westward home

I talked on the phone with Anna today while she was trying to calm poor Benjamin who had taken a small tumble in one of the Detroit Metro Airport terminals. As I tried to filter out her words from the crying in the background I was reminded of exactly what it was that would be coming back with her on the plane today: our baby. These past six days afforded me the pleasure of living the bachelor life again complete with post-9:00 AM wake-up calls, take-out, booze, and loose women. But with Benjamin’s diminishing screams grew a small little voice that giggled into the receiver, “Break out the talcum powder and hide the remote, I’m-a-comin’ home, daddy!”

Oh well. It was nice while it lasted, right? I’ll always have retirement. . .

Actually, as you can imagine, I couldn’t be happier that those two are coming back home today. It’s just been far too long. Quiet in the household and freedom-of-schedule are nice for a time, but I guess I’d willingly trade them, straight-up, for some baby-cuddling and wife----uh, cuddling. . .

I think I hear the plane overhead now! Hazaa!

eastward bound

Long story, short: Anna and Ben traveled to Richmond, VA Wednesday morning to visit with their long lost friends Kristy, Adam and their (somewhat) newborn son, Emerson Rose. That means that day three is slowly coming to a close, the trip is halfway over, and I am ready for them to come home. Of course I spent these past three days battling the stomach-flu (you mother-f***ing flu), but at least it happened while Ben was away. I can only imagine how it would feel to a baby (if you can still call our thirty-some-odd-pound 11-month-old a baby).

Anna said that the flight eastward was easy as cake as Ben slept most of the way. He thoroughly enjoyed the airports (which is more than any of us would ever say) and so far is enjoying the Rose’s establishment, including Emerson’s room and crib. It’s Ben’s first trip via jet-stream and first time outside CST (it’s hard to believe that we’re still counting “firsts” after all these months).

I don’t think I’ll recognize my boy by the time he arrives back in Chicago, especially at the rate he has been acquiring these new tricks lately. I just hope he still recognizes me. Anna said he was trying to wink at Kristy’s parents (Why? Because it made them laugh, that’s why), but somehow I think he has a way to go to get that particular trick down pat (hell, I can’t even wink without contorting my whole face like a constipated ape).

Oh well. Maybe the weekend will fly on by and Monday evening, along with my beautiful bride and bountiful boy, is just around the corner. The way I see it, I have two straight days of sleeping-in, which is about two more days of sleeping-in than I’ve done in a very, very long time. Problem is: when the house is full, it’s just nicer sleeping.

the shopping-cart

So I continue to obsess. . .

The three of us drove to our local Target to buy a bunch of things we don’t really need and for a time I was left pushing Benjamin around in the front seat of a shopping-cart while our leader went off looking (and looking . . . and looking) at clothes (and clothes . . . and clothes). We raced around the place stopping only intermittently to check out a toy or a swimsuit issue, once in a while checking-in with Anna just to see how tall the pile of new shirts in her arms was getting. And the whole time, our little showboat flopped around in his seat, twisting and turning to greet each person we raced past with his grin and wagging tongue.

I know, I know - I’ve been obsessing lately about the comedic qualities of our wee Robin Williams, and I hope it doesn’t come off as bragging or one-upping anyone else’s baby out there. It just so happens that while your 11-month old might be walking early or composing her second symphony, Ben’s prodigy appears to be simply, entertainment. I don’t know if this’ll get him into Yale, but it might get him on TV. And c’mon – would you rather see your child win the Nobel or American Idol?

Of course I’m kidding. But seriously, I don’t think I’ll be alive to see Ben accept his Nobel, as he’ll probably be 75 himself. At least I can guarantee, unfortunately, that American Idol will still be showcasing its drivel 20 years from now.

Where was I. . . ah, yes: The shopping-cart. It was like a procession carrying the Queen down a street lined with adoring fans. Each person we rolled past took their customary look at the little baby in the shopping cart (to judge his cuteness, I’m sure, and to silently imitate the brutal honesty of Idol’s Simon Cowell : “Oh you poor baby, I don’t know why you’re even trying - you’re mug is bloody wretched!” ) and was instead surprised to find that the baby had already sought their gaze and was prepared with his biggest, gaping grin and an alternating barrage of “da da da da da”, raspberries and tongue-wagging. More than a few (in fact, most) spectators forgot what they were immediately shopping for and echoed Ben with their own “da da da’s” and invariably enough laughter to spark Ben into a constant stream of giggling and baby-talk that continued even if it meant he had to hang out the side of the shopping cart to keep his conversation going as we strode on down the aisle. Every person he passed was just a new audience to impress. And there is no exaggeration when I say that Ben put a smile on EVERY face that we passed. More than a few people stopped to strike up a conversation, and even more sought Ben out as we rolled around the store for the second, third and fourth circuit (Why does it take women so long to buy clothes?).

God, we just had so much fun! I never thought that having a kid could be this much fun so soon. Maybe the time has just flown by (Ben is almost finished with his first year), but I always envisioned the fun beginning when your kid got to be about 4 or 5. You know, when he’s capable of catching a football. Or telling a joke. Or catching bugs. Or driving real fast in the car. Or going to a baseball game. I would have never ever imagined that things could get so fun so fast. Don’t get me wrong, there have been times in the past 11 months that were fun or made me smile, but this, this constant laughter and giggling and making faces and entertaining strangers at the supermarket, this is FUN! This goes way beyond simply enjoying a moment at the store when some stranger comes up to us and says “oh isn’t he cute” or “how nice”. This goes beyond being satisfied at the end of the day because our time was spent devoid of much crying and anything going particularly wrong. This. . .THIS is anxiously awaiting 6:30 am when it all gets to start over again. THIS is spending every moment of our time together trying to make each other chuckle. THIS is thrice sneaking into my sleeping son’s room with my wife just to get our nightly fix of warm-fuzzies.

THIS is not what I expected. THIS is better.

Spectacular! Spectacular!

Yesterday at dinner The Ben spent his time in the highchair trying to get Anna and I to laugh at his latest stand-up routine (he writes new material just about every month now). I think he gets most of his inspiration from his conversations with the cat, and a few mornings I swear I’ve overheard him bouncing new ideas off the stuffed animals in his crib (Kermit the Frog sounds like a tough critic). Mostly he unveils his best gags at the dinner table where the audience comes straight from long, tiring days at work and even longer days at home with their babies. It’s become, I think, Ben’s favorite moment in the day: making mommy and daddy laugh. And he totally knocks ‘em dead when he visits his grandparents for the Saturday matinee.

It all started way, way back when Ben was about 8 months old (it might not seem all that long ago to you. . .) when he discovered that he could take over a crowd by snorting like a pig while flashing a crooked grin and giggling. Then after he figured out the kind of audience he was attracting, he appended his routine to include this grunting, wide-eyed grimace that made him look like he was trying to squeeze one out (if you know what I mean). Everyone seemed to keep laughing, and Ben took his audience’s attempts to mimic the snorting and grimacing (Encore! Encore!) as an affirmation of his comic genius. So he continued to write.

The following month he bombed with his blowing-raspberries gig (see: been there), though one anonymous pundit (ok, it was me) heralded the act as an avant-garde statement in opposition to the inclusion of herbage in the infantile nutritional regime, while at the same time raising an awareness for the positive effects of flatulence in the family unit. Nevertheless, he kept writing.

The months rolled by and Ben continued to kill at the dinner table. His routine expanded with the likes of the head-tilted-to-the-side bit, the fake-coughing bit, and some classic Jordan-esque tongue-wagging. All of them got his parents reluctantly chuckling and eventually joining in with their best imitations of Ben’s funny faces. I mean, who can resist the urge to imitate (and instigate) a baby shaking his head at you with his mouth grinning wide open, and his tongue wagging about his chin just like a dog’s? Not me, sir. And not my wife. And certainly not Kermit.

So this month’s act appears to be an homage to his original grimace, except the look on his straining face has been transformed from “Look at me (ugh). . .I’m trying REALLY. . .REALLY. . .REALLY (grunt) HARD. . . to. . . POOP” into something more like “I LOVE YOU I’M SO HAPPY I’M SO HAPPY I CAN HARDLY WITHSTAND IT LOOK AT HOW WIDE I CAN OPEN MY EYES”. It’s funny as hell. And fun to do!

I just wonder how many brain cells we’re killing with all the straining and what not.

Ahhhh, Ben. . . you crack me up, dude.

. . .hello? Is this the number for Rogaine?

Just a fun picture from our visit to the Cosenza's. Tony and Ben are having a conversation on their cells (these phones just keep getting smaller and smaller). If I remember correctly, Ben was chastising Tony for the paltry amount of hair he has left on his head, and in good fun, Tony reminded Ben that he was once a midget tossing medalist back in college.

Did you see me!? Did you see what I did!?

The Ben has been busy learning a slew of new tricks, most of which involve a refinement of his motor skills and hand-eye coordination, none of which include successfully spoon-feeding himself, changing his own diaper, or washing his own hair. No, his new maneuvers are far less useful even if they are amusing: waving bye-bye, slapping “fives”, clapping, and playing peek-a-boo. The waving and clapping are pretty solid at this point but the other two, well, let’s just say they need some work. Peek-a-boo looks a little more like a developing masochistic habit where Ben slaps himself in the face with both hands then opens his fingers to reveal his grinning eyes peeking at you while you squeal “peek-a-boo!”, at which point Ben giggles and slaps himself in the face again. Ben will also give you a “five” if you ask him enough times but only if you demonstrate the action with another person’s hand, which after twenty or so tries, looks as red as Ben’s forehead after playing peek-a-boo.

Ahhhhh, children. The way I see it, these developing motor skills are just simple precursors to throwing a baseball and perfecting an NFL-caliber spiral. You have to start small and early. I think we’ll try simultaneously patting our heads and rubbing our bellies next week. Then maybe he’ll learn to guide a spoonful of carrots to his mouth before losing half of them to the floor. Ah, shit - I can’t even do that. . .

So Mormor (that’s Danish for “Grandmother from Wisconsin With Ability to Wash Clothes and Team-Up With Condescending Son-in-Law to Disparage Undeserving Daughter”) made a trip into town this past weekend to visit with her grandson, and to a lesser extent, her own children. The Ben also got to meet his Uncle and Grandfather for the first time this weekend (long story – abridged edition not yet available). Then on Sunday, Ben’s pseudo-Uncle Adam from Virginia came to visit and marvel at the size of our family members. And on top of that, Grandpa Bonick graciously visited all day on Friday to keep The Ben company while mommy stayed in bed to battle her archenemy, the stomach flu. The house was practically bursting at the seams! But having so many out-of-towners around was the perfect excuse to order some world-class Chicago pizza almost every night (which might have something to do with the hissing and growling happening in my bowels today). Ben really liked the extra company, and it’s hard to blame him with the list of characters on hand. Grandpa Bonick practically gave Ben a hernia they were laughing so hard on Friday, and Mormor made Ben’s bedtime considerably more pleasant as she demonstrated that she hasn’t lost that warm motherly touch one bit at all. I missed the morning encounter with Adam and Ben (some of us don’t merely pretend to work – c’mon, Adam, there’s no way we believe you’re spending the week at the Ritz-Carlton and you’re actually going to perform any acts that could be misconstrued as “work”), though the pictures I saw made it look like they enjoyed their time together. Uncle Jonathan got to laugh with his nephew while they chatted about lord-knows-what, and Ben provided his uncle with what might just be the most powerful form of contraceptive available: the thought of someday having to change a stanky-diaper.

Ahhhhh, visitors. Ben got to wave goodbye to all of them, except for the times when he confused the hand gesture for bye-bye with peek-a-boo [SLAP!]

‘Till next time, we’ll be missing you all. I know I speak for Ben when I say we’re looking forward to laughing with you again. And Mormor, we’ll be saving our laundry for your return.