Not. Gonna. Do It.

It's a conspiracy, really. A conspiracy of existing parents to fool yet-to-be-parents into thinking that parenthood is a blissful state. We, the conspirators, give some ground ("Oh, there will be copious amounts of diapers to change. Belie' dat!"), if only to establish our credibility with our gullible friends. Then, we sucker-punch 'em with, "Sleep? Well, the first few days are a bit rocky, but you'll be surprised how quickly the little angel catches on. And before you know it, he will be sleeping 4 hours during the day, too!"

Ha.

And if you think about it, this is how we treat our friends. Can you imagine how we treat people we do not necessarily care for?

I confess. The Boy simply refuses to nap. Nope, not one bit. It is as if the mere sight of the back of his own eyelids sears his cones and rods. He is the leading candidate running on the No Rest for the Weary ticket. Read my lips, "Na. Ga. Doit." We drop The Boy at daycare, and they talk about how they don't really push him to get on a sleep schedule. Really? I had not noticed, I mean, when we are watching him on the weekends. Speaking of which -- why is there not daycare service for the weekends? Don't get me wrong, I love that little one. But, dang, kid. When are you gonna sleep?

Oh sure, we have it pretty easy at night. He goes to bed fairly regularly between 7 and 7:30, and usually does not wake up until morning, although sometimes he wakes a bit on the early side (4am) for a bottle, but it's not that bad. Did you see that? Right there? It's AAAAALLL relative, you see. It's all relative to the sleep deprivation you remember from the first couple of months. And you remember.

And there you go. God's built-in birth control.

No, Dear, You are not Impossible

"No, Rick, I am not impossible. I'm just difficult."

Fall Arrives in Austin

It was a bit brisk this morning, so Fletch bundled up. C'mon. Have you SEEN a cuter expression? I mean, really.

What Ghosting Taught Me

Have you heard of this thing called "ghosting?" Kids ring your doorbell and run, leaving a bag of candy --- not poo, like when I was a kid --- and instructions on how to repeat the procedure to 3 of your neighbors. Kind of like a live version of e-spam, but friendlier. And less likely to involve fake pharmaceutical offers or porn. But maybe a little more dangerous. Let me explain.

So, tonight we had just put The Boy to bed. And Cooper, our 92-lb of yellow furry exuberance simply does not do well with the doorbell. I think he only had time to bark twice as I bounded to the door to answer someone who I was certain was mentally deficient or illiterate, or perhaps both -- I had a "Please Knock" sign on the doorbell. At least I *had*. Jen took it down, apparently. Looking out the window to see no one, I immediately figured, "Kids are a little early this year for Halloween." I ran outside to apprehend the culprit / culprits. I'll show them.

Even as I realized I was officially now devoid of any of the mirth of my youth, I knew the rascal had to be hiding close. It was silent, brisk fall dusky evening. No AC units running. No one rambling about, except for yours truly, in my bare feet, but determined to dispense vigilante justice. At this point, I have no idea what I am going to do when I catch the kid(s).

I look under the cars, on both sides of the house, under the neighbors' cars. Nada. By now, my eyes have adjusted to the twilight, which in my reading I have heard is the best time for military movement, given the fading light and the tricks it plays upon one's cones and rods.

A ha! There. A red shirt, frozen, staring back at me from the shadows of the starboard side of my house. I channel my inner adult and offer in my sternest tone, "Kommen-sie here." OK, I did not intone German, but the child marched straight to me. Not 2 sentences into my field interrogation, the kid blurts out, "I'm 's son." That stopped me. So-and-so is a friend. Wait. I *know* this kid. "D--? That you? What are you doing?"

About that time C-- comes up. Hilarity ensues. They explained the deal to me. Fill 3 bags with candy, and do the same to 3 neighbors. Cool. Sounds fun.

I thought when I first started this missive, that there was going to be some sage lesson to be had, some wisdom to convey to my youngster in the years that follow. About the only thing I could come up with was, "Son, when kids ring your door bell, try not to look like an a$$ in your bare feet and undershirt as you crawl on the ground looking beneath cars for tiny feet."

I sure hope I did not scare D--.

How to Mess up a Child, or How I Spent 100G's on Therapy

A friend called tonight to let me know that his wife is expecting. during the conversation, he commented, "Well, I'm also looking forward to whatever advice you can offer."

The only response I could come up with was something like, "How messed up do you want your child to be?" I was only half joking. I poop you not, I am making this daddy business up as I go along. Happily, I might add, but totally by the seat of mein underwasche.

Generally speaking, for the first couple of months, the playbook is well established. You read a couple of books and speak to friends for guidance (hey, sounds familiar), but really sleep deprivation soon becomes the driving force. All other influencing factors become noise to the slumber lust's signal. So, short of dropping a child on its head, it seems to me there is precious little you can do to warp the child at such a tender young age. Just remember to give lots of love.

I guess the only other tidbit that sticks with me is to always remember that as a parent, you will be constantly trading one set of problems for another. Hey, it keeps you fresh.

I have seen the future

A boy and his dog. The dog, in this case, bears a passing resemblance to our Cooper Bear. The boy, in this case, bears zero resemblance to our Fletcher Bean. But still, this was touching.

Fair warning: if you don't have a child, or at least a dog, especially a Labrador Retriever, you will probably not be in the least bit interested in this video. Rick's Wife and I enjoyed it thoroughly. Cute.

Vacation

A confused family member asks, "Are you on vacation?"

Hah. That's rich. Reading into the question, what is really being asked is, why have I not been posting? That's easy: no time. But before I get to that, let's establish that I did have a long weekend last weekend.

Vegas, baby. Vegas. The golf was spectacular. The food great. The friends awesome. Upon arriving home, however, I come home to find one very grumpy baby. And of course, a very grumpy wife.

The course of this week culminated last night with a trip to the emergency room. Fletch had vomiting, and we were concerned at 4am about dehydration. Turns out, though, the folks at the ER thought Fletch had good color, so we just increased the quantity of fluid intake.

So, Rick's Wife had to cancel her business trip, and I had to take a sick day at my new job. I was not terribly comfortable with that, but priorities are priorities, and The Boy needs constant monitoring. He seems better today. Pedialyte is spectacular stuff -- I call it Gatorade for Babies. He still has more than his fair share of "the grumples," but this is to be expected I suppose. At least he is eating, and not vomiting.

I remember when my sick days were for me being sick. Now, my sick days are apparently for my kid. As is my free time. Hence, very little posting. Ahhh, would it not be spectacular if I could just find some time to watch TV. I'd love to watch the story of this woman, Jamie Summers, who having survived a horrific car accident, awakens to discover that she has had advanced biotech surgery to replace her arm, legs, eye, and ear. Bionic women are hot. Sigh. I gotta go. Time to change the diaper.