Remember last Halloween? We went to a pumpkin patch, went for a hayride, picked pumpkins, and Tyler gutted and carved his very first pumpkin? Well, it was actually his second Halloween and pumpkin, but the first he’s had an active role in. And afterward, he smashed the pumpkins.

Well, right after we gutted the pumpkins, we all picked out a handful of seeds, cleaned them, dried them, and placed them in a baggie over the winter. Winter’s over and it’s time to plant those seeds now.

First, we made a hill for the seeds, or “baby pumpkins” as we were calling them. Then, we poked a hole in the top of the hill. Three seeds went into the hole. Once the plants sprout, we’ll thin them; meaning, we’ll pull the two weakest plants, and let the strongest grow in that hill. We made a total of three hills.

Once the seeds were placed into their new home, we filled the hole with dirt and patted it down. The hole was only about the size of a quarter and a couple inches deep.

After finishing this on the first hill, it was time to build the second hill. Spacing is important in gardening, especially when dealing with a plant that grows as aggressively as pumpkins tend to. We chose the spot for the next hill and started gathering dirt. We poked a hole, put three seeds in, filled the hole and patted it down again. Then, we did the same for the third and final planting location.

Sarah bought Tyler his very own watering can so that he can help with gardening this year. With all the seeds being nestled snugly in their beds, it was time to put use to the watering can. We filled Tyler’s watering can, and the larger one that Sarah and I use. As Tyler emptied his watering can, I filled it again and again from the larger one. The little stinker lost half his load to spillage just walking from the hose to the pumpkin patch.

To keep the plants moist, we need to put mulch down. This will help retain heat and moisture; keys to life in the plant world. Tyler and I retrieved our wheelbarrows. Both wheelbarrows are very old. Mine was handed down from my father-in-law, whom it was handed down to from his grandfather. Tyler’s used to belong to his mommy. Sarah’s dad brought it down last year, in very rough shape, to pass onto Tyler. After some sanding, painting, clear coating, and new hardware, it was as good as new. We got to work shoveling mulch into the wheelbarrows. Tyler picked up very quickly and had no qualms about the manual labor.

Tyler was pretty pooped after all the hard farming. Sarah took him in the house for a nap. Sarah wasn’t feeling that great as it was, so she took a nap as well. While they slept, I put up some chicken wire around the patch, and made a very special sign.

Ladies and gentlemen, I would like you to see Tyler’s very own pumpkin patch. He is very excited about it, and smiles every time we talk about his pumpkins. We haven’t had a chance to water the seeds because it’s been raining the last two days, and we just planted them three days ago. With any luck, we’ll be posting pictures around September or October of Tyler’s very own, homegrown, pumpkins.

I told Sarah that this was a “Daddy and Tyler project,” because I think it’s important that Tyler has specific “daddy time” and specific “mommy time” along with the family time that we spend together. I feel tinges of guilt about it because, on a level, I feel like I’m excluding Sarah. That’s not the case at all, and to be honest, I’d never be able to do anything like this were it not for her. Aside from the advice she’s given and some of the stuff I picked up from her gardening last year, I wouldn’t have ANY of the above pictures if she wasn’t there to take them for me. For that, I’m very grateful to have had her help.

Kaboom. A game that didn’t use the joystick. Instead, you plugged in the “paddles,” a steering wheel-like controller. The premise was simple. You were a stack of three tubs of water. Above you, a criminal dropped bombs. You steer the dial on the paddle left and right to catch the bombs. The criminal dropped ten bombs in the first round, twenty in the second, thirty in the third, and so on for ten rounds. You received one point per bomb caught in the first round, 2 each for the second, and so on up to 10 points per bomb in round ten. To make the game even more challenging, bombs were dropped faster and faster as the rounds progressed, becoming nearly blinding around the eighth round. Miss even a single bomb and you lose a barrel and go back one round.

It was my favorite game to watch. Not for the graphics nor for the premise of the game. Instead, I was hypnotized with the scoring. I don’t remember how young I was (maybe my mom will weigh in with a comment), but I would sit on the floor and try to race the scoring system. It was my goal to yell out score updates just before my parents caught the next bomb.

“1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. 5.. 6.. 7.. 8.. 9.. 10″

“12. 14. 16. 18. 20,” continuing to 50.

“53 56 59…”

You get the picture. Now that I’m a gamer myself, I realize that this had to play hell with my parents’ concentration. Of all the games my parents had (Space Invaders, Combat, Night Driver (we never owned Joust. Why would we not have Joust?)), my favorite game to “play” was called Atari Math. An equation appeared on the screen and the player had a limited amount of time – 10 to 20 seconds, if I remember correctly, depending on which setting you choose – to correctly display the answer using the joystick and the single red button.

And I loved it. Knowing that I could take two numbers and make a third by adding, subtracting, multiplying or dividing awed me. I don’t mean to brag, but I kicked ass at that game. I could even figure out remainder on the division problems. The timer was usually just an afterthought. It buzzed me a few times when a particularly difficult equation got the best of me though.

Twenty years later, plus some change, Sarah and my step-dad are playing a game (secret targets???) on the Nintendo Wii. It astounds me how much has changed. The Atari could display sixteen colors on the screen at any given time, and had a total palette of 128 colors, whereas current systems are capable of millions. Tyler will likely never know what an 8-bit or 16-bit system is. My step-dad is holding the controller like a bow, and pulling his arm back. A sensor captures every movement and displays a bow and arrow on the screen for him to aim at a target. *swish… THWAP*

“Seven,” the game voice-over announces.

Sarah steps up and takes aim, the screen mirroring even the most delicate movements of Sarah’s arm. While I reminisce about a system that had a controller with five inputs (up, down, left, right, and a button), Sarah’s motions are being tracked, wirelessly, on three different axes. *swish… THWAP*

The screen flashes to an instant replay of her near bulls-eye as the announcer shouts her score. “Nine.”

“Ninnne,” Tyler replies with enthusiasm.

My boy, I think. That’s my boy. If this doesn’t prove that he truly is his father’s son, I don’t know what does.

This last photo also has my two brothers and my sister. I’m the clown in the picture, literally.

And, in case you can’t remember what Tyler looks like (yeah, right)…

If all goes well, stay tuned for part two of this post, titled “Mommy as a baby”. Hopefully, I can get my hands on some baby pictures of Sarah (you smelling what I’m stepping in, Sarah? I’m saying that you better get me some pictures of you as a little ‘un. If you don’t you’ll have to face the wrath of my readers! They’re a feisty bunch, they are!).

Delilah has a bit of a quirk that Sarah and I have exploited, much to our my amusement. Whenever she is introduced to something she has never seen before, Delilah tends to be wary of it. What I do, at that point, is start chasing her around the house with said object. Here, just watch this video.

It appears that Tyler may have picked up on this little “game” of mine. And he seems to love it as much as I do.

Delilah and Tyler are loving each other more and more every day. He’s finally getting to the age where he can play, and Delilah couldn’t be happier with that.

Note: The first video was shot two months after we brought Delilah home with us. She was found next to a dumpster by a couple college girls and they couldn’t keep her at their apartment. We adopted her. She was severely underweight at the time, and was still quite underweight at the time of the video. She looks much healthier (pure freakin’ muscle) now, as you can see in the second video.

We are blessed to have an extremely well-mannered baby, and have been able to take Tyler with us to dinner quite a few times. It’s a modified FNDN – less about just Sarah and I – but it’s still nice to get out of the house together, even if we do have a third wheel with us. We had a FNDN yesterday. I spent much of the day hanging up a privacy fence (and received a wicked sunburn as a result) and felt like it was deserved. We went to a restaurant called Mad Anthony’s.

Our waitress’ name was Sheila. She is an attractive, punky-looking girl, with a piercing in her lip. At one point, she asked how my drink was. I told her it was quite good and she would have to try it when she turns 21. She looked like a junior in high school, but she informed me that she recently celebrated her 22nd birthday.

A few minutes later, she was waiting on the table next to us. It was occupied by three blue-collar guys who appeared to work at the local factory. Sheila’s back was to us while she took their orders. Tyler turned to look at her stare at her… then proceeded to reach out and grab her butt.

The dudes at the table next to us told Tyler “way to go” and asked for high fives from him. Looking back, I’m surprised that I wasn’t mortified about him grabbing her butt, but I actually thought it was hilarious. Sarah made a comment about Sheila being a cougar at 22. I didn’t say anything aloud, but thought to myself, “That’s my boy.”

The moment we got in the car, Sarah – who didn’t bring her cell phone – said, “Dial Melanie and give me your phone.”

I did as ordered. After a couple seconds, Sarah said, “I have to tell you what Tyler just did.”

After telling the story to her BFF, Sarah turned to me and said “Melanie said ‘he is his father’s son.’”

Indeed.

Sarah and I decided to put a garden in this year. We have a decent sized yard, so we measured out a six foot by twenty-four foot area for the garden. The neighbor told us that the ground in their yard was very rocky, so they built a raised garden. I’m a fan of learning from the mistakes of others, so we decided on a raised garden as well. I purchased the lumber and cut it to size two weeks ago.

The frame of the garden.
 
The frame would be built with two inch thick by eight inch high wood. After making the box, I would cut a bunch of 2x4s two foot in length, and make points on one end of them, effectively making wooden stakes. It was while making the stakes that the first accident happened. Those that follow me on Twitter and Facebook already know what transpired. In the monotony of cutting, turning the saw off, removing the scrap wood, and turning the saw on again, at one point I forgot the crucial step of killing the power before reaching into the saw for the scrap wood. The pain I felt as the blade tore into the flesh of my thumb was immense.

I’ve often wondered how one could make a stupid mistake with a power tool that would result in a missing digit. Well, it seemed that fate aimed to satisfy my curiosity on that day. Now, I couldn’t tell you if it was divine intervention, pure luck, or super-human reflexes that saved me from going on a scavenger hunt for my thumb, but I was saved the trauma of a self amputation. I yanked my hand back with a speed I was unaware of being capable of. The resultant injury was a gash the width of a circular saw blade, and about as thick. And a lot of blood, but I finished the frame. 

 
The next step was to lie cardboard and newspaper down,to act as a weed barrier and organic material for the soil. We did this yesterday before the seven tons of soil delivered. While we did this, Tyler took the opportunity to try to eat rocks and gravel.

My garden helpers.

Tyler helped.

Here’s what 14 THOUSAND pounds of dirt looks like.

Barely made a freaking dent in the mountain of dirt.

The garden itself only needed five tons of dirt to fill it. The additional two tons would be used to level the ground in the yard. We had some bushes removed last year which left divots and dips in the ground. And the truck that delivered the dirt was quite heavy as well, leaving two-inch deep tire marks in the lawn that needed to be filled.

As I shoveled away at the mountain of dirt, Sarah, Tyler and Delilah had a picnic outside to keep me company. Delilah found a stick and obviously had some pent-up energy to get out. She began running laps around the garage. I have honestly never seen a dog that could run as fast as she can; it’s unnatural and freakish to watch. She came tearing around the corner, full tilt and must not have seen where she was going. Delilah plowed into Tyler and sent him rolling across the yard. It was very surreal for a moment, and I found myself asking if that really just happened. Delilah knew she was in trouble. She lay down and rolled onto her back when I roared her name. The fury I felt almost overtook the fear I felt for Tyler. Almost. Her submissive action probably saved her life just then; it’s one of her endearing qualities, and cemented my initial belief that it was a complete accident. Although I’m sure shock played a part of it, I’ve no doubt that Tyler’s screams were those of pain, and I ran to him and Sarah.

Sarah held Tyler tight against her body as he screamed, telling him everything was ok, and it was an accident. Tyler was facing the opposite direction. I ran around Sarah so that he could see my face while I comforted him. His eyes were tightly shut with tears running down his face, and…

"He’s bleeding," I said urgently.

"Oh Jesus," Sarah said, pulling Tyler away from her so we could get a better look at him. He had a stream of blood coming from his nose. Panicked, we ran into the house. Delilah never budged.

Tyler screamed even louder when we tried washing the blood off his face. Whether it was from pain or the fact that he doesn’t like getting his face washed, I’m not sure. Either way, it hurt me in the heart to see Tyler in pain. I held Tyler while Sarah attempted to put a cold pack on his nose, which he definitely did not enjoy. He finally calmed enough for us to give him a quick "once over". He had a bump on his head, and his nose wasn’t broken. As a matter of fact, it had stopped bleeding. Sarah took him into the other room to give him the only pain reliever that is guaranteed to work… cuddles on the couch.

I went back outside to tell Delilah that I knew it was an accident, but that she has to keep her eyes on Tyler’s level now and not up in the air at Sarah and I. Then I went back to shoveling before the forecasted rain could make it to our home. Shortly thereafter, Tyler went up for a nap. Sarah came out and helped me with some shoveling and wheelbarrowing. Sarah had the forethought to open the second level windows so we could hear Tyler when he woke up.

Five hours of shoveling and elbow grease later.
 
When he did, Sarah brought him outside again to show him the garden. He grabbed a handful of dirt and tried to eat it. Sarah grabbed his hand and said something like "ucky, Tyler." Tyler grabbed another handful, and Sarah intercepted its path to his mouth as well. And this is when I saw the devious side of Tyler. He grabbed another handful of dirt, but this time used the other hand – the one that Sarah couldn’t see – and put it in his mouth. He reached for more dirt when I said "Other hand, Sarah."

Eating rocks and dirt, check. Bloody nose, check. All this before he’s walking, no less. What’s next on the boyhood checklist, eating worms, sticking a metal object in a wall outlet, or trying to cram a sandwich into the DVD player? Care to guess which two of those three things I’ve done? I’ll give you a hint, we didn’t have a DVD player when I was a child.

Note: The next project will be putting up a 6 foot tall privacy fence so that we don’t have to look at the poorly maintained yard next door.

If I ever had any doubt on whether Tyler is of my own flesh and blood, that doubt disappeared when I saw him make a foot-fist.

There are a few things that, I think, differentiate me from most (normal) people. One, I can not comfortably sit in a chair, unless one leg is under my “bottom” or unless I’m sitting “Indian style” on it. Sitting normal, with both feet on the ground, is very uncomfortable for me.

Another thing I do is curl my toes, all the time. It looks like I’m making a fist with my foot. I’m doing so right now, as a matter of fact. I’ve done this for as long as I can remember, and it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that my mom or dad does this as well. I also cross my big toe over my second toe, on both feet, quite often; much like crossing your fingers when you make a promise that you have no intention of keeping.

And, for the hat trick in foot contortionism, I can pick many things up with my feet. TV remotes, keys, baby toys, dog toys, and even tennis balls must bow to the will of my podiatric grip. Someone in the house finds this to be quite disturbing slash disgusting, while I see it as the next step in evolution. We’re only a few decades away from having children that are born with opposable big-toes, just like our primate brethren. It’s a scientific fact, but I don’t have any scientific proof to back that claim.

Now, don’t go thinking that my monkey-feet are freakish and nasty looking. They look just like the feet on your average man. The possibility even exists that everyone can do these tricks, and I’m not unique at all. I haven’t asked around, so we’ll leave it at me thinking I’m unique.

The joy I felt when I saw Tyler make his first foot fist was not echoed with Sarah. Instead, she directed a stare at me that I characterize as accusatory and contemptuous. If that wasn’t enough, she telepathically sent a thought that roared in my head, “You did this to him. You did this to my baby boy!!”

A day or two later, I was tickling Tyler’s feet with his toy keys. He’s not yet laughing when I tickle him, but he smiles. And, while hearing Tyler laugh is currently one of my most favorite things, I’m quite happy to see and elicit a smile from this big little man. All of a sudden, as I was running the plastic key ring across the bottom of his foot, he grabbed the keys. WITH HIS FOOT!

Monkey feet

My little monkey baby truly is his father’s son. And speaking of monkeys…

The “Infinite Monkey Theorem” has been phrased many ways, so forgive me if this isn’t how you remember it. I almost had a brain orgasm when I read about it on Wikipedia while preparing for this post. There’s so much to think about with statistics and probabilities that it’s hard for the mind to comprehend.

If an infinite number of monkeys randomly pressed keys on an infinite number of typewriters, for an infinite amount of time, eventually, one of them will type the entire works of Shakespeare.

This is a statement which I’ve always believed to be true. As a man that is marveled by science and math, I understood that it is a statistical certainty that, eventually, one of the monkeys would rip a sheet out of the typewriter, start flinging his own poo at the other monkeys, and proudly proclaim that he has finally done it. He has finished writing Hamlet. But, what happened a couple days ago has me questioning my own beliefs.

I had a computer hard drive crash on Thanksgiving. After I got everything back up and running again, I had to manually rebuild some catalog files. Tyler was sitting on my lap while I madly typed up a new index and hash codes and other things that I’m sure you don’t care about. Tyler decided that he would like to have a go at the keyboard. While I was happy that Tyler offered to help me, I had no intention of turning him loose on my code. Instead, I opened up Notepad and rolled Tyler within reach of the keyboard.

Giving Tyler the green light, I said, “Okay, infinite monkey, let’s see what you’ve got.”

He did not impress me with his typing abilities. He was all over the place. He wouldn’t keep his fingers on the home keys, he kept hitting the windows button, and somehow managed to open up Powerpoint. Here’s his final screen output:

zvgbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb                                                                      5768\\\\\\\\\\\\\

\\\\\\\\\\\aaaaaaaaassssss
fswwwwbr0jq8rnbj4iidqfz88foydhgp3jeb86aoq aqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqq

Click the image to view the proof, in all it’s glory

If you were to spend any time actually looking at the above, you may have noticed that there’s a fairly long run of letters that aren’t repeated, like “ssssssssssss” from Tyler just holding one key down for three seconds. Under normal circumstances, I’d find that to be rather impressive. I mean, it’s certainly not of the literary caliber of MacBeth, but it’s still pretty neat.

Don’t go getting Tyler’s name engraved on on the Nobel Prize in Literature just yet. That little string of text just happens to be one of my hash codes. I saved it to the clipboard while I was rebuilding the index, and Tyler happened to press CTRL-V to paste it into his literary masterpiece. What I’m getting at is this: Tyler is a fraud. I do not condone plagiarism, especially when it is my own son who has plagiarized my hard work.

Based on the rest of his output, I have now determined that the “Infinite Monkey Theorem” is a falsity. How could I possibly believe it after seeing the character-stringing mess that Tyler created? Once again, I have little to no scientific proof to back this up. After all, Tyler is not a monkey, but he’s pretty close. He can grab things with his feet. And, left to his own devices, I have no doubts that he would fling his own poo all over the place.

I say he has monkey feet, like his father. But then I see this, and think that maybe “elephant feet” describes it better