Beauty and the Beast

Our daughter, we have learned, loves animals. Particularly, dogs. More specifically, our dog.

If you haven't read previous posts, Jack is our dog. A purebred boxer we bought from a pet store - something we'll never do again. Not because we hate the poor dog, but because he shows every sign of abuse that comes from being raised in a puppy mill. When we brought him home, one night I noticed a few scars on his legs. When we had trouble house-training him (He still loves to use our carpet as his toilet), the lady who helped us out in puppy classes told us that it is just something we'll have to continually work with him on, as puppy mill dogs are often never housebroken.

But he is our cowardly lion. I've never seen a dog bark so loudly the sheer brutality in his bark drives the mailman to literally drop packages and run to another house, but then Jack will hide from a cricket. Yes, I said a cricket. I have seen him run from a common housefly, and dance around a "pill-bug" outside in hopes to scare it away before the small monster bite him. I have even been witness to Jack running away from the wrath of the dreaded of a Monarch Butterfly.

So we were apprehensive, to say the least, when bringing our daughter home. In fact, I think to some extent I've blogged about this before. But now that Evelyn is up and paying more attention to the world, rather than discussing how Jack relates to her, I thought I'd mention how she loves to stare at Jack.

Stare. As in watch without blinking.

Then she tries to hug him. Or strangle him, her motives are often unclear.

We're inclined to think she loves him and is trying to give the poor beast a hug. Jack, the fool, often rushes in with that horrible depth-perception of his, popping my infant daughter in the nose with his under-bite, then licking her face as if she were a small, human ice cream cone.

The whole time Evelyn smiles like its the most wonderful joy in the world to have an animal who licks unmentionable parts of his own body use the same tongue to slap your face. My wife laughs and takes pictures because, in her mind, the children are playing together. In my mind, I'm just thinking I could probably find a small saddle that would enable use to have a "Jack Rodeo" and film it, put it on Youtube and get a ton of hits, elevating my daughter to the world's newest celebrity and open doors for her to go to Harvard completely free of charge.

This has probably been done before and isn't even funny anymore, but the dog is built like a horse and I clearly have an odd sense of humor.

All in all, I have to say, it has been nice to see she's neither allergic nor afraid of the big cowardly lion.

Now, if we could just get him to stop being afraid of crickets, and stop messing up our floors, we may just have something here.

The Dad Show Don't Stop.

Since Wednesday night I've felt a little under the weather. That is to say, a lot under the weather. Now, I've felt a little sick, I've had headaches, or just been exhausted since we've had Evie, but this is the first time I was really just not up to par.

The first time I'd really been sick, I guess, since being a dad.

And I quickly learned something - my daughter doesn't give a flying turtle's behind how great I feel.

Here I was, knocking on death's door (a slight over-statement) and my daughter still had the audacity to pee in her diaper, want food, and yes, even the rudeness of wanting to be held after I distinctly laid her down in her pack-and-play to take a nap.

It's just her self-centeredness coming out. I'm sure this is a trait she picked up from me, but I thought I developed it at a much later age. It's actually quite unnerving that she's showing signs of it this early in life.

Either way, the last few days I wasn't just a dad. I was a sick dad limping through my illness while trying to keep a five month old happy. If you've never done this, you have no idea how brutally difficult it is.

So don't judge me for being somewhat irritated.

One thing was made clear about parenthood this week. The "Dad Show" doesn't stop just because of a fever and a runny nose. You're still a dad even when you don't feel like being one.

Well, you know, if you're aiming to be a good dad, I guess.

Talking to Feet

Everyone has a cute story about their baby. I learned this quickly because, while some parents will smile while you share a cute story, a poop story, a story where your child says inappropriate things (thank God this hasn't happened, but we know its coming) in front of people, others will often share their own stories. Some parents are not content to simply share a story, either, some must "one-up" your story.

Maybe I'll blog about the different types of parents we've met so far sometime, but then again, what category would I put myself in?

Maybe I won't.

Anyway, today's blog is not about parents. It's a cute story about my daughter I felt the need to share with the entire world due to its powerful cuteness.

That's right. Powerful cuteness.

I work nights, so from the time we both wake up until I take her to our daycare at twelve-thirty, Monday through Wednesday, I am watching, feeding, talking to, or changing my daughter. Notice I said, "from the time we both wake up?" Yeah. Sometimes, it takes me a while to get out of bed. I've not woke up before her yet...

Well, one morning I woke up and fed Evelyn her breakfast. Then, I took her to her crib, and laid her down thinking, "While I am getting ready for work, she can go back to sleep."

Oh the hopes and dreams of dads...

Yet, she was somewhat quiet when I got into and out of the shower. I didn't hear her crying while I brushed my teeth or dressed for my evening's tasks. I even went downstairs to check my email and this is when I thought I heard something.

I walked upstairs and heard her talking.

No, it wasn't some intelligent conversation about the current state of our government. It wasn't a deep theological discussion concerning the actual time frame of Christ's return in relation to the Great Tribulation. It wasn't even a few small words about how Big Bird doesn't look the same now as he did twenty years ago (Did they just clean him up? What is it with that thing?).

It was small "coos," "ahhs," "hewaaahs" and the like. But when I walked in, it was who she was talking to that made me chuckle.

Evie had grabbed her feet, folded herself in half, and had been talking to her toes. Just talking away as if her feet were talking back.

Again, I have no clue as to what she was saying. I'm sure it went something like this, "Okay, here's the plan. I'm going to start teething soon and I need you guys to help me out. When my dad holds me one night to try and get me to be quiet - I don't know Phil [That's probably what she's named her left big toe] these big people do that when I cry - anyway, when he holds me to get quiet, I'm going to kick and squirm and try to get him to drop me. Why? Oh I don't know Darryl [her right big toe], maybe because then I can roll myself over and over and on to freedom? I'm still their captive and have been since the day I escaped..."

But then I walked in on her and interrupted her conversation, by saying in my softest daddy voice, "WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?" and I laughed and smiled, but Evelyn stiffened herself like a board and had this look on her face that screamed, "Nobody. Nothin'. You didn't see anything!"

It was cute. She completely had a guilty look on her face. I swear if she was a Jedi she'd be trying to do the mind trick on me with a wave of her hand and a "You didn't see anything."

I laughed and picked her up, and she just smiled that, "Oh, you got me" smile.

It was a great day.

It's been a while

I hope to get back into the habit of blogging regularly. I've taken a little over a month off, mostly due to complete writer's block, internet issues, and lack of time.

Also, a lack of things to write about.

That last part isn't true. I have plenty of things to write about. I just don't know how to write about them or if some of them should be shared with anyone who doesn't exist within the confines of my own skull. No, I'm not schizophrenic, I just don't know if the world is ready for some of the deep parenting thoughts I'd love to share.

For example, inflatable diapers that have "pee strips" you can just pull out and throw away. For poop, just do the same thing but rinse the diaper off or something.

Trust me on this one, it'll catch on.

Or not.

Needless to say, the last month or so has been eventful. So... what to write about?

First of all, we had our first fever last week. I had to take a day off of work and stay home with a fussy, sick baby, and believe me, if you haven't done this then you are in for a treat.

I believe I said, "If any teenager is out there ready to have pre-marital sex, before they do they should listen to the crying and screaming I've had to endure for the past couple of hours." No birth control method save abstinence would suffice for them.

Trust me on that. Honestly. Just trust me. In fact, they may choose to join a monastery or convent.

I have continued with our weekly tradition that Evelyn and I go out for lunch every Friday together, just the two of us. When she is old enough for school that tradition may get tweaked, but in the mean time, its working out beautifully.

Except for yesterday.

For starters, I need to point out that we think she's teething. She's drooling, sticking her fingers in her mouth constantly, has had a fever (as previously mentioned) and a few cases of mild diarrhea, all symptoms - according to a quick Google search - of teething.

So she's been fussy and a very hard dinner companion to sit with on these Friday outings.

Yesterday, we went to El Meson. If you like Mexican food, I can tell you from exhaustive research that this is the best place to go in Indianapolis. When I say exhaustive research, I mean that. My waste-line is a testament to this statement.

It's also somewhat reasonable on the price. Therefore, my being cheap and wanting to be a good dad worked together for us to dine in this fine establishment Friday, August 19, 2010.

Now, earlier in the day, I had bought something on-line and had taken out my wallet to get the proper card number punched in. The purchase was quick, painless and actually enjoyable, so I thought nothing of it once I clicked all the confirmations. In doing so, forgot that my wallet. It was left on the desk next to our monitor.

When we got to El Meson, Evelyn sat watching me, smiling the entire time I stuffed that beautiful Mexican cuisine into my face. Little did I know, she was smiling because I was about to get doubly embarrassed, and while I am convinced she is an incredibly intelligent baby, some would say "mastermind," I don't think she had this all planned from the beginning. But...

As I was finishing up my lunch, about to gulp down my second Cherry Coke (Which, by the way, I really enjoy with my Taco Salad), I am brought the check by our courteous waiter. Also at this time, Evelyn begins to fuss and squirm. If you have ever been in a nice restaurant with an infant, you know people seem to look at you, waiting for your kid to scream and ruin their dinner. You also know, that when your child does begin to cry, their glares actually pierce your skin like a thousand needles thrust at you from their hollow, soulless (non-parenting) eyes.

So, taking Evelyn's hint that she no longer wished to watch the Spanish t.v. music videos and the waiter's, I drink quickly, grab my daughter and my things, and head to pay for my meal, all the while ignorant of my wallet still sitting at home collecting dust.

When I nervously begin to look for any sign of my leather money container, I notice that in my panic, my daughter is no longer fussing. She's gone quiet. As if... she knew the trap had been sprung. Seriously. She just sat there like some criminal whose plot has worked to perfection. She watched as I franticly searched my bag, my pockets, and her carseat for any sign of my wallet. She seemed to be enjoying this show...

I explainws to the man behind the cash register that I had left my wallet at home, but that I would leave my cell phone as collateral. "It's a two hundred dollar phone," I explained, "I promise I'll be back for it."

With a glare that all but called me a liar and a burglar, he insisted I not leave my phone but in good trust he would ask that I return as soon as possible to pay my bill.

So I grabbed Evie, ran to the truck, buckled her in, flew home, ran inside, grabbed the wallet, drove quickly back to the restaurant and paid. The man behind the counter was a different guy (no doubt the other original waiter had gone to call the cops because I obviously looked like a thief in my cut-up jeans and Captain America T-shirt).

I stated to the new man, who for story's sake I will now call Bill, that while I understand there are people who skip out on their bills, the other guy, who for story's sake I will not give a name other than "the other guy," seemed to look at me as though he did not expect to see me again.

Bill explained that a couple of weeks ago, another person came in, wracked up a 70 dollar bill with her huge entourage of people, and then left her i.d. as collateral. He then proceeded to pull this woman's driver's license out of the cash register and said, "As you can see, she never paid."

I always intended to pay, just for the record. Now, I'm human and there was a small part of me that said, "Just don't go back, the whole ordeal has been humiliating enough as it is. Are they really going to miss ten dollars?" Then, I realized I was wearing a Captain America shirt. Cap wouldn't do that. I remembered that I'm a Christian. Jesus wouldn't do that, either. And I looked down at my daughter who had gone so quiet as if she were watching every move I made and studying what I would do.

And I realized the man I want her to respect, whom she will hold as the standard for every man she meets for the rest of her life, he wouldn't do that either.

But mostly it was the Captain America t-shirt.



So that's the updated blog for today. I hope you enjoyed it!