There you are, driving home from the grocery store/Bed Bath & Beyond/Babies-R-Us/Home Depot/any of the other thrilling suburban points of interest that make up a weekend as a parent.
The baby has been asleep in her car seat for almost 40 minutes. The ride has been blissfully calm.
(Yes, the car was stopped when I took this.)
Suddenly, a weak, “mmmrrrrrrrr…” echoes from the back seat.
“Oh no.”
First you ignore it and remain quiet. You glance at the radio (which is turned off), in an effort to somehow try and turn down the sounds of the road.
“garimmph…”
You try the pleasantries approach. “Hi, sweetheart. That was a good nap.”
“MMrrrraaah. Ah.”
Then the conversational tack. “Oh yeah?”
“Gahrrrr…” You hear the agitation level rising.
“Okay. It’s okay…”
“mmmMMNNNAAAAAAAAH!”
And here starts…
Driver’s Edition
“I know, kiddo. We’re not far from home.”
and
“We’ll get you out of there soon!”
and
“Not far now, then we’ll get out of the car and play!”
and
“We’ll have a snack as soon as we get to the house.”
All of these are tried, and each is met with the same surly response:
“GRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
Now I ask you, why do we do this?
I mean, obviously the kid doesn’t understand a single word we’re saying. We might as well be discussing Amontons’ Law and the friction coefficients of galvanized rubber.
So is it our hope that the sound of our voice from the front seat will somehow reassure the child?
“Yes little one,” says the disembodied parental voice-over “I understand your concern. I too know the plight of being strapped into a tiny papasan chair that’s travelling backwards at unimaginable speeds. But worry not, Kal-El! This is likely to end well.”
Sure it had mobile video, but where was the LATCH system in this thing?
So you pull a Martin Riggs and de-socket your shoulder blade to reach behind you, and gently wobble your arm back and forth in an effort to reassuringly stroke the child’s hair. This pathetic effort is met with even louder wails and a pair of tiny hands that angrily push yours away.
No dice, Old Man.
Desperation sets in. You start fumbling with the radio again and try out your “Baby Sessions Vol. III” playlist. Sadly, it seems that the soothing harmonies of what can best be described as coked-up beavers chirping the words to, “Wheels on the Bus” does nothing to stop the screaming that’s emanating from the back seat.
You briefly consider turning the music up to simply drown out the noise, but that seems cruel. Besides, Little Baby Bum songs are every bit as irritating as the baby’s cries.
The jaw clenches. The brow furrows. Nerves flash with each new scream.
You press on.
All of you.
Trapped.
Then, as you round the corner to your street, the cries inexplicably stop. A happy little burble/giggle floats up.
All has suddenly become well and good in your baby’s world.
That is, until you try to take them out of the car…
j.s.
Posted: July 12, 2016 · Leave a Comment
Back Seat Bartering
There you are, driving home from the grocery store/Bed Bath & Beyond/Babies-R-Us/Home Depot/any of the other thrilling suburban points of interest that make up a weekend as a parent.
The baby has been asleep in her car seat for almost 40 minutes. The ride has been blissfully calm.
Suddenly, a weak, “mmmrrrrrrrr…” echoes from the back seat.
“Oh no.”
First you ignore it and remain quiet. You glance at the radio (which is turned off), in an effort to somehow try and turn down the sounds of the road.
“garimmph…”
You try the pleasantries approach. “Hi, sweetheart. That was a good nap.”
“MMrrrraaah. Ah.”
Then the conversational tack. “Oh yeah?”
“Gahrrrr…” You hear the agitation level rising.
“Okay. It’s okay…”
“mmmMMNNNAAAAAAAAH!”
And here starts…
“I know, kiddo. We’re not far from home.”
and
“We’ll get you out of there soon!”
and
“Not far now, then we’ll get out of the car and play!”
and
“We’ll have a snack as soon as we get to the house.”
All of these are tried, and each is met with the same surly response:
“GRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
Now I ask you, why do we do this?
I mean, obviously the kid doesn’t understand a single word we’re saying. We might as well be discussing Amontons’ Law and the friction coefficients of galvanized rubber.
So is it our hope that the sound of our voice from the front seat will somehow reassure the child?
“Yes little one,” says the disembodied parental voice-over “I understand your concern. I too know the plight of being strapped into a tiny papasan chair that’s travelling backwards at unimaginable speeds. But worry not, Kal-El! This is likely to end well.”
So you pull a Martin Riggs and de-socket your shoulder blade to reach behind you, and gently wobble your arm back and forth in an effort to reassuringly stroke the child’s hair. This pathetic effort is met with even louder wails and a pair of tiny hands that angrily push yours away.
No dice, Old Man.
Desperation sets in. You start fumbling with the radio again and try out your “Baby Sessions Vol. III” playlist. Sadly, it seems that the soothing harmonies of what can best be described as coked-up beavers chirping the words to, “Wheels on the Bus” does nothing to stop the screaming that’s emanating from the back seat.
You briefly consider turning the music up to simply drown out the noise, but that seems cruel. Besides, Little Baby Bum songs are every bit as irritating as the baby’s cries.
The jaw clenches. The brow furrows. Nerves flash with each new scream.
You press on.
All of you.
Trapped.
Then, as you round the corner to your street, the cries inexplicably stop. A happy little burble/giggle floats up.
All has suddenly become well and good in your baby’s world.
That is, until you try to take them out of the car…
j.s.
Posted: July 11, 2016 · Leave a Comment
Out of Doors
Hiya.
So I’m guessing by now you might’ve heard a little about that whole Pokémon thing that I talked about on Friday. It’s a big deal. According to today’s numbers, it’s about to catch up with Twitter in total devices running it.
I took Daphne to the local Dirt Mall on BumbleDay to replace my box fan, and there were literally hundreds of Pokémon “trainers” there, all hunched over their phones’ tiny screens, doing battle at the myriad gyms/Pokéstops nearby.
A teeming ocean of people, all of whom were playing the same game, at the same time, in the same place, and yet none of them spoke a single word to each other. It was, to put it mildly, a little creepy. And this from a guy who really likes games.
Anyway, moving on…
There’s been a new development over the weekend with Daphne. I’ve mentioned in the past that the girl really loves being outside. Well, now she’s toddling over to the doors of the house and banging on them to convey her desire to be allowed outside.
Outside.
In Texas. In July.
She is very clearly trying to assassinate her father via heat stroke.
Fortunately I’ve been able to distract her from said egress until the early evening hours, when the sun has moved away from its diurnal apex of 700 yards over Houston. See, there’s a very short window of time when the temperature drops into the non-lethal high 90’s, but it’s still bright enough outside that the bloodsucking mosquito luftwaffe remain in torpor.
And it’s during this time that I open the door, take my daughter’s hand, and we head outside to play in the grass.
And by, “play,” I mean Daphne pulls the grass up…
Rubs it around in her hands for a moment…
Then throws it into the air…
And claps.
Then repeats the process.
And this simple act makes her the happiest little girl on Earth.
And if there’s a better way to spend the last moments before sunset, I’ve never seen them.
j.s.
Posted: July 8, 2016 · 2 Comments
Gamenami
A veritable tidal wave of diversionary activity!
So first up, some of you longtime Bumblers will remember me talking about a mobile game called “Ingress.” Well those same folk have teamed up with Nintendo, and used the existing Ingress engine for Pokemon Go.
It released yesterday in the U.S, and the gaming world has completely caught fire over it. Right now everyone is flinging Poké Balls at tiny monsters that are hidden all around us.
I’ve been playing it for a bit too. I caught a Meowth in my garage, a Squirtle by the elevator at work, and a sneaky little Weedle was hiding in my comforter this morning. (Mind out of the gutter, people.)
Anyway, it’s adorable. It’s free. Your kids will love it. And they will utterly destroy the battery on your phone in under an hour while playing it. Enjoy.
On the analog gaming front, I need to pick up a couple games this weekend for research purposes. Hmm… You know, I’ve already signed an NDA for this stuff, and so I’m not sure what I am and am not allowed to talk about.
So I’ll just say that I’m attempting to do some freelance stuff and I need to pick up a couple games so I have a grounding in their IPs.
The first is Arkham Horror, which has absolutely nothing to do with Arkham Asylum.
From what I can tell, it’s a board game set in a 1920’s Massachusetts town that’s being overrun by some Lovecraftian undesirables. Looks interesting. And squamous.
The other is Android: Netrunner which is a living card game that has a Bladerunner meets Neuromancer/Snow Crash feel about it.
This one has a helluva lot more expansions and rules than the former, so it could take me a while to figure it out.
So what this means is that my poor wife will have to suffer through these games with me over the next few days while I get a handle on how each one plays. All so I can perform the freelance work that I’ve agreed to undertake.
Yep. It’s a nonstop haut monde adventure being married to such a glamorous man. I’m quite certain you all envy her. Although, soon enough it will be Daphne’s job to suffer through these things with her father, and Jen will be off the hook.
Okay, see you guys on Monday.
j.s.
Posted: July 7, 2016 · 1 Comment
Happy Talky Talk
I know one of the cardinal sins of parenting is to look up “milestones” on the interwebs to see if your kid is checking all the proper boxes. And I also know that every other parent since the days of AOL offering us “1000 Free Hours!” on CD has done the same thing…and come away unnerved.
Daphne is rapidly approaching the 15-month mark, and has yet to utter any real words. She babbles various vowel and consonant sounds, and sometimes mimics sounds that you say to her. Like “da-da-da-da.” (She’ll also often whisper too, if I’m doing it.)
Now “concerned” is too strong a word for what I’m feeling about this; “curiously monitoring” is really where I am right now.
I mean, I’ve mentioned before how much she loves books. And her favorite game right now is to point to letters in her “A is for Art Museum” book and have us say them aloud to her.
First she points at a letter on the left page, and her mom or I will say it aloud. Then she’ll point at whatever image is on the right, and we’ll say what that is.
I say this because I don’t think there are any kind of developmental issues with Daph. I mean, holding a book right-side-up and pointing at letters are milestones for a 3-year-old.
But for some reason, we’re still waiting on that first real “word.”
Rather impatiently, I guess.
j.s.
Posted: July 6, 2016 · Leave a Comment
Roused Into Anger
An interesting post-nap phenomenon has begun to take place, and until now I haven’t been sure of how to fix it.
Each time Daphne takes a late-afternoon nap, she awakes with the burning fury of a thousand suns and screams inconsolably for about 30 minutes.
No amount of soothing, cooing, bouncing, walking, apple juice, cookies, TV or music can calm this toddler tempest, and our only solution has been to plow straight through it while picking up everything within arms reach to see if maybe it might, perhaps, oh-God-please-let-this-be the thing that stops the wailing.
Although I did happen to Bumble my way into a solution yesterday though.
I took her outside.
Suddenly, the crying stopped, a smile crept across her face, and she began to twist herself around while looking down at the grass. For those not in the know, this is unambiguous Daphne sign for “Let go of me immediately. I have pressing engagements elsewhere.”
And so she toddled around in our backyard while her father slowly liquefied in the Texas July heat.
Turns out this little girl LOVES being outside in the grass…
Clearly she’s not the only one.
j.s.
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