First Time Ever
I never knew just how I would feel when it finally happened. I had heard others talk about it, and had considered in passing how I would react.
Yesterday, I heard the sound of Ben's voice as I napped on the couch. That's nothing unusual. He wakes up from his nap, gets restless, and starts saying things like, "Ben, get out," or just the standard "Daddy. Daaaadeeeee." Then there's the unintelligible, low groan. Anyone who knows Ben knows that sound.
I also heard his doorknob moving. Ben likes to close doors, but cannot open them yet, so this also was not unusual. So what's the big deal? Right?
Ben still naps in his crib.
Visions of Crushed Head Faeda* dancing through my head, I rushed to find out if Ben was okay. I managed to curb my enthusiasm enough to keep from knocking him over with the door. He was fine, and only later as I changed his diaper and asked how he got out of his bed did he say, "Ben bump a head." He seemed to be relating facts more than complaining, so I guessed the bump was not too bad.
After I told my wife about it, we discussed getting a toddler bed. It just wouldn't do to have our boy tumbling from his crib each day.
I chuckled to myself a bit and imagined what he'll do on the day he first wakes up, stretches his adorable little legs, and opens his room door onto the rest of the house, his mommy and daddy sleeping obliviously on the opposite side of the split floorplan. When that day comes, I hope for our sake that my post is no more eventful than this one.
* Crushed Head Faeda is a memorable character from the soon-to-be-classic, Simon of Space. I didn't link to it, because that site will be removed before long, due to the paper publisher's contract. I'll announce here when you can pick up your own hardbound edition. It will entertain you and make you think, but not in a sad way.
Relating a story someone else had shared about her new house's state of ill-repair, my wife said, "She's going to call the builder and tell them her house is a melon." (for all those unfamiliar with the problem here, the word should be "lemon," not "melon.") Note added later: she knew immediately that she had said it wrong -- sorry for that omission, dear.
The next day, she had another. First, let me say that it was about midnight-thirty. I had just been to see the US Marine Drum and Bugle Corp, who played a great arrangement of one of my favorite pieces -- Rimksy-Korsakov's Sheherazade, and had videotaped it for prosperity. I mean, posterity. Dang, she has me doing it, too.
I was playing the video for her and her mother when they both noticed a man standing near the field wearing bright orange pants. "Look at those pants," my wife said.
"What was he thinking?" my mother-in-law said.
My life laughed and replied, "I don't know. Those things make him stick out like an orange thumb." (hint: should have been "sore thumb.")
To her credit, she realized what she had said and laughed as I told her I was going to blog it. Here ya go, dear.