As for the woman who approached at the conclusion of your story, her chill afterward is straight out of the catalog of movie scenarios. Now she must continue to approach at the wrong moment again and again, until she gets a cake in the face or her dress is accidentally ripped off in public and she screams, covering her undergarments, before diving behind the nearest potted plant. Make it happen, QB. Life must imitate art.

And then my re-telling of said event…well. That was just plain old sad. That woman is still really stiff around me and I don’t know what the hell to do when she’s around other than stare at Kindergarten artwork on the hallway walls to avoid her rigidity.

Anyway, my life was pretty interesting before the kid, but I swear the little dickens raises the game a notch. At least for me, although it’s perhaps not universal. I think a lot of people feel that they’ve sacrificed the candle when they settle down and have a “family.” For me, it’s just created a whole new level of adventure. But telling stories of chilluns to those who have none might be a little tough to take, like telling a story across three languages: something might be lost in the translation.

He doesn’t wave at the trucks anymore. He seems to have moved on. Now it’s shipwrecks.

I’ll say this for him, he already has a finely honed apocalyptic vision.

As for your trip to the zoo, I can sympathize, despite being childless. All such treks put the fear of God into me. Even getting a group of adults to a movie becomes a tedious enterprise of trying to sort out who’s going to drive, and do we have dinner first or after, and what movie do we all want to see. Throw a child into the mix and the fun is bound to increase.

Love the “crazy juice” line. And I was inordinately fond of cement trucks as a kid, and trains as well — mostly cabooses. I loved it when trains passed and the guy on the caboose waved to me when I waved to him. Does you son ever wave to FedEx trucks?

And his little girl buddy was over yesterday, who’s as cute and demure as a spring flower, right up until she said, “Jesus Christ!” It’s fun, when I don’t have to worry about who they’re blaspheming near.

My freshman year roommate’s niece had a similarly colorful vocabulary. As a five-year-old, playing hide-and-seek with her grandmother, she remarked, “where the fuck is my fucking grandma?”

The worst case scenario is, they don’t, and you get a few funny posts out of it, and you come back tan.

Not bad odds, now that I think about it…

Have fun!

I was just thinking the other day of my mother pouring juice over my head when I was being a ‘tard or something. It wasn’t the right thing to do by any stretch, but by god sometimes I understand the impulse.

Did I mention that it was my idea? No? Is it any wonder I didn’t mention that?

Are you bringing your kid(s) to Mexico?

There was a little pause. Then, very matter-of-factly, “I’m sorry I’m being a ‘tard, Daddy.” And then, about three seconds after I started banging my head against the side of the fridge, “Daddy? What’s a ‘tard?”

I’m watching another friend of mine who has a one-year old boy; the amount of frustration he faces with putting the lockdown on his tongue sounds much like your epic battle. I’m sympathetic, and can’t wait for the inevitably fireworks that will ensue.

Nice Camelbak you got there, Anon!

I swear my head will explode like a Vesuvius of profanity one of these days – it’s just not healthy to keep that stuff in for too long. Still…. She has already asked me – in this angelic little voice – for the precise definition of “bullshit” and I think I heard my fourteen-month-old mutter “Gah-gam-mumma-fubba” a few months ago after bonking his head on a table.

If we ever end up at the same kid’s party, come sit by me. That ain’t water in my Camelbak.

I think we could write it as a silent film and it would still work. I’m not sure how the crazy menacing would come across, but I’ll bet we could work it out.

Apparently I’ve been loosening the lockdown on my impressive arsenal of curses lately because the other day we were playing a game and he said, “Dude, this totally sucks. I can’t believe how shitty I’m doing.”

I imagine phone calls any minute from his Kindergarten teacher.

Everyone needs to take public transportation once a year at least, to mingle with the greater society. It gives an excellent perspective on exactly how much less crazy you are than you think you are. In that respect, it’s refreshing!

All save for the smell.

For our part, we’re going to Mexico for a week in two weeks, and since the last vacation I took ended up being material for an essay about how much I hate to travel, I’m sure that battlefield reports will be forthcoming.

The plane is the most cleverly disguised form of torture ever. Airports are not much better.

Your wife doesn’t know how much grief you’ve saved her!

As for public transport, well, that’s always and adventure and it’s healthy to get a good dose of crazy every now and then.

When they’re old enough to share a room in a hotel, we can venture beyond the five places we now go. But not before.

As for the f-bombs and stuff, you are clearly of our parenting school.

Which is weird, but satisfying.

My son’s level of obsession with the “X” was remarkable. You can imagine what we were faced with when driving past “XXX: All Nude Review.”

your description over your son going nuts over “X” is awesome. i can totally picture it and it cracks me up.

We still stutter in our conversations in the hallway. Which is to say, things have not improved in our relationship.

That’s so awesome. I’m sorry; I’m sure it was mortifying, but God, what a visual. And I love the fact that you’ve just used the line ‘raise the stakes just a little too high.’

A guy I used to work with came in one night with his head shaved. The boss pointed and laughed and said ‘Alex! You look like a romper stomper!’ Alex laughed and said ‘Yeah! I’m going to come to your house and murder your family!’

He was fired later that night.