Infant versus Mustang

Being an older (no, not infirm yet ... at least another day or two) father, I've gotten to enjoy quite a bit of time single (not that much fun, looking back) and even more so, being married without children.

Now that I'm a father, some things are getting re-evaluated ... the '98 Ford Mustang GT that I fell in love with the first time I drove it, is one of those things.

It is a big car ... not much room in the back, but his toddler seat fits. Sort of. The car's fast which he loves ... Mama, not so much when he's in the back seat. It' a beautiful shade of blue which doesn't compensate for the dislocated shoulder at the hospital trying to reach the parking tag from the driver's seat.

I have to admit that I have been re-thinking the Mustang's practicality while sitting in the back seat of my mother's Jeep Patriot with Patrick asleep on top of me (we are stopped at the moment), writing this post. The Mustang would never have worked for this simple six hour trip and week vacation.

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"Hello?"

We walked into my parents house ... looking for Papap. "Hello," we called. "'Ello," Patrick mimicked. "Hello," we called again, laughing a bit. "'Ello," Patrick mimicked again, delighted that he could get us laughing that easily. Out in the back yard, he went for the shovel (small blue plastic one I got for him a while back). "Maybe he should go shovel in the sand-box," Papap said ... Off he went to the sand-box, lugging the shovel. Later I asked him if he wanted raisins. Shaking his head no, he headed for the fridge. "Eeze," he said ... Cheese, he intended. His comprehension and vocal capacity is growing by leaps and bounds!

Terror or Anger

Jennifer and I woke about twenty minutes ago to Patrick crying ... nothing unusual. I asked her to get him since I have to start getting ready for work in about three hours (yes, I have to work on a Saturday). Where things became unusual was the loud, sustained crash, and Patrick's cries rising to a hefty scream. Being the concerned parent that I am ... with visions of his changing table collapsed on top of him, I rushed to their aid. "What was that?" I cried. Jennifer, weakly replied, "I fell down the stairs." With Patrick screaming at the top of his lungs, I think I actually asked her to repeat what she said. I found my wife sitting, with her legs out and my son in her arms, at the bottom of the stairs. Asking if she and Patrick were OK was mixed into confused questioning about what happened. Somehow, her feet went out from under her (we suspect a couple of the leaves that Patrick likes to play with were on the steps). While my real concern was i

A Simple Evening

We had my parents over for dinner last night ... Patrick and Jen prepared dinner, even going as far as making brownies for desert! It was very cool watching Patrick cuddle with his Grandfather. It is always amazing to me how those two get along. It was also very cool watching Patrick and his Grandmother read a book together ... Before dinner, he got a chance to show off the cast-iron toy stove that Jen had played with as a child. This has become one of his favorite toys ... the parts certainly make a lot of noise when he tosses them across the room. At dinner, I sat next to Patrick, across from his grandparents ... their expressions as they watched him were sheer joy and a joy to watch, as well. At one point, I asked Patrick to show them the Moon and Stars in his room. He has a humidifier that lights up, projecting colored starts and a moon on the ceiling ... he loves them. He immediately headed for the stairs, and turned to his grandparents and signaled come on ... a q

Fatherhood

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