo started making their products out of titanium carbide, but my right foot screamed for mercy immediately. 

I tried standing up and acting like everything was cool, but I dropped to the floor with my head grimacing in pain right next to my seated child. He can't talk yet, but his face seemed to say, "Hey Dad, look at us! We're both on the floor together now." 

We left his bedroom and went into the living room. I started immediate medical treatment. 

Witness this: the only time broccoli gets used in this household.

As I continue to nurse my wounds - more pride than foot - the lesson seems painfully obvious: You can't be aggressive toward inanimate objects in front of your child. The kid has to see a dad who's more in control I think. Not my brightest moment, but hopefully the last like that. 

13 Down, 27 Left

As is custom on select Monday evenings, some form of a Bachelor spin-off illuminates the living room and I seek the written word to escape. Even though I'd prefer to spend the next two hours distracted by writing instead of watching the glamorization of one-night stands, hook-ups, and shallow love, I have only a single picture to bring that summarizes the day:

That is our 8 month old looking at - and crinkling - the picture of his 13 week old sibling. It wasn't long ago when that 8 month old was only visible as a black & white image on photo paper too. It only took 14 months for things to come full circle. I think they're already making a connection.