Paternal Premonition

I had a premonition of sorts this morning, a prophetic foresight you might even say. I’m predicting that Amber and I will be at the hospital around 5:00am on Friday morning the 7th of December and that some time early that same afternoon Taylor will be born. Call it a hunch, call it psychic ability, call it a scheduled inducement, call it what you want, just make sure it’s on your calendar.

T minus 17 days and counting.

The Quiet Moments

Ah, the house is quiet. The wife is out. The grill cheese is sizzling. The…wait, the house is quiet? The house shouldn’t be quiet. Where’s Caleb?
“Yuck.”
What was that? It was too faint; I can’t place where it came from.
“Yuck.”
There it is again. Where is that boy?
He’s not in the cat box…thankfully…
Not in his room, not in the bathroom, not in the closet…where is he?
“Yuck.”
That sure sounded like it was coming from his bedroom. “Caleb, where are you?”
“Yuck.”
“Are you hiding in your fort? What are you doing in there? Whatcha doing with that crayon? Oh….”
“Yuck.”
“We don’t eat crayons, son.”
Munch, munch, “Yuck.”
“Well stop eating it. Come on, Daddy’s grilled cheese is burning.”

Rock...Throw Sky...Wow

“Ock.”
Noticing his uncle wasn’t fully understanding, he said it again with a little more emphasis, “OCK.”
“Throw sky,” he added to help clarify the instructions. His hand was lifted up containing the rock that needed to be jettisoned from the area. “Ock. Throw sky.”
Jeremy reached down, took the rock and like a good uncle threw it as high and far as he could.
“Wow.” The word was drawn out in true amazement. Reading his face you’d think he was standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon or staring at the Northern Lights. To Caleb this was a life changing event. His uncle was the best rock thrower in the whole world.
And then just as fast as the amazement covered his face it was gone and Caleb was bent over scouring the ground for the next perfect rock.
“Ock,” he said having found it. His hand again reached up to his uncle to hand him the next rock. “Throw sky.”
I think Caleb’s goal of clearing the driveway at Eegeebegee of rocks via Jeremy’s right arm caused Jeremy to throw more rocks than he had intended. But I know it meant a lot to his nephew. I know this because every few days or so, even still, Caleb will come up to me and tell the story.
“Ock. Throw sky,” he’ll say matter-of-factly.
“You threw rocks in the sky?” I’ll reply.
“Yeah...”
“Who’d you throw them with?”
“Air me”
“Jeremy?”
“Uh huh, air me. Throw sky.”

Just Call Me Dad

Recently, Caleb and I took a trip to Eegeebegee (the final destination of my parent’s life-long, military led journey around the world) without Amber. The prospect of Amber being away from Caleb for eight days, I believe a day and a half was the previous record, bothered her almost as much as the fact that we were traveling via airline.

If Amber were to write a dictionary, this is what the definition of “airline” would look like.
Airline: air·line [air-lahyn] – noun 1. a system furnishing air transport, usually scheduled, between specified points with semi-unfatal results; legal genocide of nature defiant persons 2. airliner – large, wing-laden tube known to explode randomly with high regularity; large fireball, full of passengers, falling from the sky; death trap

My only fear about the flight was what to do with Caleb for an hour and a half...in my lap...crammed in a tiny airline seat. It turns out that neither my fear nor those of Caleb’s mother were necessary in that we completed both flights without dying or even being in a near-fatal accident and Caleb slept the entire flight, both ways. My strategic planning of flights early in the morning and late in the evening might have had something to do with the second part. The variation in definition of “airline” between Webster’s dictionary and Amber’s might have had something to do with the first part.

The time Caleb and I spent between our two death defying flights will remain in my memory as some of my favorite moments spent with my son. To see the joy I saw shining through the face of this caged bird now freed has changed something inside of me forever. Two years into fatherhood and it still hadn’t completely sunk in. Sure, holding Caleb for the first time was surreal and life changing. And sharing a father-son nap on the couch brought a peace over me that I had never felt before. But being confined to chasing my son up and down the hallway or around the park just didn’t allow the Dad inside to escape. Being with Caleb in the wide open country with all the rocks and ponds and creeks and fish and turtles and bugs and air...I felt like I could be Dad. I now had a real opportunity to teach my son the important things in life like how to play in mud puddles, how to get more distance on a rock throw and how to enjoy being dirty.

I believe these are the truly important things we Dads teach our sons. All other life lessons they’ll have the opportunity to learn the same way we did, experience. But these lessons require Dad. These lessons are teaching much more than how to get dirty or how to be a boy. These lessons are teaching our boys how to be a Dad. These early memories will mold our sons.

The times we take them fishing and spend the entire time tying their lines and getting them unhung, neglecting our own fishing desire. The times we turn the TV off to tickle tears out of them. The times we come home from work exhausted and then go out and play full time quarterback for them and their friends. These times they’ll remember. These times will guide them and encourage them to help their sons become Dads.

My Life's Checklist

As of today, I’ve had 29 years to make my mark on this world. My younger brother was gracious enough to send me a condensed list of the more important items I’ve accomplished.

Here's his email:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! Thought I‘d drop you a line on your B-DAY so you don’t feel sorry for yourself for being so old. You are only 1 year away from 30! OUCH! But hey… at least you have checked a few boxes along the way:
1.) Marry a hot chick – CHECK!
2.) Get a house near the beach – CHECK!
3.) Pop out a cool kid – CHECK!
4.) Kill a nice Buck with your bow – CHECK!
5.) Get a nice buck mounted – CHECK!
6.) Stay married to hot chick – CHECK!
7.) Buy an AWESOME rifle – CHECK!
8.) Stay married to hot chick – CHECK!
9.) Pop another kid in the ole oven – CHECK!
10.) Live to see 30… hmmmm. Good luck!
Have a GREAT BIRTHDAY!
Jeremy

Attached are pictures of my life’s great accomplishments as stated so eloquently by my little brother. Cool kid, hot chick and nice buck.

BABY INTELLEGENCE REPORT

SUP SEC LLAMA

17JUNE2007 1315 HOURS

FROM: HQ GREGORY HSHLD/ /DAD/ /#1SON

BUREAU OF GRANDCHILD BEARING (BGB)

TO: HQ FAM/FRNDS

FOR FAM, FRND AND FRNDOFFAM INFO ONLY.

SUBJ: GRANDCHILD # 2 (GCN2)

RELEASE DATE OF THIS MSG IS UPON RECEIPT. THIS DOCUMENT CONTAINS CRITICAL SECURITY INFORMATION WHICH MUST BE PROTECTED. PRIOR TO DISCLOSURE, PLACEMENT ON THE WEB, OR RELEASE OUTSIDE OF FAMILY AND/OR FRIEND PERSONNEL, YOU MUST FIRST REMOVE ALL PA INFORMATION TO INCLUDE PASS CODES AND/OR LAST FOUR OF SSN.

1. BGB AGENTS FATHER OF GRANDCHILD (FOG) AND MOTHER OF GRANDCHILD (MOG) HAVE RETURNED WITH INTELLIGENCE ON THE POSSIBLE PRESENCE OR LACK THEREOF OF A PARTICULAR GENDER SPECIFYING ORGAN (GSO). GROUND SUPPORT WAS PROVIDED BY OPERATIVES GAMMY OF GRANDCHILD (GOG), GREAT AUNT OF GRANDCHILD (GAG) AND GREAT GRANDMOTHER OF GRANDCHILD (GG-MOG).

2. EXTERIOR INSPECTION OF THE BABY’S EXTRA LIGHT LIVING YARD (BELLY) PROVED INEFFECTIVE IN DETERMINING WHETHER OR NOT SAID GSO EXISTED. FURTHER TESTS ALSO PROVED INEFFECTIVE TO INCLUDE BUT NOT LIMITED TO: SIGHTING OF LADY BUGS, HUNCHES, WEARING OF PARTICULAR COLORS OR VERTICAL LOCATION OF BELLY.

3. DUE TO THE LACK OF SOLID INTELLIGENCE RECEIVED FROM INITIAL TESTS, OPERATIVES, UNDER THE COVER OF DARKNESS, USED ULTRASOUND PERSONNEL EVALUATION AND ENTERTAINING KIDS (U-PEEK) TECHNOLOGY. SEE ATTACHED SURVEILLANCE PHOTOS.

4. SURVEILLANCE PHOTO #1 (SPN1) SHOWS GCN2 IN A RECLINED POSITION WITH HEAD PROPPED UP ON ARM. THE EYE AND NASAL CAVITIES CAN ALSO BE SEEN. TO THE RIGHT IS THE TORSO. NO VISUAL CONFIRMATION OF GSO IN THIS PHOTO.

5. SURVEILLANCE PHOTO #2 (SPN2) IS A VIEW UP FROM BETWEEN GCN2’S LEGS. AFTER MUCH DEBATE WHAT APPEARS TO BE A THIRD LEG IS IN FACT THE GSO KNOWN AS HOLDER OF TESTOTERONE – DENIAL OF GIRL (HOT-DOG). CALEB IS GOING TO HAVE A LITTLE BROTHER.

6. MOG STATED THAT FOG’S SPERM MUST BE MALE INFESTED AND THAT ANOTHER DONER MAY NEED TO BE FOUND TO HELP FATHER ANY FUTURE GCN’S. AT THIS POINT SAID INFESTATION IS STILL UNDER EXAMINATION AND IS MERELY SPECULATION.

//SIGNED//
#1 SON, DAD, GSO INTELLIGENCE
SUP SEC LLAMA

Let a falling iron fall.

On rare occasion I say something particularly profound giving the appearance of intelligence. This occasion of course was a complete accident. I was talking with my office manager about a burn on her thumb. She explained that she tried to catch an iron from falling after bumping the ironing board. That’s when it happened. The words spilled out without hesitation as if they had been trapped in some hidden part of my brain just waiting for their chance to escape from the cavern on the front of my face and impress the world. “You’ve got to let a falling iron fall,” I responded, forever recording myself in the annals of history. Years from now when you hear someone else say that, you’ll know that this is where it started. Okay, maybe not. But the phrase still got me thinking. I can look back to several times when I tried to help someone out of a problem that they didn’t even realize they were in and even more times when the same was being done for me. I can think of very few times when the helpee arose from the problem in better shape than they began and the helper arose as a hero. In fact most of the time the helpee still fell leaving the helper exhausted either mentally, spiritually, physically or financially. Still, it’s our nature to want to help others, especially if they’re going through something very similar to what we’ve been through in the past. As if vicariously solving their problems will help us rewrite our own history. So, to all of us out there trying to rewrite history, we need to remember that sometimes you’ve just got to let a falling iron fall. Chances are if you try to catch it it’s still going to fall and you’re going to get burned.

Clipping the Curls

After hearing unnumbered tales of the horrors of taking your child for his first haircut Amber and I decided to finally take on the challenge. Caleb is now 18 months old (At what age do kids cross over from monthhood to yearhood? Do we need to have some sort of celebration to commemorate the event or just let it pass uncelebrated?) and he has inherited his mother’s natural curls. As cute as Amber thought those curls were, they had to go. So I took an hour off work to go with Amber for Caleb’s first haircut, bracing myself for the worst. He walked in, sat in his mommy’s lap in the chair and took it like a man. Not a squirm, not a fit pitched, nothing. He did better in the barber chair than I do. Come to think of it, I think that earns his way into yearhood. Caleb is now a year and a half old.