Spreading My Seed

Well, today was probably the manliest Dad-thing I’ve managed to accomplish since the creation of my son. And coincidentally, both things involved the spreading of seed.

For months now, the lawn in our backyard has been dying a slow and agonising death, much like the Hollywood career of Lindsay Lohan. But unlike “Lilo”, there’s a pretty good chance of recovery if I’ve done my homework, properly.

After spending the day gittin’ down’n dirty with ma hoes (yo), I got all up in my backyard’s face, woz all over dat sh*t and got to the biznez of whipin’ that lawnz ass, foshizzel.

In other words, I dug up the yard, fertilised the ground, chucked a bit of topsoil around the place and sprinkled in the new lawn seed. Nothing makes a dad feel more like a real man, than using the word “topsoil” in any given context. And I wear the blister on my thumb, like a stinging badge of honor.

So, now I’m keeping my blistered fingers crossed that I’ve done enough to get the lawn bowl rolling. Now it’s up to the universe. With regular watering, hopefully, in a few weeks time, Indy will have a luxurious lawn to run his crawling fingers through, as opposed to the sparse ghastly comb over of a yard we had previously.

Can you dig it?

I know that you can.

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The Notso-Fast Weekend Getaway

Easter is synonymous for many things. Eggs, chocolate, rabbits, men with beards, hot cross buns, walking zombies and of course…traffic.

So, with that in mind, we decided to get a head start on the weekend and leave for Oma & Opa’s (a marathon 4.5hr drive interstate), on Thursday afternoon. That way, we hoped to avoid hirsute men of all descriptions and while Mumma packed the bags, I packed the car.

Cramming the last of the contents of a small European nation into our matchbox sized sedan (does he really need more than 1200 changes of clothes?) The “eye-roll” suggests, “yes”, the scowl suggests, “just keep packing and shut the hell up”.

Packing Indy into the car, Mumma asks, “Got everything?”
“I think so.” Good, and as the final clip on Indy’s car seat clicks into place, I have to duck back in the house for a quick pit stop before we leave. Except that…

“Uh, honey? You locked the door.”

“Yeah, you said you had everything. We’re ready to go.”
“I don’t have my keys.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No…they’re still inside, on the bench.”

The second hand on my watch stops. Time stands still. Not a sound is heard. Just complete and utter silence (somewhere in the woods, a tree falls)

Insert raucous LAUGHTER.

Panic-laughter-panic-panic-more laughter.

After unsuccessfully picking the lock with my cricket bat, at 4:23pm, we rang the real estate. They had a spare key, but we had to get there by 5:30pm when they close for the Easter weekend and reopen on Tuesday. Thankfully, Mumma’s sister lives nearby and saw our smoke signal for help. I borrowed her car and drove off for the key, while Mumma pulled Indy out of the car and played with him on a rug in the garage until my return.

We can only imagine what went on in his mind…

“That’s the weirdest car trip I’ve ever had. You buckle me in, we sit in the garage, then you buckle me out. Bloody car-tease. Make up your mind, for god’s sake.”

However, our one hour delay saw us drive passed the aftermath of three major collisions on the freeway, all within a kilometre of each other. If we’d left on time, we might have been right in the thick of it. Maybe a bearded man was keeping an eye on us after all?

Happy Easter, everyone!!

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Stand And Deliver

Brutally hard at work in my office (see: trolling through Facebook), my heart leapt to my throat when my lovely wife sent out a scream from the living room…

“Quick, to the batmobile…er, baby’s room!”

Batteries to power, turbines to speed, paternal instincts kicked into high gear! Nadia Comaneci’d it over my office chair, nabbed a cricket bat mid-flight, kicked the door open, wide-eyed and alert like Shaun of the Dead, ready to wail the willow over any would-be zombie assailant within 3 miles of my son.

Fully expecting our little bloke to be choking, something fallen on him, wrapped in a cord or going Mano-a-Mano with a giant lizard creature from the Gorn Hegemony (see: Star Trek: Kirk VS Gorn), preparing my best Charlton Heston impression…

“Get your filthy paws off him, you damn dirty ape!”

We stood in total disbelief at the sight that befell us…

There we were, eyeball to eyeball with a grinning little cherub, STANDING for the very first time in his cot. Having pulled himself up the bars on his own. His grin so wide, it pushed out two windows in his room and a look of accomplishment and satisfaction I haven’t seen since I heard we were having a boy.

Give me a heart attack next time, sheesh.

But mummy and I looked at each other and we both felt it…a disturbance in The Force. Our little baby is growing up. And like all good mystery suspense stories, it doesn’t stop there. For there is something else brewing, just under the surface. Waiting, biding its time to burst out and emerge from its little cocoon…

His first tooth.

Just below the surface, ready to pop any day now.

Oh my lord, it has begun…


Working Out “Indy-Gym”

Space: the final frontier (how apparent that we’re quickly running out of it). These are the voyages of the commando crawling, Indy-prise. His 8 month mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilisations, to boldly go where no man has gone before…


(Not to be confused with the Boy Scout’s gigantic week long Jamboree, nor a 3 day festival of Jim Carrey and Jim Belushi films, Jimbaroo – and if there is such a thing…god help us all).

It is in fact, the biggest playmat exercise adventure experience (the size of a basketball court), that Indy has ever seen AND…a heralded saviour and answer to my prayers when wondering how many times can our little bloke circle the couch on his belly, play with the same plastic blocks day after day, figure out my tax receipts and change the oil in my car…all without getting bored?

And now that Indy’s unquenchable thirst for investigating has hit an all-time high (he’s a nosey little bugger), I feel like Roy Scheider in Jaws…

“We’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

Gymbaroo to the rescue. From the minute we walked in and was presented with the plethora of climbing, jumping, rolling and textural equipment…Indy went bananas! Like Charlie Sheen and tiger blood, there’s just no stopping him. Crawling around, singing songs, playing games, learning and having fun all at the same time (flashbacks to his conception), it’s so great to see our boy grow in confidence and tackle more challenging apparatus’ (apperati?), week after week.

And the great part for daddy is that, with all the excitement and stimulation, our little boy is plum tuckered out by the time we get home. Which means I get a few spare moments to myself during the day for important things, like figuring out just how he did change the oil in my car in the first place. And he’d better not have adjusted the seat, it took me ages to get it just right.

Syncing of You

I’ve heard that when women spend a lot of time living together that their cycles start to sync, but I never thought the same thing of men.

Until today.

My boy and I are spending so much time together that I suddenly realised, my god…

We’re on the same cycle!

We sleep, we eat…(and poop)…all on the same cycle. Put it down to routine, male bonding or effective time management, but there in lies the dilemma of needing desperately to go at the exact same time you’re changing your son’s nappy. It’s either you or me kid…one of us has to go (though, technically both of us).

So, what’s a dad to do?

Abandon the lad and leap for the latrine, possibly scarring him for life with issues of abandonment and leaving him sprawled on the change table in his own juices, like a half-stuffed turkey at Christmas?

Or grab hold of the change table and drag it with you like a scene from Platoon, dragging fallen comrades to the chopper (leave no man behind), as you back your way into the bathroom to conduct your business?

Or bite down on a block of wood with crossed legs, your body twisting like a pretzel, squinting through tears as you race to address your son’s needs, before rupturing internally or exploding like a frog in a microwave?

It used to be easier when he was younger, but now that he’s commando crawling quicker than Jeff Thompson avoiding A Current Affair cameras, I can’t just pop him on the floor and leave him unattended (there’s never a Matthew Newton available to lie on the floor with him, when you need one). And if he needs changing the same time as you’re “going”, there’s always the risk of him spreading a trail through the house that requires an urgent call to Drytron to shampoo the carpets.

So, short of matching “His” and “His” adult and child diapers, or a tandem toilet bowl built for two, I guess I have to just grin and bare it. Unless there’s a way to unsync our cycles? Anyone out there have Justin Timberlake on speed dial? I need to know how he broke up NSYNC.


Creepy Crawler

Well…first it was Jesus, then it was DYNAMO (the English magician, not the washing powder).

Now…it’s my son’s turn, to…

“Walk on Water!”

Okay, if you wanna get technical (and I know that you do), he can’t actually “walk”, yet.


He can “commando crawl”.

And better yet, he CAN do it…“ON” water.

Making him, the first person in recorded history, to EVER…

“Commando Crawl…on Water!”

(There’s never a biblical scribe when you need one).

And…if you feel the need to get technical once again (and I know that you do), then…

“La-la-la-la-la-la-laaaa…I can’t hear you…la-la-la-la-la-la-laaaa!”

Enjoy this“momentous” video 😉

Just Add Water

Found a great recipe today.

Take one 7 month old baby boy…

And just add water!

Indy’s first swimming lessons.

And boy, he takes to water like Justin Bieber takes to hair products…

“Let me at ’em, LET ME AT ‘EM!”

The way he was windmilling his little arms with excitement, he could have powered through the water like a little motor boat, or taken out 10 guys at once in a boxing title fight.

His confidence in the water is like Billy Crystal, on stage. Singing, dancing and entertaining as hell.

It’s like he used to live the first 9 months of his life in a liquid environment…(or something?)

Learning to swim invokes a gamut of experiences and emotions for both of us. From splashing around like a joyous madman, to clinging to me for dear life. Seeing his little face rippling under water as he surges toward me is an unforgettable moment, that looks somewhere between a mixture of “Wow, how cool is this liquidy stuff!” to “Don’t EVER do that again!”

But it’s a great feeling to see and feel him put his trust in you and know that no matter what, he’ll be okay. And while he’s occasionally choking on water, Daddy’s choking back emotions of pride and joy watching his little boy become a regular little Water Baby.