Florida - America's Wang

I'll be in Florida until Sunday night. I'm going to the beach, and you can't stop me.

Great! Grandparents

I started to write about the inverse proportion of excitement to nervousness as you ascend the rungs of a family tree - and probably will finish that thought at one point - but decided that I'd rather write about Paul & Minnie. That's my grandfather and grandmother. That's my baby's great-grandfather and great-grandmother. My child will be Paul & Minnie's ninth great-grandchild. That's a starting line up.

Paul and Minnie are on my mind for a few reasons: My Lovely Wife and I are visiting them this weekend in (where else?) southern Florida; Paul turns 96 next month; Their bodies might betray them, but their minds are still sharp.

My grandparents fascinate me. Born at the dawn of the last century, Paul and Minnie retreated from New York City to upstate New York to live and work, raising my mother and her siblings until they retired. In 1972. And since then they have ridden the retiree's roller coaster, from ocean-front high rise to full-service assisted living. And they still (when not recovering from broken hips) manage to walk to the dining room every night.

I am in constant awe of my grandparents' lives and ages. All that they have done and all that they have seen, I cannot even begin to fathom. It is difficult for me to comprehend a world they may have lived in, with little or no electricity, or a family radio, or even the advent of TV dinners. The best perspective I have on just how old my grandparents are comes from my last overnight stay with them.

We spent most of our time that evening watching coverage of the 2002 Winter Olympics. During the telecast, an announcer mentioned that the first modern Winter Olympics were held in 1924: My grandparents are older than the Winter Olympics! Also during the telecast, Cadillac ran a commercial featuring Led Zeppelin's "Rock and Roll." That song was first released in 1971. My grandparents have been retired since Led Zeppelin's heyday! That is freaking old.

There is a realistic shot my grandparents are only 5-6 years away from being great-great-grandparents if my cousin stays on this side of cute.

The payoff of being a great-grandparent must be bittersweet. When my grandparents were born, I'm guessing there weren't too many great-grandparents around to welcome them into the world. At the same time, they are shells of the people I knew growing up; the couple that would drive me to the beach, or swim with me or teach me shuffleboard. Their children have taken over as the young, fun retirees and ferry their grandkids from the beach to the pool.

Paul and Minnie are lucky enough to be able to sit and watch, but that is all they are able to do.

By genetic chance, Paul and Minnie's surname has died. Their son had daughters; their daughters had sons. But Paul and Minnie continue on. The couple that is older than the Winter Olympics, thought Zeppelin was too loud the first time around, and has been retired since the Nixon administration have outlived even their last name.

Oh God, What Have I Done? (Part I)

"We own property together, now you can't get out."

And with those comforting and sarcastic words, my wife and I ended a busy, busy day.

As I mentioned in this breathless post, My Lovely Wife and I were set to purchase our first home, a condominium, where our future baby will grow and play and laugh and occasionally irritate the neighbors.

Yesterday was the day. About 24 hours ago, my wife and I officially purchased a home. And, as anyone who has gotten married and then purchased a home with their spouse can attest: there is a lot more paper work involved in the latter.

To get married in the District of Columbia, we had to plop down about $35 bucks, take a blood test, and sign a single document. To purchase real estate in the state of Maryland, a little more documentation and background information was required. Indeed, it is more difficult to purchase - and subsequently sell- real estate than it is to get married. All this, of course, pales in comparison to making a baby, which can be done for free, in your spare time.

The transition from free-wheeling single to Suburban Dad is nearly complete - those "Old School" quotes ring a bit too close to home now.

I'm comforted by the fact that my baby will have a room of his or her own - not a closet or dresser drawer - and my monthly checks will come back to me, in one form or another, rather than to a leasing company.

Of all the things I saw and signed yesterday, the figure that caught my eye the most was "total payments." The sum of all mortgage payments should my wife and I pay off our mortgage under the current terms. It's a lot of money - more money than I ever considered could pass through me. And that number is when it really hit home - and inspiration for the title of this post.

(Believe it or not there is an "Oh God, What Have I Done? (Part II)" in the works. It is totally unrelated to housing or babies and completely related to the public embarrassment of me! Should be fun for everyone. I'll know more details later this week. How's that for a tease?)

This Week in Fatherhood

"This Week in Fatherhood" publicizes and celebrates fathers across the globe. We laugh at their foibles, chuckle at their misfortune, and remind ourselves that there are no prerequisites to fatherhood. Let us all learn from their idiocy.

• If you're that concerned about his mom stealing money, cut off her hands, don't make the kid suffer.
• Sometimes, if your kid doesn't want to eat his vegtables, you have to just let him have his way.
• There are eight rules to "Fight Club." The little-known ninth rule? No tasers at fight club.
• "The story is about a father who tries to save his daughter from zombies." What right-minded father wouldn't? (third item down)

Really? Kids Do This?

Part of my becoming a parent includes a bit of toughening up. While I know that I won't be able to prepare for every conceivable scenario, there are a few things I know that I can get ready to face: vomiting, spitting up, uncontrollable peeing, pooping, uncontrollable pooping, crying, screaming, spilling, convulsing, kicking, biting, clawing, pinching, throwing, hitting, frowning, but one that hadn't crossed my mind was publicly masturbating.

Is that even covered in The Worst Case Scenario Handbook?

So much to learn, so many surprises.

How To Properly Trash-Talk a Baby

Congratulations to blogger, basketball player, and all-around lovable scamp Gilbert Arenas. The Washington Wizard's second child, Alijah Amani Arenas, was born this week in Walnut Creek, California. In true Gilbert style, he has already laid down some smack to his infant son.

I’m very excited...I was talking a little trash to him already. I told him
hopefully he darkens up a little bit, because he was a little light in the skin.
Then I told him he needs to watch the movie 300, because he needs to be a
Spartan type of man.

While it's not unusual for a new father to impart his wisdom, hopes, and dreams softly into a newborn's ear, Gilbert's trash talk takes it to a whole new level. Maybe this will become the new trend in parenting - encouraging development through heckling.

• "You call that a cry for attention? I've heard elderly sheep that make more noise!"
• "What's the matter? You want something? Well, you better go get it yourself. What's that? You can't walk? Can't even crawl? Sucks to be you."
• "Finish that bottle...Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!"
• "You got so much baby fat, we don't have baby pictures, we got baby murals!"
• "Your momma...." Well, on second thought, maybe I should lay off the baby momma jokes

Many kudos to you, Gilbert, on the new arrival. Kudos, also, for being at the birth in person. I'm not sure what you would have done had the Wizards not been on a West Coast road trip, but that point is moot. One question, though. Why do you want your son to be a "Spartan type of man"? I always thought you'd want more of a Wildcat.

"The Culture of Intensive Mothering"

The Washington Post ran a fascinating couple of stories yesterday about motherhood, fatherhood, and parenting in general. The main conclusion of the stories, which report on the conclusion of a 40+-year study by the University of Maryland, is that parents, and mothers in general, face "Mommy Guilt" about spending time with their children, despite the fact that today's mothers/parents spend more time devoted to primary child care than in 1965.

Other interesting conclusions of the study:

• Fathers spend almost three times the amount of time on primary child care than they did a few decades ago (but still not as much as women do)
• Time spent "Working + Parenting" is nearly equal for men and women
• Modern children participate in A LOT of extra curricular activities
• "Mommy Guilt" has come about because, while mothers (working or otherwise) are spending more time on average with their children, they do not feel as if the time is well-spent (see shuttling to/fro the bullet point above)

The articles are quite interesting, and not being a parent or a sociologist, I don't have much to add or opine. But something did catch my eye in the middle of the article.

[W]omen -- especially those in the middle and upper-middle class --
feel that to be good mothers they need to be experts on child development and
spend more and more time interacting with their children

Do parents spend too much time worrying about their children, and their children's development, to fully enjoy being a parent? Will I decide that exposing my four-year-old daughter to ballet lessons is imperative to her successful development as a human being? Even if that comes to the detriment of so-called "quality family time."

Typically, I'm full of opinions and judgements - whether they be well-crafted and meticulously researched or off-the-cuff. Thinking about this study, however, I don't really have much of an opinion. I just think the findings are interesting.

The Best Show on Television

Between work and moving preparations, there hasn't been much time to write lately. I do want to state, definitely and for the record, that the greatest show on television, ever, is "America's Funniest Home Videos." Apologies to the Lears, Wheadons, Abrams, and Burrows of the world, but AFV (as us insiders call it), is the finest show, ever. I am not kidding.

Here is one of my favorite baby-related clips from AFV. It is awesome in so many ways, I feel compelled to count them.

1. It's babies laughing! In unison!
2. All the babies are bald
3. The "this isn't as funny as everyone else thinks it is" look on the poor mother's face
4. The baby in the lower left (or, as I call him, Baby 7pm) simultaneously laughing and thumbsucking
5. This clip won $10,000, which, collectively, should get this family about four weeks worth of diapers

This Week in Fatherhood

"This Week in Fatherhood" publicizes and celebrates fathers across the globe. We laugh at their foibles, chuckle at their misfortune, and remind ourselves that there are no prerequisites to fatherhood. Let us all learn from their idiocy.

• When transitioning your baby from depending on breasts for food to leering at them for sport, be sure to stay sober.
• The family that grows together, goes together.To jail.
• Father pulls "citizens arrest" on knife-wielding son. Blogger considers same for "disturbing the peace" when awoken at 2 am.
  
• I'm guessing "foliage-napping with the old man" won't put you on the fast track in the prison gang hierarchy.

Can Baby Say, "Poor Clock Management Ruins Pre-Game Preparation?"

I try not to discuss sports in great depth with my wife. She has two things working for her that make sports conversation challenging: an absolute ignorance of even the most basic rules of sports, and an unbelievable intelligence and sense of logic.

Explaining not just the rules, but the strategies of sports becomes a mental exercise.

"So that team has four tries to go ten yards?"
"They are called downs, but yes."
"So why do they just try three times and give up?"
"Well, punting gives the team better field position when they are on defense."
"That's stupid, they should just go for it, they are wasting 25% of their chances."
"Actually, it's funny you say that. A professor actually has been analyzing NFL coaches and their tendencies to go for it on fourth down and found that coaches should be more daring on fourth down. It will lead to greater rewards, statistically speaking."
"Hey, is The Fridge still playing?"

The conversation gets interesting when I try to explain my allegiances. There's not much explanation, really. I root for teams from Philadelphia, where I grew up for 18 years, and the University of Maryland, my alma mater. I have an interest in other teams, but feel no passion for them.

I haven't lived in Philadelphia for over a decade and currently live in a city with four professional sports teams. Yet I have never - and claim I will never - root for any of them. I'm even a season ticket holder for one team and openly root against them.

My love of Philadelphia sports was born of geography and nurtured by my father. But he was a Philadelphia transplant, moving to that city at roughly the same age I moved out on my own. He was from an area with no professional sports teams, and grew up in the "Game of the Week" era, so his allegiances weren't set until he settled down.

This is basically a long-winded introduction to me asking the eternal question: How can I steer my child to root for the teams I root for?

My child could convert to a different religion or decide that pyramid schemes are a good career choice and I wouldn't mind. But if my child declares him or herself a Redskins fan, I might not be able to take it.

Ah, but hope is on the way!

I learned today of a new company out there, Team Baby Entertainment, which creates and markets team-specific videos to young children. They've even lined up some big names to narrate the videos: Ben Affleck, Bob Costas, Regis Philbin, and more. What better way to ensure my child roots for the teams of my choice than infant propaganda?

While no video exists for any Philadelphia sports teams or the University of Maryland yet, I remain hopeful. I'm sure Ed Rendell or Sly Stallone would be up for the gig. And for my beloved Terps? How about this proud alum?

Really, infancy is the perfect time to begin watching sports. An infants fascination with movement and color will really allow the child to see patterns in intricate NFL defenses or identify when the third-base coach called for a hit-and-run. Most importantly, if you are a Philadelphia sports fan, you are also adept at crying.

My Father's Day

"My father died when he was 52."
"How did he die?"
"Heart attack. His father died of a heart attack, too, he was in his early-70's"

The above is verbatim dialogue from my doctor's appointment today. The death in question (my father's) was also today - nine years ago.

Given the health concerns that prematurely felled my father, I suppose a doctor's appointment was an appropriate tribute.

I'm doing fine, health-wise, thanks for asking. I've put on a bit more baby weight than I expected, but I'm hoping my recent cutback in reckless behavior will balance me out, at least until I stop eating double portions of dinner.

So, my dad has now missed out on nearly a third of my life (and more than a third of my brother's), and not just any third. He's missing out on the payoff.

It wasn't until I was faced with fatherhood that I began to realize the responsibilities that go beyond basic feeding and clothing. Being a father - a parent - is to take on the responsibility to help shape and develop a human being in your image (or not in your image, if that's the better way to go).

Being a father means taking the sum of your wisdom, experiences, and prejudices, and conveying them to another, highly malleable human. It means taking stock of life and man's role in the world and developing others to help share in your vision.

From political, philosophical, and theological beliefs down to the minutiae - your stance on the designated hitter, how you butter your bread - a father's beliefs and values are passed down to his children. All in the hope that your children - whether they ultimately share your belief system or use it as a base to discover their own - grow up to be productive within society, happy in their daily lives, and ultimately, make you proud of your efforts.

Done correctly, I imagine that it is an indescribable feeling. After years of nurturing, providing, crying, worrying, stressing, sweating, budgeting, cleaning, chauffeuring, and teaching, being witness to your child, all grown up, in a life of their own...that's the payoff.

And my father missed out.

The rites of passage he witnessed (bar mitzvah, high school graduation) pale in comparison to what he missed. He never saw me graduate from the college he tried so hard to pay for (let alone see their football team finish with more than three wins in a season), he never met the woman I married (he narrowly missed it, too), he never saw my first apartment or heard tales of my first non-hourly rate job. He missed one hell of a wedding. And he's missing the birth of his first grandchild.

I miss him and think about him everyday - but March 13 in particular (in case you were wondering, yes, he did die on Friday the 13). Though his death was personally tragic, I try to avoid the sappy, sentimental thoughts that gave us "Cat's in the Cradle" and "Field of Dreams." My father and I had a good relationship - certainly as good as a parent and child can, when that child was a teenager 35% of the time.

I'd love to conclude this post with something inspirational, like how I learned from my father's death that I need to live a better/healthier/more fulfilling life, but that simply isn't very true and it's not me. Honestly, I didn't learn much from my father's death other than learning how much it sucks when your father dies.

But I did learn from my father's life. I learned of the important balance between work and family. I learned that a parent should never stop finding ways take care of their family. I learned that you should never put your hand anywhere near the moving parts of a forklift. I learned you should probably upgrade your eyeglasses every decade or so and, that if you wait long enough, flannel will come back into style.

I will forever remain heartbroken that my father never had the chance to see either of his two sons grow up, met his daughter-in-law, or had the chance to impart his (grand)fatherly wisdom on his grandchild. But if my kid pops out and has blue eyes, is a southpaw or with a thick head of hair that's already turning gray - well, my father will have made his mark.

In Honor of March Madness

It's the most wonderful time, of the year!

Even the youngest among us get into college basketball during tournament season.

Why I'm Glad I Married My College Sweetheart: Exhibit A (via Deadspin)

Hey Kid, Santa Claus Ain't Real, Either

1. Register for Day Care
2. Complete Birth Certificate/Social Security Information
3. Register for This Club

Modern Medicine Miracle

"So, I was thinking about you dying..."

Now, that is a conversation starter! And that is also how I greeted my wife this afternoon when she came home from a successful trip to the maternity clothing store.

Funny thing about bringing a new life into the world. You think more about how you will depart. Things that seemed to be far off worries become sudden necessities: wills, godparents, insurance.

Remember when you drunkenly joked to your college roommate, "Ok, if I die, you can have my stuff?" That was a long time ago.

But what got me thinking about my wife dying was that only a few decades ago, childbirth may have killed her.

Centuries ago, a woman dying during childbirth was commonplace. Centuries ago, an infant had a far worse chance of seeing age one than it does today.

Today, when I hear about a woman dying during childbirth (typically from "complications"), I can only think how antiquated that sounds. But for us - for my wife - it is a very real possibility. Or at least it would have been.

Thanks to the miracle of modern medicine, my wife's childbirth will likely be death-free, though more pre-planned than we once thought. Her blood, usually the consistency of a fine marinara, is thinned twice daily. Potentially fatal blood clots never have the chance to form and my wife will not suffer a fate more suitable for a 17th Century European peasant.

So, with one calamity avoided, it's on to preparing for the next by making sure that should I meet a premature demise, that my family will be taken care of. Even in death, you can't stop being a responsible father.

This Week in Fatherhood

"This Week in Fatherhood" publicizes and celebrates fathers across the globe. We laugh at their foibles, chuckle at their misfortune, and remind ourselves that there are no prerequisites to fatherhood. Let us all learn from their idiocy.

• If you're enough of a jackass to beat a three-month old, you're probably enough of a jackass to think you can fool anyone with a lame cover story.
• Get used to it - if your wife, or girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend is pregnant, you will be reduced to a punching bag.
• Nothing good ever happens in a basement.

An(other) Open Letter To Tom Brady

Dear Tom:

Dude.

I got nothing.

Seriously, two chicks in four months?

Sorry man, I got nothing.

Best,

SteveJeltzFan

Those Crazy Cravings

I've gotten asked a few times, "So is your wife craving anything?". My immediate answer is no, no she is not. My wife isn't screaming for pickle ice cream or late night pasta with any regularity. In fact, as I alluded to in a previous post, she isn't craving one particular food. But she is craving. And she knows that her loving husband will scour the ends of the earth (or at least the walkable neighborhood) to get her what she wants. I've been keeping track, too..

• Frozen Snickers (in mid-January)
• All Things Lemon (Squares, Bars, Tarts, Cookies, etc.)
• Brownie Sundaes
• Pizza (Margherita Pizza)
• Pickles
• Fried Eggs
• Greek...anything Greek
• Chipotle Burritos
• Wendy's
• "Something Chocolaty"
• "Something Tart"
• Pepperocini

She may settle on one thing, which would make planning and purchasing easier, but for now (with a 24-hour convenience store and grocery store nearby), I'm happy to cater to her craving whim.

UPDATE (3/9/07): I was instructed - 24 hours in advance - that upon my return home from work tonight, I am to come bearing Wonder bread, bologna, and relish. I haven't had any of those items in my refrigerator since I was about 18.

Disgusting, Yet Hysterical

Warning, do not watch this video if you are eating, have a sensitive stomach, or can't bear to see what little babies are capable of sptting up.



**This appears to be taken from the best televlsion show, ever, "America's Funniest Home Videos." Seriously, Joss Weadon, J.J. Abrams, Aaron Sorkin, you are all hacks at entertaining compared to the general populace.

What's In a Name, Part II

The book in front of me holds more than 50,000 names. From Aaliyah to Zyler. Somewhere, buried in these 582 pages, is my child's name. My Lovely Wife and I have already narrowed down our selections. We have two pages, one for each gender, of handwritten names. And no, you will not get to know what name we have chosen prior to birth; that way, should you choose (like I often do) to make fun of the name, you're insulting a person, not a vague concept.

In the classic book Fatherhood Bill Cosby famously advises prospective parents to name their child with a vowel at the end, so that the name will carry when you yell. Now that's some advice you can take to heart.

Beyond that, there are a few more parameters that I've set to help pick out the right name.

First, I like two-syllable first names. Mostly because I have a two-syllable last name, and with the right cadence, that construction fits right into the cheer, "FIRST Name, LAST Name, clap, clap, clapclapclap." I think this is more of a rule for a boy, I'm not sure that girls would have much use for this.

Second, no rhyming. Not much rhymes exactly with my last name (which, believe it or not isn't "JeltzFan,") but there are some names that come close: Jason, Mason, etc. Those are out.

Beyond that, the parameters are as follows:

• No Punctuation - That goes for apostrophes, commas, and question marks. I will allow anything that qualifies under the "special characters" list in Microsoft Word - the copyright symbol, pi, etc.
  
• No Geography - Madison and Cheyenne might be the new hotness right now, but I could see myself getting carried away and jotting "Bangor" or "Kansas City" on a birth certificate. Better to stay clear.
• No Verbs - If you're not careful, you might overlook that a name is a verb - I nearly did with a few fairly common names. How long, though, until we meet a girl name Dance or a boy named Jog?
• No Common Nouns - Extending the grammar theme here, I can't agree to name my child Seven, December, or Harp (all actual examples in the book I referenced above).
• No Famous Athletes - But, you say, I'm clearly a sports fan, how can I eliminate all famous athletes? Let me be a bit more specific. I will not be naming my child any of the following: Lavernues (hard to spell), D'brickashaw (punctuation mark), or Peerless (although it might be the loop hole to avoid trial by jury)

Like I said above, we've narrowed down from 50,000 to about 10-20 per gender, so if we're in a pinch, we can always draw names out of a hat. And besides, what are you going to do? Make fun of my baby's name? I'll take away your visitation rights.

And if none of our prospective names work out, there's always this Web site, which I recommend you go to now and come back to this site later.

This Week in Fatherhood

"This Week in Fatherhood" publicizes and celebrates fathers across the globe. We laugh at their foibles, chuckle at their misfortune, and remind ourselves that there are no prerequisites to fatherhood. Let us all learn from their idiocy.

• Ever set your coffee down on top of your car, so you have two free hands to load things in, but then forget about the coffee, drive off and spill it everywhere? That's the only way this could have been worse.
• "I think you are bluffing, but I'm out of cash, how about I raise you my daughter?"
• Considering this case is about a father leaving his daughter in a car with loaded assault weapons while he drank in a bar for about 90 minutes, the outcome could've been much worse.

Regressing: And Loving It

One of the things that excites me about being a father is that, in a sense, it will bring back my own childhood. Children, from the earliest age, have a serene naivete about them. It's a quality that we lose as we grow older and our imagination and awe gives way to realization and cynicism. Ray Romano, back in his stand-up days had a great example.

Catching his three-year old daughter staring off into the distance, he sidled up next to her and gently asked," What are you thinking about, honey?"

"Candy," she replied.

Granted, I spent a few good minutes debating which kind of Girl Scout Cookies to order this year, but it's been a while since I was engrossed in thought by jujubes.

Having a child, I think, will bring some of that awe back - or at least, like Ray Romano, allow me to live vicariously though my child's eyes.

Beyond candy, though, there are a few things that I can't wait to discover all over again:

• Dr. Seuss books
• Going down the slide
• Being hypnotized by the Teletubbies
• Legos
• Frogs and toads
• Peek-a-boo
• Shiny objects
• Buttons that light up when pressed