The steering mechanism is going to take a little fine-tuning, but I'd say, overall, the engine is a thing of beauty.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
He Walks! (sort of)
The steering mechanism is going to take a little fine-tuning, but I'd say, overall, the engine is a thing of beauty.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
GP's in the House!
Until recently, my impression of grandparents was based largely on traditional images of wise, nurturing, huggable old people (think Wilford Brimley in the movie Cocoon) taking their grandchildren on nature walks or dispensing some vitally important life lesson before tucking them into bed and saying goodnight. I'm not exactly sure where these bizarrely cliche impressions came from since, looking back, I realize that I never really had any kind of meaningful relationship with my grandparents. Perhaps I watched one too many Hallmark Movies of the Week. Regardless, I'm happy to report that Mylo's relationship with his grandparents is blossoming into something very special.
When Dianne, Claire, Ghassan, or Alain come through the front door Mylo screams with excitement and reaches out to grab them. He relishes their visits and his love for them is unmistakeable. They each bring different things into his life-- different foods, cultures, languages, games, and songs-- that I know are helping to make him a healthier, happier, stronger person and so I'm filled with a gratitude that I find hard to put into words. Suffice it to say that his life would be considerably less enriched without their involvement.
Of course, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention how much they help me out too. When I'm most exhausted or when I'm leaving for work and don't have any time, they swoop in and take Mylo out for a walk or to the park or some other fun-filled activity. Aside from heaping doses of love, they also bring food, diapers, toys and an enormous amount of material support that I probably wouldn't have the time or the money to buy. And, in fear of getting sappy, they make me understand what the old saying 'it takes a village' really means.
So here's a shout-out to all the GP's! I salute you, I thank you, I seriously appreciate you. From the bottom of my heart I say: Thank you Dianne! Thank you Claire! Thank you Ghassan! Thank you Alain!
Through my first 37 years of life I was not a great practitioner of the word 'cute'. As a new father I suddenly find myself elbow deep in it.
I find this video devastatingly cute.
When Dianne, Claire, Ghassan, or Alain come through the front door Mylo screams with excitement and reaches out to grab them. He relishes their visits and his love for them is unmistakeable. They each bring different things into his life-- different foods, cultures, languages, games, and songs-- that I know are helping to make him a healthier, happier, stronger person and so I'm filled with a gratitude that I find hard to put into words. Suffice it to say that his life would be considerably less enriched without their involvement.
Of course, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention how much they help me out too. When I'm most exhausted or when I'm leaving for work and don't have any time, they swoop in and take Mylo out for a walk or to the park or some other fun-filled activity. Aside from heaping doses of love, they also bring food, diapers, toys and an enormous amount of material support that I probably wouldn't have the time or the money to buy. And, in fear of getting sappy, they make me understand what the old saying 'it takes a village' really means.
So here's a shout-out to all the GP's! I salute you, I thank you, I seriously appreciate you. From the bottom of my heart I say: Thank you Dianne! Thank you Claire! Thank you Ghassan! Thank you Alain!
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| Grandma Claire spreading the love |
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| Granna Dianna hugging it up |
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| Hacking around with Sidi Ghassan |
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| Meeting of the Minds with Grandpa Alain |
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Two Great Articles
These are two beautiful (and short) articles on fatherhood that I recently came across. They approach the topic from two completely different perspectives, but they're equally terrific.
The first is from the New York Times Magazine. A story about a fatherhood class for Korean men. Check it out here.
The second is from Baby Talk. Of which, I assure you, I'm not a regular reader, but my wife showed me the article and it's great. Check it out here.
The first is from the New York Times Magazine. A story about a fatherhood class for Korean men. Check it out here.
The second is from Baby Talk. Of which, I assure you, I'm not a regular reader, but my wife showed me the article and it's great. Check it out here.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Hurricane Mylo
Mylo has entered a new stage that I affectionately call the 'I'm Going to Tear this MF'ing House Apart' stage. This video is a fairly typical example of what it involves. You'll notice the tupperware scattered across the floor in the background-- some earlier wreckage that Mylo had sown. You'll also see Reedu's legs enter frame about halfway through.
Bad Dad
It's 3:30am and I'm pushing a stroller through a casino in Las Vegas. Mylo looks out with earnest curiosity as lights, bells, and debauchery explode around us. Judging by the look of surprise on people's faces, I'd say we've caught Sin City off-guard. Prostitution? Yes. Public Drunkenness? Check. Baby in a stroller? Whoa, whoa, whoa... that's over the line, dude.
Now, this is my first time in Las Vegas and, while I had some idea of what to expect, I didn't foresee a little, late-night jaunt with Mylo being such a complicated event. But as we saunter past the roulette tables, hardened gamblers drop their poker chips and sit slack-jawed at the sight of us. And in fairness, I can understand their shock. A nine-month old baby most definitely does not belong in a casino, especially at 3:30am. There are, however, some mitigating circumstances here. Allow me to explain: the boy is jet-lagged and for his little body it's actually 6:30am-- the time he normally wakes up. Furthermore, I wasn't the one who designed the hotel with a front door on the far side of the casino! My intention is simply to take Mylo out for a walk, buy my wife a few more hours of sleep in our hotel room, and hopefully exhaust the boy enough to get him back to sleep. Honorable enough, in my estimation. I'd like to explain this to the people staring at us but I don't have the energy. I've slept about 3 hours and, to be honest, I'm not in the best of moods. I'm also resentful of the feeling that I need to explain my sense of ethics to a group of drunken gamblers and over-stimulated, libido-gone-wild, twenty-something-year olds.
Through loud music, scantily clad cocktail waitresses, and the intoxicating ringing of bells and whistles, we make our way to the front door and emerge outside. Any notions I may have had about things being calmer and quieter outside, however, are immediately dispelled. I wasn't expecting soothing, moonlit strolls down cobblestone paths, I wasn't that naive, but, seriously, how could I have foreseen the half-naked (yes, that half) homeless guy getting tackled to the ground and arrested by the police? How could I have prepared for the drunken prostitute asking if she could rent my stroller? Or the throngs of tattooed fraternity brothers drunkenly shouting 'Vegas, baby, Vegas'? Eventually I spot a semi-quiet path off to the side which Mylo and I duck down. It turns out to be the entrance to Bally's Casino, and it's quite peaceful, which may not be such a good sign for Bally's but it suits our needs perfectly. The tree-lined path offers the illusion of pastoral calm, and the water in the fountain provides some white noise. It's just my speed. We hunker down here for a while, enjoying a brief respite from the storm.
Eventually, we return to the hotel. We walk back through the casino, suffering even more stares, and spend another hour hacking around in the lobby of our hotel. Mylo loves new places, and he loves to watch people even more. From our perch on a sofa in the corner, the huge hotel lobby offers plenty of both. Mylo bounces up and down in my lap and screams with excitement. At about 5am we return to the room, and shortly after Reedu wakes up and takes Mylo. Having reached a place beyond tired, I collapse into bed and am asleep before my eyelids even shut.
Looking back, I have to admit that our little adventure was fun. I certainly don't plan on taking any future late-night casino strolls with Mylo, but through the haze of sleep deprivation and cigarette smoke there was a feeling of excitement that I think we shared. We were seeing the crazy world through the same little window. We were together, in a bubble, looking out at a wild scene, and while it's probably a good thing that Mylo's too young to process it all, or even to remember it for that matter, I'll never forget it. We had an adventure. And it was fun.
Now, this is my first time in Las Vegas and, while I had some idea of what to expect, I didn't foresee a little, late-night jaunt with Mylo being such a complicated event. But as we saunter past the roulette tables, hardened gamblers drop their poker chips and sit slack-jawed at the sight of us. And in fairness, I can understand their shock. A nine-month old baby most definitely does not belong in a casino, especially at 3:30am. There are, however, some mitigating circumstances here. Allow me to explain: the boy is jet-lagged and for his little body it's actually 6:30am-- the time he normally wakes up. Furthermore, I wasn't the one who designed the hotel with a front door on the far side of the casino! My intention is simply to take Mylo out for a walk, buy my wife a few more hours of sleep in our hotel room, and hopefully exhaust the boy enough to get him back to sleep. Honorable enough, in my estimation. I'd like to explain this to the people staring at us but I don't have the energy. I've slept about 3 hours and, to be honest, I'm not in the best of moods. I'm also resentful of the feeling that I need to explain my sense of ethics to a group of drunken gamblers and over-stimulated, libido-gone-wild, twenty-something-year olds.
Through loud music, scantily clad cocktail waitresses, and the intoxicating ringing of bells and whistles, we make our way to the front door and emerge outside. Any notions I may have had about things being calmer and quieter outside, however, are immediately dispelled. I wasn't expecting soothing, moonlit strolls down cobblestone paths, I wasn't that naive, but, seriously, how could I have foreseen the half-naked (yes, that half) homeless guy getting tackled to the ground and arrested by the police? How could I have prepared for the drunken prostitute asking if she could rent my stroller? Or the throngs of tattooed fraternity brothers drunkenly shouting 'Vegas, baby, Vegas'? Eventually I spot a semi-quiet path off to the side which Mylo and I duck down. It turns out to be the entrance to Bally's Casino, and it's quite peaceful, which may not be such a good sign for Bally's but it suits our needs perfectly. The tree-lined path offers the illusion of pastoral calm, and the water in the fountain provides some white noise. It's just my speed. We hunker down here for a while, enjoying a brief respite from the storm.
Eventually, we return to the hotel. We walk back through the casino, suffering even more stares, and spend another hour hacking around in the lobby of our hotel. Mylo loves new places, and he loves to watch people even more. From our perch on a sofa in the corner, the huge hotel lobby offers plenty of both. Mylo bounces up and down in my lap and screams with excitement. At about 5am we return to the room, and shortly after Reedu wakes up and takes Mylo. Having reached a place beyond tired, I collapse into bed and am asleep before my eyelids even shut.
Looking back, I have to admit that our little adventure was fun. I certainly don't plan on taking any future late-night casino strolls with Mylo, but through the haze of sleep deprivation and cigarette smoke there was a feeling of excitement that I think we shared. We were seeing the crazy world through the same little window. We were together, in a bubble, looking out at a wild scene, and while it's probably a good thing that Mylo's too young to process it all, or even to remember it for that matter, I'll never forget it. We had an adventure. And it was fun.
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| Still exhausted. (Mylo's peeking out from behind the sofa). |
Sunday, April 24, 2011
No Other Word For It
Through my first 37 years of life I was not a great practitioner of the word 'cute'. As a new father I suddenly find myself elbow deep in it.
I find this video devastatingly cute.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
My 3am Values
One of the less spectacular discoveries I've made as a father is that at 3am, almost everything is negotiable if the reward is sleep. Every possession, every dream, every deeply held belief-- they're all on the chopping block. If I cut off my right arm I can sleep for another hour, you say? That's doable, lets discuss. I would steal, I would burn, I would happily sack and pillage entire villages in exchange for just a few more minutes of blessed sleep.
And so it was around 3am, I believe, as I stood, blurry-eyed, exhausted, half-naked, and plunging the overflowing toilet, that I started to question my decision to use environmentally friendly, disposable gDiapers. What about climate change, you ask? A vast left-wing conspiracy, I say, as the dirty water lapped over the top of the toilet rim and splashed on my bare feet.
Let me start at the beginning: Reedu and I are both aware that thousands of tons of soiled diapers lie in land fills across the country. These diapers take a long time to decompose. Which means, basically, that a long time after I'm gone, my kid's crappy diaper will still be here. Which is not good. So Reedu and I found gDiapers, and breathed a sigh of relief. gDiapers use disposable inserts inside of a reusable, outer shell. Once soiled, the inserts are torn in half, dropped in the toilet and flushed away to some happy, earth-friendly after life. At least that's what they're supposed to do. Unfortunately, the problem with gDiapers, in my experience, is that about 30% of the time they don't flush.
Fast forward to 3am. My feet are wet. My arms are tired. My toilet is clogged. And my old, Hungarian superintendent will want to know why the hell I tried to flush a diaper down the toilet when I call him in the morning-- 'ze diepahs ah not for ze toilet'!
I know there are other options. We could use cloth diapers, or buy Seventh Generation biodegradable diapers. And we probably will try something else. But, alas, gDiapers, we had such high hopes for thee.
And so it was around 3am, I believe, as I stood, blurry-eyed, exhausted, half-naked, and plunging the overflowing toilet, that I started to question my decision to use environmentally friendly, disposable gDiapers. What about climate change, you ask? A vast left-wing conspiracy, I say, as the dirty water lapped over the top of the toilet rim and splashed on my bare feet.
Let me start at the beginning: Reedu and I are both aware that thousands of tons of soiled diapers lie in land fills across the country. These diapers take a long time to decompose. Which means, basically, that a long time after I'm gone, my kid's crappy diaper will still be here. Which is not good. So Reedu and I found gDiapers, and breathed a sigh of relief. gDiapers use disposable inserts inside of a reusable, outer shell. Once soiled, the inserts are torn in half, dropped in the toilet and flushed away to some happy, earth-friendly after life. At least that's what they're supposed to do. Unfortunately, the problem with gDiapers, in my experience, is that about 30% of the time they don't flush.
Fast forward to 3am. My feet are wet. My arms are tired. My toilet is clogged. And my old, Hungarian superintendent will want to know why the hell I tried to flush a diaper down the toilet when I call him in the morning-- 'ze diepahs ah not for ze toilet'!
I know there are other options. We could use cloth diapers, or buy Seventh Generation biodegradable diapers. And we probably will try something else. But, alas, gDiapers, we had such high hopes for thee.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
I Am Moron, Hear Me Roar.
Mylo is 8 months old today. We celebrated by dancing around the living room to his favorite song: Rolling in the Deep, by Adele. Alright, I don't know if it's his favorite song for sure, but I can say unequivocally that he really likes to dance to it. Especially that part in the middle where the drums kick in and the bass starts jamming. He goes wild during that part.
Having a child is an excellent excuse to throw off the shackles of humility, make silly noises, and jump around like an utter buffoon. I take full advantage of these opportunities and, truth be told, it feels good. Really good. Of course, I'm an excellent dancer (or at least my wife, Reedu, tells me so), but, just the same, I don't get too many opportunities to really cut loose these days. Unfortunately, the older I get, the more serious life has become. There's debt and sickness, insurance and careers, death and anxiety, and... sometimes I just need to dance. Because if I didn't hop around like an imbecile and make childish noises, if I didn't have that release, I think I'd probably go nuts. Interesting paradox: at the moment when I probably appear the most insane, I actually feel the most grounded.
Happy 8 months Mylo! I love you with all of my heart and I'm so impressed with all of the growing you've done in your short time here. Good work. I have a great idea: lets do some dancing tomorrow!
Having a child is an excellent excuse to throw off the shackles of humility, make silly noises, and jump around like an utter buffoon. I take full advantage of these opportunities and, truth be told, it feels good. Really good. Of course, I'm an excellent dancer (or at least my wife, Reedu, tells me so), but, just the same, I don't get too many opportunities to really cut loose these days. Unfortunately, the older I get, the more serious life has become. There's debt and sickness, insurance and careers, death and anxiety, and... sometimes I just need to dance. Because if I didn't hop around like an imbecile and make childish noises, if I didn't have that release, I think I'd probably go nuts. Interesting paradox: at the moment when I probably appear the most insane, I actually feel the most grounded.
Happy 8 months Mylo! I love you with all of my heart and I'm so impressed with all of the growing you've done in your short time here. Good work. I have a great idea: lets do some dancing tomorrow!
Saturday, April 2, 2011
To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
Mylo slept until 7:20am this morning. I could cry with happiness. I slept about 8 hours. I haven't slept 8 hours in a row in about 8 months, which, not incidentally, happens to be how old Mylo is.
Ah, my old friend sleep. I've missed you so.
Ah, my old friend sleep. I've missed you so.
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