MMMMMMM!!!

I realize I forgot to blog yesterday. It has been a pretty stressful week, to be honest.

It all started Friday when we were late on our rent for only the second time in five years (and this time it was seriously because we forgot to pay it). Then, after I had given the lady in the leasing office a check, she called my phone while I was at lunch and told me they couldn't accept checks for late payments, that they had to have money orders. So, leave what I was doing, go to the bank, get a money order, turn around and go all the way back home and pay this lady. I do this, but upon my return, the Leasing Office was closed. Evie and I go home, and this is where the Poop-Storm gained its thunder and lightning.

I locked my keys in the truck.

Before I was a parent, I never once locked my keys in the house or in my vehicle. Ever. You can believe me on that. Never. Since becoming a dad, keys get locked in a variety of stuff.

Jen bailed me out, using her lunch to come unlock the truck. She also dropped the money order by the leasing office because they were apparently only closed for fifteen minutes and I happened to catch them at that time.

Saturday and Sunday had their own problems, mostly work related and I don't want to go into that here. Monday, Evie fell outside the apartment as we were leaving for daycare. I thought she'd just bumped her head because she fell pretty close to the door, but I was in such a hurry I didn't even notice her scraped up knuckles. When I got to the daycare, Andre (the lady's husband who works at the daycare and an all around great guy) asked, "What's on her fingers?"

Thinking he was referring to the red nail polish my wife is so fond of placing on my kids fingers, I responded, "Oh her mom did that." and promptly left because I was running late for work.

I get a call from Jen wants to know what's happened to Evie's hands and why I'm accusing her of child abuse. I explained I had no idea what she was talking about - then it clicks.

I feel like the worst parent ever. Hate myself for not noticing. I take such care to pay attention to my kid, and somehow in my haste I passed over that.

Sincerely wanted to punch my life in the face.

Yesterday, Jen had forgotten her dressy shoes for work at home. See? That stuff never happened before we were parents, either. I get a call at 7 am and have to wake Evie up and go downtown. As a reward for myself for being such a good husband, we grabbed breakfast on our way home. Evie loves hashbrowns, and she ate about 90% of hers.

The last little bite I tossed in the dog's dish since he looked like he felt left out. But he never ate it.

Hours later, as I'm putting on my shoes to head to work, I hear my child exclaim, "MMMM!!!" and notice she has something in her mouth. I then realize two things 1) I forgot to feed her lunch and 2) there's only one place she could have gotten food.

I made her spit the dog's portion of the hashbrown out, and we grabbed some food on the way to the daycare.

She also got a special milkshake from McDonald's because her father is such a nitwit.

Speaking Ain't Easy

A week ago our physical therapist came by for a session with Evie. We now only have to meet about twice a month, which is awesome progress. Brandi has worked really hard with Evie, and the progress is evidence of her work, and proof of Evie's work, too.

One thing that was talked about (I was at work during the session last week) was Evie's progression in speech. Its not something we haven't been a little worried about, for instance, Evelyn has a small lisp and when she tells the dog to "sit" it sounds like she's commanding this animal who I have struggled to house train, to go number two on my carpet. Jack, our boxer, ignores the "sh" sound and plops his rump down on the floor obediently. One of his few redeeming qualities, I guess.

Unfortunately, this lisp is starting to come and go at the wrong times, in the wrong words. At daycare, she's learned the song "Ring Around the Rosey" and at the "ashes, ashes, we all fall down" part, the lisp disappears when it needs to be there, and she's now calling forth mules to collapse around. Its frustrating.

Brandi pointed out that she's a little behind in speech, even with the lisp as a part of the issue. Evelyn should be putting together smaller sentences at this point, I guess. I blamed myself, somewhat, because coming home from work, or preparing to go, its often easier to sit my daughter down and let her play, watch some muppets, or have a snack while I get my stuff together for the day, or relax after a stressful day dealing with... what I deal with at my job.

So, yesterday I started working with Evie more. Pointing to myself and saying "Daddy," pointing to her and saying "Evie" or "Evelyn." Then pointing to my phone and saying "Expensive piece of equipment you don't get your sticky hands on."

Okay, it wasn't that complex. I said, "Phone." "Truck" when we walked to the truck, and so on and so forth.

I don't know if something clicked in her head, if it was a small moment of clarity, but we walked up to the daycare and she turned around and said, "Bye Daddy" for the first time.

Its probably lame, but I felt like I'd unlocked some sort of achievement on my Playstation, except that it wasn't a video game, it was life and it was awesome. It really made me feel good.

If you don't understand this feeling, that's fine. When you've worked with a kid on something and they get it, you'll understand. Its like the first time Jack told us he didn't want to go boom-boom on the floor but actually wanted to relieve himself outside, multiplied by a bazillion.

I want to be around

I turned thirty yesterday. 30. Three times ten. For three decades I have been around, and I want to be around for at least a few more.

Some men go crazy and want to buy a Ferrari when they hit a certain age (usually forty or fifty), but I recently shaved off all my facial hair and realized that there's more of me hanging around than there was ten years ago. I checked the scales and yeah, too many cheeseburgers and frozen pizzas over the past six years have taken their toll.

There's the Freshman Fifteen people put on when they got to college, but I put the Married Million after Jennifer and I said "I do."

At least that's how I feel when I look in the mirror lately. And I don't want people saying those bald faced lies like, "Oh you look fine," and "You're healthy as a horse." Because the fact is, yeah I probably hide my weight okay and during my last medical screening yeah, I was pretty healthy. Actually, surprisingly healthy.

But I know better. This isn't me. Somewhere inside, there's me, but there's all this extra padding that I didn't buy at a sporting goods store and I'm ready to shed it.

What's this have to do with being a parent? Well, I want to be around to see my daughter graduate from High School and College, and, God willing, see my grandkids, great grandkids, and if modern medicine can keep putting synthetic parts into my husk of a body at the age of 102, thus making me into the Darth Vader look-a-like I've always dreamed I'd become, maybe I'd get to see my great-great-grandchildren. That'd be great. Uhm... that'd be wonderful.

So, I'm starting to work out, get myself back in shape. About six months ago I easily shed some weight, and now I need to do it again and keep it off. Yeah, this time its time to get in shape.

Cue the "Gonna Fly Now" and all other Rocky training montages. I'm gonna shape up this year.

If for nobody else, for my kid. And future baby brothers and sisters to be named later?

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.