Gross things I’ve touched today:

Cigarette butt
Bloodied rag
     (both picked up by the boy on the street)
Ant traps
Male penises (2)
     (I don’t care what you say, penises are gross)
McDonalds soap
Dog poop
     (through a plastic bag)
Child barf
Poison Ivy

The worst part: I haven’t yet touched child poop today which make me nervous about what’s going on inside “Ol’ Two-A-Day”s digestive system.

- Zac

Hank and I often play a rousing game of “Car Truck Bus” out in front of our house. As different vehicles go by, I say whether it is a car, a truck or a bus, with the occasional motorcycle thrown in. Let me tell you, this game is a pain in the ass.

What the hell is a Chrysler Pacifica? A car? It’s big enough to be a truck…it’s bigger than a Ford Escape, and we call them “Trucks” when we’re playing. Minivans? Where do they fall? What about those goofy Chevy SSRs? I think they’re actually smaller than a car and lumpier than a VW Beetle…What happens in my kid’s brain when I call that a truck, and then one of those massive Lexus RX cars? How is he supposed to keep this shit straight?

I guess my question is, do we now have to play the game of Car Truck Bus Motorcycle SUV Minivan Van Jeep SmartCar Scooter Segway (and being in downtown Ann Arbor, we see those) Dune Buggy Windjammer SpaceShuttle Toboggan Zepplin???

Attention Detroit (and mostly Japan):
Keep things simple! I’m trying to educate over here!

A year ago, PJ and I went uptown, I had a coffee, we went to our Hypnobirthing class, and we basically wondered what life would be like on Fathers Day of this year. That was the day our article came out in the Ann Arbor News:

Matt and I talked a lot of smack in that article about how we didn’t want to become lame as soon as our kids were born. I’m glad to say that I think we made it through the first year OK. Matt is now also managing Offsprung (which got a nice mention in the L.A. Daily News) and I still don’t own a pair of Dockers and I have yet to kill or even permanently maim my child, so I think we’re doing just fine.

- Zac

What is up with my kid wanting to jam his fingers into every hole in my face?

Seriously, whenever the kid is near me he’s all up in my ears and nostrils. I thought maybe for a while it was an interest in my teeth (since he’s so new to the game), but it doesn’t stop there.

Remind me not to show him my butthole any time soon.

- Zac

The scene: Morning at the Tobey household. Jackie’s leaving for work. The nanny/sister-in-law has yet to arrive.

Jackie: Your car is behind mine.

Matt: Can you put it in the street for me? I don’t have a car-seat base in my car right now, and I don’t want to leave him in the house while I move it.

[A pause, then...]

Jackie: Wanna just Britney Spears it?

My answer was obviously no, and Jackie ultimately stayed inside with Oscar while I ran out and put my car in the street. But the real lesson here is this: If you’re ever in a situation where you have a decision to make, ask yourself, “Can either of my options be characterized as ‘Britney Spearsing’ it?” If the answer is yes, your choice is made.

– Matt

For the past few weeks, we’ve been taking Oscar to a nearby rec center for Saturday-morning infant swim classes. Most days it ends up being right around his nap-time, but he still seems to enjoy it. At the very least, he’s indifferent, which, with an 8 month old, is often the best you can hope for.

Oscar’s definitely holding his own against the other kids as far as cuteness goes, but I’ve found myself feeling a little threatened by this one little boy who looks a little like a shrunken-down Edward G. Robinson (I don’t mean that as an insult either; most infants look either like Edward G. Robinson or Bob Hoskins. Even the girls.). He’s actually a month or two older than Oscar, but for a 9 or 10 month-old, he’s got mad skills. He kicks and paddles like a pro, and he’ll jump into the water from a sitting position on the edge of the pool into his mom’s arms. Obviously I keep it to myself, because I’d never put that kind of pressure on Oscar (and I’m Wheezy McFatass, so who am I to talk?), but I can’t help but be in awe.

This past Saturday though, I received a bit of vindication. While we swam, I noticed Oscar holding a rubber ducky close to his face with an intense expression. He was studying it, analyzing it. And I realized, while he’s not ahead of the pack athletically, that’s because he’s an intellectual. He might not win a world series or a gold-medal, but he just might cure cancer or build a robot that eats snakes!

Actually, I’m pretty sure he was just pooping, but a father can dream.