Head First

I guess it’s called being a boy.  Head first into everything.  Apparently no fear.  Boo boo’s and bleeding soon forgotten.  As long as I can climb it, I will try.  As long as I’m still conscious, I will plot the next challenge. As long as I can walk away, I will try it again.  As long as mom doesn’t decide to wrap me in bubble wrap and duct tape me to the couch, I will try dumb things.  I am boy, hear me cry; at least until I forget it hurts.

I mean, aren’t we raised to believe in the words of Shane Falco….

              

At least that’s what we start to believe as we get into organized sports and start to want to impress our friends and those of the opposite sex. We are basically wired for it.  The bigger the gash, the more stitches (stitches are cool).  The bigger the cast, the more people can sign.  The more bone poking out… Well that one actually hurts for real.

I want Gage to be a devil may care type of individual.  I want him to take chances, within reason, and I want him to feel like anything is possible. But, I would also like him to have all of his teeth and not have any permanent facial scars at the old age of two.  I would like to see him not truly disfigure himself until he decides that the tattoo/piercing life is for him. His constant desire to run headlong into anything, like Gracie on the swing, is going to make that a tight race.

I also want Emilee to feel secure in the fact that Gage is not trying to kill himself, or kill her via heart attack.  His back-flips, which don’t quite have full rotation yet, off of the couch or his head first forays onto the dog crates cause her to believe that he really does have a death wish.  I know that we are simply dealing with a kid that does not know that pain hurts yet.  We typically don’t learn that lesson until we hit about 30 and are still trying to play in pick up football games; or so I have been told. But, Emilee doesn’t fully trust that Gage is firing on all cylinders.  And, that’s because of Gracie.

She may strike a tough pose from time to time, but Gracie is the kind of kid that if she even thinks she might fall she wants to go ahead and prophylactically place the Band-Aid.  We have 18 different ice packs at home, all princess themed, because of her.  A simple fall and the following conversation happens:

AG: Daddy I fell and have blood.

Me: Have blood?

AG: Can’t you I have blood pouring through my skin?

Me: You mean the red spot?
AG: DADDY! I am bleeding to death and need a Band-Aid.

                                                  Me: Of course you do.

Band-Aid is then applied and all is well. I’m pretty sure the kid could have a compound fracture and a Band-Aid would make the pain go away.

But Gage is a different animal. I think he actually likes the taste of his own blood. He busted his lip pretty good, and after 30 seconds of good old crying, he realized that he could suck on his lip and taste it.  Then he would smile! Reminded me of me. Seriously, what true guy hasn’t done the same thing?  I just hope he doesn’t decide to try “other brands”.  The dogs and his sisters might be in trouble.

Keep Smiling,

Rob

               

 PS – I am still considering the Bazaar.

The Bazaar

How much?  That’s the question I was asking myself again.  How much for a white female newborn?  I have had these thoughts before.  I have even blogged about these thoughts before.  But, I could not get the thought of a Middle Eastern bazaar out of my head, and the nomadic Arab traders that I would be selling my screaming non-consolable daughter to.  And then I remembered my old trick... Bad late night TV.

Bad late night TV got me through the terroristic hold Gracie’s crying had on me.  Nights when I was scared to fall asleep because I knew that the screaming would start.  Nights I knew would never end.  Nights I was sure that would turn me into a raging lunatic.  Bad late night TV got me through the random nights I was up with Gage. Fortunately for Gage, he did most of his crying before bed time and sanity was able to return each night.  But not now, nights don’t end again.  But maybe bad late night TV can help.

The problem is this… I don’t have cable anymore. 

So, I courageously turn to Netflix and say a silent prayer. There is hope, Netflix has plenty of bad TV options.  But they also have plenty of good TV options.  So what do I do?  I know I will never find another “Alone in the Wilderness”.  Instead, I found Narcos. Can’t beat violence and drugs and Pablo Escobar!

I love TV like this.  You get to learn something and be entertained at the same time.  There is some fact checking that has to go on due to some artistic license that is taken, but it is generally accurate.  It gives a great description of what was going on during the days of the Medellin cartel and the DEA/Colombian government effort to rid themselves of the problem.  Pretty amazing the amount of violence and corruption that occurred.  Makes you happy to be born a 1^st world citizen.

At its height, the cartel was bringing in $60 mil A DAY! It got so big and profitable that at one point Pablo offered to pay off the entire Colombian government’s debt to gain amnesty.  He got turned down, but that is some serious cash.  Of course it ended badly for Escobar, but it’s an interesting story.  And, he made the current scum running the current drug operations around the world looks like amateurs.  Something to think about anyway.

I don’t know when the crying stopped exactly.  I heard Emilee’s voice calling down the basement steps to check on us and I realized it was quiet and Sophie was asleep curled up on my chest.  Peaceful, still, and beautiful.  The thoughts of the bazaar have retreated far into the fog of my 5 AM haze.  But, I still have its address remembered for the next time!

Stay Safe!

Rob