The Pumpkin Train

I may have written before about my son's fascination with trains. Every day when I get home now, he's replaced our daily routine of looking at pictures of fy-twucks on the computer to looking at pictures of "choo-choo twains".

I've tried to take this interest to the next level, by taking him to train yards and stations on the weekends. It always seems to end the same, though. He loves them from a distance, but they terrify him up-close. For several months it's been this way. So when my wife told me about a "pumpkin train" this weekend, I was a bit hesitant to get too excited about it.

We arrived just in time for the last train of the day. We climbed on board. No tears yet. Eventually, almost imperceptibly at first, the train began to move. A look of alarm briefly crossed Mockbaboy's face, then melted into complete joy - "We wydin' duh twain!!!"










The train drove for about 5 miles, then came to a stop at a small but very neat pumpkin patch. The kids all had a blast. There was a hayride, a spacewalk bouncy thing, and some other smaller stuff to keep them occupied. The little guy and I took a little walk to investigate some of the surroundings.

He picked out a pumpkin that weighed about 400-lbs. He ran all over the place. We finally talked him into getting into the spacewalk. That was a particularly big step for him, and he made it all the way inside and almost bounced a couple of times before he screamed for me to rescue him. We found an old barn and some rusty old farm implements - he had a blast rummaging around and investigating them.

Eventually, we all loaded back up on the train and headed back to the station. One of the conductors offered to let Mockbaboy see the engineer. He made almost made it all the way there before collapsing in a fit of panic. Oh, well. We still have a little work to do, apparently. It was a great day. I got some superb pictures. Fall is finally here, and I couldn't be happier.

The Vaseline Incident

It's been quite a week. So when I got home tonight and found that Mockbaboy was taking a late nap, I gladly jumped at the opportunity to crash briefly myself. I woke up about an hour-and-a-half later, not really knowing where I was. I immediately wondered why the little guy hadn't stirred. I got a little bit worried.

I got up and walked down the hall to his room. I cracked the door ever so slightly and peeked in. He was wide awake, watching Curious George. "Hi, Daddy", he said innocently, standing up in his crib. "Hey buddy"...there was a weird smell in the room, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Something didn't look quite right, either.

I turned on the light. My son was sort of glowing. Maybe glimmering would be a more accurate description. And he looked wet all over, his hair matted down. Where did all this water come from???

I went over to him and touched his head. In horror, I drew back my hand, now covered in some sort of...goo. This goo covered him. It covered each and every possible surface of the crib. It covered his sheets. It covered all his stuffed animals. It was one of those kinds of messes that only a child can make. The kind of mess that takes lots of time and dedication. The kind that we'll be cleaning up for a long time.

I called for my wife. We both just stood there, looking down at the little grinning halfling that had wrought this destruction. All we could do was laugh. Well, laugh and take pictures with my cell phone.

He cried when I put him in the tub. He cried even more when Mockbamom tried diligently but unsuccessfully to scrape the Vaseline out of his hair. Eventually we gave up and ate dinner, his hair plastered to his head in a most unnatural fashion.

Thank goodness for the web. We looked up "how to get Vaseline out of hair", and found that this is a favorite of a lot of kids. Corn starch was the apparent antidote. We took turns alternately holding him in place in the kitchen and scrubbing the white powder into his locks. He cried again when I had to put him back in the tub to wash out the corn starch. It was only modestly successful. This is going to take a while, apparently. I think we are going to cancel his scheduled hair cut appointment for tomorrow. Unless, of course, they have some magical secret for getting out Vaseline. Never a dull moment, right?

Our Day at the Zoo

I took the day off. I had been at a conference, of sorts, in Atlanta, and had missed out on some quality time with the little man.

We went to a "Tots at the Zoo" class together. Mockbamom decided to stay behind to get some quality alone time - much-deserved.

We arrived just in time. We went to the little classroom reserved for us. There were four children with four parents. My little boy was way more interested in the plastic dinosaurs and animals in the plastic bins at the back of the room than he was in anything our poor tour guide had to say. Nevertheless, I took the opportunity to try and train him to be polite.

Today's lesson was about frogs and toads - every boy's favorite. Mockbaboy adored all of them. He stared into the big aquarium filled with turtles, frogs, and toads, as if communicating with all of them. He was pretty excited. He got especially worked up when one of the turtles started swimming toward him.

We eventually all made our way out into the larger zoo exhibits. Our focus on toads and frogs was soon lost - the kids (all boys, incidentally) were far too interested in the large cats, otters, and ferrets. Eventually, the class broke up and we were left to our own devices.

We made a good effort at seeing more of the zoo until Mockbaboy decided it was time to ride the carousel and the zoo train. The carousel was a blast. By the time we were on the train, he was about done with the whole thing. He was tired, a little hot, and the train whistle kept scaring him. It did give me an opportunity to let him lean on me, under my arm, as I stroked his curly hair. Life would be a void experience for me without such moments.

We slowly made our way to the concession stand for drinks, then out to the car. We'd had a great afternoon together. I've decided it isn't about what we do. It is simply about spending time together. I will cherish today in the special part of my heart reserved for exactly these sorts of moments. I will remember stroking his little innocent head on the train for the rest of my life. This is truly what my life is about. I can't wait for our next little outing.

Our Beach Boy

I had to go to Florida for a work-related deal last week, and the family came with me. The little guy loved the beach this time - it sort of scared him last time I think. A giant sandbox for his trucks...what's not to love, right?I've been wanting to get some good B&W shots with my 35mm camera, and so we planned a photo shoot for the last day...the only day my schedule would allow it. Of course, this meant that a narrow strip of heavy rain absolutely covered the Florida panhandle all day. I had just about given up when the weather broke just long enough to allow me to get some good pictures. Hope you all enjoy.

Mockbaboy's First Haircut

Saturday was a bittersweet day for Mockbadad and Mockbamom. Our little son had his first haircut. I don't know why it was hard. Maybe it is because you feel responsible for every bruise, every cut - literally every little curly blond hair on their heads. We had a bit of a sick feeling in our guts when we took him.

As always, he took it all in stride. No tears, no fighting, no screaming - he just sat there and let it happen. Well, to be entirely accurate, he was identifying each and every character on the "Cars" barber drape they put on him.

"Daddy look! There's Nitenin' Aqueen ("Lightnin' McQueen")! There's Mater!" The lady doing the cutting - she was superb, incidentally - had to laugh. We saved every single hair, of course. I bet she's never had a customer she didn't have to clean up after.

He looked great afterwards. And after the obligatory Fy-Twuck hunt, we went to celebrate at our favorite Mexican restaurant, Don Pepe. He picked at his enchilada and rice. He devoured the fried ice cream.

Mockbaboy's First Campin' Trip

Some of my most cherished childhood memories occurred on camping trips with my dad, and later, with my dad and brother. So this weekend, the time had finally come to initiate my son into our little group with an initiation into the camping club.

We met Dad and my brother at an RV park about halfway between us both. Dad recently purchased an RV, or as Mockbaboy calls it, a "bus". We arrived late on Friday night - about 11p.m., so there was a period of adjustment before we could go to sleep. He wanted to play - with trucks, stuffed animals, with the sheet (building "a tent" is always a must), but eventually, about 1a.m., he crashed. Not for long, though. When I awoke about 5 1/2 hours later, there he was, standing in his pack-and-play, talking to Pappa. I dragged myself out of bed and we eventually headed out.

We had a great day. We'd decided to go hang out at Bass Pro Shop, always a favorite. When we arrived, there was a remote-control car race going on - the first I've ever seen. We sat in the car with the A/C running and a sleeping 2-year-old, watching the races. They were hilariously entertaining. We laughed a lot. Eventually, he woke up and we made our way inside.

Mockaboy especially loved the giant aquarium, filled with bass, white and black perch, and an impossibly large catfish. There were also entire communities of stuffed bears, mountain lions, wild goats, beavers, and other wildlife. The kid had a blast. So did we. All I actually bought was a new cell phone holster and three large bags of what I have discovered is the very best bird food for attracting red-headed woodpeckers. We ate lunch and went back to "the bus" for a nap. Dad and I got to talk for a long time. It was a much-needed time together. It's been much too long since we were able to just sit and talk like the old days.

Saturday night was considerably better. Mockaboy was asleep by about 10:45, and slept through the night - mostly. He woke up about 5 times. Three were for "more bottle". Two were to notify me, excitedly, about the "choo-choo twain" he could hear rattling and blowing its horn clearly from a nearby trestle. We got up, ate breakfast together, then left. We were home by mid-afternoon, exhausted, but satisfied. The little guy slept from about 4:00 on through the night, amazingly. This morning, on my way out, he called for me. I knew that he was probably ready to get up after sleeping so much.

"Daddy, you get me more bottle?"

"Sure, pal. Let me change your diaper first."

"Get down?"

"No, pal, Mama's still asleep. Why don't you lie down for a little while?" He wasn't happy about this.

"You want your fire truck?" My dad and brother had brought a very cool toy fire truck for him - he hadn't set it down all weekend, and had to take it to bed with him last night.

"Okay!" he said excitedly.

I put him back into bed and covered him up, with a bottle and the fire truck. He was complacent for the moment. "I love you buddy".

Hope Again in Mudville...

Baseball. America's Pastime. The boys of summer. I'm running out of cliches. I was never much of a player. I like baseball, mind you. I love to watch, that is. I was just never very good at playing. The game never held my attention very well. I just wasn't captured by baseball fever as were many of my peers.


The outfield is where they put the lousy athletes. I played outfield. I distinctly remember how boring a game seemed to me, out there, seemingly out of reach of any possible delivery by one of our 9-year-old opponents. I was a nature boy. Still am. I would examine the white clover as the honeybees harvested their nectar, watch raindrops fall through the glow of the field flood lights (it looked exactly like the stars on the bridge of the starship Enterprise - zipping past at warp speed), examine the clouds, tug at the leather thongs on my glove with my teeth. Sure enough, as the Law of Averages would dictate, there was the occasional fluke hit when the ball would meet with an unsuspecting aluminum bat and a cracking peal would rouse me from a distant daydream - "Where's the ball!?!? Where's the ball!?!?" I would either completely fail to see it or would see it too late. I carry the shame to this day. But I may yet be redeemed.


My son has taken to baseballs and bats like a fish to water. My dad was a good player, as was my wife's dad. My wife's dad's dad played in the minors in Cincinnati. Maybe it skips a generation every once in a while, I don't know. What I do know is that it gives me a joy I can not quite describe to see him connect with the ball and see the glee in his eyes. I couldn't care less if he ever plays anything - but I have to admit it is pretty cool that my son of all people, seems to like it.

So keep your chins up, poor Mudville. Casey may have a second chance yet...