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.