truck and lasso

a dad blog

Archive for the category “Observations”


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.



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.


Now Roscoe wants an iPhone.


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.



Central Park

Last year about this time I was at a friend’s wedding in Brooklyn. This weekend, we are taking the family to visit friends in DC. There is a sense of energy in big cities that doesn’t exist anywhere else. There is a sense that everyone wants to be doing something different, and discovering things about people tends to play out like a good plot.

An old boss, the buttoned up, nerdy account leader with a degree in math and the awful habit of giving me notes on body language in client meetings was actually Mr. Leather 1998?

Runner up, anyway.

And now I’m racked with what to pack for Roscoe, the perfect time to leave to avoid as much beltway traffic as possible and worried about arriving too late Friday night to wake our friends, who have a child of their own. Where do I stop to feed him- I can’t possibly stop in a rest area after dark! And the general anxiety about having a child in the back seat while I’m cruising down the Devil’s main drive (that’s what most people down here call DC).

This anxious, broke and balding father was actually a decent playwright?

So, here’s to discovery.

Overheard in Target

A toddler attempting to engage his father in play is politely rebuffed.

Father: I’m tired, buddy. Let’s just get what we need to get and head home. We’ll play later.

The toddler runs over to his mom, tugs on her shirt.

Toddler: Can we change daddy’s batteries?

Snakes on a Plane

We took Roscoe on his first airplane trip a couple weeks ago and he did very well.  I am an efficient, clutterless traveler, so I think I was more stressed about how I was going to handle it.  The best advice we got?

You just have to smile, shrug and realize you are now ‘those people.’

We connected in Detroit, so, there and back, there were four total flights.  After each one, no less than five different people would turn around, or say in passing:

He did so well! What a great baby, didn’t fuss at all!

It’s hard to capture in writing the lilt in their tone as a result of the relief they felt.  I didn’t take it as a compliment.  I took it as, upon seeing the baby before the flight:

Jesus, this kid’s going scream and wail and hit my seat and spill and poop and gouge out eyes and tug ears and squirm and be up and down the aisle the whole time!

We’ve become those people.

Roscoe Meet Elmo

Roscoe's dad and a colleague meet Elmo.

I hope that Roscoe gets into Elmo.  I recently worked with the Full Frame Documentary Film Festival and had the great pleasure of meeting the muppet and his puppeteer, Kevin Clash, who is an amazing man.  He left a voicemail (as Elmo) for a young girl with Cerebral Palsy who couldn’t attend the event.  How cool is that?

Kevin’s patience, caring and grace was inspirational.  Unfortunately, my intentions are not that noble.

Nope. I have photos and a video of me with Elmo and I intend to leverage them many times throughout toddler-hood.

Stop kicking mom in the side or I’ll tell Elmo.

Stop chewing on the dog’s toy or I’ll tell Elmo.

Go to sleep or I’ll tell Elmo.  I don’t care if it’s 3pm.  No, you can’t have any of daddy’s ‘medicine.’ Yes, Maker’s Mark is a type of medicine. Go to sleep!  Elmo!

Power of Positive Thinking

I work in advertising and still say this stretches it.  Unless there’s a companion billboard that states

39% of our students are drunk out of their skulls!

Empty Bottle

Last night, I did one of the stupidest things in my short career as a father.

I picked up Roscoe from daycare because my wife had to work late.  She asked that I try and get him to hold off on eating until she got home.  Milk is currency in our house and we like to avoid dipping into the stores if at all possible.  So I waited.

He’s been sick lately and, as a result, a little fussy.  He fussed on the way home.  He fussed at home.  He dutifully jumped up and down in his Jumparoo, but cried the whole time.  My man was hungry.  But I had to be sure before I gave him a precious bottle 15 minutes before my precious wife was home to feed him.

So, thinking I was pretty smart, I ‘tested’ Roscoe.  I pulled out one of the empty bottles from daycare and handed it to him, just to see if he was really hungry.  He was.  He snatched and sucked like mad.  A hungry baby and an empty bottle.

And then I took it away.  Man, he sounded like a death metal band.

I was able to ascertain, however, that he was in fact hungry.  My book with tips on being a father will be out this fall.

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