I knew I should have pre-viewed those sign language videotapes my parents sent us before I showed them to Worm. I didn’t understand why the box said PG-13…until today.
The Video Told Me to Put My Index Finger and Thumb Together Like This…
July 2011
I like t-shirts almost as much as I like tee-shirts. Especially tee-shirts that are clever, meaningful, bold, imaginative, and unique. Everything that I’m not. Since a smart-looking short sleeve makes the man, I’ll gladly spend the $15 on a good tee to cloak my thin torso in its charismatic charms. (I’ve been brainwashed by the fashion industry.)
Today, I got a tee-shirt. Probably the best tee-shirt ever. No, it IS the best tee-shirt ever.
Steph walked into the house after work and unwrapped a package of tee-shirts that she had designed for each of us. Smush drooled all over hers. Worm, being terribly two, threw his to the ground in disgust. And me, well, I cried. (What is it about childrearing that is so beard-removingly effeminating for me?)
I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the high cotton thread count. Maybe it was the picture of Worm’s grinning face on the front. Maybe it was the way the soft, black collar felt on my adam’s apple. I don’t know why I got so choked up over this damn thing. My gratitude to my wife came out as “Blub, blub, blubbery blub.” In a strange way, she understood the magnitude of her gift to me. As an aside, I’m very proud of myself for only losing control of my tear ducts and not my bowels through the excitement.
I’m now one of ‘those’ people. You know, the ones that wear custom tee shirts with pictures of their significant other/family member and the words ‘I’m with stupid –>’ underneath. I’ve got a shirt with Worm on it and it’s a one-of-a-kind.
In my mind, those types of shirts were lame…until I got one! I have seen the light!
What is it about screenprinting family photos onto a piece of clothing that touches the heart? I don’t know. I was overcome by a wave of emotions and thoughts such as:
- If I don’t wash it, it might stay brand new forever.
- Would it be weird to want matching pants for my new shirt?
- If the real Worm spills anything on my awesome tee, I’ll tan his hide.
- Does this shirt make my arms look fat?
- Can I dress up this tee with a white sport coat for special occasions?
- Can the real Worm handle the idea that tee-shirt Worm is so awesome?
I feel close to my son now. The only way I could feel closer, would be if I received a tee-shirt made entirely from his lovely auburn colored hair. (Hint, hint, hint. Father’s day is coming up.)
It’s better than my Dalai Lama peace tee. It’s even better than my Goonies tee, which I singlehandedly brought back from the dead using Goo-Gone and a scrub brush. (That stuff’s amazing!) This tee-shirt will be worn for all eternity…or until Smushie barfs all over it in a jealous rage (or indigestion). 8VMTEHKY5KQU
Could a Day Get any Better Than This?
The old adage goes, “Of all the thing I’ve lost, I miss my free time the most.”. (Yes, that’s a period before an end quote followed by a period. I’m rearranging the rules of punctuation to make sense to myself.) In the parenting world, the phrase rings true for many. I was recently smacked with an oar and hauled into that very boat.
The wife and I talked about all of the personal things I would be giving up to stay home with the children. Things like my career, my extra paychecks, my hobbies, my exercise routine (hello daddy dumpling!), my sanity. I didn’t believe her when she said it two years ago. And I was able to fend off the truth up until 4 months ago when the stork dropped little Smush onto our doorstep.
These days, I’m chasing children from 7am to 10:30pm. (Smush caps her night with some warm milk and late night news. If she could put herself to bed, the rest of us wouldn’t wait up.) During a standard day, I don’t get more than 10 minutes overlap where both children are napping and those wistfully silent minutes are used to wipe my own behind. Every day is go-go-go with only the random pause to look down and examine a fresh shirt stain. As you can probably guess, outside of those kid-friendly hours, my ‘free’ time is spent snoring into and slobbering onto my lucky pillows. Probably not the most productive way to spend my time, but I can’t think of anything else that prepares me as well for the following fast-paced day.
I don’t look much past the present moment anymore. I take one day at a time. It appeases my zen side and teases my type A persona. (Much of the reason for me to start this MevsGavin blog was to assuage my overly demanding, self-critical, workaholic tendencies.) And as I’ve surrendered almost all of my self-defining practices to my two time vortices (or vortexes as they say in Sedona), I’m doing my best to hold MVG together. It’s the only real way that I can peer at the stars of my day without letting their light disappear into the black hole of child rearing monotony. Because in my current state of mind, if I don’t write it down, it will be lost and never recalled again. (Besides, writing keeps me off the streets and out of the bars at night.)
I’ve taken a breather from MevsGavin, not by choice, but by necessity. Trying to find a clear head at midnight to write about the new developments of Worm and Smush has been difficult, even when I’ve soaked my neurotransmitters in spirits. (It just puts me to bed sooner!) I seldom can spare a few minutes to sit at my typewriter (it sounds more bona fide than laptop) let alone feed myself adequately. And being a slow thinker, a few minutes amounts to a puff of smoke from my ears and a sputter of hand twitches in the general direction of my keyboard. My time would be better spent pounding my head against a wall as that would offer a tangible result for my effort.
Though, in my unexpected hiatus, I realized how much this blog vocalizes my laughter and sheds my tears. It’s an extension of myself in words and images. It’s an expression of my life with kids. My definition is that of a father now. (I still haven’t completely wrapped my mind around the idea that Steph and I made people!) And I’m a father first, before anything else in my life. Maybe a few years from now, when we’re all a little older and moving a little more slowly, I’ll have some free time to look back and see what was happening at the time my babies were babies. But for now, there’s just no time to fit anything else in.
You Guys Can’t Even Sit Still For a Half of a Second?
…babies didn’t drink milk. They were fed baby giraffes. Let me show you how these pre-diaper era babies would grab the giraffe and eat off his head like this!
Nom, nom, nom, nom!
We’re More Civilized Today! We Only Eat Rubber Giraffes Now!
July 2011
Am I happy that Worm is finally eating more than four orange Tic Tacs a day? Absolutely! Do I apologize for selfishly asking the Worm not to grow up? Yes! I had no idea that (a) he understood what I was saying, and (b) that he could slow his body processes down like a meditating Zen master. He’s been the same size for five straight months, which has been a little disconcerting to me. I know it’s my fault because I asked him to be a child forever…and he complied by starving himself. I recently changed my mind about it. I want to see him grow up and blossom into the beautiful flower I know he can be. Ok, I really just want him to grow up so he can wipe his own derriere…
So, I’ve been trying to convince Worm to eat more calories by both examining new feeding techniques as well as by introducing new foods. Here are the three best thoughts that have crossed my mind about feeding the lad.
- Generously sprinkling powdered sugar on breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If it works 30% of the time, every time, I’ll be 100% satisfied!
- Maybe Worm has a worm. Give Worm a box of orange Tic Tacs daily to flush out possible intestinal parasites. It may bring his appetite back. If Yellow 6 can kill humans, it can surely kill a parasite. I’ll just have to deal with the side effects of child hyperactivity and possible cancer…There’s a reason some European countries have banned the politely named ‘sunset yellow’…but if the FDA deems it safe, it must be safe, right? Sorry, I accidentally fell onto a soapbox.
- Attach an IR receiving device to Worm’s head and wire it directly into the hypothalamus to stimulate hunger anytime a remote control is pointed at him.
And the winner is….#3! Although, I didn’t have to wire up anything. I learned that Worm was born with all the sensors for remote control operation! I just needed to pick the correct remote.
Our TV babysits Worm at times (not all the time) throughout the day so that I can tend to his sweet sister. It’s been helping us out tremendously and it only costs us $8.99 a month for unlimited streaming childcare. That’s a hell of a bargain if you ask me, since live babysitters are charging $20 an hour in this millennium. If you remember from last year, Worm would ‘zombie eat’ in front of the TV. But since he’s gotten smarter (and more lazy), I’ve had to adapt as well. He no longer zombie eats. He just doesn’t eat at all. He just stares blankly at the television screen, as if Curious George, Mater, and Trotro are going to jump into his mouth and magically fill his belly with nutrition. Previously, I was shoving food into Wormie’s pie hole every 30-60 seconds. That was very tedious, (probably because I cut his food up too small). Then recently, I stumbled upon a handy-dandy remote-operated solution.
One day last week, in a fit of frustration, (every day is some level of frustration when you’re taking care of kids…) I said “Worm, if you don’t eat something, I’m going to stop the show.”
Of course, he scoffed at my feeble threat. “No no no!” as he waved his index finger in the air at me. (Who taught him that? I’d like to wave a certain finger at that person, sans jest.)
I grabbed the PS3 remote control and pressed the pause button. Worm’s eyes got huge and he looked over at me like the Inca looked at the Spanish conquistadors. Once he saw that I had the power to freeze television, the war was over. Awestruck, he grabbed a morsel of food, chewed it the recommended 25 times and swallowed hard. With another wave of my arm, I let the cartoon characters continue their silly little tirade for the Worm. I’m pretty sure that now he thinks that he has to eat in order to keep his TV companions alive. I’m ok with that. (I’ll tell him the truth on his 18th birthday.)
Sure, I have to ‘impress’ Worm with my god-like power every so often when he stops eating, his eyes begin to glaze over at the screen, and his food begins to get cold…but it beats me having to sit there and spoon feed him for 45 minutes every meal.
Gavin – 24; Honeydaddy – 13 (I stumbled upon this amazing toddler feeding technique kind of like the guy that accidentally created potato chips. Accidental or not, I still get the credit for it. Ca-ching!)
Imagine Seeing That Face Coming Towards You in a Dark Alley! Scary!
…someday I won’t need my fingers to count to ten?
Look Into My Eyes and Tell Me What You See…
July 2011
But what happens if I lose track of where I was? Could I use my feet instead?
The other night, I was watching a show on military men going through something called “Hell Week”. These guys were voluntarily being pushed to their physical limits just for the opportunity to try out for the special armed forces, the Green Berets. (NOTE: A Green Beret is a legendary forest-lurking, swamp-eating, shadow warrior.) (ANOTHER NOTE: A Green Beret in a dark alley would have me running in the exact opposite direction than if the dark alley presented me with a Raspberry Beret.) If you’re looking for a non-stereotypical depiction of a green beret and what skills they possess, check out the movie First Blood. After seeing that flick, I could easily pick one out of a crowd of people…as long as they were wearing the signature headband and bloody tank top.
I don’t know what it was. Maybe fatigue set in. Or maybe a dram of rum permeated my intestinal wall and ignited a few scattered brain impulses. I had an idea.
What if I could make encourage Smushie to participate in a form of “Hell Week” for babies? Kind of like a rite of passage from newborn-ness to baby-ness. If she passes the rigorous physical examination, she’ll get to wear the coveted camouflage baby headband which signals to onlookers that this here is a bona fide Green Beretby. (Beret + Baby = Beretby. Still with me? Ok.) Also upon successful completion of the training, Smush will be given the opportunity to carry her very own AK-47, that will signify to all that the government can’t take away a baby’s rights to bear arms, which is in the constitution. (There’s nothing like the liberal mind interpretation of the English language.)
The idea is pure genius, as most of my ideas are. I would be gauging her physical abilities, as well as strengthening her for the exertions of daily life (i.e. sitting up, standing, walking, etc.). I mean Smush isn’t anywhere near being pushed to her physical limits right now. She practically lays around all day eating, sleeping, and burping. Not that I compare my children, but Worm was sitting upright and juggling bowling pins at 3 months of age. (Ok, slight exaggeration.) He set the bar and I we have to clear it. There’s nothing like a little sibling rivalry to coax the best out of us. (But, it’s ok for my two children to compare themselves to one another.)
Smush’s training program is pretty simple. 7 days of physical (also mental and emotional) endurance. Since I’m a nice guy, I won’t wake her up at 4am to start training. She’s allowed to wake up when the sun rises. Next, she will do:
- Tummy time until she falls asleep on the pillow or vomits
- Assisted sit ups until her body fatigues or her arms give out
- Eat until she falls asleep
- Upon waking, repeat tummy time and assisted sit ups. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
Training ends at 7pm every night for Smush to wind down and relax. In the evening, she’s allowed to chat online with her pals, play cards, or watch TV. Alcohol and smoking are strictly prohibited during Baby Hell Week. Visits from family are kept to a minimum to reduce the unnecessary distractions.
…I have to let the cat out of the bag. Her Hell Week started on Monday. (I couldn’t wait for the sergeant to approve, if you know what I mean.) And on that day, she did extremely well. It was fruitful and Smush showed incredible strength and endurance. She looked strong, capable, and determined.
But on Tuesday, I don’t know what happened. She slept until 10am. Woke up to exercise once and then proceeded to drink twice the amount of milk that she had ever previously ingested in one sitting…and napped for the rest of the day. (She’s already being defiant! I don’t know whether to pat her on the back or on the bottom.) The competitive fire was no longer in her belly. (Doused by the milk, I reckon.)
I think Smushie’s taking me for a fool. I swear I saw her peeking out at me from the slit in her eyelids. The rules don’t allow me to wake her from sleep and I think she’s found this little loophole. If Wednesday is anything like today, I will be forced to put my foot down and cut out the day naps. Hell Week will go on!
Smushie! If You’re Smiling, You’re Not Working Hard Enough!
Me vs. Gavin 