A Rainy Afternoon

Jolted out of his nap by a combination of rumbling thunder, a rumbling trash truck, and a horrible wracking cough, Thumper called for me. "Daddy!" It was too soon, and he was clearly not ready to be up yet, so we sat together in my chair, with the lights off, listening to the rain and the thunder and the ticking of the clock. We both dozed and woke and dozed again. And I remembered a night some seven years ago, when I babysat a sick Robert McGee. He was, I think, about nine months old. He was feverish and unhappy and didn't want to do anything but sit with me in a rocking chair. The first couple of times he fell asleep, I tried to transfer him to the crib, but he wouldn't stand for it. So we just sat and rocked, his heat baking into me.

I've thought of that evening now and then over the intervening years, and it was in my memory a sort of pietà that represented my desire to be a parent, to be the one that little voice is calling to when he calls out for Daddy. And this afternoon I got to live it again. When he was ready, we shared an apple and some goldfish crackers, and now he's running around the house yelling, "Give it me! My chair!" So the moment is passed. But I loved it while it lingered and made a gloomy, rainy afternoon glow golden for an hour or so. Thanks, Thumper. I love you.

Does This Mean I'm a Webmaster?

I'm giving up a revenue stream. My largest revenue stream, in fact, that counts for almost half the money I've made so far in 2008. And I'm doing it voluntarily. Wow, it kind of makes me nervous saying it out loud like that. What the hell am I thinkin'?

Anyway, if I'm going to flush thousands of dollars down the toilet, then I guess I better get serious about soliciting other work, the kind of work that I can do from home nights, weekends, and naps. (Naps! Don't get me started. We're inexorably marching toward one per day, I fear. Kid didn't go down until 11:00 a.m. today! And he didn't even seem that sleepy. But Daddy's got bloggin' to do, son.) So to that end (the soliciting work end, not the bloggin' end), I done made myself a website.

When I bought irodius.com, I also bought a couple of other domain names, with the intention of someday doing something with them. But the website of my domain name registrar and web hosting service is extremely tedious to look at, and not intuitive to use, and I didn't know what the hell I was doing, and it took me enough time and effort just to get irodius.com to work with irodius.blogspot.com, and I didn't have the time to invest in learning about hosting, and and and.

Well, this week I checked into their free hosting. I even put up a website, and then I realized why the hosting was free: they put an ad for their services right at the top of your pages. And if you use frames, which is what I originally experimented with, their ad shows up at the top of every frame, too. I ultimately decided against frames, but still, that ad at the top declaring that "this site is hosted for free by" just didn't strike me as the most professional look for someone soliciting work. So I bit the bullet and invested the $60 for a year's worth of hosting. So I hope I can get at least $60 worth of work out the thing.

I decided not to connect this site to that, though. Not only would my secret identity and that of my wife and son be revealed (though who knows; maybe they ain't that secret if someone really wants to know), but I wouldn't want the occasional foul language, poop talk, and my exposed political non-beliefs here to affect someone's decision to use or not use me in a professional capacity.

But if you need a Filemaker database solution, or have some audio you'd like transcribed, or maybe you have a web page or two for which you'd like some copy written, drop me a line. As a result of getting more intimately familiar with the hosting service's website, I actually setup my irodius.com email. I think I only ever got two legitimate emails to my irodius Yahoo address, but still. Now I have a real one. Email me! I'm rodius at irodius.com. I told Aerie she could have an irodius address too, but she was unimpressed. I don't think she realized that she's living with a genuine Webmaster. And small business owner with real business expenses to deduct this year. And blogger to almost a dozen people. I guess the brilliance of my internet stardom just doesn't dazzle her jaded eyes.

Kid Swap

Today I took Robert McGee and Freckles to Volente Beach as a reward for good behavior during our time together this summer. Their mom, Social Worker Sister-in-Law ("SWSIL") took the day off and kept Thumper all day so that we wouldn't have to stop the fun for baby feedings and baby naps and baby diapers. Thumper had a fabulous time; he didn't stop talking about it from the time I picked him up to the time I put him to bed. In fact he's probably still in there talking about it. Of course, I still don't know what all they did, because I can't understand a word he's saying.

Volente Beach was a fabulous time, too. I should tell you about it, about how I got sunburned despite copious coatings of sunblock. About how Robert McGee and I almost went right over the top on the Sidewinder! Twice! About how Freckles bathing suit was full of sand and how she almost lost her brand new Kit Kittredge t-shirt, but didn't. And how Texas Twister was closed, probably because somebody got stuck in the middle, or maybe got their head chopped off, or ran into a giant spider, or maybe just kept spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning...

I should tell you how Aerie's out of town working, and how as soon as we pulled into the garage, Thumper asked, "Mama?" And when we came in, he looked out the back door and asked, "Mama?" And how he grinned when he heard her voice on the phone when she called to kiss him goodnight. I should tell you about all of it, but now that the boy's in bed, I've got to shower all the sand and lake water off me, and I've got copy to write, and a bagful of dirty diapers and leftover Thumper food to unpack, and a kitchen floorful of pots, pans, and Tupperware to put away that Thumper played with this morning while I packed his bags, and a breakfast to pack for him to eat while we get our oil changed tomorrow, and a zzzzzzzzzzzz.....

Summer Summer Toots, It Wouldn't Be Summer Without Them

This was the first week of our regular summer "Babysittin' the Cousins" schedule. Because each day started with picking the kids up after school, we had been doing all of our babysittin' at their house. Now that they're out of school, though, we're doing two days at their house and one at ours. I gotta say, I like the day at our house. Freckles told me that she had been looking forward to seeing Thumper "in his natural environment." I don't know if she's making a documentary or what she may have learned about him from her observations, but it certainly is easier for me to take care of him in his natural environment, mostly because I don't have to haul two or three bags of baby shtuff and a portable crib around. I also want to tell you that Freckles, after walking through our front door, exclaimed, "You’ve even got a baby, and your house is still WAY cleaner than ours!" But I think it would be rude to mention that, and I don't want anyone to think that I'm being prideful or unpleasantly critical of someone else. So I won't. Mention it, that is.

I think this summer needs a name. I've been thinking about "The Summer of Cousins," because not only are we babysittin' two cousins, a third has been joining us on several of our excursions. The Dallas elements of the family will also be coming to Austin to enjoy a day at the lake with us, so we have a pretty good chance of shoving a few more of 'em into our "Summer of Cousins." Freckles asked me what my other nephew was to them on the way to pick him up. I told them I didn't know. Second cousins? Removed cousins? Those are phrases I hear all the time, but I have know idea what they actually mean. I told them I'd have to look it up. I probably won't. I'm lazy like that.

What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, the summer needs a name. It's "The Summer of Cousins," but it also is shaping up to look a lot like "The Summer of the Pools." On Wednesday, when we were talking about going to the pool in our subdivision, Freckles and Robert McGee told me that they'd been to a pool every day since Sunday. I said, "Oh, well, if you're sick of swimming we can find something else to do." No no! They were going for a record! It was their ambition to dip their bodies into one pool or another every single day for a week. For at least a week. We wish them well in their ambition, but since it's just Thumper and I today, we're going to stay as far away from the pool as possible. Maybe we'll see what he thinks of RadiJazz. Although, if I raise the stakes like that, he may never be satisfied with the mall playground again.

So, yeah. Cousins steeping in pools. Baking in the sun. The Summer of:

Cousin Soup?
Cousin Tea?
Cousin Suntea?

Or maybe "Rootin' Tootin' Summer." As I may have mentioned, Thumper's been regularly testing the containment capacity of his diapers. We've suddenly found ourselves on constant overflow watch here. And it's not just the cloth diapers; we tried a couple different brands of disposables, including the extra-absorbent overnight variety, and still, each morning a sense of expectant dread drifts through the house as we approach his bedroom door: will it be a toxic Superfund site today?

So naturally, we watch him closely for the Sign of the Poop, any sign, no matter how subtle. Yesterday, at Little Stacy, a thoughtful, faraway look came into his eyes, and I felt his abdomen tighten up. We were out of the pool quicker than if the lifeguard had shouted, "Lightning!" Luckily, we didn't contaminate the water. I'm pretty sure that would be embarrassing.

We're constantly sniffing him, too. I don't know how many times I've said recently, "Nope, no poop. He must just be gassy." It must be annoying when you do your best to quietly, discretely let one slip, and bam! you find yourself face-down with someone peering into your underwear.

And speaking of discrete, Robert McGee was, uh, bakin' some brownies yesterday. Knowing him, as I do, to be a seven-year-old boy, I was pleasantly surprised that he did not make loud and vulgar mirth from the situation. He and I both quietly pretended that we did not hear anything. Twice. I even refrained from instructing him to excuse himself for fear of drawing attention to the undeniable humor inherent to that noise. I figure that if I don't want to be called out on mine, I best not call anyone else out on theirs. Except for Thumper. If he rips one, you can bet he'll be shooting straight up off that white carpet like a rocket, tout de suite!

In a Slump

You don't want to read this one, either. Additional details about me will be revealed that you will be unable to unlearn.








I'm in a slump. I can't get motivated. I don't feel like cleaning the house again because I swear I just did it. I'm bored with playing with the baby because we do the same things over and over. I don't want to go babysit because the talking and the talking and the talking, ugh, it's exhausting. I sort of worked out yesterday, but I half-assed it. And I quit early.

I'm loathe to say anything like this these days. One, I don't want this blog to be a place to bitch about my life. I've read some of those blogs, and they get kind of old. Two, as a SAHD, it seems like it's my job to put up a happy front. I feel like if I complain, the answer is simple: "you chose this, jackass." So whenever anyone asks me about it, it's wonderful! It's fantastic! We're having a fabulous time! My old full-time position was recently vacated by my replacement. My former supervisor jokingly asked me if I wanted my job back, and I said, "Ha! No thanks." A former co-worker, too, asked me if I was going to take my old job back. He thought this stay-at-home dad thing was just an arrangement for a few months, until the kid was old enough for day care, like any normal baby; he was flabbergasted when I said it was for years, not months. "Really?" he said. "Of course!" I replied. "It's so much fun!"

And it is, and I do love it. But man, I'm in a slump.

I know the answer I'll probably get, at least from my mother, is "get out there and connect with other parents! Go to the SAHD playdates! Go to their Dads' Nights Out!" And yes, I should. But who can be bothered? And Thumper's still napping through the playdates, and the Dads' Nights Out are during babysitting. I have been chatting with mothers at playgrounds more, but I haven't managed to wrangle the boy a girlfriend yet.

No, really I'm thinking it's time for a fast. There was a time when I tried to live by the principles of BFF's bible. It's largely about how to combine foods properly in healthy ways, like meat and bread don't go together because they require different enzymes from your stomach to digest. And melon is the perfect food for humans, but it shouldn't be eaten with anything else. That kind of stuff. I followed it very closely for a good six months, and didn't feel like it really changed my life. So I dropped most of it. But I did keep one aspect for several years after. Ready for it? This is the part you don't want to know: colonics.

Yep. Self-administered colonics. Twice a year. In combination with a week-long fast. Since cheapness counts, I couldn't imagine spending hundreds of dollars on a Colema board (you don't want to click on that), so I made one myself. With $60 worth of wood and a wastebasket from Target. And yes, I thought it was crazy, too. I thought BFF was crazy. But the craziness appealed to me, in a way. "Hey, won't this be wacky? I'll be one of those nuts who hoses out his insides! Hee hee!"

But strangely enough, the fasting and colonics made me feel incredible. I fasted by eating nothing and drinking sometimes carrot juice, sometimes grape juice, or carrot-grape juice. Sometimes just water. Sometimes I used solutions for the colonic other than plain water, like coffee and water, or garlic and water. The first day or two of the week-long fast, with nightly colonic sessions, I would be exhausted and hungry. By the third or fourth day, though, I started to feel recharged. Energized. And that gut-gnawing sensation of hunger was gone. By the end of the week, I was refreshed, renewed, ready to start again. I'd ease back into eating with light and healthy meals. It was like pushing a reset button.

But after a few years, I'd stopped smoking. I was working out more, losing weight, feeling good. I didn't feel like I needed a cleansing, a restarting. And the tedium part of the colonics, the preparation, the cleanup, started to get to me. Not to mention having to clean the juicer daily from all those grapes and carrots. So I decided I was done with it and threw out my board. I haven't fasted since, and it's been probably two or three years.

So now, in a slump and feeling like I really need a good renewal ritual, I'm thinking about fasting again. And since I've been eating a lot lately, snacking when I don't really need it, I want to re-learn that feeling of hunger as a positive thing, to remember that being hungry isn't so bad. I don't think I can get behind building a new board, and I certainly can't get behind buying one, so I'll just skip the colonics this time around.

Maybe I shouldn't use the words "get behind" and "colonics" in the same sentence, huh?

Anyway, does anybody else out there fast? I've never done it without the colonics, and I wonder if it will be the same jolt of power and energy that I remember.

So who's with me? Who's up for a week of emptying the vessel and starting over? Come on! I promise I'll stop saying the word "colonic" now.

While Taking Thumper for a Walk

Freckles said, "I'm not saying you're my favorite uncle, just that Thumper's my favorite cousin."

Oh. OK.

Where the Boys Were

It was a wild Spring Break for the Thumpster and me this week. We babysat his cousins for two full days, and Lord knows, time with the cousins always qualifies as a wild time.

Thumper's Seven-Year-Old Cousin lost a tooth the last time he was at our house. No, I didn't punch him in the mouth. How could you even joke about something like that? It was loose, and he pulled and twisted and poked it at while we ate lunch and I suggested various sudden and violent ways to remove it.

The next time I saw him, I asked if he put it under his pillow yet. He asked me if I knew that in Africa, they don't put them under pillows, because they don't have pillows there. And they don't get money. I didn't know that, and I wondered what they do get. Chickens, he informed me. They get chickens. I asked him if he'd rather have money, or a chicken. A chicken. Definitely.

So I mentioned that I know someone who has chickens. BFF has a piece of property in (what seems like to me) the boonies. It has no deed restrictions, and he keeps 21 chickens, 2 sheep, and a goat. I call it the Farm. I told Seven-Year-Old Nephew about the chickens. He wondered if BFF would sell him one.

So anyway, we went to the Farm this week. It was successful beyond all of my expectations. First, Thumper napped long and well. He sometimes has trouble napping at other people's houses, so the napping was greatly appreciated and made everything else that much easier and more pleasant.

Second, the niece and nephew... You know, I should give them appellations for this site that are shorter and more descriptive of them than Nine-Year-Old Niece and Seven-Year-Old Nephew. So I hereby dub Nine-Year-Old Niece "Freckles," and Seven-Year-Old Nephew "Robert McGee," for cryptic reasons known only to myself. No, I won't tell you why, unless you ask me in person.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Freckles and Robert McGee absolutely loved the Farm. At first, they spooked the chickens, and the chickens spooked them. But ultimately, they (what, harvested? Recovered? Picked?) nine eggs from 'neath a variety of chickens and washed them. They lamented that there weren't more to wash. BFF lamented that he'd already washed all the eggs from the day before. They fed and watered the chickens. And the sheep. And the goat that may or may not be pregnant by Immaculate Conception (the only males living on the Farm are BFF and his one rooster, yet she's as wide as a house and has developed udders). The asked every ten minutes or so if BFF thought the chickens had laid any more eggs yet. He felt sure there might be one or two more by the time we left. Then they lamented that there wasn't more work to do. So BFF, not quite believing his luck, suggested that they could shovel sand from one end of the property and wheelbarrow it to the other for a building project he's working on. They were delighted! So was he!

On the way home, Freckles pontificated about the limited appeal of manual chicken farm labor. "That was so much fun," she said. "I mean, just every once in awhile. I wouldn't want to do it every day. I don't really like work very much."

So BFF paid them for their labor by letting them pick out a dozen eggs each from his refrigerated stash. One included all of the eggs they had pulled from the coop themselves. In the end, Robert McGee never did get his chicken. Social Worker Sister-In-Law told me he could come home with a sheep, but not a chicken. She never provided the funds to make such a transfer of livestock happen, though, so I don't think she was very serious. But I have them again all day next Friday, so who knows? Maybe by then, he'll have talked her into it.

I'm Pretty Sure This One's AHEAD of the Curve

Apparently to drive home to me the fact that I'm no expert on the timeline of developmental landmarks, Nine-Year-Old-Niece today presented me with this conversation while simultaneously impressing Thumper with her mastery of the Skip-It* on the deck in her backyard:

NYON: I like recess. You know the funny thing about recess, though? I have a crush on this boy, A? And he has a crush on me? So we spend a lot of time together. And B? He still likes me, too? So everywhere I went at recess, I had two boys following me around. But that's OK. I really like A, so I enjoy his company? But then B, he said he'd devote his whole life to me.

IR: Uh...

NYON: I know, right? Boys are so ridiculous.

IR: So are A and B friends?

NYON: Well, B kind of gets on A's nerves. And A kind of gets on B's nerves.

IR: I bet.

NYON: So then we're playing volleyball? Me and four of my friends? And C and D are really good, so they're playing the rest of us? But then they said that I should come on their team, but then E and F said, "Hey, that's not fair!" So I said A should play with them, but he said, "No way!" And I told him, "Look, if you're going to hang out with me, you're going to have to get used to my friends..."

IR: Maybe we should go in now and check on your brother.

NYON: OK!




*I asked her if the Skip-It had a counter on it, and she said no, the one with the counter is the new model, this one's an old model from a couple years ago. Wikipedia says this is a toy from the 80's, and the one with the counter came out in the early 90's. Her daddy's a big anti-pop culture Luddite! Can you believe these kids got a Wii for Christmas??

Adventures in Babysitting

By the way, Mom, that's a reference to a movie from 1987 starring Elizabeth Shue before she was all hot and had a heart problem and messed around with Val Kilmer or made a gorilla invisible and got stalked by Kevin Bacon.

Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, babysitting. The incomparable Social Worker Sister-in-Law ("SWSIL") has put me on the payroll to pick her kids up from school or babysit them when they're on vacation and she's not. This is a pretty sweet deal, since they're seven and nine, and the older is a girl who already knows and is more than willing to explain exactly what her brother is and is not allowed to do. They practically take care of themselves!

Today we went to the library, where all I had to do was suggest that the nephew try "Yes, please" and "Thank you" instead of "Yeah" and "I guess so" as appropriate responses to the librarian's kind assistance. Then the Thumpster and I held them, uh, engrossed, with our magic poopy diaper trick, in which the boy makes a horrible, sticky, stinky mess and I clean it up. It's a real crowd pleaser!

We also played Twister Dance, which, according to the niece, SWSIL doesn't even count as TV time! Apparently this is a huge oversight by SWSIL, but we won't tell her how much fun the kids are getting away with here. I was declared "the most enthusiastic adult" ever to play the game, way more enthusiastic than SWSIL.

For his part, young Thumper is enthralled. I kept whispering in his ear that they're both crazy, but he is in awe. He didn't know there was this much fun to be had in the world. The running, the jumping! The yelling! The dancing! The bikes! The scooters! It's almost too much to handle.

So all in all, a fabulous time was had by all, and we're looking forward to more of the same. Need somebody to pick up your kids after school? Drop us a line! Just don't tell SWSIL. I hear babysitters are a precious, precious commodity in this strange world of parenting, and babysitter theft is a crime punishable by death. But drop us a line anyway. We'll pick up your kids, and we might even keep them safe and healthy 'til you get home! Just beware the poopy diapers... Eeeeewwwwwww!!!!!