Adventures in Parenting #33: School Pictures

As I've mentioned before, Cooper has been enrolled in our church's preschool (YCW) this semester. Because if someone else can take care of your baby for six hours a day, two days a week, you let them do that. YCW has been an outstanding experience for us and I don't just say that because some of the employees read my blog. Truly, it's been a real blessing and we've loved having Cooper involved in the program, even at such a young age. He gets to spend a few hours each week with his peers, we get a few hours of absolute work time, and we get stoked up on art that Cooper has "made" in class. It's a win-win-win. A great many new experiences come along with your King Baby's enrollment in a preschool like this and maybe at the end of the year I'll write a full recap. But one of the big events is, of course, Picture Day. Having run a youth sports program for the last five years, I know all too well the importance of Picture Day. One year during soccer our Picture Day was rained out and when it became apparent that rescheduling was going to be an issue, you might have thought I'd told the families I was going to take possession of their first born sons considering the outcry. It is a BIG deal.

Even still, when we got the notice that Picture Day would be taking place, I was caught off guard as I'd never really thought about the need for Picture Day for a five month old baby (at the time). But we complied and dressed Cooper in his cutest casual attire (no one likes the kid who gets super dressed up for school pictures, nerds), hosed him down with Axe Body Spray (no we didn't), and sent him off for pictures with a man known only to us as Mr. Potato Head Photographer. I, like you, have many questions about a man who calls himself Mr. Potato Head but that's neither here nor there.

A couple of weeks later we were notified that we could pick up our photos the next day. Now, we hadn't placed an order for any photos or a package of photos, they'd just been printed for us anyway. I found this process weird but apparently it's quite common for veterans of Picture Day. When I arrived to drop Coop off, there was an envelope with his name on it waiting for me and inside were six sheets of pictures in various sizes and varieties for me to choose from. I could buy all of them for one price or could essentially create my own picture combo meal package and take only the sheets I wanted. I called Lindsey (because obviously this was not a decision that I could make on my own, duh) and we settled on three sheets of photos for the price of one billion dollars and six head of cattle. No, I'm kidding, they were pretty reasonably priced all things considered. This does leave us with one small issue, however: there were six sheets printed for my perusal and I took only three. What happens to the other three? Are the photos of my adorable King Baby just thrown away? Sold to an ad agency that will use them in a JC Penny catalog? Used as filler in new picture frames? I'm not sure and the question will haunt me.

Anyway, here's the end result which, if I do say so myself, is ridiculously cute. You're welcome, world.

Do they still make JC Penny's catalogs? Brian

Adventures in Parenting #32: The Pumpkin Patch

Okay, so the event that is about to be described happened a while ago. How long ago, you ask? I don't even remember. It might as well have been three years before Cooper was even born. I haven't posted it up here because A.) Work, familial illness, and general fatigue have taken away my free time and I haven't been able to write as much and B.) I don't really have any funny stories to go with this post, only pictures. I know you jokers are only here to see pictures of my adorable King Baby and could care less what I have to say but I like telling stories and I'm mostly only here to entertain myself. Regardless, here is the account of our trip to the Pumpkin Patch you've all been waiting for. I cannot recall having ever visited a pumpkin patch as a child. At the very least, it was not a family tradition as it apparently is for many families. As such, I had given absolutely no thought to the idea of when we would be heading to Cooper's first pumpkin patch extravaganza. According to all of you people, however, I should have. When fall began to slowly roll in, people kept asking me when we were taking Cooper to the pumpkin patch. Like, a LOT of people. Like, random strangers in Applebee's asked me when we were headed to the pumpkin patch. Apparently this is some rite of passage I had no knowledge of and to avoid the pumpkin patch with such a cute baby would be tantamount to sacrilege. I began to feel like I should just announce to any room I walked into that we hadn't taken Cooper to a pumpkin patch yet and then wait patiently for my stoning. You people are serious about pumpkin patches.

Luckily our friends Jeff and Carrie were on top of things and invited us to join them as they took their daughter to a local pumpkin patch. This was great news because I really couldn't take many more stonings. We headed out to Colleyville on a Friday afternoon (again, this could have been in 2007 for all I know; it feels like an age ago and Cooper looks COMPLETELY different now) and took in the sights and smells of a down-on-the-farm pumpkin patch. And the smells. Oh the smells!

Best of all, Cooper was in a really good mood and put on his happy face for most of the afternoon's events. He posed with his mom, paying no attention to the chicken behind him that had just pecked the fire out of another boy's hand:

Then he sat down on the world's tiniest bench and took hold of a pair of pumpkins:

Just seconds after that photo he tried to put one of the pumpkins in his mouth. Not, like, the pumpkin stem, mind you. I mean the whole pumpkin. He dreams big. Next, Cooper and Emma took up their obligatory positions behind the plywood cowboy and cowgirl. Neither of them really knew what to do with this:

We then took some time for a father and son photo. If only the rest of these jokers would have gotten out of shot. Just because this is a public place doesn't mean you can jump in our pictures, bro!

We stopped down for a quick round of Sky Baby, Cooper's second favorite game behind "Farting":

And finally, the three of us sat down for the rare family photo, which Cooper CLEARLY cared about greatly:

So there you have it. Cooper's first trip to the vaunted pumpkin patch. Now please, stop throwing rocks at me.

White pumpkins weird me out, Brian

Adventures in Parenting #31: Halloween

Of all our holidays and traditions, I find Halloween to be, without question, the strangest. I mean, there are odd things about every holiday and tradition of ours but I think most of them could be explained away fairly easily. Not Halloween. Imagine an alien race landed on earth the day before Halloween then compared October 30th to October 31st. It would make no sense. Everyone still has to go to work, people dress up in weird costumes, and at the end of the day, you have to give complete strangers candy or else they will egg your house. Let's just face it, that's odd. Halloween is also the only holiday (can we even call it a holiday if we still have to go to work and school?) for which my opinion has changed over the years. I loved it when I was a kid (OBVIOUSLY) because of the aforementioned free candy. Then I didn't care about it because I was too old to get the free candy. Then I hated it because Halloween meant dressing up (ugh) and going to parties (double ugh) and general buffoonery that I don't care for (get off my lawn!). And now it's transitioned into this nice little break in the monotony, during which I have to do nothing except buy candy and after which I can pretty much just sit on my couch and relax. That's my kind of party!

Like everything else, adding Cooper to the mix changes Halloween, of course. The next 12-15 Halloweens will be consumed with costumes and candy and no you can't stay home from school because your stomach hurts and yes, dad has to eat all of your Reese's peanut butter cups to make sure they're safe, etc. This year, though, things were pretty simple. No trick or treating or crazy parties, just a costume and handfuls of Reese's Pieces crammed into Cooper's bottle. That's not legal, you say? Nevermind.

Cooper actually got two costumes this year because we want to make it clear to him early on that he can have anything and everything he wants. No, because we bought him a costume for a themed birthday party he attended (yup) and then wanted something more "us" for his actual costume. As such, he attended his YCW class on Thursday morning dressed as a monkey because the state requires that all Halloween first timers must have an animal costume:

For his evening attire, we went a little more contemporary. Or perhaps I should say "nerdy." For those of you who actually know Lindsey and I, it may come as a surprise that I actually came up with this idea given that Lindsey is definitely the creative one in this family and also I hate costumes more than almost anything else in the world that does not include genocide, homelessness, cancer, John Travolta's mere existence, etc. But I felt like we'll only get a couple of years where we get to choose Cooper's Halloween costumes ourselves so we should take the opportunity to imprint some of our style on him. Hence, Elliott and E.T.

Once we transformed Cooper into Elliott, we headed outside with some friends and sat at the curb in order to hand out candy in a place where our dog wouldn't have a conniption every time the doorbell rang. At the curb, Cooper became keenly aware of his new pal and didn't know what to make of him:

It's cool, Coop. Lots of kids were scared of E.T. BUT YOU WILL NOT BE ONE OF THEM. Soon, though, the attention shifted from E.T. to the pack of Reese's Pieces sitting on his stroller tray. Now, you might expect him to reach for these treats but A.) His body was strapped into that stroller pretty tight and B.) The hoodie we bought for him is sized for a husky four year old so he didn't have too much control over his limbs. Instead, he used what he had at his disposal: his mouth.

Good effort, little buddy. Once he gave up on the Quest for Reese's, he posed for a nice picture with his mom:

Then sat down with me for a photo opportunity before suddenly realizing that he hadn't eaten in WELL OVER three hours and he needed food IMMEDIATELY:

So now you know all those ridiculously cute photos I've been showing you over the last six months are a lie. This is parenting, ladies and gentlemen! Look at that picture and know it is true! Fortunately, after guzzling a 7 (that's like the child version of a 40, obviously), he returned to his normal self and got to spend some time with his buddy Carter. Cooper and Carter have only just begun to acknowledge each other and they're not too sure about one another but on this night, they kept it civil and were therefore able to bring together two of Steven Spielberg's greatest creations: E.T. and Jaws. If only another kid had shown up as Indiana Jones.

Next year he's going as Hungry from the Weight Watchers commercials, Brian

Adventures in Parenting #30: Sick Baby Week

As you may or may not remember, last week was Sick Baby Week. Wait, did you guys not celebrate Sick Baby Week? It was just us? That's a real shame. You missed out on a TON of fun activities and events that I'm sure you would have wanted to be a part of. Next time around I'll make sure you all get the memo. Among the many amenities that Sick Baby Week offers, some of my favorites are: - Not sleeping! - Constant crying! - A helplessness that manifests itself in the feeling that you have no idea what you're doing! - A complete lack of patience with everyone in your life! - And my favorite, the very real consideration of why you signed up for this whole thing in the first place!

Seriously, though, guys, Sick Baby Week is THE WORST. It started on Sunday morning when our normally congenial little King Baby was grumpy and quick to anger. No matter what I did, he could only be pacified for short periods of time. This general fussiness continued through small group but we just chalked it up to teething which he's been threatening to begin for a couple of weeks. But after the group left, his temperature spiked and he was suddenly ON FIRE. His fever rose (up to 103.2) along with his anger and before long, it became obvious that this was Sick Baby Week and we'd better buckle up.

Now, we've been very lucky and blessed to this point because on top of being an all-around cool kid, Cooper has been incredibly healthy. After that extra day in the hospital under the tanning bed right after birth, it's like he wants to make sure he doesn't have to go back ever, a stance that I wholeheartedly endorse. He's had one little baby cold that dissipated quickly and otherwise it's been smooth sailing. So this was a crash course in Sick Baby and it was BRUTAL.

Sunday night was divided into shifts because A.) We had to make sure Cooper's fever didn't jump up into the 104 range (which is apparently the magic number for a doctor freak out) and B.) In his sickness, he reverted to his newborn way of life wherein he would only sleep if someone was holding him. 10 pm to 3:30 am was my shift then Lindsey took him through to daylight. Come the morning, we took turns hurriedly getting work stuff done while the other person sat with a screaming child who absolutely could not be consoled and would not calm down enough to sleep. We finally got to take him to the doctor's office where he sat whimpering on Lindsey's shoulder before nodding off into the best sleep he'd had in 24 hours...right before the doctor came into the room and had to jostle him. You're killing me, Smalls. Our doctor checked his ears, confirmed the suspected ear infection, then pried open his little mouth (side note: Sick Baby does NOT care for tongue depressors) and showed us the THOUSANDS, POSSIBLY MILLIONS of ulcers lining the back of Cooper's throat. AHHHH!!! It was a horrifying sight. No wonder Sick Baby is so incredibly angry, his mouth is one giant ulcer.

Turns out, our little bundle of cries and shouts had contracted a hand, foot, and mouth virus on top of his ear infection. Here's the fun part though: There is no medicine for said virus. So...you just have to let it run its course. Now, I know I've only been a parent for six months. But in my experience, this is the worst sentence you can say to a parent because what you're really saying is, "You know how your child is literally screaming anytime he's not asleep and you have work and stuff that needs to get done but you can't because there are no breaks when you have a sick child and also you feel helpless because you can't help this little guy at all? That's going to continue for at least two more days." I was tempted to ask if he could give ME something to help me get through this week, like heroin or at least methadone, but he couldn't hear me over Cooper's screams anyway so it didn't matter.

The next two days are somewhat of a blur, like that scene in Garden State where Zach Braff just stands in a sea of people as they run past him in fast forward except with a brain-numbing noise emanating from the crowd. We slept in shifts while the other cared for Sick Baby. I turned in one of the least valuable weeks of work I have ever been a part of and that includes the time I worked at Six Flags and spent the vast majority of a three day work week sleeping in the walk-in freezer. I came to live for Cooper's five daily feedings because at least in these moments he couldn't scream, only whimper as he tried to chug his formula. Truth be told, and I think any parent will back me up on this, while the screams and cries brought me close to death, the absolute worst part was the look of sheer bewilderment and genuine pain that my little buddy wore on his face while screaming and crying. Three days of that will seriously bring you to the point of wondering what in the world people were thinking letting you be in charge of a baby in the first place. The helplessness is the killer.

Only two things appeased our Sick Baby for short periods of time:

1.) Singing. I'm not a great singer and neither is Lindsey but during Sick Baby Week, you would think we were both warming up for an American Idol audition. Maybe as a folk band like Dr. Funke's 100 % Natural Good Time Family Band Solution but who knows, I haven't really thought about it. I sing to Cooper a little when trying to get him to sleep but Sick Baby Week took this to a whole new level as I exhausted just about every song I could think of, in constant repetition, because it kept the kid quiet. Thank God for Rich Mullins, Kings of Leon, Mumford and Sons, and every other white person band that I've been listening to for years. And, yeah, so what if I did soothe him at one point with an acoustic version of Kanye West's "Gold Digger"? Don't judge me, ESPECIALLY during Sick Baby Week.

2.) Cell phones. Like all children of the 21st century, Cooper is mildly obsessed with screens, particularly the screens attached to our iPad and iPhones. He reaches and grabs for them continuously and it's always a fun game to try and send out that vital fantasy football-related text message while simultaneously keeping the phone away from the baby. In the midst of all the screaming and crying, we finally relented and Lindsey handed off her phone to Cooper, who was finally able to get hold of the thing he coveted so much...and promptly stick it in his mouth. Apple gives you a free replacement iPhone if your current one gets clogged with baby drool, right?

Finally, on Wednesday night, we began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Cooper was still angry but significantly less so, his fits of screaming and crying were fewer and farther between, and occasionally he even eeked out a smile or two. He slept through the night on for the first time since Friday and woke up his happy, smiley self, who demanded we let him go to YCW for the day. (Okay, so it was more like we demanded he go to YCW so that I might take an undisturbed nap.) Our trial was over and we were welcomed into the Brotherhood of Parents Who Have Made it Through Sick Baby Week Without Killing Each Other, though we were granted only partial access because I came very close to murdering our dog in order to release the tension of the week. I'll take what I can get.

Methadone for Parents of Sick Babies is a Burgeoning Market, Brian

Adventures in Parenting #29: Six Months and Baby Talk

Our King Baby turned six months old this weekend which is CRAZY because A.) It seems like we've had this kid in our lives for much longer and B.) It simultaneously seems like only yesterday that we brought home a tiny bundle of grumbles that, in hindsight, looked a bit more Native American than I originally thought.

Over the last six months I've documented quite a few of Cooper's milestones, firsts, etc. as he's knocked off a few of those important steps to becoming a toddler. Now, he's always been a bit of a talker (hence his former title, the King of the Grumbles) but in the last few weeks he's really stepped up his game and started vocalizing like a champ. It's usually in short bursts mixed with a few sighs and coos but every once in a while he really gets going and delivers a long diatribe on whatever subject it is that's got him worked up. Recently, too, he's figured out how to scream which makes these little outbursts even more entertaing (ESPECIALLY in public places). This weekend, while we watched football together, something got his attention (probably Tech's confounding turnovers that cost us the game) and the result can be seen in the video below. I'd like to apologize upfront for the prominent place my foot takes in this video as I did not realize Lindsey was filming and she did not move the camera three inches closer to avoid this situation. Hopefully my foot doesn't take too much away from the cute baby.

http://youtu.be/Uk40P_xlkmY

Cute babies > Gross Man Feet, Brian

Adventures in Parenting #28: How to Feed Your Baby Rice Cereal

One of the (many) things I did not know about before becoming a parent is this substance called "rice cereal." First off, I have no idea why the word "cereal" is in any way associated with this stuff. Cereal is one of the greatest foods this planet of ours has to offer and as a hater of virtually every creamy food, I can definitively say that rice cereal should receive no place in this conversation. Disgusting. Anyway, for idiots like me who don't know, rice cereal is the stuff you give your baby to progress him/her toward baby food and ultimately real food that isn't mushed together in a blender. This is probably the main reason for growing up, so you can start eating pizza and stuff. We started feeding Cooper rice cereal a couple of weeks ago so I thought I'd provide a handy-dandy guide to making this step a successful one. Step 1: Put your baby in a seat, strap him down with a lap table, and put a bib on him so that he has something to chew on while you try to feed him.

Step 2: Let him have a taste of this "cereal" that has absolutely no marshmallows, cinnamon, or sugar in it so that he knows it's awful.

Step 3: Let him immediately go back to eating his bib because it probably tastes better anyway.

Step 4: Realize that the bib isn't working and take it off, thereby sacrificing his shirt to ruin.

Step 5: Remove said ruined shirt because really what were you thinking having this kid wear anything in the first place?

Step 6: Take pictures as your child becomes increasingly angry because A.) The rice cereal is not filling his belly nearly as fast as milk does, B.) He keeps slouching over because his head is too heavy to hold up on his own, and C.) Rice cereal probably tastes terrible.

Step 7: Re-position his head so that maybe this won't anger him as much....

Step 8: ....except now his giant head is leaning too far forward and so the rice cereal just dribbles back out onto his chest.

Step 9: Distract him from his anger by letting him play with the wash rag while eating....

Step 10: ....which he then proceeds to attack. Because surely this wet rag will provide some sustenance.

Step 11: Take the rag away from him.

Step 12: Finish up the feeding.

Step 13: Ask him how he feels about rice cereal. He's not so sure.

Step 14: Get one semi-decent photo to make it seem like the entire exercise wasn't a borderline disaster that ruined two shirts, the carpet, and the dog's willingness to be around the family.

Step 15: Do this every single day.

When can this kid start sharing my Whataburger? Brian

Adventures in Parenting #27: Evolution of Sneezing

Recently, Cooper caught himself a little cold. We've been very lucky up to this point as our little King Baby hasn't really been sick whereas I'm told the average infant comes down with 6-12 minor colds/illnesses a year. The onset of this cold, however, couldn't have come at a worse time as he was scheduled to get his four month shots (in his return to Baby Gitmo) the day after he took sick and we were headed out of town for vacation the day after that. Nevertheless, the cold came and like any good parent, I put all of my time and attention into caring for the little guy without a second thought for my own needs. Nah, I'm kidding, I took pictures of him sneezing because I thought it would make for a funny blog! And I was right. So I present to you, without further comment, the evolution of sneezing.

Happy Cold Season, Brian

Adventures in Parenting #26: Creeper in the Corner and Mischief Managed

CREEPER IN THE CORNERIn my extensive experience as a parent, I have found that one of the most important parts of balanced, effective parenting is being honest about your child. We all love our kids but sometimes our kids do stupid things. Or weird things. Or creepy things. I mean, there's a reason why I have compared my son to both a vampire and a cannibal in the first four months of his life. Honesty. More often than not, our little grumble is easily one of the cutest babies on the planet. That's just science. But sometimes he does strange, weird, creepy things and those moments are just as important to point out as the super cute things.

Case in point: The Creeper in the Corner. As we were eating dinner recently, I propped Cooper up on the bench next to me so I could attempt to inhale some food without dripping chicken grease on him (not that that's ever happened before). A few minutes later, Lindsey started laughing because, as you can see below, the kid started trying to suck his thumb but in such a way that suggested he was getting away with something naughty. See for yourself.

I mean, really, he's a little mustache away from having his name added to a watch list. I like this one because he realized he'd been caught in the act and he's slightly embarrassed but not so embarrassed as to knock it off. Total creeper.

MISCHIEF MANAGED One of the fun things about parenting is watching as your child develops a personality and becomes less of a sad, crying little mass of spit and grumbles and more of an actual person. Cooper brought a massive amount of personality to the table early on but seeing him progress further and further in this department is awfully cool. Along with personality, however, comes instances of mischievousness. Now, it's highly enjoyable to see my son get himself into little spots of mischief at the moment because despite his best efforts, he is still relatively immobile. I'm sure in a few months, when he's pulling DVDs out of my meticulously alphabetized collection or yanking the dog's tail, I'll be less enthused. (Not to mention the trouble he's bound to get into as a teenager; Jesse Pinkman has me pretty freaked out right now.) In the meantime, though, these little instances of mischief are highly entertaining.

Recently, I was hanging out with Coop on a Friday afternoon. He was in a pretty good mood, which meant he was kicking like crazy and talking up a storm. As such, he was getting kind of sweaty. (This boy will definitely need some deodorant at a very early age. Like, does Old Spice make deodorant for babies? Because maybe they should.) I was trying to get some things done so I laid him down on his play mat to work out some of the energy. Before doing so, I undid one of the buttons on his romper because he was still wearing his pajamas at 4 in the afternoon (DON'T JUDGE ME!!!) and I thought he might need a little more freedom. He seemed pleased so I went back to my desk and finished up some work. I was gone for maybe ten minutes (and be gone I mean sitting 10 feet away, facing him) and when I looked up, this is what I found:

Not only had he wriggled himself out of his clothing, he also turned himself all the way around so that he could watch the TV. I've seen him turn around before but this clothing removal is new ground. Apparently he just needed one unbuttoned button to make it work. I'm now concerned that we have a little Will Ferrell on our hands ("We're going streaking through the quad!"). I think this face says it all:

I think we're in over our heads, Brian

Adventures in Parenting #25: YCW

As I noted a couple of weeks ago, Lindsey and I are all about passing our child off into the arms of just about anyone who has never been the inspiration for an episode of Breaking Bad. (BTW, I'm in the middle of binge watching that show right now. Woah. Heavy stuff, bro.) We took our predisposition for passing the baby buck to a new level this week by enrolling Coop in YCW. (To the uninitiated, that stands for "Young Children's World", a program run by our church.) It was Lindsey who suggested this course of action which is good since I didn't even know we could take babies to YCW because, you know, I only work at the church, I can't be expected to pay attention to what's actually happening there. So we signed him up months ago, probably before he was even born, and classes began on Monday. My little buddy was pretty stoked for his first day because A.) He loves people and B.) He is a baby and therefore had no idea that he was about to spend the day with a complete stranger.

This kid is a loyal fan. He wears his Rangers gear even when they're playing like garbage. We packed him up and took him to Baby School where I'm assuming he will be learning how to fart more proficiently and possibly how to shove his entire hand into his mouth. I mean, he's already pretty good at both of those things but he's probably not quite ready to go pro just yet.

Last week we came up to fill out all of Cooper's paperwork and met his teacher, Ms. Kathy, and got a chance to see his room. It's kind of weird seeing my kiddo's name on a placard above a cubby hole, mostly because it's just another reminder that I am an adult and in charge of a human life, even though I have spent an inordinate amount of time this week playing Madden. (Also I had to Google "cubby hole" to make sure that was a real thing. So that's a part of my search history I'll never be able to take back.)

Lindsey signed him in, I handed him over, and then we took the obligatory "First Day of (Fake) Baby School" picture with his teacher. Because we're nothing if not traditionalists. Now, I have had multiple friends, who know me to be a complete wuss who tears up during Google commercials, if I cried when dropping the kiddo off. The answer: surprisingly no. It's hard to get all worked up when A.) Your office is approximately 200 feet from the room your son is in and B.) Dropping your kid off for a few hours gives you license to go home and take a nap. Naps trump tears every time, friends.

And anyway, I'm pumped that he's getting to experience this, even if he's too young to know what he's experiencing. He'll get to be around three little friends he wouldn't be around otherwise, he gets even more experience hanging out with adults who are not his parents, and he will be surrounded by our friends who work in YCW and will get the opportunity to be blessed by the gifts that they bring to their place of work. Plus, did I mention my nap?

Naps should be part of the standard work day, Brian

Adventures in Parenting #24: Pacifying 101

One of the bigger hot button issues in our world today is whether or not you should give your child a pacifier. This is serious stuff. It's right up there with whether or not we should get involved in Syria, the impact of universal healthcare, and just what in the world Bob Benson is up to on Mad Men. At least a half dozen times, I have heard friends say that they weren't going to let their soon-to-be-born babies become reliant on pacifiers. Once the baby comes, however, it takes, like, 27 seconds to realize the issue with this argument: pacifiers WORK. When you're hanging out in the Anti-Pacifier Camp, you're basically saying, "Oh yeah, I totally don't want my child to become dependent on a tiny piece of cheap plastic that instantly makes him fall asleep and leave me in peace for a few blessed minutes." And that's bonkers. Needless to say, we're all about the pacifier. Now, when you are a dumb new parent such as I, you might think all pacifiers are created equal. And you would be wrong. Below are three random pacifiers I found laying within 20 feet of my desk just now:

Notice how they all look completely different. Cooper can't seem to keep the one on the left in his mouth, really takes to the one on the right, and doesn't seem to think the one in the middle is even a pacifier. He spits it out and then just stares at it in disgust as if I tried to trick him into thinking a thumb tack was actually a pacifier. (Lucy, our beagle, shows no such distinction in her pacifier preference as she has ripped apart and/or eaten at least a dozen different pacifiers in the four months. Brand, shape, whatever, it seems to make no difference to dogs. So there's that.) Our house is now fully stocked with the kind on the right (shout out to Nuk, which is a horrible name for a company but the product is superb) and Cooper has taken to them quite well. It's not like we stick these things in his mouth 24 hours a day but when he's fussing, when he's tired, when I'm trying desperately to get him to go to sleep, I stick the pacifier in his mouth, hold it in there as if I'm trying to smother an old person in a movie, and wait for the magical powers of the pacifier to kick in.

Lately, however, we've run into a problem. Namely, Cooper has discovered what his hands are capable of doing. No longer are they simply worthless chew toys for him to slobber on, instead they can now grip, grab, and hold things. That's a cool advancement to witness as you watch it dawn on your kid what exactly these body parts can do. But it also leads to a fun little game called "Super Frustrating PacifierGammon." Or "PaciGammon" for short. I threw in the "gammon" part to make it sound more like an actual game.

It starts like this:

He's tired so I sat him down next to me and put his pacifier in his mouth. Quickly, however, Cooper realizes that if he continues to allow the pacifier to stay in his mouth, he will fall asleep. He cannot stand for this, so:

Out comes the paci. But now there's another problem: Cooper loves nothing more than putting things in his mouth and now, having forcibly removed the pacifier, there is nothing for him to gnaw on. He surveys the area and spots his prey:

That's right, the pacifier he just took out of his mouth is now sitting on his shoulder, totally not in his mouth in any way, shape, or form, and this must be rectified:

He hasn't yet gained the dexterity it takes to do significant manual labor with only one hand so this job will require both of them. This is actually my favorite part of PaciGamon because it's really funny to watch him try to work out a solution to his problem. Finally, having secured a good grip on the pacifier in both hands, he can maneuver it toward his mouth and bring an end to the madness of having nothing to gnaw on. Except that he hasn't quite mastered the art of finding the rubber part of the pacifier, resulting in this:

He was growling while I took this picture. What he lacks in execution he definitely makes up for in aggression. (Also, let me just note that this kid growls A LOT. Not grunts, not grumbles, full out growls. There's at least a 25% chance that when he gets to kindergarten, his teacher will think he was raised by wolves.) He couldn't quite figure out how to get this thing done which resulted in this:

I'm kidding, I don't have a picture of this part of PaciGammon because this is the part where my beautiful baby boy freaks out and starts crying because obviously I'm a horrible parent for not just putting the pacifier in his mouth in the first place. I've got some nerve. At this point, the rules of PaciGammon dictate that I put the pacifier in his mouth the right way, ending round one of the game and prompting the start of round two, which is exactly the same as round one except with more frustration.

This kid needs to learn some better games, Brian

Adventures in Parenting #23: Four Months

Earlier this week, our little bundle of grumbles crossed another milestone off the list by managing to get himself to the four month mark. Actually, let's be honest, he did almost nothing to get here. Really we should be celebrating the fact that Lindsey and I, two of the most anti-baby people in the world, have kept him alive and well for this long. What were the odds? Since most of you are here only to see pictures of my son, I'll get right down to it, with only a brief aside for an observation. That observation being, I had no idea that this kid was such a beast. I've joked before about his large head (99th percentile, yo!) and the running bit around our house concerns the Buddha Belly he develops after eating. But I didn't realize it went beyond this until the past weekend when, at a party, we were confronted with another four month old baby whom Cooper absolutely dwarfed. I mean, if we were to start a baby fighting ring and matched these two against each other, Vegas wouldn't even give odds on the fight, especially if they discovered Cooper's propensity for cannibalism. I guess I hadn't realized how big he is because A.) I hadn't really paid attention to another baby in, like, 20 years and B.) The other babies that I'm around on a regular basis are two to six months older than Coop and thus set the mark for how big a baby should be. But all it took was about seven seconds in the presence of another four month old to recognize that my kid is a beast and as such, his P90x sessions will begin shortly.

Here's the official four month shot:

And here's another just for good measure. Notice he is NOT sticking his tongue out and smiling at the camera as he was both before and after I snapped this shot and keep in mind, this little game of "look how cute I am...haha, just kidding, now that you're going to take a picture I'm just going to lay here" went on for a solid five minutes. Thanks, pal.

Are there weight divisions in baby fighting circles?

Brian

Adventures in Parenting #22: It Takes a Village

When you welcome a new baby into the world, there are two schools of thought when it comes to the handling of said baby. The first school requires that you immediately seal the baby in a bubble, prevent anyone who does not rank amongst your five most trusted friends/family from coming near the bubble, and top it all off by locking yourselves in your house for the better part of a year to make sure that there are no unwanted invaders into the safe space of the bubble. The second school insists that you start handing your baby off almost as soon as he/she exits the womb and worry not about diseases, kidnappings, exposure to bad habits, etc.

You may have guessed that Lindsey and I are followers of the second school of thought. Almost from the very beginning, we handed Cooper off to just about anyone who didn't have open sores or a creeper mustache and have had absolutely no problem leaving him with family for extended periods of time when the situation calls for it. There are any number of reasons why this line of thinking is our preferred method but two big reasons really stand out. One, having a baby is HARD WORK. One minute life is free and easy and all of your responsibilities concern pretty much only you and the next minute there's this tiny, helpless, possibly vampiric thing in your arms and you've got to take care of him ALL OF THE TIME. If you have opportunities to take a break from that, you should take them. We had been out of the hospital for a week the first time we left Cooper with his grandmother to hit up to a friend's birthday party and I feel absolutely no guilt about that. Two, it is good, nay, IMPORTANT, for kids, even babies, to be comfortable with (responsible, non-Stranger Danger-y) people who aren't their parents. You know that old saying, "It takes a village"? (Somewhere Ron Burgandy is scratching his head in confusion.) Well, that stuff's for real. We want our son to be not only content in the presence of other adults (and kids too for that matter) but to learn how to flourish under the guidance of those around him. And, in my opinion, that should start early.

I'm reminded of this today because this is back to school week for just about everyone. Some started earlier, of course, but basically if you're not in school by the end of this week, you probably need to look into whether or not your school actually exists. Our little family is surrounded by the concept of "school" on almost every level. Many of my closer friends are school teachers, both Lindsey and I work with elementary age kids in our real world jobs, and through our church we have become involved in the lives of a group of high school kids as well.

As such, Back to School Week has an impact on our lives despite the fact that (blessedly) none of us actually have to go back to school. We share in the lamenting of the loss of freedom with our teacher friends, try to get our younger kids pumped up with phony "school is awesome!" excitement, and celebrate the passing of various milestones with the older kids. With school starting today, I have a number of kids who are crossing the threshold into new territory.

There's my buddy Luke, the first kid I met when I started my job here at The Hills , who will be participating in his first padded football practices this week while entering into 7th grade:

There's Dennis, my junior assistant for all things related to my job, who is headed into high school:

And then there's Brittany, whom I have deemed our "Community Child" because A.) her parent's house has become hang out central for approximately 900 people and B.) all of the adults in our group have banded together to try to help turn her into a well-rounded human. (Example: one of our friends taught her to drive after she refused to get her license at a normal age.) Brittany is heading off to college and will be sitting through her first set of college lectures this week:

Of course, there are more examples than just these three. I took my first full-time job working with kids 11 years ago and by my estimation, I have worked or volunteered with approximately 6,000 kids in that time. I've got kids heading to middle school, kids starting kindergarten, kids entering their vaunted senior year, and my first group of kids would have graduated college this spring (kill me). Some I remember well, some I don't, but I had the opportunity with every one of them to impact their lives in some way or another and hopefully more times than not, they took something positive away from our interactions.

And that's what we want for Cooper. In youth/children's ministry, we often think of the kids who come from a rough background or a broken home as the ones who "really need" some positive influences. And that's not wrong, of course, but it misses the point. That being: EVERY kid "really needs" some positive influences. Of those 6,000 kids that have come through my programs at one time or another, I would wager at least 4,500 of them came from stable, two parent households that provided them with a healthy amount of love and encouragement. But that's not enough. They need guidance, attention, and patience from other adults, other influences, and they need to learn how to accept that guidance, attention, and patience from said positive influences at their disposal.

We often act like this need starts when our kids enter high school or maybe middle school but I've long held that it actually needs to start at a much younger age. And now that Cooper is around, I can already see how important it is to his development to not only become comfortable with other kids his age but with their parents, our friends, his extended family, and any other quality, responsible influence that might come into his life. Even at four months old. Because, guess what, it really DOES take a village to keep these kids from becoming cat killers or deviants or layabouts or Aggies and in my book, the earlier they become exposed to these positive influences, the better.

Summer shouldn't end until after Labor Day, Brian

Adventures in Parenting #21: Is My Baby a Cannibal?

In the three plus months of his life, I have already accused my son of being a vampire and a ghost baby. Now, I don't want you to judge me as some horrible person who thinks only the worst of his son, I just call 'em like I see 'em. If you sleep all day, abhor the light, stay up all night, and occasionally try to suck on someone's neck, I'm going to label you a vampire. It's just the way I was raised. In light of recent events, however, I'm afraid I must report that while Cooper has grown out of his vampireness and never was, in fact, a ghost baby, it is very likely that my son is becoming a cannibal. It started out harmlessly enough. From the very beginning, Hannibal Cooper has been fixated on his hands. One of the first photos I ever posted of the little guy displayed him with his hand in his mouth. Lately, however, this fascination with eating his own hands has grown more serious. Here he is a couple of weeks ago:

No longer content to eat only one of his hands, he has now progressed to chewing on both hands at one time. Mind you, this is not some sort of absentminded gnawing but rather a voracious, businesslike approach to hand eating that is rarely seen in the wild. Terrifying, I know. But it didn't stop there. Recently, Cooper seems to have realized that, should he ever succeed in his plan to bite off his own hands, he would simultaneously become handicapped and lose the ability to practice his second favorite hobby (behind farting, of course). As such, he's moved on to the eating of other people's hands:

I made the mistake of resting my hand on his little chest while he gnawed on his own hands and within seconds, he grabbed hold of my finger and promptly stuck it in his mouth. He then proceeded to bite while GROWLING at me in a truly horrific and intimidating manner. (I would give just about anything to have gotten footage of this attack but alas my phone was 10 feet away and I'm extremely lazy these days.) The attack was savage and I am certain that the only reason I escaped with my life is because, you know, he doesn't have teeth. Even still, the memory haunts me. (*Sobs quietly*)

Unfortunately, there's more. Just a few days after he did his best to render me hand-less, Cooper took yet another step toward the dark side in his journey to cannibalism. Having cut his teeth (forgive the pun) on his own hands and gotten a taste for human flesh with his assault on me, Cooper became so desinsitized to the violence that he found the very idea of cannibalism in and of itself to be HILARIOUS. If you think your heart can take it, have a gander at the following footage in which an unnamed human (note: it's me) pretends to attack and eat Cooper's face and listen to his disturbing reaction:

http://youtu.be/9QuVj0eRT9Q

So there you have it. It's sad but I believe the evidence speaks for itself. My son, heaven help him, has become a cannibal. I only hope that my story can help other parents prevent their children from meeting a similar fate. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go to purchase a baby-sized Hannibal Lecter mask.

Pretty sure CPS will find me if I Google "Baby-Sized Hannibal Lecter Mask", Brian

Adventures in Parenting #20: Just Keep Swimming

Last weekend I packed up the family (minus the increasingly depressed beagle) and we headed out for a weekend away with some friends. First of all, it should be noted that packing when it's just the two of you and packing when you have a baby isn't even the same thing. There should be a different term for packing with a baby in tow or like one of those Spanish accent marks over the top of the word so you know it's THAT kind of packing. (By the way, four years of Spanish and I can't tell you what those little accent marks are called. Thanks, public school.) Next time we do this sort of thing, I'll probably just invest in a long haul tractor trailer, pack up everything that will fit, set the house on fire, and live wherever it was that we were going for the weekend. I'm an incredible packer, a gold medalist in the fictional Packing Olympics, but packing with a baby humbled me. I digress. Once we'd stuffed every single thing we own into Hermione's magical purse from Harry Potter, we headed out to Lake Granbury to stay at our friend's parent's lake house. Now, when I say "lake house", you might be thinking of a dingy cabin in the woods or a trailer of some sort or at most a reasonably normal house that smells like moth balls and old sunscreen positioned somewhere in the general vicinity of a lake. Oh no, my friends. This was a "lake house" in the sense that Michael Jordan is a basketball player. Two stories, four bedrooms, 27 bathrooms, absurd pool table, cable and Internet, a live-in butler, a crazy dock with two boat slips and another for jet skis, and a saltwater pool. (I only made up one and a half of those things.) So basically, a second home that is significantly better than my actual home. It was heaven. When we walked in we all laughed and ran around in slow motion (NERD ALERT!) like when Frodo was greeted by the other Hobbits after destroying the one ring.

It was the perfect destination for a perfect weekend getaway. We fished, watch movies, ate more than humans should ever be allowed to eat in a 48 hour period, talked into the wee hours of the morning, and swam. Er, rather I should say, everyone else swam while I sat on the edge of the pool. I hate swimming. HATE it. Now, I am CAPABLE of swimming if the situation calls for it. I just really, really don't like it. I guess I understand why most people do enjoy it but at the end of the day you're just kind of sitting there, being wet. (Don't even get me started on swimming in lakes where snakes and alligator gars can bite you or in the ocean where man was NEVER intended to go.) That said, I am of course open to the idea of my child swimming, even if someone else will have to take him swimming for the entirety of his childhood.

We took this occasion, in such a ridiculous setting, to introduce Cooper to the water and see what happened. Now, since I wrote a post a few weeks ago about how much this kid hates bath time, he seems to have come around on the idea. Maybe he was embarrassed by the post and realized he was being a big baby about the whole thing but regardless, he's accepted bathing as a part of life now. But I did wonder whether he would inherit the hatred for swimming gene from me.

First off, here's Cooper in his absolutely absurd swimming outfit:

I know what you're thinking and yes, he does look like a fat tourist. He's a fanny pack away from spending the weekend at Great Wolf Lodge with his extended family. I actually like this shot better because Lindsey seems to be going out of her way to highlight his belly:

We finally got our little tourist in the water and at first, he was much too distracted by his own hand to have any sort of reaction. But then it started to dawn on him and his whole body was immersed in water and like most new things, he wasn't sure how to feel about it. He got a look on his face that was right down the middle between "about to smile" and "about to freak the freak out." We put him in a floatie that was significantly more high-tech than any floatie I had as a child and I think his facial expression says, "I don't like this but I'm not exactly sure why I don't like it."

On the whole, the occasion went about as well as we could have expected. Cooper never really seemed to come around on the idea but he puttered around in his Cars floatie for the better part of 30 minutes without having a complete meltdown and afterward he slept like a rock so that was an incredible bonus for Lindsey and me. We can now mark another "first" off the list and hopefully he'll be more swimming pool-inclined than I've ever been so that he can fit in with the chlorinated masses. Just as long as he stays away from the ocean.

Seriously the ocean belongs to the sharks, Brian

Adventures in Parenting #19: Newborn Pictures

Recently I've had more than one person tell me something along the lines of, "Yeah, your writing is great and all but I really just want to see pictures of your baby." Fair enough. If you're one of those people, today is your lucky day. Just remember to spread the word about this place since I've given you everything you've ever wanted. Shortly after Cooper's birth, we had our friend Brooke Ogilvie out to shoot a newborn photo session. Brooke also did our engagement and wedding photos and she is fabulous. You can and should find her work here and you can and should hire her for your next wedding, birth, Bar Mitzvah, regular Tuesday evening, etc. I'm thinking about having her come out to document my fantasy football draft next week. Anyway, Brooke took a ton of great pictures and these are some of them. You're welcome, America.

A look of far off wonderment:

Here's his "What you talkin' about Willis?" face:

Posing with a block containing his vital birth info:

Smiling in his sleep:

Napping in his crib (this hasn't happened since):

Baby and Mom:

Father and Son:

Hands:

Happy little (sleepy) family:

I call this one, "Baby on a blanket in a basket with a beanie on his head":

Posing with his Tim Riggins jersey:

And, of course, a Red Bull:

Exclusive rights for the tabloids are available, Brian

Adventures in Parenting #18: To the Nursery!

One of the great debates that you are completely unaware of until you or your close friends have kids is about when it is appropriate to leave your child with someone else. A grandparent, a babysitter, the nursery at church, etc., all are viable drop-off options depending on the parents of the child. Some parents are willing to relinquish their child for a few hours almost immediately, some hold on until the child is 2, or 10, or 25. Someday I'll write a big post on this but for now, suffice it to say we are definitely in the former camp rather than the later. We will basically pawn our kid off on anyone up to and including drifters who roll through town looking for work. (For the record, no drifter has ever rolled through our town.) Up to this point, we've always left Cooper with a grandparent but thanks to the set of shots he received at Baby Gitmo last week, our little guy can finally be left at the nursery at church. Score! We arrived at church on Saturday night on time (which is becoming less and less frequent given that it now takes approximately 37 times longer to get out the door than it did in our pre-baby days) and planned to drop him off and head into our assembly for the first time in a while. But before we could get to the nursery, we were waylaid by Patty Weaver, my boss, friend, mentor, and frequent tormentor. As I work in children's ministry, I am often required to do silly things and make a complete fool of myself in order to placate the young masses. Patty enjoys this sort of thing while I will only undergo this treatment under certain conditions and even still with much weeping and gnashing of teeth. No sooner had we set foot in the door than we were ambushed by Patty who immediately threw a captain's hat on Cooper in order to let him aid in the recruitment of new volunteers. (I thought about elaborating on this setup but honestly if you don't know Patty then there's really no way to explain this.) It looked something like this:

Notice the look of sheer confusion mixed with a bit of humiliation and just a pinch of, "What did I do in a past life to bring this upon myself?" I feel ya, kid.

Finally I pried Cooper away from his post and we headed into the nursery. Everyone around us knew that this was our first nursery drop-off and each looked at us as if we might break down at any moment. Instead, we willingly handed over the King of the Grumbles with great enthusiasm because as much as I love this kid, an hour of being responsible for only my own cries and whimpers is like a gift from the heavens. In exchange for our child, the nice nursery worker gave me a beeper, which I thought was probably an unfair trade but she threw in a future first round pick to top it off so I figured that was as good as it was going to get. (Sports humor!) Plus, I never got to have a beeper when I was a kid so this was like all of my 12 year old dreams coming true.

Seriously, remember beepers? What were we thinking? I feel like if you transported someone from 1995 to 2013 and showed him even the most rudimentary smart phone, he would laugh hysterically and immediately light the beeper on fire. Such a weird stop-gap in technological history.

I digress. After dropping him off, we (somewhat ashamedly) didn't even go into service because there were people to talk to and not having to shift a helpless little bag of bones around 100 times while conversing with someone makes conversation so much better. We talked, we laughed, no one spit up...it was a gas. As service ended, we headed back to the nursery (literally a 15 foot journey) and this was the only point that brought me any stress. What if he cried the whole time? What if he cried so much that the nursery workers put his picture on the wall under a banner that says "Do not serve?" What if he kickpunched another baby? He has been kicking a lot lately! But no, there was no reason to fear because, of course, he slept the entire time. Never even stirred. We picked him up and he could not care less that we'd been gone for an hour. In the end, it was probably the most anti-climactic "first" that we've experienced to date and as you can tell, he didn't even care to pose for the picture:

Are beepers still a thing? Brian

Adventures in Parenting #17: Baby Gitmo

Despite the fact that I am a logical, fairly normal human being with a good handle on life, I still maintain four borderline illogical fears that we'll refer to as the Four S's: 1. Shots - Every time I think I have defeated my crippling fear of needles and shots, I have some sort of horrible experience that takes me right back. It's now to the point that if I'm going to be getting a shot, I have to inform the doctor/nurse that I am prone to passing out so that they take the proper precaution to make sure I don't hit the wall and get a concussion. It's sad, I know. 2. Sharks - The ocean is theirs, people. Leave it to them or they will continue to learn new skills like jumping out of the water until they develop the ability to walk on land and attack us in our homes. 3. Spiders - They make my skin crawl and walking through a spiderweb is probably the worst thing in the world, I think we can all agree. 4. Snakes - This one wasn't so much of a "fear" as a "dislike" until recently when I discovered that THEY CAN OPEN DOORS.

Well, if I know anything about parenting given my eleven weeks of experience, it's that it's always a good idea to pass on your illogical fears to your children. So, with that in mind, last week Lindsey and I packed up Cooper and took him to to get his two month shots. It was rough.

Everyone we knew prepared us for this occasion, with more than one person referring to it as, "The worst day of my life." Man, do you guys know how to make a sale! Obviously we prepared for the absolute worst, wherein either Cooper's leg would actually fall off due to all the pain or he'd suddenly stand up, run out of the office, and cut us out of his life for good. Either way, not great. I was actually hoping that I wouldn't be able to get out of work on Friday so that Lindsey would have to do this by herself and therefore Cooper would forever hold it against her and not me, but alas, no such luck.

Here's my son before the action started, completely unaware of what was about to befall him:

The nurse ushered us back to the waiting room and took the standard measurements that accompany any trip to the doctor. The good news: Cooper is of average weight which was a slight concern given that he's started to look more and more like the Buddha of late. The bad news: His head is in the 99th percentile. He's the Kevin Mench of babies. (I know that reference will reach almost none of you but I'm running with it anyway.) Afterward our doctor (whom we love) came in and went through a few things, then explained how many shots (three!!!!!!!) Cooper would be getting and exactly what each syringe would contain. I nodded in approval, as if I knew what each of these drugs did, all the while trying desperately to keep from getting lightheaded. He then informed us that a nurse would be coming in to administer the drugs and left the room. Smart man.

The waiting was the worst part. In the, say, five minutes between the doctor leaving and the nurse entering, the entire office suddenly turned into a house of horrors. We heard a baby crying louder than Cooper has ever cried. We heard a little girl scream at the top of her lungs until she ran out of breath, again and again. ("SCREAM!" *Breath* "SCREAM!" *Breath* "SCREAM!") Then there was the kid who was CLEARLY realizing that he was about to get a shot who suddenly yelled, "No! NOO! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" in the adjoining room. Suddenly our doctor's office went from a place of healing to Baby Gitmo and our kid was next on the list to be interrogated.

Finally the nurse entered with a tray of syringes and began preparing Cooper for his waterboarding potentially life-saving injections. I backed away from the table so as to brace myself in case I passed out, Lindsey covered her eyes, and Cooper stared up at the nurse with a half smile on his face because HE LOVES PEOPLE AND UP UNTIL THIS POINT NO PERSON HAS EVER HURT HIM. The nurse then proceeded to put an end to his belief that people are inherently good by sticking him once, twice, and thrice with brutal efficiency. I thought about snapping a picture of Cooper's face during this moment but then I remembered that I'm not the world's worst person and also I was still fighting the urge to pass out. Basically, his entire head immediately went tomato red, his entire upper body shook and he made the worst screaming face ever but no sound came out. It literally took his breath away in the most non-Top Gun fashion imaginable. After about three seconds he rallied and let out the worst wail that has ever reached my ears and we scooped him up in order to console an inconsolable toddler. The nurse covered up his wounds with Wolverine band-aids which, shockingly, did nothing to alleviate his pain which goes against everything little kids have taught me over the years, and made a hasty escape and we were finally able to take him home.

The rest of the day was spent like this:

In his effort to forget his pain, Cooper reverted into newborn status and spent the entire day sleeping on my chest or Lindsey's, awaking only long enough to cry forcefully and eat before falling back into his medically induced coma. Since then it's been a bit of a mixed bag, with our normally happy baby trying to be his usual happy self while occasionally suddenly remembering that his legs REALLY hurt and he doesn't know why and, I'm sure, having flashbacks to the traumatic event and making plans to get back at us somehow, some way. Now, if anyone knows where I can find that nurse, I'd like to stab her in the leg and cover it over with a Sesame Street band-aid.

Do babies get post traumatic stress syndrome? Brian

Adventures in Parenting #16: Baby Connect

Last week I wrote about all of the stupid technology that comes into your life when you have a baby. Your newly baby-filled life is incomplete without a sound machine, humidifier, pack ‘n play, microwavable bottle sterilizer, baby monitor, and a million other things that had no place in your home previously. Well, one little bit of technology that I didn’t mention is the Baby Connect app and I didn’t mention it because unlike almost every other confounded technological advance in my new baby-filled life, this little thing is basically the greatest invention of the 21^st century.

I became aware of Baby Connect thanks to a friend of ours who recommended it while visiting us in the hospital after Cooper’s birth. He and his wife had a baby just a few weeks before us and obviously our sons are destined to be the best of friends. I already caught them smoking together so they have bonded quickly. Anyway, he mentioned this little slice of heaven to us and it stands as one of the best tips we’ve gotten to date. Seriously, 900 million people told me to “get sleep while you can” but only one person mentioned Baby Connect. What’s your deal, world?

Here’s how it works:

1.) You go to the app center on your mobile device. I have an iPhone because I’m either really cool or really uncool, I can’t keep it straight. Once there, you download the app. 2.) Your spouse performs this task as well. 3.) One of you inputs some general information about your kid. 4.) You use it.

That’s it. That’s all it takes. I am not exaggerating when I say Baby Connect is the ONLY piece of new baby technology that has worked EVERY TIME.

The purpose of Baby Connect is to track everything that has anything to do with your new bundle of screaming, grumbling joy. Feedings, diaper changes, naps, medical appointments, weight, number of grumbles in a day (World Record! Score!), etc. Everything you’ve ever needed to know about your baby is right there in one handy little app. And all it takes to input a new entry is, like, three quick clicks and then you can go back to playing Candy Crush. It’s the best.

But why is this so important, you ask? Well person who has clearly never had a baby before, because when you do have a baby, no matter how smart you were or how great your memory used to be, within mere days of welcoming your little grumble into the world YOUR BRAIN TURNS INTO MUSH. You haven’t slept much, you’re suddenly responsible for the well-being of someone who literally cannot do anything for himself, and one of you just put her body through what basically amounts to a car crash on the highway. If you can accomplish all of the things you need to accomplish in order to keep the baby alive in a day you’ve achieved something and remembering how or when you did it is almost completely out of the question. I cannot tell you how many conversations in the last ten weeks have gone like this:

Lindsey: “Did you feed Cooper?” Me: “…yyyyesss?" (Ron Burgandy voice) Lindsey: “Are you sure?” Me: *Long pause* “Yes, I definitely did.” Lindsey: “When?” Me: “Um. Today?”

Thankfully, there’s Baby Connect to save the day. Now all we have to remember besides, you know, actually carrying out the tasks of feeding, changing, and bathing the kid, is to click three little buttons right after the task is done. And the data is there for the rest of eternity. So instead of staring blankly at each other trying to piece together when exactly was the last time your kid dropped a deuce (more on this to come later!), you can just look it up instantly. Even more importantly, without question the best advantage of utilizing Baby Connect is that you don’t have to talk to your spouse at 3 in the morning. (Or ever, I suppose.) Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife. She’s the bee’s knees. But in the middle of the night, when I am awakened by a ghost baby, the absolute last thing I want to do is talk to someone. Anyone. In fact, if I had it my way, no one would be allowed to talk to me before 11 am and I felt that way even before I came to value sleep above even the greatest of earthly treasures. With Baby Connect, one of us can groggily stumble to Cooper’s room and provide him with the proper remedy without ever having to speak to the other. That should be Baby Connect’s slogan: “Baby Connect: Helping Happy Couples Not Talk to Each Other Since 2010.” Or maybe, “Faith, hope, and love. And Baby Connect.”

So there’s my plug for the greatness of Baby Connect. Of all the great inventions of the last couple of years, Baby Connect is, in my book, probably the second greatest, right behind the Genie DVR from DirectTv and right in front of watermelon Oreos (if you haven’t tried them then STEP OFF, bro, they’re delicious). And to those of that had babies before the Baby Connect Age (which is what we’ll call it in the future), you have my unending respect. How did you do it?! Did you write notes to each other? Cave paintings? How?! Surely you are the real heroes of this world, not the firefighters, police officers, and reality TV stars we’ve so foolishly praised for all these years.

I am open to endorsements, Baby Connect, Brian

Adventures in Parenting #15: Ghost Baby

One of the things that comes along with new parenthood is a collection of new technologies that you didn't previously possess. Now, I'm a huge fan of technology, especially as it pertains to my consumption of television, movies, and sports programming, but Baby Technology seems like its main goal is to confuse and confound parents, usually when they are at their highest level of sleep deprivation. There's the vibrating bassinet with the batteries that die every two days. There's the sound machine that sometimes switches from "White Noise" to some setting that sounds similar to "Traffic Stop in a Bad Neighborhood" all by itself. And of course there's the Pack 'N Play, a piece of equipment that is, by it's very name, designed to be easily packed and played with but in reality can only be easily packed by a team of Army engineers. (When we are definitely done having kids, I will take this piece of equipment out into a field and beat it to death like the crappy printer in Office Space.)

But by far, my "favorite" (read: "least favorite thing in the entire world that does not involve Dallas-Fort Worth traffic") piece of Baby Technology is the accursed baby monitor. Like the aforementioned Pack 'N Play, the baby monitor sounds like a great idea on the surface. You set up a camera in the baby's room and you are free to walk away from the baby holding a small receiver with a tiny TV screen and a speaker on it, enabling you to....well, to monitor the baby. Huzzah! Now you can finally sleep, right? Not so much.

For one thing, it's nigh impossible for new parents (read: "suckers") to close their eyes and actually drift off to sleep without worrying that every tiny grunt or grumble is actually a sign that their baby is being abducted and/or eaten by the beagle who is finally exacting her revenge. Whoever came up with the term "sleeping with one eye open" was either a complete moron or a new parent whose brain had been eaten away by a lack of REM sleep, resulting in total insanity. (I saw this in an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation recently because, yeah, I've been watching a lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation at 3 in the morning when I used to sleep. Like a boss.) Even if you turn the viewing screen off (which I do) and turn the volume all the way down (which I do), there's still this bar that lights up at the top of the screen, going from green to red, indicating your baby's extreme cries. That's all well and good but when your baby is the self-proclaimed King of the Grumbles as Cooper is, that little bar might light up 30, 40 times a night, not because he's screaming his lungs out or being eaten by the beagle but because it's tough work being a baby and doing all that sleeping and sometimes you just have to grumble. You would think that by 2013 someone would have invented a baby monitor that only lights up when the baby is ACTUALLY crying and/or experiencing an alien abduction. This frustration grows even larger when, for no apparent reason, the receiver randomly starts picking up some serious feedback and makes a noise akin to an AM radio station that only plays the sounds of someone ripping a needle across a record. It's just the best.

But if all of that weren't enough, I have one more little issue with the baby monitor, though I'll admit this one is at least half the fault of my own son. Sometimes, you DO manage to fall asleep. Sometimes you are able to sleep right through the grumbles and the grunts and the farts (AUDIBLE FARTS through what basically amounts to an intercom system) and sink back into that sort of blessed sleep that was so common pre-baby. And then at 3, 4 in the morning, you are awakened out of the blue by an unknown force. It was probably just a little grumble, you think hazily, and so you click the "Video On" button on the receiver and for a second you forget that the receiver's screen is black and white and that the camera is set, like, 6 inches away from your kid's face. And in that moment of hazy, sleepy, foolishness, you click the monitor on to find:

A GHOST BABY STARING DIRECTLY BACK AT YOU THROUGH THE SCREEN IN SUCH A MANNER THAT SUGGESTS HE KNEW YOU WOULD BE LOOKING AT HIM! And then you yell (scaring the other person in the house who is on the verge of homicide due to the aforementioned lack of sleep) and have a heart attack and almost die, assuming that the ghost baby will be the one that escorts you to the afterlife, before the smoke in your brain clears and you come back to the harsh reality of having to care for a helpless little being who may or may not be a ghost baby. So thanks for the panic attack, inventor of the baby monitor. When I die, I promise to come back as a ghost and haunt any of your remaining family members until I have satisfied the debt I now feel you owe me.

What sort of tribute is the King of the Grumbles due from his subjects? Brian

Adventures in Parenting #14: Two Months

Haven't had as much time to write about Cooper's shenanigans the last few days but I'll be back strong soon. Rest assured he is still both alive and at least relatively well so I consider this a success. Today we celebrated his two month birthday. And by "celebrated", I mean we made him take a bath cleaned his face to make him look like he's clean even if he isn't and forced him to sit for three dozen pictures. Here's one of the better shots:

Note: He farted at least five times during the production of this photo.

With two months under his belt, this little guy is changing every day. While he's still so tiny in comparison to other babies, he's basically out of the newborn stage now and the differences between him now and even a week or two ago are staggering. Among the many changes and new skills that Cooper has been exhibiting lately, by far my favorite is his propensity for giggling. I'm still not sure that he's laughing at my jokes or just making a noise but we'll find out soon enough. I've got a killer joke about Twilight that I know he's going to love. Also, this giggle sounds an awful lot like a tiny machine gun so I've been calling him Machine Gun Kelly. That seems appropriate.

I'd also like to note that all of you are jerks for not telling me how quickly these things grow up! I'm kidding. All of you told me that. Strangers in Target told me that. A homeless guy told me that. But for reals, yo, the fact that this little guy has already been around for two months and has already grown up SO MUCH is kind of ridiculous. Next thing I know he'll be talking and walking and smoking running amok through the house.

I already feel old, Brian