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.


.

Quoting a Two-Year-Old - Part 1

"My PENIS!"

This was screamed - quite loudly - at the crowded restaurant yesterday evening right after we finished our fries. Ben has been doing very well with the potty-training lately, and after his trip to the potty just moments before, he apparently. . . ah. . . got 'stuck' in his underwear, if you know what I mean. It was one of those moments when, perhaps, the more inappropriate word daddy taught him to say (donk) would have been a little less conspicuous. "My donk!"



"Mommy, you're my best friend."

It was one of those mornings. Another 5:30 a.m. wake-up call from the little monster in the room next door. Ben has found it to his liking to come into our room and cuddle for a while after he wakes up every morning, and by cuddle, I mean squirm and kick and whine and chat at our still-closed eyelids. I swear, that boy doesn't have any middle gears; it's 100mph or nothing at all. As soon as he comes out from his dreams, he's instantaneously revved up up and running out the door to start his day. Anyway, on this particular morning, neither Anna nor I were in any mood to greet his energy with even a small drop of our own. Ben was trying everything he could to get us up, and I gotta say, that quote above sure did the trick.

You see, Ben has been talking (and talking and talking) for quite a while, but only recently has he begun to put salient thoughts out to the world. And this was one of the first. It wasn't just, "I love you, mommy," you know? We still have no idea where he learned the notion of "best friend". It was very cool.


Indepenent thought - who knew?

Honey, you're looking a little. . .um. . .bigger

If you can read the message on Ben's tee-shirt, and if you paid even remotely close attention to my last blog entry, you'll notice that Ben is proud to be a future big brother!" [You'll also notice Ben showing off his "Big Guns"] Yes, Anna went and got herself pregnant, and the gossip around town is that I had something to do with it. To be perfectly honest, I'm having trouble remembering the specific event. I mean, there is an overabundance of fortunate women in this world who have felt the dynamic electricity of my physicality, particularly as of late, and I'm reasonably surprised that there aren't any more alleged Mike Bonick offspring floating around the Midwest. I'm so virile, rumor has it that a lady in the middle of her cycle need only stand within the general vicinity of my loins to beget her impregnation. Let me tell you, the wonderment in my pants is a veritable force worthy of cautious respect and, when necessary, celebration.

In the words of Moses (who creatively rephrased the expression of some random Roman dude): Vidi Vici Veni (just think about that one some more. . .keep going. . . almost there. . . okay, got it?)

So our new tot should peek her or his head out sometime around the middle of April. And if you’ve really been paying attention to this blog, you’d know that due-date is right around Ben’s birthday. Anna has had conversations with both her doctor and her ovaries, and the general consensus is that she should expect to spit out the new baby between April 15th and April 18th, 2008. My bet’s on April 20th, which just happens to be the birthday of my boyhood idol - Don Mattingly of the New York Yankees. My back-up bet is on June 17, and only because the odds for that are so great, I’d be foolish not to throw down at least a few bucks on that line.

Anna’s doc took a few ultrasound snapshots of the New One (also being referred to as “little b”, “peanut”, “bean 2”, “squirt”, and my favorite: “tonto”), which you can see below. I’ve taken the time to annotate all the various features of my wife’s womb and the thing growing inside of it. You should know in advance that I’m terrible at deciphering these puzzles, so if you cite any errors in the Comments section, I swear I’ll steal your dog and sell it to Michael Vick.


1. Eye
2. Lung
3. Mutara Nebula (I think)
4. Totum Dependeat *
5. Professional Affiliation (and multi-year contract signing bonus)
6. Nonsensical Technical Jargon (‘Pwr 100%’ might indicate that our baby is all-powerful)
7. Parental Sleep Deprivation Gland
8. Detroit
9. Visage of the Virgin Mary

* Loosely translated from Webster’s Human Anatomy & Physiology: “Let it all hang out”


So, everyone around these parts thinks this one is a girl. What do you think – when the time comes, should we find out if there’s a penis attached there someplace? I don’t’ know. If you ask me, it doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or girl. All I want is a healthy baby. And maybe the next super-star pitcher for the Yankees. That's it.

the way things ought to be

Okay, it’s been another one of those months. It’s August 31, and I can’t believe I haven’t written even once in the past 31 days. It’s already Labor Day weekend! The summer is ending, the weather is turning, kids are trudging back to school, my arthritis is kicking in, the end is nearing. . . well, you get the point.

This past month has been a whopper. The Mife and I took a much needed vacation a couple weeks ago on a houseboat (down by the river) with our dearest friends (and sans our big/little boy), then the very next weekend we flew out west to visit with our long lost relations in Tulsa. And somewhere in between there we discovered something that I cannot tell you about at the moment for fear of decapitation by my wife (ssshh – don’t tell anyone Anna’s pregnant). Add to that my rapidly busying work schedule, and you have a formula for creating precious little free-time, as if we had all that much of it just laying around anyway.

I am so full of excuses. I should just shut up (but, of course, I won’t).

Anyhoo, the trip to Tulsa was wicked-good. My brother and his wife, Lisa, and my two sprouting nephews, Brian and Mathew, took us in for a nice bit of relaxation and greasy food. We peed in their pool, watched their arena football team win the division championship, napped on their couch, beat their butts in Madden 2006, and played on their drums. Marty and I spent a good part of one of those evenings soaked in tequila and limejuice, and Anna and Lisa got their toes did.


The best fun, though, was had by Benjamin and his cousins. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile so big and so frequently with kids not named Kayleigh in all his wee little lifetime. They just had an absolute blast together, which makes me smile all the more considering the Tulsa boys are so much older than Ben and they’ve rarely been able to see each other. It was a very nice thing to watch Ben interact with those two. And it’s fun to imagine them growing up together, even from a distance. The one thing they will always share - no matter how far apart they are, and no matter how much more awesome Ben’s dad is and always will be - is their name. They’re all Bonicks, and I’m proud of that. Even if they cheat at Playstation Baseball (yeah, you Brian).

Okay, everyone wish me luck. I’m going to go take my whipping from Anna now. If you don’t hear from me in the next 31 days, come look for me in the laundry room on the shelf next to the litter box. I’ll be the one wearing my intestines for a necktie and lacking a pulse. Pregnant women can be sooooo moody.

bursting at the seams

As if there wasn’t enough evidence that Ben is. . . well. . . having a good time with this whole “growing up” bit, I offer these couple of anecdotes to make it even more clear:


Sometime last week on a random beautiful sunny morning set amidst a string of other beautifully sunny summer dawns, Ben found it fitting to wake up a little later than usual allowing his mommy that extra precious half hour of sleep she always seems so sore to miss. When he finally came out of his room and climbed into bed with Anna, he declared to her waking eyelids, “Mommy, I’m happy.” Needless to say, her day was instantly that much brighter.


Yesterday morning, Anna received a phone call from her dear friend Mary (whom Anna had happily agreed to help through her labor and delivery when the time finally came) telling her that, yes – the time has finally come! Anna had no one to watch Ben while I was at work so she made last minute arrangements with his part-time daycare to take him for an extra half-day. Later that afternoon when I picked up Ben I decided to treat him to a special boys-night-out for being such a good sport. We flew down to the nearest BW3 (that’s local-speak for Buffalo Wild Wings, or as I like to call it, Buffalo Yummy Yummy Yummy Yummy) and I ordered Ben the kids meal. Now wouldn’t you guess, it came with chocolate milk. We were planning on taking our food home with us, so while we waited the hostess offered to give Ben his milk. I supposed that wouldn’t be so bad, seeing as it was a treat to come here in the first place, so I sat the boy down on a bench and helped him get started with the straw. Now if you’ve ever seen Benjamin attack a cup of chocolate milk you’d know that once the straw touches his lips he won’t stop slurping until he’s suctioned every last drop of milk off the bottom of the cup. And if he can’t get ‘em all with the straw he’ll take off the lid and eat the cup just to make sure. But this time, about a third of the way down, Ben paused to take a breath, looked at me and said thankfully, “I like my daddy,” then resumed his assault on the milk. What a guy.


We’re just loving these moments with him right now. He’s reaching that stage where he’s developing a sense of empathy, and it’s just so cute to see it pour out of him. He accidentally kicked his Buzz Lightyear toy when climbing into the car a few days ago, and I heard him say to the toy, “Sorry Buzz! Sorry!” Anna just buzzes every time she hears Ben say, “Oh thank you, Mommy. Thank you!” He says it like that every time! “Oh thank, you, Daddy. Thank you!”. A couple of weeks ago he watched as his best buddy Noah was reprimanded by his mother for pushing Ben, and when he caught a glimpse of Noah crying at the top of the stairs during his “time-out”, we had to physically restrain Ben from running to Noah, all the while pleading to us, “I give Noah a hug. I give Noah a hug.”

He has such a big heart. Maybe that’s why he’s growing to be such a big kid - the rest of his body is just trying to keep up.

Would you look at that - a talking goat!

Ben: Hey, goat! What are you doing just siting around there by the fence?

Goat: Ahhhhh, wise guy. . . I'm tied to it with a three foot rope! So pretty much my options are limited, you little. . .

Ben: So, you want me to untie you for a little while?

Goat: No, I'd love to sit on de asphalt all stinkin' day. . . Yes! Dat would be great! Would you untie me, fella, because my stinkin' hind legs, dey are frickin' cramped. . .

Ben: Hey, goat - I think you have a knot there on your face. . .

Goat: Eh?

Ben: A knot.

Goat: Oh that. Yeah. . . you better "knot" mention dat again, you little stinker. . .

Ben: [laughing]

Goat: So, eh. . . what else, fella? What are you doing? We should go get some beers and look at some girls or whatever. . .

Ben: Actually, me and my mommy were on our way to the Reggae Festival.

Goat: Oh, the eh. . . Ragu Festival? I heard about that thing on de AM radio. Yeah, sure. Sometimes the old man zookeeper passes out and leave de AM radio on, so I get to hear de oldies songs, you know, and some current events kind of things. It's not M-Tz, you know, like you kids listen to dese days, but it keeps me company. I don't watch de TV you know, because I'm not allowed in de house.

Ben: [laughing]

Goat: So you are going to go to de Ragu Festival, heh? Maybe I can tag along? That would be fun. We could do de mosh pit? Throw me around. Put me on de mosh pit, pass me around. Crank it up, Benjamin!

Ben: We only have two tickets.

Goat: [sad pause] Oh - that hurts.

Ben: Yeah, well. . . we're going to go anyway.

Goat: Nice, nice. You're going to go and have de good times, and I'm going to sit here on de asphalt. . . and stinkin'. . watch my tail get smaller.

Ben: Sorry, goat. But we gotta go now.

Goat: Hey maybe you can come tomorrow, you know, like eight o' clock, we can go dancing or something?

Ben: I don't know. . .

Goat: You should stop by.

Ben: You know, I'm kinda busy. . .

Goat: Ohhh, all right. . . I be busy too, sitting here on de asphalt with de rope tied around me. . .

Ben: All right, my mommy is calling me. I really gotta go.

Goat: Okay, okay, kid. Have good mosh-pitting!