Further Dispatches From The Holmesfront

Between all the rememberating that's been going on here on this little blog, there's also been a wee bit going on around here in real life, and some of it might even be worth recording for my posterity's posterity to look back on and think, "Damn, Grampa T wasn't always an incoherent ass-grabber." So let me drop a few bullet points.

- Crawlariffic - this kid'll be mobile soon. He sees his big bro on the go, and he wants to join in the fun. Once that happens, I get to join the ranks of y'all who already get to enjoy chasing multiple kiddos around. It should make trips to places like Target that much more life-affirming.

Oh, and let's not forget the sitting up:

So much better than the spitting up:

- Agree to disagree - so I knew kids could be disagreeable little beast dwarves at times. What I was not prepared for, however, was my child's ability to completely ignore any and all facets of this thing called reality, even when they are sitting right there in front of him, politely introducing themselves. "Hi there, I don't believe we've met. We're Facts. And you are?" Here are a few things Henry has argued with me about in the past few weeks:

• Whether or not I am hungry...not him, but me.
• Whether or not the dog is hungry.
• Whether or not Simon is hungry/sleepy/upset.
• Whether or not I'm driving the right way to Grandma's (I was, thank you very much).
• Whether or not dinner is on the table.
• Which shoes I wanted to wear.
• Whether or not Yoda is a Jedi Master - I found this one particularly upsetting, so much so that I actually allowed myself to get pulled into the discussion. Always a mistake.

Not that his "arguments" are all that thought-out. They're typically just emphatic declarations that the opposite of what I said is actually the truth.

- I am beautiful in the mornings:

This is not so much news, but more of a reminder. Don't front, you know you'd love to peer over your morning coffee at this vision of manly loveliness.

- I am the best husband on my block - So we bought one of those little kiddo crawly tubes from Ikea so that Henry could have something to crawl through other than the underside of our deck. I stepped out of the shower one lovely weekend morning to hear my wife calling for help. I walked downstairs and found this:

I hummed "Mack the Knife" to myself as I strolled to the office to fetch the camera, grabbed it with a flourish, then danced back to the playroom to snap a few pictures. The awareness that I was creating photographic evidence of her predicament served as sufficient motivator for The Ash to work her way out of the child-sized tube, so you see, I was actually just helping her out. And creating blog fodder. It should be noted also that I asked her if it was okay to blog about this, and got the yeah-totally-for-sure on the condition that I point out that she was NOT stuck because she's fat, because she's not fat. No, she was stuck because the tube is made for a child...so my wife isn't fat, she just doesn't think things through sometimes.

- Aesop Rock - Hip-hop show buddy and I headed out for another night of hipping and hopping, this time with the mighty Aesop Rock.

It's funny, I live in a city full of music, but on the rare occasion that I take a night out, this seems to be the music I'm interested in seeing lately. I may be on course for a bit of genre burnout, but no biggie.

- And one last thing - See this face? It's gonna rule the world.

A Peculiar Declaration

It was one of those mornings where the house was filled with the sounds of sad little boys. The previous afternoon had been spent at the pediatrician's office, a visit that ended with both boys getting several shots, so their angst was entirely expected. Not being particularly caught off-guard, I was able to move through the sounds of crying and screaming to get done with the morning routine. Simon was rather easily appeased, but Henry was having none of my soothing. That's nothing new.

With Simon mostly relaxed and secured in his carseat for the ride to the grandparents' house, I sat Henry down on the couch to put on his shoes. This is a boy who loves his shoes. They're green with black trim, and just the thought of putting anything else on his feet amounts to blasphemy in his mind. Thus, the shoe putting-on ritual is typically one that he enjoys. He calmed down as I slipped them onto his feet, mentally checking "get Henry ready" off of my list for the morning.

Henry stayed seated on the couch as I finished with the last few bits of business. It was then that he said something that I found rather bizarre:

"I'm done crying now, Daddy."

What did he say? "You what?"

"I'm done crying now, Daddy."

"Oh. Oh. Kaaaaay."

I gave him a hug. I really didn't know quite how to respond because I didn't know quite what he was telling me. Was he really feeling better? Was he trying to pull it together? Or, oh my God, was I giving off some sort of gross "I'd love you more if you'd just stop crying" vibe? I'm not exactly a "men don't cry ya pussy!" kind of guy, so the last one seemed a bit ridiculous.

Still, it had me a bit bugged. Sometimes when I see joggers running by, my evil side creeps up and I imagine their inner voice goading them on with wicked encouragements along the lines of "Must keep running...must shed more pounds so as to be deserving of love and kindness." Of course, I don't actually mean it, but it gives me a laugh. I don't really know what this has to do with my son's oddball statement, other than the fact that sometimes I'm afraid I'll inadvertently interject a bit of my dark humor at an inappropriate moment, and just really mess the kid up.

The ride to the grandparents' was tear free. I guess he really was just done crying for the morning, and wanted me to know about it. What a little person.