Do not set a wedding date if there is the slightest possibility that five years down the road, on that very date, the World Combat League comes to your town for the West Coast Playoffs.
“Let’s go to the World Combat League at the Erwin Center for our anniversary!”
“Umm… it’s not very romantic.”
“And Phantom of the Opera was so super awesome wicked rad.”
“Hey! You bought the tickets to Phantom, remember? And besides, that was for my birthday, not our anniversary.”
“Damnit!”
We attended our second required baptism class this past Sunday. I feel as if I maintained my open mindedness as I quietly sat and listened with Maly on my lap. The high points of our second class (for yours truly) were:
Our teacher went on to tell us that we, as parents, must become the priest or priestess of the house.
“It is your responsibility to set a good example for your children and tell them the story of Jesus”
Elise leaned over and whispered, “I’ll go buy the Lincoln Logs.”
Dear Maly,
You turned three months old this past week. You’re changing so fast and have become so bewildering that I’ve put away most thoughts of giving you away or leaving you outside until you figure out how to venture off and raise yourself.
This month you finally managed to shart on me. Mom does 95% of the diaper changing so your managing to finally hit me with your excrement is quite a milestone. With breakneck speed I attempted to dodge your flying poo as I watched it hit me on the leg. Surprisingly I didn’t gag. Here’s fair warning though: I will get you back.
You giggled for the first time this month. There are no words to describe how that made me feel. That was, by far, the happiest moment of my life. Your giggle was the only sound that mattered in the world at that moment. Your giggle fits you perfectly — It’s short, infectious, intentional and defined. You’ve only giggled for me – not your mom. She hates me for this. I can tell, just by your giggle, that you will be the one who will make others laugh and be able to easily laugh at yourself.
Your mom and I decided that it would be my job as your dad to bathe you every night. It’s our time to bond. I usually sing Guns ‘n’ Roses or Doors songs while giving you your bath and you stare out toward the sky through the kitchen window. We can’t figure out what you’re looking at. Personally, I’m convinced that you’re sending a beacon to the others from your planet, telling them that we are weak and gullible and their planned descent to destroy us should commence.
It is at this point in the winding down of your day that you turn into Satan. I pull you from the tub, wrap you in your towel and walk you into our bedroom. The moment I lay you on the bed to put your diaper and pajamas on, you start in with your constant, pouty crying. I try to distract and console you to no avail. I’ve even threatened to walk around in Speedos when you’re in the seventh grade and have your friends over to get you to stop crying.
I quickly apply a dab of A&D ointment to your butt, put your diaper and pajamas on and walk you about the house and talk to you about absolutely nothing meaningful so you’ll stop crying and fall asleep. You will have to do the above steps for me one day and I’m looking forward to it.
I do look forward to our nightly ritual. It’s not what I would have expected or even wished for, but it’s our time together and it’s better than having to explain to the police why I thought it was a good idea to leave you face down in a bed of fire ants.
You experienced your first Fourth of July this month. We drove out to Lakeway with John, Christine and Jack and watch the fireworks display from the inside of our truck. I was excited that you were going to see large fireworks for the first time. Instead you stared blankly at the digital clock on the dashboard.
You’re holding your head up quite well now. Your hands have managed to find each other so you’ll occassionally hold your hands together. You also found your middle two fingers with your mouth. You’ve begun to soothe yourself by sucking on these two fingers. You mom’s boobs are thankful.
You drool. A lot. Experts say that this is because as you grow older, you produce more saliva and just don’t know what to do with it. Us non-experts concur. I was thinking that at three months your snake-like tongue would find a happy home inside your mouth. That is not the case. I guess you’ll break your tongue sticking out habit when either 1) the other kids start making fun of you or 2) you bite it off after you get teeth and fall down onto your bottom jaw. If the latter occurs, I will buy your first replacement tongue but after that, you’re on your own.
Your mom has a degree in photography. I have many credits in photography from college as well. We are friends with quite a few professional photographers. We also own a pretty nice camera. So we did what any pair of photography-savvy, resourceful parents would do: we took you to JC Penney to have your portaits taken. Talk about crazy! I don’t know how JC Penney portrait photography employees can do their job without being hopped up on lithium. You did well at your sitting so we took you to Chick-Fil-A for lunch.
I keep meaning to arm myself with a witty rebuttal when someone asks, “How’s Maly?” or “How’s that little daughter of yours?” I’m genuinely thankful that people are inquisitive as to your overall well-being, but there’s not a whole lot to report. “Well, she’s just finished up her French lessons and will be starting her interpretive dance lessons next week.” Or “We’re training her to be a ninja and are actually going to pick out grappling hooks and short blade katanas tomorrow.” My response is usually limited to, “Well, she eats, sleeps and is growing like a weed.” Maybe it’s because I want your day-to-day discoveries and interactions to be your gift to your mom and me alone.
You are growing so fast. It’s very scary. I can’t stop time no matter how tightly I shut my eyes and clench my fists. I look at the pictures from just three months ago and see a tiny little baby resting on my chest, looking up at me and taking in all that is her dad. I give everything of myself to you and want nothing more than to provide for you and let you experience life with laughter.
Everyone says, “Enjoy it now because they grow up so fast.” That’s so very true. And I am enjoying it. Every minute of it.
Love,
Daddy
When I asked Elise’s dad for his daughter’s hand in marriage, I made mention of, “…and if we ever have children, I’m fine with Elise raising them in the Catholic church…”
In order for Maly to be baptised in the Catholic church, her parents are required to take classes. Four classes to be exact. I’m not going to name names here but her dad is not happy about this.
We attended our first baptism class on Sunday. Our teacher went into seminary school years ago but decided he couldn’t live a life of celibacy. He also spent two years as a missionary in east Africa. He sang us a tune that went something like, “Bwana, anakawuita. Bwana, anakawuita. Bwana, anakawuita, all the live long day.” I made that last part up but I do have “Bwana, anakawuita” stuck in my head. He went so far as to grammatically dissect the song and translate it on the dry erase board. It means something like “He is a part of us all” or “I don’t have any food for you, white man, but you’re welcome to one of my small goats.”
Elise and I had a “discussion” when I was told we had to take 8 hours of baptism classes. She pointed out that I have a tendency to approach things like baptism classes with a closed mind and don’t allow myself to gain anything from the experience. So I made a wholehearted effort to attend our first class with an open mind.
From our first baptism class I gained a miniature blueberry bagel with pineapple cream cheese and vision of small African children dancing with goats and singing, “Bwana, anakawuita!”
My parents were in Cabo San Lucas last week with my sisters and their families. Everyone was able to celebrate mom’s 65th birthday while there. Elise and I joyfully reminisced on the week we spent last year in Cabo: The walks on the beaches, the great food, the booze, the cruise, the fishing, Land’s End, the Sea of Cortez and the no worries life we lived for seven days. It was a tough ordeal having to suffer from extreme nostalgia that left us shaking uncontrollably and crying while blaring Van Halen’s “Cabo Wabo” from the stereo as we envisioned my parents enjoying themselves in Mexico. We stayed home, sulked in jealousy and secretely prayed that my parents would come home pregnant or new owners of a timeshare.
“I just realized that Maly won’t be able to sneak out of her window when she gets to that ‘sneaking out at night age’.”
“How’s that?”
“Her entire window is covered with a huge solar screen. It would be too difficult for her to remove it and sneak out through her window.”
“Well then she’ll just sneak out through the back door.”
“…”
“Don’t worry, I have ears like a hawk.”
“?”
“Hawks aren’t known for their hearing, are they?”
“Nope.”
“I meant I have hearing like…”
“…”
“Ummm.”
“You have hearing like someone who can hear things really well?”
“EXACTLY!”
Life’s been difficult as of late. This time of downtroddenness was spurred on Father’s Day when I stepped on a scale for the first time in many many months. I weigh more now than I have ever weighed in my life. This weight increase is not from newly acquired solid muscle mass – It’s more like many loose masses that I can feel jiggle whenever I find it absolutely necessary to jog to the pantry to get more snacky cakes and fried puffs of cheese.
We concluded that we need to watch what we eat and have been going about our new diet very half-assed. Last week Elise cooked a delightful and very healthy blackened Cajun talapia with a radish, cilantro and pepper salsa and a side of fresh pineapple. We then drove to the grocery store and pushed Maly around in a shopping cart and mesmerized ourselves by our sleeping baby as we pushed the cart down all of the aisles and eventually to the cash register and then out to the truck. We both laughed when we realized we left our bag of goods in the store. Elise went back into the store.
“We left our bag of groceries at the cash register. We had, um, the bag with Twizzlers, Jolly Ranchers, gummi bears and the Weight Watchers ice cream.”
Dieting is sooo 2003.
There was a major accident on 71 this morning just west of Hamilton Pool road involving two 18-wheelers and a car. I didn’t see a car.
My normal 1 hour commute to work took 2 hours. I don’t like the commute. It’s a dangerous route marked with fluorescent spray paint.
Dear Maly,
You turned two months old this week. We stare at you constantly and note how much you’ve grown. Caught up in the bewilderment that is you, I know your mom and I will not take notice of how old we will have become until it’s too late.
I’ve been thinking a lot recently about how you will choose to go about explaining the meaning of your name. Literally it means “small”. You’re in the 75th percentile for your height and you’re built very much like your dad, so you’ll not be small for very long. To render advice right now I would suggest you say that your name is derived from the Czech language and your parents chose a unique name to distinquish their daughter who they plan to have make her mark in this world. Or you can just tell them we were drunk.
This month you started smiling. Your smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Your smile lets me know that you’re happy. You might just be farting, but at least I know you’re happy. Don’t ever stop smiling. Or farting, for that matter.
They say to never get caught up in anticipating a child’s milestones as they grow up too fast as is. It’s very hard not to want for you to hurry up and learn to laugh. I will do everything in my power to freeze time at that point.
You also started “talking” this month. You have many points during the day when you want to interact with us. You will say “GAAAAAAEEEEEEEE AYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEE” to which your mom will say, “Hi. hi. hi. Hi. HI. hi. HIIII. Hiiiiiiiii!”
And you will retort, “ayyyyyyyyyyeeee.”
It’s amazing to watch you and listen to you. You are extremely determined. I already know that you will never settle for failure.
Your mom knows this much better than me but you are beginning to settle into a schedule. Part of this schedule, that I was comfortable in pointing out, is that you wake up extremely pissed. This is another trait you inherited from me. Rarely do you wake up and stare into space until one of us finds you awake nor do you coo to gain our attention. Instead you wake up and throw a fit until one of us picks you up. We don’t mind your wake up rage. We find solace in knowing that we can stop your crying. We take great pride in our roles as your parents.
You’ve had the same zit on your left cheek since shortly after you were born. We’re not supposed to do anything to it but I wish it would go away. When your mom isn’t looking, I drag a fingernail across it, hoping that it will pop. It will go away with time but I’m trying to save you from the aweful embarrassment that I know you’re feeling now due to infant acne.
Overall you’ve been an excellent baby throughout your first two months of life. You didn’t suffer from colic. You and mom worked together and figured out how to nurse you. I caught a summertime flu bug that knocked me out for a week and you managed to stay healthy while cohabitating in the same house. You like being outside and you travel well. You’re happy – I can tell.
Everything you do seems like magic — from looking at me when you hear my voice to projectile pooping all over the front of your mom’s thighs while she tries to change your diaper. You are so amazing and perfect and every day with you is a gift that is too great and big to be encompassed by the word love alone.
I love you so much that sometimes I just want to bite your head off.
Love,
Daddy
Elise, Maly and I woke up early Sunday and headed out to cheer our friend Jenny as she completed the 2006 Danskin Triathlon. We were running late and trying to hurry. The finish line was 3 miles from where we parked, it was 98 degrees outside and we were walking against traffic. Thousands of people were leaving the event as women crossed the finish line and retrieved their bicycles. I was pushing Maly in her stroller on the road instead of on the bumpy and dirty ditch. Elise was leaving a voicemail for Jenny, letting her know we were there and that we wanted to catch up with her after she finished the race.
A woman was riding her bicycle toward us after having finished the race. I would assume that she was riding her bicycle back to her car so she could drive back to Bitchville.
We had a little civil altercation. What’s best is it’s all saved on Jenny’s voicemail.
Triathlete: “You really need to get out of the bike lane.”
Josh: “REALLY?!?!”
Elise: “Hey, we’ve got a newborn here. Be cool. Jiminy Christmas!”
Triathlete: “It’s not like you’re the only people who’ve ever had a newborn.”
Josh: “Why don’t you shut the f*** up?!?!”
Elise: “Yeah, why don’t you chill out a little bit?”
We left it at that. I’m pretty sure she knew we were hardcore when Elise dropped the Jiminy Christmas bomb.
Watch what happens when you skewer four Mentos on a paperclip and rig them to drop into a 2 liter bottle of Diet Coke after having set the chemical reaction to spew out of a 1/8-inch hole.
“What the hell is this?”
“Poop.”
“How did it get down here on the carpet?”
“She shot it out of her ass.”
“Oooooh.”
Elise’s longtime friend, Heather and her four-year-old daughter, Juliet made their annual trip to Austin from Des Moines last week. I was outnumbered by females and soon realized that one day my own daughter will be old enough to be reasoned with. She will say things like, “No. No. No. No. NooooOOOOO!” and be the primary reason for my penchant for Zoloft and vodka.
On Monday night while prepping pork loin pinwheels for dinner I needed some extra toothpicks to use to keep the pinwheels closed for cooking. My hands were dirty with swine juice so I decided to try to employ a four-year-old girl.
“Hey, Juliet. Come over here and help me real quick.”
“No.”
“Please. I need your help.”
“No.”
“Juliet. Seriously. I need you to come over here and get a couple toothpicks for me. My hands are dirty.”
“No.”
“Puleeeeeeeease?”
“No.”
“Come ‘ere.”
“No.”
“Santa Clause hates you. You know that, right?”
