What's His Name?

Prior to 12:30 this afternoon, our son didn't officially have a name. The government would only recognize him as a number. After he was born, we were given simple instructions at the hospital: "When you are discharged, you'll have two weeks to send this form in and request a birth certificate. Any time after that, you'll have to pick one up at city hall."


3 months later we're navigating our way through one way streets, lunch time rushes, pedestrians, and medical mart construction to find a parking spot near city hall. We only had two singles and a quarter to pay for parking. After circling city hall like a buzzard on a wounded chipmunk, we found a willing garage: Parking - $2.25 for the first hour. Miraculous. 


We drove into the bowels of the underground garage. Our ticket was punched for 12:12pm. The clock was ticking. The sign may have promoted that there were spots available, but I was calling it's bluff. There were two types of spots to choose from: Ones marked "Reserved" and ones between two F-350 trucks. We sped around the two levels of the garage for a while and all I could see was that hour whittling away. Just as I contemplated taking a spot marked "Clerk of Courts",  we found a space.


As we strolled through the hallways to find the right office, I began conjuring up stories in my head to explain to the parking attendant why we were late. But we found our office. And that's when I was faced with a dilemma. 


While Wife attended the stroller, I was tasked with filling out the paperwork. The one line said: Child's...First_________ Middle __________ Last __________
In that moment, I felt powerful. I could have named him anything I wanted to. And the city people would have to accept. Of course we both agreed on a name months ago. And that's the same name everyone calls him. But it was up to me to transfer that name to legal paper. I was tempted to go another direction. How cool would it be to have a son with a name like...

• Tyrannosaurus Rex (who would mess with a kid named after the king dinosaur? A nickname would be obvious. "Hi, this is my son T-Rex.")
• Elvis Presley (picture the teacher going down the roll call on the first day of school in 7th grade and coming across that.)
• Thor (he would have to carry a hammer.)
• Simba (the problem would be finding a friend named Rafiki that would assist in presenting him to the people...and a huge rock to do that from.)
• George Washington (because I think it would be cool to say, "George Washington, stop hitting your sister!" Or, "Clean your room George Washington!")

I couldn't think long. Time was ticking if we were going to make it back within the hour. I reluctantly settled on the name we agreed upon months ago. We got the certificate, got back to the garage, and met the parking attendant. "Two-twenty five please," she said. 

Making it out with in the hour, having the exact amount of change, that's luck. Maybe we should have gone with the name "Rabbit Foot."

Any suggestions on what would have been other good names? 

Mardi Gras

-"You know what would be fun..."
-"What"
-"We should go down to New Orleans for Mardi Gras."
-"What brought that up?"
-"I don't know, it would be an experience...one of those things you have to try in your life."
(silence)
-"Can we afford it?"
-"I think."
-"Let's go then."




It took the length of that conversation to determine it was a worthwhile use of our time to drive 18 hours with some good friends to spend 3 days in the most densely visited destination from January - February. 


Here are some things we learned about the city of New Orleans based on experience:

• Fan boat tour guides from the Louisiana bayou keep alligators in the same kind of coolers that suburbanites from Ohio keep pop.
• The --- ------ --- --- ---- motel sees it fit not to clean behind the beds where previous guests leave small bags of illegal drugs. 
• New Orleans has some of the best live music performances ever.
• A burning car on the side of the road raises zero concern from the locals.
• Beneighs are not a suitable breakfast item...or nutritious item for any meal for that matter.
• Littering on the street is not a fine-able offense. 
• NOLA is a beautiful city.

We made those inferences this week three years ago on our trip to New Orleans.  And while our 1/2 week in the biggest party in the world at the time was devoid of debauchery, we still enjoyed the city. 

This week not only reminds me of how much fun it was to travel to the bayou, but how different travel is for us now. 

Here's what the above conversation would look like now...

-"You know what would be fun..."

-"What?"

-"We should go to Coco Beach."

-"That would be nice...but..."

-"But what?"

-"Do you think he'd be ok in the car for 14 hours?"

-"Ummmm...."

-"Is he even allowed to be in the sun for too long?"

-"I don't think, not sure..."

-"We'd have to pack a stroller, pack n' play, and his boppy pillow. Is there room in the car?"

-(silence)

-"How 'bout we just wait 'till the lake warms up."

So much for picking up and going. 

The 11-and-a-half pound addition to our family will make our travel strategies change. We can't just go on a whim. Or pack into a crowded city. Or stay at motels with drugs. Or fly through the bayou at 60mph on a boat. But, the Kicker is hardly a deterrent to good travel.

We get to start a new style of adventure. Bring on the fanny pack.  Let that camera hang off my neck. Let me use my last available pocket space for pacifiers. Show me the indoor attractions that allow strollers. 

We welcome the newest traveler and all the places we can go with him. Can't wait to see the world together. We'll teach him how to grow up with an appreciation of travel and culture. So here's to family vacations...and never allowing your child to go to New Orleans for Mardi Gras...ever. 

Only for the confident, self-sure, sunglasses-attached-to-a-strap type. 

Vow This

Sucked in to go see The Vow.  I use that specific phrasing because there are some movies we have to go see whether I like it or not.  I knew this wasn't going to be a great movie watching experience the second I walked in. 


With half of the theater filled, I was the only guy, and we were the oldest people. Median age was about 13. What I couldn't figure out was what interest any 13 year olds would have in a movie about wedding vows. I was also bummed b/c there was no wi-fi connection there and I couldn't check on the Cavs game.


Finally, another guy walked in with his girlfriend. I wasn't alone. But he was 16 at best. I was still the senior of the room. I was afraid of being bombarded afterward to be the guy to buy everyone alcohol at the gas station across the street.


The previews started...then they never stopped. It was one preview after another. At one point I became very concerned. I leaned over to Wife and asked, "Did I pay $21 to come watch a bunch of previews or an actual movie?" It didn't stop there. The $21 previews couldn't even be enjoyed because of all the talking going on. It was a steady sound of murmuring in the background. That's fine, who doesn't enjoy a movie with the white noise of childhood chatter? 


When the movie started, Channing Tatum spent spent a decent amount of time with his shirt off. And now I see what interest 13 year old girls would have in this movie. My interest? None at all. As the movie progressed, there was plenty of opportunity for crying. The audience provided a swell surround sound experience of sniffles. Nothing says 'good time' like hearing 250 people simultaneously sniff their running noses. 


Throughout this whole movie I kept leaning over to tell Wife my newest observational complaints. She'd laugh and agree. We had a great time. By the end of the movie - and after my complaining was over - Wife shot in a slick comment: "You sounded like Dennis the Mennace's next door neighbor Mr. Wilson. Always grumping"


She was right. I immediately saw myself years ahead yelling at the neighbor kids to get off my lawn. That's not what I want. They should be able to use my yard to extend their Whiffle ball field.  Or use it for more space to toss the Frisbee. Or use it to play catch. 


But so help me, if they let their dog poop on my lawn.......

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.