Happy 1,000,000,000,000th Anniversary

So it was 3 years ago to the day that we stood under the stars of Estes Park and proclaimed our undying, timeless, everlasting love for each other. The moon and the mountains moved under our feet, trembling in awe of the power of our love. Aliens were slated to destroy our universe but instead were brought to their scrawny knees and found themselves frolicking in the celestial sands by the forces our loving aura. Even the most hardened criminals in prison were holding hands and embracing each other (admittedly they may do that anyway, but I wouldn't know anything about doing hard time....soft time? Maybe.) African nations and their citizens' whose great-great-great-great-great-great grandparents didn't get along....still didn't get along.

Oh well, but for a split second of "I do" there was peace in our universe. I vividly remember pulling out my scrap paper with my vows scribbled all over and being taken down by the invisible forces of emotion. It doesn't get more honest than that. I am truly eternally grateful for the rock of support provided by my wife, family, and friends. Thanks to all that came to the celebration both in person and spirit. Even if you got snowed on, rained on, sun-ed on, loved on--we came to do work. That was one kick-ass party.

By the way it is a point of contention in our household about the anniversary tally. The Dairy Queen believes that the anniversary should encompass the 400 years that we dated prior to the "I do". Essentially it is her belief that we should get "credit" for all the hard time that we did together. As if there is some prize bank to cash in your anniversary chips at the end of the road. While that's a noble thought, it's a timeless adventure for us all. It's all a fart in the wind. Yes, it happens....but all too quickly it will be gone. So to Jay and to the rest of you--Happy Anniversary and may we celebrate for eternity.
"Hey baby. What's for dinner?"
Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad. I'm glad you met each other and found me at the grocery store! Quit that kissin' and feed me.
What's a blog post without almost getting slayed by a cute pic of The EGB?
Whatyu say Dad? NO! I will not tell Mom that you like her-like her. That's gross.

Boogie Down Baby

This past weekend we took EGB aka the wild child to meet up with approximately 5,000 other mini savages to beat on plastic objects and "musical instruments". Notice the quotations as these "instruments" were really plastic germ portals masked as instruments that were at numerous times used as weapons against humanity. This event was called Baby Boogie, which was located in a bohemian style (translation: tofu pizza with soy cheese and beers with the density of cement--understand?) pizzeria pub.

The concept was brilliant--for 5 hours every Sunday, they transform a civil pizzeria into a lawless haven for over stimulated, under sized, crazed up youngsters. The intention and illusion is that the drool monsters will occupy themselves with musical instruments and dance while the guardians eat gourmet pizza, sip wine, and discuss the topics of the day. The reality is that planets and stars collide in a volatile manner which disrupts any sense of tranquility and causes kids to run into tables and violently attack inanimate objects. The mob mentality takes over and your child will be possessed by demons for 5 hours.

But somehow in all the chaos, there was peace. I think the peace is rooted in the communal struggle that everyone in that pizzeria endured. There was no uneasy feeling that any one child was out of control or concern that there was a disruption of a civil dining environment at the expense of a loose child whose intention was to beat on a keyboard for 20 minutes straight while screaming, "Pizzzaaaaaaah!!!!" over and over and over. (Side note--there is only one lesson that needs to be taught in kid product development business class. Lesson #1- kids love repetition...a lot.) I suppose it's like being in the light and variable winds in the eye of a hurricane. Finding peace in chaos has been a recurring theme of parenthood. EGB has taught me more than I anticipated. She's the best teacher I've ever had. And, by the way, EGB was the best behaved out of all the 5,000 dirty miscreants.

Needless to say that no adult conversation was ever completed. Nor was a beer completely consumed. I put down my first beer and it disappeared. I noticed a kid who looked a bit wobbly.....maybe he drank it. Then again most kids are wobbly.

Rule #1 at Baby Boogie--Find an instrument to boogie with.  Preferably one that is not being used, but if it is, say please and yank it out of child's hands.
Rule #2--Place instrument in mouth to make sure it tastes nasty like all other instruments.
Rule #3--Play a Steely Dan song.  Old people love that.
This Dairy Queen smile really says, "I'm about to go postal with some pizza.  I hear a lot of noises in my head.  They're telling me to throw chairs."Hey, I found Sunni and Mia...they're my friends.  We know each other from math class.

I'm heading for the hills...these kids are wacko.
It's bright.  I need my shades before I go on stage!

This is Sarah.  She's a groupie.  Some days it's hard being a rock star, but my groupies always take care of me.
Papa has the crazy eye.  Must have been that stinky boy who kicked his shin.  I'll fight him for you Papa.
What's this?  I'm a drummer!  And I told you I need bottled milk in my room!  Where's my agent?
There she is.  Agent Mamma Queen......Showing me how to use this set of keys.

Dang...the concert wore me out.  Don't come knockin'.  I'm out for the count!

EGB Is The Gerber Baby

Yup. That happy, healthy face recognized all over the interplanetary galactic system--EGB. We've gotten several comments that the great EGB resembles the Gerber Baby. I guess I see it. Gerber Baby--cute. EGB--cute. Gerber baby--happy. EGB--happy. Gerber Baby--a drawing. EGB--human.

I'm not sure if there is a way to capitalize on this likeness? Maybe we can start our own line of baby food. "Eat EGB because it's taste-eee".....Or maybe we could enter one of those baby picture contest where no one wins and you begin to get truckloads of junkmail about some civil war commemorative plates and stamps with your dog's picture on them. Or maybe we can just go in the grocery store and take Gerber food for free.

"Excuse me, Sir. Where are you going with all that baby food that you didn't pay for?"

"That's my kid on the bottle. She's the Gerber Baby. I'm the Gerber Daddy. We're the Gerber family. That's our food. See, look at the baby in the car seat."

"Wow, that is the Gerber baby! Will she sign this bottle of mashed peas?"

"She can't write yet, but when she can I'll bring her in for some autographs."

"Great! Have a nice day, sir. Sorry to bother you."

The following pictures are from a meeting with Aunt Allie in Denver. She was here for a marketing event and the photographer had some down time to photograph the world's most recognized baby. The EGB. Soon to be on food bottles near you.



See. It's the Gerber baby.
Whoo. Whoo. Ha. Ha. I'm a baby gorilla. Seen Jane Goodall? She's been chasing me with that camera for years.


Work the camera girl. Tyra Banks is going down. Suri you're next.
I know she's our kid...but, she's got to be in the 1200% percentile for cuteness. Those eyes say, "I'm dangerous. I'm gonna slap you with a wallop of cute."
Aunt Allie, Dairy Queen, and cousin to be hammin it up for the camera.
How's my breath?

The "Special" BBQ for Kids.

So we went to this bbq at our friend Tom/Haley/Steven's house. Lil' Steven is a couple of months older than EGB and is already asking her to prom. I don't approve of prom before the age of 2, but kids these days...

This was a "special" bbq in the sense that the baby to adult ratio was 8 to 1. Basically, you HAD to bring a baby or 4 ..or you were banished to the corner of the yard and were forced to talk about non-baby topics like happy hour, exotic vacations, and going to bed at 2AM because you were out having fun (not because it was milk feeding time).

This was "special" for us as it alleviated any of the are-we-going-to-be-the-only-one-at-this-party-with-a-milk-wizard fears. In fact, at one point I went inside to walk into a mass feeding-frenzy going on in the dining room. I think several kids were throwing food on their foreheads and several others were spitting mashed peas on the floor---I suppose it was a glimpse into the near future with EGB and the myriad of experiences that solid foods will bring. I'm not afraid. Yet.

Then I went back outside to swim through the seas of kids, dogs, baby bjorns, and snacks to find my clan. On the way someone yelled out, "(forgotten baby name added here) don't eat that! It was manufactured in China and is dripping with toxic lead paint!" My first response was to laugh...I know that wasn't appropriate, but come on, it's funny when babies put random things in their mouths even though that's the last thing they should be doing. I wonder why in the grand design of things that babies do this? It's truly backwards because now we parents have to spend the next 10 years telling EGB, "Don't put that in your mouth." Maybe we're not supposed to do that and in actuality all the problems in the world could be solved by putting more things in our mouths. For example:

"Did you get a chance to look at that proposal today?" Said boss.

"No, but I put it in my mouth and it tasted good." Said employee.

"Ok, proposal accepted then." Said boss.

See? Problem solved. By the way, the whole toxic-lead-paint thing turned out to be a joke. Now that was funny. Whew! I thought my kid was going to be poisoned, but now it's just a joke. Ha. Ha. Ha. Sooo Soooo funny.

Tom worked the BBQ Pork out. 12 hours on the smoker....cross-eyed from hickory overdose.

Several things: My boss Richard is not a responsible babysitter. Notice the beer within reach of EGB? Notice how her dress matches the beer? Notice that she was placed in an oversized football helmet?
EGB wants to thank the many people for holding her at the party. Without them she would have remained in the oversized football helmet until the season started. We developed a new pilot for a tv show, Baby Swap. It's a new show on Fox where babies get swapped for other babies for the duration of the football season. EGB entertained many offers, but none were high enough for her to leave us this season. Whew, it was a close one.Haley examining the goods. EGB was almost traded for Steven...but the deal was nixed at the last minute when it was revealed that EGB doesn't have a job with benefits. She's got benefits--just no job.EGB was happy with Sue, and really enjoyed the perfectly executed textbook "right arm vertical baby clutch hold" but ultimately opted to stay with us based purely on the Dairy Queen's bountiful milk supply. By the way, Sue was practicing for her baby launch on 8.8.08. Same day as Olympics opening day. Go Sue Go.
Sunny contemplating keeping EGB, but contractual obligations to her pending little one forced her to return EGB back to us. However, EGB thanks her for "two-armed horizontal snuggle hold". Very warm and comforting.

The Tarzan Swing Gets Returned!

Please refer to the June 18th entry in which I referred to the battery-powered Tarzan swing as a miracle problem solver. I take that back. That was not the truth. In fact, I think whomever designed the swing actually hates me and was trying to punish me for all those bad things I did when I was a kid. The more the chair's features were utilized to "relax" EGB the more she roared. At one point, I believe she yelled, "THIS CHAIR IS TERRIBLE!!!!! TURN OFF THE STUPID ELEVATOR MUSIC!! I'D PREFER 5,000 PAPER CUTS!!!! NOW I GOT A DIAPER WEDGIEEEEEE!!" Or something like that.

So who is this swing for? It's for parents that wish to induce colic in their newborns. If this is you, then this swing is right up your alley. That should be the slogan of this product, "Tarzan Swing Chair-Why Be Happy? Induce Colic in Your Newborn." or "Tarzan Swing Chair--Pay Us Money and We Guarantee Your Newborn Will Never Sleep". I spent all weekend trying to think of an enemy that was having a child so that I could send them this chair as a "gift". There was no one that I would wish this swing on.

I've been thinking of ways to exact my revenge upon the swing creators. I thought about going to Taiwan and throwing diapers at the swing-creator's house at 3AM, but I've heard they don't tolerate that kind of business there. And I'm not about to end up in a foreign prison over some chair.

So we just boxed up the swing, which of course doesn't even come close to fitting back into the box because it was originally packed by a rocket scientist. Loaded up the family wagon and took the happy family on our daily pilgrimage to the Babies-R-Milk-Addicts store to see if they'll accept the torture swing in exchange for anything.

They better take this swing back or I'm going to protest at the Democratic National Convention. The Dairy Queen first gracefully gained the cashier's trust . Then went for the kill and returned the swing with flying colors! Now, the lady in the picture on left glaring at me--SHE looks like she may be real trouble.
EGB oblivious to the chaos, but remarkably happier now that the swing has been eradicated. Another mission accomplished by Papa Dangerous and his side-kick, Dairy Queen.

Side note: On the way in the store I saw this lost pacifier in the parking lot. At first, I thought it was funny. Then I realized that it was sad as it couldn't have been the only lost pacifier. Therefore, please join me for a moment of silence in remembrance of all the lost pacifiers that have lost their companions. More importantly, let us hope that the parents of these companions didn't have a trip home from hell because their baby's binky was in a Babies R Us parking lot getting run over by minivans, instead of their child's mouth doing it's work.

Nursing in the park..

Anyone with a kid knows this story:

You're out. Baby's hungry. It's hot out. Baby is crying in car seat. Dad is sweating. Mom is inside running errand. Dad finds shady spot next to a tree to park car. Mom takes longer than expected. Dad turns the radio up. Baby cries a primal scream. Dad turns radio down. Dad changes diaper in back of car. Cop pulls up. Dad sweats some more. Dad thinks about bad things he did when he was a kid. Cop says car can't be parked in no-parking zone. Dad cries and avoids ticket. Mom comes to rescue. Feed baby in the park. Mission accomplished.

"Gimme dat milk or I'll doo-doo"
"Dang, this park is bright. I need some shades up in here."
"Gimme your cellphone. I'm gonna call the Dairy Queen for a triple-whole-milk-latte"

"Thank you for visiting my crib...now you gots to leave. Milk coma-out"

Jay a.k.a. The Dairy Queen

I have to say I have even more respect than ever for my wonderful wife, partner, and friend Jay. Watching her kick butt in labor and jump right into feeding EGB proved to me that women are tougher then us and that being The Dairy Queen for EGB is no easy task. I love her and look forward to parenthood with her.