Embarrassing Parental Milestone 2: Return Of The Embarrassing Parental Milestone

Last evening, NJ picked the remote control up off the coffee table and pointed it at the television.

That is all.

Goodbye, Barking Frog; Hello, Dr. Maze And Red Robin

We drove to Redmond today and stopped at the intersection of Willows and 124th, right where the big fields open up. I could have turned left there and we would have been heading toward the wineries of Woodinville, which are just a couple of miles up from there. After hitting two or three of our favorites, we could have lunched at the Barking Frog before a leisurely drive back across Lake Washington to the city.

Instead, though, we drove straight through that intersection and pulled over to Dr. Maze's Farm for Pumpkin Patch Day! Because, you see, unlike those halcyon winery-going days of yore, now we've got the kid. I think photographs of adorable kids sitting amongst pumpkins are fine and dandy, but not nearly to the extent that, apparently, everyone else in the world does. I'm incredibly easy-going, as everyone knows, so when The Wife brought up earlier in the week, I got on board.

You know who didn't get on board? NJ. She didn't get on board. She just got "on bored." (Zing!) The first thing she did was get behind a wooden cut-out of Dr. Maze's truck and try to make her escape (which actually elicited the best smiles of the patch outing):

See ya, Daddy, wouldn't wanna be ya! Mommy and I are OUTTA HERE!

She showed a little interest in the goats and alpacas, but she'd seen farm animals just a couple weeks earlier and it was a bit old hat.

Yeah, yeah, I'm close to an exotic animal and he's cute. Whatevs. Anything more interesting over there?

Then, the pumpkin patch. A few days ago The Wife bought a couple of pumpkins to autumn-ize and Halloween-ready our front porch, so we were just about the only folks there not wheeling pumpkins around in wheelbarrows. I broke out the camcorder, but NJ was still pretty bored (also, she's been a little bundle of cranky joy lately, what with three teeth coming in at the same time). I must have hit wrong buttons or something, because when we got home this was all I had:


Nice job, Dad! You're a regular Francis Ford Scorsese.

Aaaaaaannnnddd ... that was pretty much it. We took some shots, but NJ didn't look at the camera much; her heart just wasn't in it. Here's just about the best of the lot:

That's your father, NJ. Act as if you like him, please.

Then, lunchtime. We drove around Redmond a bit until it struck us that we'd be eating at Red Robin; it's made for parents and kids. The last time I ate (I just typed "hate" by mistake; paging Dr. Freud!) at a Red Robin was in July 2009, when The Wife and I were on our way to the Oregon coast for our last pre-NJ trip. We were starving for lunch, and Red Robin was the only thing we could find at the next exit. We were seated at a table next to a family with a couple of kids who were having some loud fun, and The Wife -- who looked like this then, great with child -- said "Get used to it, we'll be going to these places a lot pretty soon." Fifteen months later, there we were. NJ was immediately interested when she saw kids leaving Red Robin with balloons, which she's already on record as being partial to. As soon as we got in, she was given a red balloon and her attitude noticeably spiked to "fun."

You can stuff your pumpkins in a sack, Mister, because THIS is a party!

NJ feasted on chicken, steak fries and a little broccoli. She also learned that she likes ketchup, thanks to me dabbing it on my finger and sticking said finger in her mouth. There were tons of other kids there, including a five-month-old boy sitting at the next table who cried until his mother pulled him in underneath the public-breastfeeding blanket, a sight that brought back fond memories of The Wife putting that cape-like thing on and hustling NJ underneath for a quick, inconspicuous meal. Now, we're thrusting mashed-up steak fries at her and swabbing the inside of her mouth with ketchup. Once we got home, NJ and Dad Solo both hit their respective beds for nice, long naps.

So thanks, Red Robin, for turning our afternoon around. Even though the burger I ate five hours ago is sitting in my gutty-works like an unmovable stone right now, and it actually feels like it's getting bigger and bigger.

It's their signature blend, so you KNOW it's gonna be good!

It Had To Be Mexican Food

"Man, she sure is fussy today. What a moody little girl."

"No kidding! Let's finish up and get home. What do you want to do about lunch?"

"Burgers on the way? There's nothing to eat at home."

"OK. Hey, what's this? A new Mexican restaurant? Want to try it?"

"What about NJ?"

"She's not crying right at this moment. We can eat fast and get out of there."

"Hmm. Our choices are to take the fussy child home and get take-out on the way, or take the child into a restaurant and hope she can keep her cool for an hour or so, even though her mood is shifting from one extreme to the other and then back again in a matter of seconds."

"This menu looks pretty good."

"OK, let's go in!"

20 minutes later

"I dunno what's up. She acts like she's teething, but I can't feel any new teeth sprouting. You eat and I'll take her outside for a bit."

10 minutes later

"Here, let me try. We'll be right back."

8 minutes later

"Oh well. I'll take her to the car. You finish up and get mine to go."

2 minutes later

"Was everything OK?"

"Yes. We just gambled on the kid and lost."

"You never can tell with little ones."

"Oh, we had a pretty good idea."

4 hours, 2 bottles and 1 nap later, at the Arboretum's Japanese Garden:

Crying? Fussing? What the heck are you two talking about? I'm living la vida loca and loving every minute of it!

Slide, NJ, Slide!

Remember Mike 'King' Kelly, the great baseball player in the late 19th century with the Chicago White Stockings and the Boston Beaneaters who popularized the hook slide? And the poem 'Slide, Kelly, Slide' that made him a household name?

Yeah, NJ doesn't either.

This man enjoyed sliding.

This girl doesn't.

That's What She Said, Or: Embarrassing Parental Milestone

For the first several weeks of NJ's life, obviously, The Wife and I (mostly her) were up all hours feeding and caring for her. That's when the DVR earned its keep. Set that puppy to record shows during the day, then watch them at all hours when the kid needs to nurse and be rocked to sleep. We had a seemingly endless supply of "The Office" episodes, because both TBS and a local TV station shows multiple reruns throughout the day. The Wife and I ODed on Michael Scott's sublimely boneheaded antics to the point that now, when an episode starts, I know if there is a joke in it that strikes The Wife as particularly funny; when it comes along, she chuckles and I say "Oh, you thought that was funny, did you?" in a super-sarcastic voice. She does the same to me. (Possibly related note: We are dorks.) So: It's a good bet that over the last eight-plus months, "The Office" has been on our television set for at least a few minutes almost every day.

Late last week I was flipping around after dinner and "The Office" came on right at the beginning. The theme song started up, and NJ -- who was nursing, eyes closed and head facing the other direction, content to the point of being in another world -- jerked her head around and stared at the screen until the music was over. The next night, same situation, same result -- "The Office" theme immediately got her attention, like a bomb went off in the corner of the living room. Next night, same deal. Every time I've played "The Office" for her since, in fact. She's Pavlov's Cutie.

The future Mrs. Dwight K. Shrute?

So chalk this up as my official First Corruption of Youth. I think my next project will be to train her to make me a martini every time she hears the theme from "Mad Men."

Awkward!

I'm ice skating with one and going to a staged reading of 'Godspell' with the other.

The two loves of my life, NJ and Red Mill Burger onion rings, ran into each other today.

The World's Most Underrated Dad Milestone

Yesterday, for the first time, I spent the larger part of a flight layover shopping for a gift for my kid. I was in the Albuquerque airport. I used to smirk at those guys -- they're easy to spot -- but yesterday I was one of them. And not minding it too much.

I was thisclose to resigning myself to coming home empty-handed because all I saw were gaudy pink t-shirts with "Somebody Loves Me in New Mexico" or some such thing written on them in glitter. But I found an artsy-fartsy shop full of artisan goods from Santa Fe, and now NJ is cuddling with this:


Thanks to an off-hand joke I made last night that cracked up The Wife, this horse is unfortunately named Brambles. Sorry about that, horse.

Meet the New Boss

Willie, the leader of the beloved Two Idiots comedy duo (he's Oliver Hardy to Zeus's Stan Laurel), used to run this household. Now, though, he knows NJ takes precedence and he's supposed to be careful around her. He will very occasionally sneak up behind her and sniff her head when it's playtime on the floor, but otherwise he steers clear. Two factors there: 1) his earliest experiences with her, when she was tiny and cried long and loud, Willie would make a beeline for the absolute furthest corner of the house; and 2) every time he so much as ducks his head in her direction he hears an ominously stern "Willllll-iiiiiieeeeeeeeeee" warning from me or The Wife. Translation: "Tread very lightly, my friend, upon pain of a stinging swat on the ass and an uncomfortable delay in getting your dinner."

All in all, his interest in NJ has diminished since we brought her home in August. Lately, though, her interest in him has spiked. She's fascinated by his luxurious coat of Labrador fur. She doesn't pull his fur or squeeze his hide, just a flat hand on his back, maybe a flex of the fingers. Maybe it bothers the dog, although he's such a needy "pet me now" pup that I doubt it. Mostly he just knows that she's trouble, Mister, and he'd better make tracks. Which is good. Willie's a little dumb, but he's not stupid.

I'm stupid, though. I was playing with NJ this morning -- it was Space Commander time, and she was soaring a good foot and a half above me and the bed -- when I dipped her down to check on the Space Dog, who was laying warily next to me. NJ flattened her hand on his back, petted him a couple of times, and Willie tensed up but didn't move otherwise. Then, she came down for another touch, startling Willie. The dog jerked his head back and up -- he's got very good reflexes for a 12-year-old, cancer-ridden Lab -- and his snout smacked NJ right on the forehead. There was a little bit of crying, and for a few moments she sported a red spot, but it wasn't a hard hit and soon enough she'd forgotten about it. (Willie is probably still thinking about it -- he's made himself relatively scarce ever since. Even when NJ spit up on her play mat, something that he's usually very eager to help clean up.)

The incident was all Dad Solo's fault -- I flew her too close to the tense dog -- and he continues to inadvertently beat on the brat. Since the dog incident, NJ has bumped her mouth on the hard plastic side of her bottle (arguably her fault, but I'll take the hit for that since I was holding the bottle), and my thumbnail scratched her leg when I was changing her pajamas. Both times, NJ started to cry and I had to blow some pretty impressive raspberries to get her to smile again. Apparently it's Break the Baby Day; no permanent damage yet, but the day's only half over. Perhaps I should just leave NJ on the floor with a pile of toys and Willie sitting a few feet away, keeping an eye on her. Because for today, at least, he's being a more capable parent than I am.