this is the fourth clip of media chronicling my kid’s obsession with music. previous episodes featured video of his learning to use turntables and figuring out how to scratch and use the mixer.

this bathtime audio clip was my attempt to catch him in his daily, non-equipment-reliant musical expression. enjoy!

click here to listen

** i am constantly impressed by how BUSY the baby is – always moving, working, exploring. reaching, running, babbling. but he never seems to produce any actual results, so i decided to observe and not intervene with his busy baby routine for five minutes to see if i could figure out his patterns. perhaps harness his baby power for some greater good. solving climate change? powering a karaoke machine? here are my results.**

he picks up an empty plate from the side table, which had been cleared of crackers and cherry tomatoes from an earlier snack. he brings the empty plate over to the bed, carrying it with two hands, and places it carefully down. goes back to the side table, picking up a clean diaper from the stack. he walks back to the bed and puts the diaper on the plate. scrutinizes it for a moment. opens the diaper carefully, spreading it out on the plate. frowns. flings the diaper onto the floor behind him. tells the plate, “NO!” in no uncertain terms. picks up the plate. slowly brings it up to his face, kisses the plate carefully. puts it back onto the bed.

he turns around and approaches the discarded diaper, it’s still clean, still open, still on the floor. he crouches down into that fabulous baby squat we all love, and examines it minutely. gets up and walks away.

walks around the bed. i can’t see exactly what he’s doing but he’s near the mirror on the other side of the bed. i see pointing, and perhaps some mild scolding of the reflection. comes back with his little whisk broom, waving it in the air like a drum major. drops it near the diaper.

goes into the hallway, using the old film festival pass that’s hanging on the doorknob to close the door behind him. it doesn’t catch, and swings open again partially; i can see him crouching in the hallway playing with the pass’ lanyard. he comes back in.

opens the drawer of the side table. takes out half of a cherry tomato he’s apparently had stashed there since his last snack. (!!) takes a nibble. examines it. takes a nibble. puts it back into the drawer. (note to self: once intervention mode is reinstated, MOVE THAT TOMATO!) pulls out a few socks, flinging them onto the floor behind him. finds the one he must have been looking for, turns around and puts it onto the plate that’s still on the bed. turns his back to the plate, finally satisfied. picks up his sippy cup and takes a sip of water. shakes the sippy cup back & forth in one hand, the other hand flapping back and forth too, for balance. he takes another drink, puts the cup back onto the table. turns back toward the bed and removes the sock from the plate. throws it onto the floor.

yeah. so my five minutes are up… i’ll keep searching for the answer to global warming later. right now i have some socks to pick up.

Be still. Perspective through momentary discomfort can save you from prolonging the inevitable.

I present to you THE TAO OF O – reflections and little wisdoms gained during my son’s first year of life.

- S******g on your self is not the end of the world
- there are things outside of our understanding and it’s sometimes better that you don’t get what you want
- pennies are delicious
- don’t fight sleep
- you can forego learning to walk properly in order to run but be prepared to fall A LOT
- music and dancing can stop you from crying
- if someone tries to change you pee on them
- you can get away with so much more with a smile
- dance naked
- pulling other people down is not a nice way to try to get up
- your actions are your words
- all things break
- there are advantages to being small
- clearing your mind can be as simple as shaking your head back and forth as fast as you can
- it’s amazing how many times a day unseen hands help us avoid death
- grow up

A friend and I were riding to the post office with about 5 bags filled to the brim with packages to mail off as was the ritual at the end of every day we work at the warehouse. We were stopped by a light and at the corner in the open space between the gas station and the curb were 2 children with bikes. My eyes would have not caught them had it not been for how small one of the children was. They both had dirt bikes but the smaller child seemed dwarfed – somehow he was riding the bike but could barley reach the handle bars. His hand couldn’t even wrap around the handle. It would be the equivalent of an adult trying to put their hand around a half spun roll of toilet tissue.

Me and my friend in the passenger seat smirked at how silly it all seemed, this child’s dedication to being out and on this bike that clearly he was too small for just seemed funny.
Then coming across the street were 2 women. One was holding a child the other was just stomping mad, her anger clearly pointed at the smaller of the 2 children.  Somewhere in the back of our minds we thought that universal childhood theme:  “oooh hes gonna get it”

As she approached the child quickly dismounted the bike and let it fall. His friend kept a safe distance. Then the mother, while screaming inches away from his face, balled up her fist and with everything she could muster punched him in the face.

I’ll say that again. A grown woman with a closed fist reached back as far as she could while yelling at the top of her lungs and punched this barley 4 foot tall child in the face, several times.

The look of horror on the child’s face is something that will never leave me. I have never seen a child’s face do that. He wouldn’t
stop looking up at her and he didn’t really defend himself… he just held his quivering fists together  under his chin as looked up to her.
He managed to pick his bike up but was still being yelled at and hit with a barrage of closed and open hands across his head neck and back as they walked off and disappeared into the collection of short brick buildings

Here are the thoughts that went though my mind

We make each other
Do I roll down the window and say something ?
Do I get out of the car follow them to where they live and…what?
Will me getting out the car do anything?
Are you ready to take on the responsibility of that child’s welfare after today?
Who is this child doing to be when he grows up?
What made him come outside? He knew his mom?
Stupid question, if she was my mom I’d probably be outside
Who am I to tell a parent?
Wait…I am I parent.
Perhaps she was concerned for his safety?
Perhaps she was terrified he had run away or was lost?
How does that concern turn into this?
It takes a village is he not my responsibility?
Am I a coward?
Do I think too much ?
Why won’t this light change?
Will that child grow up to hate women?
Will he beat his girlfriend or his own child one day?
Was his mother beat by those who love her?
How will this child define love?
How does this mother define love?
Patriarchal society sucks.
Society is not punching that kid in the face, she is.
How can you hit another human being especially one easily half your size that hard in the face?
How was he still standing after that?
If she was comfortable displaying that level of brutality in broad day light at the corner of a large intersection what does he get when he gets home?
Does Barack Obama’s victory make that little boy believe he can do anything?
Does his mother believe that he can do anything?
Will he overcome this to be a story of hope?
Why is this light not changing?
Why did I have to see this ?
Why can’t I turn away?
Why can’t I move?
Why can’t I cry?
Inaction is action.
And then there was a honk behind us. The light had changed. We drove off and dropped the packages at the post office but we were both pretty silent for the rest of the trip.
I still think about it every day.
I still feel like less of a man for not having done anything.
I feel like that inaction will have ripple effect that I can only hope to counter balance with the way I raise my son.
And that’s it.
No moral, no bit of wisdom to walk with, just something that I felt somehow had something to do with being a father. Something that hurt me to hold onto… so I had to share.

Love is a verb that has several definitions. Sometimes that’s an unfortunate thing.

- pull away diapers :  a convenience once enjoyed only by  professional athletes. Now take off a diaper with just one yank!
- oral shoe horn: it’s hard to take the time to wash your hands when your child just ingested something potentially fatal. end the slobbery-finger syndrome by using this device instead.
- baby censorship visor: attach it to your computer or DVD player and enjoy your violent hollywood films with ease. whenever the bloody parts come on a visor comes down that shows images of elmo!
- organic diaper garden: this compostable diaper is made of all green materials with a layer or fertilizer and seeds in it. once soiled, plant it and within a week you will see fruits and vegetables start to grow. I’m still waiting for a call back from whole foods.
- edible spray: instead of taking things out of your child’s hands and mouth you just spray edible spray on it. it makes things like lint, paper, mouse poop, coins, marbles and old Doritos perfectly healthy and edible!
– the ‘time out’ dart: comes with one straw and twelve darts with a patented nonlethal and totally organic tranquilizer that will knock your baby out for half an hour. refreshing for both baby and parent! lavender scented.
- baby head ring toupee: for those babies that lose that ring of hair around their head. for the girls we have the “inch MO pony tail” it’s a tiny hair extension for parents to put in the hair clip so that there is at least an inch mo’ more hair popping out on top of the bow than being pulled by the bow
- the rotating changing table: for those babies that like to suddenly start to twist and crawl away when being changed. This table rotates with them like a gyroscope.
- baby clothing handle: it’s a  onesie with a harness that has a handle on the back. Easy retrieval for when they’re crawling someplace dangerous. Or, going for a walk and forgot the stroller? Carry your baby like a briefcase!
- nerf steps – why gate the top and bottom when you can replace the whole staircase with soft bouncy material? Turn potential tragedy into fun for the whole family!

we used what we had to explain to our 9 month old what was going on.  enjoy the photo essay.

This being our first baby and our first sickness we work in our strengths. My wife does everything and l look worried and ask what can I do.

Since I don’t have the body full of milk and the hairier face I am the legs of the family. The “could you get me the…”  guy  I’m also the “oh and don’t forget the…” guy and more often the  “did you remember to…” dude.

Things they don’t tell you #4080: babies don’t know how to blow their nose and (for the most part) don’t breathe out of their mouths. Which means it drips, occasionally blows bubbles, or they swallow it and it accumulates in their stomach till  then like your 4th grade volcano science project they erupt.

In the parenting game, I’m more the ‘blood man’ than the ‘bodily fluids dude.’ Cuts, scrapes, bruises, other assorted everyday gore, I’m your man. But from a very young age I have been a germophobe. Borderline obsessive. I remember being mad if anyone tasted my ice cream or if I had to share a cup of juice. It’s probably what kept me from being as promiscuous as my fellow classmates in college… I remember how thoroughly horrified I was in jr high school of all the films where they show you syphilis or gonorrhea.

But I digress. My point is, I’m skittish about germs.

So you can imagine my horror this holiday season when I brought my child among friends and family for their first viewing and he was passed around like a party joint.
Yuk party joints
Think about a party blunt for a minute.  Someone you don’t know takes what usually looks like a dirty nails, splits open a cigar, fills it with greenery and proceeds to lick it closed. The grossness is probably a big reason why I never smoked. I’m saying: if that same person prepared an eggroll like that you probably wouldn’t eat it.

My point is, here is my beautiful pure healthy baby, kissed on, squeezed, sticking his hands in various people’s mouths, dripping drool of all lengths and thickness. All I could see were heat signatures and medical stats like the POV of the cyborg in the movie Terminator.

For the first time since he’s been here it dawned on me that this is only the beginning. He is going to walk in mud, touch dead birds, play outside in filth with his filthy friends with their filthy parents that all go to the same filthy indoor germ filled school. His life will be spent as a host of a germ brunch.

I remember one of my cousins telling me upon his birth, “Wait till you have to suck the snot out of his nose.”

I immediately imagined myself in jail for having let a child suffocate on his own snot.

My first day in the yard (that’s what they call the play ground in prison) and some guy with arms as big as my legs asks me what I’m in for. Slow pan upward. The sun is blocked out by his height. A murmuring, hostile crowd forms around me and they begin to chant. “Booger Bennu” they’d call me and after the years pass, I’d have tattoo-tear-boogers on my lip…

But I digress. My point is, the only reason I would ever actually do that nasty deed is because I imagine jail has even more germs than a baby’s snot…well that and rape and white bread. Yuck!

I usually like to have a snappy ending to these but there is none.

Most of my imagination is spent being a terrified first time father using my imagination to think of what could be and comparing horror stories
Like one of our friends had to hold their son down while they put in a catheter. I guess you don’t know what your made of till you have to deal with something like that. I personally don’t want know what I’m made of.

Our child’s pediatrician says its not an issue till there’s a fever so
I chant, “No fever” into his hair over and over in increasingly softer tones till its just my mouth moving then silence.
Then I trust the silence.

As long as there is no fever he’s the good kind of sick – no hospital, no oxygen mask, no catheter, just good old fashioned snot.

What helps is that even through his pain he seems to find an occasional smile.

Well that’s it. My guilt about doing anything but hovering over my wife and child will only allow me to write this much so don’t be mad if I stop writing in the middle of a sentence to go chec