Posts Tagged ‘
funny story ’
Sunday, April 22nd, 2012
17 months.
After 90 minutes of napping together in a rocking chair in an upstairs bedroom at our friends Jamie and Peter’s house yesterday, my son Jack woke up slightly sweaty, drying himself off on my luxurious Italian arm hair.
He was disorientated. I could see him trying to figure it all out:
Why was he in a little girls’ bedroom? Why did he fall asleep in his Daddy’s arms as opposed to a crib? Was he still in a dream, like in the movie Inception?
Finally he looked up at me with curious eyes and plainly announced our mutual code word…
“Bah-bah.”
Then I said it back to him.
As explained in Stuff My 15 Month Old Says: Current Top 7, “bah-bah” is Jack’s way of making a donkey sound.
It’s recognized as the donkey sound only because of the almost sad, dropping tone Jack uses to imitate a donkey; not because of the word “bah-bah” itself, which doesn’t actually sound like a donkey.
By speaking our mutual, exclusive code word, it was as if to say:
“Okay, Dad. I don’t know how we got in this weird place. But you’re here too, so I’m sure you can find a way to get us out of here. Right?”
I led him downstairs to the living room where he remembered the school bus slide he was playing on earlier, before he got hit by the tranquilizer dart… metaphorically speaking.
He was safe and back to having fun. But he wouldn’t have left that room upstairs if it weren’t for us assuring each other with our code word.
How did “bah-bah” (with a dropping inflection) become our secret word?
Jack is in his car seat in my car for at least an hour every weekday. Sometimes when I haven’t heard a peep out of him in over 10 minutes, I check on him by using our code word.
He always answers back with it.
Then after that became normal for us (go ahead, give yourself a second or two to take that in) I started saying the code word when I pick him up from daycare every day.
It’s not, “Hey Jack, I’m here! I missed you son!”
It’s “bah-bah.”
Personally, I think having a donkey sound for a secret code word is pretty original. Especially for the fact that it’s taking the tone of one animal sound and masking it with the phonetic sound of another.
That would be like mooing a monkey sound; if that’s even possible.
Now Jack and I need a secret handshake.
Saturday, April 14th, 2012
16 months.
Have you ever tried to text your toddler? If nothing else, I would like a phone app to translate all the speaking in tongues he does.
Yesterday during my lunch break at work I was taking a walk outside and thought to myself, “I should text Jack and see how his day is going.” I reached for my phone in my pocket and as I was pulling it out, it hit me: For more than one reason, I can’t text message my son.
I would start with the most obvious reason, but there is a serious problem there with that. Because which one is the most obvious?
Would it be the fact that my 16 month-old son doesn’t have have a working cell phone? Or that he doesn’t know how to use one?
Maybe it’s that he doesn’t know how to spell too well?
Nah, I think the fact that he and I can’t actually carry on a real conversation that doesn’t involve an animal sound, may be the winner.
I’m curious to know if having to remind myself that I can’t text message my toddler is a pretty universal thing.
When I mentioned this story to my wife yesterday, she quickly admitted she has done the exact same thing; perhaps more than once.
Subconsciously, I must be resisting this concept that even though Jack and I can’t talk to each other yet, it’s like that new TV show Touch, where a mute boy communicates with this father by using numbers: That the exception to a normal conversation in our case is texting.
Honestly, it sounds like a good idea to me.
I mean, I carry around this little man with me (and that’s often how I perceive him, not in that cute “that’s my little man” sort of way that’s popular to refer to your son, but literally an actual man who happens to speak like Chewbacca or Curious George) in my car for a round trip daily total of about 80 minutes a day and constantly entertain him all weekend.
In my own real life version of Bosom Buddies, I wish there was at least this cool/comical sci-fi twist where I could text message my son:
“Hey son hows ur day goin?”
“Good so far_ outside playn wit my bud Henry.”
“C any birds?”
“Yeah like 5 rite now on the fence_ They fly away evry time I run near them.”
“R they Angry Birds?”
“LOL. I think it just peed in my diaper. Not sure if its bc of ur joke or not. Gotta go. Peace out Ghost Dad.”
“Later Sonny Sonnerton.”
Tuesday, April 10th, 2012
16 months.
This year’s traditional Easter pictures were taken in my sister’s storm shelter; and Jack just went along with it, not knowing any different. Though I admit, he looks pretty intense in the picture above.
I think it’s safe to say, we may have very well started a new family tradition for Jack; as random as it is.
While spending the weekend in Alabama with my family, my sister wanted to make sure we checked out the new storm shelter that she and her husband just got installed behind their house. (A year ago around this time, while we were living there, we had to flee across the Georgia state line because tornadoes caused the power to go out for the whole city.)
So Easter morning, after we gave our kids their Easter baskets, we opened the hatch (yes, like on Lost) and all descended six feet into the earth; to test out the storm shelter.
Somehow during the process, my dad ended up with a camera and did his best to capture a couple of shots of the glorious event. Between the two shots, mostly everyone was smiling and looking at the camera.
I already know that 10 years from now, the thing I will remember most about Easter 2012 is testing out my sister’s storm shelter. Jack won’t remember it, but I’m pretty sure a new family tradition has been born.
In a few years, as we step down into the white abyss for the current family Easter photo, I’m sure he’ll ask me, “Daddy, why do we always go down here to take our picture? Why not outside in the yard like most families?”
The truth is, I won’t have a real good answer for him. Because like most good memories that make for good stories, this wasn’t planned. So much of life is just simply showing up and participating. A lot of times, from there, something interesting is bound to happen. Especially when we’re surrounded by family.
Note: It has recently been brought to my attention that based on the picture below, a theory has been formed that I caused a stinky situation in those confined spaces. I officially dispel this rumor. It was a mere coincidence that my wife happened to be covering her mouth as I apparently did my best impression of Robert De Niro.
But I will say, give it a few years, and Jack will definitely be the guilty, stinky culprit.
Pictured from left: My mom, my son Jack, my sister, my dad, myself, my wife Jill, my brother-in-law, and lastly, my niece.
