Road Weary and Dog Tired...

We made it.  The dogs made it.  My wife made it.  The kid made—wait….okay, yep the kid made it too.

First off, I’d like to thank everyone for not robbing me.  Because it’s not very smart to post online about being out of town while you’re out of town.  But I figured the small group of people who read this are good people.  And I put my lights on a timer, just in case.

Bruce

1,670 miles.  And I will never do that again.  At least not with both the kid and the pets.  Someone's staying put next time, a dog, a dad, perhaps a kid. Because it was just a little too much.  Our visit was great, as always my in-laws were more than accommodating and we had a great time.  I’m very fortunate to have such great people in my life.  But getting there and getting home was not all that great.  Even splitting our trip into two days did little to put me at ease.  For example…

This morning, after a full day of driving in Pennsylvania bottlenecked construction hell, and then tossing into a turbulent night’s sleep with a very off schedule and out of routine baby, I stepped out to start packing the car. In my grogginess, Mason, our husky, (see here, here, and here), squeezed his pinhead right past me out into the hallway. When I turned to grab him, Bruce—once thought to be our good dog—bulled his way out and the stampede was underway.  I had to give them credit—the plan they’d sprung was perfectly executed.  When the door slammed shut I was left with two dogs making a getaway, no leash and no key.  The last thing I remember thinking as I watched Mason take the corner towards the lobby where guests were sitting down to breakfast was, I’ll have to blog about this.

It ended up being way less drama than I anticipated.  I mean, sure some old people dropped their wheat bran toast and gawped, but luckily I was able to round them up without further incident.  All this before 7am.

Mason

Outside, the rain was heavy, which was good because it washed my car clean of the sludge from up north.  But it wasn’t good weather for putting your entire little family at risk.  With white knuckles and tight necks, we slogged our way down I81, weaving in and out of truckers.  By the time we stopped at Sheets in Virginia, the weather had cleared but the damage was done.  My shoulders drooped, my hair was matted, I was toppled over from the constant worrying that yes, this is it, that truck was coming over into our lane and taking us out.  And because Simon hadn’t had his nails trimmed all week and had clawed my face earlier that morning, I had cuts and nicks on my forehead giving me that just- binged-on-meth glow. 

And the car was in worse shape.  The seats reeked of wet dogs and dirty diapers.  There was the drool from Mason’s neurotic meltdowns.  I had to laugh though, as my wife got up to use the bathroom and her pants were covered in dog hair.  I’m really surprised people didn’t offer us money.

But now we’re back.  And there’s nothing like pulling into your driveway after a long trip.  I have to get back into that car tomorrow and drive to work, a sickening thought.  I know that truck driving is not in my future.  There are few things worse than sitting for hours at a time.  But my family is home and safe and now there’s nothing to worry about….except….what’s that smell?

Road Warriors...

I tried not to think to much about my Christmas vacation leading up to it actually happening, thus minimizing the doomsday scenarios that flash through my mind when I worry about stuff, like say, being in the car for 13 hours...with a baby...and two dogs. 

But the other day, as we were leaving for New York, I was overcome with joy at my good fortune.  I’d managed to get the trunk packed and was watching my wife exit the house.  She shut the door, cocked her head like she does when mentally checking down her list(s), and walked towards the car.  We were actually leaving.  I rubbed my hands together, buckled up, shifted into reverse and backed out of the driveway.  I even reset the trip odometer like the old man I am. 

"Wait!"

Screech.  

We sat in the car, idling just in front of our home.  The odometer doesn’t measured feet but I estimated 37.

“I forgot my sunglasses.”

I eased back into the driveway and my wife hopped out, ran to her car.  (well, sauntered actually), and then proceeded to set off the alarm.  After that, she reentered the house and I took the opportunity to lecture my son on the virtues of bachelorhood.  Then we set off again, this time driving exactly 2.6 miles before having to turn around.  We’d forgotten a very important gift.  I cannot begin to type the severity of the curse words that echoed in my head at that moment.

Okay, inching along.  We completed the first leg of our journey without any more serious hiccups.  We stopped for a roadside picnic--due to the two dogs.  My memory seared moment came as we packed up to get back on the road somewhere in WVa.  While waiting to pull out into traffic, my wife told me to stop, where she hopped out of the car and I watched from my rearview mirror as she, still holding her own breast milk in one hand,scoured the trunk for bottle nipples as traffic zipped past. Deep breaths.

Seven hours after leaving the house, we arrived at our hotel.

Now I’m sure Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania, has its moments.  I’m sure that there are days when the sun shines and the grass burst a shimmering green as the birds whistle an especially sweet tune.

This was not one of those days.  The mist and fog only lent to the miserable experience of our stay, right from the time we pulled right up to our curbside door. My first thought as my wife checked in as I waited in the car with my road weary son and howling dogs, was that I hoped I had change for the vibrating bed.

I’m not a snob.  Trust me.  But when it comes to my family—especially my son who’s not even a year old, I get a little uptight.  Throw in two stressed dogs and by the time we walked into the room—which was eerily similar to the rooms my friends and I used to rent out when we were teenagers for a place to drink and party—I was a little bit on edge.

We tried to make the best out of it, even though the door wouldn't seem to close quite right (perhaps to being kicked in by the police), and the foot traffic and passing cars kept the dogs on edge.  It was a restless night, and the worst was yet to come as the weather reports did us no favors, showing rolling clips of apocalyptic ice storm threatening to bring the entire North to a standstill. 

But I’d all but made up my mind to drive north as far as allowable to get another room—far away from our current room awash with the orange glow of the gas station sign outside, and reassess our situation.

Day two brought rain.  It brought fog.  It brought ice, sleet, snow and everything else it could throw at us.  But we made it.  I ate a tray full of Christmas cookies for lunch (we all made sacrifices), with my wife in the back seat and feeding our child.  

People passed and pointed, no doubt laughing at the man who forced his wife in the back while his dog sat shotgun.  Whatever.  We arrived at our destination cold and tired but in one piece.

So now we're here and tonight the temperatures are supposed to be somewhere around five degrees.  But there's fudge and cookies and lots of snow, not to mention good people and Christmas cheer.  Oh yeah, and while walking my dogs I found this Santa, so that made the whole trip worthwhile...

                                

Merry Christmas!

Cracking Up...

I write this post from the muggy confines of my command station on the carport.  I have beer and my dogs.  My son has been ripped from my arms and carted across state lines. A few states actually. My wife has taken him up north to visit family and friends. She left yesterday and we’ve spoken several times. She says everything is fine. I told her the same on my end.  What I didn't tell her is that last night I ate watermelon and cocoa puffs for dinner, while wandering the house in a bathrobe, listening to Baby Einstein and reading My BeeBo. I'm not bitter it just reads that way...

I should be cutting loose with my freedom, taking full advantage now that my strings of responsibility are blowing in the wind. As are the smells in this house, I may need to open a window. Dinner tonight looks to be a delectable course involving peanut butter and jelly packets. The possibilities are endless. This is not the first time I've been left, but it's the first time since I've been a dad.

It’s bittersweet, a week of freedom in exchange for a week without my little guy. But don’t cry for me Argentina, or Virginia. I’ll get to play basketball and drink some beers with the fellas, and undo all of that training my wife worked so hard to accomplish. The stubble on my face is like industrial strength sandpaper...and we're only on day two.  A week without shaving, toilet seat maneuvering, and hair in the bathtub, I’m going full neanderthal here. Boom... I just smashed a bug with my fist. 

The dogs and I will hunker down and ride out the storm. They're already sighing heavily and looking up at me with sad eyes.  Weeks are like months for my little dude at this stage. What if he forgets me? I had no idea how attached I was already. I mean I did, but it was hard not holding him before work, coming home to that smile after work, and listening to him giggle in the tub, and sleeping on my chest….oh God, I'm no neanderthal, I'm a dad!  A dad who needs to wash the bug guts from his hands...  

Mush...

This may get a little mushy.  Over the weekend being a dad hit me hard, in a good way.  I’m not sure what it was, probably the fact that I won’t see my little guy for a week.  Tomorrow he’s heading to upstate New York to visit his northern grandparents.  Which is great, and it will be nice to have some freedom but at this stage in his life weeks are like months.  He better not come home with teeth.  (Actually, after all of the teething stories I’ve heard maybe he should).

Saturday was daddy time, as my wife finally got to cash in that full body massage gift certificate I gave to her back at Christmas.  After that she hit the pool while Simon and I passed the time.  Let's see, we read a book, jumped on the bed (the doctor said no more monkeys), and basically ran amuck in the house for four hours.  We laughed, we giggled, and then we crushed a bottle and crashed.  

I appreciated every smile I earned just a little bit more, and I found myself staring into those big blue eyes with wonder. I peeked in on him during naptime, watching his little back rise and fall with each small breath.  How did I ever get so lucky?

I will try my best not to fail him.  Ever.  No matter what the coming years bring I will lead him through it.  This job is harder than I expected, and much, much better than I expected, because after everything I prepared for I didn’t prepare for this.  

A Family Outing

For most of my son's six weeks of life, I've managed to shield him from the world in which he lives.  A few doctor visits, a couple walks, and whatever mom has managed to sneak behind my back notwithstanding.  My wife has been itching for weeks to get us out of the house, and with blue skies and spring like temperatures pervading our weekend, I knew that the time had come. We were hitting the road.

Ready for a big day...

After checking the car seat base no less than 17 times, we crept out of the driveway, the car moving at the pace of a parade float as we were off for our first official family outing.

The day was full of first, which for me meant it was full of stress.  Sure, I joke about being an overprotective dad, but much of it is no joke, I can’t help it.

The first sign of danger came by way of the gas station.  As I filled up, I stared at the little lugnut, blissfully asleep in the car when a Volkswagon bus pulled in to the other side of the pump, its engine struggling to idle as the exhaust fumes filled the air. I dashed into the car, startling my wife as I turned the key and closed the sunroof.  Not on my watch Carbon monoxide, the first hazard had been adverted.

I finished pumping gas without incident, sending a Walt Kowalski-like scowl to drivers of loud vehicles and those with inappropriate language until we got back on the road.

Our destination was Charlottesville, Trader Joe’s more specifically, because driving an hour each way for cheap wine and cookie butter is practical, and our marriage is based on practicality.

I drove like a man on a mission, but a mission without time restraints. Arriving at the shopping center the panicking began.  There were horns, sirens, buses, and, gasp, other human beings.  I pulled the stroller of the trunk and to my surprise, was able to unfold it. I looked around, Sniff, that's right, I'm a dad.  I felt parental as we navigated our way through the foot traffic, me and the little guy hanging outside while mom peeked into a few stores.

My senses seemed sharper, and I was on high alert, taking precautions that would put Secret Service to shame. Craning my neck, I glanced in all directions for potential threats.  Who knew the world could be so dirty?  I tried to remind myself that when I was a kid I used to eat bugs and drink creek water.  I may or may not have eaten a scab.

Stopping for lunch at Chili's, I inquired as to whether breast milk was on the menu.  No such luck, we found a booth tucked away and commenced to be that couple.  Being removed from civilization for so long, I worried my wife would walk out of the bathroom with her boob hanging out of her shirt, ready to feed. 

Once again our son was well behaved, and when the waitress approached while I was burping him on my shoulder as if I had been doing it for years.  I whispered politely for the check.  That's right, I got this...

Finally, we arrived at Trader Joe's. I unpacked, and with my confidence growing I took the reigns of the stroller to let my wife do the shopping. But once inside of the crowded store, as the carts whizzed by us and we became lost in the shuffle of reusable bags, ironic t-shirts, and yuppie indifference, my confidence faded. I struggled up and down a couple aisles, the crowd more than I could bear.  Nope, I whipped around and back outside as my son and I escaped to the parking lot for some sunshine.

Perhaps he (I) was overwhelmed, or maybe he(I) was just tired.  After all, for him (me), we may as well have travelled to the moon.  He started to fuss as we waited for mom outside, watching the throng of Priuses (Prii?) cruise through the lot.

Eventually Mom resurfaced, and our son was hungry. So, right there in the parking lot, she nursed our son in the back seat as I munched on the groceries in the trunk. We were only a drum circle short of looking like a tailgate party at a Phish show.

By this point I was done. I had had enough firsts for the day.  We drove home, exhausted from our adventure. My son and I anyway, I think mom was fine. And so we made it, unharmed and unscathed after exploring a small part of the world. Maybe we'll do it again next year...

Greetings From Jamaica!

What could have been....

 

Our tickets were bought, our reservations made as an all expense paid belated honeymoon was all set. But then, the news came. Pregnant? I'll never forget calling Sandals to cancel a trip to Negril.  How could this happen? Well I know how, but I was still a bit surprised. I have a feeling this won't be the first time our son changes or rearranges our plans. Or our life.

So as I spend this week at home, raking leaves and preparing for hurricane winds and heavy rain, dealing with the numerous political zombies banging on our door and wandering the streets in hopes of securing votes, I will try to think of what is coming instead of what could have been.

We could have been swimming up to the bar to order colorful drinks early in the afternoon. We could have been zip lining, sight seeing, and basking in the sun.  The biggest decision I would have had to make this week would be deciding if the shirt I was wearing appeared clean enough to wear to dinner. So what happened?

Well birds happened, bees happened, and deciding not to renew that birth control prescription happened. So that leaves us here, preparing for Sandy and a baby shower next weekend. Maybe we'll do a Jamaica theme...virgin daiquiris anyone?

In all honesty, having a child is right up there with marrying my wife as my greatest moments, and I am glad to make any sacrifice needed for him. We've also been offered a rain check on the trip, so don't feel bad for me, even if I am a bit dizzy after the plasma donation in an effort to pay for the Pottery Barn curtains we hung in the baby room yesterday.