Dear Mister Fantasy...

I know this Traffic song has nothing to do with children. At least I hope a bunch of late 60s psychedelic rockers were staying away from children with song titles like "No Face No Name No Number", "House For Everyone", and the telling counter-culture title-- "Dealer". I've heard "Dear Mr. Fanatsy" at least 1,000 times without paying much attention to the lyrics. However, I've always thought it was cool that Steve Winwood was a teenager when he sang this song, but that it's almost like he maxed out too early--fading away until the semi-redemptive 80s mega-pop hit, "Higher Love". I'd say his best work was long done at that point. I suppose it's an efficient life practice to reach your pinnacle at 18 years of age, but then its a long road back to earth from there. For the rest of us--it's all a marathon. Our greatest moments are to come.

That's it. I wouldn't have thought anymore about it until the other night when neither the EGB or I could sleep. We got out of our respective cribs. Walked over to the living room. Turned the lamp on low. Cracked the blinds for a view of the stars and hit play on "Mr. Fantasy".

"Dear Mister Fantasy play us a tune
Something to make us all happy
Do anything take us out of this gloom
Sing a song, play guitar
Make it snappy

You are the one who can make us all laugh
But doing that you break out in tears
Please don't be sad if it was a straight mind you had
We wouldn't have known you all these years"

I could tell EGB was really digging the tunes, but had a faraway gaze fixed in her eyes. Then she turned to me and said,

EGB: Sometimes I feel like I'm your Mr. Fantasy. Brought here to be your source of happy.

Me: Really, but you don't even play guitar?

EGB: I know. It doesn't matter. You and your fellow adults are always looking for something outside of you to make you happy.

Me: Aren't we all?

EGB: Yes, in some ways, but us children are a renewable bank account of happy. We emanate the happy. We dispense it all day and eventually run out until the next deposit. It's our currency. You adults are always looking for some happiness from us. We share it. You consume it--you want it snappy. I don't mind giving...In fact, I don't even think about it much, but know that I'll make you laugh and in doing so, I'll break out in tears. If you adults would just find more of this happy in yourselves and stop "robbing" us--maybe we'd all cry less.

Me: That's heavy, man. Heavy.

EGB: Yeah it is. I know you don't know any better. That's why I'm telling you.

Me: Thanks. Want a cookie?

We ate cookies and drank milk long into the dark night........Like I said--it's a marathon. EGB is just helping me stay in shape.

Hot dang! It's a Jewish Little Richard! And her sidekick--Ariya the Flower Child. Goodness gracious great balls of macaroons!!!

599 Day Report

EGB is 19 1/2 months old. I'm not sure when to stop quantifying her life in months, but for now it's a helluva lot easier than days (599 not including today), or minutes (862,560), or seconds (51,753,600), or diapers (986,562,365,520,000,). I'm not sure how many diapers that is but I'm sure it's more than a kadrillion bazillion, which is a lot.


Speaking of diapers--


The good: We're using less of them. She's taken a strong interest in her own potty which is basically a bucket with squishy foam on top. Actually she may be taking too strong of an interest these days....her school notified us that she "fell in" the toilet. I'm not sure what it means to fall in a toilet other than imagining a scene of wild monkeys swinging from vine to vine only to slip into the swamp. It's not hard to imagine EGB as a wild monkey. It's quite easy actually. So she must have run and done a triple lindy into the commode. That's our girl.


Anyway, her personal potty bucket at home is conveniently placed next to a rack of magazines which she adamantly demands to be read to her as she focuses on doing her excreting. (This is the part where I start to talk about pee-pee and doodie, so for the squeamish, now would be a good time to look at another blog about fairies or cotton candy. Not here. This is for the die-hards that want to know what real life in the trenches with EGB, the doo-doo monkey, is like.) It's laughs because the magazine selection is basically "Cooks Illustrated" which is essentially black and white pencil drawings. So while EGB is attempting to do her thing, we're chanting, "Pee pee in the pot-ty. Hey. Pee pee in the pot-ty. Hey. Pee pee in the pot-ty. Hey." like we're doing the Conga line at a Bar Mitzvah. Then she's pointing to the "Cooks Illustrated" drawings repeating after me, "Chicken breast. Brisket. Garlic press. Chris Kimball." It's a bizarre scene. After she goes we all high five and fist bump our way back to her room.


Along the same lines. EGB saw her doodie for the first time. For all these months it's just been something that happens "down there". No worries. Pappa D or Dairy Queen will take care of it. She doesn't have to see it, address it, or handle it. The other day she accidentally "dropped some kids off in the pool" (actually it was one rather large child) in her bucket and stood up to take a look at the carnage. She looked at me like she'd seen a ghost. I looked at her like I'd seen a ghost. It was freaky. I got myself collected, looked EGB in the eye, cracked a smile, and changed the Conga song-- "Poo poo in the pot-ty. Hey. Poo poo in the pot-ty. Hey. Poo poo in the pot-ty. Hey" We all danced around the fire beating our chests until the wee hours of the morning like a bunch of cavemen.


The bad: They're now really heavy and stank up the whole block.


Doo-doo talk is over. The squeamish may now return to the lighter side of EGB.


For those of you that have recently spent time with EGB, you know she can get her talk ON for a little one. She's got the vocabulary of an English professor. She can talk and copy you like a parrot. So don't be using cursing around here or we'll have our hands on a 19-month-old Chris Rock stand-up getting kicked out of pre-school to live a life in a string of bad movies. I was reading that the more words that one knows the higher one can climb up the evolutionary ladder. Up the evolutionary ladder? I'm just not seeing it yet. It's more like an evolutionary ladder and slide. There's a lot of movement, but it all occupies the same space. An evolutionary vortex. Black hole.


EGB just meanders through the house looking for things to verbally identify. "Momma's jacket. Ellie's Jacket. Daddy's shoes. Doggie. Kitty. Wall. Batteries. And on and on and on." The kid can repeat. If repeating was a sport or a job. EGB would be the Lebron James and Bill Gates of the repeating world. One would think it'd get old to say the same thing 5,000 times in succession, but not EGB. Noooooooooooo. When I'm on an important phone call, EGB thinks that's the perfect time to stand in front of the refrigerator, pull on the handle, and yell, "Meee-yulk, mee-yulk, mee-yulk, mee-yulk....... times 5,000". And don't think you'll win the battle. I've tried. Ignoring doesn't work. It only adds fuel--especially when it comes to milk. I didn't know there were so many ways to say milk until I met EGB.


"Hi. My name is Pappa D and my daughter is a milk-a-holic." True. We're all dealing with it quite well, but it's gonna take some time to deal with.


Other 19 1/2 month stats:

• EGB tries to jump. She knows all the motions of jumping except for the key element of feet leaving the ground. Try jumping with cement boots. That's what EGB looks like.
• Loves crayons.
• Favorite song is Itsy-Bitsy Spider, but when presented with a plastic toy spider is not happy.
• New molars are cutting in.
• Loves school.
• Uses spoon (has been for a few months) to take food and throw at the dog and cat. They circle her high chair like a team of piranas waiting to attack.
• Thinks every store should have a mechanical horsey like the one by our house.
• Believes that there is an omnipresent vault of cookies that can dispense goodies at all times. So yelling "cookies" all day seems to make sense to her.
• And much more.....to be told at the 20 month party.

This is an oldie, but makes me laugh every time. This is what 3-month olds who live in a basket should look like.
Is this why you had me? To be your housekeeper? That's ok, but I ain't doin' it for free. I'm not cheap. They have laws, you know? I'll take my first payment in cheese.
My new blocks are sweet. I chewed a hole in them and now can see you.
Lounging and storing milk in the cheeks.
Ummmm. Who dressed me? Mamma is channeling that inner hippy spirit and using me as her canvas. I'm free spirited and love Jefferson Airplane and The Grateful Dead. I'm looking for a job in the Haight right now.

Naturrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre.

A few rapid fire pics to tide you over until the next time.

EGB is addicting. If you need help please call the EGB-Anonymous hotline. Operators are standing by to assist you.

Tree hugging. Our little hippy. She's already organizing rallies at school. No More Naps! No More Naps! No More Naps!

Sometimes I just go out in nature and reflect on the world. But I usually poop in my diaper and it messes up my train of thought.
Where is the trailhead?

Brief Hiatus. Now Get Yur Friday Goin' On

Where have we been?

The emails have been pouring in--

"I've been trapped in my basement on my computer hitting the "refresh" button on my computer non-stop for the past two weeks. I've got carpal tunnel now. Are you going to update your blog before my eyes atrophy and my ass fuses to my chair?"

--Said one relative

"I'm glad you haven't posted forever. Now my blog isn't the last place blog on the internet. Yours is. Eat my cyber dust."

--Said one of my daddy blogging arch-enemies

"I'm on meds now. Thanks. Thanks for ruining my Hanukkah. All you had to do was type a few words. Put up a picture or two of the EGB. But no. You couldn't even do that. You suck."

--Said our Rabbi

Back off people. We're not takin' it. There's been interstate traveling, violent illnesses, weather mishaps, weird hotel rooms, foiled new years eve plans, work/school deadlines, beers, leprechauns, penguins, foreign legionnaires, attacking snow, Russian spies, and potty training. That's just the beginning.

Bye 2009. It's 2010. The year of........I'm not sure yet, but I'll be sure to let you know when I find out. EGB has resolutions. Unfortunately, we'll have to save that for another day. I gotta go--EGB is hollering something. We're trying to wean her from her obsessed self-induced neurophysics studies. The all night textbook reading by nightlight was getting out of hand and affecting her performance on the slide. She's screaming out right now, "OPTIMAL CORRELATION CODES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I don't even know what that means, but this has got to stop.

So you can stop hitting "refresh" for a minute and gaze over some recent pics. Stay diaper fresh people. See ya on the moon.

A precursor of things to come........

Dang, Logan! Whatchu eat for breakfast?!? You swolled up and stopped this sled in its tracks. Push this thing G-Pa!

Man, this Big Sky thing is cool. Actually not cool. Cold. But I'm hot. Icy hot. See that fire? I started that with lasers that I shot out of my cheeks. Laser cheeks. It's my newest venture.
Where ma dawgs at? Oh snap. There you are--like a pack of wild Twinkies. Soft, fluffy, and dirty.
Ummm. This is a parade? Golden better get some better talent next year. Nap time please.
I'm not sure what's going on here. I'll have to blame the indiscretions of being high on milk. That's the only way to explain the hair, shoe, stirrup pant combo. I'm sorry to all my fans that expect a higher fashion standard from me. It won't happen again. Tiger, I feel your pain man.