This post brought to you by the letters F and U.

and the number screw-off

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.  

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.

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.

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.