Inside All of Us There is Adventure...

Not sure why this made me emotional when I watched it today, maybe because I've always wanted to be in some make-believe land, running with the Wild Things, sailing on ships, and living an adventure? I only wish H was a little older so we could watch it together.

Parental Moments

You know it's time to get toilet locks when you hear your son saying, "cup, water, fill", and hear a "ker - plunk"

What is the proper reaction when you are taking a family stroll and the dog stops to lift his leg and your son follows him and tries to lift his leg over the very same rock? We just laughed

How many times can a child answer "no" to "do you want something to eat?" And truly not be hungry?

If your child is "squirting" you with a bathrobe strap because he pretends it's a hose, is it wrong to move after 5 minutes of being "sprayed" so as if not to get anymore "water on you"?

After how many weeks do you break it to your son that the "lotion" is deodorant, and it goes on your armpits and not on your legs?

Princesses, Butterflies and Roses

As a a father to a little boy who at the ripe age of 21 months is requesting to watch "gemes" and often wakes up by saying "hockey, hockey, hockey" or "Per-Doo" (Purdue), it is hard for me to imagine that life will not always evolve around trucks, sports, and games.

It is exciting and scary at the same time knowing that we are going to be having a little girl. That my world, our world, will now include pink, princesses, ponies, butterflies, and flowers.

I am not scared because I don't think that I can raise a girl, I am scared because, well, girls are different. They bring to the house a different aura,a different way of shaping the mood and the flow of the home, I know I lived with four of them!

But it is exciting. It has some similarities as it did with Harrison. Similar in that we have been down this path before, we know what to expect. But it is also alarmingly different. Different because well, I am not sure how yet, but I know it is.

I am a romantic, we both are really. Just as I had envisioned a life of having a catch with Harrison, teaching him the intricacy of a good snapshot, or how to throw a tight spiral, I have the same romantic ideas of having a little girl.

Watching her grow up in cute little dresses, teaching her how to fend off those "creepy boys". Having her brother be her protector, seeing her first prom, and yes, walking her down the aisle someday.

I can't help it, that is the stuff a father thinks about when he hears the news that it is going to be a girl. All of this may never come true, just as Harrison may never want to pick up a stick and skates, but it is the things that run through my head each time I think that we are having a girl!

It is exciting. It is scary. It is different. But we are ready. Ready to be blessed with another beautiful child who will be loved, and who will bring joy to our home, just as H did just a short 21 months ago.

A Grounding of the Ungrounded

So it's a Sunday afternoon. The wind outside is whipping and the temperature is dropping, not what one wants as March approaches but it is what it is. I have just returned from playing the role of super-dad...grocery shopping with my toddler.

H has done his normal cuteness duty, drawing out smiles from fellow shoppers and "he's so cute" from the cashier as she tries to entertain him with the circling plastic bag holder. I am feeling like super dad, not because grocery shopping is particularly difficult, but in my mind I am conquering worlds and negotiating peace treaties.

I get home, feeling proud that I have life, and son, so under control. He and I are sharing witty banter, singing along to Wilco, all as I unpack the groceries. As I start to prepare lunch, I happen to glance at myself in the mirror, Boston backwards cap, faded gray t-shirt with white long sleeve shirt, chinos, perfect suburban dad apparel. I am feeling it.

Lunch consists of a chicken patty with ketchup and bbq sauce, a cheese stick, and strawberries, the perfect lunch for a perfect duo. Feeling pretty good about my lot in life, I serve up my carefully crafted delicacy to the little angel waiting like a baby bird, mouth agape ready for nutrition.

As I continue to jam to the music, I start preparing lunch for myself as I casually glance at H eating his meal.

Then I notice something that doesn't look right. I saunter over and look down. I see a spot of bbq sauce on H's head, then another, then as if I am watching a movie I start to see the big picture.

I shout "No, No, NO," H's little cherubic face looks up at me, a bulls eye of sauce on his forehead. His fingers covered in sauce and his clothes splattered with sugary brown sweetness. He hasn't been eating, he has been splashing.

The kitchen looks like a horror movie, like Sweet Baby Ray was murdered in my home. I have seen enough CSI to know that there is a decent enough splatter pattern to solve this mystery in minutes.

I quickly race to grab paper towels and forget to take away the ammunition, as I turn to grab the paper towel, I feel it. I've been hit. I scramble to take away the rest of the sauce and look at the carnage.

White cupboards and Sweet Baby Rays is just the start. The floors are smeared, H's chair is covered better than a slab of ribs and the table looks like a chemistry experiment of Hunts, Baby Ray's and squashed Tyson's Chicken. There is even a splatter of sauce on the Kleenex box. Oye! I am on my hands and knees scrubbing up sauce and I hear Bob Dylan playing, I think aloud, "I bet Dylan never had to scrub his kitchen floor with Downey"

Yup, that is me, Mr Cool dad...back to reality...