My Toddler’s Amazing (?) New Magic Tricks

April 16, 2012 at 9:53 pm , by 

17 months.

After learning the phrase “ta-da!” from my wife recently, Jack has officially become the best magician since Ed Alonzo playing “Max,” the occasional owner of the same-named hip hang-out spot on Saved By The Bell.

Yes, everything’s a magic trick now.

When Jack stands on top of a pillow without falling over… Ta-da!

When he pulls a blanket over his head, waits five seconds, then pulls it off… Ta-da!

When he pulls two fake Lego blocks apart… Ta-da! 

Heck, when Jack simply pulls his fake Lego blocks out out their storage bag… Ta-da!

Even better, his pronounced version of the word sounds more like “tahhhh!”

As winner of the Father of the Year Award in both 2010 and 2011, I wish I could say I didn’t immediately laugh out loud in his face when he proclaims his newest magic trick. But I do. Every time.

Fortunately, he assumes I’m cheering for him through my laughter, followed by my applause. I figure what this really is about is him wanting my approval and acknowledgment of his newly learned skills. Sure enough, he gets that with every “ta-da!” moment.

Right now Jack is proving to be such a sponge for learning new things. That’s why his current favorite toys are actually books.

With every new animal sound he makes when he sees a picture of one, I truly am impressed.

He’s also the only baby I know that actually asks for prunes during dinner. If you ask me, that’s truly his most impressive magic trick so far.

 

The Dynamics of Jack And His Cousin Calla

Decent Family Pictures With My Toddler Are Rare

Helmets For Crawlers And Toddlers (And First-Time Parents)

April 14, 2012 at 10:02 pm , by 

16 months.

What the helmet?!

When I saw the MSN headline this week saying “Does your high-speed crawler need a helmet?” I couldn’t help but laugh and feel sorry for all those naive first-time parents out there taking that idea seriously. Then I remembered:

Exactly a year ago, my wife and I actually searched online for one. Oh yeah… that.

I was, and still am, an unexperienced first-time parent in each new stage of my son’s life. Yeah, it goes back to that stereotype about the firstborn child being overprotected.

Needless to say, we ended up not paying the 43 bucks for a “crawling helmet,” but only because back in April 2011, it wasn’t as easy to find such a thing. But now, it’s quite the trend.

There is a demand. There is a supply.

Yes, the “crawling helmet” is smart, sexy, and most importantly, a magnet for hipster toddlers everywhere in America; especially Portland, Oregon… I assume.

As much as I mock the concept now, I honestly believed last year that it was a good idea to buy my 5 month-old a helmet to prevent him from everyday head-bumping injuries.

After all, the house we lived in at the time had hardwood floors. But mainly, we as newbie parents hadn’t yet learned that babies’ heads are durable enough to take quite the banging.

It didn’t take long to realize that 99.3% of the time, when Jack hits his head on the floor, or the table, or the wall, he’s not even clued in to what happened.

In fact, one of my new games I play with Jack is to see how many times I can repeatedly hit him in the head (while he’s looking the other way playing with another toy) with this cheap, thin, extremely light, made-in-China inflatable ball you find in the dollar bin at Wal-Mart.

(Pictured right.)

After about 5 or 6 direct hits to the back or side of the head, he finally looks over at me and chuckles as if to say, “Oh, you’ve been doing that this whole time?”

Sure, my son is hard-headed; but that’s not unusual for young kids.

I wonder now what would have happened had we bought him a helmet last year; had there really been a fresh market for it back then.

Well, I guess ultimately, we wouldn’t have learned a very valuable lesson; that “high-speed crawlers” don’t actually need helmets.

Something else I wonder is if there an official way to get your kid tested to find out if they truly are a high-speed crawler. I predict there will be plenty of poser babies out there who are really just medium-speed crawlers…

Even worse, for all I know, “crawling helmets” are probably the gateway protection device leading to “steel-toed booties” and  ”baby bulletproof vests.”

If only crawling helmets were pitched on the TV show Shark Tank. I would love to see that episode:

“As a toddler, I jumped off the couch onto the hardwood floor headfirst and not only did I not bleed, but I turned out smart enough to make it here. So for that reason, I’m out.”

Reminding Myself Why I Can’t Text Message My Son

April 14, 2012 at 4:41 pm , by 

16 months.

Have you ever tried to text your toddler? If nothing else, I would like a phone app to translate all the speaking in tongues he does.

Yesterday during my lunch break at work I was taking a walk outside and thought to myself, “I should text Jack and see how his day is going.” I reached for my phone in my pocket and as I was pulling it out, it hit me: For more than one reason, I can’t text message my son.

I would start with the most obvious reason, but there is a serious problem there with that. Because which one is the most obvious?

Would it be the fact that my 16 month-old son doesn’t have have a working cell phone? Or that he doesn’t know how to use one?

Maybe it’s that he doesn’t know how to spell too well?

Nah, I think the fact that he and I can’t actually carry on a real conversation that doesn’t involve an animal sound, may be the winner.

I’m curious to know if having to remind myself that I can’t text message my toddler is a pretty universal thing.

When I mentioned this story to my wife yesterday, she quickly admitted she has done the exact same thing; perhaps more than once.

Subconsciously, I must be resisting this concept that even though Jack and I can’t talk to each other yet, it’s like that new TV show Touch, where a mute boy communicates with this father by using numbers: That the exception to a normal conversation in our case is texting.

Honestly, it sounds like a good idea to me.

I mean, I carry around this little man with me (and that’s often how I perceive him, not in that cute “that’s my little man” sort of way that’s popular to refer to your son, but literally an actual man who happens to speak like Chewbacca or Curious George) in my car for a round trip daily total of about 80 minutes a day and constantly entertain him all weekend.

In my own real life version of Bosom Buddies, I wish there was at least this cool/comical sci-fi twist where I could text message my son:

“Hey son hows ur day goin?”

“Good so far_ outside playn wit my bud Henry.”

“C any birds?”

“Yeah like 5 rite now on the fence_ They fly away evry time I run near them.”

“R they Angry Birds?”

“LOL. I think it just peed in my diaper. Not sure if its bc of ur joke or not. Gotta go. Peace out Ghost Dad.”

“Later Sonny Sonnerton.”