Misunderstandings

I.

One thing the boys and I do each week is shop at a local farmer's market. I've been doing a lot of reading and research about food and the disgusting practices of industrialized agriculture, so I'm trying to do better at eating locally grown, fresh and healthy food. What a guy.

Unfortunately, most of the people who are into this kind of thing are dyed in the wool straight up kooky hippies. I am not. I understand that the hippies are necessary, since farmer's markets need organic farmers and lord knows I'm not going to do it. Plus, there's no money in it and you need a certain kind of optimistic worldview that I just can't really comprehend.

Anyway, among these people I am a fish out of water. I try to pretend I know what I'm doing, but it doesn't always work out. Take the following exchange.

Me: I'll take a loaf of the whole wheat.
Hippie: OK, just to let you know I sifted some of the bran.
Me: (pretending not to be confused) Of course.
Hippie: So, do you want it?
Me: Right, the whole wheat.
Hippie: I sifted the bran.
Me: (panicking) Um, great, I'll take the whole wheat.
Hippie: Dude, I sifted the bran, so it's not really whole wheat. It's wheat, but not the whole grain so I can't call it whole wheat.
Me: (chagrined) Oh, right. Yeah I'll take it.

Who the hell knows what the definition of whole wheat is? Hippies, that's who. Is this common knowledge?

II.

As he rang me out, I said:

Me: Sorry for the misunderstanding, I guess that's how you separate the customers from the chaff, huh?

And he DIDN'T LAUGH!!!! I mean, how much more in his humor wheelhouse could a joke be? I felt like I was on the moon.

III.

On a long bike ride the other night I drove by a large industrial building with a sign outside reading "The Hague" and underneath that in smaller letters "The Corporation."

No shit? Not the international war crimes tribunal? I could have sworn that was headquartered in Rochester. Man, that sucks since I was really hoping to have a sit down with Slobodan or Chuck Taylor. Oh well.

Thanks for indulging me. Tomorrow I'll get back to the kids.

 

Pride Goeth Before The Mall

Possibly the greatest thing about being a little kid is the lack of self-consciousness. I mean, you don't know it at the time, but it's really the only time in your life when you aren't worried about how you look or if you're being judged or what other people think.

Right now Graham is the king of this. He will gladly jump naked into his friend's backyard pool, shamelessly cry about a matchbox car or poop his pants in front of a roomful of strangers at the store.

So it came as no surprise to me to see how ridiculously proud of himself he was during dress up in the playroom of the local library.

No one has ever been happier about a crappy little toolbelt. And, of course, that's why I'll be heading to the store tomorrow to get him a nice brand new one.

Well played, young G-Bo.

Grahambo Welsh in "Dancing With Myself"

People, this is how you rock the children's museum. Boom.

The intrepid travellers

This week in Mr. Dad land we have been focusing on nature. With that in mind, we hit the woods for some good old fashioned bug hunting and backache making (more on that later).

Graham was into it, but I was kind of heartbroken to see just how big he is now. His babyhood is now officially OVER, which is just so bittersweet. Soon he'll want the car keys and to switch to regular flavor from the menthol he smokes now. Oh well.

Jakey was much less into it, since he had to ride in the baby backpack. What's great about carrying a big baby in the backpack is that it simultaneously allows you to destroy your back muscles while also having your shoulder bitten and neck scratched. Way to go, Graco.

Anywho, yay for nature. Here's the cuteness.

Yes, that's a Johnny Damon shirt

I mean, Christ, that's cute

Goodbye baby days

Rocking the bridge

Jakey plotting his next attack

Jakey Welsh in "I Want Banana!"

The invention of lying

One of the great things in my stay at home dad adventure has been the ability to be present for so many changes in the kids' lives. This past week's change was that I saw Graham discover lying in earnest. The results have been, in a word, highlarious.

Of course, since lying is brand new to Graham, he assumes that I have the same rudimentary level of understanding of it that he does. Oh son, what a mistake that is. I have told lies that would make Tiger Woods blush.

Anyway, we're also trying to potty train and the combination of turds and fibs is comic gold. I promised Graham that the first time he used the potty correctly he could get a new Thomas train (Gordon to be exact) and this is some serious motivation. So literally every five minutes today we would play out this exact scene, with Grahambo scoring major points in my book for his absolute commitment.

Graham: I need to poop!
Me: Ok buddy (escorts G to potty)
Graham (immediately after pulling down underwear and sitting on seat): I pooped. Can we go get Gordon now?
Me: I don't think you pooped
Graham: I did!
Me: OK, let me look in the potty. (pulls G off potty) There's no poop in there, buddy.
Graham: Yes there is!
Me: Where?
Graham: In there!
Me: Nope, no poop.
Graham: No, there is. Can we go get Gordon now?

Regardless, no Gordon yet.

On another note, how great would it be to be as happy as this guy? This celebration was brought on by...absolutely nothing. I envy this every single day.

The RFD hands me my ass

You ever feel stupidly self-confident about something? I mean, you ever convince yourself that you are still good at something you might have been good at a long time ago? Or foolishly believe that sheer willpower will carry you through a situation you maybe shouldn't be in in the first place?

Maybe you have experienced this a time or two, maybe you haven't; it happens to me almost daily. Which brings me to last night.

My friend Hewitt asked me if I would be interested in playing on his firehouse's hockey team. Since clearly my answer should be no I immediately said yes. I figured "hey, I was a passable intramural hockey player 13 years ago in college and haven't skated since, so why shouldn't I be able to competently compete with firefighters who play all the time? That won't be dangerous for me or annoying as hell to them at all."

Turns out, it was both of those things. I know, crazy, right? I looked like a guy from the Make A Wish foundation whose last wish was to be on ice skates for the first time in his life. I mean, I was that bad. I was so bad that the firefighters (who practically make a career out of breaking each other's balls) wouldn't even make fun of me. They kind of just tolerated me in stone silence.

I'll spare the gory details, but I am in major pain today - the worst of which is either my swollen hip or my bruised ego. I haven't sucked so bad at something in a long time (probably since the band, ha ha).

Oh well, on the bright side here's Jakey kind of failing at something too, although in a much cuter way.

I've lost another one

As we speak, I am sitting at the breakfast table with Jakey, who is currently pondering one of life's great banana mysteries.

It's nice to have this alone time with him while Grahambo sleeps, but it's also kind of sad since I know I have lost him forever. You see, this past weekend Jakey learned to say "Mama" and now all bets are off. He wakes up saying mama, he says mama when looking for comfort, he says mama just for giggles when we're driving in the car.

He's dropped "Dada" from his vocabulary almost entirely now, using it only in passing grunts or when he has an exceedingly difficult poo job going on. It used to be his only word and I was king of the castle. Now I have been relegated to the same servant/punching bag caste that Graham holds me in.

I was hoping to hold on to Jake a little longer, but I know I must let him go into the abyss that is mommy. She's a powerful drug. 

So, so long Jakey. Maybe we'll meet again in a few years when I teach you about baseball and motorcycles.

Fears

In our culture there a million situations we are supposed to not want to face as parents. Chief among them is what I call the "CONFESSION", where a child comes to a parent with a big horrible secret.

"I'm gay."

"I'm a stripper."

"I'm pregnant."

"I loves the crystal meth."

And so on.

This morning I realized what my greatest confession fear is:

"Daddy, I really like the band Train."

Actually I take that back. Train writes some catchy tunes and the singer has an undeniably great voice.  What I guess I really fear is:

"Daddy, I really respect Train's lyrics."

I mean, seriously, have you listened to the words in their songs? I was so enraged after seeing their most recent video that I feel like I have to speak out.

Actual lyrics from "If It's Love"

While everybody else is getting out of bed, I'm usually getting in it
I'm not in it to win it
and there's a thousand ways you can skin it


My feet have been on the floor, flat like an Idol singer
Remember Winger? I digress,
I confess you are the best thing in my life


Took a loan on a house I own
Can't be a queen bee without a bee throne
I wanna buy ya everything
Except cologne
'cause it's poison


We can travel to Spain where the rain falls
Mainly on the plain side and sing
'cause it is we can laugh we can sing
Have ten kids and give them everything


Hold our cell phones up in the air
And just be glad we made it here alive
On a spinning ball in the middle of space
I love you from your toes to your face


Jesus. The lead singer of this band must be the scariest guy in the world if he can push this dreck through the major label system with no one saying "You know what? That's the dumbest shit I have ever heard. Maybe you should rework it." Train is, of course, terrible.

On the plus side, my foot is getting better and today I took a bike ride with these guys.

Ugh

So, anyone who reads this regularly knows that I bitch. A lot. I mean, it's kind of my thing. At least five people have asked me when I'm going to bring back the "Life is, of course, terrible" closing that frequently ended old FXA posts. We shall see....

Anyway, most of that bitching is intended to be funny. Life is, of course, not really that terrible most of the time. Except for the past week. Damn, that shit has been stone cold terrible.

Mr. Jake is sick as a dog. And not in that kind of puppy dog sad sickness where the baby just looks kind of glazed and out of it. This is the active, scream your damn head off sickness where the baby sounds like a tortured squirrel and never sleeps. Awesome.

What makes it worse is that it's a respiratory illness. So Jakey alternates between trying to hack up whatever funk is beguiling his lungs, choking on said funk and getting really really quiet. The loud times have us on the edge of panic because it sounds like he's dying and the the quiet times have us panicking because we become convinced that he has already died.

During the day I hold his wheezy little body and wish I could take it all away from him. Of course, yesterday he full on sneezed into my mouth, so I'm sure it's coming.

One shining star in this time has been Mr. Grahambo. That kid loves his little brother like nobody's business and has been working hard to show it.

The other night he took Jakey out for dinner and a show (which Jakey said was even better than Wicked):



And he also has been taking him on a number of therapeutic drives (Not so sure about Jakey's take on these - watch for the frequent "Tag me out, daddy" looks):

Conversations with Grahambo

As a stay at home parent, you inevitably lose touch a bit with the outside world. You spend less time in front of the TV, on the internet or reading than you used to. And you run the risk of never actually talking to adults, which can really screw with your mind. It's just not natural to only converse with 2 year olds.

So today I invite you into my world to see the types of conversation I've been having recently. These are two gems from Grahambo over the past couple of days

Conversation 1:

(Graham just steps out of baby pool, nude)
Mr. Dad: Hey buddy, was that fun?
Grahambo: Yes!
Mr. Dad: OK, bud, let's go get some lunch.
Grahambo: (eyeing Tyler's tractor - see yesterday's post) I want to ride the tractor!
Mr. Dad: We can do that later...
Grahambo: No, I want to ride the tractor when I grow up!
Mr. Dad: Ok, you want to be a farmer?
Grahambo: No Daddy! I want to drive the tractor!!!
Mr. Dad: That's fine. However, I do think you might need some clothes for that.
Grahambo: No, no clothes! No clothes on the tractor.
Mr. Dad: OK, so let me get this straight - for your career you want to be a nude tractor driver?
Grahambo: Yes
Mr. Dad: By yourself? Won't you get lonely during those long naked days on the tractor?
Grahambo: No, Julian (Graham's best little buddy) will come.
Mr. Dad: Ah, it all makes sense now.

Conversation 2:

(Graham throws a toy off the diaper table as I am changing him. It's been a long morning.)
Mr. Dad: Graham! Why did you do that?
Grahambo: Because I did it
Mr. Dad: I know you did it. Why did you do it?
Grahambo: Because I did
Mr. Dad: Remember how we talked about listening? That is bad listening. Do you remember what kind of listening I need you to do?
Grahambo: Bad listening? (giggles)
Mr. Dad: Graham!
Grahambo: Good listening?
Mr. Dad: Yes, good listening. You see, when I ask you to do something, I need you....
Grahambo: Daddy?
Mr. Dad: Yes?
Grahambo: Are we done here?
Mr. Dad: Um, what?
Grahambo: Are we done here, daddy?
Mr. Dad: Sure.


Update: I know many of you are probably worried about Grahambo being able to fulfill his tractor destiny. I mean, you're probably thinking "Sure, he can talk the talk, but can he walk the walk?"

In a word, yes. And Julian can come too.