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More hair-raising adventures

2010-03-11T05:32:00Z

A few days ago, around the same time that Edward Shelbihands was halfway to giving Elliott the either the Kid n Play haircut, there was another hair-related fiasco at the Sherman household. it involved our dog. Einstein is a pomeranian/American Eskimo mix. I envision that when God created this dog he simply took the clippings that were left on the floor of Heaven's barbershop (The Curly Gates) and mashed them together with a rather unreliable adhesive before sending it into our lives.

Needless to say there are times when I have thought I had been petting Einstein for the previous 15 minutes but actually had been stroking a huge clump of fur he had left behind a few days earlier. It was time to take him in for a bath, nail clipping and a trim at the local Petco. I should have known things would not go entirely smoothly when one of the first things I had to say to the groomer was "I hope it's not difficult to get banana out of his fur. (Elliott loves it when Einstein comes over to clean up after him during a meal so much that he routinely makes it rain with an assortment of fruit, vegetables and yogurt.)

The groomer ran one hand through Einstein's coat and immediately called in the head groomer. He informed me that Einstein's undercoat was so badly matted that he would need to be shaved. I have to admit that we have been less that stellar dog owners in the past year and a half as the dog has seen the attention he gets slashed by about 300%. I instantly felt guilty. We shave Einstein every spring, usually in April or May, but never before have I had to sign a waiver giving Petco permission to administer emergency care if something went wrong. Really? For a shave? Did his hair start growing internally? Was there so much of it that it was crushing him?

I returned four hours later to pick up our new dog. I mean that in more than one way. First, Einstein looks nothing like himself after he's been shaved. His legs are disproportionately long, his mane is trimmed, his tail is poofy. He looks like an arctic fox mated with an enormous albino sewer rat. It's cuter than it sounds. Secondly, Einstein acts differently when he is shaved. He hangs out in his corner, he sighs much more frequently and he hates going outside. I think this is party because he gets cold but actually has more to do with him being mortified to be seen this way by the boxers next door who hate him and already have more than enough ammunition to make fun of him.

I pulled into our driveway and Einstein was clawing to get out so that he could tell Shelbi about how I let him be tortured at Petco and also so that he could get inside as quickly as possible without anyone else seeing him. He ran through the door enthusiastically. Shelbi put Elliott down to greet him... and Elliott shrieked and cowered. He started shaking with fear and clamored for Shelbi to pick him up. Now, Elliott is a bit of a scaredy cat. He cowers when confronted with most living animals, he shies away from realistic looking stuffed animals, he is petrified of being carried down stairs and he is scared of tree branches that are above his head. However, Elliott LOVES Einstein. He loves hugging Einstein, he loves chasing him, he loves feeding him, he loves pulling his hair, he loves getting kisses and he even loves getting snapped at by Einstein. It's his favorite toy in the world.

But Elliott was petrified of whatever this was that we had brought into the house. We kept saying over and over "Elliott! it's your Einstein! It's Einstein!" And that only freaked him out more. And who can blame him? At this stage, Elliott trusts what he can see above anything else. We were telling him this was Einstein and it clearly wasn't. This was a fast moving, barking, jumping worst nightmare. So, in Elliott's mind, one of two things had occurred. Either Einstein had been killed in some sort of factory accident and his disfigured form had returned from Hell to haunt us, or we had swapped Einstein out for this abomination that we were now trying to pass off as his best friend. Sorry Mom and Dad. No sale.

Shelbi and I were at a loss. Our son and dog could not coexist with Elliott literally shaking with fear at the mere sound of Einstein's paws tapping on the floor from down the hall. With Einstein at her feet, Shelbi put Elliott in her lap and brought up pictures on our computer of last spring. She showed him pictures of a shaved Einstein sitting next to baby Elliott. Amazingly, it seemed to work. After a minute, Elliott would look at the picture and then look down at Einstein. We asked him where Einstein was and he finally started to point to him. But it still took him another 24 hours before Elliott would approach the dog without trepidation.

Crisis averted but I have to admit that I am about a month overdue for a haircut myself and I'm not looking forward to the potential repercussions.

This is one of my favorite all-time photos. It was taken shortly after

we shaved Einstein last spring. They were not posed like this. That

perfect symmetry occurred naturally.

1st haircut! (2nd haircut is tomorrow)

2010-03-07T05:37:00Z

I have been pushing for Elliott to get a haircut for the past three months. He's 14 months and he still doesn't really even have enough to comb but he has been steadily working on a baby mullet for a while now. But every time I broached the subject I was met with "Oh, but I love his curls! He has curls! Don't you love his curls?" Today however, Shelbi somewhat spontaneously relented. For a while I've joked about her coming home to Elliott with a faux-hawk or his initials carved into the back of his head. I guess she thought there was a strong enough possibility of this actually happening that she took matters into her own hands.

She came out with the clippers first just to trim around his ears. I held him, Shelbi made her move, Elliott jerked. Sure enough, he had a nice little racing stripe above his right ear. Shelbi was mortified, especially since she is taking him to a baby shower tomorrow. But she was determined. She grabbed the scissors while I sang Eye of the Tiger to her. A few minutes later I was in the other room and I heard her shriek.

In what would have been a perfect I Love Lucy sketch, Shelbi's attempts to rectify her first mistake turned even more disastrous as I came into the other room to find a chunk of hair missing from the left side of Elliott's head. She asked if I thought it looked bad and, for the record, saying he looked like Billy Bob Thornton in Sling Blade would not make any Right Things to Say list for that particular moment. And, surprisingly, asking if Elliott wanted 'french fried potaters' for lunch and suggesting to simply put a bowl on his head and shave everything beneath it were not good follow-ups to the situation.

But I thought it was hysterical and the story is worth the money we'll have to spend to have someone try and fix him tomorrow. Below are the results of Elliott's first hair cut.

Here is Shelbi's clean-up attempt. It's a The picture doesn't do the racing stripe

pretty sizable chunk missing but he's above Elliott's ear justice. But when I can

already rocking the curl combover from tell someone's hair looks weird, it looks

behind. weird.

Enabling

2010-03-04T06:08:00Z

I was enabled as a kid. I admit it and I take responsibility for it happening. My mom often says that I came out of the womb knowing how to get what I wanted. And, quite frankly, I can't blame her for giving in to me. Have you seen pictures of me in elementary school? I'm utterly adorable. The only downside to this is that I'm 90% certain I peaked in life at about the age of 5. I've come to accept that.

Here is a brief Great Moment in Manipulation from my childhood to illustrate my point.

As 6th graders we had an assignment to create a huge ABC book based on a story we read. There had to be a cover, table of contents and one page for each letter. You also had to have entries that displayed literary techniques like alliteration, similes, metaphors, etc... Huge project. I think we had about a month to work on it. I started it the night before it was due and, after 15 minutes of working by myself at our table, promptly broke down into tears as it was entirely overwhelming. Cue mom. I received a warranted chastising for being a procrastinator but, after some begging and even more tears, got some help. Don't get me wrong, I was still the conceptual director of this assignment, coming up with the brilliant text and ideas for illustrations, but my mom did the heavy lifting, cutting out construction paper letters and providing the know-how to turn my complex visions for the artwork into reality. Long story short: 149/150. And, honestly, that missing point was a travesty. I'm pretty sure Ms. Hockman, in her first year teaching, couldn't bare to throw out the Nadia Comaneci perfect score right off the bat because, where do you go after that? For other Great Moments in Manipulation please see: "Covered Wagon I Forgot Was Due" and "Pioneer House Every Other Kid Was Getting Help With So Let's Show These Cheating Little Bastards How It's Done, Mom."

With that said, there is no doubt in my mind I'm going to have to check myself from becoming a terrible enabler of Elliott. I was made aware of this the other day while watching Elliott attempt to put his plastic rings on their holder. He is pretty adept at this and whenever he puts one on he has to run over to either myself or Shelbi and clap for himself. But, on this day, he was struggling with the smallest ring. He had the right idea but, three times in a row, it rolled off the top of the holder and agonizingly onto the floor. Instead of waiting for him to figure it out, I felt badly. He was doing it the right way, he just needed some help in the form of me moving the holder to the center of the ring for him so he couldn't possibly fail. I wanted him to be able to clap for himself.

I have also found myself getting legitimately angry at some of this toys. He has a handful of objects that talk or flash when he hits corresponding buttons and he certainly knows the cause and effect now. So when he squeezes his toy dog's hand and is not rewarded with the phrase: "Hand! Now let's play!" I stare at the dog with contempt. What the crap, Mattel? I want this dog to teach my son colors, numbers and rudimentary anatomy . If I wanted something with a 60% success rate I would have bought Best Not to Get Your Hopes Up Bear.

Seriously, try saying no to that face.

A hockey post.... yes, hockey

2010-03-01T17:59:00Z

I was going to write another "Elliott is awesome" or "Elliott is cute" post today but something else completely un-toddler related has been on my mind for the past 48 hours so I'm just going to vent briefly.

I sat down and watched the gold medal hockey game in its entirety yesterday. Very little about this year's Winter Olympics really grabbed me thanks in large part to NBC's abysmal coverage and every other media outlet doing all but setting up enormous loud speakers throughout the country and blaring the results even though some people might not want to know what happened until the evening.

Anyway, the gold medal game was phenomenal with the U.S. rallying from a 2-0 deficit, tying the game in the final 25 seconds before eventually losing in sudden death overtime. It was thrilling, well-played, emotional and reaffirmed my feeling that I could probably really get into hockey if Portland had an NHL team.

However, what I couldn't understand were the constant comparisons to the 1980 Miracle on Ice team. The media and hockey enthusiasts insisted that, if the U.S. beat Canada for the gold medal it would be nearly as big of an upset and would go down as one of the United States' biggest sporting triumphs. Are... you.... freaking... kidding... me?! Instead of me blathering on about how people are stupid, let's just compare the two hockey situations.

Time period:

1980: The United States was on its way out of a recession and entering its fourth decade of the Cold War in which even something like Yakov Smirnoff defecting to the U.S. could be enough to trigger a nuclear attack. The U.S. would boycott the 1980 Summer Olympics and Russia would boycott the 1984 summer Olympics out of spite for each other.

2010 team: The United States is in a recession but is still, unequivocally, the most powerful nation in the world and the Winter Olympics have never seemed more irrelevant. Half-pipe? Ski-cross? It should be called Highly Specialized Sporting Competitions That America Can Dominate Along With Some Cross Country Skiiing For The Scandinavian Countries.

The U.S team:

1980: A bunch of banged up collegiate players who, in all likelihood, would spend the rest of their lives managing ice rinks and driving zambonis in Buffalo after getting creamed at the Lake Placid Olympics.

2010: An All-Star team of American-born millionaire professional hockey players taking a two-week break from the regular season to hit on celebrities and Norwegian figure skaters and occasionally play a few games.

The most formidable opponent:

1980: The Russians. America's greatest adversary since the Revolutionary War and, quite frankly, the Brits never struck fear into the American populace like the Russians. This was a team that was bred to play hockey. If someone could design a virtually infallible hockey team the way a computer is programmed to play a near perfect game of chess, it would look like the 1980 Russian team. The Russians had crushed an NHL All-Star team 6-0 in an exhibition and buried this same U.S. team 10-3 just two weeks before the Olympics.

2010: Canada. Arguably the most nondescript country in the world. A team of NHL All-Stars who, on paper, were slightly better than the American NHL All-Stars although the U.S. would quickly dispel the myth that it was a significant underdog this year when it beat Canada in pool play. I know Canada's crazy about it's hockey but what was going to happen if it lost? If Russia in 1980 loses, it might start a war. If Canada in 2010 loses, it might choose to export less delicious maple syrup to our country.

Forgive me for not getting swept away in how momentous a United States victory would have been yesterday. Americans love quickly throwing the moniker of "Best Ever" on things that just occurred and have a tendency to overvalue things in the present. For example, ESPN had a poll a few days ago that asked readers if they would prefer for the U.S. to win a gold medal in hockey this year or win the upcoming World Cup. The results were about 50/50. My hands were shaking as I typed that. Really? You would rather win a title in a sport that only four countries are good at in a tournament that isn't even as significant as winning the Stanley Cup as opposed to winning the greatest sporting competition on the planet that features 50% of the world's best athletes and is a tournament that the U.S. has never won? But it's representative of American thinking. "The gold medal hockey game is in three days. I want us to win that because it's happening right now."

But, to me, the most obvious reason why, even if the U.S. had won yesterday, it wouldn't have even cracked the top 10 of American sporting achievements (heck maybe not even the top 50) came from my wife. She was rooting for Canada. She was upset when the U.S. tied the game partly because she wanted me to go to Costco with her but mainly because "It would be nice for Canada." I'm pretty sure there wasn't an American in 1980 who thought "The U.S. doesn't need another medal. I kind of hope the Russians get this one."

How am I supposed to respect the Winter Olympics when this guy (Canada's version

of Ned Rireson) is a gold medalist.

Future Monopoly superstar?

2010-02-22T17:46:00Z

We have reached the point where at least a small degree of discipline has been necessary with Elliott. He has a fairly sizable temper on him but, at the same time, is easily pacified. But success with our early attempts at discipline have seen some pretty sketchy results. We are in the process of trying to teach Elliott not to scream when he wants something or if something is taken away from him. I heard an interesting tip suggesting that putting a dab of vinegar on my finger and having him taste it in the middle of a screaming bout could break him of the habit quickly.

So, the other day, I gave it a try. Elliott let out an angry shriek and I popped my finger in his mouth. His face puckered and he looked at me curiously. Sure enough he stopped screaming, but now he was making his hand clapping sign for 'more'. He wanted another taste. He then proceeded to follow me in the kitchen, clapping intently while looking at the vinegar bottle and, when I wouldn't give him more, started to throw another tantrum. Perfect. Although I guess I shouldn't have been surprised coming from the one-year-old who likes pickles and lemons.

Then, this morning, Elliott found a scotch tape dispenser. By no means was it the most dangerous object he has deemed to be a new toy. But, with its cerated edge, I figured it'd be best to snatch it. I used my brilliant tactic of distracting him with a different toy that, in my mind, was of equal or greater value. I handed him a rattle and snatched the tape. No dice. A mini-tantrum ensued and I countered by putting on my stern face and giving an authoritative "No screaming!" He fussed for a few more seconds before composing himself and then I believe I literally saw a light bulb appear above his head briefly.

He reached down, grabbed the rattle he was disinterested in, looked up at me with an innocent smile and handed it to me while clapping for the tape dispenser I had placed on a shelf. He was offering the same trade to me that I had just tried to broker with him. Nice try chief, but in exchange for a mildly dangerous toy, my minimum price is bringing me a beer.

Punishment? Or dessert?

Predicting the future

2010-02-19T05:16:00Z

Now that Elliott is walking around and displaying even more of a distinct personality (i.e. biting us when we don't let him do something he wants to do) it seems like now would be a good time to start trying to pigeonhole him into his future occupation based on things he has shown some semblance of aptitude for. Here's what I have so far:

Professional soccer player:

Pros:

Has an odd tendency to place toys on the ground with the intent of kicking them around.

Has good soccer genes assuming that talent skips a generation.

Already proven he can take a rubber ball to the face like a champ.

Cons:

Has a tendency to intentionally step on the object he's kicking, purposefully tripping himself and then laughing about it.

Often will not so much 'kick' an object as he will 'awkwardly dance around it with his hands in the air.'

May try to kiss and/or bite teammates and opponents.

Prop Comic:

Pros:

Believes there is nothing funnier in this world than placing an object on his head or a parent's head and watching it fall to the ground.

No concept of the difference between being laughed at and being laughed with.

Cons:

Pretty low standards in terms of what he finds funny. ("Really? Peek-a-boo still gets you?")

Television Critic:

Pros:

The few times that Elliott is allowed to watch a YouTube clip or a small segment of something on TV, he has pretty good taste. He laughs at Sesame Street skits that are decidedly funny and seems to find Jon Stewart particularly amusing for some reason.

Cons:

Often chuckles along with a laugh track without discernment. (Although perhaps his identifying with the masses might be a marketable quality.)

Firefighter:

Pros:

Loves his fire truck.

Has empathy for other living beings as evidenced by his bursting into tears whenever the dog is punished.

Cons:

High probability that, when told he needs to exit the fire truck, would scream, cry and wail "No, no no!"

Petrified of cats.

One of Elliott's and my favorite Sesame Street skits.

Pantsdemonium

2010-02-02T06:44:00Z

For the second time in the past five years, I had a serious issue with my pants at work today. Needless to say if, when she married me, Shelbi had to put over/under on how often she would receive the text "Help! Need pants!" from me while I was at the office, she would have been wise to take the over. The first time was a simple case of a popped button. Not a huge deal. Relatively easy to disguise. On the potential embarrassment meter between 1-10, it would probably rate a 4.

Today rated a solid 8. I was wearing Ol' Reliable, a pair of lightweight khaki pants, perfect to wear at work in the winter or during the summer when, on a 98-degree day, my 80-pound co-worker gets to the office in the morning and turns the freaking heat on. So I was in the break room and sat down to read the paper for a minute. There was no stereotypical ripping sound, just a peculiar feeling. I reached back and realized my pants had been dealt a potential death blow.

I timed my exit from the break room, making sure no one was behind me and scrambled to my desk, knowing that, for the next three hours, I wasn't going to be able to stand up. And that was the plan. One by one my co-workers filed out until it was just me and my editor. At that point, I casually backed my way to my car where I had a pair of basketball shorts for a game later in the evening. I picked them up and made my way back into the bathroom.

Then I could assess the damage to my pants and it was like the scene in Apollo 13 when the crew finally sees the magnitude of the explosion.

"Houston, I'm getting a look at my pants now. One whole side of the seat is missing!" Right at the fraying on the left side a whole buttock is blown out! Right down to the crotch!" Perhaps the biggest pantstastrophe of my life. But I guess you could call it a successful failure in that my work efficiency was severely hampered today but, at the same time, no one saw my butt.

The Pantstrosity

The quest for anonymity

2010-02-01T06:40:00Z

Went to the mall today. Again. It's beginning to be Elliott's home away from home. We have ventured out a handful of times in the past few months early in the morning when the place is virtually empty. At 9 a.m. he can shout and listen to his echo, he can ride with me up and down escalators until he is satiated and he has the opportunity to run around like a maniac without getting creamed by the stroller and teenage armadas. That was what we faced today which, instead of just being a chance to get out of the house for a while, was a humanitarian effort, accompanying Shelbi as she looked for clothes. I was reminded again today of an unfortunate byproduct of having a small child. It's virtually impossible to be ignored.

Ever since about the 7th grade perhaps my biggest goal in life has been to not draw attention to myself. I've never thought it would be fun to be the frontman of a rock band. Let me be Charlie Watts. You still get to play great music and travel and you don't have to make an ass out of yourself on stage. And why would anyone want to be a cast member on Saturday Night Live? Let me be a writer. Backstage. Less accountability. Count me in. But I digress.

For a solid decade, I made staying anonymous a science. Things changed a bit when I met Shelbi, one of only a few people I have known in my life with an absolute knack for attracting the crazies. I am convinced that I could ride the same bus to and from work every day for 20 years and never be approached by a single person in that time. I once was asked why my face's natural expression made me look angry. But Shelbi? Plop her on a subway or a bus or in a line for a roller coaster and Beer Gut McChatterson will have knocked out his life story to her and invited us over for dinner in a matter of minutes. I think in five years of marriage we have helped to average each other out a bit in this regard.

But my lust for anonymity continues to be assaulted every time I'm out with Elliott. I'll be ordering a coffee and hear the familiar sounds of baby talk and my shoulders will slump. "How do those fingers taste?" someone will ask my son and I just know I'm about to be engaged in a conversation. It's not that I can't handle myself in a small talk battle of trite questions vs. banal answers. In fact, I feel like my seven years talking to high school athletes and coaches have trained me for this moment. But I still feel uncomfortable every time. I even thought about making up a few dozens cards to carry around with me each time I go out in public to hand out. They would feature these answers in no particular order.

"Yes he is cute."

"He is __ months old"

"He is my first"

"His name is Elliott"

"Yes, we're out on an adventure today"

"Yes he is a good boy"

"He sucks on those two fingers when someone is invading his personal space."

Hmm, that idea started as a joke but I think it has legs.

Find the one who's acting his age.

Bribery

2010-01-25T06:25:00Z

Long before actually having a child, I was pretty sure that I had a good percentage of parenting figured out. Don't get me wrong, I knew I would be completely overwhelmed, particularly when the baby was between the ages of 0 and 2 but, after that point, once they could start effectively communicating, I figured it would be smooth sailing until the teenage years. That's because 90% of my parenting techniques were going to involve one simple, fundamental element. Bribery.

My goal for Elliott and as well as for any and all future children is to implement a basic concept of logic as quickly as possible. You don't want to finish your vegetables? Obviously, based on past results, throwing a fit isn't going to achieve your goal. Nor will it get you this delicious cupcake. So let's think about this. What actions could be taken here that would result in you consuming this cupcake? Parenting. It's as simple as that. And honestly, I'd say the bribery principle is also an integral part of a happy marriage as well. "I would like to play golf this weekend and if I do, I'll bring you a surprise on the way home." "Let me watch this football game and I'll clean the entire kitchen." Etc...

Well I'm happy to report that Elliott has responded beautifully to my first attempts at bribery. He has become far more independent recently and quickly becomes bored when being fed. He would much rather have something in front of him to eat which he can then share with the dog. So the other day we were only halfway through our small carton of green beans when Elliott gave me the international sign for "I'm done" which was violent, almost seizure-like head shaking coupled with a scrunched up face while pushing the spoon away. Of course this was immediately followed by him making the "more" sign meaning he was still hungry, just not for green beans.

I promptly got up and brought over a graham cracker. I gave him a piece which he devoured and instantly wanted more. I then held the graham cracker so he could see it and brought the green beans up to his mouth again. He ate a bite. I gave him a bit of cracker. And so on. Until the green beans were finished. And this has worked swimmingly ever since. I think one of my biggest hopes for Elliott was that he would be a child who could be reasoned with. At least most of the time. I'm not completely unrealistic. And I know that, once Elliott hits 13, probably even sooner, all bets are off. Logic and reason go out the door at that point. And graham crackers probably won't solve many problems at that point. Unless of course that problem is being stuck with a surplus of marshmallows and chocolate and having no convenient way to consume them simultaneously without getting your fingers sticky.

Forget it mom, it's Canyonville.

2010-01-18T06:55:02Z

So much to talk about. On Saturday we took the 3-hour-drive down I-5 South to scenic Canyonville, Oregon. Population 1,400. My aunt and uncle call Canyonville home and with my grandmother visiting them from Pennsylvania, a surprise party was held for her 90th birthday. Once someone surpasses the age of 70 the surprise party seems like an odd and perhaps even reckless choice to me but, on this occasion, it went well and my grandmother seemed genuinely touched. And here are some other pros (as well as some cons) of 30 hours in Canyonville.

Pro: The 7 Feathers Casino. Canyonville's claim to fame. As casinos go, it's tiny with a small poker room, roughly a dozen table games, a bingo parlor and a bunch of slot machines. It's an odd but generally friendly clientele. As my soon-to-be sister-in-law said: "I just want an option to scroll over all of these people like on a computer and a description of who they are and why they're here would pop up."

Pro: Winning money at a casino for the first time in my life. Our table worked our friendly, elderly dealer like a speed bag. It's a good night at the blackjack tables when: A. The dealer and you both have 20, she starts taking your money, is informed of her mistake and then awards you the hand for the confusion. B: The dealer runs out of chips. C: You hit three consecutive 10s while doubling on 11. D. All of the above.

Pro: Our highly adaptable son. We messed with our poor little guy's schedule so egregiously he was on Greenwich Mean Time by the end of the weekend. But, with limited naps and after spending a day with dozens of new faces, he slept like a rock in the bathroom of an unfamiliar hotel room.

Con: The drunken Canyonville local outside our room at 1 a.m. who loudly tried to convince her new friend that they should call an escort service and then berated him loudly when he locked her out of his room.

Con: Elliott realizing that riding in the car for long periods of time is no longer the blissful catalyst to Sleepytown like it used to be.

In all, a very successful road trip on multiple fronts.

Shelbi and I doubled our money over the weekend. Elliott... lost

his shoes.

Hey guys, can I play too?

2010-01-14T05:48:00Z

I'm starting to think that Elliott may have been better served as a middle child. Or perhaps even a youngest child. I don't know how much I buy into birth order dramatically shaping one's personality. Certainly oldest children have a tendency to be overachievers, middle children have tendencies to be people pleasers etc... but I wonder how much of that has to do with how they are parented as opposed to how much of it is a reaction to simply having older or younger siblings. The only thing that seems clear to me is that if you're the middle of three boys and then your family adopts a Bulgarian gypsy when you're in junior high, you're going to be awesome.

Elliott is certainly spoiled already and never starved for attention. He's outgoing, even for a one-year-old and, as the first grandchild on both sides of the family, will probably grow up with a sizable sense of entitlement. For the first nine months of his life, Elliott wasn't really exposed to other young children much. He wasn't in daycare, he has no cousins and I couldn't bring myself to sign up for any Mommy and Me yoga classes at Gymboree.

But, in the past few months, Elliott has been sporadically going to daycare once a week. He also has had the opportunity to interact with (chase and attempt to french kiss) the other younger kids in our home community and has spent some time in the nursery at our church. And Elliott adores kids.

He is transfixed and enamored with anyone who is significantly smaller than an average-sized adult. Whether it's an infant or an eight-year-old Elliott is going to come at it almost manically like a scene in a baby sexual harassment video. ("I like the way you shake that rattle. I'm drooling and it's not because I'm teething.")

Today, when Shelbi dropped Elliott off at daycare, she walked in the door and he immediately reached to be held by the five-year-old who answered the door, not caring that the five-year-old would have been incapable of holding him and promptly would have dropped him to the ground. And when she came to pick him up, he smiled at her and immediately went back to playing blocks with the other kids, one of which told Shelbi that Elliott was "pretty much" her best friend. When Shelbi told Elliott to say goodbye, he turned around and walked up to another child and gave him a sloppy kiss.

We recently had a visit from friends who have a four-year-old. He is a very well-behaved little boy and also fairly active. So he enjoyed running around our small house, up and down the hall, into Elliott's room etc... And I'm not sure if I have ever seen Elliott more giddy. The most fun he has had in his life was chasing this boy around and copying him. It was a game to both of them. Josiah would run to one end of the hall and Elliott would run after him, wailing in delight, occasionally glancing over at us with a goofy grin that said "Look guys! I'm playing with the big kids!"

I just hope when he is older, he will be just as happy and loving with little kids as well and that he will appreciate how much they will assuredly idolize him the way he, seemingly, idolizes big kids already.

I like the original study much better.

Song time

2010-01-10T06:46:00Z

It will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me well at all but I don't sing much. I don't have what I would consider to be a terrible voice. At least I don't think so it's just that I'm not really a 'singing' type of guy. About the only times I would ever catch myself singing were in the shower and in the car. But even those two instances have changed in that I no longer live alone and wouldn't want to subject anyone, not even my wife, to my a cappella version of whatever happens to be in my head on a particular day. Also, the tape deck in my car broke a few years ago and I rarely find a song on the radio worth singing to. (That's right, I still own literally hundreds of self-made tapes. Someday I will pass them on to Elliott.)

But recently I have found myself breaking into song a bit more often during the day and never at a time when I would logically expected it to happen. It's always when I'm feeding Elliott. I don't know why. You tell me. Why is it standard practice for so many people to sing in the shower? Acoustics? Who knows?

There is almost always a song in either the forefront or the back of my head and I think, particularly when Elliott was a little younger, singing kept him focused on the task at hand, which is to eat and not feed the dog.

The early standard eating song was The Ohio Express' 1968 classic Yummy Yummy Yummy which usually was modified to include some facsimile of the lyrics "Yummy yummy yummy green beans in my tummy" and "Ooh, I like green beans, ooh they're so yummy, ooh they're my favorite foooooooood."

Since then we have expanded Elliott's diet and my repertoire of his breakfast and lunch entertainment. Now pretty much any song that I happen to have heard within the previous 48 is in danger of undergoing my remix. I just can't wait until Elliott's watching VH1 Classic in 15 years on his 3D television contacts and comes to the startling realization that Jay Z's Dirt Off Your Shoulder actually has very little to do with Sweet Potatoes.

I think my No. 1 dream job of all time is to be one of the

backing members of the Ohio Express.

Athletes of the Week

2010-01-09T06:59:00Z

One of my least favorite parts of my job is selecting "Athletes of the Week" for each of the three major high schools I cover. Every week, as part of a paid advertisement in my sports sections, I select a boy and a girl from West Linn, Lake Oswego and Lakeridge High Schools and provide a sentence or two about them. It's an enormous pain because I have to select them early in the week and, often, they aren't relevant by the time the paper comes out. I usually pick names on a Monday and a basketball player I have named may blow out his or her knee in a Tuesday night game or go 0-16 from the field to cost his or her team the game.

And, as a flagrant procrastinator, I am usually backed up against a wall and am forced to make my selections quickly and send them off in an e-mail. As someone who goes out of his way not to stir the pot in every aspect of my life, my only goal while making these picks is to spread out players from different sports and to make sure that no one gets named more than twice in a single season. As you might imagine, the pickings get pretty slim come playoff time.

"Johnny Johnson scored two points and provided encouragement to his team from the bench in West Linn's 84-31 loss last week."

"Sally Smith did not drown while swimming the 200m freestyle against Clackamas last week."

Needless to say, I don't take these selections seriously or really give them much thought and, in all honestly, I pray each week that they go unnoticed and that I don't get an angry phone call or e-mail from a parent whose kid was, once again, bypassed.

Tonight I was at a doubleheader at Lakeridge of boys and girls basketball and, at halftime of the boys game, it was announced that there would be an awards ceremony. When halftime rolled around, a huge contingent of students lined up at mid-court. First, a small handful of students received academic honors and took their seats. Then, it was announced that the remaining 50+ students on the court were receiving awards for being named the Lake Oswego Review's Athlete of the Week from the beginning of the school year up through yesterday's paper.

I was mortified. There it was. A line 50 people long cheerfully smiling as a monument to my laziness and indifference. They were taking it seriously! Every kid got a gym bag! Now I felt unbelievably guilty for all of those weeks (every week) when I simply mailed it in. Now that I know someone actually cares about what has always been the part of my week that has required the least amount of thought I'm going to have to change my format. I feel like I should take nominations then talk to the finalists' teachers, coaches and athletic director each week ending with a probing 30-minute in-person interview with each candidate.

When the final name was mercifully read, I was relieved that the announcer didn't add "And a special thanks to Matt Sherman of the Lake Oswego Review, sitting right over there. If your kid wasn't out here tonight, he's the reason why." But, on the other hand, I'm the one taking time each week to make these selections. Where's my gym bag?

No more chicken pox but the door's still open for monkey pox

2010-01-08T05:32:00Z

It hasn't been long since Elliott's first birthday which means it was time today for what seems like his 38th round of shots. I think each time it has been a little harder. Not for Elliott but for Shelbi and me. At his current state, he is incredibly observant and curious and so a doctor's office is pretty close to being the coolest place on Earth for him. There are cords galore to grab, instruments that light up, stools to push around, tongue depressors to chew on, plastic sheets to tear and you get to be naked for a majority of your stay. If there was a giant pit of plastic balls it'd be better than Chuck E. Cheese.

And that's what makes the inevitable so heartbreaking. Because here Elliott is having the time of his life, oblivious to the nurse who just came in with her tray of destruction. This time, he was stuck with the first shot, jolted and then just stared at us with wide eyes for a couple of seconds as if to say:

"Hey! Jerks! You know all of the pointy things I like to try and play with that you keep taking away from me because I'll hurt myself? She just put one in my leg! You'd better punish her soon or I'm going to lose it."

And sure enough he did. It's devastating because Elliott really doesn't cry or scream much. Fortunately he is still calmed down easily and was smiling again even before we got outside.

It also struck me today as Elliott was getting vaccinated for chicken pox that, when he is 15 years old, he will probably find it hilarious and antiquated that everyone in Shelbi's and my generation actually GOT chicken pox. Yep, we broke out in a fever and itchy red spots and missed a week of school. All the cool kids were doing it. But, to Elliott, I'm sure getting the chicken pox is going to sound as ridiculous as getting the plague. "You had the chicken pox? Did you get them while fighting in WWII?"

I brought this up with my mom today and she remembered kids she grew up with getting the measles and the mumps and, at times, even polio. And I just laughed. "Geez mom, did they get them from the Pilgrims on the Mayflower?"

No one told me that they got smart this quickly

2010-01-07T05:42:00Z

It takes Shelbi having a break from school for me to really appreciate and recognize how much Elliott changes and how much he is growing up in such a short period of time. Even in just the two weeks Shelbi had off for Christmas it was a completely different experience watching him on Monday than it was on December 17.

He's becoming more of a person every day which is at the same time delightful and disconcerting. He now knows the difference between Shelbi, myself and the dog, preferring the dog to both of us. Although he still isn't putting many words together he is getting better at communicating with us and, perhaps most frighteningly, he has learned the Law of Conservation of Matter. Perhaps he has not fully researched the entirety of Mikhail Lomonosov's 18th century theory but he certainly gets the broad strokes. Namely that matter can not be created or destroyed.

In layman's terms, he knows that if we take something away from him, it doesn't simply disappear. The area behind our backs is not a black hole and, once something has been taken from him, we have to put it down sometime. This reared its head on a few occasions this week. First, Shelbi's brush was taken away from him and placed a good two feet out of his reach on an end table. After the obligatory freak out, I was able to distract Elliott with something slightly less choke-inducing albeit considerably less fun. A few minutes later I left the room for literally 20 seconds to refresh my e-mail, came back and when I did the mail (which was also on the end table) was on the floor and Elliott was happily gnawing on the brush again. I still have no idea how he accomplished this without tipping entire table over.

Not long afterwards, I made the mistake of leaving Elliott's Gerber Wagon Wheel container within his line of vision. I promptly swooped it up but it was too late. He had made a beeline for it and wasn't going to be denied. He screamed when I took it out of reach and followed me as I put it up on the kitchen table, out of sight. And yet not out of mind. He just stared up at me by the table whimpering with a face I'm sure he learned from watching our dog and began making the sign for "More" which he recently learned. And if you think there was even a fraction of a chance that I could resist that, you're out of your mind.

Much of Mikhail Lomonosov's research on the

Law of Conservation of Mass was usurped by

that bastard Antoine Lavoisier. Fortunately

I'm here to finally give him the credit he

deserves.

Let's try this again

2010-01-05T20:54:00Z

OK, I'm really going to try and update this more often from now on. No, seriously. But my wife has inspired me. She started a blog about three days ago (aroundtheworldin80books.wordpress.com) and has already updated it more times than I updated mine in about a year. That's a little humbling.

So with Elliott eating more solid foods and becoming increasingly disinterested in his baby food, I have started buying canned vegetables since he loves eating veggies when we go out to eat. Yesterday was Shelbi's first day back at work after Christmas Break and I gave him baby food, bananas and bread prior to Shelbi getting home, telling her that he would probably like some veggies for dinner.

When I get home a few hours later, I find Elliott's entire high chair littered with carrots and what looked like half a can his bib, not to mention pieces of carrots in our dog's whiskers. It was like a crime scene from CSI: Kindercare.

I asked Shelbi what happened since I couldn't possibly fathom how this scenario, which should have consisted simply of sitting next to Elliott for 10 minutes and handing him one sliced carrot after another, could have ended in such a disaster.

"I just put them in a bowl," she said. And before I could ask my obligatory next question, added "I thought it would make him feel like an adult."

Sigh. By that logic, I'm about to head to Petco to get our dog's nails trimmed and I'm letting Elliott drive.

Our fall summed up in 30 minutes

2009-11-23T08:11:00Z

Pre-Elliott, Shelbi and I were fairly punctual people. You certainly couldn't set your watches by us but I would say we both have decent time management skills. Of course, all of that has pretty much gone down the crapper now. It's been almost a year and we are still constantly underestimating how much time it takes for three people to change clothes especially when one of them is incapable of doing it himself.

Of course, Elliott hasn't exactly made things easy on us. He has recently started to take us laying him down on his changing table as a cue to stand up and start licking the wall. I have now become adept at putting diapers on a standing baby. The other day, we were trying to get out the door to go to a friend's house at 5:00. And, in the preparation process, there was about a 30-minute window that I thought summed up our lives recently far better than words could.

4:33 - Finish getting Elliott ready by putting his shoes and socks on.

4:36 - Find Shelbi's elusive shoes under a huge pile of dirty laundry in our bedroom.

4:38 - Play one of our favorite games in which I put on a shirt and see if Shelbi can tell where the stain is.

4:39 - Shelbi cleans up the stain with a washcloth.

4:40 - Pull Shelbi's phone charger out of Elliott's mouth and put his shoes and socks back on.

4:42 - Settle on a compromise that I will drive since Shelbi's car has a leaking tire that we haven't had time to replace and is out of gas but she has to pay for groceries at Safeway since I have $13 in checking and don't get paid until Tuesday.

4:43 - Strap Elliott in his car seat and put his shoes and socks back on.

4:53 - Shelbi emerges from Safeway, gets into the car and proceeds to make the green salad we are taking as we're driving.

4:54 - Shelbi and I sing a duet to Elliott to stop him from fussing with the working title: "Car Salad".

5:01 - Pull up to our friends' house, get unpacked and put Elliott's shoes and socks back on.

5:03 - Knock on our friends' front door.

And one more for good measure

11:38 - Get out of bed, put pants on and walk out to my car because Shelbi reminded me there was half a package of feta cheese on the floor of the passenger seat.

Scene from the upcoming music video for "Car Salad."

Supermarket stereotypes

2009-11-13T21:14:00Z

In college, my friends and I, like most typical college males, weren't big fans of doing laundry to the point that it would become a game to see who could go the longest while still clinging to to some base form of acceptable hygiene. Through our experiences, we debated about what the "limiting factor" was in our wardrobes. That is to say, what was the article of clothing that, if we ran out of clean (and believe me, that word has never had a more loose definition that it currently does in this sentence) options, we would finally have to break down and spend an evening in the laundry room. After months of heated debate, we came to the conclusion that, shockingly, the answer was not underwear. I will not elaborate but instead will just say that the agreed upon answer was socks because socks were far more difficult to get creative with.
I always enjoyed the limiting factor game and often apply it to other avenues in life. Most recently, I have thought about it in terms of buying groceries. Prior to Elliott, the limiting factors in our house were generally either milk or toilet paper. But now, a new item has found itself in the mix. Baby food. If I am running low on baby food, there really isn't much of an option. I have to make a trip to the store. As the parent who is home in the mornings, I have been doing the bulk of the grocery shopping in the past year. And, the other day, while stocking up on essentials like sweet potatoes, risotto with cheese and garden vegetables with wild rice (all of which I have sneaking suspicion taste exactly the same) I noticed something that struck me for the first time.

For years, Shelbi and I have been aware of the subtle and brilliant ways that supermarkets are laid out. Produce on on end, breads and dairy on the other, candy, chips and soda right in the middle aisles that you can't avoid passing. But, on a weekday morning, I was walking down the aisle to get to the foods and I came to a sudden stop. In this particular aisle, only half of it was taken up by baby supplies (food, diapers, wipes etc...). The other half? Gossip magazines, romance novels and a smattering of chocolates and beauty supplies. Everything the stay-at-home mom needs, right? Because after you feed your baby and change his diaper, it's time for soap operas, a pedicure and some bon-bons while the baby entertains itself in the playpen.

Now, frankly, I'm not quite sure who should be more offended by this. Women? Because of the assumption that, if you are at home with a baby, chances are you like romance novels and other "women things." (It's like Safeway's version of Tivo. "I see you're purchasing strained peas and baby shampoo. May I suggest a copy of Us Weekly magazine and some fun size Snickers?) Or should men be more offended? Because of the assumption that only women buy items for babies. I'm not saying I expect to see Guns N' Ammo and beer can hats in the baby section either. Maybe just something neutral. Like crackers.

Baby's First Everything!

2009-10-29T05:09:00Z

Perhaps the thing that Shelbi and I were most excited about with having Elliott was that we would have the opportunity to experience all of the things we loved about our respective childhoods again through him. But I think we may have been a little too eager with this. We have had the tendency to jump the gun a bit and, in essence, forced him to celebrate each holiday in the past year despite the fact that he has been incapable of understanding what was going on around him. In some cases, he did not have the capacity to even make out shapes more than two feet in front of his face yet.

He was born a week before Christmas and we put a Santa hat that nearly weighed as much as he did on his head in the Neo-Intensive Care Unit. I actually let this happen. I even bought him a tiny baby-sized stocking that was not only ridiculous since he was 5 days old but also completely inpratical since it could barely hold one pacifier.

For Easter, Shelbi bought him his own basket complete with a tube of Desitin and we have a handful of pictures of him looking half-comatose next to it.

For my birthday, Shelbi made an I Love Daddy onesie which he proudly wore despite not being capable of that emotion for a few more years.

We actually own a My First St. Patrick's Day bib. He is 1/8 Irish. (Unfortunately Baby's R Us ran out of Bastille Day bibs.)

On the opening day of baseball, he wore his Giants outfit. For the first week of college football, his Ducks bib made an appearance and for the first day of the NFL season, he sported his 49ers onesie.

Now it's Halloween and, of course, he had to carve a pumpkin. Elliott actually seemed to enjoy this event a little more than the previous ventures. Perhaps it's because he's more aware now... or perhaps it's because his Elliott-sized pumpkin looked enough like a breast that he thought he could nurse off of it. But, below are the results. Note: All of the pictures of Elliott show him physically touching his pumpkin because, once we took it away, he went balistic. And, in case you were wondering, Shelbi has already purchased his Baby's First Thanksgiving bib and has his first birthday planned two months in advance.

"And I helped!" The dog and I both think this is food

I know mom is holding it, but I want Pumpkin family.

everyone to know that it's mine.

Piercing the Darkness

2009-10-26T05:11:00Z

We experienced baby's first power outage last night. It wasn't a big deal. Once we got candles and flashlights etc... it was actually kind of fun to watch Elliott's reaction. He was mesmerized by the candles and why wouldn't he be? They instantly became the single most dangerous thing in the house and, therefore, he had to try and get them. We also played a fun game in which we tried to get Elliott to go to various places in the room by having him chase the light of the flashlight. It was great until we realized we were treating him like a cat. And of course there's nothing like a power outage to make you feel like an idiot. Not only did I attempt to flip on the kitchen light on a good 9-10 times, I also played this game: "Oh, I wonder what the score in the Beavers game is. I'll just turn on the.... Oh yeah. Well I'll just check it on the inter... Oh... Wait, I'll just watch Sportscent... Oh. Sigh, I guess I'll just talk to my wife or something."

But getting the house to a state of readiness and functionability was a little trickier than normal. The power went out while we were running errands and it was dark outside when we got back. So the house was pitch black with nothing short of a minefield of baby toys strewn between us and a flashlight or lighter. Figuring we could best use our resources by spreading out, Shelbi put Elliott down to the logical statement of: "He can't see anything, where's he going to go? Two seconds later we hear the frantic 'thump, thump thump!' of speed-crawling. Now the baby is loose in the pitch black house. It was kind of like a horror movie except with a baby in place of a zombie and there were no infrared goggles.

After a few seconds of tripping over Matchbox cars and blocks, we heard a familiar cheerful women's voice say: "Let's get moving!" That was quickly followed by the song: "Get ready to clap! Get ready to snap! Get ready to wiggle and giggle bounce and bop and tap!" Elliott had crawled over to his numbingly annoying walker and, in doing so, set off its series of flashing lights accompanied by the song. We used the lights from the walker to manuever the darkness and found our flashlights in no time. And I can't help but be a little creeped out that he may have known exactly what he was doing.