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Dear Holly: Making Super Mario Jump Sounds for Actual Words

1 year, 1 month.

Dear Holly,

Mommy and I both noticed the same thing about your hair over the past week or so. Not only is it getting thicker, but the red tint is transforming into a golden hue.

I’ve caught myself calling you Goldie here recently. It’s not that your hair is blonde. It’s more gold than it is yellow. It’s undeniably golden.

Your brother’s hair was never this color. When he was your age, his hair was light blonde. And now that he’s 6 and a half years old, it has transitioned into a sandy brown. But he never had a red or golden tint at any point.

So I wonder what color your hair will transition to by the time you’re his age.

Maybe I find this more fascinating that most parents would, but I am so amazed that those long lost Scottish and Irish genes in our family tree. The hidden recessive traits are making themselves known in you.

Something else going on with you these days is it’s becoming obvious you are getting eager to start talking. While your actual vocabulary is pretty much limited to “Dadda-dadda-dadda” (me) and “Mama-mama-mama” (Mommy) and “Jaah-ja-ja” (your brother), you are now making sounds in place of words.

These placeholder sounds like identical to Super Mario when he jumps, from the original 1985 Super Mario Bros. game: “Mah-mau?”

You’ll crawl over to one of your books, then bring it back to me, like a puppy. Then you hand it to me and say, “Mau? Mah-mau?”

The obvious translation is, “Well, Daddy, are you going to read me this book, or what?”

You also have a habit of crawling over to fruit pouches when you’re hungry, then looking to me: “Mau? Mah-mau?”

The obvious translation is, “Well, Daddy, you know what to do. It’s time for you to help me eat this.”

While I will be very happy for you when you can start using actual words from the English dictionary, I am thoroughly enjoying the Super Mario jump sounds in the meantime.

Love,

Daddy

1 Comment Posted on fatherhood, People, Storytelling, Uncategorized

Dear Jack: You Love Taking Out the Garbage and Recycling

6 and a half years.

Dear Jack,

We keep the recycling bin pulled up to the side of our pack porch; that way, you get to toss our empty boxes and bags into it throughout the week. Then every Wednesday when I get home from work, you know what it’s time for: The dirty work!

You insist on opening the gate yourself, then wheeling the recycling bin from our back yard to the sidewalk in front of our house. Plus, you drag the garbage bin the same distance as well.

And the way our yard is designed, it’s a very long and skinny plot of land and there’s a sharp slope the whole way along that side of the house.

It’s quite a sight, since both the recycling bin and the garbage bin are much bigger and heavier than you. But honestly, you seem to do the job with more ease than even I can.

Of course, I always supervise, as I walk behind you to make sure you don’t slip on our slanted yard between our house and the next door neighbors.

But so far, you haven’t needed my assistance.

It’s funny because naturally, trash duty will be an official chore of yours when you get a little older. I love it that you already enjoy doing it.

In fact, there was one week where I just went ahead of moved the bins when I came home, because it was about to rain, and you actually got upset that you didn’t get to do it.

Obviously, you also take the empty bins back behind our house on Thursday as well. But I can tell that’s not as much fun for you, since there’s no challenge in transporting a much heavier load.

I am impressed with your garbage man skills. Lucky for me, you like doing the work.

Love,

Daddy

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This is 36: My Back Yard is Constantly Littered with Plastic Grocery Bags Filled with Poopy Diapers

It makes perfect sense, I’m sure. Actually, I’m confident that my story is not unique. It’s pretty simple and (assumedly) universal, really:

When our 1 year-old daughter has a poopy diaper, we reach for a plastic Kroger bag from underneath the kitchen sink, using it has an insulator for the smell. Then, without fail, I open up the back door and toss it towards the garbage bin near our fence.

Every couple of days, I have to take out a big bag of trash anyway. That’s when I pick up the 2 or 3 bags of poop to place them in the garbage bin.

What’s the point in walking out to the garbage bin every single time my daughter has a dirty diaper? That doesn’t work for the lifestyle of the Shell household. It wouldn’t be prudent.

On a daily basis, when we’re all home together, my wife is constantly running around the house in the midst of cooking meals and doing laundry, while I am constantly entertaining and occupying not only our daughter, who isn’t quite walking yet, but I am also doing my best to make sure our 6 and a half year-old son is keeping himself productive in some sort of activity.

It’s not worth the time to run outside for the sake of a dirty diaper that is already inside of a plastic bag. I’ve got too many duties that relentlessly need my attention, inside the house.

Besides, our yard is fenced in. It’s not like the neighbors can see the dirty diaper bags; not unless they specifically go upstairs in their homes then look over to our yard.

That would just be nosy.

Therefore, it remains one of our family secrets.

No one can see, so no one can know.

It’s not like I’m posting pictures of the dirty diaper bags on the Internet, bringing attention to it.

This is 36.

1 Comment Posted on fatherhood, parenting, People, Pregnancy, Storytelling, Uncategorized

Dear Jack: You Graduated Kindergarten This Week!

6 and a half years.

Dear Jack,

This Tuesday, just a few days after you won your Math Award in front of the entire school, Mommy and I made our way back- this time, to watch our 6 and a half year-old son graduate Kindergarten.

The festivities began with a presentation in which your entire Kindergarten grade sang a song, which reviewed to us parents all that you learned this year.

Afterwards, we made our way to your classroom, where your (pregnant) teacher presented each individual student with a specific award.

What’s funny about this is that before we all left the house that morning, I took your picture while you held a small chalkboard reading, “When I grow up, I want to be an artist.”

There’s no way that when Mommy came up with the idea for me to take that picture of you, she could have known your teacher would be presenting you with the Amazing Artist Award!

You teacher then presented a 15 minute slideshow on Power Point, which reviewed all the fun your class had this year. And sure enough, she had a picture further reconfirming your focus on becoming an artist when you grow up.

During the presentation, you stood next to your best friend, Duncan. Amazingly, Duncan’s parents were the only other parents in the Lamaze class we were in, 7 years ago.

Imagine the chances that our sons would not only end up in the same Kindergarten class, and naturally end up becoming best friends.

And we didn’t even discover that we knew Duncan’s parents until about a month or so ago, when Duncan’s Mommy figured it out.

What a cool story!

Alright then, you are no longer a Kindergartner. You are our awesome soon-to-be 1st grader! Mommy and I are so proud of you. You are some kid.

Love,

Daddy

1 Comment Posted on fatherhood, parenting, People, Storytelling, Uncategorized

Dear Holly: You Evolve into the Snubbull Pokemon When You Get “Hangry” (Hungry + Angry)

1 year, 1 month.

Dear Holly,

I admit- it’s a rare thing to ever see you upset about anything. You’re just a happy, beboppin’ little girl.

You assume the world is all marshmallows and unicorns, and I feel that Mommy and I do our best to make sure that is indeed the case, as best we can.

Undeniably, you are the kind of the baby girl who I just naturally want to make happy. You’re low-maintenance- and of course, you’re adorable! You’re the epitome of cuteness.

With that being said, thanks to your 6 and a half year-old brother, I am now quite familiar with the fundamentals of Pokemon characters; how many of them have the ability to evolve into stronger, fiercer versions of themselves.

Every single day when your brother comes home from school, he eagerly shows me the newest Pokemon cards he received by trading some others that he had just received days before.

As I was flipping through the 4 new cards he got that day, Snubbull immediately stopped me in my tracks:

“Why does this one look so familiar?” I thought to myself. I just couldn’t figure it out.

But just a few days later, I came home from work, to a beautiful strawberry-blonde little girl who was literally changing colors, as she morphed into an angry red version of her usual self.

That was a result of you being equally hungry and tired, yet Mommy and I couldn’t get you fastened into your high chair fast enough.

It wasn’t until I took these pictures later that day that the theory presented itself: that you evolve into Snubbull, the Pokemon fairy, when you are “hangry”.

I don’t want my little girl to have to evolve into a Pokemon character. It’s just too sad to see you upset. I just want to keep you happy, Sweetie!

Love,

Daddy