The Ascent of Man

So our Ben is moving up in the world. Well, actually, Ben has been physically moving “up” at record pace, but that’s not what I was going to tell you. Then again. . . okay, now that I mentioned it, let’s just pull our truck over here to the right for a quick moment so I can tell you about this whole growing thing that Ben has been doing over the past 10 months. And by “growing” I mean “expanding to epic magnitudes.” And by “epic magnitudes” I mean, “HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL!”

I could actually spend time spouting the progression of his height and weight, or I could just show you a snippet from Ben’s growth chart. Let me point out the important stuff. The weight is charted on the graph at the bottom, and the height is charted above. I trimmed down the graph to show the most recent time period. Simple enough?


Okay, so now if you actually bothered to look at that picture, you’re probably wondering if the charts only go up to the 95th percentile, then what percentile would you call Ben? 105th? 120th? Ben is so big, he’s destroying the curve for all those poor little munchkins down in the 50th percentile. He’s so big he makes average kids look like toy poodles. Ben is literally off the charts. His weight is charted so damn high, it’s on the height chart! He’s so heavy, he actually weighs 35 inches.

And this is difficult for mom and dad. Because he is, after all, you know. . . three. He’s still a toddler. He still needs to be picked up and cuddled. He still likes to crawl into bed and squeeze between us in the morning . He still requires physical restraint at times. Have you ever gone fishing and caught a 42.5 pound marlin with your bare hands then tried to put shorts and a tee-shirt on it? Yeah, it goes something like that every day at our house. Except Ben has a few things that the fish doesn’t, like claws, a vocabulary, and a wicked right hook. And I haven't met a fish yet this side of the Mississippi that can eat a whole box of Macaroni and Cheese in one sitting.

So anyway. Let’s get this mutha back on the road. Ben is moving up in the world. Yes indeed! Anna and I are proud parents this day, because we found out Ben is being moved up an age-bracket at his day-care! He is currently a “peanut” with all the rest of the 2 and 3 year-olds, but starting next week he will officially be a “teddy bear” with the 4 and 5 year-olds. A whole 8 months early! Yes. My boy. My brilliant, charming, ever-expanding boy. Apparently the day-care (where he spends two days a week) chose the two brightest and bestest kids in that group to graduate to the teddy bear room a little early. Ben’s best friend in the world, Charlotte, is moving up too, and it’s a good thing Ben is going with because I don’t know if he’d survive without her. Charlotte, if you’ve never met her, is equally large and intelligent and - if it’s possible - even more energetic than Ben. Honestly, I still can’t figure out how the teachers make it through the day with the two of them and maintain enough energy to brush their own teeth at night. The husbands of these teachers, if they knew why, would be pissed at Ben and Charlotte because those two are probably responsible for completely trashing their sex lives.

So I’m bragging. I know. Ben is sooooo big, and soooooo smart. I’ll stop now. Next time I’ll write about all the terrible things Ben does to make up for it. Unfortunately, lately most of those things have been R-rated, so I don’t know if I should talk about them here. Let’s just say he’s been curiously obsessed with his. . .um. . . bits and pieces, and all the ways that he can manipulate them, exercise them, leave them hanging out of his underpants, etc.

My boy.

Stepping out of the Mud

Hey there. Long time. How’ve you been?

Wow. Huh. . . how ‘bout that. . . Yeah, I’ve been okay. Better, actually - all things considered. . . Yes. . . definitely, it’s good to be breathing.


So I was thinking about how I was going to jump back into this. As you might have noticed, I haven’t poked my head in here since late last October, and that may have something to do with this little girl named Sarah that I got a brief opportunity to meet last December. She was darling. And only recently have I found that even though I can’t be with her, I don’t have to be ashamed of feeling warm-chested again. Of having high spirits once in a while. Of focusing on the good things. Getting back to some kind of new normal.

But maybe that’s not the way to get this started up again. There will be time for that story. I mean, I don’t know how I could possibly summarize everything that has happened over the past 10 months. Heck - every time I think about it, I get depressed at the thought that I haven’t more thoroughly documented that period of Ben’s life. But I have to start somewhere.

So then I start thinking that I should just jump headfirst into the cold water. Start things up as if I’ve never been away. Maybe share a story. Maybe about our trip downtown to watch the White Sox this past weekend. I’d talk about how Ben showed off his skills on the Fundamental’s Deck, or how his Uncle Mike sold him for a nickel to the fans sitting behind us. Or how Ben demonstrated his Chicago allegiance to every rotten Red Sox fan within shouting distance.

But. . .no, that’s not right either.

For every end there is a new beginning. And since we left off last October by quoting a two year old (in particular regarding his penis) perhaps it’s providence that we should begin there again. And so. . .

QUOTING A THREE YEAR OLD - PART I

As I helped Ben out of the tub last night, he wanted to show me this cool new trick he recently discovered. Ben is uncircumcised - and I suppose I should be more uncomfortable about broadcasting that kind of information in public, but hey, it’s not like it’s something I wouldn’t say to his future girlfriend when she first meet me anyway. “Hi, there, Ben’s ladyfriend. How are you? That’s nice. So where are you two going tonight? The movies? Which one? Oh, okay. I haven’t heard anything about that one yet. And Ben is uncircumcised. Just throwing that out there. I just . . .thought I should say that. I have pictures. And more than a few stories. You should check out my blog.”

Anyway, Ben figured out how to “pop goes the weasel”, if you know what I mean. And he decided maybe it would be a good idea to give it a name. Honest to God, Our Dear Lord in the Highest, he came up with that idea all on his own. Now, after he mentioned it I may have suggested a name or two, but I certainly didn’t make the final decision. He did that all by himself:

“Yeah! We should call ‘im Obi Wan Kenobi!”

Did you hear that, Ben’s ladyfriend of the future? Obi Wan "These Aren't The Droids You're Looking For" Kenobi.

Ah, me. It’s good to be back. :)


Thanks for the clarity, Sarah.


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