March 19, 2013 at 9:40 pm , by Nick Shell

2 years, 4 months.

*Warning: Contains oversharenting.

Dear Jack,

My style of bathing you, compared to Mommy’s, is much more observational than it is hands-on. I basically just let you play for 15 minutes, then I hurry up and scrub you down at the very end.

I love watching “The Jack Show.” So entertaining.

Anything and everything becomes a toy. Like a cup. Or a spoon.

Last week you grabbed a cup, and then immediately afterwards, a spoon, to capture your… well, I’ll just quote you:

“It’s my tummy!”

You were so proud of yourself for “catching” what you thought was simply an extension of your stomach.

I guess, technically, or actually, it is.

Mommy and I have talked about it several times, but we still haven’t been able to figure out what words to teach you for that, or those.

Nothing seems right. Saying the actual word feels too… official. Saying a nickname feels too… ridiculous. It’s too soon, I think.

We are in that interesting limbo state where it doesn’t come up enough in daily conversation for you to really need to know what to call it, or them.. Really, that bath last week was the first and only time I’ve ever heard you recognize what’s underneath your diaper.

Granted, you watch me “go potty” nearly everyday; running over to catch a front-row seat for the action. So maybe you just assume that’s what people’s tummies look like? Or at least boys’ tummies.

Until further notice, it’s your tummy.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

March 13, 2013 at 10:29 pm , by Nick Shell

2 years, 3 months.

Dear Jack,

Sometimes you are just hilarious. What makes it even funnier is when you don’t even know how funny you are being.

Last month in “Getting Dressed? Ain’t Nobody Got Time For That!” I explained how leaving the house in the morning isn’t always so easy, especially when you’re in the mood to just go to daycare in pajamas.

Well, you and I were recently having one of those kind of mornings…

You were physically struggling so hard with me as I tried to put on your pants, it reminded me of a WWE wrestling match. You were so upset with me you were crying and throwing a classic tantrum.

I’ve learned by now not to let myself get emotionally caught up in something like this: I realized you and I were not having a rational discussion or disagreement. Instead, it was very irrational.

You had to get dressed, so I continued to calmly communicate that to you as I pulled you shirt over your head.

Then, in your angst, you accidentally hit my shin pretty hard.

I didn’t react at all, because again, I wasn’t emotionally invested in our struggle- I just knew it almost time for us to leave the house and you still were not fully dressed.

The look on my face surely portrayed one confused dad as you tromped on over to the corner of the living room, putting yourself in time-out. You continued crying loud enough to wake our neighbors, stomping your feet and waving your arms in protest.

Yet… you were the one to place yourself in the time-out corner. I never said a word or even gave you my “mad dad” look.

I was too confused to laugh at that moment, so I used that opportunity to pack my lunch.

Then, as I turned my back to make my way to the refrigerator, I saw you strangely moving sideways like Boom Boom from Super Mario Bros. 3, still crying and flailing around, trying to escape from your self-imposed time-out session.

So I let you.

It was a peaceful and sophisticated car ride that morning. We talked about monster trucks and Cheerios, like nothing ever happened.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

March 4, 2013 at 11:52 pm , by Nick Shell

2 years, 3 months.

Dear Jack,

We have been pumping you up for weeks now about Shipwrecked, an indoor playhouse in the Nashville area.

You indeed had plenty of fun- you are already asking when you can go back:

“I go Shipwrecked again? I drive the car? It’s mine?”

However, judging by the look on your face in this picture, the word “fun” wouldn’t necessarily be the first adjective to come to mind.

How about crotchety? Irritable? Cranky?

Despite a big pirate ship playground, train tables, dress up rooms, and toys all over the place, you spent about 97% of your time on the Fred Flintstone-style Lightning McQueen car, which you were nearly too big for.

If this picture of you depicts a 2 year-old boy who claimed ownership over one of the playground’s community cars, then used it to plow through the toys and other kids, causing Daddy to serve as some sort of safety watchman as I followed you back and forth across the place, then I would say the picture above serves the event justice.

If by chance the picture depicts a 2 year-old boy who drove like a mean old-man on his way to beat the lunch crowd at Shoney’s, then this picture captured the moment accurately.

So why were you only in the car for 97% percent of the time? That’s because you spent the other 3% of the time in the playhouse’s two ball pits.

But each time you slipped out of the car, it was a paranoia-laced situation.

You had to carefully shut the car door, discouraging any other kid from stealing your ride.

You always parked two steps away from the ball pit, then leaped overboard, like in every movie I’ve never seen about international spies.

Fortunately, for my sake, I didn’t have to break up any toddler fist fights. That’s because no other kid dared get near “your” car.

 

Love,

Daddy

March 3, 2013 at 11:17 pm , by Nick Shell

2 years, 3 months.

Dear Jack,

There’s nothing quite like sleeping in until 8:30 on a Saturday morning, then sliding out of bed and making our way to get our soy lattes as a family.

You always let Mommy and I get you dressed without putting up a fight and it’s just a stress-free, relaxing drive anytime we drive anywhere.

In fact, this time we happen to see a family of deer crossing the road on our way there. And then as if that wasn’t enough, a bald eagle flew over our car and led us all the way to Starbucks… like we didn’t already know the way. LOL!

After Mommy and I ordered our coffees, you ordered your favorite drink yourself:

“Yes sir, I would like a short cup of whipped cream, please. That’s 8 ounces, which is the square root of 64.”

The barista was so impressed by your vocabulary and knowledge of math skills.

Ugh! I’m such a bad dad for not thinking much about it anymore…

It’s just that since your daycare had you skip two grades, from the 2 year-olds to the 4 year-olds class, and on top of that, placed you in the gifted program, well… let’s just say I’m used to it by now.

There aren’t a whole lot of 2 year-olds who know how to solve a Rubik’s Cube as quickly as you can… just sayin’!

Anyway, the three of us just chillaxed there on the patio while lightly jamming to the likes of Mumford & Sons. I really need to upload their newest album, Babel, onto your iPod touch.

Wait, what am I saying? That’s ridiculous…

You don’t need me to do that! I forget you like to upload your own music without any of my help.

I guess what I’m saying is that it was a great weekend, like every weekend for us.

You make being a parent easy, kid. I remember our recent man-to-man talk when I asked you, “Son, when are these so-called Terrible Two’s going to happen?”

I’ll never forget it. You placed your hand on my shoulder, looked me straight in the eyes and replied:

“Pops, you and Mommy have enough to worry about. I’ll let you guys off the hook. I can be mature about the whole thing. Whenever I want something, I’ll just ask politely. If you say no, then I’ll be calm and respect your decision, directing my thoughts to a more positive place.”

I tell you, kid. Sometimes I wonder if I’m not just living the dream.

Pinch me, because this all seems too good to be true.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

Author’s note: In case the title of this post didn’t make it clear, this was simply an exaggerated example of what Fakebooking is. I am not actually this pretentious; at least I am hope not!

For a more official introduction of Fakebooking, click here to read “I Fakebook Daily And I’m Not Ashamed To Admit It.”