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The Playground Rant

Those who know me have heard this one before, likely in a long-form rant full of ethos and fury.  And it's common theme in modern parenting (just ask this terrible book: Free-Range Kids, How to Raise Safe, Self-Reliant Children (Without Going Nuts with Worry which I read in my short "I should read books about being a parent before we have Milo" phase)

Today's playgrounds suck.

Many of the greatest playgrounds I had growing up are now miniature versions of their former glory.  Two story winding slides are now three foot tall plastic quarter turns.  Ladders turned into short staircases.  Chain bridges lost their sway.  The gravel became rubber. Roller slides rolled away.
Actually, I'm OK with the last two.  Rubber gravel is eco-friendly and awesome, and roller slides are creepy.  I had a job in a factory where there were these stick-figure safety signs illustrating the many ways to get mangled.  One such picture was pulled straight out of the head of a seven-year-old-me mid-roller-slide.  Not pretty.
All of the playgrounds I had growing up worth sharing with a seven-year-old Milo have gone away.
But something I saw recently gave me faith that all is not lost.  I just got back from a trip to Indiana, PA to see my wife's sister and family.  One playground on the grounds of IUP was both new, safe, and awesome.  Cue the evidence:

Exhibit 1: Unbalanced Teeter Totter.  Notice the imaginitive and inviting design, but rounded corners and lack of pinch points.  Someone could get thrown onto the soft, rubber ground, but that's about the worst-case scenario.

Exhibit 2: The Spinning Bowl.  The yellow bit in the bottom left is a bowl, 45 degrees off-level that spins.  Notice how you can put dangerously too many people on it and spin yourself silly.  The adult's hand is reaching for the ground because he's concerned that he's spun himself too silly.  That hand might be all that's standing between him and the Hindenburg.  

This thing rocked.  I even heard it made Austin (the two year old here) toss his cookies on a previous trip.

Exhibit 3: Rock Climbing Wall.  I paid to go to a place that had a bunch of adult sized stuff like this.  When I was there, I had to have a spotter, a harness, and a stern talking to about safety.  Need I say more?

Exhibit 4: Lookout Spot.  Fun, colorful, but totally safe.  I can imagine working this little hut into a game, but I can't imagine a way to get hurt.  Milo concurs.

In short, this playground has given me hope that we can solve the big problems that Milo's generation is going to face.  

Chance of rain somewhat higher than expected

The chance of rain has increased to 100%.

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Hole being cut, 30% chance of rain

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2.5 days of work

We're 2.5 days into the new window project, and we're finally doing something window related. That's the first cut of a brand new house-hole.
Notice the well lit room? Those are two of the four new lights in that room. Scope creep!
This is what I do when the other human occupants of my house are out.

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Silver Spoon

Milo tried to use silverware for the first time today. turns out it doesn't well when breastfeeding.

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Father's Day is better than my birthday

I didn't have big expectations for Father's Day.  I'm not huge into holidays, especially not ones in my honor.  I'm not embarrassed or anything, I just have always thought if you wanted to tell someone they're special, don't wait for a holiday.
Well, that philosophy is dead.  I want more holidays, just like this, in my honor.  My wife went out of her way to be spectacular today.  The day started out with me mowing the yard...OK, that part was my own doing.  It's hot out.  I'm not mowing the yard in the evening...but after that we went to The Westside Local for brunch.  Hadn't ever been there, but that place has what it takes to displace Potpie's as my favorite restaurant.  One of the things we ordered was 'French Butter' for the Waffle.  It came with butter already, but they offered a whole separate butter on the menu.  Don't know what makes the butter 'French' but when we ran out of waffle to eat with the butter, we just ate the butter. 

Biscuits and Gravy, Frittata, Hash, Waffle, and French Butter.  

We then went to Shawnee Mission Park.  Megan's intent was to Frisbee Golf there, but it was pretty freaking hot, and Milo's putt is pretty terrible, so we went down by the lake and lounged under that tree on the right instead.

View Larger Map
We spent a couple hours watching sailboats go by.  (Milo if you're reading this, which you're not because you can't read, we're totally going on one of those sailboats a few Father's Day's from now).

Finally, we got home and Megan had not only made a delicious lemon cream pie, but written a lovely blog post.  Thanks for the whole day.  If I'd know Father's Day would be so sweet, I would have had Milo years ago.

Saturday Project

Early Saturday morning I was making my usual rounds when I came upon a damsel in distress.  My wife and her friends are having a garage sale in a week, and my wife was starting to freak out about our garage.  It isn't particularly messy as far as garages go, but it does have its share of the nefarious Garage Clutter, sure to ruin any planned garage sale. 
Damsel, have no fear, your newest favorite superhero is here.
Using only my arsenal of tools, credit cards, and three trips to Home Depot, I emerged the victor over the nefarious Garage Clutter.  I took an oath never to kill in the pursuit of justice, but that oath was broken this weekend.  Garage Clutter is no more.  In its place are four 12 foot shelves.

Yes, those are his and hers Roller Blades.  I keep them just in case I come across a time machine in my adventures and have to travel back to 1992.

You can't resist it (it's electric)

In the era BCM (before the common Milo), I spent a fair amount of my time dancing and/or singing while doing otherwise ordinary household tasks.  Dishes, flossing, making the bed (I kid, I kid.  I don't make the bed), all made better by spontaneously bursting into song. 
So it came as no surprise to me that when I needed to entertain a small and adorable child, I would do so by singing and

1. Dancing for him
2. Making his body dance for him
3. Both

My wife has now caught several of these on tape.  Check out her Vimeo page for future 'So You Think You Can Dance' all-star Milo 'Moves' Langford.  You'll see him dance the Macarena, sing Ben Fold's Five's Underground, and wonder what it's like out of these...waters.  But all of this is just the tip of my future child/actor's talents.  He's tap danced to Happy Feet (the Kermit the Frog version, nothing to do with that wretched penguin movie).  He can already sing the solo's to Bohemian Rhapsody.  And the kid works hard.  Here he is practicing in his sleep.

This kids electric, boogie woogie woogie

Talent scouts, eat your heart out.

...

Gathering future material to someday embarrass my kid...Check.

Come and get it

Don't be ridiculous Daddy.  You don't eat ribs with a fork

All by myself, don't want to be, all by myself

All the single ladies, all the single ladies, I have no idea how you do this.
Twice a week my lovely wife goes to work out while I stay home and put Milo to sleep.  This isn't even an all day engagement.  I get home at 5:30.  We eat dinner.  Megan's gone by 7:15.
On Monday's I give Milo a bath before we start the bed-time ritual.  Last bath time my talented little boy's pee actually hurtled the edge of the tub and nailed my ankle.  Guy's got aim. 
After bath time, I change him, I read him a book, I feed him a bottle (I didn't even have to pump) and then I put him to sleep.  This process is supposed to be done by about 8:20.  Last Monday the process ended at 9:10, just after Moms got home. 

My hat is old, I have a baby I like to hold 

Either way, after all that, it's time to repeat the process on me.  I'm tired.

Babies are people too...morning people

I set my alarm for 6:25, but as of late that alarm has been unnecessary.  Milo has been ready to hit the mat and start working out around 6.  I make breakfast - high protein meat mush for the cats, cereal for me, while Milo warms up with tummy-time.  Then I get on the floor next to him and stretch my glutes while eating.  Sometimes he sticks with the floor exercises, swapping between superman-style tummy-time and forming a human letter A.  Sometimes he tires of the floor and wants to do some squats, so I spot him while he puts in a few reps.  It all takes about 15 minutes, a little short for my taste, but I've got work and he's got a big morning planned.  He will either go back to sleep (if Mommy's lucky) or go wake Mommy up (more likely).

 Actual image of Mommy getting lucky after a morning workout

Morning is Milo's favorite time of the day as far as I can tell.  He'll tolerate tummy-time for the longest, and even when he's ready to flip over, he doesn't hold a grudge like he does when I'm home from work in the evening.  It's a little tough to play so early, but playing with him is better than watching Chelsea Lately or The Daily Show like I did before Milo. 

The Sandman Cometh

Happy bathroom fan
With your peaceful white humming
grows profound slumber

Painting with Eumelanin, or the Battle for Follicular Supremacy

I thought Megan and I were locked in a viscous combat in a war whose winner was pre-ordained, but unknowable.  

False.

Turns out the Battle for Follicular Supremacy isn't a battle at all.  It's more like two painters with different amounts of paint and a shared (and adorable) vision.  

Megan and I each contributed a number of genes to Milo's head.  The rest of him too.  I've always pictured simple-Mendelian inheritance, with a dominant and recessive hair color gene.  He'd have gorgeous strawberry-blond hair, or he'd have my hair.  Turns out we each contributed a bunch of chromosomes that lead to the production of a pigment called eumelanin.  The more genes he has  that make this pigment, the darker Milo's hair will be.  The fewer, the lighter.  It's not a dominant/recessive, either/or, win/lose thing.  (I'm not going to say which of our hair colors would have been a win)  It's the cooperation of our genes which will end up coloring in Milo's hair.  

So he may end up looking something like this:

Cut your hair, hippie

Or something like this:

No, wait, grow it back.  You look like Vanilla Ice

Maybe some of each or none of the above.  You'll be the first to know once I know what our little artists come up with.  

You Earned It

Happy Mother's Day!

I know here at Super Dad Man we usually focus on the dad (cause that's me), but let's be serious.  In the first few months (or at least the first seven weeks), mom does more.  At least in this household.

I think I can claim I've changed more diapers, but I can't claim to have had to sit up 30-45 minutes three times a night.  I get to change him and fall right back asleep after halfheartedly offering to fill up her water glass. 

Feed me mommy, feed me.  Repeat. 

I don't have to entertain him the 9+ hours I'm at work.  I get to talk to adults, who can speak back to me and behave rationally.  Then, I come home full of energy and 'let mommy have a break' so she can do relaxing things, like the dishes. 

 Don't worry buddy, it won't really rain meatballs

Geez, mom, don't you think you've done enough today already?  My bums

I don't have to worry about finding a wardrobe for my ever-changing body.  I only own one suit, and I bought it in high school.  Mommy manages to look beautiful while wearing hand-me-downs from some other mommy to save money.

 Milo thinks mommy is pretty too.

So happy mother's day mommy.  You're doing a really great job by both me and Mr. Spaghetti Neck. 

It's like WrestleMania III

In the red corner, weighing in at 10 lbs. 5 oz, using the disarming cute, a viscous 8 inch reach, and the speed of...well, he can't actually walk yet... The Menacing.  The Maniacal.  The Madorable.  Milo the Marauder.

Our two champions before the fight

And in the blue corner, weighing in at, well, pretty skinny for a fully grown adult male... The going-prematurely gray.  The pretty-good-at-the-non-contact-sport-of-yoga.  The software engineer.  Andrew the Super-Dad-Man.

Let's get ready to unintentionally rumble.

Andrew goes in quick for the bear hug.  Yes, Andrew has completely picked Milo up.  Oh, this could get ugly.  Milo's head is head resting in the crook of Andrew's guns and...wait, OH MY GOD, he's gently bouncing Milo.  Yes, it's a sleeper hold.  I don't think Milo can take much more of this.  His eyes are starting to close...

Oh wait, Milo's got one eye open.  Now the other.  He's waving his arms.  The crowd's really getting into it.  Watch out for those arms, Andrew.   Watch out for the arms!

BAMKAPOW!!!!!!!!!!!

It looks like Andrew's bleeding.  Oh the humanity.  I think the ref's going to call it.  Yes, Milo's done it.  He's knocked Andrew out with one carefully placed swipe to the lip.

This thing is over.

...

That's right, Milo just beat me up.  He hit me in the lip with a flailing arm.  It stung, but I didn't know it was actually bleeding until I kissed his cheek and left a little 'lipstick' print.  Adorable(?)

I knew parenting would be tough, but I didn't realize how tough Milo himself would be at 6 weeks.

Gloaty McGloats-A-Lot after his recent victory

For anyone with 9 minutes to spare, here's a dramatic reenactment.  

Hulk, you're still my hero (but probably only because I never watched your reality show)

Internet Famous

I'm internet famous!  Check out my saga on the Complete Body website

Thanks Nicole.

Got Milk?

Me: Milo, I should have taken a picture of your first milk-mustache.

Megan: Milk-mustache? The other day he had a full milk beard. He had sideburns and everything.

And the Cat's in the Cradle

At the foot of my bed is a tiny holding pen for tiny people.  An abandoned burp-cloth lies over one side.  Over another is a friendly-dinosaur blanket, keeping only the cold plastic of the pen warm.  A discarded pacifier rests on top of a water-free, water-resistant cloth. Two legs of the pen are propped up on Steven King books, throwing the whole lot at an uneasy angle.

A jungle-themed swing sits, motionless, two feet from the books.  A friendly monkey invites no one to his solitary party.

It's like the life force has been drained from room.

Which it has.

That's right.  Little Milo is sleeping, right this very minute, in his crib.
In his bedroom.
Across the hall.
With the door shut.

It's a fact.  Little Milo's growing up.  First he moves out of our room.  Next thing you know....



Man, real tears, every time from that song.

Boy's Night,

Don't tell Megan (aka Mommy).

Megan had her first night out.  She went out with a couple friends from for some well earned Margaritas.  No girls in the house?  Party til you puke!... Or at least until you spit up a little bit.  It was my first time all alone with Milo.  Megan's been in the other room before, but not out of the house.  She left me with Milo's dinner, second dinner, and, in an emergency, third dinner, freshly pumped, labeled and dated in the fridge. 

Well, let's just say this party got underway when Milo finished the first bottle.  That boy cannot handle his milk.  I didn't realize his tolerance was so low.  Milo basically passed out, totally milk-drunk, right on the floor.  He woke up a few times for some rounds of change-the-diaper and I'm-sick-of-tummy-time-already-daddy-geez.  Overall, no (permanent) injuries, plus this incriminatingly adorable (adorably incriminating?) picture.

Milo, buddy, know your limit

The Proper Way to Measure a Squirming Object

While popular belief holds that superpowers don't manifest themselves until the teens, this household is a little advanced. In this household, much like the Parr household, powers can show up early. His first power, obviously, is his innate mastery over the Cute.

(the Cute is strong with this one)

His second power, however, is a little less obvious. He was born a very normal 20.5 inches. No obvious power yet. His next measurement, a mere four days later, read 19.5 inches. "Yes," I thought, "he can shrink, like the Atom or Ant-Man!" While admittedly, not the coolest of all powers, still at least a 6.

Then, four weeks later, he pulls a 21.25. He's not just shrinking, he can stretch or shrink at will! Not entirely sure if this makes him a Giant-Man or a Mr. Fantastic, but I'll take it either way.