Milestones

Milestones are a funny thing, you have the first step and first word(s). But to me, these hardly touched a nerve. Every child (or close enough) do these things! So it struck me a little odd when my son reached another one tonight, and I could just feel a little bit of his childhood slipping through my fingers. His milestone?

He buttoned his own shirt.

I know. I know. Another one of those 'well it's going to happen' moments. But for whatever reason, this one affected me.

Prior to bedtime this was naturally preceded by going to the bathroom with him, and having him explain 'My pee is big, yours is small'...

Ahh children, they never grow up fast enough. :P

I'm pretty sure I used to be funnier than I am now...

Perhaps it's just a function of getting *old* or maybe it comes with being a parent (although I highly doubt the latter), but as I'm going along here I don't think I get quite the same reactions to my humor that I used to.

It's possible the medley of prescribed drugs have an effect, but if drugs are the cause than please explain the large number of (formerly) humorous SNL alumni that were able to coke away their futures and remain ridiculous to large numbers of people? Oh sure... a lot of them ended up dead (or wished in hindsight they were - see Eddie Murphy Raw - ie... red leather jumpsuit), but I'm not one to point fingers at little magic happy pills. Especially if Nancy Reagan told us all not to take them, and then we preceded to have an entire generation drugged up by family physicians more than happy to dump Prozac.

No... I'm convinced my humor issues are entirely based on my current audiences.

1 - My wife.
Married 8 years now, been together longer than that, has the "yes, you think you're funny but you are not and I'm pretending to be interested" eyebrow down pat. I'm certain that this is a proportion that is directly related to the amount of time of marriage.

2 - My mother-in-law.
Sadly, I had many many years of practice with my prior audience (my parents) and knew what they found funny. This tended to involve sarcasm and topical rants on current events. Unfortunately, this is not the case with my MIL. Its not that she doesn't have a sense of humor, it's just that most of the time it involves something that is only funny to her. Sarcasm gets winged in her presence and she parries and dodges like she's friggin Neo in the Matrix.

3 - My son.
Currently at the age where he knows that things he does is sure to elicit a response, he knows that he's funny! Or at least is always treated as such, to prevent adult insanity/screaming at the poor kid. But the best part is the eye roll. Similar to the adult eyebrow, this involves him rolling his little eyes at me and going "Daaaaaad", I'm fairly sure this is preceding the "I don't want to be seen with this crazy old man in public, but hope he will give me more money" stage.


Maybe I just need to talk to/at the cats more.

Remember to slow down.

As Ferris Bueller once said, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." It's been some time since I've updated this damn thing, partially because I didn't think of anything to say and partially by being dragged along in the current.

So... I'm looking around.

• The boy is now 3. His vocabulary has definitely improved, yet it's still in a sub-language that only parents can understand. Often, one must look to the other for exact translation as words sound *extremely* similar and must be spoken in a conspiratorial whisper.
• The tv shows have moved from Clifford to Dora, Diego, and Spongebob. As a parent, I'm not really sure this was a step in the correct direction.
  
• Bedtime rituals have gone from a semi-orderly occurrence to a new and exciting adventure every night. Add in wanting to sleep with his cat (and the cat then biting him when he tries to keep it in bed with him) and hilarity ensues.
• We've moved. A few times. In the last year, and I'm not really a good mover. Well, that's an understatement... I'm a horrible mover. I want my own stuff in my own space, and I want my wife and kids stuff in their places, as well. Keeps the one thing I have any control over, in order. Sadly, this has been an EPIC failure.
• Work has been a greater change than first anticipated. The intent was moving me to first would keep me more healthy and allow the family to spend additional time together. I'm not sure either has happened. I wish I could just point a finger at it and identify the issue, but I'm not sure it's just work...
• MS still sucks. That gentleman's website sums it up better than I ever could.
• My wife begins school this week and instead of being as supportive as possible, I've been wrapped up in my own self-judgments, self-abuses, and regrets.

Not sure where the rest of this year is headed. Hopefully, I can slow down enough to appreciate the things that are worth being here for.

Just a quick note:

Sometimes, when life just keeps knocking you down, there is simply nothing better than singing your child to sleep.

The 'Change'

I just completed the switch from a nighttime employee to a "normal" first shifter. The 2 most common questions are -

1. How are you managing? Tired yet?
2. So... is the work harder?

Tired? Really? Having MS I'm *always* tired. So a simple schedule change was not exactly a burden. Thankfully, I'm now getting a regular 7 hours of sleep, and beyond that my meds help.

Is the work harder? No - different is all. I'll go on record and state that work is work... no matter what you do. If is wasn't, there would be more amusement rides and cotton candy. It is suprisingly quieter, though. There are probably noise issues involved there with the suits, that do not exist on third.

Another week down.... 1891 to go!

Naptime (Or the daily 5 Round MMA fight w/no refs)

As everyone knows having a 2 year old is the simplest and most calming job with no responsibilities in the world.

...

...

Wait... I've been drinking again, right? Hmmm, hopefully any other parents out there don't have to clean coffee, Mountain Dew, or liquor off of their keyboards.

I *must* be doing something wrong, right? I mean every other parent/grandparent/person with an opinion on the planet, loves to tell me how easy it was to raise their child, niece, nephew, or my little pony. After all... I must be doing something wrong.

Enter... naptime.

During the week we have a fairly nice, fairly regular schedule - right around 1 p.m. I get him ready, we grab his babies (or dogs, or CCG cards, or whatever else this weekly fancy is), and head to his bedroom. Then we begin "the ritual" (note: this used to be much longer, thankfully he's removed some things for us) -

• We touch all of the dinosaurs on the walls of the room. This is currently 8.
• We spell out the blocks that make up his name.
• We go through the quote that's up on the wall up above his bed.
• And if he's made it through this (and that's a big if!), he then rests in my arms and I sing to him.
• Hopefully by this point I can put him in his bed, tell him I love him, and maybe rub his back as he falls asleep.

But that's the 'normal' and as we are all aware, 2 year-olds are anything but normal.

Yesterday, we made it through the first couple of steps when we had a melt down... and not just a normal meltdown, the screaming "mama", "dada", "kitty" kind. So he ended up in the bed a few steps early, and that's always when the fun begins.

First, its the yelling - "Mammaaaaaaaaa" and he'll put his hand by his mouth as if he's amplifying his voice. This always starts softly and gets progressively louder.

Then comes the kicking. The bed... the wall... I often wonder if the neighbors are convinced I keep the cast of Stomp in my house.

Often times what follows is the launching of stuffed animals. I'm not sure if he's going for distance or accuracy, but they end up pretty much everywhere.

Now (obviously), comes the lamentations of the boy for the aforementioned stuffed animals. As an adult, my thought is "Duh, if you hadn't thrown them out, you wouldn't be sobbing over the 'missing' stuffed animals.

After these steps, out comes the boy. If the boy were a WWII vet he'd have already dug 'Tom', 'Dick', and 'Harry', but wisely we do not allow shovels at naptime. So instead, we have a free climber that can use any surface to reach his desired goal (in this case, the ground). Often times, he'll peer over the stair railing and with a "Hi Da" announce his arrival.

And then it begins anew, with increasing frustration on both sides - until you just wear him down.

Good thing there's only 16-however many years to go. I think I'm going to go hire myself a trainer.

It just saddens me, watching the current media and reflecting on personal things, that my son will never live in a world with privacy. Between Facebook, Twitter, and the multitude of blogs (ironic, right) through his own doings or those of others - he will never get the relative anonymity that I was able to enjoy growing up.

Who would have thought that Big Brother would exist, and that we (the world populace) would do it to ourselves?