Whassup?

Yes, I'm trying to grow a "fade". Daddy says I have a way to go yet.

They don't bite...yet

A friend expressed some (understandable) anxiety about babies. I know --- they're so fragile, right? Believe me, I've seen that kid bend his feet in ways that no foot should be bent, leading me to question my thesis about their fragile nature. But I digress. I wrote the following email reply to my friend:

Oh, and about babies -- it is easier than you might think, especially for a visitor! Really, and assuming you even WANT to, all you would have to do is hold The Boy. And we can even help there, too! Trust me. It's not hard. Caveat: there is a risk of throwing up, but we mitigate that risk by giving you some medicine. I'm kidding. We put a cloth over your shoulder. See? For every obstacle there is a countermeasure.

The other occupational hazards -- Bowel Explosion, to wit --- can also be managed. Babies are E-A-S-Y for the visitor. And Fletch loves people. :-)

Fletch the social bean

Social butterfly. First off, butterfly is too feminine a term for my rough-and-tumble little guy. And, since the nickname is "Fletcher Bean", Fletcher is a social...bean. We took Fletch over to some friends' house on Sunday, for some groovy fajitas and cool company. Fletch loved it! We had the foresight to bring his bouncey, because frankly, that kid is getting H-E-A-V-Y and I could not imagine holding him for 2 hours. (Hey, YOU go find a 20-lb weight and hold it for 2 hours, then come back and tell me how your forearm and shoulder feel there, sport.)

Our friend L- took off one of Fletch's socks and tickled his feet, which Fletch LOVED. He laughed and laughed, and this was the first time anyone outside of the immediate family unit witnessed his famous belly laugh. He was really good, sitting quietly and playing with his toys while Mommy and Daddy talked with their friends and made new ones.

L-, T- : thanks for having us over. We're glad you got to see Fletch. It had been too long! And he changes so fast!

Fletch has more visitors scheduled this week. Pretty soon, I think we are going to have to hire a personal assistant for him.

What's under that giraffe?

See?! They're STILL blue...

Jamie's Crying

Austin, TX (AP) -- In an unprecedented move of acoustic prowess, 3.5-month-old infant prodigy Fletch was reported to have sung along to a Van Halen song yesterday while whiling away the time in traffic on his way home. Van Halen was playing on the radio, and each time the chorus would come on, Fletch would hit the exact same 2 notes each time with perfect pitch. Fletcher's father incorrectly postulated that his young son had channeled the spirit of David Lee Roth. Upon being informed that DLR is not dead, The Rick said, "Huh. Well."

Mr. Roth could not be reached for comment before this article went to press.

Meanwhile, Fletch is quite content to continue his singing ways.

Why cats are bad

Not be all judgemental and what not, but cats are not man's best friends. Dogs are. My dog The Cooper would not dream of ever eviscerating his master, should his master ever find himself paralyzed on the floor. I can not say the same thing of a cat, were it ever given the chance.

Don't believe me? Check out the following blog. Jeff is a cat. The blog itself is actually quite brilliant, a truly original idea. Here it is. If you are at all squeamish about great green gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts, then do not check it out. You have been warned. House cats are very much in tune with their inner hunter.

M is for Monkey

Our precious little monkey learned a new sound. "Mmmmmmm." And, as is the family custom, or, rather, a Daddy custom, Fletch is wearing it out like a broken record.

He still jabbers away. For whatever reason, I have been wearing some brightly colored T-shirts around the house, and The Boy definitely has visual acquisition of target (ie, Daddy) from across the house. He tracks the target. He says "mmmmmmm" and "ohh" and various other feats of verbal fortitude.

So, this week was a big week. He started singing. He added the letter "m" to his every-growing vocabulary, and we realized that The Boy can now see things from afar. Sigh. Before we know it, he will be graduating high school and on his way for a summer abroad before his freshman year at Harvard.

That's ma boy!

Vanilla Ice Video

If you have not clicked on the Google Ad for Vanilla Ice Videos, I strongly recommend this. Vincent -- you wanted to know who Vanilla is. Well, it just does not get better than this. Everyone else -- if you actually liked his music (and, egad, videos), watch and weep; if you did not like it, well remind yourself why.

Brilliant.

See no Evil

Silly little man. When Fletch is breastfeeding, he has recently taken to covering both eyes with both hands, in what appears to be a fit of exasperation.

"Oh, dear, Mom. This milk is 2%. I wanted WHOLE! Sheez."

Aaaaaaaaand, scene.

Singing Bee

The daycare informs us that one Mr. Fletcher is quite the little singer. He enjoys to sing-along with his own personal refrain ("ooooooooo" and "aaaahhhhh") as the rest of the tots actually use words. This comes as no surprise to me, really. I've noticed he is starting to modulate the pitch of his voice when I sing to him. Yes, I sing. Whether I sing well is another matter entirely.

Anyway, I am just so excited that the daycare thing is going so well for Fletch.

Kung Fu Grip

Two things happened this weekend which together bode ominously for the future. First, there was the Nuclear Poop incident. I shall not go into detail other than to say that The Boy had been constipated and chose to make up for lost time. At once. There was not a diaper on God's green earth large enough. In of itself, however, such an incident is no cause for alarm. You clean it, and you move on. No big whup.

The second event is that which is more concerning. How to say this delicately? The Boy found his package. Yes, THAT package. Thankfully, he was already clean at the moment he decided to put his Kung-Fu Grip on a handful of johnson. What troubles me is that I can easily imagine a scenario in which The Boy reaches south and comes up with a bio-fouled hand. Nothing good comes from a bio-fouled hand.

I broached this very topic with a friend of mine this morning at the coffee shop, who was all too familiar with this, um, failure mode. By anticipating and acknowledging this potential biohazard outcome, I am ahead of the game. I can plan for, and react quickly to, such an event.

This begs the question: if The Boy was able to circumvent countermeasures and produce a biofouled hand anywhere near the face, is this not something that would only happen once? I mean, my family has a proud history of being quick learners. Take his Dad, for example. Remember the Bugs Bunny cartoons in which Bugs hids an anvil behind a red cape for the bull to run into? Well, in this scenario, my older brother was Bugs, and I the bull. It wasn't the first run into the edge of the coffee table that sent me to the ER. Nor the second. Fully the third run is what opened up my eye at the tender age of 4. As I said, fast learning genes.

It's Not You, It's Me

Overheard at Fletcher's daycare, by a little girl, when a little boy dispensed a touch too much affection to said little girl:

"I need my space."

Indeed. They start 'em young, nowadays.

Vanilla Who?

In reference to the picture of my friend Kevin, his girlfriend, and Vanilla Ice, my father-in-law asks, "Which one is Kev P, and which one is Vanilla?"

Indeed. All of Kev's friends have been asking the same question for years.

Vanilla Ice with my friend Kev

Kev P was dining at an Amish buffet restaurant in Pennsylvannia, when he happened upon one Mr. Vanilla Ice. If there was a problem, yo, Kev solved it. Check out the pic while Ricky revolves it...

Word to your mother.

Fletch at 3 months

3 month birthday

Hey, Fletch! Can you believe it, little man? You turned 3 months old this past weekend. I can hardly believe where the time has gone. Somehow, sleep deprivation and time travel must be related. If Einstein were alive, I would see about taking that up with him.

You continue to amaze me, how you have changed so much. You used to be a wriggly little fuss-monster, who, when not sleeping, was crying. Sleeping was not something you were into for more than 3 hours at a clip, which made your loving parents morph into zombies. Thankfully, somewhere around 6 weeks old, you figured out how to sleep from 9 at night until 7 in the morning. Just like that. Like someone flipped a switch. And then, your little personality began to emerge.

You, my man, are quite the big character constrained by a small body. You giggle and smile (from a younger age than is usual), and then this past weekend, as if you knew it was your birthday and could not more pleased about it, you let out a huge long belly laugh. Your laughter was contagious, so Mommy and Daddy had to laugh, which made you laugh more. And your dog Cooper walked around in circles, wondering what mysterious illness had befallen his family.

OK, you gotta go to day care. Mom says right NOW. :-)
Love,
Dad