You’ve already seen a glimpse of the third day of our camping trip on the last Wordless Wednesday post. Two very substantial things took place on this day, which I’d like to share with you now.

Early in the afternoon, while Tyler was napping, I took Delilah for a walk. She seemed pent up, so I wanted to take her to a secluded area where she could run free and burn up some energy. We had a great time walking running through the woods, and through the marsh (which I found purely by accident). I could have taken Delilah back to camp covered in mud. I actually wanted to, so I could show off the fun we had. The problem was that Delilah crashed into me while running around. This was while I was snapping off some landscape pictures. She knocked my foot off of the fallen tree that I had presently been perched upon. When said foot contacted the earth, it promptly sank eight inches into warm black mud. This, my dear friends, was unacceptable. Next stop, the lake.

I share a trait with Delilah in that neither of us can swim. I promise to write about my reasons later. Delilah just thrashes around. This day, our third day of camping, Delilah “got it” and simply started swimming.

Later, my step-dad (Ganpa) and I had just finished a little fishing and were walking up a hill when he brought my attention to a snake slithering by. Minutes later, Ganpa was (nervously) driving us back to camp while I tightly gripped a thirty-six inch snake in my hands. I looked down to see blood on my hands. Resisting the urge to drop the snake, and likely cause Ganpa to send the truck careening into the lake, I carefully inspected my hands as the snake redoubled its efforts at escaping my grasp. I began to suspect that the snake was poisonous and had injected me with an anesthetic-like venom, because I didn’t feel any pain. Just as I processed that thought, the snake performed a barrel roll in my hands and I spotted a wound on its tail. It appears to have happened recently, but I know I didn’t do it, so I just made a mental note to scrub my hands later.

We arrived at camp seconds later, and I beckoned Tyler to me. Ganpa was able to get some video before his batteries died and caught me being an evil daddy by scaring Tyler with the snake.

In case you don’t have 2 minutes to spare to watch the video – really, you should watch the video – you can forward to the one minute mark to watch me scare Tyler with it.

Tyler helped me release the snake a few moments later.

Tyler then decided to make like his daddy and set off chasing the snake. AND CAUGHT IT!

He held it up by it’s tail and said, “Lonnnng.”

Then, he held it with both hands and STRETCHED it. I was preoccupied with laughing and taking pictures, so my mom (Gamma) had to tell Tyler it wasn’t nice to stretch a snake.

For reasons unknown to all of us, Tyler then put the snake up to his neck like it was choking him.

Afterward, Tyler set the snake free and we all went back to camp. The fearlessness of my son amazes me and warms my heart.

Tyler can open doors. Tyler’s aunts and uncles think this is great. Tyler’s grandparents think this is a testament to his intelligence. Tyler’s parents are terrified. We try to always keep our exterior doors locked, but that doesn’t mean we always remember to do so. I attribute it to the fact that, even though we live in a great town, I grew up in a town where you damn well better lock your doors. But, what about those rare occasions that we forget to lock our doors? Doesn’t Murphy’s Law require that to be the day that Tyler walks out of the house while I’m in the shower? This is why people have grey hair.

This past Sunday morning, my sleep was disturbed by the sound of Tyler’s door being SLAMMED shut. I glanced at the green glowing numbers on the alarm clock. It was early, but not too early to be awake. Unfortunately for me, I enjoyed a strong gin and tonic just six hours ago. Unfortunatelyer for me, I went to bed just five hours ago. Unfortunatelyest for me, I couldn’t roll over and plead with Sarah to get up with Tyler because she was out of town.

So, I did what any parent whom had a strong drink (or two) the night before and was currently operating on five hours of sleep would do. I closed my eyes and hoped that the situation would resolve itself. Then, rattle rattle rattle SLAM, followed by the thump thump thumping of a toddler’s feet across his floor and to his bed. Shocked and confounded by my good luck, I instantly let myself fall into a doze. I knew it wouldn’t last long and resolved myself t- SLAM!

I closed my eyes tighter. I knew that there was no longer any chance of Tyler being a good little boy and going back to bed so that his ever-so-slightly hungover, and extremely tired daddy could continue his sweet, sweet slumber. But that sure as hell didn’t stop me from hoping. As I lay there, I heard Tyler’s incredibly sweet and innocent voice coming from directly next to me.

“Hi daddy.”

Headache and exhaustion be damned, I opened my eyes and smiled at Tyler. “Hi, bug. Do you wanna snuggle with daddy for a minute?”

“Yeah,” Tyler replied as he tried climbing into the bed.

I pulled him up and put my arm around him. Fifteen minutes later, Tyler climbed down from the bed. I asked where he was going.

“Nigh night. New bed.”

“New bed” is what Tyler has been calling his bed since we converted it from crib to bed. It’s adorable.

“Okay, buddy. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Tyler answered, “okay buh-dee.”

My little angel of a son gave me another thirty minutes of sleep before waking up for good.

Potty training is not, as they sometimes say, “in full swing,” but we’re working on it. We’re at the point that Tyler knows to run his little ass as far away from us as possible when we see that he’s pooping and ask him about it. When asked, he provides no hesitation in telling us that he does not want to use the potty. So, for better or for worse, right or wrong, we’ve resorted to bribery to get Tyler to plant his butt on the potty. Personally, I don’t agree with using candy as a reward, but, well, that’s what we’re doing. Let’s face it, Joe, it’s not always about what you want. It’s a hard realization, and I’m coming to terms with it. All I know for sure is that if we don’t put on a united front, Tyler will conquer us.

When Tyler tries on the potty (a few minutes, at least. None of this sit-down, stand-up, done that he has attempted to pass off as “trying”), he is rewarded with one M&M candy. If he, um, produces results while on the potty, Tyler gets two M&M candies. If you’ve read my previous post, you already know that Tyler tries to convince us that he gets two candies just for trying.

A couple days ago, I was doing dishes in the kitchen, while Sarah slept upstairs, because it was her morning to sleep in. I looked over to Tyler, who had fallen uncharacteristically silent, and saw the tell-tale face. Bulging eyes… Red cheeks… Slightly opened mouth… Stern concentration…

“ARE YOU POOPING?! Let’s go use the potty!”

“NO!”

Tyler turned and ran from the kitchen, shouting, “NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!” He’s a quick little booger, too! I didn’t catch him until he hit the dead-end of the baby gate that led upstairs to the safety of his sleeping mommy.

I picked him up and put his butt to my nose, sniffing. Aww, shit, I thought. I took a moment to both appreciate the irony of that thought, and to wonder when exactly I got to the point of it being second nature to smell my toddler’s butt to check for poop.

I carried Tyler into the bathroom and we talked about where we need to make our pee-pees and poo-poos. He had all the right answers to my inquiries. Upon being asked, he told me he didn’t want to sit on the potty and frankly, I didn’t see the point in making him do so anyway.

“Okay buddy, but you don’t get candy if you don’t try.”

“Ah-ah…. poddy.”

“Do you think Ah-ah needs to use the potty?”

“Yeeeeah.”

We placed Tyler’s monkey on the potty and read a couple books to him. After finishing the second book, Tyler jumped up and yelled, “Candy! Two.” It came out more as “Kaynd! Doo,” but the parental translator that seems to have been implanted in my skull understood perfectly.

I told Tyler that Ah-ah was a good little monkey for making poo-poos in the potty, and would get two M&Ms for doing so.

“Yeeeah,” Tyler yelled while running into the kitchen.

Using slight-of-hand that would never fool the eyes of an adult, I gave Ah-ah two pieces of candy. All the while, Tyler slapped his chest, shouting, “TyTy! TyTy! TyTy! TyTy! TyTy!”

“I’m sorry, Tyler, but you didn’t use the potty. Ah-ah gets candy for using the potty, but not Tyler.”

An immense level of guilt descended and came to rest on my shoulders as I said those words. I’m giving fake candy to a fake monkey for taking a fake dump, and I’m rubbing Tyler’s nose in the fake stink of it.

Recently, I’ve been working with Tyler on faces. He loves making a happy face and a surprised face. Yesterday, we started making a poo-poo face. It’s just as it sounds; we make the face Tyler makes when he’s pooping. a few nights ago, while making poo-poo face for me and Sarah, Tyler peed in the potty! He was so excited (as were we)! Tyler started running in place, clapping his hands and shouting “I DID IT!” and “YAY!”

Then, he suddenly fell silent, looked at Sarah and yelled, “EMM EMM!”

“Yes, Tyler, you get two M&Ms for using the potty!”

All things being said, I’ll call it a success. I still feel guilty about gving Ah-ah candy and shunning Tyler. I’m glad that I didn’t get all hunter/gatherer on Sarah, pound my chest and refuse to hop on the M&M bandwagon with her (yes, I’m eating my words over here. OM NOM NOMNOM). Most of all, I’m hoping this is the last box of diapers we have to buy for Tyler.

Update after writing but before publishing this post:
Tyler has peed in the potty three times, lots of times in his diapers, and twice on the carpet. I don’t know who’s winning, but progress is progress.

I love my son. I swear I do. Every day, I tell myself that I could not possibly love him more than I do at that particular moment. Then the next day, I realize that I love him more than I did the day before.

But he can really annoy the hell out of me sometimes.

Over the holidays, I was off work for two weeks. Sarah and I alternated sleeping in and waking up with Tyler. We spent entire days just lounging around, playing, and relaxing. Interspersed with these times of zen were periods of chaos, which is to be expected during any holiday season. Me being at home gave Sarah the opportunity to have a bit of a break from full-time, non-stop parenting. A break that she needed and deserved. A bit to her chagrin, Tyler also thoroughly enjoyed my sudden availability. On a few occasions that Sarah felt the overwhelming desire to give Tyler a hug, or read him a book, he shunned her in favor of me. So, while I know that she loved having me around, the flash of green that sparked in her eyes a few times did not go unnoticed. Quite the contrary, because I can relate.

My return to work Monday was an adjustment for all of us. Although I talked at length with Tyler about it on Sunday, telling him that I had a great time but that I had to back to work the next day, and although he said “yeah” at all the appropriate moments, signaling that we were on the same page, I get the impression that my eighteen month old little man didn’t fully grasp what I was conveying to him. Maybe I should have just said “Daddy work morrow byebye luh-loo.”

It also didn’t help that, due to both work and treacherous roads/weather conditions, I had to spend a night away from home on my first week back. Tyler hadn’t seen me in forty-five hours after having me at his disposal for two weeks. That’s like 8 months of separation, in toddler-years, right?

When I got home – after six hours of white-knuckled driving, mind you – and had given Tyler my undivided attention for the better part of ninety minutes, I made the mistake of thinking I could talk to my wife for a moment or two. Tyler turned his attention to driving his little police car on his road-rug, so I started to tell “HI” Sarah about “HI” my “HI” long day “HI” when Tyler decided that “HI” he absolutely HAD to “HI” talk to me “HI” again. I tried to “HI” talk over him “HI” and continue my “HI” conversation with “HI” Sarah when I finally “HI” had to “HI” bend to Tyler’s will.

“Hi, Tyler. How are you?”

“Ashdin.”

“Oh, did your truck get into an accident?”

“Yeah! Figgst.” He jumped up and ran to his toybox, returning with a tiny toy wrench.

“Are you going to fix it? Yes, good job, Tyler. You are fixing the truck.”

“Yeah,” he said as he pretended to tighten a bolt on the tire. When he finished, he went back to playing. Me, unable to be the better man, unable to just let things go and attempt to finish my conversation with Sarah, waited until he was well into playing with his car. Then, I decided to poke the sleeping bear.

“HI HI HI HI HI HI HI HI,” I said in my best try-to-be-as-annoying-to-Tyler-as-he-was-to-me voice. It worked, too. He turned to look at me.

“HI,” I said again.

Tyler replied flatly, without even a hint of humor, “Done.”

Why you little shit, I thought. Before I could even make an attempt at a reply, Sarah broke into laughter. I joined her. It was good to be home.

Is it considered inappropriate to tell a sixteen month old toddler that he is acting like a dick, and I would be extremely grateful if he would cease in being a dick? I had a less than fantastic day at work today. I spent hours on the phone speaking with customers, quality engineers, and other people that had no desire in making this a great day. This is after having a miserable day yesterday where my wife got mad at me for asking questions about homemade fingerpaint, and I got mad at her for being mad at me for not being able to read minds. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m diagnosed bi-polar, don’t take meds, and have been dealing with gloomy, cold, rainy, and just generally shitty weather for the last couple days.

When I come home to a delicious dinner that Tyler refuses to eat, yet still says “More more more more more more more dada more more mama more more more,” I just want to scream out YES TYLER! I KNOW YOU WANT MORE EVEN THOUGH THERE IS MORE ALL OVER YOUR *#*@&$ PLATE!

We make excuses for him. He’s teething. He had a short nap. He had a really busy day. He’s teething. He didn’t sleep well last night. He’s teething. The fact is, he’s a toddler that can’t communicate with his parents as much as we both wish he could. He wants what he wants when he wants it, but Tyler just doesn’t have the means to tell us what exactly IT is. Last week, Tyler would say “no” to a question if the answer was no. “No” had one meaning. Today, “no” has multiple meanings. If he’s holding his cup and says “no,” it means Tyler doesn’t want his water anymore. Unfortunately, we didn’t know that’s what he was saying, so he threw a fit about it. God forbid he just set his water down and push it away.

Full disclosure though, it doesn’t really help that Sarah and I are pickers. We pick on each other all the time, and sometimes don’t know when is the WRONG time to pick on Tyler. Tonight, for example, Tyler desperately wanted to wear Sarah’s slippers. Sarah decided to put the slipper on her own foot. Meltdown. In her defense, we have been working with Tyler about sharing, and this seemed like a good time to continue those lessons even though we were already dealing with a tired toddler with maybe less patience than I had. Then he wanted to wear his cowboy boots. Bedtime was approaching shortly, so I told Tyler that he couldn’t wear his boots tonight, and that he’d have to wait until tomorrow. Meltdown. We told Tyler it was time to put away his toys. Meltdown. I looked at Tyler. Meltdown. I inhaled a lungful of oxygen. Meltdown. A butterfly in Oklahoma fluttered its wings. Meltdown.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I said, aloud, that, while I loved being a father, this was not one of those days.

There was a moment that made Sarah and I bust a gut though. We built a tower of mega-bloks (think big Lego blocks). Tyler was in mid-meltdown, so Sarah and I were doing our best to just ignore him. His cries and whines were drilling into my already critically low patience level, sucking any reserves dry. I took some spare mega-blocks and built an airplane. With the power of my imagination, and with guidance from my hand, the plane took flight. It circled the tower and soared the skies. In a moment of desperation, I crashed the plane into the tower, sending blocks scattering across the carpeted floor. I closed my eyes, ashamed that I couldn’t keep my cool just a bit longer. Weren’t we just about at the end of this particular nuclear reaction anyway? Why couldn’t I just hold my breath for a couple more seconds? As I lay on the floor, eyes still closed, Tyler fell silent.

“Mess. Booooom.”

The absolute innocence in his sweet little voice melts my soul. I could never imagine not being Tyler’s father. When he hugs me, kisses me, tells me he loves me, when he runs to me when I get home from work and wraps his arms around my legs saying “daddeee”; when he does these things, I feel so full of love and awe that my eyes swim for a moment. Sometimes I’m so caught off guard by these pure moments that I feel my breath catch and hitch in my chest.

I hope you didn’t come here expecting to laugh your ass off today. I’m a little apprehensive about actually putting this post up for the masses to read, but I guess parenting isn’t all sunshine and lollipops. While I really do enjoy talking about the lighter side of parenting, I also just really needed to get this off my chest.

I’m just not in a good place lately

The scene: I’m in the kitchen, cleaning after dinner. You know, loading the dishwasher, wiping counters, the works. Sarah and Tyler are in the living toom, playing with Tyler’s farm animals and tractors.

Sarah: Can the cows go for a ride?
Tyler: Moooo.
Sarah: Hop in, cows, let’s go to the slaughterhouse.

I paused for a couple moments, pondering whether I really heard what I thought I did. I failed in my attempts to think of another word that she may have said that would make more sense while playing with a sixteen month old.

Sarah: You can hop in too, horse. We’ll swing by the glue factory first.

*blink*

Me: SARAH!!!!!
Sarah: *wild laughter*

I walked into the office, so I could document the conversation I just overheard. For blogging purposes. And for Tyler’s psychiatrist in 25 years.

Sarah: Uh oh, TyTy, I think I’m in trouble.
Tyler: Tub.

No Sarah, dear wife, you’re not in tub. Not yet. But I would like to submit this post as Exhibit A, in the event of any future litigation. I just want to make sure my hands are clean when the bailiff calls forward the parties for “The State of Indiana v. Sarah”.  Don’t worry though, Tyler will still think you’re the most beautiful mommy in the world, even if he does have to talk to you through three inches of polycarbonate thermoplastic, and see you in a bright orange jumpsuit.

How is it that I can be in a room with Tyler, teaching him words and sounds, playing and wrestling with him, and having a fun and safe time, and Sarah can come into the room at the EXACT moment I am being a bad and neglectful dad? The world can be cruel and perverse in its humor at times.

We have been working with Tyler on “Hi” and “Bye bye,” and play a game that Tyler really loves. He walks out of his room, and turns to face us. “Bye bye, Tyler,” we say to him.

“Buh bye,” Tyler replies while waving.

After shutting the door between us, Tyler knocks on the door and yells in his cute, little-boy voice, “NA NA,” in his best interpretation of “knock knock.”

“Who is it?”

“TY TY,” he yells through the cheap wooden door!

“OHHHH, Ty Ty,” we say while opening the door, “come innnnnn. HI.”

“Hi,” Tyler responds. He come in, gives us a kiss and runs back out.

Repeat, ad nauseum.

Yesterday, Tyler and I were in the living room, football playing on the television, while Sarah cooked dinner. Suddenly, Tyler said “bye bye,” and disappeared from view into the stairway. I extended my farewells and snuck closer so I could keep a secretive eye on him. I watched Tyler pull the baby gate door and close it before yelling out “NA NA!”

We played the game for a few minutes, smiling and laughing and having a grand ol’ time. He would lean over the gate from the second step and kiss me prior to saying our goodbyes again. At one point, he reached for a candle on a ledge. I told him “no no” and that candles are “very HHHHHOT and dangerous.” Tyler pulled his hand back, said “Hhhhhhhaaa” and we continued our fun.

And then Sarah came in the room to see what the score was, and to see what silliness her boys were up to. I explained that the station stopped airing the destruction that the evil Patriots were dealing to the Titans, and was instead broadcasting a more closely matched Bills / Jets game. As I relayed the information, I didn’t notice Tyler leaning over the gate for his kiss. Leaning way too far over the gate. Well, I did notice, but it was too late. Of course, Sarah noticed too. We both watched as his waist created a fulcrum point against the top of the baby gate. His upper body and lower body became opposing ends of a see-saw. Cruel little Disaster Jones sat on one side, and the much nicer, and much lighter, Happy McSafety sat upon Tyler’s legs. I’ll give you three guesses what happened next, and the first two don’t count.

I’d be lying if I told you that watching Tyler upend and flip over the baby gate wasn’t a little funny. Actually, it was a lot funny, but first we had to get to the business of making sure Tyler was going to live before daddy could snicker, snort, and laugh. What made it funny wasn’t THAT Tyler fell, but rather HOW Tyler fell. It wasn’t graceful, by any stretch, but it also wasn’t awkward either. His body remained perfectly straight, as if a board were splinted against him. If the same were to happen to me from an appropriately proportional height, I would have landed in a crumpled heap, with an arm twisted behind my back and my legs in a physically questionable arrangement. With Tyler, it was as if his body simply rotated in the air. It rotated until his hands hit the floor, and continued to do so until he landed on his back, supine, looking up at us with a “was that SUPPOSED to happen?” look on his face. With a cautiously optimistic expression, I looked him over, mostly looking for limbs bent at odd angles. All the while, hysterical laughter danced and tickled at the back of my throat. But he lay there, perfectly straight, perfectly fi–

Before I could even finish my mental prognosis, Sarah scooped him into her arms, asking if he was okay, and smothering him with kisses. The mommy genes kicked in with force.

“Oh, he’s fine,” I said, mentally adding, of course he’s fine, he’s my boy.

And he was fine. Whether from being my roly-poly, pell-mell, tumble-bumble boy, or from the plethora of healing kisses that his mommy bandaged him with, we may never know. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wonder if the way I’m rearing Tyler is good for him. These concerns of mine weigh heavily on me because I want to be the best father that I can for Tyler, and any of his future siblings^[1]. This weight of concern doubles when I see differences in how other parents raise their spawn. While I am aware that everyone parents their children differently, and there’s no single “right way” to do so, there are certainly many wrong ways to raise a child.

Take, for example, the parental duo running one of the carnival games at our county fair this week. This was one of those games where you throw rings at a bowling pin, or some other such nonsense. I avoid all eye contact with that stuff because it will invariably lead to the game runner heckling me to “step up and win a prize for the lady.” Buddy, I’d rather hand “my lady” the twenty dollars it would inevitably take to win a “prize” worth a tenth of that cost, so that she could buy something more substantial than an inflatable tiger. Sarah did look though, and quickly told me to do the same. Roughly four feet off the ground, on a platform where all the prizes lay, stood a Pack-N-Play. Inside the Pack-N-Play was a less than two year year old toddler. A toddler who was wearing no pants. On a 50ºf (11ºc) evening. With 25 mile per hour wind gusts^[2]. That, in my opinion, is poor parenting.

We don’t do that. We also don’t let Tyler play with knives, go near the stove, run around in the street, or drive the car unsupervised. In those respects, we’re good parents. I’m a good father. However, there are many other things that I do allow Tyler to do. I explain to him that he needs to be careful because he may hurt himself, but I don’t remove the “danger”.

Allow me to textually paint a picture as an example of something that may or may not take place in our house on a near daily basis. In our living room is a glide-rocker chair that Sarah used to nurse Tyler in. Its companion piece is a glide-rocker ottoman. Tyler would climb onto the ottoman, which would start rocking back-and-forth, then try to climb from that to the chair roughly 18 inches away. Both pieces sway and rock from hither to thither, threatening to drop Tyler, face first, to the floor. Instead of pulling Tyler away and telling him that he shouldn’t climb on the dangerous furniture, I tell him to be careful because he may hurt himself if he falls (which has happened more than a couple times^[3]). It’s a weak example, but Tyler’s only fifteen months old. What’s he going to be doing in six more months, standing on the peak of the roof with an umbrella in his hands to act as a parachute?

I don’t want Tyler to fear doing things because I’m the one afraid he may hurt himself. But, I also don’t want him to be completely fearless and do something to severely injure himself.

I just don’t know. What say you?

[1] I say siblings as a plural just to keep Sarah happy. I really only intend on giving Tyler a single sibling.

[2] Yes, for serious.

[3] Resulting in little more than an “oww,” said barely louder than a whisper from the little guy.

There are days that I come home from work utterly exhausted. On most of these occasions, luck is on my side. Tyler tends to take his afternoon nap shortly after I arrive home. Carpe momento, no? I use those moments of opportunity to quickly fall to unconsciousness on the floor, couch, bed, or any semi-horizontal surface.

I’ve never been much of a napping person. I view it as time that could have been better spent doing something more productive than the absolute nothingness of sleep. More times than not, I wake up from the nap so groggy and disconnected from reality that I don’t even know what day it is. Unfortunately, five hours of mostly restless sleep per night eventually catches up with me, and occasional naps become a survival necessity.

So, what to do when napping isn’t an option? The simple answer is “don’t fall asleep.” The simple answer never sufficed in Algebra I, II, and III^[1], and it doesn’t really work here without a more thorough explantion. Or, you could just trust me on this one, and save yourself the hassle of reading about my misfortunes. No? I didn’t really think so.

On Tuesdays, Sarah drives to Michigan. She has a weekly study group with some friends to prepare then for their PTA liscense exams. On a dinner plate by itself, this isn’t a problem, as I can still nap while Tyler does. But when the salad bowl is slathered with Tyler-doesn’t-want-to-take-an-afternoon-nap dressing, the dessert tray of Joe’s Heaping Helping of Nap deliciousness is taken away.

So, back to the question I posed earlier: what do you do when napping isn’t an option, but you are dead tired? Let’s say you drove five hours to Cedar Pointe (or insert any other theme park within a long driving distance). You spend the entire day walking around, standing in lines, and consuming enough calories to feed a small village, for a week. At the end of the day, you are mentally and physically drained, but the person that agreed to drive home says they’re too tired, so you decide to drive home even though you were the one to drive that very morning. You’re driving down a boring, straight, sparsely lit highway, and your eyes feel heavier than they ever have before. Cranking the radio, rolling down the window, and sticking your head out just is not working. What do you do? Don’t pause to think about it, because you’ll try to give me a rational solution that nobody ever really puts into practice. Instead, let me just tell you what you do. After making sure that all the other passengers are sleeping (even the one that promised to stay awake and talk to you), and that the road ahead is both straight and devoid of other traffic, you solidly grab the steering wheel in both hands and hold it as straight and steady as possible. Then you tell yourself that you’re going to close your eyes for just a couple seconds. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

At home with Tyler, I was lying on the floor, and we were playing with his farm toys. I put my head down and told myself that I would just close my eyes for a couple seconds…

A lot can happen in ten minutes.

My brain vaguely processed Tyler lightly patting and rubbing my head. It was comforting for two reasons. First, I love having my head rubbed. It is very relaxing for me. More importantly though, I knew that Tyler was right next to me and wasn’t getting into trouble.

Then it occurred to me that things just didn’t feel right. I really couldn’t tell you what it was that made me open my eyes, but something about the situation set off an alarm in my head. When my eyes located the hands that were hitting me and rubbing my hair, I saw that each hand had a handful of a brown substance. I don’t know if any of the sounds that came out of my mouth as I jumped up were actual words or simply choked screams. What I do know is that a wall prevented me from skittering any further away from the son that I purport to love.

I know what those of you who claim to be my friends and loved ones are hoping. No, it was not poo. You evil folks will just have to be satisfied with the knowledge that I really, truly believed it was poo. It was dirt. Sarah has a tray that contains a number of dirt pods, each about the size of a roll of film. You use these pods to start seeds indoors before transferring a plant outside. We weren’t sure if the jalapeno plants in the garden were going to make it^[2], so Sarah started a few seeds in the dirt pods. These dirt pods are the perfect size for a one year old toddler’s hands. Through whatever passes as a thought process in his big little head, Tyler – my little half-me – decided that smearing dirt in daddy’s hair would be nothing but fun. And by God, he was having fun until the mean ol’ daddy-monster woke up.

Do not fall asleep in the presence of a toddler. Ever. EVER.

[1] I always received point deductions and a red inked message that said “show your work” on my algebra exams. Explaining that I was a math genius and there was no work to show did little to appease my instructors. In the end, I was forced to put a bunch of scribbles under each problem to give the effect that I was really working hard to solve the equation.

[2]The jalapenos in the garden are thriving. There are more than what we know to do with. Our first year of gardening was a very pleasantly surprising success.

I was exhausted. With Tyler quietly napping in his crib, I lay across our bed and glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. The digital green numbers showed the time as being a quarter past six, in the afternoon. After a slight pause, I calculated the actual time to be five minutes until six. I’ve had my clock set twenty minutes fast for about as many years as Sarah and I have been together. When the repeating tones of the alarm drills into one’s dreams, and one opens one’s eyes to see the harsh green glowing display, the only truth is the time it displays. This is how I manage to get up on time almost every morning. I closed my eyes. I would nap for twenty minutes then go wake Tyler. When I opened my eyes one second later, the display said it was nearly seven o’clock. I sprang from the bed and dashed into Tyler’s room. I didn’t want him to nap too long and ruin any chance at still getting him to bed at a decent time. He woke easily and promptly asked for his mommy (which is great for one’s ego). I explained to him that mommy was in Michigan. She goes there once a week to gossip and hang out study with her friends for their PTA License exam. As we descended the stairs, it occurred to me that it was actually six thirty, and we hadn’t overslept at all.

Minutes later, we were in the kitchen, scrounging for food. I handed Tyler a strawberry while we waited for the microwave to finish radiating our Hobo Pocket^[1] leftovers. The tentative plan for the evening included reading the newspaper while we ate, playing outside, chasing each other through the house, and general father-and-son fun. I looked at Tyler after finishing the newspaper and knew that our plans had just changed. What I wouldn’t find out until later was just how much our evening would stray from the line I laid down for it. Tyler’s face was covered with ketchup, potatoes,and zucchini. But that wasn’t the game changer. This was nothing that couldn’t be corrected with a wet wash-cloth. It was when Tyler smeared banana, potato, and ketchup in his hair that plan B became necessary. The tentative plan B for the evening included playing in the bath, brushing our teeth, chasing each other through the house, and reading stories before bedtime.

I ran Tyler’s bath and allowed him to toss in some of his favorite bath toys. I am a creature of habit, and rarely – if ever – change the way in which I do things. Bath time is no exception. I wash Tyler’s face, scrub his hair, and was his body. Then we play for a bit before pulling the drain plug. For some reason that I may never know, I switched around our routine on this particular night. I washed Tyler’s face and decided we would play for a while before soaping up. We played for a few minutes and were having a great time. Then Tyler stopped. And grunted. In… ANY… other… situation, I would know exactly what was happening. That synapse failed to fire on this night and left me confused.

“Wait. What’re you doing?”

With great reluctance, I glanced behind him.

“TYLER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?! OH GOD, NO! STOP!”

The tentative plan C for the evening was to freak the f*** out! And I was well on my way toward doing so. I grabbed Tyler and held him out of the sewage while I tried to develop a plan of action. My only goal was to clean the contaminated area as quickly as possible, with as little involvement of my skin as possible. I wrapped him in a towel, ran into the living room, baby-wiped his butt, put a diaper on him and ran back into the bathroom. Using the same thing we use to rinse water off Tyler – a blue plastic container – I scooped the two turdlets up and dumped them into the toilet. I really couldn’t tell you what it was about all this that had me gagging and very close to vomiting (I wipe smeared poop off his balls more times than I care to count, for crying out loud), but it took quite a bit of mental – and physical – restraint to keep my stomach from betraying me. After grabbing all the toys that were in the tub at the time of the “incident” and throwing them in a sink full of hot water, I poured a bunch of bleach in. I then took that same container of bleach and splashed it all over the tub.

Did I finish washing Tyler? Nope. Am I okay with that? Absolutely.

I was this close (squeezes fingers together) to calling a HazMat team and getting our house condemned. I won’t say that I didn’t muse over how much accelerant would be necessary to effectively destroy a two-story house. The problem is, fire investigators are very smart and would have quickly unraveled the mystery. I’d like to say that they would understand my motives, but I just can’t be sure.

[1] Hobo Pockets:
1 to 1.5 pounds of hamburger (ground beef, ground round, ground whatever) – spiced to taste
Sliced potatoes (about 1/4 inch thick)
Sliced carrots (about 1/4 inch thick)
Sliced onions (about 1/3 to 1/2 inch thick)
Whatever other vegetables you have handy (zucchini, green pepper, etc.)

Get four large sections of tin-foil. Put a hamburger sized patty of meat on each one. Add veggies to each one. Wrap them up so they are completely covered. We actually double wrap them because they like to try to open up when you flip them. Put them on a grill. Grill on medium-low heat for 30 minutes, flipping at 10 minute intervals.

Unwrap and Enjoy the deliciousness!