Thursday, May 6, 2010

Been Too Long

Yes, I haven't written on my blog in forever. Yes, I did start a new blog to go along with my writing career. No, I'm not giving up on writing about having a baby.

Here's what you missed since I didn't keep this up-t0-date (by the way, can anyone clear up whether that is a hyphenated word, one big word or three short ones? I'm confused.):
- The Son figured out how to crawl and has alredy scheduled his first attempt in the 40-yard dash; college scouts are waiting with bated breath.
- He can not only stand up by holding onto something, he can do more pull-ups (1) than I can do. Yes, you read that right, my son is in better shape than I am.
- He makes laps around his crib and the pack-n-play with alarming speed. I was thinking he'd be a linebacker, but now maybe running back is in the cards.
- The Son now can point with his index finger. My in-laws were attempting to teach him say he was 1 year old by showing him their middle fingers. I was no amused.
- We held not one, but two one-year old birthday parties. The first was at a pizza joint because The Son enjoys pizza (Daddy is happy). The second was at home because that way The Wife and I could spend the whole night yelling at each other during clean up (Daddy no longer happy).
- The Son got his own "smash cake" for his big birthday party... you know what, this deserves it's own paragraph.

The "smash cake" was a new thing for me. If you haven't heard of it, it's a smaller version of the big birthday cake (more on that one later) that the child can do whatever they want to with. Which means that if they want to throw it on the ground, go right ahead. Feel like rubbing into your face? Knock yourself out! Throwing it on either side of the high chair so that the dog not only gets dizzy trying to keep up, but such a hugh sugar rush that he turns into Usain Bolt in the backyard? Done deal. It's all open for the taking.

However, the whole smash cake experience was a tremendous learning experience for my son in how to deal with women. You see, we've been trying in vain to get him to stop throwing food on the floor if he doesn't want it. With the smash cake, he not only can do that, but we encourage that behavior. There's Mommy and his two grandmothers cheering him on as he sends copious amounts of chocolate cake and vanilla icing onto the ground. My son turned into Pacman Jones for a few moments, making it rain all over our backyard. Then the other shoe dropped. The next day at breakfast, when he wanted to become Pacman again, these same wonderful women were wagging their fingers at him and saying "No!" in stern voices. He looked utterly confused, and appealed to me for help.

My response was to simply smile and say, "The Son, welcome to 'Dealing with Women 101'."

In a related note, I'm wondering how come the whole smash cake idea didn't get invented sooner. Also, why isn't it applied to other aspects of our lives? Just think of the possibilities! Remember when you turned 21 for the first time? I think you should have gotten not only your own bottle or cup to drink out of, but also your own buffet of food that you could do anything you wanted to with Big promotion at work? Get a smash cake to ruin your cubicle before you moved into the corner office. Wouldn't that be fun?

As for the big cake for The Son's party... I think we have found the next big bomb for the military. It was a simple cake, made of the same stuff all cakes are made out of: flour, icing, sugar, milk, eggs, etc. But it weighed in excess of twenty-five freaking pounds! My wife didn't want me to drop it for fear that it would ruin the cake, but I was more worried about breaking my foot, and possibly even putting a hole in our floor.

So, The Son is finally one year old. And I'm going to start writing on this blog a little more, just to relate what it's like not just to be a dad, but also to see if we can all help make sense of this mad world we all live in. If nothing else, maybe I can figure out how to get myself through the toddler years. I'll celebrate with my own smash cake.

No comments:

Post a Comment