Archenemy

I think everyone should have an archenemy. Take Superman. If he is walking down the street and suddenly runs into Lex Luthor, he knows the rest of his morning will be spent creating a fair amount of collateral damage in Metropolis.

Well, I am happy to report I have discovered my archenemy. And its name is “Adventure Playsets Trail Blazer Wooden Swing Set.” APTBWSS for short. Diana found it online and desperately wants it for Elijah’s 2nd birthday.

You may be asking yourself, “Didn’t your house already come with a swing set that you spent 2 full days dismantling and exhausting every swear word known to man several years ago?” To which I say, “What, did you major in Hamann Family trivia in college? Good luck getting a job with that.”

Anyhoo, the APTBWSS is coming sometime this Spring. It will not arrive constructed. It will arrive very un-mantled. I know you Hamann Family Trivia majors are giggling into your coffees because I am not known as a handy dad. As you recall, I almost committed myself to a mental institution putting together Eli’s crib.

This morning I looked up the APTBWSS online and looked at the reviews. Full disclosure, the vast majority of the reviews were glowing. 4 stars, 5 stars. But I wasn’t interested in those. I scrolled down to the 1 star reviews. It seems as though the major flaw with the APTBWSS is its relative impossibility to construct. Great. Here are a couple reviews:

(2 Stars By Binki) “Anyone named Rick Hamann will lose a thumb putting this together.”

(1.5 Stars By Mommypants) “Rick should call 911 before starting this project to save time.”

(2 Stars by Grandma9) “Do not attempt to put this together if you like Star Wars, work in advertising and secretly store a Grover stuffed animal in your bedside table.”

Here’s the light at the end of the APTBWSS. Diana’s dad has volunteered to help me put it together. He is most handy. Virtually everything in our house that involves tools other than a spoon was built by Don Jacklich. So at the very least, I can share the pain and several dozen beers.

Where are you?

This week hasn’t been very exciting from a blog-worthy standpoint. But I’ll take a drawing on the walls free week, thank you very much. In lieu of anything destructive to report, I’ll focus on a little bit of cuteness Elijah has been gracing us with.

His new favorite phrase is “Where are you?” But in his Toddler speak, it comes out “Wher a ooo?” So when he wants to get out of his crib, he’ll shout from the top of the stairs, “Wher a ooo?” Or if you step away from his high chair at mealtime he’ll shout, “Wher a ooo?” If you don’t come running immediately, you’ll pass out from cuteness.

But as of late, Eli has taken it up a notch. When he wants to shower us with cuteness and we happen to be in the same room, he will simply turn his head away and shout, “Wher a ooo?” To which Diana or I will reply, “Right here, goof ball.” He’ll then turn back and say, “Oh, hi guys.” It doesn’t look terribly cute written out in blog form. But believe me, it’s adorable.

Both Eli and Diana have been under the weather lately. Eli was up off and on all night last night hacking and crying. And Diana resorted to taking Nyquil to cut through the aches and pains. So this morning when I deposited Eli in our bed on my way out the door, Di was especially groggy. So much so that she was only able to muster a half eye open when he repeatedly asked her for milk.

Finally, he shouted, “Wher a ooo?” She was on planet Nyquil.

Today’s photo is evidence that I’ve finally succumbed to being a complete and utter dork. But I wouldn’t change this kind dorkiness for all the Nyquil in the world.

First Swear

This is so delicious, I can’t stand it. Like first steps and first poops, the first swear is a major rite of passage. Usually first swears are learned from drunken uncles at family reunions. Or from network TV. So it delights me to no end that the devil’s language was picked from the same woman who has been warning me to watch my mouth in front of Elijah. His mommy!

Last night, Diana made me a delicious taco salad and we sat down to watch the lowest form of televised entertainment: the reality show reunion. Unfortunately, Eli hasn’t adjusted to the clocks, so he was upstairs chattering happily away well past his bedtime.

He had already stripped himself and finished his water and had relayed the events of the day to his stuffed animals. So his only option to occupy himself was dumping all his toys and blankets and clothes over the side of the crib one by one.

(Thunk) “Oh sit!”

(Thunk) “Oh sit!”

I looked at Diana and asked, “What did he just say?”

Diana guiltily tried to change the subject. “Hey, let’s talk about that thing you found in your ear. That’s a great story.”

(Thunk) “Oh sit!”

It turns out, Diana dropped something on the floor yesterday and muttered the offending phrase under her breath. Forgetting full well the boy has ears like a hawk.

(Thunk) “Oh sit!”

I just sat and smiled. Knowing the score of things I’ve done to screw him up versus things Diana has done to screw him up was now 1,000,000 to 1.

Soul Train

Diana has a wide array of children’s music CD’s for Elijah to rock out to. Most of them are actually quite cool and not mind numbing or banana phone filled. But almost all of them were supplied by her ex-boyfriend. I refuse to listen to them out of principle. Because I am petty and small.

So this weekend I pulled out some old Beatles CD’s and turned the stereo up. Elijah immediately toddled over and announced his intention to get down and or get funky.

I’ve blogged before about his hilarious dance routines. But lately Eli demands a dance partner. I was only happy to oblige. Let me try to explain his idea of dancing with his dada.

After saying, “Dance! Dance!,” Eli will ask to be scooped up in my arms. But this is no tango. Eli uses his arms and legs to launch himself away from my body to the beat of the music. It takes all of my strength to keep him from shooting across the living room at collarbone breaking speed.

As if this weren’t enough, Grover becomes very agitated at any dancing. I can’t tell if he really loves dancing or really hates it. But he will leap on me/Elijah and gently bite my arms while humping ferociously.

Now, imagine you are our neighbors across the street or a passerby innocently walking their dog. And you happen to peer into our large front window. You’d see a baby trying to squirt out of a grown man’s arms all while being attacked by a giant black bear.

The other night an Evanston police car spent several hours parked in front of our house.

Today’s photo is not of the incident. It’s a nice, non leaping from my arms slash dog humping picture of me and Eli and Finn. But you can almost make out the squad car in front of the house.

Houdini

Diana and Elijah are pitched in a heated battle. Over pee pee dominance. No, this isn’t a potty training blog entry. That little experiment has completely ground to a halt. This is a battle over Eli’s insistence on whizzing all over himself whenever he takes a nap.

It goes like this. Diana will put Elijah down in our room for his midday nap in his Pack And Play. She’ll tell him she loves him. He’ll refuse to tell her he loves her and she’ll tiptoe out of the room, dejected. At which point Elijah feverously removes all his clothes and diaper.

There is no real explanation for it other than he likes being naked. And who doesn’t? It’s the only way I’ll take a nap. Especially in my hammock. And being naked is totally cool with us at the Hamann house. Unless you can’t control your bladder.

Without fail the little guy will let loose a torrent of pee all over himself, his stuffed animals, his Pack And Play, his hair, our neighbor’s swing set, passing airplanes, Grover. Everywhere. That’s bad enough. But after a little while basking in his liquid leavings, it ceases to be body temperature. And Diana usually finds him shivering, pee covered mess at the end of any given nap.

So Diana has been desperately trying to prevent him from nuding himself. She stuffed him into a sleep sack, which he escaped from like a tiny Houdini. He also bested a full body zipper suit. And a straight jacket slash chain link combo.

So Diana resorted to duct taping. But not without warning. The other afternoon she brought up a roll of the stuff and sat Eli down. She said, “Elijah. Mommy doesn’t want to duct tape your diaper. But if you pee again all over yourself, this is going to happen.”

At which point Eli tickled her and said, “Tika tika tika.” Diana did not pee herself. But Eli did.

So yesterday was his inaugural taping. It was successful. If not slightly humiliating for all involved.

p.s. Diana didn’t have time to gather photographic evidence. So enjoy this photo of me as a child. I think we can officially declare Eli got his beauty from his mother.

Baby’s First Evil Book

Whenever my nephew Finn asks to watch TV at our house and is refused, he asks why on Earth we prevent Elijah from the joy of the boob tube. To which my brother replies, “Because uncle Rick and aunt Di are hippies. Dirty, stinking hippies.”

The result of our TV ban is Elijah has gotten heavily into books. Dog books, Dinosaur books, potty training books. You name it, he reads it. Or asks that it be read to him. But there is one book that he loves which baffles me to no end. “Baby’s First Book.”

It’s a book that was published in 1955. It follows a first person account, or first baby account, of a Toddler going through his/her day. It’s written simplistically, which I can tolerate. “I wake up…I put on my shoes…I play with my ball…”

But then towards the end of the book the story takes a bizarre turn. Right after the Toddler eats some fruit (“I eat some fruit…”) he/she says, “I see some balloons…And a bird…And my present, some paint.”

And that’s it. The book simply ends. Which begs a few questions. Did the baby just drop acid? Was English the author’s first language? Did all involved simply abandon the project to fight in the Korean War?

And to make matters worse, take a look at the cover. It’s a baby reading a book about himself, who is reading a book about himself. Into infinity. I just blew your mind.

Needless to say, the book frightens me. I think if I read it out loud I will open a dimensional portal, thus allowing demons into our realm like the Necronomicon. So of course Eli demands that it be read to him constantly.

“Mo baby? Mo baby?”

“No please. Daddy doesn’t want to. It disturbs him.”

“Mo baby? Again?”

“Fine. But if we let demons into our dimension, you have to help me banish them.”

“Mo baby?”

Conference

Last night, Diana and I planned a romantic dinner at home. I whipped up a disgusting meal I found on the internet (why I continue to trust the same internet that told us hairspray removes marker from walls is beyond me) and we lit candles and put in the latest Woody Allen film featuring three impossibly gorgeous women and one Neanderthal man.

Just as we were about to hit “play,” we heard Elijah upstairs in his crib. This was not the usual screams of “Mama!” and “Dada!” This was something different. He was having an elaborate conference by himself. Or possibly including his stuffed animals. Most of it was Toddler gibberish, but he would pepper in counting to 10, his ABC’s. The most hilarious part is he would begin every soliloquy by saying, “Okay.”

“Okay…blah blah blah…okay…one two fee four five six....okay.”

Diana and I crawled over to the stairs and sat on the landing, listening. And for some reason, this little guy talking to himself just hit us. Our eyes welled up with tears and we couldn’t remove ourselves from the steps.

With all the running around and chasing and tickling and admonishing him about destroying, we forget what an unbelievable experience it is to have a baby. What an absolute miracle…

Sorry. Just now I had to run upstairs and quiet our little miracle who refuses to take a nap. I got to his crib and said, “Eli…you have to go to sleep now.” He then immediately put his head down and pretended to snore with gusto.

The little miracle is turning into a wiseacre.

p.s. Today’s photo is from the series, “Vaseline. She no come out.”