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The Worm’s Giving Out Free Hugs!

February 11, 2012 //
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I got off work today and went charging into the house looking for my non-hairy boy.  Wow!  He’s so cute in his little “Hug Magnet” longsleeve, I thought.  Why don’t I go over and give him a great big hug!

Like a zit under pressure, he popped.

Ok, but when you said lunch is on me...I didn't know THAT was what you meant!

 

Maybe it’s just me, but these kinds of hugs don’t give me that warm, fuzzy feeling.

I see the Worm’s mastered the silent vomit.

The student has given the teacher a lesson today.

Gavin – 6; Dad – 4

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Oh Yeah, Your Baby’s Beautiful Too.

February 6, 2012 //
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This morning was awkward comment day at the lake.  Thrice.

Duncan, my Weimaraner, needs lots of exercise.  So, there’s a lake near us that has no car traffic and is paved all the way around.  It’s a 5 mile loop, and  even if I run the entire 5 miles (which I hope to do again, soon), Dunkie barely breaks a sweat.  Since Mini-me arrived, and I’m responsible for him (meaning Steph would kill me if I left him home alone), he gets to be pushed around the lake in the three-wheeled comfort of BOB while Dunkie and I jog.

It was cold at the lake this morning.  So, I bundled up Gavin by putting a hoodie over his pajamas. (Steph hates it when I don’t coordinate him.  I say brown goes with everything. ;))  I stuff the Worm into the stroller and cover him with a blanket.  I get Duncan out of the truck and we’re all ready to roll.

Since I can’t run the entire 5 miles anymore (without sleeping the next 18 hrs straight), I run a couple of miles and then walk for a bit.

When I slow down to walk, everyone around wants to talk to me.  (I guess when people look at me they think “Hey, that guy looks sad & lonely.  Maybe I’ll tell him my life story so he doesn’t feel so bad about his.”)  I’m sad and lonely because I want to be, people!

So, within minutes of walking, conversationalist #1 tries to make eye contact with me.  I can feel the eyes piercing my neck and I try to look down at the baby stroller as if I’m checking on him.  (Avoidance tactic.  Steph tells me I’m great at this.)  Man, she’s still staring.  I look up.

“Wow, that’s a BEAUTIFUL dog!  (5 second pause.)  And BABY too!”

“Huh?  Oh, thank you.”  I smile.  “He’s a good dog.  The baby’s ok sometimes too.”  Man, she can’t even see the baby’s face under the hoodie and he’s almost 90% covered up by the blanket.  Does this lady think it’s rude to say my dog is cute without commenting on my baby too?  What?  Does she feel sorry for me that my dog is cuter than my baby?  Maybe I need an uglier dog.

I run another two miles.  Then stop to give Dunkie some water.

Conversationalist #2 walks by me, this time from the opposite direction.  But, not without saying almost the same exact thing #1 said!

“Good morning!  You’re dog is BEAUTIFUL.  Oh, and so is you baby, too!”

“Thank you.”  I smile awkwardly.  WTF?  She can’t even see my baby.  The stroller hood is pulled all the way over him to keep out the rising sun!

I make it around the rest of the lake without incident.  (Probably because I had my ‘thug life’ grimace on.)

Back at the Cruiser (affectionately known as Eleanor), I’m set up to feed Dunkie the rest of his water, change the baby diaper, and stretch a little.  (Not all at the same time, people…)

I look over my shoulder and #1 is in the parking lot, looking at her phone, which seems to be pointed towards me.  I don’t know if she was taking a picture of my toned glutes or what.  But, she walks towards my truck and speaks.

“Is that a Weimaraner?”

“Yes.”

“He’s so BEAUTIFUL.  Is he good with the baby?”

(No, he’s actually going to eat the baby once I leave them both unattended in the truck.  Barring any more gruesome event, I should be on the news tonight.)

“Yes, he’s a good dog.” Didn’t you hear me the first time I said it?  “He’s really good around the baby.”  (Can’t you see that he’s literally 2″ away from the baby while I’m changing him?)

“You’re baby’s beautiful too.”

“Thanks.  Have a good day.”  I smile.

Look.  I don’t give a crap if you tell me that I’ve got a beautiful dog.  I know I do.  Both of my dogs are handsome as hell.  They were rescued from a shelter so they’ve got self-esteem issues, but they’re beautiful where it matters most…on the outside.

Dad, Why is My Head Growing So Fast? (Because It's Filling Up With My Wisdom, Son.)

I know my baby’s not as cute as my dogs.  It’s ok.  The Worm was really cute as a baby, but now his head’s sort of growing faster than his face.  He’s going through an ugly phase, kind of like when I was growing up and my adam’s apple stuck out further than my nose.  I get it.

Please don’t tell me my dog is beautiful, then as an afterthought tell me that my baby’s beautiful, too.  That’s just weird and uncomfortable.  It’s not like they came from the same mother.  And it’s not a contest.  Duncan would win, hands down.  (For my mom:  I know you’re reading this and there’s definitely no way Dunkie is cuter than the Worm…no way!)

I like long walks on the beach, romantic dinners, and licking toes!

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Oak Tree Catches Flying Squirrel

February 3, 2012 //
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I don’t know whether to be proud of this or embarrassed, so I’m just going to think glass half-full.

As a teenager, I worked at a little supermarket in my neighborhood.  It was my dojo.  Kind of like the Karate Kid movie (the real one) where Ralph Macchio was washing cars and learning Karate. I, on the other hand, was honing my martial art techniques by bagging groceries.

Left hand cups the canned vegetables, right hand palms the lettuce.  Make eye contact with customer.  Is she going to tip me?  No?  Lettuce to the bottom of the grocery bag and canned vegetables directly on top.  Repeat with avocados and canned beans coming down the conveyor.  This time, eyes closed.

With this intense supermarket training, I was able to sharpen my hand speed and coordination.  By the end of my 2 years there, I was able to make the bagels on aisle 10 crumble to the ground with only a glancing blow.

Young student says “Master, when will I know that I’m done here?”
Old master replies “When you are no longer pink in the middle.”

Little did I know, that 20 years later, I still maintained my supermarket skills.  And I would need it to save the life of my son, Gavin.

Steph and I are in the bedroom.  It’s morning and she’s getting ready for work.  The Worm’s awake so she gets him out of his crib, brings him into our room and plops him down on the bed.  “Watch him, ok?”  She goes to the bathroom and fixes her hair.  Gavin and I are both sitting on the bed looking at each other.  The Worm then starts crawling around atop the duvet.  (You know where this is going, right?)  I’m caught up in conversation with Steph and I’ve got one eye on Gavin.  Well, he crawls to the edge of the bed and looks over.  I think nothing of it, because in my conscious mind, no rational baby would want to leap off the edge of the bed and plunge 2 feet to their fate…

This one’s not rational.  He dives.

This is an exact reenactment.

In the flash of half a second, I lunge towards him and grab onto his right lower leg catching him with his head dangling 2 inches from the ground.  (It was a one-handed grab, in case you were wondering.)  On a side note, since all the great techniques have names I call this one “Oak tree Catches Flying Squirrel”

Afterwards, with baby safe on the bed again, my adrenalin kicked in.  I also realized Steph watched the whole thing in the bathroom mirror.  (Yes, I got an earful from her.)  If I had missed, I’m pretty sure there would have been two doctor’s visits, one for his head and one for my a$$.  (I’m sorry Steph.  You are right again, as always.  It won’t happen again.  You are the prettiest woman in the universe.)

I’m patting myself on the back for this one.  I’m still in the awe part of my awesomeness.

Gavin – 5; Dad – 4

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Tired Baby + Tired Dogs = Happy Dad

January 20, 2012 //
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Cowles Mountain as seen from San Diego, taken ...

Image via Wikipedia

Dogs get cabin fever.  At least ours do.  I guess that when you’ve got two breeds of dog that are built for running long distances, you have to be prepared for the consequences of not harnessing that energy.  And if you keep dogs pent-up for too long,  you can begin to see the crazy in their eyes.  Darting back and forth between the couch pillows and your TV remotes, the eyes are looking for their next delightful chew toy.

So, I know I’ve got to get the pups out.  What better way to get them out than by seeing some of San Diego!  Ok, ALL of San Diego!

Since I didn’t feel like leaving Gavin at home by himself, I packed up the family (sans the working wifey) and off to Cowles Mountain we went.

Cowles Mountain is a great place to hike in San Diego.  It is part of Mission Trails Regional Park and the tallest peak in San Diego County at 1,592′ elevation.

A little known fact, even by San Diegans is that the correct pronunciation is like ‘coals’, not ‘COW-les’.  (I’ve been living here 11 years and I just learned that today.)

No, it doesn’t snow on Cowles Mountain.  Yes, it’s usually busy there.  On a clear day, the peak gives a wonderful view of San Diego County.

Don’t go in the middle of summer when the temperatures climb to 100.  People have died.  (Personally, I’d rather die climbing something a little taller like Kilimanjaro, but that’s just me.)  Take water because it’s dry over there.

Carrying a 20 lb sack of potatoes up the mountain wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be, but since Gavin provided moral support by grunting along with me up the trail, we each get a point.

Gavin – 4; Dad – 2

I gave up trying to get all of us to look at the camera...

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Moving Violation On the Couch

January 14, 2012 //
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You figure it out...and yes that is leopard print carpet.

So, I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot here. I mean, I’m a good dad. I’ve got a clean record with the police station. Sort of. It’s just that every now and then, I get distracted. (Once again Steph, you’re right…) I disappeared from the living room for a split second and I may have missed the youngest acrobatic trick ever performed. I’m perplexed and still wondering how it happened.

The Worm is only 9.35 months old. He just started crawling this past Christmas day as a gift to us! Yes, I know…so cute and adorable as long as you’ve got a leash securing him safely to a post. Managing Gavin used to be a piece of cake, you know. Just lay him down to drink his milk and I go play on the computer for 30 minutes. Of course, I would always keep my ears peeled for that air-sucking noise from the empty bottle and return to find all’s well and baby is satiated.

Ok, so knowing (or still believing) that the Worm can’t get off the couch, I follow my couch feeding routine. Stuff Gavin between couch cushions (every dad knows this trick) with a bottle and let him go to town. I leave towards the kitchen for literally 2 seconds (or a couple more, but hey, who’s counting?) and I hear a little THUD. I go back to the living room and see the Worm on all fours smiling up at me from the ground. The milk bottle is still on the couch nicely tucked between the cushions which previously held a little body.

Now, mind you…the kid can barely stand on his own two feet, let alone jump from the couch. He just started crawling a couple weeks ago! So, I had to exercise my brain a bit to figure this one out. Using my engineering mind, I realized that the spacing between the couch and the coffee table is about 18 inches. He obviously didn’t hit the coffee table on his way down. Also, there is enough altitude between the couch and the ground (about 20 inches) for Gavin to complete the 540 degree somersault necessary to stick the landing. As long as he tucked his limbs in properly. Which of course, he must have.

Bela Karolyi, if you’re reading this, I think we have found the next Paul Hamm.

Gavin – 2; Dad – 0

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