Learning to Eat Solid Foods with Cheerios

I Survived the Warrior Dash in Manchester, TN

My Son is Sort of a Gummy Bear

September 23, 2011 at 8:43 pm , by 

Ten months.

The title almost makes enough sense on its own, right? If it were possible to shrink Jack down to half an inch tall and color him all red, he would make the perfect Gummy Bear. It’s that simple. Or on the flip side, if it were possible to mutate a Gummy Bear into a living human being, it would become Jack.

On most of the bags that the candy comes in, there’s a cartoon of a bear waving at the consumer, as if to say, “Well hey there, come be my friend!”. For me, Jack encompasses the assumed personality of a Gummy Bear: He’s fun, he’s friendly, and he’s cuddly.

 

Here lately, I’ve been noticing that Jack is a bit more cuddly than normal. Usually, he has to be a part of the action, whatever it is; it usually involves an attempt to disassemble or make a skateboard out of something, while putting it in his mouth.

To my surprise, Jack has been regularly crawling in my lap and letting me massage his shoulders. I guess he needs some relaxation from all his hard work. The more cuddly he gets, the more he becomes a Gummy Bear to me.

Of course, there is another kind of gummy bear that Jack reminds me of, one that’s spelled with an “i.”  I’m referring to the 1980′s Disney cartoon with the really awesome theme song. The youngest of the group was an adventurous pink boy bear that carried around a wooden sword; his name was Cubbi.

I have Jack’s famous “tie picture” hanging up at my cubicle wall at work. Sometimes I look at it, the shape of his pastel, rainbow necktie makes me think of Cubbi and his sword.

My son is a cute, little, adventurous bear cub. And for some reason right now, I’ve got a case of the munchies…

Babies Don’t Come with Pause Buttons

September 21, 2011 at 8:06 pm , by 

Ten months.

Cliche phrases annoy me. Perhaps the one I despise the most is “patience is a virtue,” which is often assumed to originate from the Bible, though it is instead taken from a poem from the 5th century entitled “Psychomachia.”

The reason it probably urks me so badly is because the people who tend to say it the most are typically people who are… toopatient!

There’s a decent chance they are also the same ones prone to use other worn-out phrases on a daily basis, like, “I’m not gonna lie…” as to anticipate telling some candid revelation, which they don’t. Another one is “just sayin’,” as to excuse themselves after saying something that is passive aggressively rude.

I’m not gonna lie, I’m not a patient person. Sure, it’s probably something I should care about trying to improve. But really, I’m a parent. I have a 10 month old son. If anything is going to teach me patience, whatever that even means, then it’s going to be my dealings with him.

Yes, I know: I’ve got it easy. My kid is very laid back and loves to be around people. It’s easy for anyone to love him. I know I’m one lucky guy.

Still though, he doesn’t have a pause button. Sometimes, especially on a Sunday afternoon when I am aching for a good three hour nap, I wouldn’t mind a pause button.

I wouldn’t mind being able to carry on a meaningful conversation with my wife during dinner without him interrupting because he’s not being engaged enough as we eat and attempt to feed him in the process.

Instead, the only pausing he does is during the 11+ hours from around 7 PM to 6:30 AM each day. But by that time, most of our energy has been spent.

Thank God for my son. I love him so much. I adore him. Awesomest baby ever.

But I am not a patient guy. Just sayin’.

When Real Life Feels More Like Purgatory

September 20, 2011 at 8:22 pm , by 

Ten months.

“Purgatory is the condition or process of purification or temporary punishment in which, it is believed, the souls of those who die in a state of grace are made ready for Heaven.” -Wikipedia’s definition of “purgatory”

I’ve never actually met anyone who truly believes in purgatory, yet I feel that the general population is familiar with the idea of it.

On the final episode of Lost, the people from the Island who had ultimately lived their lives for the goodwill of others instead of greed and selfishness, reunited and reminisced in purgatory before entering Heaven together.

For those who are not Lost fanatics but like the band Coldplay, in their song “42,” some of the most memorable lyrics include the refrain, “You thought you might be a ghost; you didn’t get to Heaven but you made it close.”

Most of us don’t believe in the actual place, but for me at least, there is something pretty fascinating about the concept. I think it’s so easy in this life, in this culture, in this country, to feel like we are lost, or at least that we don’t belong wherever “here” is. We want to think that we deserve to transcend this lowly and boring situation, asking the question:

“What am I supposed to learn from this? Why am I here?”

My life has been filled with stretches like that. Even right now, my wife and I are having to adjust back to the busyness of our full-time jobs in Nashville, this time with a kid; which is a completely new balancing act for us. We are having to figure out and work out our new lifestyles and schedules, making time not only for the three of us, but for the two of us, as well.

It’s a purification process that is not easy; but it is necessary. We can see how natural it can be to let your kid consume your leftover energy and thoughts, slacking on making conscious efforts to keep the marriage relationship fresh and engaging. But we don’t want our lives to end up like Everybody Loves Raymond.

Ultimately, we are being forced to mature our marriage relationship. This “forced maturity” is sort of the whole point of purgatory. You suffer until you overcome.

Not that I am constantly immature or naive, or maybe I am (?), but I am always needing to grow in a way that I never could have without entering my newest purgatory.

But really, the more I think of the literary device we know as purgatory, the more it just seems like a straight forward yet abstract way to describe life itself; the condition or process of purification or temporary punishment in which, we are made ready for Heaven, at best.

We may figuratively compare our lives to hell at times, but really, hell is an eternal end; it’s never-ending loneliness and destruction. Purgatory is temporary.

I don’t mind viewing life as purgatory. Until I pass on in to the afterlife, I will always have much more growing up to do, more necessary suffering, and one more level of maturity to reach- even if I live to be 80.