Don’t Tell Garrett The Babysitter’s Dead!

Shortly after this picture was taken, I discovered Fred II floating by the filter. Clearly, the responsibility of watching our son was too much for the little guy to handle. It was unclear if he died from natural causes or committed goldfishicide. (There was no note.)

Services were held in the bathroom. Only GenXDaddy was in attendance. Fred II was laid to rest in our white, porcelain mausoleum with running water. (I was finally able to flush something down the toilet without having it costing me $1000 in plumbing repairs!!)

He will be missed…along with his predecessors: Yo, Da, Farley, Freds 1-6, and Ni Hao Kai-lan.

(Not so) Silent, but Deadly

Gas leak located!

Justin walked past me and blasted a long and loud fart. It was the type of fart that started on a Monday and ended on a Wednesday! He acted as if nothing had happened.

“Justin!! Did you just fart on me??” I asked.

“Yes, daddy!” he proudly proclaimed.

“Justin! That was gross. Please don’t do that again!” I begged.

Here was his explanation – “I can’t help it daddy. The tacos in my stomach are laughing.”

The Shaw-“Luck” Redemption

“You either get busy crawlin’, or you get busy nappin’.”

Meet Garrett Priluck. Or, as we like to call him here at Baby Jail – Inmate #2. When Justin was just a baby, we bought “Baby Jail” to prevent him from rolling/crawling away when we had to put him down. It’s one thing to have a baby, but it’s another to have a MOBILE baby. When he was finally able to roam the house freely, his first trip was straight to the front door. I think it was his “Great Escape.” Baby Jail has prevented many escape attempts.

Garrett is now 8 months old and he is on the precipice of crawling. He is getting up on his hands and knees and he’s making a thrusting motion. There is no movement, just thrusting.  (Yes, I do make porn music sounds when I see him doing this.) So, on Friday night, we brought out the pieces of Baby Jail and built it once again. Originally, I went to Toys R Us and bought 100 colorful balls in order to make it look less “institutional.” Luckily, we saved them. After a thorough clearing, Justin, GWE and I began jamming them back into the bars to make it more colorful.

Welcome to The Hole!

As we brought Garrett into the living room, he was looking over GWE’s shoulder. He immediately saw what was waiting for him and he began to buck wildly with excitement. Once he was inside, he was in heaven. All of his toys were close by and the plush cushion around the base was soft under his butt. He grabbed for the colorful balls and tried to jam them into his mouth one by one. He then rolled onto his back, places his feet on the bars, and pushed himself around the inside of the jail to check it all out.

I have to admit that I thought this was cruel and unusual when we first purchased it. What kind of parent cages their child like this?? But the truth is, both kids have loved it. They see it as “their personal space” and playground. Who am I to argue with an 8 month old?

However, if Garrett starts playing a harmonica and singing “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen….,” I’m getting him out of there!

Sherlock: The Case of the Missing Inhibitions

As you may recall, I have a single friend who likes to torture me with stories of wild nights with loose woman and free flowing booze. We call him “Sherlock.” At precisely 12:38pm today, I received the following text:

“I’m headed out to breakfast now! I have a friend who is in town from Vegas for work and she happened to bring one of her friends. Long story short, we finished three bottles of sake while soaking in my hot tub and it lead to….well, let’s just say I’m exhausted. And my bed can easily accommodate three people!”

I calmly explained to him that it’s not uncommon for me to have four people in my bed. However, one of them is my sleeping wife and the other two are my children. Yes, I realize it’s not the same.

And yes, I am starting to dislike “Sherlock” as well.

Be the Ball. Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!

With an adult Taylor Made putter in one hand and two yellow, Wilson Spongebob Squarepants golf balls in the other, Justin walked up the ramp with me to the putting green at the Balboa Public Golf Course. As we passed by an older guy carrying his pristine touring golf bag to his car, he scoffed at me and said, “You know, this is where we come to get away from our kids.”  I would not be deterred by this Grumpy Geezer of Golf. It was time for Justin to put away his windmills and colorful balls of Putt-Putt and begin to learn how to play this game for real.

When we stepped onto the practice green, I instructed Justin to drop his golf balls near the pin. He placed them down one by one. I then said, “Ok, Justin. Putt the ball into the hole.”  I said nothing else. I gave him no other instructions. Sure enough, he walked over to the ball, smacked it with my putter……….and it dropped into the cup – from 8 feet away!! For any scouts reading this, allow me to clarify: my left-handed, 5 1/2 year old son putted from the right while holding a right-handed club that was facing backwards and he still managed to hit the pin from 8 feet away!!! I looked over to see a couple of golfers who paused to watch my son. One of them gave Justin a “thumbs up.” Another just stood there shaking his head in disbelief.

Does the green Masters' champion jacket come in X-X-X-X-SM?

For the next 30 minutes, I continued to drop golf balls around the putting green while encouraging Justin to get them into the different holes. Sometimes he really connected with the ball and sometimes he did not. Regardless, we were laughing and having fun. He had a big smile on his face in between holes. But when he was getting ready to putt, his smile dropped and he had the steely gaze of Clint Eastwood moments before a shoot-out.

He knew that this was special. There were no other children around. This was “Man Time” and I think that he genuinely had a good time just hanging out with the guys. When he was done, he asked to go over to the water fountain by the first tee. As we walked over, he observed a foursome teeing off. He asked me “How do they hit the ball so high?”, “When can we ride in the white carts?”, and “Why is everyone wearing silly looking pants?”

Afterwards, I took him into the club house for breakfast. Together, we sat and ordered eggs, bacon, and French toast. He kept asking me if I saw his putt that went around the edge of the hole and if I saw his putt that went into the hole and if I saw his putt that hit the pin and if I saw his putt that hit another ball, etc.

The three, early 40’s guys at the table next to us got a kick out of overhearing our conversation. They turned around and asked Justin what his handicap was. He just smiled, showed them his golf balls, and informed them that he had gotten a “hole in one.” We all talked golf while waiting for our food. By the end of our conversation, they had invited Justin to join their foursome the following week. He responded, “What about my daddy?” They all laughed and said, “We’ve seen him play. He can be your caddy!”