Zachary's milestones have gone to plaid.

Kacy and I remember when milestones were weeks or months apart. 22 months ago, we held a newborn and wondered "how long until his first (insert random achievement)?" The milestones came slowly. His first smile took a month, his first tooth took seven months. But then, the milestones started coming more quickly. New milestones were happening every week, then every day, and now, it seems like some come every few minutes.

Using the timeless words from SpaceBalls, Zachary's milestones have, "gone to plaid."

For instance, he recently said his first clear sentence. The entire thing was perfectly articulated - equipped with a subject and a correctly conjugated verb. Unfortunately, I can't remember what the sentence was. It was flanked by two other milestones that I was busy pondering in the same thirty second window (that Zachary could aim his shoe at my head with perfect precision while I was driving and that Zachary recognized a giant blow-up Santa on top of an auto dealership, and was correctly scared of it).

So, although I cannot (and should not) repeat all the milestones for this post, I'd like to point out a few that I find particularly endearing.

(1) Zachary recognizes Starbucks and Costco as a place that enhances mommy's mood. He claps and says "Yay" each time we walk by either the Costco or Starbucks symbol.

(2) Zachary recognizes sadness in others. Mommy recently had tears after being pelted by a metal train (see above comment about throwing with perfect accuracy). Once the tears came, he stopped, put the third train down and said "Mama?" in the most angelic and concerned voice. Then he walked slowly over to me, sat in my lap and gave me a hug.

(3) Zachary has nightmares. We always wondered when these start, but we can say with certainty that Zachary has had nightmares since he was at least 9 months. He wakes up crying (very upset) and screams "Scared, Scared, Scared" while clinging to us for his dear sanity.

(4) Zachary tries to sing. His first song is "Read, read, read, read.... [we're pirates who love to read]." (Elmo and the Bookaneers with Tina Fey). He can only sing the read, read, read, read part, but he does so accurately.

(5) Zachary has learned how to play with others (well). Recently, he and another boy took turns pushing each other across the floor in plastic tubs.

(6) Zachary has learned his name. He can say "Zakwee" and now does so anytime he wants to do something by himself.

(7) And finally (and most importantly), he has memorized the layout and directions of Disneyland. He correctly points out the right freeway to get on to go see "Mi-ee-Moo" (read: Mickey Mouse) and reminds Mom of this every time he is on his way to school. Once in Disneyland, he can find the Tiki Room from any point in the park. Here, he is perched in the window of our room at Paradise Pier; pointing to the direction of Disneyland...and more specifically, the Tiki Room.

The secret symbiosis

An interesting mutualism has developed between me, Lesley, and Zach. As a result, Zach (mistakenly) believes his Parents are pretty damn cool.

For example:
It's Wednesday and Zach thinks he's going to school.
Nope, sorry dude. You're going to Disneyland.

It's Friday and Zach thinks he's going to school.
Nope, sorry dude. You're going to the Zoo.

It's Saturday and Zach doesn't know what day it is so he thinks he's going to school.
Nope, sorry dude. You're going to the aquarium.

It's Wednesday and Zach is actually in school.
He comes home to this.

Zach: "Is it Christmas?"
Nope not yet.

"My Birthday?"
Sorry not today.

"I'm awesome?"
Strike three.

Son, we could bullshit you and say we do these things because we love you. But as usual we're going to give it to you straight:
*whispers* None of this stuff actually has that much to do with you.

Don't get your diapers in a bunch, allow me to explain.

Take this tent-tunnel thing I just bought you today as an example: Before I purchased it, while I was driving home with it and later cursing and breaking my back while putting it together, I was distinctly aware of the possibility and even high probability that you would totally ignore it and just play with the box.

Did that deter me?
No

Why? Because I thought it looked fun to play in*.

I call this the secret symbiosis.

Is it a crime that we are enjoying your childhood as much as you are?Okay, that's probably a bad example. But you still see my point.

Yet, some will say that what we are doing is still spoiling you. Sending the wrong message.

I respectfully disagree. Our message is clear and appropriate:
Son, you are not the center of the Universe.

BUT YOUR PARENTS ARE.

Now if you'll excuse me, You'll be home in a few hours and I've got a puppet show to rehearse.

*Be sure to ask your Grandma Lyndell about the time she gave your Mom a Doll-house for Christmas.

Life lessons my son taught me just this morning

1) I like to totally dork out, at least once, every day. You adults act self conscious even when you're alone.

2) If I love someone, I show them and I don't hold back.

3) If I can't carry it, I don't need it.

4) I always follow my instincts and try not to get in my own way with too much thinking.

5) I'm not ashamed to cry.

6) I ignore what people say and pay attention to what they do.

7) I have the most fun with the cheapest toys

8) I never consider it a waste of time to re-read my favorite book

9) I've identified things in life that make me happy and I am constantly surrounding myself with them

10) Feeling pure joy should never be harder than hugging a blanket.

Watering the garden

As I write this, Zach is deftly displacing 50 gallons of water from the tub in which he is sitting (and likely urinating or perhaps even defecating), to the recently cleaned and once very dry, floor.

Perhaps I should check on him...

Nah, I'm sure he's fine.

Now then, where was I...

Oh yeah, I was about to verbally bitch slap those of you who keep bugging me to post more videos. But now that I listen to the unholy havoc my son is unleashing in the next room, I realize that some stories are better told without words.

That is to say, on very rare and bizarre occasions, all of you can be right and I can be... wrong. Don't let it get to your heads. It was probably just a one time thing.

Anyway, without further ado; A random TWO part video I took this afternoon. (it's too large to post in its entirety- you'll have to navigate back to this page to see the second half after watching the first part. click here for part 1 and click here for part 2)

The Hunt

It's 5am. While the rest of the family sleeps peacefully, Zachary is hatching an evil plan.

With the deadly stealth of a ninja, he slithers like a snake behind enemy lines. Completely undetected by his would-be victim.

Using the element of surprise, he launches into a lightning-fast series of strikes.

Like a crazed spider monkey, his onslaught is a flurry of arms, legs, hands and feet that blur with feverish alacrity. This 'Shock and Awe' tactic proves simply too much for the unprepared and defenseless victim to withstand.

After instilling a sense of bowel loosening terror within his prey, he regroups and quickly formulates a second assault.

...a more subtle approach.

Zach skillfully utilizes his charm to lower his victims' defenses, subduing and lulling her into a vulnerable complacency.

He slowly inches ever closer. Closer....

Suddenly, with an earsplitting bestial battle cry, he executes a second fiery attack

Going straight for the Achilles Heel, he looks to quickly end the battle with a devastating finishing move.


What's this? In a shocking and stunning turn of events, Zachary loses stamina and focus at the worst possible moment and falls asleep in mid-attack. In an instant, his inevitable victory is snatched away from him by the jaws defeat.

Devastated, Zachary is left to contemplate his failure.

Thankfully, the victim escaped with only minor injuries and lives to fight another day. Will she be prepared next time? We'll see....

I'm not averse to advise in verse, unless of course it's adverse advice (or was that vise-versa....)

Zachary, my life's creation,
happy in your perambulation.
I daily watch your life unfold,
As if a story being told.
But someday I'll be dead and gone,
You'll have to know your right from wrong.
Perhaps taking from my advice,
On, "What To Do When The World's Not Nice?"
If you're alone and feeling sad,
in need of comfort from your Dad.
You'll hear a whisper in your ear,
"I love you son and have no fear".
Know it's I who speaks to you,
and watches over what you do.

Rising Son

The summer solstice means the days are longer,
Your cry is slight at first, but then it's stronger.

And early vivid sunlight hits your eyes,
The sun has risen; thus the Son must rise.

As you attempt to yank me from my bed,
I shield my face, you kick my nuts instead.

Your voice rings forth in obstinate soprano,
Before too long, you're at your toy piano.

I'd drag a rusty blade across my cheek,
I'd snorkel in a cesspool for a week.

Or shove a red-hot poker through my spleen
If you would only sleep past 6:15

Working

In order to better make ends meet, I will inevitably need to go back to work. Making ends meet is one of my favorite cliche's. We all want to make ends meet. We endlessly struggle to avoid the emptiness of that breach.

What, you ask, lies in-between those disconnected ends of pecuniary responsibility?

This.

The Boy With the Golden Tongue

*DISCLAIMER* Lesley does not like the following post. She maintains that it's too wordy and complicated. Considering the history of my wife's opinion on all things, she's probably right. Be that as it may, I remembered my love for her or my son does not require anyone's approval.

All of you, try to understand, I want my love to tear through Zachary's skin and attack his bones. Truly, much of what I post on this blog will likely someday cause embarrassment to my son that he will no doubt describe as, "Mortifying beyond comprehension". Maybe he'll even hate me for it...

You know what? Tough shit.

He should have seen my Dad in sweatpants.

Which reminds me; We are now accepting donations to Zachary's "Therapy Fund"
*************************************************

"Dadda"


Many years ago Zach, your Uncle Kris described to me an interesting branch of philosophy that denies the essential existence of things. They don't believe that the world existed first and that mankind went around naming everything second. Rather, they believe that the existence of a thing is bound up in language, that, for instance, a tree was called into Being by uttering the word "Tree". This is tough stuff to get your head around because there's a place where reason fails you and something else is required. But I know it's true Zachary. I know in my heart it's true.

Because you spoke me.

Do you understand, boy? Please understand this someday. I was a disparate collection of blurry fragments until you uttered me into the world. You spoke me. You said "Dadda" and called forth a Dad out of the teeming formless void. The word "Dad" blurred the myriad distinctions in the impermanent march of ceaseless change and instituted my emergence: a somebody, a Dad in service to his Son. You Dadded me. The who of who I am coheres in your world. I am the plaything of your speech.

The mouth of the Child gives birth to the Dad. You made me a man, little boy, with the sound of your newly emerging voice.

So this morning, today, Father's Day is not just about me. Its about you.

You are the boy with the magical golden tongue.

The Young and the Restless

I am aware that selective ignorance is a cornerstone of child rearing. You don't put your kids under constant surveillance, it just frightens you. Every 5 minutes they will discover some new creative way to make your hair fall out. Parents should sit tall in the saddle and look upon their troops with a noble, benevolent and extremely nearsighted gaze.

Despite knowing this, I must admit the "Nannycam" at Zachary's daycare is just too cool. For those of you interested on watching all the daytime drama unfold send me an email with a request for the link and password.

Last episode recap:
Zachary unexpectedly proposed to Nikki at recess where they made plans to nap on conjoining blankets. But later he called off the wedding when he discovered her sharing crackers with the new kid during lunch. Heartbroken and in a moment of weakness, Zach fell off the wagon both figuratively and literally when he succumbed to his old vice and hit the bottle for the rest of the afternoon. Meanwhile, Paul shocked viewers by miraculously coming out of his 3 hour coma only to catch Tiffany red handed playing with his favorite toy.

Next Week on the Young and the Restless:
Playtime takes a dangerous turn when Amy accidentally falls from the jungle gym. Zach rushes off to find the teacher but is restrained by Amy's ex-BFF Adam. He's left to wonder, "Was it just an accident?". Also, old jealousies come to the surface when Naomi confronts Theresa about hoarding all the "good toys". Will they finally resolve their issues, or will deep secrets push them farther apart as tensions rise? The answers to these questions and more, next week, on the Young and the Restless.

Swabbin' the Poop Deck

Hop on the bed son before the carpet melts into water and hungry crocodiles. Grab your tennis racket and call it a paddle. What do we care about words and their referents? Free all things from their chains and cast away. Tennis rackets want to be paddles too. Beds yearn to be fearless ships on the edge of the world, in search of new continents.

The walls of the house crumble while the roof blows straight up into some super cool infinity.

Onward! Ho!

WAIT!! Where's the lovely lass, Lesley?

Look there! She's hopping across crocodile heads like that crazy guy in Activision's Pitfall. And she almost made it too except her pants got snagged on that last corc's big dirty tooth. A pantless voyage then. Ha ha!

With the full crew intact, we cast away on the breath of Poseidon into worlds unknown.

A Sky Gone Crazy With Stars

I had a professor once tell me that I had a lovely mind that effortlessly saw the world in metaphors. Today, that lovely mind split open and oozed it's life out upon the cold and relentlessly harsh and unforgiving pavement.

Today, metaphorically speaking, I died.

On the up side, I know what it feels like to die. On the down side, I can tell you that it unequivocally sucks.

Allow me to explain.

"Sit here for a moment while Daddy goes to the bathroom", I tell my son while rushing in through the front door upon our return from the grocery store. In once graceful, well practiced motion, I plop my son down on the floor, place 5 bags of groceries up on the counter top and unzip my pants- all while jogging a B-line for the bathroom.

I quickly get down to business. Typically I like to talk to Zach through the bathroom door so he doesn't get scared from the sounds of horrifying death and dismemberment coming from my body. I sing him songs, or time permitting, tell him a story to keep him occupied until I can return to my parental duties.

Today was a story day.

As I'm washing up and longingly looking at the toilet, wishing I could sit for another 5 minutes knowing it will likely be the last time I get to relax for the next 3 to 7 hours, something occurs to me. Zach is quiet.

Now those of you who personally know my son need no explanation of the enormity of this statement and therefore fully understand my immediate concern. But those of you who don't should be aware that silence goes with Zachary about as well as toothpaste goes with orange juice. He feels making a racket in the presence of a little peaceful silence is his social obligation, and one with which he accepts with alacrity. Be it at a grocery store, bookstore or funeral.

The icy tendrils of panic begin to creep into the fringes of my cruelly creative mind.

"Is he choking?" I wonder to myself as I quickly dry my hands.

I walk into the living room to a sight even my over-active adult-ADD imagination was not prepared for.

The front door is open. Zach is gone.

I quickly dash out the door and plunge myself into the wild and dangerous jungle filled with speeding assholes, horny pedophiles and murderous maniacs.

In a fraction of a second I scan the scene. Not on the patio. Not in the front garden. Not in the street in front of the house.

Panic tightens its grip.

I run to the sidewalk. Not under the car. Not up the street

Tightens.

I turn my head. Not down the street.

Tight.

I can see 100 meters down our street, which is likely the way he would go. Nothing.

The world splits open.

The icy tendrils that have a firm death grip on my brain have now seized control of the rest of my body. I can't breathe. I notice my vision blurring and my throat is burning.

Trying to look everywhere at once, I am dimly aware that I am now standing in the middle of the street and shaking uncontrollably. Neighbors have gathered. Apparently I am screaming.

"Whats happened?" one of them asks.

"My Son." I say panting in despair, "he's gone"

Immediately everyone splits up in search of the wayward child. One gracious woman stays behind to help me off the pavement where I had just collapsed. "How long?" she asks me.

"5...minutes... maybe less"

"How far do you think your son can crawl in 5 minutes?"

A groan escaping my lips is the only response I manage.

Like cool honey dripping from a spoon, I can feel the sweetness of life forever leaving me. Growing in it's place is a sticky black self hatred that threatens to consume me. Memories pour over me in a flood.

You tugging on my pants for attention that never comes because I'm watching a basketball game on T.V.

You touching your palm and pointing at me, your own way of saying, "I want" and "You" and getting nothing but a curt "No" for a response because I'm too busy washing the dishes.

You crying when I put you in bed, not caring that you're probably not tired, I just want a break.

I hate myself for ever ignoring you.

I hate myself for every discomfort you've ever suffered.

I don't deserve your perfection.

Your are a bright shining star in the dark empty space of my life.

Suddenly an angel dressed as my neighbor taps me on the shoulder and brings me from my stupor, "Here he is! I found him in our front garden."

With shaky hands, I take my son and give the angel a slobbering snot-soaked smile of gratitude.

Zach, clueless to the entire event, points back in the direction of the garden where he was playing and points to his palm.

"Anything you want son," I whisper to him as I walk over to the garden, "anything at all".

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I look down at you.

All I see is a sky gone crazy with stars.

1,000 words

G.R.O.S.S.

Meeting of the Get Rid Of Slimy girlS club minutes:

9:30 Meeting called to order. Dictator-For-Life Zachary (D-California) proposes resolution condemning existence of girls.

9:45 Minority Whip Kacy (D-Umbass) abstains from vote. Motion fails.

9:46 Patriotism of Minority Whip called into question.

9:47 Philosophical Discussion

10:15 Bandages Administered. Dictator-For-Life rebuked for biting.

10:16 Forgot what debate was about. Medals of bravery awarded to all parties.

1 year old

Winston,

I'm not a poet, not nearly.

I have neither the eloquence nor the skill to convey what is in my heart today and for this I hope you'll forgive me. I want you to understand that my failure here is neither from lack of inclination nor lack of trying. It's simply that it is difficult for me to think when all I can do is feel.

I want to tell the entire story of your life; every moment of the 365 days since you first lay in my arms and I shakily whispered, "I'm your Daddy. Nice to meet you."

I want to lay out all my wishes for you. All my hopes and blessings. I want to tell you how much you've changed me, how much you've taught me in a year. Perhaps I learned more in this year than in my entire lifetime.

But the task is too great, my feelings too overpowering. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Another day the words might come. But today, I can only tell you what I can tell you, and that will have to be enough.

One year and roughly nine months ago, your mom and I entered a strange new world. Phrases like Poker Night, bar hopping and margarita with salt were erased from my vocabulary and replaced with expressions like Lamaze classes, breathing coach, morning sickness and mucus plug. I anxiously watched as your mothers' body spread and stretched, her organs nudged one another over to make room for the new life. An amazing anatomical dance just for you.

The first time I laid eyes on you, I'd like to say that my initial thought was "I love you." but I'd be lying.

I loved the idea of you. But the actual you, was a stranger to me. For 41 and a half weeks you were all I had thought about, every day, every night. I sang to you the best I could. I read to you. I made brilliant, grandiose plans for you. I dreamed of you. I awoke thinking of you and nothing but you. I assumed all of those things would add up to knowing a person.

But when I looked at you, I knew I had been mistaken.

And so my first thought that February evening was, "Who is this?"

I don't know these eyes, I don't know this nose, I don't know these ears, I don't know this cry. Who is this little boy in my arms, trying to make sense of the world. The fluorescent lights, the women in scrubs, the tearful Grandmother, the exhausted mommy who wants nothing more than a large glass of wine? Who is he? Who is he going to be? Who is he going to be to me?

The first night in the hospital, the three of us were alone together. I was terrified. Excited. Panicked and happy. And then in the wee hours that I stared at you, it struck me-- you weren't a stranger at all. It was another time, another place; a relationship I can't quite put my finger on. But it was real and some piece of me was struck with the recognition.

That's when I realized, the face may be unfamiliar but the relationship is not new at all. Teacher and student. Together again.

The student being me.

Here I want to convey this remarkable spirit, this unrelenting joy you radiate and how it has defined you for the last twelve months. But again the language is just out of reach.

I close my eyes, trying to see the combination of letters and commas, periods and spaces that will bring your personality to life, but everything just seems fuzzy and off. A cloudy alphabet soup.

Instead of words, I see images: You waving at the refrigerator. You laughing at a tree. You smiling at a hurried businessman on the street, making him forget the cell phone at his ear and the attitude he wears like armor-- just long enough for him to stop talking mid-sentence and smile back. A brief moment of your attention is enough to change someone's entire heart.

Oh, how I want you to stay this person. This person who isn't afraid to clap for a mailbox or laugh at the clouds. But I know I can't make you. I can only allow you to be who you are at that moment. Gone as soon as it arrives.

I press my eyelids closed again because I want to see who you are at One, lock it into my memory forever. Even if I have no words in my head, I do have the images.

I see your 5 teeth and the hair that just starting to be long enough to curl in random places when you come out of the bath.

I see your perfect pale skin and the smooth soles of your feet.

I see you grabbing my nose in the morning, poking my face or pulling my hair until I agree to start the day.

I see your face covered in cookie crumbs. Or sweet potatoes. Or wet, soggy specks of Gerber goo.

I see you chasing the dog under the table, crawling nearly as fast as he can run on the hardwood floors. I see you grabbing at him as he passes, then slowly opening a moist palm to discover a handful of fine black fur.

I see you laughing at the recessed lighting in the kitchen, an inside joke between you and the 60 watt bulbs.

I see you jumping. Jumping when Mommy walks in the door from work. Or simply jumping because it's the single best thing in the whole entire world and you can do it higher and longer and with far more passion than anyone, anywhere, ever.

I see you laying your head on my chest when the fatigue is just too much to fight, even for you, the amazing non-sleeping baby. I see myself lowering my nose to your head and inhaling, wanting so badly to remember the warmth, the smell, the feeling.

And always, always I see you smiling.

I struggle with the knowledge that these images will eventually be lost to me. The details now so sharp will become eroded and eventually erased with the inevitable passage of time.

Yet I know that I am merely shouting at a sunset. Begging it to stay. Knowing that it can't. I search for the strength to simply sit back and enjoy the show. To embrace the understanding that, like a sunset, your rich color, life and vibrancy will continue to become more and more beautiful with each passing moment.

I'm realizing that sometimes that enough. Sometimes that's everything.

Happy Birthday Son.

Love,

Dad

Man Bites Blog

I know. Iknowiknowiknowiknow. I haven't posted in ages. I suck, you hate me and wonder why I have to dork so hard. I really have been meaning to post more, but (INSERT RANDOM LAME EXCUSE HERE) and I'm sure you all understand.

So to appease Zachary's rabid fans and their seemingly endless appetite for amusement at his expense, I present the following videos. Some of these are older, some are very very recent. All of them should be new to you. Enjoy!

Zach discovers water is wet


Zach finds his penis


Zach gets busted

Caution

For liability purposes, just about every child's toy or clothing article comes with some sort of warning. Usual suspects aside (a bottle of tylenol, Draino, and fireworks), most warnings are somewhat frivolous and therefore we do not bother to take them seriously.

For example, are we really concerned that a 10 month old is going to remove his dirty diaper, bury his face in the urine (or worse)-soaked cotton and suffocate? No, but perhaps Huggies is just covering their own asses in the event of a diaper-assisted suicide.

Today, however, the line was crossed. Kacy found a new Warning that was so dumb, it deserved a post. This warning was printed on a 1.5" by 3" plastic sticker that was attached to a shopping cart play set.

Here is what it said - verbatim:

CAUTION

Remove this sticker before use.
Leaving sticker attached to fabric
creates choking hazard.

Ummm.......?