Injury Report

Going into Sundays football match-ups, here is the week's injury report:

Rick -- probable. Having undergone outpatient toe surgery earlier this week, Rick is, if not fully recovered, certainly ready to play. "My team is counting on me. I'm ready to lace 'em up and smack someone in the teeth." When reminded that he is not presently on any NFL roster, Rick responds, "Do you have dental insurance?"

Rick's Wife -- out. Tummy ache. "My tummy hurts."

Fletcher -- probable. The Boy fought off a fever earlier in the week, but is now facing a wicked bout of constipation. When asked if he is ready to push through the pain, Fletcher turned red in the face and began to cry. It obviously hurts to push.

Rough Couple o Days

In what I am sure is an omen of many a future phone call to Dad's workplace say in, oh, about 10 years, The Boy was sent home from school yesterday. No, he was not cuttin' up in class, but he did have a fever, his first. Poor little Fletch. He did not seem especially worse for wear last night, though he did awaken a couple times crying in the night. Rick's Wife stayed at home with The Boy today, so instead of receiving one phone call from school, I received 17 from Rick's Wife. That poor kid was wearing himself out, and like any good son of mine, was determined to make those around him equally as miserable. Poor Jen.

I left work a bit early, thinking -- hey, I have broadband. I'll get home, provide a little moral support, and get some work done.

Not so much.

In the vernacular of the common geek: The Boy's crying is a, what's the word? Oh yes: "non-maskable interrupt." That is geek-speak for "I'm miserable, and you must attend to me NOW!"

"I'm hot. I'm cold. I'm tired. I'm hungry. I'm tired of being tired. Daddy, when are you going to make this better? Fetch my fever reducer. How is the Lobster Thermadore? (I recommend it.) Then I'll have two, and put it on Mr. Underwood's tab."

Finally, he just got crazy cranky. A cool bath settled him down, and thankfully he is now sleeping in Rick's Wife's arms. She just whispered to me that she is not going to take him to his room yet, rather she intends to let him sleep in her arms. Generally, I would object, but if you could just see how peaceful he is right now, and how absolutely wrecked he has looked to me since I've come home today. I think I'll issue a pass, just this once.

Here's to hoping he can get some sleep. And that the dang fever goes away.

First Header

The Boy apparently took a header today at day care. He looks no worse for wear to me, and seems like his same ol' self --- jibber-jabberin' away at anyone who cares to listen, which is always his mom and dad, naturally.

By the way, his latest speech fascination is "ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba." Soon to be followed by "ba-ba-ba-BA-ba-ba." Rinse. Repeat. Yes, it is still cute.

Pavarotti

Here is a video of Luciano Pavorotti singing Ave Maria. This was my Mom's favorite song. I cannot hear this and not think of her.

God rest, Luciano.

Pamper's Cruisers

Not surprisingly, given the success Fletch enjoyed with the Pamper's Swaddlers, so has he done a good job with the next stage of diapers: Cruisers.

It's such a simple little idea: put some sticky tabs on the diaper to facilitate diaper change.

It's such a simple little idea: put some colorful Sesame Street graphics on the diapers to stimulate the kid's imagination at diaper change time. Rumor has it, Daddy even has a favorite (Cookie Monster), but he would never admit it publicly.

Speaking of which, some Oreos are calling my name...

2 white little teeth

Recall the earlier mention of teeth? Well, he has 2 full-on front lower teeth. He is about the cutest guy ever now when he laughs (which is often, even though he is bucking through a cold).

Darkness Falls

The day that Rick's Wife had dread for the last few months has finally come to fruition. It had loomed just below the horizon, out of sight, but evident for its long shadow cast over our household in anticipation of its arrival. The NFL 2007 Season has begun, and with it, so has fantasy football season.

You see, fantasy football is with me beyond a passion. It borders on what I am told is obsession. Whatever. It's only an obsession if you can't handle 4 fantasy football teams simultaneously. Which I can. And besides, I can quit anytime I want. So lay off with the intervention.

I tried taking The Boy today to a sports b--- um, restaurant, to watch some Houston Texans football. He revolted in the car en route, so I had to waive off on that little family outing. You see, I had thought that he had fully recovered from his little cold. He let me know otherwise, in no uncertain terms. Of course, the moment I turned the car around, he stopped crying. The kid has a built-in GPS in his diapers, I just know it.