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There are a couple of monumental things that have happened in our life since my last post and this one will screw with the chronology of it all, but c'mon, our son turned one! Here is a quick synopsis of what the past year has been like. Kudos to the ever-warm, always-motherly Emmelle and happy birthday to our dear son. Thanks for stopping by. |
Back when I wrote volume I of this tome in February of 2014,
I left devout readers ABSOLUTELY hanging by concluding that I would write more
on the topic in six months. Alas, I never did!
I am happy to announce that the opportunities to write more
on this topic with all of this gear in my mouth will (should) be short-lived. October 9. That’s the scheduled date for
extraction, and I couldn’t be more excited. Looking back on the whole thing – a
full two years has come and passed – I realize now that there is really nothing
of interest to say about it. Its uncomfortable, its annoying, its slightly
embarrassing; that sentiment doesn’t fluctuate in the slightest.
Save just one thing.
It has been remarkable to watch Young Master Caleb reach milestones – both physical and mental. The
advances he has achieved after hitting ten months have especially been
impressive and stunning. It feels like an awakening of sorts, starting to get
to a place in both mind and body with full realization of self and his
environment.
Just a handful of weeks ahead of this recent development
however, Young MC had reached a point in his progress to recognize that
something was peculiar or at least unique regarding the contents of my mouth.
He would curiously poke and prod and stare inquisitively. Or we might be
playing together. He yields a smile, I smile; he stares and ceases all
activity. The prodding commences. It’s time to investigate this familiar man’s
teeth again. His eyes basically scream, “WHAT IS THIS?”
He will of course not recall any of this in future years.
But for the time being, I must appear monstrous. And if not for familiarity, there
would be no affection or interaction awarded. I would be like another stranger
– accept a grizzly machine-like version. Don’t get me wrong; it feels warm and
wonderful when he shoves his index finger into my mouth. Yet it’s a harsh
reminder veiled in a cute pudgy finger.
You are different. You are not supposed to have this all over my teeth. All
would say the same if not for the niceties demanded by our society.
October 9 cannot come soon enough.
Thanks for stopping by.
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The majority of my visits to NYC keep me confined to the
midtown / Times Square area. In fact, I’ve had some depressing business trips
in which all of my dinner meals are prepared and delivered by hotel staff. At times it’s unavoidable with the amount of
work and people meeting necessary in a condensed amount of time. But it engenders
an unbreakable, unwanted habit. As the
kids say, this falls within the range of a “first world problem”. But who cares
– I live in the first world. And this is a problem.
With Young MC’s
arrival, my east coast trips have (fortunately) been less frequent. And those
less frequent trips have become shorter as well. Gone are the trips in which I
would bridge two weeks’ of meetings with a drunk fest weekend in Washington
D.C. So, I should be making the most
of these less frequent, shorter trips? Otherwise I would find myself in a perpetual loop of
the worst kind of business travel, the ones in which all of the minor perks you
lean on to get you through the week are null and void.
A couple of trips ago, I made my first visit to Brooklyn
(really, after like 30ish previous travels to NYC). On my most recent jaunt, I
made a solo dinner reservation at a place called Tanoshi – an unassuming
omakase joint on the upper east side. I am getting adventurous!
Tanoshi consistently popped up on high grade sushi
establishments I researched in the city. The lone one I’ve previously been to
was Sushi Yasuda near Grand Central. The omakase menu by itself is worth a
trip. 10-12 pieces plus opportunity to order anything else on the menu a la
carte. There are just a few seats in the diminutive, unassuming establishment –
all things to help you get into a mode of focusing on nothing but stripped down
fish. But when you add the ~$75 cost and bring-your-own-beer/wine/sake, it
turns into an incredible deal.
And you know that I’m the be-all-end-all authority on raw
fish. Remember, I’m the dude who ate here. I will brag about that until I die.
Seriously, if I’m talking sushi with anyone, a reference to that leads to
wide-eyed bewilderment and awe. It instantaneously provides a legitimacy like
few things in my material-driven life. “This
guy is SERIOUS about his fish.”
Anyway, finding top grade sushi joints on any of our travels
is always a priority for me - whether its professional or personal travel. I might as well try to seek them out more frequently to
the food mecca I visit more than any other.
Thanks for stopping by.
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My first Father’s Day came and went. I find the holiday pretty much nonsensical – unless of course you are a male parent raising your child(ren) on your own. In my first eight months as a parent, I can say without hesitation that dads serve as much utility as this blog. By this blog, I mean, this blog. Certainly, parents will carve out a day-to-day rhythm with distinguished responsibilities. But take the father out of the equation and everyone will comfortably survive (thrive) to the next day. And the one after that. The other way around? Anarchy, destruction, complete chaos. I don’t know about you but I can’t envision domestic anarchy without visualizing a kitchen faucet run amok and potato chips splayed across the counter. Devastation! Its what would happen if Emmelle exited stage GreensandBrowns for more than a night. Its hard to fathom the thought. Perhaps I am being excessive in my critique of our (collective fathers everywhere) value. There are a couple of tasks that fully rest on dad’s shoulders…literally. Any jobs that are becoming of a mule or sherpa; these are great responsibilities for dad. And for hauling luggage from one location to the next, we celebrate dads everywhere. How did I celebrate? We couldn’t get the timing right for a lunch reservation and ate quickly at a (our future) neighborhood bakery. With Young MC in good spirits, we went grocery shopping. Yes, yes – big things on this day. He fell asleep in the store, and I guzzled a frosty pale ale in the parking lot, wrapped around a pair of cotton shorts we'd purchased for him earlier. It was perfect. Happy Father’s Day to you. Happy Father’s Day to me. And most importantly, Happy Father’s Day to Emmelle. Thanks for stopping by. |
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In light of my recent (very personal) sharing of some essentials that I need, I figure it would behoove all to know exactly what comes down from the list and re-categorized into the "I got my hands on it" bucket. As an anecdote, I recently received the same Batman shirt for my birthday. This is just unacceptable and can easily be avoided with a list such as this. By the good grace of the lord, I've recently obtained an item on the list, which undoubtedly is making me a better person. I've kept a pair of TOMS in my shoe rotation since the brand launched some years ago but excited to add these slightly less casual shoes into the rotation. Young MC, this is what your dad is wearing in 2015.Thanks for stopping by. |
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In an effort to help all of the GreensandBrowns readers with future gift-giving needs, I have dedicated a whole page on the blog to curating my greatest necessities. Please see the link below: stuff that i need that i don't need Thanks for stopping by. |
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The purpose of this blog, the main purpose, was to document some of my life's joys and blessings as they happened in a semi real-time format. So that, years down the road, I could complement any amount of videos, photographs, holograms (?) with my actual thoughts. Putting pen-to-paper once every six months doesn't seem to jive with that intent, especially if these last six months coincided with months two through seven for our young son, Master Caleb. Our son is almost seven months old (!), and the intent of this post has changed a bit. At original time of writing, he was just one month old, and we still knew very little about him. Since then, he has revealed quite a bit of his personality. He seems to be fairly mellow with some very quickly escalated bursts of rage. I am generally very scared of him. He gives away smiles fairly quickly (too easily) to strangers but that has changed very slightly in the last couple of weeks as the concept of "Stranger Danger" seems to play a more integral role in his disposition. But what I originally intended were some things that are secondary thoughts, and mostly concerns. Its easy to pick out elements of his personality that he'll likely retain for life. But what about things that don't reveal themselves for much longer? And the things that I'm fretting about are a laundry list of questions such as "Will you have back problems like your father?", "Have I passed on any unhealthy ailments?". All fully out of our control, and all that much more worrisome. Nevertheless, by virtue and hard work of his mother, he is a happy, well-fed baby. His curated photo album below: Master Caleb, who are you? Master Caleb's Flickr Page Thanks for stopping by. |
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Please do me the courtesy of hitting the play button on the YouTube embed before you start reading this. Much like the last thoughts shared about Master Caleb, there's plenty of words to draw upon from our rock heroes of the past. At time of writing Master Caleb has just fed, has a fresh diaper strapped and stands (or lays) a couple of days shy of four weeks. In between sentences, my eyes shift over to he and his Mamaroo where I can see him fully approving of the gadget's calming rhythmic movements (he is sleeping). Four weeks! I'm learning quickly as a new parent that there are an infinite amount of non-milestones and achievements to celebrate. But let's be clear, this one is a win for his parents, mostly Emmelle. Four weeks of keeping him alive. That feels like something significant considering where we started weeks ago. The beginning of all of this? Well, Emmelle's contractions began in the wee hours of a Monday morning - midnight to be more precise - and from that point until we rushed to the hospital after 9am that day, we individually dozed off for about 20-30 minutes. After admittance into the delivery ward, the waiting game began. We waited. And waited. I received a suggestion over text from my sage sister, Colonel Mustard, to get some shut eye as it would be a long night. Too much anxiety, anticipation and adrenaline. Impossible. Fortunately (and much more importantly), Emmelle did in fact snooze for a bit. And then we waited some more. And late on Monday - perhaps around 11pm - the delivery began. Monday left us and turned over to a new day of week, a new date on the calendar to perhaps call Master Caleb's very own. 12:52am. He arrived. There are tears, laughter, joe, awe (There's a whole lot of this, but I want to talk about how tired we are). A few hours pass before we are finally admitted into our room. It is after 5am now and the nurse offers to take our youngling off of our hands for a couple of hours so we can get some sleep. We gladly accept, and sleep finally comes - just about 30 hours after the labor began and roughly 45 hours since our last material sleep. And little did I realize that would be our rude and abrupt introduction into parental tiredness - relentless and seemingly everlasting. Everyone tells us it gets better. It will, it must?? The real sacrifice, as with all things as parents, comes from Emmelle. She is the one at home with the littly guy for four consecutive months. She is the one that can provide sustenance in the middle of the night and soothe his growing needs. And she is the one that does this around the clock. I, on the other hand, have been back at work for the last couple of weeks and have to miss one or two feedings per night, depending on how mischievous he chooses to be with us on that given night. When I am at my most useful, I will take young master downstairs so Emmelle can have some short but continuous sleep, void of his small cries and fussing. But there's a rub there too. Unless we have specific bottle feeding plans during that block of time, I quickly usher Master Caleb up the stairs to his food source right when he demands it. Like I said, abrupt. There is no lead time, there is no warning. All of your nerves are tested in those moments. "I'm so tired". So tired. There is another Beatles lyric that comes to mind right now: "It's Getting Better All the Time". Right? Thanks for stopping by. |
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While nothing may feel more comforting than a couple hours of snoozing, I'm fighting the urge for a few minutes as the need to record some of my fresh thoughts on all that's happened over the last couple of weeks (and beyond) takes precedence. I figure these sentiments will hold a lot of value in future years. And may it be a reminder, as gentle as an anvil dropped on top of my head, of how difficult these first two weeks have been with precious Master Caleb in our lives. You know, just in case silly notions of repeating this activity may occur in the future. Tonight, two weeks in, I wanted to touch quickly on the notion of love, attachment and responsibility. In short, I'm finding that they can be mutually exclusive as easily as they are intertwined. And for me, its been very much my sense of duty and devotion to Emmelle, far greater than feelings of affection for our newborn, that have driven me to be a responsible parent. This has been an interesting revelation for me - I've thought through the entire pregnancy that I would immediately be infatuated with our bundle of joy. Don't get me wrong, I am elated at his arrival. But at this stage of his life, I derive much more satisfaction in mundane task-oriented activities that I know are supporting Emmelle (and indirectly Master Caleb), rather than staring into his pudgy little face for minutes on end. In fact, I am a little lost during those rare moments his eyes come alive and tries to make sense of his surroundings. I am not disappointed by this; it all makes perfect sense. I am in the beginning stages of my relationship with my son unlike Emmelle and all mothers who have the opportunity (and the grave sacrifice) of fostering a nine month courtship in the womb. I watched Emmelle seamlessly transition from anxious expectant mother to a confident parent, full of pride and love for her own flesh and blood. It has been the most rewarding experience of everything so far, and again, is a true driver for me to be a good father - still trying to figure out what that means. So Master Caleb, hopefully when you are not so much a baby one day and can read and comprehend your old man's words - I am comfortable with you understanding that our relationship began with a sense of responsibility and love...for your mother. Son, I love you today, but perhaps not the way that I had anticipated. This might sound negative to some. I disagree. Its perhaps a testament to the promise of the bond to come. I'm really looking forward to everything. Thanks for stopping by. |
