I have been busy lately with a wide variety of work projects, baby sickness, and the imminent collapse of all important/expensive parts of our house. Busy, yes, but I'm not exactly comfortable dubbing myself a busy beaver: I don't know much on the work habits of nocturnal, semi-aquatic rodents (thank you, Wikipedia). And since all this "work" is taking place at night, possibly under water, I'm guessing even licensed beaverologists don't know quite how busy beavers are. What am I talking about again?
Anyway, things are hectic enough that I am not really paying much attention to the calendar. Today at work, someone asked, "Hey, are we working on Monday?" I said, "Man, Mondays suck, but we should come in unless it's for something special." It turned out that Monday actually IS something special: it's the 4th of July! How did that happen? The ship has now totally sailed on my big Passover party.
I am excited about Independence Day, though. I get to introduce 3 great parts of being an American to August: fireworks, American flag do-rags, and our love-hate relationship with the Brits. If anyone knows a way for me to combine all 3 into a potent blast of Americana, let me know. I suspect it's theoretically possible, but it could only occur in certain pristine conditions, like Toby Keith's garage.
Independence Day is one of my favorite holidays, in addition to being one of my favorite Jeff Goldblum vehicles. I spent a lot of Independence Days at the beach when I was growing up, attempting to blow up jellyfish with Black Cats. That might be too much for a 7 month old. Then again, if he's strapped into a Baby Bjorne and I'm handling the dangerous parts, it just might be perfect.
Our whirlwind trip to Illinois is complete. What were we doing there? Laura's family does a big family reunion around her great grandmother's birthday. This year, it was an even bigger occasion, as she was turning 100. You can (and should) accuse me of many things, but never accuse me of being callous enough to skip my great grandmother-in-law's 100th birthday, even if it requires taking my 6 month old son on his first plane trip.
When it comes to parenting, I am an idea man. I even have a snappy name for my unorthodox parenting techniques: I call them baby hacks, a name which never fails to provoke terrifying mental imagery for everybody around me.
With all the modesty in the world, I must admit that I came up with my greatest baby hack yet on the airplane. Shortly after we sat down, August started to squirm and hoot. Had I been thinking ahead, I would've brought along infant sudoku or something similarly engrossing. Not having any of that, I did the next best thing: I handed him a copy of Sky Mall.
He proceeded to do exactly what I've always wanted to do to Sky Mall: he ripped it to shreds. His hatred for Sky Mall was so strong, he not only tore up that one copy; he actually tore up a copy of all 4 flights we were on. It wasn't a frenzy of tearing either. He tore each page and wadded it up, then waited for me to turn to the page. The only thing missing was a maniacal laugh after he tore out each page.
On the one hand, I applaud him for his anti-materialistic gusto. On the other hand, if he feels this strongly about Sky Mall, I have no idea where I'll get him an $800 novelty suit of armor.