Beach Bums

Yesterday, late afternoon, Jude and I took took John Patrick to the beach for a few minutes, right before a thunderstorm rolled in. We were curious to see how he would respond to actually being able to walk on the sand. Well, there wasn't much walking involved, at least not for John Patrick.

When Jude set him down in the sand, he just stood still, whining quietly. Then, he tried to lift one bare foot, apparently in an effort to have the smallest amount of skin on his body touching the sand. He looked like a small stork, standing on the beach, on one leg. He wasn't any happier when I carried him down to the edge of the ocean and stood him there in front of me, holding on to him as the waves rolled over out feet.

He did enjoy sitting between Jude's lap, on the beach, playing in the sand, but that's about as good as it got. We're going to try again this afternoon, weather permitting.

Concentration

On the Road Again (to Santa Rosa Beach, FL)

Yesterday, a few minutes before 10 a.m., Jude, John Patrick and I pulled onto I-65 south, headed for a week's stay in a vacation home we'd rented in Santa Rose Beach, Fl. I was in the driver's seat in Jude's Honda Pilot, she was riding shotgun next to me and John Patrick was in the back, secure in his car seat. Off we went.

The first 2 1/2 hours of our trip were uneventful. Just outside of Birmingham, Al, we stopped at a Cracker Barrel restaurant to eat lunch and let John Patrick stretch his legs. Before we went inside, he entertained the people sitting in the rocking chairs outside the restaurant by running up and down the walkway, jabbering the entire time. As we walked inside, carrying his lunch, sippy cup and portable high chair, he grabbed the sippy cup and started chugging the milk in it. For just a brief second, I thought to myself, "maybe we shouldn't let him drink much milk, since we'll be strapping him back in his car seat and getting on the road again right after lunch." The thought was fleeting though, as I was more concerned about getting seated and ordering lunch.

That's called "foreshadowing."

As Jude and John Patrick finished lunch, I drove the Pilot to a gas station next door, filled up the gas tank, bought some ice for the cooler and slammed a bottle of "5 Hour Energy" (That stuff really does work, by the way. I was wired and not a bit sleepy the rest of the trip). I picked them up and off we went down the interstate toward Montgomery, Al, with Jude riding in the back, sitting next to John Patrick, to entertain him.

About 30 minutes later, predictably, John Patrick vomited, mostly all over himself, but also on his car seat. Of course, it only figures that were on what was probably the longest stretch of I-65 south in Alabama with no exits. Finally, we came to an exit and stopped at a gas station. Jude changed John Patrick's clothes, then pulled the car seat out of the Pilot so we could clean it. I went inside with John Patrick and scrounged up a couple rolls of paper towels, trash bags and baby wipes. John Patrick was content to play with his train and, for some reason, an unopened roll of paper towels, sitting in the grass while we cleaned up. He probably thought we were staying at the gas station all week. More than a few drivers gave us strange looks as they pulled out of the gas station.

Finally, we got back on the road again, still making pretty good time, all things considered. Past Montgomery, we got off the interstate and on to a series of 2 lane highways. Just past the Florida line, John Patrick got sick again, although by this time he really didn't have anything left to throw up. Plus, Jude had a plastic bag ready for him, which kept him (and the car seat) clean. A minute or two later, John Patrick was fine.

We arrived in Santa Rosa Beach, Fl, an hour later and found the house in which we're staying. After I unloaded the Pilot, Jude fed John Patrick dinner and put him down to bed. Then and only then did our vacation officially begin. I had a couple of beers, Jude went to bed and I started reading James Lee Burke's new novel, "Rain Gods."

Back in Business

I'm back in business, able to post photos taken with my new camera, a Canon Rebel T1i. Still learning what it will do, but I've got the basics down, I think - snap photo, download photo. More to follow from sunny Santa Rosa Beach, FL.

Blackout!

About a week ago, I realized I couldn't find my camera. That's right, my camera with more than 400 photographs of my son stored in it. Fortunately, I've saved all but 20 or so of the photographs on my computer. Still, losing my camera is disappointing. Jude and I are holding out faint hope that it's somewhere, hidden, in our house.

I'm fairly certain that I left it at Amerigo's restaurant in Cool Springs two weeks ago last Saturday, when we celebrated Ann Walker's birthday with a family dinner. John Patrick threw up while we were there and in all the confusion, I distinctly remember laying my cameral down and thinking I'd probably forget it. Apparently, that's exactly what happened. I stopped by Amerigo's earlier this week, but no one had found a camera and turned it in to a manager. Easy come, easy go, I guess.

Potty Jokes

Okay, so this post is rated PG-13 and, in all likelihood, covers a subject that perhaps only I find amusing. Anyway, here goes.

Lately, often times when I'm in the bathroom, taking a leak, I hear the pitter-patter of little feet. John Patrick runs into the bathroom, grabs hold of my leg, and peeks around it, looking up at me and laughing. At times, I've almost had to box him out, like a basketball player positioning himself to get a rebound, as he tries to reach into the toilet. When I finish and flush the toilet, he looks down into it, waves and says, "bye bye," loudly, to the water. Then, he reaches up and tries to flush the toilet himself. He's so captivated by the entire process. It's really, really funny. At least, I think it is.

Communication

Tonight, while John Patrick was eating in his high chair, I asked him, "where's your bread?" He pointed to the bread on his tray. "Where's your green beans?" I asked. He pointed to the green beans. On a roll, I asked, "where's your apple." He pointed to the apple slices on his tray.

We're at the stage, I think, where John Patrick is on the verge of talking. He's really learning to communicate and to understand what we're trying to communicate to him. It's pretty cool to see him learning new things every day.

The Incredible (Baby) Hulk

Tonight, Jude, John Patrick and I were all in the kitchen, while Jude was getting his dinner ready. He was walking around the island in the kitchen, looking for something to do. When Jude opened the refrigerator, he walked over next to her and started pointing at something inside, grunting to let her know he wanted it. It took Jude ten or fifteen seconds to realize he wanted the carton of eggs. She told him, "no, you can't play with the eggs," then closed the refrigerator.

As he often does when he gets angry, John Patrick closed his eyes, balled his hands into fists and started shaking, silently, like a volcano about to erupt. His face turned red and he started screaming. It was really, really funny. Jude and I just looked at each other and laughed at his sudden transformation into a miniature ball of fury. She said, "it's like when he gets mad, he turns into the Incredible Hulk." Only smaller. And red, not green.

Of course, within a couple of minutes, John Patrick had wandered back around the island to where I was standing. I pulled out a Tupperware container filled with some of his bottles, cups and bowls. He sat down in the floor, happily, and began playing with them.

Quickly, Bruce Banner turns into the Incredible Hulk then, just as quickly, he turns back into Bruce Banner. That's our son.

Competitive Eater

Man, eating lunch is hard, hard work. John Patrick was exhausted earlier today after a lunch of goldfish crackers, turkey, dark red kidney beans (a first), cheese and a california peach, all topped off with some ice cold milk.

The Reader

My bedtime routine rarely, if ever, varies. Regardless of what time I go to bed, I always read for at least a half hour, often time more, before I go to sleep. It helps me unwind.

As you can see from this photo - taken a couple of nights ago while I was changing his diaper and getting him ready for bed - John Patrick takes after his old man. Here, he's doing a little reading before he calls it a day.

Sleeping Beauty

It's late, Jude's asleep, and I was sitting downstairs watching some DVR'ed episodes of "Rescue Me" (good show). I thought I heard John Patrick crying, so I walked upstairs and peeked in on him. He was standing in his crib, whimpering, looking a bit disoriented. I'm guessing he had a bad dream.

I lifted him out of his crib, sat down in the glider and as he lay his head on my shoulder, I rocked him back to sleep, singing quietly to him. We stayed that way for a few minutes, then I carefully laid him back down in his crib while he slept.

Those few minutes, alone with my son, are what it's all about.

Popsicle

Friday evening, after work, I met Jude and John Patrick at Sevier Park in our neighborhood. We played on the playground for a while, then walked across 12th Avenue to Las Paletas, a Mexican popsicle shop. John Patrick had his first popsicle, a strawberry/banana combination. Although he was surprised, at first, that the popsicle was cold, he seemed to like the flavor and actually ate a good bit of it.

Benton Patton, posing for his baseball card photo.

Benton Patton, Will Chapman and me, after we came out of the loser's bracket and beat Bradley, Arant in our fourth game of the day to win the 2009 Nashville Bar Association softball tournament Sunday afternoon.

Softball

Tonight, my boys and I won the Nashville Bar Association softball tournament, from the loser's bracket, no less. Well, not just the boys, because we had a huge assist from the women who played with us, particularly Kathy Cloud, who came out of retirement to win the women's most valuable player award a week before her 40th birthday. We're by far the oldest team in the league and it means a lot to still be able to contend for, let alone win, the softball tournament.

For the most part, I've played with the same people for several years and we've been fortunate enough to win multiple tournament championships. This one was special, very special, though, because some of my teammates have experienced profound losses in their personal lives in the past year. To play softball with my friends all season and, especially, this weekend, and to share the tournament championship with them, will be a memory I will always cherish.