Runway Model

Roscoe and I had a weekend to ourselves and visited the Airplane Observation Deck, or Observation Park, at Raleigh’s RDU airport. The fact that it even exists is a little known secret and that’s a shame. Or maybe it’s not. We practically had the whole park to ourselves and little guy had a blast. There is free parking, a grassy area with a small runway for kids to explore, plaques with all of the planes that come in and out of the airport, a playground, picnic area, facilities and a large deck overlooking RDU’s largest runway. The coolest thing about the experience, for me, is that the control tower communications are funneled through loud speakers onsite.

Watching for mommy’s plane

There is an access road between the deck and the runway where rental car shuttle buses take the masses from the rental facility to the terminals. Roscoe and I were up on the deck and huge airplanes were taking off 100 yards away, and Roscoe, meanwhile, is looking at the access road and shouting,

Bus! Bus!

Thus, the Bus Observation Deck at RDU is a great place to take the kids.

 

Boa, Dude

See, when I asked for a boa? I meant a snake. A frigging snake.

Bananas

Roscoe’s mother will only allow half of a banana a day because too many bananas will stop him up. She was out of town last week and I had to manage being a dad, being busy at work and a sick pup. I figured any task I could eliminate would be to my benefit.

So, I fed him nine bananas a day. Didn’t change one poopy diaper. Times three and a half days, that’s fifteen minutes right there.

Interrupting

My wife has gotten on me a lot lately about interrupting her.  She says that I constantly do it and that it concerns her, this terrible habit I seem to have picked up since the birth of our son.

Before Roscoe, conversations were simple and relatively intuitive:

Her:  Do you want to go out and eat tonight?

Me:  Sure.

We were even firing on all cylinders through more complex conversations:

Her:  Where would you like to go and eat tonight?

Me:  Sure.

Her:  Mill Town, then.

Now, however, she gets about three words in before I interrupt.  And it drives her crazy.

Her:  Do you want-

Me:  -to see who can spit the farthest?

Her:  No.  Jesus.  Why do you keep interrupting me?

Several reasons, actually.  My wife is frequently distracted.  Sometimes she’s tired.  And if the little guy’s in the room, he’s the center of attention.  Rightfully so.  But as a result, and with all due respect, it’s flipping impossible to have a conversation with her.  She trails off and mutters like a homeless guy on the subway.

Her:  Do you want…oooh, look at his little ears…so cute.  Do you…can you hear me with your little ears?  Do…it’s so busy at work.  Do you want…and he’s got a little nose and a little chin!  Forgot to order checks.  Do you…what time is it?  I like blue.

Minutes later, still hanging on to what seems like a random string of words and phrases.  Do I want what? 

After months of this, I learned the fastest way to get my wife to the end of a complete sentence is to interrupt.  Because I’m never even remotely near the ballpark when I attempt to finish her thought (which irritates her even more), she immediately corrects me.

I’m know I’m going to get a little grief, but it’s worth it.

Her:  We should get-

Me:  -portraits made.  Semi-nude, lying on a bear skin rug!

Her:  No!  What’s wrong with you?  We should get milk.

AT&2T

Now Roscoe wants an iPhone.

Bad Santa

Woo Pig Sooie

What a ham!

Reluctant Skunk

You've got to be kidding me.

Mohawk

Mom’s out of town this week. We’re playing a lot of punk rock during playtime. May have laid it on a little thick.

Maybe.

Pumpkin Patch