WOOOOOOO!

Sox Win! Sox win!

I can sleep before midnight! I can sleep before midnight!

Now that the Sox epic October is successfully over I promise more blogs in the coming days, once I catch up on my sleep a bit.

In celebration of their victory late last night, I shook Natalie's milk bottle and sprayed it all over her...we're both very happy this morning and looking forward to some power naps.

Two-Month Wasteland.

"Uh-Oh...nobody tell Al Gore..."






Yesterday I set a record; most diapers used in one changing session. But I totally blame Natalie.

She simply refused to cooperate. Apparently babies are funny that way.

Just when I thought there couldn't possibly be any more poop and began strapping on a new diaper, Natalie would smile an evil Dr. Evil-like smile (I went to school for writing), and soil another diaper, a few extra wipes, and the nation of Uruguay.

Being the loving father that I am, I simply laughed, called her a poopy-face, told her she was beautiful, and apologized to all Uruguayans (By the way, spell-checker isn't picking up Uruguayans, so apparently it's a word).

I calmly grabbed another diaper, cleaned up, waited a minute to make sure she was done and then slid diaper number three under her adorable little tush. (As a father, I am now legally allowed to use words like tush without raising any eye-brows. )

And it happened again. Another devilish smile. Another devilish outburst. This time she spared Uruguay but managed to soil her outfit.

But how quickly the eyes of a father forgive.

After another wipey-bath, I put her in a fourth diaper and set her in the crib. I quickly rinsed her dirty outfit and pulled another cute little get-up from the depths of her dresser, which is twice the size of mine. Her dresser is twice the size of mine because as I've been told by various female family members, little girls need lots of clothes they will never wear as part of some strange feminine rite of passage.

Once her next outfit was ready, I swooped back to her crib to find her contentedly looking at her mobile and wearing a grin that some might relate to what I was about to find in her diaper...

Finally, after another change, Natalie decided tormenting her father and small South American nations was boring. She shifted her attentions to a particularly interesting piece of her crib bumper and drifted, angelically, off to sleep.

We'd managed to run through five disposable diapers in one fell swoop.

Was I bothered that my daughter apparently has no concern for the health of our planet?
Sure.

But what really bothered me about the whole diaper fiasco was finding out my sweet little girl is a Republican.

(Editors note: I know, I know...I should be using cloth diapers but I am way too lazy and way too easily grossed out for cloth diapers. I applaud all those mothers who did it in the "olden" days and those modern moms with more motivation and gumption than me. The rest of you, who might be ready to point the finger, feel free to come visit for a week and bring those diapers with you. Natalie has something she would like to show you...)

Free Agent Deal

Honestly Mr. Beckett, how cute is she?







I've contacted Josh Beckett after last night's performance and offered him Natalie's hand in marriage 21 years from now. Terms of the proposal will not be disclosed but I can report that he is said to be "Seriously considering" the deal and that it includes an opt-out clause if he ever joins the Yankees...

Indian Summer

Why is this racial stereotype smiling?

It's all my fault.



Several weeks ago I started a blog entry and now I wish I hadn't.

Why you ask? What could be so terrible about a blog entry, and furthermore, why would it take weeks to finish?

The answers to those questions are simple:

I forgot the #1 rule of a Red Sox fan. And it takes me weeks to finish because I'm busy with diapers, feedings, cleaning, napping, more diapers, more napping, and other manly things.

Anyway, when the Red Sox made the playoffs I started reminiscing about my childhood as a Sox fan. During the fall months baseball was typically over. The Red Sox were out of it, having found some new and more painful way to finish second to the Yankees, and I was depressed...in the dumps until a Halloween-candy induced high shook me from my malaise in late October.

Now I'm raising a Sox fan (At least she better be a Sox fan. Of course I'll love her even if she's not. I just won't speak to her from May until November) and things are different. My beloved team is in the playoffs almost every year and at the start of these playoffs looked primed to win another World Series. I was so confident I even started a blog about the Sox new found success...

How would this new Red Sox Nation affect the formative years of my dear daughter?

Some might suggest that a new, happier, less-paranoid fan base was emerging; these fans looked forward to the fall months, didn't hold their breath every time the Sox did make the playoffs, and could wear a Sox cap in NY without being subjected to "1918" chants...but that was exactly why I was concerned.

The misery induced by the Red Sox helped shape my early adolescence. I learned to deal with heart-break, failure, and bitter disappointment (all key abilities when I became interested in girls). I learned more from Bill Buckner, Mariano Rivera, and Mo Vaughn then I did from many high school teachers.

The Sox helped turn me into a hopeless romantic and in turn a writer...I often wonder if I would have become a poet if I was a Yankee fan. (Do Yankee fans even write poetry? Do they know how to write?)

Before and during the Red Sox epic World Series run of 2004, I would have been trying to find the various series of superstitious positions, foods, and daily rituals to help the Sox win, knowing it was foolish the whole time, but believing it all the same. During the playoffs I would bite my nails, lash out at random people, and wake up in the middle of the night wondering if it was possible to put a contract out on Grady little...

This year? I plopped myself on the couch haphazardly and expected good results...when they easily swept the Angles, I took a hard look at myself and wondered aloud if I wanted to raise a daughter in such a climate. Did I want a little girl who came to expect her team in the playoffs every year? A girl who would demand nothing short of a World Series? A girl whose father rooted for a front-runner? In other words...did I really want to raise a Yankee fan circa 1990?
(A picture of your typical Yankee fan)

A difficult question for a man trying to shape the moral fiber of his daughter. Perhaps I should start routing for the Cubs, in order to ensure plenty of October heartbreak and teaching moments for my little girl...

Now, weeks later, I'm reminded why that was a foolish concern. The Sox are down 3-1 to an annoying Indians team and I'm muttering at the TV. I'm grumpy, angry, and ready to punch the first Indian fan I see (though a Yankee fan would do)...This is the October I remember.

The Red Sox will never be the Yankees because as soon as something starts to go wrong Sox fans are still ready to throw up their hands, sigh, shoot back a couple a Sam Adams, and begrudgingly wait till next year. (Although despite what Manny Ramirez says, it IS the end of the world...at least for a couple weeks)

We have plenty of October villains left to discover (I'm looking at you J.D. Drew and Coco Crisp). While I remember and love 2004, I also remember with a sort of gut-wrenching enjoyment all the tough years, the ones that taught me patience and a hopeless romanticism. I'm sure my daughter will have plenty of sad Septembers in her future and we'll curse the Yankees in bitter glee. Then, when the magic does happen again, it will be all the sweeter shared.


p.s.- And If you think I wrote this blog as a counter-jinx in order to help the Sox turn it around tonight...well...

Monday Morning Blues

You'd think since I take care of Natalie every day of the week would feel exactly the same.

Monday through Friday would be a jumbled mass of diapers, silly songs, and naps but alas even house husbands are subject to a bout with the Mondays..

Sara is off to work and I'm home alone again with Natalie and stack of projects...good thing I have this blog to help me procrastinate...

I need another cup of coffee.

Man Maintenence

This guy doesn't need any help...

(Editor's Note: Um...I shaved this off a day later. I just wanted to see what I would look like with a mustache...turns out I looked like a cross between a 70's porn star and Charlotte Bobcat Forward Adam Morrison (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adam_Morrison)
In other words, too awesome to unleash upon the world.)


WARNING! WARNING! The following blog contains politically incorrect jokes. If you are sensitive to gender-role stereotypes and are wound so tightly you can't laugh at a guy poking fun at himself and "traditional values" then close this blog immediately before I make my first lame joke...no seriously...here it comes...I warned you...fine. Read the stupid thing then.

My friend and former colleague Todd G., an English teacher and canoe-racing enthusiast (seriously, if you want to know about racing canoes ask Todd) e-mailed recently after a particularly effeminate weekend of laundry, grocery shopping, and cooking.

Todd was distressed and worried that he might have misplaced his Y Chromosome somewhere in the produce aisle. Naturally, Todd turned to me, knowing I do a "women's work" on a regular basis but also aware that despite my daily activities I ooze more manliness than a 1980's Tom Selleck. (http://www.imdb.com/gallery/mptv/1319/Mptv/1319/5412_0030.jpg.html?path=gallery&path_key=0080240)

He wondered if I had any tips on getting back his "Man-fire"... apparently his beautiful wife was trying on his pants and he really didn't like it.

Well Todd, you're in luck. You came to the right man. I've spent a lifetime maintaining a strong sense of masculinity while tackling more grass stains than quarterbacks...

So here are some fail safe tips to help men concerned with the flaccidity of their testosterone:

1. Watch sports: Preferably a high-contact sport like football. Make sure to invite other men so you can high-five when your team scores. Ignore the fact that you are watching other men perform in tight uniforms.

2. Eat Meat: All meat should be cooked on a grill and be so rare that you risk ingesting some sort of parasite. This will lead to your woman asking, in a particularly condescending tone, "Should you eat that?" Your response should be a grunt and a mouthful of meat. It would also be good if you killed said meat yourself.

3. Make Something: One of the most primordial male drives. It doesn't matter if you are completely incapable of producing a functional item. Just pound some nails into wood and call it your "Manly-Wood-thingy" On second thought, don't call it that...

4a. Scratch yourself: Go ahead, remind everyone that you have something to scratch.

4b. Spit: It doesn't matter where or how. Just spit on the ground. It wouldn't hurt if you scratched yourself at the same time...it shows a coordinated man presence.

5. Win something: Don't be afraid to make it easy. Challenge a third grader to an arm wrestling contest, a woman to a driving contest (...oh I'm gonna pay for that one), or me to a spelling contest.

6. Drink Cheep beer: This beer should be so cheap that people regularly remark how bad it is. This will allow you the opportunity to say, "It's fer getting drunk, ya nancy-boy" at which point you will have proven your manliness and can stop drinking the crap.

7. Get a woman pregnant: This is a leave-no-doubt option for those of you who lost to the third grader.

8. Think of me: Honestly. Right now I have a baby on my shoulder, a load in the laundry, and am trying to figure out what I should make for dinner...

I probably should make a nice rare steak.

Priorities

Most evenings Natalie tends to be a bit fussy before bed time. The 6 o'clock to 8 o'clock hours can often be rocky. She's not willing to sleep and she's not willing to play. A general grumpiness overtakes her. It's just part of her otherwise content and happy day and we're happy to take it in exchange for the fact that she then settles down and has a good six hour stretch of sleep.

Last night, however, she spent most of that time quietly asleep in my arms, with only the occasional squirm to reposition her tiny little body on my chest...

She obviously knew the playoffs had arrived and the Red Sox were playing game one of their ALDS series against the Angels. So I cheered quietly (it was a challenge not to stand up and shout when Papi hit the home-run or yell at the TV when Lugo was called out at second but I'm learning to be a less animated fan) and Natalie slept soundly and we all enjoyed a Red Sox victory.

Here's to hoping for at least ten more quiet nights during October!

Breaking News Alert!

This young woman looks relieved...





In an update to a previous story (see: "Diaper Defiance") an agreement has been reached between the two sides on the DooDoo debate of 2007.

The cartoon characters have agreed to allow all pooping to resume, while parents have agreed to relegate the use of prune juice to extreme cases only.

Representitive Kermit-the-frog had this to say, "Look, it's not easy being green but we're happy with the end result. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go lobby for the Pig Farmers of America."

The negotiations also included a stipulation that no discussion of bodily functions shall occur on this blog for at least a week.

In a related story, my wife is talking to me again.

In a further related story don't expect many posts for at least a week...

Diaper Defiance

Elmo and Orange Elmo (I haven't seen Sesame Street in awhile) aren't going to take it anymore!



Natalie hasn't pooped in four days (Editors note: I promise all these entries won't be centered around my daughter's bowl movements) the doctors and the books all say this is normal. Her little insides are changing and absorbing milk more efficiently so she'll begin longer stretches between poops. Still, the doctor wanted to see her so we went to the office (I can hear my mother's intake of breath as she wonders if her dear, sweet, grandchild is okay....).

She checked out fine. However, in order to help her along they prescribed Prune Juice. Yup, Prune Juice. I deeply regret that our daughter's first foray into the wonderful world of food outside of milk will be prune juice. What's next? Fruit Cake?

Anyway, while the doctors are confident that a little extra fiber given in the form of revolting juice should help Natalie's colon relax, I'm not so sure. You see, the doctors clearly haven't heard about the strike...

For years diapers and the cartoon characters printed on them had it rough. Brought into this world, they're happily packaged together; smiling little faces, fluffy little sheep, and happy little clouds. But they're soon and unceremoniously plucked from the flock and strapped onto a baby's bottom. Once attached, they spend their remaining hours waiting for the inevitable deluge that will signal their removal. To add insult to injury they are then discarded in the nearest receptacle. It's a tough life and now, after years of torture, they've gone on strike.

Elmo, spokes-puppet for the recently formed union had this to say, "We're not gonna take this crap anymore. We'll take the pee cause it's sterile but were putting our furry feet down on poop. Well, not on the poop itself...on the issue of poop...is what I meant to say."

Another outspoken member of the group, Dora-the-Explorer chimed in, "I'm not accepting any more of these little rug-rats' 'presents', I mean honestly who calls this 'presents'? Would you want to invite them to Christmas?!"

Indeed the anti-poopimation league (APL) has grown strong, drawing support from countless children's characters like Bob-the-Builder and Cookie Monster, each of whom have strong constituent backings.

But unfortunately the group can't depend on any help from older generations, as parents and grandparents everywhere are outraged. "My son should be allowed to poop whenever he wants. This is ridiculous. I mean, it's what they're made for!" said one frustrated mother.

It is unclear when this issue will be resolved but a committee on Poop Affairs has been formed in the Senate. They are currently listening to the APL's demand that prune juice be banned, since as one angry little sheep put it, "We can hold back normal doo-doo but prune-enhanced ka-ka may be more than we can handle."

Stay tuned for the latest on this hot-bottom topic...