Christmas: Year 2.

This was Evie's second Christmas. The third if you count the one where she was in the womb. But we don't so you shouldn't, either.

I am amazed at how much this event has taken over television this year. Do you realize that so many commercials advertised their deals but made no mention of why they were having the sale? Not even "For the holiday season" or anything. Just "Come save money this Friday after Thanksgiving by purchasing some of this Jabberwocky spit."

Sadly, nobody got me Jabberwocky spit for Christmas. To be fair, though, I don't know who even sells it anymore.

Sigh

Moving on. Evelyn literally made out like a bandit this year. I know people overuse that term to mean that their kids got a ton of toys (she did), but I mean she literally acted like a bandit. She tried to steal my marshmellow penguin from my stocking, M&M's from her mother, and if she liked a pair of socks I unwrapped, she took them and put them on her own feet and hands then paraded around the house like some sort of sock monster from the Lagoon of Socks..

So, in an effort to teach her that Christmas is more about giving rather than receiving, I took everything of hers and burned it. Then donated the ashes to Goodwill. Some say she still roams the streets of Indianapolis at night, looking for a doll to hug, wearing nothing but a soggy diaper, a pair of tears, and a hook for a hand!

Kidding. How do you teach a kid who isn't even two yet the true meaning of Christmas? I mean, we can read the second chapter of the Gospel of Luke, but she doesn't understand the phrase "Stop trying to put that in the dog's ear" much less "and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them."

Maybe next year. Until then, I'm hiding my marshmellow penguin until I'm good and ready to eat it.

Also, Evie is not allowed to touch my socks.

The Effects of Mountain Dew and Peek-a-boo

I recently blogged about how Evelyn and I enjoy Friday lunches together, and even shared an adventure or two about such food fiestas or "meals," as some are in the habit of calling them. I like to make them sound more interesting (or dramatic) than that, but whatever floats your boat.

A few months ago, we were on such an excursion deep into the world of Taco Bell - as I mentioned it is one of our favorite places to dine together - when I realized I did not ask for juice for my daughter. In fact, I forgot to order a drink at all. So, being the great parent I am (insert eye-roll and sarcastic inflection to your reading voice here), I decided to share my beverage with Evelyn.

I had remembered a "sippy" cup, and so poured part of my tasty Mountain Dew into this small container and shared it with my offspring.

The following may, or may not, have happened. It depends on how likely you are to believe in my abilities to over-react and over-dramatize situations. It probably also depends on how well you know me, or my kid. It also depends on how much I will admit is true under oath.

But honestly, this is how it went down.

Evelyn was eating two cheese roll-ups with cinnamon twists. This is her favorite thing in the world to eat. A hungry Evie will go through a cheese roll-up faster than a herd of starving pigs will eat a human. You think that's a silly analogy, but Google that sometime and when you're down throwing up, come back to me. And always be nice to any man you know that owns a pig farm.

On this particular day, however, she took her time. I noticed more and more, I had to put some of my own drink into her cup. It was like she couldn't get enough Dew. She started getting a little hyper at first, and I thought, "Man, this may have been a bad idea."

Then, I got scared.

She started shifting her head to one side. Tilting her eyes around as if she was trying to see around some invisible barrier to something else only she was able to see. She began lifting her hands over her face and peeping around them.

I have never been "high" or used any narcotic of any kind, so how would I know what someone who is high truly looks/acts like when they are, as my dad would put it, "tripping out?"

I assume they look something like my daughter did at that moment. I started freaking out thinking, "Oh man, she's never getting Mountain Dew again," "What am I going to do if she's really getting too much sugar here?" and "Dear God, please don't let her overdose or something!"

Then I heard a laugh behind me. No. Not a laugh. A cackle. The kind of crackling chuckle you hear from a woman who rides broomsticks and gets houses dropped on her by little girls from Kansas. You know, the creepy witch laugh that usually gets followed by "boil broil toil and trouble" and the like.

I slowly turned my head to see this little old lady playing peek-a-boo from halfway across the restaurant with my kid.

My panic subsided, replaced by relief and a little anger - mostly directed at myself for the ridiculous overreaction. And a little at this green-skinned goblin woman who had hypnotized my kid in her drug induced state.

Needless to say, the lady was actually nice (then again, she probably lived in a gingerbread house and was hoping I'd drop my kid off someday for a "snack"), and commented on how cute my daughter was. Obviously she left before we did, no doubt clicking her heels and jumping onto her broomstick.

Evelyn really just seemed to enjoy the Mountain Dew, had a small sugar rush, and went down for her nap pretty easily about an hour later.

But that's the last time I gave her anything with Caffeine in it.

Ever.

Dinner with Daddy

On Fridays, it has been a tradition since she was only a few months old, I take Evelyn out for lunch. Its something I hope we can continue as she grows older, just a meal between my daughter and myself - enjoying good food and good conversation. Although, mostly there isn't much conversation since her words are mostly gibberish. But someday...

Starting out, we would go to a restaurant called El Meson, an amazing Indianapolis Mexican franchise. I would mostly give her a bottle and then eat my taco salad, burrito, or whatever.

El Meson is kind of pricey, though, or as one of my coworkers would describe it, "Salty on the price." So after about a month or two of that, we switched to something in a similar vein, but substantially cheaper. You may have heard of Taco Bell?

Once Evelyn moved into solid foods, though, that's when the fun began.

We hit up McDonald's and she had some happy meals. We shifted over to Burger King and that lasted only one week before we moved over to something a little smaller, a little easier for a one and a half year old to grasp - White Castle.

Those little sliders were like Whoppers in Evie's hands, and she loved them.

We've ate at White Castle once. The first time, and once more recently because I forgot what the diaper changing afterwards was like after we went the first time.

Thank you White Castle.

We shifted back to Taco Bell for a while, because Cheesy Roll-ups and Cinnamon Twists are one of my daughter's all-time favorite meals. After a while, I even dared giving her a little of her own soda rather than having to remember bringing our own juice for her to drink.

Mountain Dew was not a good idea. I thought she was going to start floating and become a being of pure energy at one point. You know, go all "Human Torch" on me or something. So, no Mountain Dew.

Again, I feel as though a wise man would have known better.

Recently, we have expanded our diverse dinners into the Asian region. That's right, we've been hitting up a Chinese Buffet.

Not because she wanted to, but because she eats free and I love General Tso's chicken. Well, I love just about everything at the Chinese buffet, but that's not the point. She eats free!

I use the term "eat" quite loosely. Mostly, the only thing Evelyn will eat while we are dining at the Chinese buffet is anything but Chinese food. She devours their Garlic Bread, munches on fried meat balls (Which I'm pretty sure, is not an Asian cuisine), and will slowly nibble away at chicken nuggets and french fries.

The only thing that really seems authentic from the restaurant she enjoys is the Chinese powdered donuts.

But she only gets those if she eats all of the non-Chinese food. Which rarely happens.

Who cares, though? I mean, really? She eats free and I get to spend quality time with my daughter. Just one-on-one and she will talk and chatter and I know nothing of which she speaks but every time we come home, no matter if its Chinese or Tacos, she's had a great time having lunch with her dad.

That makes it awesome.

Plus, the MSG's in that food is perfect for nap time, which follows lunch!

The Muppet Migraine

A while back I posted some stuff about how my daughter is in love with puppets. Specifically, I mentioned muppets, but I have got to be honest here and say that I think the kid would go nuts if I drew eyes and a nose on a sock and talked to her in a high pitched voice while moving my fingers. No, I don't think. I know this is the case because she laughed hysterically when I used a sock without a nose or eyes and spoke in a high pitched voice to her a couple of weeks ago.

My hand smelled funny after and I realized that my mistake was when I failed to use a clean sock. Off topic, but for future reference - clean socks are the way to go when making puppets.

Most people don't need to be told this.

Jennifer, my lovely wife, has been desperately wanting to get out of the house and go see a movie recently. When we dated in college, it seemed every weekend we were out watching a movie. Since becoming an "old married couple" we've really fell out of that habit. Nowadays, our "date nights" are starting to involve more family time or a nice dinner out while some friends keep Evelyn entertained for a few hours. Or when a holiday comes up that the Daycare doesn't celebrate, so we drop her off there and hide out at Olive Garden.

Anyway, my wife has been wanting to see a movie and finally figured out a way to bamboozle me into going to see one. She played the kid card.

Its not that I hate going to the theater, by the way, its just that after you buy snacks and spends twenty dollars on tickets for two people, you could just wait a couple of months and buy the Blue-Ray for the same price and watch it at your own convenience in your underwear.

I mean on your couch. Fully clothed.

With a sweater and winter coat on.

She played the kid card! So, having convinced me that our daughter who is not even two would surely sit still while muppets pranced around the screen, I gave in and we went. To be honest, there wasn't much pleading or convincing that needed to be done - I freely confess I love the muppets, too. Especially Fozzy, Gonzo, Animal, Kermit, and so on and so on. The Chef, those two old geezers who make fun of the show... I'll stop.

So we took our daughter to watch a movie.

For the first thirty minutes, and after giving her about fifteen Twizzlers, Evelyn was sitting peacefully while enjoying the movie.

Then, all you know what broke loose.

She began to fidget. Then cry. Then get into the floor and want to sit on that sticky surface and play with whatever substance had fallen down there previously. Then talk loudly to me about her day.

Some guy from across the room got up and stared at me like he wanted to punch my face off.

It was her first plane ride all over again. We became "those people" with "that kid" who wouldn't "sit still and shut up." I hate those people! Well, "hate" is such a strong word. Let me rephrase that.

I want those people to suffer unending pain for the ruination of the movie!

No. No, I don't. Because now I am one of them.

My wife, whose bright idea this whole thing was anyway, walked Evie out of the room, then back in, then tried sitting in a different place with her, then gave her some candy, and humored her until the child realized she was missing some muppet time.

By the end of the whole ordeal, though I was able to catch about 95% of the movie (again, thanks to my wife for taking care of Evie), and really enjoyed it. What? I said it was her idea, didn't I? Don't look at me like that!

Was it an interesting experience? Yes. Will we do it again? Not for a few years. Why? Because next time, as I told my wife, I will take care of her when she gets antsy. Kind of like how when I volunteer to cook dinner we eat McDonald's.

I'm the dad, its my job to think outside the box like that. Right?

The Next Step is to Squat

We have slowly began to dip our toes into the icy cold waters of potty training. Wait. I mean, we aren't putting our feet in the toilet water or anything. That's an analogy. A metaphor, if you will.

I really hope I don't have to put my hands into toilet water.

Yeah, we're trying to start potty training.

Here's how it has gone so far:

People suggested "bribing" the child with sweets so they want to sit on the potty. We got some M&M's because that's Evelyn's kryptonite. She can't resist them. No matter what. She's even become somewhat of an M&M missionary, trying to share that sugary gospel message with her toys (See previous blogs). So M&M's should work, right?

We purchased a potty at Target for about ten dollars. What a steal! We thought, "Man, it even has a lid on it so she can use it as a step stool to wash her hands when she's done!"

My! How practical of us! How cunning! How informed are we, right?

Everything was perfect. The stage was set.

M&M's in hand, potty in the right place in the bathroom, and Evelyn down to her diaper. She gladly took the first chocolate candy in hand and promptly placed it in her mouth. Then we set her bare butt down on the chair and...

Tears erupted.

She went Pompeii on us.

An eruption of sorrow.

Fear and agony and anger and pain and the most hideous wails of suffering followed. It was as if she was screaming, "Don't make me do this! It burns the flesh! It freezes! What pain I am subjected to is unfathomable beyond human words! No language on earth can express the ache my skin now feels."

You believe I'm over-dramatizing it, but you weren't there.

So... potty training has taken a back seat, for the time being. We're going to try and come at it from a different angle.

I'm not really concerned about it, to be honest. Not spending money on diapers would be nice, but if she's not ready then I'd rather wait a few more months than have her develop an irrational fear of toilets.

Or... have to hear that horrible cry again.

Don't Blink

There's a Doctor Who episode where, these monsters pose as statues of weeping angels, and when the lights go out or if you blink while you are near them, they move in for the kill. They appear as harmless statues, but then attack viciously.

I was thinking this morning that being a parent is kind of like facing such a villain. You find out you're pregnant, and with a turn of your back, you're holding your newborn. You close your eyes, and she's growing out of her diapers. You turn off the lights to say goodnight, only to find you're waking your daughter up for her first day of school in the morning. You drop them off for Kindergarten, and by the time you get back to the school, you realize you're dropping her off again at a college dorm.

Time is the one thing I'm realizing more and more, attacks your ability to parent. My dad often tells me of his regrets as a father, and wishing he could go back, but unless he steals the Doctor's TARDIS, he'll never get those years back. Trying my best to learn from his failures, I make every moment I have with my kids count - or at least I try to. I work late hours, weekends, not because I want to but because its the job I have. I hope she understands that, someday, I may have missed a few things because I had to, not because I wanted to.


Leave it to me to find a parenting analogy in Doctor Who.

Picking Up

Okay, its been a few months since I updated. I know things have seemed to have slowed down, but that's not the case. Actually, things have picked up and that's really the reason I haven't had a lot of time to blog.

You know, aside from the full-time job, being a full-time parent, and playing video games, I haven't had much time for anything other than - nah, who am I kidding? I just got lazy.

I'm going to try and update more, I promise.

With that said, and with the absolute forgetfulness of things I have blogged already, here's something that's happened recently:

Evie loves Ernie.

Ernie, from Sesame Street, was always my favorite character growing up. You know, pre-Elmo era. To be honest, Elmo's shrill shriek of a voice gets on my nerves, so it pleased me greatly when Evelyn has a choice between an Ernie or Elmo doll at Target a few days ago, she went gaga over Ernie and disregarded Elmo like he was the fat, nerdy kid at a High School dance (Been there myself, buddy).

Later that day, we had to go pick up a toddler sized bed someone had decided to give us for Evelyn when she's a little older. It was quite a drive to the house where we had to pick up the bed, and, having learned my lesson from previous long drives through the city with Evie, I took a small bag of M&M's for her to snack on should she get fussy.

Inevitably, she began to fuss and wine, but still snuggle with Ernie. I knew she needed a nap, but it would be at least an hour before we were home, so I popped open the chocolate candies and gave her a piece. The first few, she treated like a lion treats a gazelle, barely taking time to chew them!

Out of nowhere, as if she realized he must be sitting there wanting to enjoy the candy as well, Evie took Ernie by the neck (thus, probably choking him to death) and began to try and feed him the M&Ms. Ernie wouldn't eat them, but after he would graciously refuse, Evelyn would shrug her shoulders and pop the candy into her own mouth.

Ungrateful Ernie.

She never tried to share with me.

The Slide

This will be a short blog. Just a heads up.

Evelyn and I went to the park today. Not the big park we went to previously, but a small little park here on the grounds of our apartment complex. I was looking forward to it since I thought it'd be a great idea on Wednesday night.

Of course it was a great idea. It spawned in my brain and made it through all my "Could this be a dumb idea" filters.

I've spent years putting those in place, by the way.

We got up this morning, had breakfast/brunch, and I gave Evie a bath - something I really don't like doing simply because I don't think I'm good at it. I got her dressed, put on some nice Nike shoes my sister gave Evie, and we headed over.

Now, she's still struggling to walk, but she did okay hanging onto my pants leg (shorts leg? is that a thing? I was wearing shorts...), and walking behind while I walked slowly to the park.

Dad got impatient. I picked her up and we took off.

Yesterday, the statement would have been, "My daughter does not like the slide." Today? Evie did not like the slide, until I forced her to go down it a few times by herself. The entire shock of "Holy cow! I pushed myself down that big plastic yellow thing by myself!" was worth it. She wanted to go down it a few more times before she got bored.

She started eyeing the big tube slide made for third graders, and that was when I decided it was time to go home.

The end.

I warned you. Short blog.

Looking to Tomorrow

The last week or so Evie has been extra fussy. Tonight, we actually scheduled the therapy session to be at a time when Jennifer and I could both be home.

Evie did nothing but cry, she barely worked and it was just overall frustrating. I feel like its mostly my fault because I didn't get her more naptime, but at the same time, all week she's been irritable.

I think she has a new tooth coming in towards the back of her mouth, so I'm sure she's not incredibly comfortable. More and more I just am starting to wish she was done with therapy. Yes, I know that she'll be zooming around the house, getting into more stuff, once she's capable of walking, but the whole scene tonight was borderline embarrassing.

Maybe that's not fair. She tried, but like I said, I didn't get her much time to nap.

The other day I was visiting a house - for my job, I don't randomly visit people's houses - and there was a little boy who wasn't even nine months old walking around like he'd been doing it since he had his wet his first diaper. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Like a literal punch to the chest. I thought, "Why can't my kid be walking already?"

Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely not disappointed in Evie. How could I be? She tries so hard, and our therapist constantly raves about how much progress she makes. No, I'm so proud of her at times I feel like I'm about to burst. Tomorrow, she could take off running through the kitchen, and dribbling a soccer ball between her feet, but the whole thing today, combined with seeing the little boy strutting around has just really shook me.

More than anything, I feel responsible. My stupid leg issues, my "duck" walk, and now she's struggling with it, too. I know I'll fail as a parent sometimes, I'm not always going to be "Superdad." It just stings when you fail your kid with things that are beyond your own will, your own determined work. Its depressing and frustrating and aggravating.

Guess its part of being a parent. I'm done feeling sorry for myself now.

Like I said, after I write this, tomorrow she'll likely be sprinting faster than a speeding bullet.

A Trip to the Park

A journey of epic proportions ensued today as we took Evelyn to a park in Avon, Indiana.

By "journey" I mean we drove for about fifteen minutes - it would have been faster but there was the afternoon rush hour to contend with. By "epic proportions," I mean that we only were at the park for about twenty minutes before it was obvious Evie didn't want to slide on the slides, swing on the swings, or climb up the rock wall I tried to stand her on, even though it was clearly made for a full-grown eight year old.

I'm not one to condemn her. As a man about to turn thirty on his next birthday, I'm not a big fan of roller coasters, carnival rides, or riding in a car over a hundred and ten miles per hour. Just never really appealed to me, and the twisting and turning makes my stomach want to show me what it has done to my breakfast. So when my daughter decides that sliding down a thick piece of plastic, connected to a thicker piece of wood, by the lowest bidder, I can't really be too upset.

The one thing she did seem to enjoy was sticking her hand inside a giant sculpture of a turtle's mouth, laughing, and talking to said rock-turtle. The turtle didn't seem to mind.

Other little kids about Evie's height were running around, and I think that added to her discomfort, but who am I to say to a two year old that he should slow down so my daughter can poke a turtle made of granite in the eye? Well, I'm her Dad, so I didn't bother with words, I just tripped him when he came running by the second time.

I'm kidding. I didn't trip a toddler.

But... that would have been okay, right? I mean, looking out for my daughter? Its justifiable tripping, right?

Still thumb sucking.

I'm not sure what we're going to do about Evelyn's addiction. I'm pretty sure taking this away would be equivalent to taking away caffeine from my dad. You take that man's coffee away and you may as well try to enjoy an afternoon locked in a cage with a rabid grizzly. Believe me when I say this is not an exaggeration. Evelyn, it seems, has her own vice.

Thumb sucking.

My aunt is in her forties and still sucks her thumb. My youngest sister is in her mid twenties and also does this. I've heard some people will never outgrow it. There's always someone trying to say, when they see her doing it for the first time, "That'll make your teeth grow crooked." Evelyn, still not grasping the English language in all of its glory, ignores these small slights to her favorite pastime.

I've asked around for a cure. Everything short of the Betty Ford clinic, I fear, will fall short. There's bitter nail polish. There's mittens. Taping her hands together. Some, obviously, seem a bit extreme and others downright cruel. The nail polish never worked on my sister, either. She once told me she'd always sucked her thumb until the flavor ran out on the paint.

Its not that I'm opposed to thumb sucking. There are worse things my daughter could get in to. Tattoos of pink ponies. Become a milk-a-holic. Be one of those kids who likes to wear a diaper backwards. I don't know.

The moral of the story is, I really hope she stops sucking her thumb. If not, if that's the worst thing she ever does, I'll live and so will she.

Happiness is...

The joys of fatherhood are endless. I've learned so much about life just from examining the life of my own daughter. In fact, I've often though, "If I knew being a dad was this much fun, I'd have done it sooner." This of course is a lie, but I tell myself that without even meaning to at times, simply because I am so extraordinarily happy being with my kid.

For so long I focused on the fact that there are things to be bought; car seats, high-chairs, bibs, diapers, and the like. Then, as I would sometime regress as an adult, I would also focus on the negatives about cleaning the high-chairs after a fun filled afternoon of pudding/ketchup throwing I've seen exhibited by two year-olds in my family. Oh, and let us not forget the vile wrath that is a dirty diaper.

Off topic, but good Lord! What did she eat last night? That diaper looked like it had three previous owners and two of them were adults, the third a crocodile. I bet I used twelve wet-wipes cleaning that child...

Sorry. Ahem.

The joys of fatherhood.

The thing is, everyone told us we'd never be ready to be parents, that we should just do it. Those people aren't me, and I despise when others try to tell me how simple it is to make such a large, life-altering decision. We get it, now of course. These people just wanted to see us squirm and writhe in fear at such diapers as described above.

Bring it on.

The first time I held Evie in my arms, I was Superman. Every day since, when she smiles at me, hugs me, or gets mad and cries because I won't let her play with the remote control, I feel even more confident in being a dad. I love it. Sure, its a full-time job, but I love it and the pay isn't a few dollars you can waste at Wal-Mart. Its so much more.

Messy faces, peanut butter in her hair (perhaps I'll blog about this another week), dirty diapers, vomit, bad dreams, fussy days, fussy hair, and everything else, I'd never trade it. Because one heartfelt smile from that little girl makes it all worth it.

I'll end with this:

I'm at a point, currently, where I really dread going to work. I get depressed because this isn't the job I went to college for. I wanted to be a pastor, not a probation officer (though, to be fair, I dealt with more ruthless people in the church at times than I have my current vocation). I work outside in the heat, in government owned cars that sometimes lack air conditioning, or may not even run at all - your tax dollars being stretched as far as they can. You're welcome. I feel out of place where I work because, unlike my coworkers, I really never wanted a job like this.

Then, I come home and that little girl claps her hands and starts chattering away the minute I step through the door.

And my life is complete.

Happiness is your child being happy to be with you.

Thank Jim Henson

If you have ever had the song "Elmo's World" stuck in your head for three days, when you haven't heard it in a week, you may appreciate this.

Evelyn loves Sesame Street, Veggie Tales, and a variety of other kid's shows. Barney and Friends plays in my house like a broken record that just won't stop. This is the private parts of parenting Hades I have become trapped in.

Despite my grandest efforts to get my daughter interested in the most kid-friendly episodes of Batman Beyond, the Superman animated series, the old Star Wars: Droids cartoon, and even some old Justice League episodes, the only thing that truly phases the child is a muppet. If SuperGrover is the thing that can keep her pacified, fine.

She'll stop everything she's doing when Elmo comes on the t.v. If Junior Asparagus sings a song, she wiggles to the tune. If Cookie Monster starts eating, her eyes glaze over and she wishes she could join that blue fuzzball and partake in his chocolate chip gluttony as well. If a man dressed as a bat glides drives across the screen in his souped up car, its back to getting into things she ought not touch.

I would feel ashamed, but personally I just blame the master of muppetry, Jim Henson. If he hadn't done his job so well, maybe she'd be interested in super powered justice. Instead, rather than phoning it in, he made an awesome show I am not afraid to admit that I enjoyed throughout most of my childhood as well - and still secretly enjoy watching with Evie, as well.

But that dinosaur...

I've started watching Barney with her, too. To the point I dissect the episodes. For instance, this one where Baby-Bop (yeah, that's her name) spins around a room and makes a huge mess for the janitor to clean up; potentially making him late for his big break as a concert pianist. The kids get stuck cleaning it up and singing little songs and all pretend Baby-Bop did nothing that bad.

For example: these dinosaurs are the hallucinations of these children. So who really made that mess? The janitor is happy even though his dreams are about to be shattered, and again, he can see these hallucinations, too. This all leads me to think, perhaps, there's something horrible in that school's cafeteria food and the place needs to be shut down. Immediately.

Also, how come the little red headed kid can't do anything right? He's a bad flute player and his science project beans don't grow as fast as the other kids' beans, either. Thanks, PBS. Thank you for sending the message to my daughter that we redheads are born failures.

Again, I blame Henson. Had he not opened the gate with Sesame Street, I'd not even have this blog to write. Thanks Jim. Thanks a whole lot.

Cute is Overrated

My daughter is cute. Beyond cute, she's adorable. Her smile melts your heart and quiets a room. I'm not just saying this because I'm biased, its a fact. She's a cute kid.

Unfortunately, cuteness is overrated. She thinks she can flash her big blue eyes and get away with anything. People always say, "Oh, she's got you wrapped around her little finger."

Wrong.

That stuff doesn't work on me. At. All.

True, I feel horrible if she starts crying and it melts my heart, but it doesn't get her a "get out of jail free" card.

I think I've built up an immunity to it. Maybe its something else. Perhaps anti-cuteness is my superpower. What a lame mutant ability...

The point is, I love my daughter with an unending, furious love, but when she tries to weasel her way into my food with a big blue-eyed stare, or a cute little smile so she can mess with the Playstation controller while I watch a movie, she doesn't get away with much.

Now, when she grows older and gets a whiny voice...

Learning to Walk

As mentioned in my previous post, Evelyn is learning to walk with a physical therapist. Its been fun, its been interesting, but more than anything, it has been terrifying.

This kid is going to be walking around the house soon. She can't even feed herself properly with a fork yet, but she's going to be racing around faster than a speeding bullet. Of course we, the parents, will be forced to chase after her.

She's weekly making progress and showing big improvements. Which is, of course, always good news. The one thing the therapist hasn't covered, however, is how we're supposed to deal with this new prospect of chasing down this child once she's become more mobile. I have a few ideas, inspired by both theoretical science and Saturday morning cartoons.

Mostly the cartoons.

The first idea I had was cruel, I freely admit it. Let's just not teach her to walk. Let's teach her to be the first human blob. As I said, though, its a cruel thought and I quickly dismissed it.

Then came the fun thoughts.

I could just get some springloaded shoes! Dismissing this as it would look incredibly stupid walking into a store wearing them, I thought about putting small rockets on the sides of some old sneakers and trying that out. I realized I'd probably blow my feet off and then I'd become a human blob. Again, idea dismissed.

For a brief second I entertained the possibility of a giant sling-shot, but vaguely remember a certain coyote trying this and flying right past his target and crushing into a wall. Unlike Mr. Coyote, I do not become a walking accordion when I crash into things - I bleed.

I thought about attaching a bungee rope to her, perhaps even snagging her as she paced by. A leash, if you will, around her waste, and when she gets too far, this rope would simply be tugged firmly and bring the child back within my reach. No, I said to myself, doesn't work on the dog so I doubt it'd work on her.

Then came the scientific thoughts.

What if, I began to think, I could take the legs off a cheetah and implant them on my hind quarters? Again, how would I explain this to the guys at the comic shop? "Hey, Jeff, nice cheetah legs!"

"I know. They were half off at JCPenny. Found'em in the "Doctor Moreau" section."

Right, like I'd even know where that section is at JCPenny. I don't even shop there. Ridiculous thoughts, I tell you.

After that, there were some delusions about mixing up some chemicals and hope they gave me some sort of super power... but after I smelled the bleach mixed with all the other house hold chemicals I could find I thought it would taste awful so decided against that, as well.

Where do you even buy radioactive products that give you super speed these days? Or is it merely lightning flashing through a variety of chemicals? Either way, I'd probably end up with the ability to just grow longer fingernails or my hair would all fall out. Some stupid super power like that.

Eventually, I realized Jennifer had bought a gate, and it will be a year or two at least before she figures out how to climb over it, so I figure that'll have to do. After all, if a barbed wire fence can keep in cattle and eliminate the need for ranch hands, then I am sure a plastic fence can keep in Evie and give me a break or two, right?

Wrong. My daughter is freaky smart and I don't just say that because I'm biased. She's figured out how to unlock our phones, for crying out loud. So, I'm sure it won't be long until she realizes if she sticks her fingers through the small holes in the plastic mesh, she can spring that sucker and crawl on through.

So, I've just came to the conclusion I'll have to suck it up and be a dad.

Which I was going to do, anyway.

Progress and Flaws

One of the joys of being a parent is seeing how much of yourself is reflected in your child. I think I've covered this before in a previous blog, but since I take so long to update, I honestly can't remember.

The sad fact is that sometimes you also see some of your flaws. Even the genetic ones that you couldn't help. This is the case with Evelyn's feet.

As a kid, and even now, my feet tend to point out. This caused (and again, still sometimes cause) me to walk in a duck-like manner. A fact cruel classmates in elementary school through college all enjoyed pointing out to me at times. Now my daughter has this issue.

Mine is caused by a hip problem, per my doctors at the Shriner's hospital in St. Louis. Evelyn will grow out of her problem if she continues with her physical therapy, at least that's what our doctor says, and so does Brandy, a therapist from First Steps who helps kids learn to walk, and has been coming to our house weekly for the past few weeks.

In a sense I feel like we dodged a bullet.

One of my greatest fears is that my children will have to time wading through some of the same trash of life I had to as a kid. Kids picking on them for having red hair, constant quacking, stupid things like that were all things I never wanted for my kids. When Evie was born with darker hair, which is now a shade of blonde, I was relieved. But with the therapy I sometimes see her feet kick out, toes pointed away from each other, and her balance wavering. The therapist, Brandy, is awesome and very encouraging. She says that Evelyn will grow out of it.

Very relieved. And on the note of the therapy, Brandy insists Evelyn is her star student. She's made great progress and continues to improve. A few weeks ago when we first started, Evelyn was "army-crawling" through the house and would only stand on her feet for a few minutes at a time when we'd put her up on them.

Now, I'm beginning to miss the days she was immobile. She's coasting sideways along the couch, crawling on her hands and knees, and making life incredibly active. Or miserable, depending on how lazy I'm feeling.

Honestly, though, its amazing to see her progress and learn and adapt and grow. Its rewarding to me, probably more so than it is to her. Just hearing that she's gone two steps farther than the one step expected makes me so proud. In my heart, when something like that happens, I secretly think, "Of course, she's my kid! She's gonna blow your mind with her intelligence, just wait and see!" And of course, I see plenty of her mom in her, too, but as a dad I just want to take all the credit.

That's okay, right? I can do that sometimes?

Well, I'm going to anyway.

Got to Update

I figured it was time to write something.

Even if its only a few paragraphs, I need to get back to documenting the fun we have as parents. Evie is growing and growing, and even though she's having to take physical therapy, she's getting closer to walking every day.

She pulls herself up to her feet, often having to lean against a chair or some other piece of furniture. She's walked/glided along the side of furniture, too. It will only be a few more blinks and soon she'll be running around making me want to pull my hair out by the roots.

Evelyn is awesome. Every Friday we try to have lunch together, and each Friday we sojourn to a restaurant is an adventure on its own. Whether she's eating a quesadilla from Taco Bell or a hamburger from McDonald's, the mess we both make and the strange interactions with other customers make each Friday worth it.

A couple of weeks ago a lady kept staring at us as though someone in our little caravan of two had somehow offended her. Then I realized, my daughter of just about fifteen months was looking at her, squinting and laughing. Evelyn was, in her own way, making fun of this woman. I wanted to stop her but after getting a good look at the lady, I thought, "Well, there's a lot of material for jokes there..." Then I realized where my train of thought had taken me, and re-positioned both myself, and Evelyn so there'd be no more staring.

She's also learned that when mom and dad say "no," we mean it. We mean it bad. Of course, nothing breaks my heart than seeing her pitiful little eyes start to tear up. Fortunately, my wife appears to draw strength from the tears of the infants.

Just kidding... it really shatters her inside, too. Somewhere. Somewhere deep inside the darkest corner of her heart, I'm sure she feels bad.

Somewhere.

Seriously, she laughs.

Ear Infection?

Jennifer took Evelyn to the doctor yesterday. She's had a very high fever for the past four days and after we called the first day, they said to give it a while and if it went higher to bring her in.

So, my wife trekked up to the hospital and did just that.

We were told she's likely got the flu, but its possibly an ear infection.

These are the things, when you're excited to be a dad, you're not really thinking about. Sickness is not something you prepare for.

No, its not life threatening. It's not even a big deal. It is just something, as a dad, I look at and wish I could stop. She whimpers and cries because she's not feeling well. She hardly will eat. All I can do is hold her and wish I could relieve her of the discomfort.

I try to think of myself as a good dad. I try to live up to that. But, at times like this, I am starting to already see that there's going to be plenty of things I'll not be able to fix or change in her life. Will she someday fall off a bicycle and skin her knee? Sure. Will she play a sport and break a bone? Possibly. Will she date a loser boyfriend, make bad friends, and even worse decisions? Maybe. It seems silly that she's not even a year old and I think of these things.

But, its better to be prepared, I suppose, than run and hide when she gets older.

In the mean time, I'll take the flu, or an ear infection over the boyfriend with an I.Q. smaller than his shoe size.

Here I am!

I know I said at one point that keeping up with journals/blogs was something I struggled with. Well, if I didn't say it, then I'm saying it now. But, have no fear, for here I am, blogging once again.

I may not be updating this as often as I would like, but I will shoot for once a week.

Writer's block just destroys my brain and saps my motivation. I will do what I can to keep that from happening again.

Its not that I haven't had something to write about. Evelyn is growing like a weed. And now I get what people mean when they use that tired, old expression.

Evelyn had taken a ride on an airplane four times since my last post. The first ride was quite the adventure, and by adventure I mean "Plug your ears and hide your face, hoping nobody on the plane recognizes you when we land." Yes, we became "THAT" couple, that dares to bring their child on a plane.

We were the most hated people in some people's world for about three hours.

I used to dread those people on a plane, and now I am one. Funny how life does that to you.

Life can be a jerk.