OTTO THE GREAT, great pain in the ass
Tuesday, October 12, 2010 at 07:54AM Today was a cluster. I'm always overreaching. Icarus, please help. I'm sunburned and I haven't even gotten off the ground.
Today was the fourth day of my four-day weekend. I told my boss I wanted to use up some of my comp time. He suggested I take Friday to extend the three-day Columbus Day weekend. I was thrilled. I had visions of sleeping, taking three-hour lunches, drinking and writing about the Great American Experience, or mine. The latter availed itself.
I totally deserve what I got. It was Karma for flaunting my vacation to Sarah who, after the Summer of Sick, has absolutely no days off left. Sarah was so happy to break her news to me: The boys would not have school on Monday. I was on the hook for daycare or, you know, being a parent for an entire day.
I can't wait to get back to work.
Now I think as far as fathers go, I spend an enormous amount of time with my boys. The neighbors comment how everyday they see us go to the park with Otto, Paco, Quin, Quin's bike, a ball, snacks and beverages. The problem is that even on those trips across the street, I try to do too much. I think I have my reasons, but first let me tell you what happened today.
My plan was to go to Boulder and see the boys' great grandmother, and then over to Niwot to see their great aunt. It would be a great day. Sarah told me not to do too much. I chuckled and told her not to worry as she headed off to the train to work.
The issue is this: In my head I imagine things as they should be, not as they will be. Now to get an accurate picture of "will be", you have to incorporate some delays like traffic, temper tantrums, potty breaks, snacks and tempests of toddler snot. I picture all of those obstacles in my head, but I don't incorporate them with the timeline borrowed from a fifties sitcom, where everything rolls along smoothly, there's happy music playing, and not once does my sixteen-month-old son dive into a fish pond at an assisted living facility.
We got back from the neighborhood park at approximately 11am. With a groan I set down Otto, and with a grunt I pulled Quin's trike up to the front steps. To make my overreaching more possible, I was pulling him and his bike with a dog leash. I had a second dog leash in the same hand, that one for the sixty-pound narrow-minded muscle that nearly killed us when he tried to pursue a cat across the street.
This is bad. I should know this is bad. I put the lives of several species at risk with one trip to the park, which is fifty yards away. Involving a grandmother, an aunt, a long drive and two children should not be allowed.
Early on things were good.
We got to Grandma's home at noon, but we decided to wait for my sister to show up before we headed into the labyrinthine depths of her living quarters. I'm convinced half of those people don't have Alzheimer's, they're just lost in there. Laura (sister) was nearly an hour late, and by then the boys enthusiasm for the lobby aquarium was giving way to hunger. Otto was protesting the meager sating offered by the animal crackers and Quin, a boy who I think lives on the microbes in the air, actually asked that we eat lunch.
This is all very scary because these children come from two adults who can't handle hunger. I get delusional, I ramble and I'm easily irritated. That's a bad combo because it means I believe there's going to be a restaurant right around the next corner, and when there's not, I go on a tirade about the lack of city planning and viable food options and if we as a nation don't do something about our diet we'll destroy the planet and everybody should know this including entrepreneurs who should have started a restaurant--wait, I should start a restaurant. Honey?
And she's crying and laughing at the series of life decisions that have lead to this moment. When Sarah is hungry she has the emotional strength of an Extreme Home Makeover family, but unfortunately she has the angry resolve of an America's Most Wanted. She's ticked and she wants to do something about her dumbass husband driving aimlessly and yelling at buildings that aren't restaurants, but all she can do is cry.
One of the last things the fish saw.
With the boys getting fussy, I was about to bail on the whole deal. That's when Laura showed up and everybody was distracted by happiness. We all went to the courtyard of the complex and looked at the fish in the pond. Otto wouldn't stop making advances at the water. He was obstinate about getting in. I grabbed and gave him the stern "no" which, once he has his mind set on something, is like scolding a rock. Finally, he got his wish. He dove into the pond.
I grabbed him in the "oh shit my god fuck" fashion that makes you move at the speed of "balls just got cattle prodded," and I grabbed him from the rather shallow depths of the water feature's feeding stream. Laura took over the other two boys and I stormed into a quiet room where a family was having an end-of-life discussion about a loved one. Before them I wrestled a poopy, swamp-smelling baby to the floor. Of course I didn't know he was poopy until I removed what I thought was just a wet diaper, and Otto, with crap smeared on his back, scurried screaming past the bereaved and into the lobby.
I finally wrangled the beloved boy, and assembled the family remnants for the great grandmother visit. We marched through the halls with a quiet determination, eventually finding grandma at lunch. It was a crowded room and the attention was a little overwhelming for the boys. Grandma looks great. I explained to her that she had a kid, who had kid, who had a kid. As I said it I couldn't believe it was true, and that she was responsible for all this mess.
We weren't there long because we had to eat. We found some food and gathered at a nearby park. The first thing Otto did was catch a bumblebee. Yes, he caught it with his little hand, and the terrified bug stung his thumb. He (Otto) lost his mind. I imagine the bee is going to have some issues as well.
His poor little thumb. It looks like when Fred Flinstone hits his hand with a hammer and it gets all fat and red and throbbing. I was so sad for him, and he was a wreck. We did what we could to make something of the day, but it was time to go home. The boys were unconscious about five minutes into the drive.
I checked them in the mirror and sighed at their greatness. I also noticed I had sunburned the heck out of my head.
But I'll do it again. Otto scares the hell out of me. He's that kid who has come back to haunt me. He is this new version of me attempting all the dangerous stuff I did as a kid: jumping from bridges, lighting myself on fire, wrecking bikes, running into fences and whatever else I never thought was a big deal until it waddled up and called me daddy. My life, infant incarnate. Because of this, I hope that I can give he and his brother as much attention as possible. That way they may not try and get it in some really stupid fashion.
Or maybe maybe if they spend a lot of time with me they'll opt to stay home and be safe.
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