Four!

For what seems like forever, when asked how old he is, J.P. has held up three fingers and said, "three and a half."  This morning, when I took him to breakfast at Sylvan Park on 8th Avenue (He's a V.I.P. there.  Seriously), for the first time he held up four fingers when asked how old he is.

John Patrick - my firstborn, my oldest son, the light of my life - turned four years old today.

I'm baffled, really.  How in the world did that happen?  Where did the last four years go?  How is it that this boy - this boy I held in my arms when he couldn't walk or talk, when he was a baby - how is it that  he is four years old?  I'm terribly afraid I'm going to go to sleep one night only to wake up the next morning and discover that J.P. is eight years old.  Is that how it goes?

That's been one of the more unusual things I've noticed about having another infant in the house.  When I change Joey's diapers, when I hand him to Jude so she can feed him, when I try to comfort him when he is crying - I'm immediately transported back four years ago to when J.P. was one or two months old, to when he was an infant.  It's like getting in a time machine and traveling back in time four years ago, to 2008.  Then, J.P. walks up and I snap out of my reverie, reminding myself for just an instant that Joey's Joey and J.P.'s J.P.  I'm 45, not 41 and Jude and I have two boys, not one.  Strange.

A week ago last Sunday, I walked with Joey for the first time to Bongo Java.  As I strolled him in the Baby Jogger "City Elite" up the hill on Acklen Avenue toward 12th, the waves of nostalgia that almost knocked me down were palpable.  It was so bizarre and, yet, so wonderful and amazing to be right back where I was four years ago - strolling with my son through the neighborhood on the way to Bongo Java.  Listening to a podcast (on my iPhone, of course, not my iPod, which is evidence that some things have changed).  When I rolled the "City Elite" up the ramp at Bongo Java, carefully maneuvering it (and its passenger, my son, Joey) around the Belmont students sitting at the tables on the deck, and when I expertly opened the door with one hand and backed the "City Elite" inside, it was like I had strolled back in time.  Literally, that's what it felt like.  I made that trip with J.P. what seems like a couple hundred times and there I was, making it again.

Maybe you can go home again, after all.

So here I sit, on my back porch, laptop in my lap, music playing in my ears, my sons and my wife sleeping upstairs.  It's a beautiful, beautiful night.  I ran 5 miles this morning, took J.P. to Sylvan Park for a birthday breakfast, then took him to school.  I took my family to Chago's Cantina on Belmont Boulevard tonight for a birthday dinner for J.P., then we played soccer for a few minutes on the soccer field at Belmont.  I started this post on the deck at Bongo Java, drinking a "mood elevator," and I'm finishing it at home.

And my perfect little boy, my J.P.,  turned four years old today.  I love him with all my heart.  Virtually every night since he was born, before I go to bed, I gaze down at him sleeping peacefully and ask God to keep him safe, to keep him healthy, and to allow him to wake up happy the next morning.  And as I stand over him, I thank God for blessing me, for blessing my life, with the gift of this precious child.

I think I'll slip upstairs right now, as a matter of fact, and look in on him.

Happy 4th birthday, J.P.  You're the son I always dreamed I would have and I love you.

Life in a Box

One day last week while J.P. was out of school for spring break, Jude saw our neighbor, James, unloading a new hot water heater.  She and J.P. walked over to James' house and asked him if we could have the box in which the hot water heater had been packed.  I, of course, would never have thought to do that nor would I have thought that J.P. would want a giant box to play in, eat in, put stuff in and color with magic markers.

Jude knew better.  She's smart that way, you know?

Anyway, when I got home from work and walked inside our house, the first thing I saw was a giant box in the middle of the den, in front of the fireplace.  Then, the top popped up and J.P. jumped up and said something along the lines of "hi, Daddy, I'm a turtle."  I'm not sure whether I was more confused by what he said or the fact that there was a giant box laying in the middle of the den floor.  It wasn't something I expected to see when I walked in the door, that's for sure.

Of course, that's one of the great things about children, I think - you never know what you're going to see or get when you walk in the door from work.  It's kind of the whole Forrest Gump "life is like a box of chocolates" philosophy, only on a smaller scale.

I subsequently learned that he had stayed home with Jude's parents the entire day, turning down offers from them to take him to the Adventure Science Center, the Downtown Library, the park, etc.  He just wanted to play in his box.  That night, he ate dinner in his box, as well.  And I'm not even kidding.

 

Soccer

Jude and I had talked for a while about signing J.P. up for soccer this spring.  In typical fashion, however, we procrastinated and by the time I inquired about sign ups at the YMCA, I learned that their league (at the Brentwood Y) was full.  I was able to get him on the waiting list for the U4 (under 4) league, though.  On Tuesday, I got a telephone call from the sports director at the Brentwood Y, who advised me they had a spot for J.P. if he was still interested in playing soccer. 

And, in short, that's how I found myself in the land of juice boxes and orange slices on Saturday morning, surrounded by children - hundreds of children (or so it seemed) wearing jerseys in a melange of colors, soccer balls and parents in camping chairs.  I felt like I was in a foreign country.  The true irony, to me, was that it was all happening a couple of miles from my childhood home (where my mom still lives).  Jude and I had no idea whatsoever how J.P. would do, since he hadn't even been to a single soccer practice, let alone played in a game.

J.P. and I arrived a little before 10 a.m. because it was "picture day" (the game wasn't set to start until 11 a.m.).  I'm not sure who was more unsure of himself as we walked into the crowd of miniature soccer players and their parents, J.P. or me.  I didn't know what the hell was going on, as exemplified by the fact that his coach chastised me as soon as I introduced myself for not having J.P. wear black soccer shorts.  It was "picture day," after all, and all of the other boys (all 7 of them) were wearing black soccer shorts.  Next, she lectured me for not having shin guards for him to wear, shaking her head in disbelief as I reminded her IT WAS OUR FIRST GAME.

 

What I really wanted to say was "why don't you kiss my ass?  It's 3 and 4 year olds playing soccer!"  I smiled and held my tongue, though.  Barely.

Waiting in line for picutres was a disaster, as you might expect.  Trying to keep 3 and 4 year olds engaged enough to stand in line for more than 30 minutes is virtually impossible.  J.P. didn't know anyone and was nervous, unsettled even, and wanted me to hold his hand.  I tried to give him some space to figure it out but it was hard, because I could tell he was unsure of himself.  At last, it was our team's turn for pictures - the Pandas (we're black and white, or blue and white, in J.P.'s case).  Thankfully, the individual and team pictures went off without a hitch and we were ready to play some soccer.

Our team was divided into 2 groups of 4 players (as was the other team) and we played 2 games at once, which meant everyone got plenty of playing time.  By "plenty" of playing time, I mean that every player on our team played the entire game.  Well, except for one of J.P.'s teammates, who for some reason got angry with a player on the opposing team and shoved him to the ground, after which his father removed him from the game.  As a result, J.P.'s team played 3 against 4 for the majority of the game.  That might explain why they scored oh, maybe 2 goals, to the other team's 10 or 15.

It was interesting to watch J.P.  He didn't want to mix it up, so to speak, so he stayed 5 yards or so behind the pack as the soccer ball was being kicked.  He was rather timid, which wasn't a surprise, since he hadn't even had a soccer practice.  He seemed to enjoy the running, though, and kicked the ball well when it was his turn to initiate play.  I was so, so proud of him.  At the end of each period, he ran to the sidelines and gave me a hug, then snuggled Jude, who brought Joey to the game.  My mom and Jude's parents were there, too. 

It was a hoot, just watching all of the boys.  And, after the game was over, J.P. did indeed get a juice box (Capri Sun, actually) and some mini-Oreos (a first, as well). 

I guess I'm a soccer dad, after all.  Wow.

 

The Walk

Family

J.P., Joey, Tracy, Kaitlyn and Matthew.

Whole World in His Hands

J.P. and Ms. Kelly at Children's House.

J.P. with the whole world in his hands.

J.P. and me at Children's House for his "special day."

Jude and J.P. in the lobby at Children's House on his "Special Day."

Special Day

It's late and I'm outside, sitting in my camping chair on the back porch, listening to music on my laptop via Spotify (quite possibly the coolest internet based invention in the past 5 years - it's like Pandora on steroids).  Earlier tonight, I saw 3 or 4 fire trucks speed by our house, lights on and sirens screaming.  I can smell something burning or, perhaps, something that has burned.

It's unseasonably warm for mid-March - high temperature today was in the low 80's.  Crazy, but I'm sitting outside in shorts and a short sleeve shirt.  Jude, John Patrick and Joey are sleeping upstairs.  I just realized - I'm surrounded by "J's."  Strange.

Monday morning, Jude and I accompanied J.P. to Children's House for his "Special Day."  At Children's House, each child celebrates a "Special Day," as opposed to a birthday.  That way the children who have birthdays in the summer don't miss out on the fun.  It sort of marked the start of J.P.'s birthday month, since he turns 4 on March 28.

When we arrived and parked in the parking lot, J.P. instructed us to "wait patiently" in the lobby, while he walked down the hall to classroom B to get things ready.  Jude and I sat on a bench there with our tray of orange slices and 2 loaves of banana bread - only healthy snacks are allowed.  And, yes, we waited patiently, talking and laughing quietly.  A friend of ours stopped by after walking her daughter into classroom B and told us, conspiratorially, that J.P. was beside himself with excitement.

After a few minutes, J.P. walked out of classroom B and up to the lobby, grinning from ear to ear.  "Come in!" he said.  We followed him down the hall and into classroom B.  He led us to 2 small chairs in the front of the classroom, facing 3 rows of children seated on the floor directly in front of us.  J.P. stood between us as Jude and I looked into 25 or 30 little faces staring expectantly up at us.  He introduced us to his classmates - "this is my mommy, Jude White and this is my daddy, Phil Newman."

I thought my heart was going to explode with pride - literally explode - as he called on his classmates (all with raised hands) to answer their questions about the "timeline" Jude had prepared (1 photograph each of J.P. as a newborn, and 1, 2 and 3 year old).  He was a little nervous, but he came through like a champ.

Next, Jude and I each told a story about J.P. and things we liked to do together.  I talked about how he and like to go to "Forks" on 12th Avenue to play drums and, of course, Bongo Java.  Surprisingly (or maybe not), almost all of the children had heard of Bongo Java.  It was really, really cool, sitting there with J.P. and Jude and talking to all of his classmates.

Jude and I left and stopped by Bongo Java, so she could get a quick bite for breakfast and we could de-brief about the morning.  As we sat at a table, activity bustling all around us, we marveled at our amazing, wonderful son.  We agreed it was so hard to believe he was almost 4 years old.  In a lot of ways, having Joey brings back so many fond memories of when J.P. was that small.  And, yet, at the same time, it's a constant reminder of how much he has grown and how far away he is from that little baby I could hold comfortably in my arms.

Time passes.

Hail Yes

It's been unseasonably warm all winter long, particularly in February.  In this area of the country, warm weather in February or March usually is bad news, because it's a harbinger of tornadoes and severe thunderstorms.

Last Friday, the reports of severe and threatening weather were so ominous that many counties in middle Tennessee closed schools early.  I thought that was a little silly until I picked up J.P. from school at 3:15 p.m. while the Twitter feed on my cell phone was blowing up with news of tornado warnings in our area (Davidson County).  I got him home as quick as I could, then gathered Jude, Joey and J.P. and headed down into the basement just to be safe.

The winds really picked up but, fortunately, we avoided any tornadoes.  What we didn't avoid was a rather impressive hail storm.  After it passed, J.P. and I went outside and found the ground covered with hail stones the size of golf balls.  He was fascinated by the hail stones.  We filled a couple of plastic bowls up with hail stones and took them inside for closer examination.  J.P. had a thousand questions about hail and I laughed as Jude tried to answer them all.

J.P., carefully examining the hail stones with his magnifying glass.  We still have some in the freezer.

Reading with the Boys

J.P. adores his little brother.  Really, really adores him.  One of my greatest joys is watching Jude interacting with both of our sons.  I took these photos the other afternoon when she was reading to them in J.P.'s playroom (formerly my office).

Meemaw and Joey

J.P. and Bruiser

J.P. loves and I mean loves mascots.  All mascots.  Here he is with Bruiser, Belmont University's mascot.  Bruiser is a bruin, by the way.  I took this photo a couple of weeks ago when Jim White (Jude's dad), J.P. and I were walking around Belmont after dinner and wandered into a dance marathon.  J.P. danced with Bruiser and some of the college kids.  Channel 5 was there and he actually made it on to the 10 p.m. news.

The Triumphant Return of the City Elite

At one point in my first tour of duty as a father, I owned 6 or 7 strollers.  Now, mind you, I only paid for one of the strollers.  The rest were gifts or loaners.  As anyone who has read this blog regularly can attest, my favorite stroller was "the City Elite," made by Baby Jogger.  It's not a performance or racing stroller (I have one of those, too, also made by Baby Jogger).  Rather, it's a 3-wheeled, all terrain, around town stroller.  Lots of pockets, some hidden and some not.  Lots of sleeves and compartments.  And - very important - it reclines all the way back which allows one to transport an infant who can't hold his or her head up yet.

Really, it's a hipster stroller - in my view anyway.  And I, of course, am a hipster dad, albeit an older one.

J.P. and I put some serious mileage (probably more than 200 miles in my estimation) on the City Elite, mostly in the neighborhood.  We routinely strolled to Bongo Java (the center of my universe), the 12South Tap Room, Kim (Green) and Hal's (Humphreys) house, Sevier Park and locations in between.  It's funny, but my memories of the first 2 or 2 1/2 years of J.P.'s life seem to melt into one memory of me pushing him in the City Elite, walking somewhere in the neighborhood.

I'm a nostalgic sort (big surprise there, I know), so it was quite difficult for me when J.P. got too big to ride comfortably in the City Elite.  It just became easier - or, perhaps, more convenient - for me to drive with him to Bongo Java or Belmont University.  It was almost like a "Puff the Magic Dragon Experience" - you remember, Jackie Paper grew up and stopped coming to see Puff.  Well, J.P. grew up and at Jude's urging, the City Elite ended up in the pseudo-garage behind our house, where it gathered dust, pollen and mildew and silently stared at me the last couple of years every time I took the trash out.  I thought about giving it away but I just couldn't pull the trigger.

Then, along comes Joseph Dylan Newman.

One of the first things I thought about, after Jude told me she was pregnant and we found out it we were having a boy, is that the City Elite would ride again.  I've not seen "Toy Story" (the movie), but I suspect  the City Elite felt like the old, seldom used toys did in the move, just sitting out there in the garage in cold and hot weather, waiting for someone to use it, for someone to love it again.  So it was with more than a little anticipation that I rolled it our of the garage the first part of this week, just to get a good look at it and to see what kind of shape it was in.

Much to my dismay, the City Elite was covered - and I mean covered - in dust, bird shit and, really, just a fine layer of dirt.  The tires were flat and there were small packs of diapers, wipes, etc. in the pockets and sleeves of the stroller - leftover relics from a bygone era.  I really didn't know if it could be salvaged.  For a minute, I thought about ordering a new one.  First, though, I decided to at least make an effort to clean it up.

I hosed the City Elite down 2 or 3 times, then left it out in the front yard to dry.  When J.P. got home from school, he and his grandparents (Jim and Jane White) went to work on it.  They filled a bucket with water and soap, lovingly washed and cleaned it, then laughed as J.P. got after it with the hose.  When I got home, my spirits soared a bit when I saw it sitting in the front yard, gleaming.  I love that damn stroller and what it represents - time spend walking with my son.  Or, soon, time spent walking with my sons.

Today I took the City Elite for a ride in my truck to the gas station, where I put some air in the tires.  If the tires are still full of air tomorrow, we'll be ready to roll.  I think I'll take Joey out for a stroll this weekend, proudly.

   

My pit crew of one, working on the City Elite, getting it prepared for its second tour of duty.