Ix-Nay on the Ursing-Cay

Recently we noticed that Sidney was using fewer random phonemes and instead engaging more deliberate speech.  He is repeating sounds he hears a lot, and repeats some simple words very-often.  He also now does a running commentary, utilizing a structured babble (consisting of these learned sounds and small words) to narrate as he goes about his day (you guessed it, now there are two wandering philosophers in the house, except he makes considerably more sense).  Now, as an inveterate linguaphile (Exibit A), I was ecstatic because my first thought was "front row seat to linguistic development!"  As an inveterate potty-mouth (I am a lawyer, Exhibit B), however, I was petrified because my second thought was "holy @#!&ing $#!^ I have to seriously stop cursing."  I have no doubt all parents experience this epiphany.  Indeed, the euphemisms employed by loving mothers and fathers to avoid exposing their treasured young to the harsher, more vulgar, near barbaric corners of language outnumber the actual curses (almost).  The problem, as you likely guessed, is not with the idea, which is probably near universal in acceptance; no, the rub lies in the practice.  

I am not a fan of neutered curses.  Intellectually I find them dishonest.  When someone says "gosh darn it" or "gee willickers" we all know full well they mean "goddamnit".  We also know full well what someone means when they say "shoot", "shucks" or "sugar" in that tone, and there is no need to get into "F it", "F off" and "are you gosh darn F'ing with me. Shoot."  You're not fooling anyone, either curse or completely refrain; this was my intellectual stance on the subject.  You see where this is going.  My new role as "Dad" put me in a bit of a pickle, a cognitive conundrum (Exhibit C) if you would.  Do I compromise my intellectual stance, or do I risk turning my son into a potty-mouth (a few years early; we live in NYC and Nana and the Admiral are in Philly people, it's inevitable).  The solution I am trying to implement is the "completely refrain", this way I can satisfy both my intellectual convictions and my fatherly duties.  However, nobody plans on cursing (except for Quentin Tarantino), it really just flies out in the heat of the moment.  So what we end up with is me cutting myself off mid-sentence the moment I realize I am about to curse (when we're lucky).  This, unfortunately, leads to conversations that sound like I have either been struck down mid-sentence or am suffering from intermittent selective-mutism.  

So, the good news is Sidney will (hopefully) hear incredibly fewer curses at home and I do not have to compromise my intellectual snobbery.  The bad news is Sidney is going to grow up thinking his father can't finish a goddamn sentence ... oh $#!&.

Did I really just say that?

There is a concept in the law (an exception to the "rule against hearsay" to be specific) known as the "excited utterance."  In a nutshell, things people hear others blurt out in the "heat of the moment" are given slightly higher weight than regular old over-heard stuff because, the theory goes (and I am over-simplifying here, so don't go quoting Moore's Federal Practice on me), folks are more likely to speak their mind honestly under Sudden High-Stress^™ and those over-hearing such sudden blurts are more likely to remember them accurately because of the intensity used in aforesaid blurting (ah lawyer, verbosity is thy name).  Now, this may be enlightening in the context of an investigation or trial, but it is downright worrisome when you apply the erstwhile aphorism to what can come out of a parent's mouth when their offspring induce Sudden High-Stress^™.  It's not so much that what is said is any less "honest" than the usual parental chatter (to the contrary, they are mostly raw unfiltered truth) but that the sentences themselves border on the nonsensical to the overhearing ear.  Both uttering parent and over-hearing "witness" are left with something that everyone agrees was said, but without a whole lot of context sounds daft, at best, or insane at worst (which is most often the case, naturally).  To illustrate, here are some Sidney induced excited utterances; imagine hearing these coming from inside an apartment or on the street without having the context:

Don't grab the poop!

We do not throw food in this house!

Don't pee ... don't pee ... don't pee!

Fine, you want to push buttons?  Now you watch QVC!

I said don't grab the poop!

We do not punch the puppies!

Please don't lick the window.

Did you just poop in the shower ... again?!

What are you doi ... oh no you don ... OH SERIOUSLY?!

Please don't lick the coffee table ... again.

Under what set of circumstances is flinging dinner helpful?

My point?  When your kid doesn't make you sound like a wandering sage dispensing wisdom, he makes you sound like a raving lunatic with stress-induced tourettes.  Then again, most of Nietzsche's writings indicate this is a thin line to begin with. 

The Wandering Philosopher

Sidney had been cruising for a little while (walking while holding on to things), but finally made the jump to full on walking just a few weeks ago.  Where once all we had to worry about was his apparent ability to teleport while crawling, now someone has to pretty much follow him around whenever he decides to walk out of whatever room we are all in (which, by the way, is always).  Our participation in the never-ending game of Follow Sidney has lead me to an epiphany: Socrates and Lao Tzu were following toddlers around most of the time.  Hear me out on this one.  We are all familiar with Socrates and Lao Tzu's reported founding of Peripatetic Schools (well, you are now), wherein they wandered around and espoused teachings to anyone whom was following them along. Now, the rub is that an inordinate amount of Socratic "wisdom", much like Taoist, is versed in the form of aphorisms that the listener then figures out the "true" meaning of for himself.  That is the touted "brilliance" of the methods.  However, as I listen to myself, The Wife, Nana, Abuela (Socrates is multilingual), The Admiral and Abuelo following Sidney around, we're all posing what could be perceived as Socratic/Taoist questions to an observer that does not realize we are following Sidney.  To illustrate, here are some of the things we have said while trailing Sidney and what an unknowing observer would take to be their "deep meaning":

That table is not going to get out of your way:  We must recognize obstacles that require us to modify our paths.

Why would you cover your eyes when you are walking?:  Be mindful of where you are, and what you are doing, life happens all around you, but only if you pay attention.

You can't carry that and walk at the same time:  Know your limitations.

Are you seriously trying to go right back from where we just left?:  Always move forward, the past is gone.

Where is your other shoe?:  No, seriously, where is the damn shoe ... you just had it on a second ago and it is nowhere near where you are standing now.  How does a shoe disappear?!

So the next time you hear someone drop an apparently deep truth wrapped in a mundane observation, look around, odds are they are high-tailing after an escaped toddler.

No, seriously, I am going to post more often.

My Wife has pointed out that I have all but abandoned the blog despite the fact that Sidney continues to do hilarious things. The feeble defense I proffered was that my masterfully long posts took time to craft, time I was electing to spend instead with our bouncing baby boy (or sleeping...ok, mostly sleeping).  She has since destroyed the defense with the outside the box solution of making shorter posts (forgetting that lawyers have no concept of brevity).  So, going forward, shorter, but more plentiful, posts. 

As for Sidney, he preferred the longer posts.  Gave him something to do during breakfast.

Stay tuned for musings on Sidney's recent graduation to full bore on walking.

Off to the races.

So, Sidney is mobile.  It started off innocently enough, he went from “getting into the crawl position” to “dragging himself to a new location” (previously discussed) to “oh look, he’s crawling!”.  This was all very exciting, and The Wife and I were beaming with parental pride at our son’s development … then he learned how to teleport.  I know what you’re all thinking, “oh, Ed, you and your colorful hyperbole!”, but there is no other (comedic) way to describe the staggering speed at which Sidney gets from point A to point B when you are not directly watching him.  It’s not unlike observing an Uncertainty Principle experiment on a macro scale: you either know that Sidney is moving, but can’t spot him immediately, or you can pinpoint where he is exactly, but you have no idea how, or more importantly how fast, he got there.  Heisenberg, you had no idea how deep your theory ran. 

Now, Sidney’s adherence to quantum laws creates some additional problems as well.  First, unless you are staring right at him, you have no guaranty he is going to be anywhere near his last spot if you take your gaze away from him to do something else, like, for example, blinking.  He’s playing with a toy near the couch, you blink, he’s now in front of the bedroom door, you sneeze and suddenly he’s at the wine rack pulling at a bottle.  Your eyes were shut for a total combined 6 nano-seconds (might have been longer, and I might have left the room momentarily, but who’s counting) and he’s traversed 15 feet, making 2 stops.  Come to think of it, it’s the Uncertainty Principle wrapped around Schrödinger’s Cat: Sidney either is or is not teleporting to some new spot in the apartment, but you can’t tell until you look up and yell “WHERE DID YOU GO!?”

Second, Sidney can force objects through Einstein-Rosen-esque worm holes and/or extra-dimensional pockets, rendering them, at least temporarily, un-findable.  To illustrate, he has a set of nestling cups that he loves playing with (Nana, Abuela and the Admiral have spent countless hours building towers with them for him that he gleefully knocks down).  Sidney grabs the nestled stack of cups and within seconds half of them are nowhere to be seen.  They have been found whole rooms away from where he was playing with them during the day.  The only possible (not really) explanation is that he is holding onto one just as he teleports (because you blinked) and the thing is dropped off in some Calabi-Yau nook from which it emerges later.  I’m starting to think early quantum physicists were participating in an elaborate “bring your kids to work” program when they made most of their discoveries.

All of this aside, watching a whole new world open up for Sidney is fascinating.  The smile on his face when he races to something he was staring at, or having him crawl from one end of the couch just to snuggle with you, brings a warmth to the heart that words do not adequately convey.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish work on a multi-dimensional tracking device.

Hey Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat ...

It is difficult to describe the joy I feel watching Sidney learn something new, observing him discover his world.  Despite its richness, deep reserve of synonyms and ridiculous ease of metaphor, English may simply not be equipped to accurately convey this euphoric melange of pride, happiness, excitement and amazement.  What it can readily describe, however, are the emotions that follow this medley of merriment, the emotions I feel as I realize exactly what Sidney's particular discovery means for good old Mom and Dad.  Here is but a smattering of my post pride realizations, and what caused them:

1. We've been had!: We recently had a very nice trip to Ocean City, NJ.  The Wife, Sidney and Nana were there for the start, and the Admiral and I joined later in the week.  During this trip Sidney discovered sand, the ocean, frozen custard and the Boardwalk.  Now, at home, when Sidney is fussy around bed-time we will take him out for a walk as the motion will usually put him right to sleep.  Well, he quickly discovered that in Ocean City this meant another trip to the Boardwalk.  That's right, he'd fake cry and fuss until we found ourselves strolling up and down his new favorite place.  It was the Wife that first made the realization, before the Admiral and I had made it down.  In what was a very poignantly written chat message, I was informed that our adorable 6 month old son was playing her and Nana, shamelessly.  I witnessed his act for myself later that week, and sure enough our little Three-Card Monty player was pulling in us rubes.  On the one hand, this is an amazing leap in cognitive function, predicting the behavior of others and realizing that he can affect outcomes with his behavior.  On the other, we've been had.

2. I've been taught to fetch!: Sidney has been playing with toys for a little while now, and it is always fascinating to watch him examine the objects, turn them in his hands, inevitably shove them in his mouth, and occasionally have them go flying when his exuberance outpaced his grip (l figured he was being a typical physicist and assuming zero friction for purposes of his calculations).  The toy would fly in a random direction and someone (usually Mommy, Daddy, Nana or Abuela) would go retrieve it and give it back.  For a little while it would be a different toy that would go flying, so I assumed (silly me) that we were still dealing with random vector equations; then came the rings.  Sidney has a set of stacking rings that he will meticulously take apart and then play with the rings, mostly throwing them.  I know, great!  He is engaging spatial relations to enable his removal of the rings from their stacked position; full three dimensional reasoning.  You know what else he was engaging in?  Making us get the rings and bring them back.  That's right, we were playing fetch.  I had suspected this much, but it took having him look at a rattle he was playing with (which he until then had not intentionally thrown), look at me, throw the rattle and then look back to me for it to fully sink in; he had us trained.  And, because he is my son, he smiled right at me as if to add an exclamation point to his lesson.  Well played Sidney, well played.

3. Holy crap, we have to move everything!:  This one just happened this week, so it is fresh on the mind.  Sidney had been sitting up for a while now, but only when you put him in that position.  If he fell over, he usually either rolled around, did his half-crawl/half-military drag, or complained until you sat him back up.  Sure you had to keep an eye on him, but once he was down, he was staying down.  Then I received the phone call from the Wife: "Sidney just sat up on his own.  We were on the couch, he was laying there, I turned around, turned back and he was sitting up."  He didn't repeat the feat immediately, so we thought this was a one off ... until the next morning.  He had just been put down for his morning nap when he did it again ... he slid his right leg underneath himself, pushed off and was sitting.  This was amazing.  He had figured out his body position, what limbs needed to bend and move in what direction, how much pressure he needed to lift himself, not to mention the acting on his desire to be sitting up.  This was huge!  So many systems involved and he was doing it at 6 months!  This was great!  If he could do this, he was just a short discovery away from pulling himself u...OH CRAP WE HAVE TO MOVE EVERYTHING.  At that instant our apartment went from wonderful home to baby death-trap.  We have to drop the crib to the lower mattress setting; the coffee table has to go, that thing is just the right height to be dangerous; the wine racks, he might try to pull himself up on them!  We had always known we would need to baby-proof the place, but it was something we had to do down the road.  Well ... it's down the road. 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to move everything ... and fetch two rattles that he threw.

Meanwhile, back at the baby food aisle ...

As I mentioned in the last post (cue flashback visual), Sidney is now eating baby food in addition to his formula.  Relevant to this (and to set up this week's humor), I have decided that I will try anything I am going to give Sindey first, partly because I am an over-protective father, but mostly because I want to know the likelihood he is going to spit something out so I can prepare (read: dive for cover).  Let’s face it, if an adult is so repulsed by the flavor of something that it almost goes flying, there is a high probability the wee one is going to be nonplussed and pull a Vesuvius circa 79 CE (we save Krakatoa analogies for explosions out the other end).  For those unfamiliar with baby food, it is usually described as being simply “pureed” food.  Although this coveys the consistency decently, flavor is another matter.  You see, most people season their food, and there are no seasonings in baby food.  It is naked food, if you will (and in front of the children no less!)  We’ve been at this for a few weeks now, so I have sampled a decent variety of the infant offerings made by the various purveyors of fine baby dining (the names of the innocent, and guilty, have been omitted ... mostly because I don't keep track of who makes what).  But, given my hobbies as a Scotch aficionado, amateur oenologist, and general food snob, I could not help but keep notes (go with it people, work with me here) on the gustatory profiles of the different meals we have given Sidney.  So, without further set-up blathering, my blathering about baby food:

1) Bananas:  This tastes like the essence of banana.  Smooth, distinct fruit notes, clean finish.  Varietals include bananas and berries (the berries are present breifly at the introduction, give way to the banana, but return for a hint at finish), bananas and pineapple (the slight tang of the pineapple finishes on the palate) and bananas, apples and oatmeal (don’t ask, but it works).  Dad’s reaction: Mmm, bananas.  Sindey’s reaction: eager consumption.

2) Apples: It’s apple sauce, but smoother.  Varietals include apples and berries (the berries are forefront, give a broader sweetness), apples and pears (the pears and apples complement, but there is a distinct pear finish) and apples and insert random fruit of choice.  In fact, lets just leave fruits, because pretty much the answer is “it tastes like that fruit.”  Dad’s reaction: OK, fruit, I get it.  Sindey’s reaction: eager consumption.

3) Sweet potatoes: Consistency is softer than sweet potato mash, but firmer than the fruits.  Muted sweetness gives way to a bland finish.  Dad’s reaction: needs brown sugar.  Sindey’s reaction: I’ll eat it so long as I am really hungry.

4) Squash: Firmer than the last entry, but no sweetness to be had.  Not quite bland, but close enough.  Squash flavor is identifiable, but not dominant.  Dad’s reaction: needs butter and salt.  Sidney’s reaction:  We’re done after 5 spoonfuls; where’s that formula bottle?

5) Peas: peas.  That’s all I got; peas.  Dad’s reaction: peas.  Sidney’s reaction: pass.

6) Green beans:  Nightmares from youth revisited.  Canned, vaguely metallic introduction followed by hints of rubber, shrubbery and despair.  Dad’s reaction: But I don’t wannnnnt green beans.  Sidney’s reaction: Vesuvius.

7) Ham in ham gravy: The first of our meats, unfortunately, instead of pureeing ham they appear to have described ham to a first generation food replicator and packaged the result.  All of the flavors you would use to describe ham are present, but are somehow horribly wrong.  The best I can say is it looks like pink sludge and tastes only slightly better.  Dad’s reaction: Vesuvius.  Sindey’s reaction: not happening people. Not. Happening.

8) Rice and lentils: Upon opening one is assaulted by the smell of weeds, and it just goes down hill from there.  Dad’s reaction: this tasted like mowing the lawn smells.  Sidney’s reaction: I’m not stupid, I saw his face.  Good day.  I said good day!

9) Chicken and corn:  pleasant on the nose, hints of chicken and corn, gently sweet background.  Finishes savory.  Dad’s reaction: not bad.  Sidney’s reaction: OK, I’ll eat this, but there better be fruit for breakfast tomorrow.

10) Sweet Corn Chowder.  Immediate corn nose, initial sweet notes give way to a complex but hearty corn body, slightly rough finish.  Dad’s reaction: eager consumption.  Sidney’s reaction: why is Dad eating my food?

Depending on the reaction to this entry, I may share further tasting notes.  Management takes no responsibility for any independent tasting undertaken by you after reading the above.  Your mileage may vary.