Wall Climbing

Only eight months old, and Tyler’s already wall climbing…

 

 

There is a walking path near our house. We like taking it because we can let Delilah off her leash to run around. With the unnaturally warm temperatures on Friday and Saturday, we capitalized on the situation. At the end of the path, the city is building around eight to twelve baseball diamonds. They also have a very nice playground, and that’s where we went.

 

Tyler played on the swings.

 

He went on the slides.

 

He teeter-tottered.

 

And he even went rock climbing.

 

He loved his daddy.

 

We did lots of other things there too.

Vote for Tyler

Tyler has been entered in a local photo contest. The winner will have their picture printed in color in our local newspaper, with a chance of being on the cover of a local family magazine.

The photos are all located here:
http://www.kpcnews.net/photocontest

Tyler’s picture is the first picture on page 4:
http://www.kpcnews.net/photocontest/?page=4&max=79&month=March

View just his picture here:
http://www.kpcnews.net/photocontest/viewphoto.php?ID=237&month=March
and click on "VOTE" to the right of the image.

All you need to do is click “VOTE” under his picture. Help me out, my dear blog readers!!!! This could mark the 3rd time Tyler has been in our newspaper!!!

The backstory on the picture is here:
http://joegearhart.blogspot.com/2009/01/oreo.html

I Love It When a Plan Comes Together

"In 1972, a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire... The A-Team. "

 
I used to watch The A-Team when I was a child. Who wouldn't want to watch Mr. T, covered in gold jewelry and sporting a mohawk, beat the crap out of countless bad guys (with his bare hand, no less), and then have to be knocked unconscious by his own teammates because he is terrified of flying? That's quality television right there.

The series ran from 1983 - 1987. I have to assume that I watched it in syndication, as I doubt that my parents would have allowed me to watch a violent TV show when I was between five and nine years old. I know that I was young, but I just can’t remember how young I was when I watched it. Most of you know that I've got a very muddy memory, and if you didn't know, you do now.

I think it was intended that Mr. T's “B.A. Baracus” character be the favorite. I mean, c'mon, he had a mohawk. Why he never received a "Best Supporting Actor in a Television Series" award is beyond the grasp of my expansive knowledge. Now don't get me wrong, B.A. was a great character. I liked him a lot. I thought then - and I still think now - that B.A. should have been the initials for “Bad Ass”, as opposed to the appropriate-for-1980's-television-audiences “Bad Attitude”.

I'm not going to talk much about Templeton "Face" Peck. His character was likely cast for the simple reason that reluctant wives would sit through the episodes with their cavemen husbands because Face was easy on the eyes. Since he was the resident ladies man, this also provided an excuse for the directors (writers, producers, whomever) to cast a beautiful woman in - I believe - every single episode.

H.M. Murdock was my favorite character. I don't recall whether his first name was ever revealed, as I can only remember H.M. referring to his nickname, Howlin' Mad. Murdock was declared mentally insane, and regularly "escaped" from a mental hospital to take part in the team's missions. Looking back, I would say that he was my favorite because I think I could relate to him and his strange “quirks” on some strange level.

John "Hannibal" Smith was the (official/unofficial?) Leader of The A-Team. I remember thinking about the appropriateness of the character who was known for wearing a multitude of disguises having the most common name in America. The only name that would have better suited him is "John Doe". Hannibal did the planning for the team’s missions. In the end, the A-Team came out on top, but the plan usually fell apart at some point. Think of the dad that gives his son a baseball bat, and tells him to swing at the ball that’s sitting on the tee. Only the father stands too close to the boy. The boy does indeed hit the ball, but it didn’t exactly go to plan for the father. The boy hit two balls too many. That’s Hannibal, the dad who has great intentions, but doesn’t always lay the best plans.

Why am I forcing you to read all this? Because of Tyler. Me talking about the A-Team is all Tyler’s fault. Strangely, it had nothing to do with the faux-hawk that we often style his hair into.

Anyway, in addition to being a master of disguise, Hannibal was a cigar smoker. He would put a cigar in his mouth, light it, draw smoke into his mouth, and immediately blow it out the side of his mouth, without inhaling it into his lungs. Puff, blow, puff, blow. That was the memory Tyler drudged up yesterday which had me mere seconds from adding The A-Team to my Netflix Queue. I still may do just that.

After Sarah fed Tyler his supper yesterday, she went to make supper for herself. Yesterday was "leftovers night". I had the pizza rigatoni that Sarah recently prepared in the crockpot. While she reheated her chili leftovers, I sat and talked to Tyler, who was still in his highchair. As he sat there, listening to me counting to ten or naming colors of objects, he put his sippy cup to his mouth, sucked water in, and drooled it out the side of his mouth three or four times. It reminded me completely of the way Hannibal smoked his cigars. The first thought that flashed in my mind (which A: I am shocked that I remembered in the first place, and B: Nobody here will understand unless you were a fan of the show) was "Tyler's on the jazz."

I’ve been slacking off on my photo uploading, so I’m posting a picture of Tyler’s faux-hawk from January. I can’t believe how much his hair is (finally) growing.

The Somnambulistic Son

The silence in the room was broken as a cry drifted down the stairs. Joe, an unassuming man who is convinced that Murphy's Law applies to his everyday life, turned to look at Sarah.

As a stay-at-home mom, Sarah has developed an expertise in all things baby. On more than one occasion, Joe has found himself wondering if Sarah has some type of supernatural connection with the baby. He's attempted to rationalize these thoughts. He knows that Sarah's hearing is better than his. But how can she be in the kitchen, chopping up food, with a fan turned on and music playing in the background and STILL know when Tyler wakes up? And let's be honest, Joe. Doesn't Tyler always seem to know when Sarah's nearby, almost like he senses it? It's a two-way bond, between mother and son, and you aren't a member of that club, Joe.

Tyler is the seven month old product of the the young marriage between Sarah and Joe. If you were to see his smile, you would see the sproutings of three teeth, with two more, maybe three, on the way. Tyler is also the owner of the cry that has Joe sitting up and looking questioningly to Sarah.

Sarah was gazing upward, head cocked ever so slightly to the right. Joe was certain that she was focusing her auditory senses on the room above, but that small, nagging part of his head thought otherwise. She's looking through the floor, Joe. She's watching Tyler THROUGH the twelve inches of plaster, wiring, joists, sub-flooring and carpet. And matting, Joe. She's also looking through the matting.

In the silence that followed the initial cry, she said, "Maybe he'll go back to sleep."

Joe relaxed and let out the breath he didn't notice he was holding. Yes, maybe he would go back to sleep. It was eleven o'clock POST meridiem, after all.

The answer to that particular thought came down the stairs in a more forceful tone than the cry that first interrupted the quiet evening. With a sigh, Joe stood up, walked to the stairs, and started up the fourteen steps to Tyler's room, stepping over the three creaky ones. It was a habit he picked up shortly after Tyler was born. In the darkness of the second floor, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. They live in an old house that has settled over the years. Joe has combatted the non-levelness of the house by placing shims under one or more corners of the furniture. The door to Tyler's room also falls victim to this non-level nature and will swing open without any external force. It stops only upon hitting the doorstop with a BANG....... BANg.... BAng... Bang.. bang bangbangbangbang, as it bounces off the stop with decreasing force each time it connects. Only a week ago did Joe have what he considers to be the brainstorm idea of placing one of Tyler's stuffed toys against the doorstop. Now, the only sound from the door is a quiet "ffff".

Tyler was in his crib, sitting, crying. Joe could just barely make out the shape of the pacifier in the darkness. It was laying on the floor, about a foot or so from the crib.

"Big surprise", Joe said under his breath as he bent to pick it up. He mused on whether this small piece of plastic and silicone was the source or the cure for the Tyler storms that have a tendency to materialize seemingly out of nothingness.

"Here you go, buddy. Shh shh shh shhhh. Let's go back to our night nights." More times than not, night nights comes out as "nigh nighs", and this was no exception.

With his eyes now adjusted to the darkness, Joe got a better look at Tyler and saw that, sitting in his crib and crying, his eyes were still closed. He asked in barely a whisper, "Are you still sleeping, TyTy?" In fact, the whisper was so faint that Joe would later wonder if he even said it aloud at all. He picked Tyler up an inch so he could lay him down again. Tyler's eyes never opened. They never even fluttered. Convinced more than before that Tyler was indeed still asleep, Joe placed the pacifier in Tyler's mouth. Instantly, Tyler fell still and silent.

Shutting the door and walking down the stairs, a swarm of thoughts flooded Joe's head. Sarah looked at him, waiting for a status update, and although Joe was certain that she watched the entire scene unfold through the ceiling/floor combo that seperated the two rooms, he said "That boy is going to be a sleepwalker."

The End

somnambulistic (som-nahm-byoo-lis-tic): a parasomnia or sleep disorder where the sufferer engages in activities that are normally associated with wakefulness while he or she is asleep or in a sleep-like state.

Blowing Some Balls

I can say, with absolute certainty, that nothing in my life has ever compared with the joy and warmth that fills me when I hear Tyler laughing. Tyler takes after his father in the sense that he is quite easily amused. If I'm watching a movie and see Matthew Perry run into a glass sliding door and crash to the ground - all this because he's trying to dissuade his assistant and Jimmy "The Tulip" Tudeski from murdering his wife - I will laugh every time. Sadly, I don't own a copy of this movie, so I can't be a hundred percent sure of the details of the scene.

One of Tyler's toys is an orange plastic tiger that is holding a purple plastic basket. On the basket it a blue plastic bird. The accessories to this toy are three - you guessed it - plastic balls. Tyler received this toy as a Christmas present from his Aunt Jillian. When you put a ball into the basket, it plays music and says things like "woohoo", "good job" and "you're grrrrrreat!" I find it a tad interesting that this orange tiger toy says "you're grrrrrrreat" in a very similar way that another orange tiger - which is not owned by the same company - says "they're grrrrrrrreat", in reference to the yummy qualities of a certain breakfast cereal.

Playing with this toy with Tyler entails ME dropping the balls in the basket while I say "daddy puts the blue ball in the basket." Tyler usually watches with mild curiousity for a few moments, before crawling away to find a power cord to chew on. Sometimes, Tyler would pick up a ball with each hand. I would then giggle madly (to myself) when I told him what he was doing. "Tyler is holding his balls." *snicker* A few days ago, Tyler seemed to finally "get it". He picked up a ball and dropped it in the basket. I was so excited that I almost jumped up and performed cartwheels. Almost. My worries that maybe it was just a fluke were whisked away when he made 9 more baskets.

Last night, after dinner and before bed, we found ourselves playing with the tiger toy while Sarah took some alone time to unwind and read the paper. Tyler picked up a ball and swung his arm towards me, like he wanted me to have it. I said "can daddy have the green ball?", as I pulled it from his hand. I couldn't tell you why I did this, but instead of dropping it in the basket, I made a chomping noise and put it in my mouth. Tyler grinned a little. I aimed down a bit and shot the ball from my mouth, popping Tyler in his leg. He laughed, hard, and handed me another ball. "Can daddy have the red ball?" Chomp. Pop. Laugh. Honestly, I have never heard Tyler laugh this hard before. A baby's laugh is quite infectious. Sarah put the paper down, laughing, to watch Tyler. I laughed everytime he did.

After a few minutes, I lay down on my back and started shooting the ball in the air, and catching it in my hand. Tyler started laughing even harder. If we weren't having such a great time, I would have grabbed the camcorder. I don't know how much that toy tiger cost, but it was worth every penny.

And if you were thinking of something entirely different when you read the title of this post, then shame on you. If that never even crossed your mind (liar), then shame on me.

Charades

I've never played charades before. To get me to list and discuss the myriad reasons why this is the case, I'd need to be lying on a leather couch, talking to a guy whose name is suffixed with the letters PhD. Instead, I'll simply say that it just isn't my "thing". I understand the basics of the game. A person will stand in front of everyone else and start acting like a fool, flapping their arms, hopping on one foot, and pointing at their nose. This is all done in pantomime, because the "actor" is not allowed to speak. The audience then shouts out what they think the phrase is. The actor grows increasingly frustrated that the audience can't see that the answer is - OBVIOUSLY - Chuck Norris. Wash, rinse, repeat.

There are certain signals that the actor can make to help the audience along. If he touches his nose and points at someone, that person correctly guessed the word that the actor was working on. Tugging on your ear means "sounds like". So, if he were to pull his ear and jump in the air, the audience would start shouting "dump", and "bump", and "hump". I only know this because I'm pretty sure I saw an episode of The Cosby Show, or Full House when I was younger where the family played charades.

Here in the Gearhart household, we've been playing charades for the past three or four days. We made the mistake of having Tyler start the game as the actor. He's only 7 months old, so we didn't set high expectations for him. But he was horrible at it. Maybe we didn't explain the game to him well enough (or at all), but Sarah and I have been yelling out our guesses over and over again, and Tyler hasn't once touched his nose and pointed at us. Needless to say, we're still in the first round of the game.

First, Tyler would grab and tug on his ear. "Sounds like", I thought. No problem. Then Tyler would yell and scream. Sarah and I thought of every rhyming word we could think of. Steam, team, cream, deem, slipstream. Nothing. Bell, cell, tell, oyster shell. Zilch. After a few days of guessing, we decided that either he sucks at charades, or we suck at parenting, so we took him to our family doctor. I had to work, so Sarah took him in.

The diagnosis: Sounds like Bubble Smear Chinflection.

Tyler is now taking Baby Motrin for pain (berry flavored), and amoxicillin for the infection.

Double ear infection. *sigh*

To top it all off, we just (last week) took Delilah to the vet to get her ears flushed. She's had ear problems and allergies since the day we got her. We have to put medicine in her ears everyday and give her an antibiotic pill with her food.

DOUBLE double ear infection. *double sigh*

Stuff You Shouldn't Be Doing, Tyler

This picture has nothing to do with the content of this blog. Tyler's teething, so he makes this face a lot.

Tyler has some pretty cool toys. He has this really awesome ball that's got a plastic monkey perched on the top of it. It makes noises and music when you roll it, and the monkey somehow manages to always stay on top. He has a turtle that counts to four, says shape names, and sings to the tune of an Italian song. He also has a spinning top type toy with animals on it. It sings, counts, lights up, and makes animal sounds.

They're great toys and, as a bonus to me, aren't very expensive. I can see how these toys can help to teach things, like cause and effect, and other cool terms that aren't coming to my mind right now. And Tyler plays with none of them. I try to engage him, I really do. I giggle like a little girl while I bat the monkey ball around, amazed at the monkey's ability to balance precariously atop the green and blue ball. My acting ability is top notch. I can fool any child under the age of two into believing that I am genuinely delighted by this marvel of a toy. This is, of course, partly because I am genuinely delighted by this marvel of a toy. I want to take it apart and see how this modern-day version of a Weeble Wobble works.

I hope cardboard isn't unhealthy

Tyler has no such interest. He looks at it - with just a hint of curiousity - for a moment, then proceeds to chew on my slipper. While it's on my foot. And I don't stop him. I'll have to file this post under the "bad parenting" category.

As much as I've been praying that Tyler will develop superpowers, and become a real-life superhero, the one thing I do not want is for him to have any psychic powers. I find myself less-than-amused at his innate ability to find everything that he shouldn't be playing with. If there are ten toys surrounding Tyler, and one of Delilah's chewed-up ropes, Tyler will see the rope, and only the rope, and he will commence on chewing said rope. Why he has no desire to play with the toys that we paid good money for is beyond the scope of my knowledge. I'm going to become a millionaire by developing a product that will be guaranteed to get any child interested in any item of your choosing. It's going to be a sticker that simply says, "Keep out of reach of children". You put that sticker on his least favorite toy, and he'll never put it down again.

Until I manufacture and market my idea, Sarah and I have to try to stay one step ahead of Tyler. I have a feeling that we will be playing this "game" for years and years to come. If we so much as blink after setting him on the floor, he'll have a power cord in his mouth. Tyler must think that "no" is a slang term for "awesome work, my dear boy. Your very survival is solely dependent on your eating cords at any and every opportunity". Tyler's has 2 other favorite items in our house. One is either a plant stand, or the ivy plant resting upon it; we haven't determined yet which of the two he is enamored with. He grabs at it every chance he gets. No amount of "no", or "bad", or "ucky" will dissuade him from reaching for it. When he does get his paws on it, he slides it closer to him. The sound of the wooden legs sliding across the hardwood floor is like a Klaxon alarm for us. We immediately have to charge after him and start with the calls of "no", and "we don't play with that".

Tyler's other, and probably more, favorite household item is Delilah's water dish. I don't know how to keep him out of it. So far, all he's interested in is splashing his hand in it, but I'm petrified of what could happen if left to his own devices long enough. I've been unable to come up with a solution that allows Delilah to get to her water, but still keeps Tyler away from it. Maybe I could install one of those wireless fence systems in our house. Anytime Tyler goes near the water dish, which will be just outside of the boundary, he will be delivered a high-voltage reminder of his lapse in judgment via a wireless elastic headband. I'm open to ideas, dear readers. In the meanwhile, I've got something else I'd like to talk about.

The library group that Sarah and Tyler attend had Valentine's Day treats on Tuesday. So, Sarah went to the store Monday night (yes babe, I just called you out for waiting until the last minute) to pick up some ingredients. She made a chocolate covered strawberry concoction, and it was delicious. Sarah is very gifted in the kitchen. It's win-win for me, because she loves to cook and try new things, and I love to eat. The added perk is that I get to be a taste tester when she makes these delicious desserts. If it weren't for my insane metabolism, I should easily weigh in at 300 or more pounds.

I've jumped off track. While Sarah was at the store, I played on the floor with Tyler. He was having a blast knocking over the towers of blocks that I was building. Unfortunately, our floors aren't very level, so any stacks higher than 6 or 7 blocks is impressive. As I completed one such stack, I turned to Tyler to let him know I needed his destructive assistance. I found myself unable to form words or even thoughts when I looked at him. When thought did finally return, I had trouble deciding on whether I should yell at Tyler, or grab my camera. I decided to do both.

"Tyler!!!", I yelled, jumping to my feet. "Don't move! Where's my camera?"

Yup, he can pull himself up now.

With the help of some living room furniture, Tyler - all by himself - pulled himself to a stand. I didn't run fast enough, though. When I returned, he was crawling to the tower o' blocks to demonstrate his skill at unstacking. Fortunately for my "I have to document this" side, and unfortunately for my "he's growing up too fast" side, Tyler crawled to the entertainment center and pulled himself up, four more times! One of those times, he turned and looked directly into my eyes, and I swear to you that the expression on his face said, "watch this". Then he just let go and plopped on his butt, and smiled at me.

I really was excited, really, and I expressed it as much as I could to him, with high pitched wows, and saying stuff like "good job" and "that's my big boy". But I'm worried that Tyler saw the fear that swam just below the surface of my visible emotions.

Tyler just let go of the only thing holding him up

If you are able to swim through... the Ring of Fire!

I went back and forth trying to title this post. The runner up was "Sharkbait OO HA HA", but then I realized that both titles would fall on deaf ears if you've never seen "Finding Nemo" half a dozen times or so.

On the off chance that you haven't seen nor heard of the movie - and, if you're a parent and haven't seen that movie, then shame on you - it's about a fish. How's that for giving away the entire storyline?

Tyler is taking swimming lessons at the YMCA. Sarah signed him up a few weeks ago. The classes are once a week for about 30 minutes, and go for 12 weeks (if I remember correctly). Tyler just turned 7 months old, so we don't really expect him to understand us when we say "kick your feet! kick your feet!", or try to get him to climb up the ledge of the pool (really, the instructor told Sarah to try to get him to climb up there, even though he can barely crawl). But, it's a good activity for him, and you can't go wrong introducing somebody to swimming and water.

I can't swim. When I was young - I don't know how old exactly, but I was young - and I was at the beach with my dad, he decided he was going to teach me to swim. He had his hands under my body while I tried getting accustomed to the water. I said, very specifically, "Don't let go", to which he responded that he wouldn't. Mere seconds later, he removed his hands and I panicked. Because of that experience, I've had a very real fear of water since then. That's not to say that I couldn't take baths or get on a boat. I just couldn't put my body into any water that didn't allow my feet to touch the dirt while my head was still above water. Even in that shallow water, I couldn't do anything other than stand straight up. If we were playing frisbee and it went left or right of me, I could NOT dive for it. I've come leaps and bounds in the last few years. I've actually gone tubing, water-skiing, and "swimming", but only with the aid of a life jacket. And I've somehow managed to not loose my mind when I get thrown from the tube, or get a water enema from skiing.

So, I think it's great that Tyler is getting exposed to water and swimming so early in life. When Summer rolls around, and we go to the lake with our friends, or to the local pool as a family, Tyler will be a year old and will hopefully take to the water much more easily than I did.

I've only been to one of Tyler's classes. Sarah told me that in his first class, he didn't appear to be comfortable in the water, but that he still did pretty well. From then on, though, he loved it. I went with them this previous Wednesday to check it out for Tyler's third class. I had a feeling that cameras were probably not allowed in there, so I just brought it in without asking. Better to ask forgiveness, than permission, right?

I can not believe how much Tyler enjoyed being in the pool. He was splashing and kicking, and lunging his body all over the place. Sarah had difficulty time holding him a few times. I'm still learning how some of the settings on my camera work, so bear with me on some of these shots.

Tyler loves splashing his arms in the water.

He was even pretty comfortable on his back. I really didn't know what they were trying to accomplish, though. The instructor told them what to do, but I was completely focused on taking pictures. I'm pretty sure they were working on kicking their feet.

They were definitely working on foot kicking here. Tyler did really well, but we knew he would, because he does that in the bathtub too.

On his belly, Tyler did a great job of holding his head up while kicking and waving his arms. It'll be awhile before we let go of him, but he's definitely understanding the concept. Either that, or he just loves to splash the water. I'd like to say that it's the former, but I've got a hunch that it's the latter.

Time to towel off and hit the showers. I can only guess how much chlorinated water Tyler swallowed over the last 25 minutes.

Once we got home, Delilah gave Tyler some "good job" kisses after we told her how great Tyler did in the pool.

I Got a New Toy

A Canon Digital Rebel XS camera, to be exact... Three pictures per second is both a blessing and a curse. I'm pretty much guaranteed to get the perfect shot now, but it's usually bracketed with 5 or 6 other pictures that I have to delete. For example, I took 99 pictures of Tyler's bathtime today, and ended up with 33 keepers.

It's a small price to pay to end up with pictures like these though:

View more here

Six Months... Already?

Tyler's first faux-hawk

Tyler recently celebrated his half birthday. Upon being asked by any passers-by how old he is, Tyler can now say, "Zero and a half" with the air of excitement that kids have when they know they've crested the mountain, and are now barreling downhill towards cake and presents. His first birthday is still 6 months out, and Sarah is already making plans for it.

Tyler's half birthday had me in awe of the fact that I've been a dad for 6 months. And then, I thought to myself, "already?"

It really feels like it's only been a month. He's already 6 months old. That's way too close to 18 years old. I'm not ready for him to move out yet.

Is time going to continue to move this fast from here on out?

Tyler had his well-baby checkup last week. The nurse asked the typical questions about his diet and his poop. She asked if he's been sick. We told her that he's had two colds that he caught from his cousin. She followed up with a question that appeared to be more of an assumption and statement.

"And he was treated by Dr. Woods?"

I paused for a second, and found myself unable to answer. Who goes to the doctor for a cold? I couldn't wrap my mind around that. It was a cold; a simple, let-it-run-its-course-because-there's-no-other-course-of-action cold.

Me: "Uhh, yeah doc. Tyler has a cold. You know, a cough, sniffles, and mucous."
Doc: "Okayyyy."
Me: "So, what can you do about it?"
Doc: "Nothing. Leave your $25 copay with the receptionist."

Sarah bailed me out and told her that we took care of it from home, by ourselves. I mentally appended her sentence with, "because we're not completely brain dead."

The appointment went well. Recently, I mistakenly told someone that Tyler is 25 pounds. He is, in fact, only 23 pounds. He measured at 72cm. He is still in the 95th to 97th percentile for height and weight (read: tall and heavy).

"Wow Tyler. That makes you," I said, pausing for a moment, "28 and a quarter inches long."

The nurse turned to look at me. She had a look of utter confusion on her face when she said "that's right". She didn't see that I had just punched some numbers into the calculator function of my phone. Either that, or she didn't expect me to know that there are 2.54cm/in. Maybe that isn't common knowledge.

The doc commented on how adorable Tyler's chubby thighs were. Then, she put a glove on and said, "ok, it's time to count to two."

Confused and intrigued, I leaned in a little closer to see what was going on. It makes sense to me in hindsight, but it never occurred to me that they would need to verify that Tyler has two testicles. I find myself hoping that Tyler develops a crush for her when he gets older, so I will have yet another bullet to fire at him from my "embarrassment gun".

We did have one concern that we wanted to discuss with the doctor. Tyler, for the last couple months, has had some red bumps around his left eye. Some days, they're more pronounced than others. After looking at them, doc said that Tyler has eczema. We followed her instructions of carefully applying hydrocortisone (1%) to the area, and keeping fragrance-free lotion on his face. It started looking much better within a couple hours. A few days later, it's completely gone. Sarah and I cursed our collective ignorance. We had no idea it was that important to keep baby's skin moist. I really hope it didn't itch too much, or cause excessive discomfort to Tyler.

On an unrelated note, it appears that Sarah and I may have cursed Tyler with our sleeping habits. We cannot sleep on our backs. Sarah often sleeps on her side, and I on my belly.

How or why Tyler felt the need to turn a 180, and put his head where his feet should be is beyond me.

Wordless Wednesday v. Sweet Potatoes

In case you didn't already see it over here.

Christmas in November

My parents came down to visit the weekend before Thanksgiving. Since they already made plans for Turkey day, and we were hosting a dinner as well, we decided on the weekend before to meet up. They hadn't yet met Tyler, so we were all very excited. Sarah made a pseudo-Thanksgiving meal, which included turkey-meatloaf, smashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie. It was delicious. To be honest, I was nervous about turkey-meatloaf, but it was very, very good.

My parents bought Tyler some clothes, toys (which he appears to love), and a bouncer when they came down. The only wrapping paper they had was Christmas themed. But Tyler is five months old, so he wouldn't notice. Plus, he wouldn't care if he did. We didn't care, because it's just paper that's going to get destroyed anyway, right?

Tyler was more than eager to get his hands on the presents. We had to help him by tearing the corner of the paper. But as soon as he saw the paper sticking out, he couldn't wait to get his hands on it. Tyler thoroughly enjoyed the ripping sound of the paper. He also seemed to enjoy the way the paper tasted, because he kept cramming it in his mouth.

The pièce de résistance of the weekend was on that Sunday. It's actually probably the opposite of "pièce de résistance", but here's the story anyway. We went to breakfast at Ryan's, which is a buffet style restaurant. It was my first time there, and the food was very good. We let my parents feed Tyler a little bit of ice cream, which we immediately followed with Mylacon drops. And that was when I watched as a woman sneezed into her hand. Common sense, and common-freaking-courtesy would tell you to use your other hand, you know... the CLEAN one, to grab your food. Or maybe go clean your *bleep*ing hands! Not this woman. She switched hands for a second, which was a great relief to me, but promptly switched back to her germ-infested hand to grab food. I think I came down with the flu, or leprosy, or some other terminal illness just from watching her do that.

So, that was Tyler's Christmas in November. New clothes, new toys, new grandparents, and ice cream. I'm looking forward to Tyler having his first Christmas, but he doesn't really know what's going on. Because of this, I told Sarah that we should just get him some empty boxes. He won't know that we're cheaping out on him, and all little boys love empty boxes. It's a win/win situation. And here's the photographic proof to back my claims.

Sarah whole-heartedly disagrees with me. So we went Christmas shopping for Tyler this week, taking him with us. Not that we have much choice in the matter, though. But it felt weird that we were buying gifts for someone who was with us. To top it off, we were letting him play with the toys at the store, so that we could be sure that he would like them. I want it noted, though, that I think plain ole cardboard boxes will be just as much fun as a spinning toy that lights up and makes funny noises.

Broken Promises

This past Friday, I changed Tyler's diaper on the living room floor. We've got a basket that we keep the essentials in. Diapers, wipes, hand sanitizer, lotion, and butt cream prepare us for all but the most gruesome of crime scenes. Upon completion of the diaper change, I lifted Tyler's legs, smacked his bottom, and informed him that I had indeed, "panked the booty", much to his delight. I then dumped the dirty dipe and washed my hands. When I walked back into the living room, Tyler had rolled over -which he is a regular pro at now - and was chewing on one of his socks. I don't know why Tyler loves to rip his socks off. He loves to grab them with his hands and just start yanking away at them. And I'm even more confused on how he is able to kick them off without using his hands at all.

A few moments later, I was opening up some files on my laptop to print off before I hit the road for work. While I was doing this, Tyler was reaching for the diaper basket. I know this because when I did eventually look down at him, he was dumping the basket over. In the seconds that it took for me to set my laptop down and get up, Tyler was able to grab a diaper and start chewing on it. *sigh* I put everything back into the emergency readiness basket and sat it back on the floor. But this time, I set it about two feet away from Tyler. I looked at him and said, "There, if you can get to it now, you can have it."

I learned something valuable from that statement. Do not absently make offers to a child, ever.

I didn't expect Tyler to say - nonverbally, of course - "ok daddy, watch this." No, I didn't hear him say it, but I should have seen it in his eyes. I was sitting again, trying to finish up on the laptop so I could get on the road, when Sarah says, "Joe, look at your son."

Again, I look down to see what the little troublemaker is up to. Tyler was much closer to the basket, and he was stretching as much as he could, trying to reach it. His little fingertips were just barely touching the basket. Then, I watch as he digs his foot into the carpet and pushes himself closer. Close enough that he was able to grab the basket and knock it over again. Sarah informs me that if I had put the basket back where it belonged, Tyler never would have gotten to it. Thanks, Sarah. Any why Tyler would want the basket when he's got all kinds of awesome toys nearby is beyond the scope of my knowledge.

Tyler digs his foot into the ground and pushes himself forward

But the bigger question is, WHEN DID HE LEARN THIS!?!? The only thing I've ever seen him do that even resembled mobility was spin himself in a circle while lying on his belly. He would only ever spin in one direction, so I'd constantly quote Maury Ballstein, from Zoolander, "You got a lot of gifts, but hanging a louie just isn't one of them."

Among the many thoughts that swirled around my head that morning, three of them stuck out.

1) Why the heck hasn't Sarah told me about this development? When I asked her about this, she dismissively replied, "oh, I thought you knew." I had to remind myself a few times that spousal abuse is against the law.

2) Awesome! My baby can move!

3) My baby can move now? Oh s**t.

"Bittersweet" seems to be a huge understatement of the mixture of joy and sheer terror that I felt. Before Friday, whenever I placed Tyler on the floor and walked into another room, a promise was made. When I come back, Tyler will be right there. Just like your car keys or cell phone, Tyler will be in the last place you left him. Nobody ever told me that these promises came with an expiration date.

Tyler's Immobility Guaranteed Through December 5, 2008. Individual Results May Vary
(I swear this isn't photoshopped)

Friday was December 5th. Happy Birthday, Tim. Your grandson can army-crawl.

Typing Monkeys

If I ever had any doubt on whether Tyler is of my own flesh and blood, that doubt disappeared when I saw him make a foot-fist.

There are a few things that, I think, differentiate me from most (normal) people. One, I can not comfortably sit in a chair, unless one leg is under my "bottom" or unless I'm sitting "Indian style" on it. Sitting normal, with both feet on the ground, is very uncomfortable for me.

Another thing I do is curl my toes, all the time. It looks like I'm making a fist with my foot. I'm doing so right now, as a matter of fact. I've done this for as long as I can remember, and it wouldn't surprise me to find out that my mom or dad does this as well. I also cross my big toe over my second toe, on both feet, quite often; much like crossing your fingers when you make a promise that you have no intention of keeping.

And, for the hat trick in foot contortionism, I can pick many things up with my feet. TV remotes, keys, baby toys, dog toys, and even tennis balls must bow to the will of my podiatric grip. Someone in the house finds this to be quite disturbing slash disgusting, while I see it as the next step in evolution. We're only a few decades away from having children that are born with opposable big-toes, just like our primate brethren. It's a scientific fact, but I don't have any scientific proof to back that claim.

Now, don't go thinking that my monkey-feet are freakish and nasty looking. They look just like the feet on your average man. The possibility even exists that everyone can do these tricks, and I'm not unique at all. I haven't asked around, so we'll leave it at me thinking I'm unique.

The joy I felt when I saw Tyler make his first foot fist was not echoed with Sarah. Instead, she directed a stare at me that I characterize as accusatory and contemptuous. If that wasn't enough, she telepathically sent a thought that roared in my head, "You did this to him. You did this to my baby boy!!"

A day or two later, I was tickling Tyler's feet with his toy keys. He's not yet laughing when I tickle him, but he smiles. And, while hearing Tyler laugh is currently one of my most favorite things, I'm quite happy to see and elicit a smile from this big little man. All of a sudden, as I was running the plastic key ring across the bottom of his foot, he grabbed the keys. WITH HIS FOOT!

Monkey feet

My little monkey baby truly is his father's son. And speaking of monkeys...

The "Infinite Monkey Theorem" has been phrased many ways, so forgive me if this isn't how you remember it. I almost had a brain orgasm when I read about it on Wikipedia while preparing for this post. There's so much to think about with statistics and probabilities that it's hard for the mind to comprehend.

If an infinite number of monkeys randomly pressed keys on an infinite number of typewriters, for an infinite amount of time, eventually, one of them will type the entire works of Shakespeare.

This is a statement which I've always believed to be true. As a man that is marveled by science and math, I understood that it is a statistical certainty that, eventually, one of the monkeys would rip a sheet out of the typewriter, start flinging his own poo at the other monkeys, and proudly proclaim that he has finally done it. He has finished writing Hamlet. But, what happened a couple days ago has me questioning my own beliefs.

I had a computer hard drive crash on Thanksgiving. After I got everything back up and running again, I had to manually rebuild some catalog files. Tyler was sitting on my lap while I madly typed up a new index and hash codes and other things that I'm sure you don't care about. Tyler decided that he would like to have a go at the keyboard. While I was happy that Tyler offered to help me, I had no intention of turning him loose on my code. Instead, I opened up Notepad and rolled Tyler within reach of the keyboard.

Giving Tyler the green light, I said, "Okay, infinite monkey, let's see what you've got."

He did not impress me with his typing abilities. He was all over the place. He wouldn't keep his fingers on the home keys, he kept hitting the windows button, and somehow managed to open up Powerpoint. Here's his final screen output:

zvgbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb                                                                      5768\\\\\\\\\\\\\



\\\\\\\\\\\aaaaaaaaassssss
fswwwwbr0jq8rnbj4iidqfz88foydhgp3jeb86aoq aqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqq

Click the image to view the proof, in all it's glory

If you were to spend any time actually looking at the above, you may have noticed that there's a fairly long run of letters that aren't repeated, like "ssssssssssss" from Tyler just holding one key down for three seconds. Under normal circumstances, I'd find that to be rather impressive. I mean, it's certainly not of the literary caliber of MacBeth, but it's still pretty neat.

Don't go getting Tyler's name engraved on on the Nobel Prize in Literature just yet. That little string of text just happens to be one of my hash codes. I saved it to the clipboard while I was rebuilding the index, and Tyler happened to press CTRL-V to paste it into his literary masterpiece. What I'm getting at is this: Tyler is a fraud. I do not condone plagiarism, especially when it is my own son who has plagiarized my hard work.

Based on the rest of his output, I have now determined that the "Infinite Monkey Theorem" is a falsity. How could I possibly believe it after seeing the character-stringing mess that Tyler created? Once again, I have little to no scientific proof to back this up. After all, Tyler is not a monkey, but he's pretty close. He can grab things with his feet. And, left to his own devices, I have no doubts that he would fling his own poo all over the place.

I say he has monkey feet, like his father. But then I see this, and think that maybe "elephant feet" describes it better