Archive for the ‘Monthly Letters’ Category

Dear Asher & Avy, 

First off, I need you both to understand that I don’t really enjoy running. I do it for you. I do it so I won’t weigh 350 lbs. I do it so that I’ll hopefully still be around to attend your college graduation, to walk you down the aisle, to meet my grandchildren. Etc. etc. Blah blah blah…

So, all for you, I signed up to run the White Rock Half Marathon.

The night before the big day, I dropped you (Asher) off at Gramma & Granpa’s for the night, and met up with some fellow half marathoner friends from work for a pre-race carb extravaganza. We ate an exceptionally tasty pasta dinner at Patrizio’s on Preston & Mockingbird – Angel hair pasta with artichokes and sun dried tomatoes. Then it was straight home to try to get a good night’s rest.

I woke up at 5am to the dreaded sound of pouring rain. It was 45 degrees outside and wasn’t going to get any warmer. I dressed in shorts, a body armor long sleeved cold gear shirt, a light running shirt over that, light gloves and a head band that covered my ears. I was ready to freeze my ass off.  After getting dressed, I grabbed my rain coat, hopped in the car and drove over to Sarah’s (friend from work) house near Greenville Ave & Mockingbird to meet up with some other runners and carpool to Fair Park. We had some bananas and coffee, and headed off in the rain to the outright crappiest part of Dallas. Traffic was ridiculous and parking was worse, but we finally parked and made our way towards the starting line with the throngs of the other 26,000 racers. It was cold. It was rainy. It was generally miserable. But, I took solace in the fact that it wasn’t 85 degrees and humid. Give me cold and rainy over hot and humid any day of the week.

Hell hath no fury like a pre-marathon bathroom. Everyone has been hydrating like mad for 3 days straight in preparation for the race, and everyone has to pee – Right NOW. The lines are absolutely insane, and the lack of hygiene and cleanliness people have when they are in a hurry is disgusting. I lost my friends in the panic to find a bathroom and continued on the starting corrals on my own. By this time, it was about 7:40am and the starting line was still nowhere in sight. The people around me were starting to freak out, running around and shouting at no one in particular “Where is the #$%#$@ starting line.” I had no idea that runners use such colorful adjectives! I listened to my inner-cow and followed the herd, which soon made its way to the starting area. The mass of humanity trying to cram into the starting corrals was mind boggling, almost as mind boggling as the lack of planning that must have gone into getting that many people into said starting corrals. It was chaos. My corral was, luckily, near the front (B1). One death-defying leap over a 4ft chain link fence, and I was all corralled up and ready to race.

The rain let up as I sucked down a vanilla bean energy goo packet and some water at 7:50am and tried to mentally prepare myself for the beating my body was about to endure. I’d been training since June, but didn’t get in as many long runs as I would have liked too. I just couldn’t find the time. I blame the both of you. No offense, but having kids is a gigantic time-suck. Regardless, I felt pretty confident that I’d be able to make it through the 13.1 miles in one piece.  

I have to interject, at this point, that I run in Vibram 5-fingers. Hopefully you still know what they are. If not, google them. If they are all the rage, then you can brag to your friends that I was a man well ahead of my time. If not, just skip on down to the next paragraph. The 5-fingers force you to run with a mid-foot strike and, for me, they are much more fun to run with and easier on my hips and knees. As slow as I am, I need some help not landing on my heels the whole time. Anyway, while I was lined up in the starting corral waiting for the starting gun, I was getting peppered with questions from curious runners around me asking me how I liked them. Most were nice and genuinely interested, but a few had that smug “you’re an idiot” tone. Later on, during the race, one guy asked me if I was doing the whole or the half marathon. I responded ‘half’ and he laughingly said “yeah, running a full in those would be tough”. I had the urge to kick his feet out from under him. If there’s weather that’s perfect for the 5-fingers, it’s in the rain. Everyone with traditional running shoes had soggy socks. I didn’t have that problem. Suckers.

After the national anthem was sung (accompanied by some rather pathetic fireworks), the starting gun sounded. It took about 6 minutes of walking with the herd before I hit the official starting line and we were off. The first 3 or 4 miles were easy going, but I was getting passed by everyone and their mom, which made it extremely difficult to keep my slow pace of 10:30 per mile. I’m not sure if I got stuck in the wrong starting group or what, but I tried to stay as far to the right and out of the way as I best I could. Every time I looked down at my phone to see my current pace, I was way too fast. The rain started back up 2 miles in. It was a torrential downpour at first, but lightened up a bit as the race wore on. The rain didn’t bother me much aside from the water pooling up in my long sleeved raincoat. I had to keep ringing out my sleeves to keep them from weighing my arms down. After the race, I realized the “raincoat” I was wearing to keep the water off me was actually soaked through and weighed about 5 lbs. Next time I think I’ll leave it in the car.

The best part of the race was all the people that braved the cold and rain to come out and show support for the runners. Most of the course was lined by spectators offering their praise and encouragement as you pass by. I found myself energized by their cheers. Some even passed out water, orange slices, and tissues. On Turtle Creek I passed a guy that was handing out oranges, but I dropped it during the handoff. He grabbed another and hit me on a slant pattern down the sideline with a perfect spiral. Best orange I’ve ever tasted. At the 8 mile marker near Greenville Ave, there were some outstanding young gentlemen handing out cups of beer. It was delicious, although I’m not sure it was entirely legal to hand out or consume alcohol in a public street like that. God bless those courageous men.

I was still feeling pretty good at the 8.8 mile marker where the full marathoners and the half marathoners parted ways. The fullers (fullies?) turned left at Greenville Ave and headed off for White Rock Lake. The rest of us measly halfers turned right toward our finish line destination in the ghetto that is Fair Park. One poor young bastard ran by me at around the 11.5 mile mark and asked a guy in front of me “are you all running the half or the full?” The guy laughed and replied “Half. You missed the split about 3 miles back.”  The kid’s face turned white as he hurriedly turned around and sprinted back from whence he came. I guess he got to run the rare 32.2 mile marathon.

The rest of the race was a bit of a blur. Fatigue set in and my focus was drawn inward. I remember seeing a really tall African looking dude fly by me where the full and half marathon courses met back up. He was on mile 23, a mere 13 miles ahead of me and he was still running faster than I can sprint. Unreal.

At 12 miles, I realized that I’d have to run a sub 8 minute last mile to finish in 2:15:00. I picked up the pace as much as I could, but it was no use. I had nothing left in the tank. It didn’t help that the finish line was not the same as the starting line. The final stretch was a quarter mile down the same road back toward the starting line – a big yellow banner hanging over the road. When the runners (including me) saw that, they figured it was the finish line and began to go all out for the finish. It wasn’t until I got about 15 yards from it that I could see there was a sharp right turn and then another 500 yards or so to the real finish line. You could hear the shouts of disbelief as runners realized the finish line they saw was not really the finish line.

I made it across the line at 2:17:50. Going into the race, I didn’t really have a set goal. I just wanted to finish. I knew in the back of my mind that I could probably keep a 10:30 per mile pace, and that’s pretty much how it ended up, so I’m pretty happy with the results. I kind of wish I’d broken that 2:15 mark, but I guess that gives me something to work toward. I’ve already signed up for 4 half marathons next year. Yes, you read that right. FOUR. I am nuts.

The post-race activities were insane. As soon as I crossed the line, I grabbed a heat-blanket (4×6 sheet of light tin foil material smeared with ads) and headed for the indoor post-race area. It was only about 100 yards or so to get from the finish line to inside, but my body was already shivering violently. It was a great relief to get out of the cold. I grabbed my finisher’s medal and t-shirt, got my photo taken, and picked up a beer and a banana (in that order). I then went back to the entrance to wait for my friends to finish. Watching the runners come through the finisher’s area made for some terrific people watching. I saw people laughing, crying, and joking around. Most were limping and some could barely walk. I saw a guy with no arms or legs, just prosthetic blades. But all of them had a certain look of accomplishment and pride in their eyes. That was cool to see.

My friends Sarah, Maddie and Laura came through the finish about 20 minutes later. We all had a good stretch and decided it was time to go home. That’s when the real fun began. We headed towards the car and realized that we had no idea which way to go to get back to the car. If you’ve ever been to Fair Park, you know that it all kind of looks the exactly the same. Hopefully by the time you’re both old enough to care about reading this, they will have demolished the whole damn thing and built a new Cowboys stadium or something in its place. Anyway, we ended up wandering around Fair Park for about 25 minutes in the 40 degree pouring rain conditions with cramped up legs while freezing our asses off. We finally made it back to the car, changed into dry clothes and headed back to Sarah’s house. Unfortunately, her house was located right in the middle of the course so all the roads in and out of her neighborhood where closed. We spent another 45 minutes in the car trying to figure out how to get 4 miles to her house. But, at least we were dry and warm.

I rushed home to take Asher to hockey practice and laced up the skates with the kids for an hour session. I didn’t feel all that bad on the ice other than being a little stiff. After practice, it was off to get a post-race massage your awesome mom scheduled for me. It was heaven. Your mom and I then took the two of you to the Cheesecake Factory for dinner to celebrate my accomplishment and I gorged myself on a mushroom cheeseburger the size of my head. THAT cheeseburger made it all worth it! Ha.

Love,
Dad

Avery is over 3 months now. She already has her own little personality. She prefers to be held up over your shoulder or standing, whichever way allows her to see the world better. Much like her brother, she likes to talk. She babbles and coos all day long. She does not like long rides in the car, especially if we have to stop at those pesky stop lights. She loves watching Asher. She is the perfect audience while he sings, dances, plays, and bounces off the walls. She wakes up happy in the morning. We listen on the monitor as she talks in her crib, slowly getting louder and louder until someone comes in to play. She is such a sweetie and we are glad she is a part of our family.

(I wrote this a while back and forgot to post it)

8/01/2009

Dear Asher,

Happy Birthday my little man! 3 years old already – I can’t believe it! Part of me feels like we were just bringing you home from the hospital yesterday, but another part of me (the bigger part) can’t remember what my life was like before you came into the world. Watching you grow up these past 3 years has become my favorite pastime. I still can’t believe I have such a wonderful son, and I can’t, and probably never will be able to, describe in words how you make me feel. I can only hope you get to be a dad yourself someday (in the very, very distant future).

You got one heck of a birthday present earlier this month when your little sister Avery was born. You love her so much and have been the best big brother in the world. We have a video we took at the hospital of the first time you met her and it is the cutest thing ever. Like any three year old, you sometimes have trouble being gentle with her, but you try really hard to be careful. You are already very protective of her and you always try to make her feel better when she cries. I feel sorry for Avy’s future boyfriends… you and I are going be a protective force to be reckoned with.

As I write this, you are sitting 3 feet from me on the couch playing Star Wars Battlefront II on our Playstation2. It’s a perfect example of how you shatter my ‘pre-kid’ ignorance on a daily basis. If someone had told me three years ago that before my son was three he’d be able to play Star Wars on the Playstation2, I’d have told them they were crazy. You are more intelligible and composed than I am most of the time. For the most part, you are completely autonomous. You can dress yourself, go to the bathroom by yourself, get yourself food and eat it by yourself, surf the internet by yourself (only pbskids.org of course!), use the TV remote control, and a TON of other day-to-day things. Each and every one of them is simply amazing to me. I had no idea that a kid would be able to do all these things at three. You were somehow able to completely bypass the terrible twos. I think I can honestly count on one hand the number of terrible moments you had in the last year (although your mother might have a LOT more being home with you all day).

We went to see the doctor today for your three year appointment and Avy’s three week appointment. You were so brave and you knew it too because you kept telling everyone on the way in “I’m brave”. You handled all the poking and prodding like a champ. My favorite part was your eyesight test. They have a poster on the wall with shapes instead of letters and they make you stand on a line and tell the nurse what the letters are. Thankfully you have terrific eyesite and could see all the shapes with no problems. The nurse would point and you would get all worked up and yell the name of the shape. As she moved down the poster, she pointed at a moon shape and you yelled “crescent!!” Seriously? Crescent? You are soooo your mother’s child.

Your vocabulary continues to grow and you say some really funny stuff. One of my favorite Asher-isms from this month happened the other day when you were playing with your fishing pole. I asked what you were fishing for and you told me “seahorses Dad” like duh, what else would you be fishing for. So I asked what kind of bait you were using. You thought about it for a minute and replied “Seahorse treats.” “What do they taste like?” I asked. Again, you thought for a minute and said in a deadpan voice “M&M’s.”

Love,
Papa

Dear Asher,

Wow, this past month has been insane. Do I say that every month? Well, this month for real! Your mom and I found out that in about 7 months, you’ll be a big brother!! That’s right, you’ll have your very own little one to boss around. We are so excited and can’t wait to find out if you’ll have a little brother or a little sister… We told our friends and family, but I’ll save those stories for next month’s letter.

You are becoming quite the little hockey player. Your wrist shot is already better then your old man’s! All you want to do is play hockey. Last week I made you your very own “real” stick from am old broken shaft of mine cut down to size with a junior blade stuck in the end. We spend hours and hours out in the garage passing and shooting the puck. One of your favorite things to do is to ‘Faceoff’. You either want to pretend you’re the ref and drop the puck for me, or you want to be the center and take the faceoff. You are already working on perfecting your goal-scoring celebrations. You are a master at the fist pump, but you have yet to master the ‘ride the stick-pony’ move.

I’ve had a ton of 7pm Sunday hockey games lately, so mom and you have been coming out to watch a lot. I don’t think you actually watch very much of the game, you just like being there with your little stick and puck. After one recent game, I took you out on the ice and you took a couple shots on goal. It was awesome the way your eyes glimmered as I skated around with you in my arms. After the game, we usually go out for pizza or wings with the team. Last time we went, you apparently weren’t feeling all that great… I thought you were just tired until you erupted like Mt. Vesuvius while sitting in my lap. It was gross… I had puke ALL over me. We got you cleaned up and bailed as soon as we could, but you let loose again about half way home in the car – projectile style. I swear there was puke on the windshield… I spent about 3 hours that night cleaning up yarf in the car, yarf on you, yarf on your mom… Poor little guy… Our house was vomit city, and you were the mayor for about 4 straight nights. I finally figured out that I needed to carry an emergency yarf bowl with me at all times. You are a total trooper though, you’d yarf, then just keep on truckin’ like nothing happened. I admire that.

The last couple of months you’ve started this weird ‘boycotting’ of daddy thing. I try not to take it personally, but it is soooo hard. At least once a day, something happens and you want nothing to do with me. “no daddy” you say. “Go Away”. I guess all working parents go through this at some point, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I think a little piece of me dies each time you scream “I don’t want Daddy”. You usually make up for it later with lots of hugs and kisses though, so it’s all good…

I had such an “I’m turning into my father” moment the other day. You were standing up on a kitchen chair and I kept telling you to sit down on your bottom. I tell you this for your own good because I know, in all my vast wisdom, that standing on kitchen chairs is a very bad idea. Sure enough, it took about 12 seconds for you to tumble head fist off the chair and land with a loud thud on the tile floor. You immediately began to cry, and as I picked you up off the tile, I heard myself say “and that’s why we don’t stand on kitchen chairs!”. Oh God, did I just say that? Here you are, crying in my arms, with a potentially serious injury, and I just told you “that’s what you get for not listening to me”… I am so much like my father in a lot of ways, for better and for worse. And for the record, you cried for about 12 seconds, then you went back to standing on that chair!

Work has been really crazy-busy lately. I’ve been working late quite a bit and when I get home, the first thing I do is to check my email and set up my laptop so I can do more work. A couple weekends ago, we had a power outage in my office building, so I got to work an entire Saturday, shutting down our datacenter and bringing it all back up. You asked me several times after that day, “is the power on daddy?” ”Check email daddy?” “Go to work daddy?” Each day when I get home now you ask me if I was at work in this strange accusatory tone… it’s like you’re checking up on me, making sure I wasn’t out doing something fun without you.

I guess I’ll have to start including info about how your little sibling is coming along, and how your mom is handling it all. We should know a lot more next month!

Love,
Papa

Dear Asher,

If I had to use one word to describe the last month, it would have to be LOUD. Your vocabulary has more than doubled since your birthday, and you let us know it every chance you get…

I suppose all kids go through a phase when they repeat everything they hear… Well, you are currently the mayor of parrot-ville. Last month, you started saying the words “no-no” a LOT, and at first it was adorable. You’ve since used that giant hammer of repetition to beat every last bit of cuteness out of it. Every question we ask you, the answer is always “No”, even if you really mean yes. Are you hungry? “No” Are you sleepy? “No” And of course there’s always the screaming of “Noooooooooo” when we want you to do something you don’t want to do. “No” is now a forbidden word in our house.

There are some words that you say that I can’t get enough of… When you call me Dada, it’s like hugs for my ears. Since you were born, my favorite time of the day has been walking through the door after coming home from work. You are always there to greet me with a big smile and hugs, but now you’ve added jubilant screams of ‘Dada” to the routine. It just doesn’t get any better than that.

One of your favorite new words is “Whoah”. Not so much a Joey Lawrence in Blossom “Whoah”, but more like a Keanu Reeves in Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure “Whoah”. And speaking of the 80’s, you and I are bringing back the high five. You’ve got it down pretty good. Every time I say “High Five” you put your arm up in the air and wait for me to slap it. Next month I’ll teach you how to ‘fist bump’. Blow me up dog.

Eye of the Tiger

There are some other words that still need a little practice. For example, when you want a drink you say “dyunglug”. I don’t know if it’s a combination of drink and water, or if maybe you’re just repeating the sound of gulping… either way it gets the point across. Other words from the Asher dictionary currently include:
“Ow-sigh” = outside
“Eee” = eat
“Doughy” = Zoe
“Cheesh” = Cheese

Last month you were walking like a drunken monkey. Well, this month you joined a 12 step program and evolved into a sober monkey!! Congrats! You have entirely ceased crawling, but you do spend a fair amount of time on your butt. I’m amazed at your resiliency.

One of the coolest parts about being a dad is that I love you more and more each and every day. Just when I think my heart is about to burst and I couldn’t possibly love you more, I DO!! It is such an incredible feeling!

Love,
Papa

Dear Asher,

Happy Birthday!

I’m absolutely amazed at how much my attitude towards kids has changed in the last 21 months. I used to be THAT guy when it came to kids… You know, the extremely awkward fellow that is scared to death to hold babies. The guy that sees kids as little, snotty, drool covered monsters. Honestly, 99% of the time I never even noticed kids at restaurants or malls unless they were misbehaving. After your mother and I found out we were having you, my eyes were opened to a whole new world. All of the sudden there were cute little snuggly, playful kiddies everywhere! Things that used to annoy the hell out of me now make me smile. I’m so thankful that I’m not THAT guy anymore, and it’s all because of you…

You have several new teeth poking through this month, but, unfortunately you are suffering from a phenomenon that I commonly refer to as ‘Sharkteeth.’ Sharkteeth is a gruesome affliction most commonly found in toddlers, but in some instances it can also be found in fully-grown-adult peoples (i.e. – see Mary Lynn Rajskub). A sharktoothed person can be easily identified by the presence of extremely uneven, half-developed teeth that can be stubby or sharp, and in some of the more hideous cases, both. In the past, I have had severe allergic reactions when spotting sharktoothed individuals, most of the time resulting in facial contortions and vocal outburst of “uggghhhhhh, shhhhhhharkteeth.” Thanks to you, I can now proudly say that I no longer see Sharkteeth as a grotesque affliction. I now view children that have Sharkteeth as cute, lovable, adorable, and precious…. (Although, I still find it disturbing in adults)

Sharkteeth

What an awesome month you’ve had! Our little baby is gone, and in his place is this walking, talking little dude. A few of your favorite words are: mama, papa, up, Zoe, ball, and whoa. You love to say ‘tickle tickle’ in the cutest little baby-speak when I tickle your feet. Your all time favorite word so far is ‘no-no’. You always utter it right before you do something you know you’re not supposed to do. It’s like having my own personal Asher alarm system… All I have to do is listen for the ‘no-no’ and I’m alerted that you’re about to get into something off-limits. It’s also crazy how many words you understand even though you can’t say them. I guess I should start watching what I say around you.

Earmuffs!

I hate to have to tell you this, but you walk like a drunken monkey… of course you’ve only had about 3 weeks of practice, so who can blame you? With each day that passes, you are getting more stable and more confident on your feet. Fear is not a factor for you – there is no trepidation in your footsteps. If there was such a thing as a stunt-baby, you would have your own TV show co-starring Lee Majors. Your mother and I are so used to you bumping into things and falling over backwards that we hardly even notice it anymore. It takes a pretty good crash to make you cry, but even then it’s only a matter of seconds before you’re back up, rumbling and stumbling along like a little freight train. I hope you are as fearless on skates as you are on foot!

While editing one of the 4,095,059,334 pictures that we take of you every month, your mom and I noticed that your hair was getting a little out of control… So, we took you to the kiddie haircut place to get your baby-mullet chopped off. We were pretty apprehensive about it because we didn’t want your hair to look butchered for your first birthday party. Luckily, our apprehension was unfounded and the cartoon-ish establishment we took you to did a great job! You took it like a man!

Out of control hair

Your first birthday party was a smashing success! We squeezed about 42 people (adults and kids) into our tiny house to celebrate your big day. There was a mini bounce-house in the back yard as well as a little splash-pool for you and the rest of the kiddos to play in. We even set up a knee hockey rink in our bedroom, but I think the adults used it more than the kids (the rink was a great early birthday gift to you from an old friend of your mom and I). You loved your little ‘smasher’ cake and made a huge mess while devouring it. You also got a TON of new toys, although I think you like the boxes they came in more than the actual toys. I’m afraid we might have set the bar a little too high with this first party… I don’t have a clue how we’re ever going to top it! It was a great day, and a good time was had by all.

Fun to be One!

I can’t believe it’s been a year since you were born. It’s the strangest thing, because in some ways it seems like a lifetime ago, but in other ways it seems like just yesterday. Being a dad is the most challenging thing I’ve ever done, but it’s also the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.

Love,
Papa

Dear Asher,

Today you are officially 11 months old. I guess turning 11 months is kind of like turning 20 years… too young to get into bars, but too old to hang out at high school parties. In your case, too young to walk on your own, but too old to be crawling everywhere… Despite all that, you still managed to accomplish a lot over the last month.

A couple weeks ago, I taught you how to use your walker-toy-thingy to help you walk. It’s now your favorite thing in the world to do. You haven’t quite figured out how to turn the thing once you get going, so you just push and walk until it slams into a wall. Then there is much pouting and grunting until your mom or I turn you around so you can do it all over again… It’s really helping you with your balance, and on June 26th, you took your first steps!! 2 Tiny steps for you, but 2 huge, proud steps for your mama and papa! You still can’t go more than 2 steps on your own, but it’s only a matter of time before you’re running around the house conquering and destroying. I’ll be so thrilled when you can finally walk, because if you can walk, it won’t be long until you can skate!

Learning to walk means that you’re also learning to crash. I know I’ve told you this before, but you are one tough kid! Nose-dives into the carpet, face-plants on the concrete, head-bangs into doors and walls… but, you never cry for more than a couple of seconds. Sometimes I wish we could wrap you up in toilet paper padding like those old commercials from the 1980s, then you could jump off the roof and land like a feather. The other day I was cleaning the office and you crashed into a big pile of daddy-junk. We fully expected a giant tear-fest, but instead you laid there quietly like you had just discovered the most comfortable place on earth. So, we did what any good red-blooded American would do in that situation. We ran as fast as we could to get the camera to take your picture.

We also took you swimming for the first time ever this month. We visited your uncle Wes at his apartment and hung out by the pool. You didn’t especially love it in the water, but I think it was because the water was a little too cold. It didn’t help that we brought Zoe along too… I swear she’s half otter, and she freaked you out a bit with all her barking. We had a fun time, and we’ve visited several pools since then. Each time, you are getting more and more comfortable in the water. It won’t be long before your standing on Zoe’s back, riding her around the pool like a dolphin trainer.

I have to admit I’ve been a little obsessed lately with meat. No, not meat for me, meat for you (although I do LOVE me some meat!). You’ve probably figured out by now that your poor, depraved mommy doesn’t partake in the eating of flesh. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t understand it either. I can tell you this: no matter how much you want her to eat meat, and no matter how hard you try to get her to just ‘take a little bite’, it’s NOT going to happen. Since you were born, I’ve been rather paranoid that you would grow up to be a vegetarian by association. I don’t think I could handle living with another ‘no-meater’. I’m happy to report that as of this past month, you are officially a carnivore! Your mom actually fed you some turkey and rice baby-food and you loved it. I am so proud. Together, we will rule the Yarbrough household with a big, bloody, medium-rare steak.

Let the party planning begin. Your first birthday party is still a whole month away, yet your mom has already started the planning. Guest lists have been written. ‘Reserve the date’ emails have been sent. Talks of cake and decorations have commenced. Presents have been purchased. Insanity has taken over. It’s going to be one hell of a party… too bad you won’t remember ANY of it.

Your sign language is coming along nicely. You’ve now devolved to one universal sign… More. If you want to be picked up, you make the sign for ‘more’. If you want a drink? More. Toy? More. Done? More. Eat? More. More? More. Sometimes it takes a while to figure out exactly what it is that you want. Maybe next month you can trick it up a little and learn the sign for ‘less’.

Love,
Papa

Dear Asher,

It seems like it was just yesterday that we were bringing you home from the hospital, and here it is 10 amazing months later – the most incredible 10 months of my life. Watching you grow up and learn new things each day is a blessing, and the past month has been the best yet.

You recently figured out that daddy’s toys are much cooler than your own toys. You’re no longer interested in your blocks, books, and other countless toys. You’ve discovered the magic of Daddy’s TV remote control. Whenever I’m watching TV, you come at me like a spider monkey, trying to get the remote out of my hands so you can play with it. We even took one of our spare remotes that looks IDENTICLE to the real one and gave it to you as a toy, but you just laughed, tossed the dummy remote across the room, and looked at us like we were idiots. Now when I watch TV, I have to hide the remote under a pillow, out of sight so you won’t attack me. I’ve also recently discovered a major drawback to having a media cabinet that doesn’t have doors. You love the lights on the dish and surround sound receivers, and your favorite thing in the world right now is to turn the volume knob as far (and loud) as it will go – I am deaf now. And it’s not only the TV remotes that you’re obsessed with. It’s also my laptop, iPod, alarm clock, guitars, watches, shoes, sunglasses, water bottles, and especially the dishwasher. You are utterly mesmerized by the dishwasher. You’re always trying to crawl up in it like it’s some sort of cool carnival ride. I can’t quite figure out the fascination, but I hope it lasts until you’re old enough to actually do some dishes.

Your Granma recently gave us a great gift – Asher Jail. It consists of about 8 pieces of plastic wall that fit together to form an enclosed pen. We can put you in there with a butt-load of toys and you are in heaven. We don’t have to worry about you crawling into the dishwasher or going for a swim in the toilet because you can’t escape from the plastic wonderland that is Asher Jail. I am not looking forward to the day you figure out that you’re actually trapped…

Paris wishes she’ll have it this easy…

You’ve recently developed a hideous expression we’ve come to know as ‘huffy-face’. When you get really excited about something and determined to crawl towards it, you morph into a raging asthmatic. You’re face scrunches up like an old man and you start wheezing and huffing like mad. It’s really not all that cute… in fact it’s kind of scary. We’ve got some great video of it, but I hope you grow out of the huffy-face phase pretty quick.

Child-proofing has re-commenced in full force. You’re favorite thing in the world (other than riding in the dishwasher) is to open every cabinet in the house and proceed to pull out EVERYTHING you can get your hands on. I figured it was a real problem the other day when I found you sipping on a bottle of drain-o like it was a martini… I kid, I kid… but you do like to get into the cleaning supplies under the sink. So, I installed child safety locks on all the cabinets in the house. It was a major pain-in-the-ass! I don’t know if I had the wrong kind or what, but they were almost impossible to install. And even now, every time I go to open a cabinet, I forget about the stupid child locks and get a jolt as the lock catches and rips my fingers off.

Does this classify as an eating disorder?

Having a kid is a huge adjustment for anyone, but I never thought the adjustment would be so much fun. It’s so strange to think about my own childhood and how my parents must have gone through all the same experiences and emotions. I can only pray that one day you will have children of your own and be able to feel the amazing emotions that I’ve had over the last 10 months…

Love,
Papa