Laundry

Hey Archer,

While I’m gone you may need to step up and handle a few things. For this trip it may be important to focus on laundry. There’s a backload of clothes and towels that need folding as well as quite a bit of dirty things waiting their turn in the wash. Here’s the rub though, some of the things are easy to figure out but some things (YOUR MOM’S THINGS) are often confusing and difficult to handle. So here’s a quick guide to handling laundry.

MY LAUNDRY

1. Lump all whites and colors together in a reasonably sized pile and wash on whatever setting you like. I call this the Great Unifier technique. We’re all in this together, buddy. Dry at surface of the sun temperature.

YOUR MOM’S LAUNDRY     

1. All yoga clothing goes in together and don’t you dare put a towel in there with it. IT’ll BEAD!! It won’t. But god forbid it does because your mom will want all new clothing and have you ever bought anything at Lululemon? No, you haven’t. I know this because you aren’t rich and because you’re a baby with no income. Nothing gets past your old man. Replacing her clothes would bankrupt us. So keep em separate. 
2. Wash on the most delicate setting which, in the case of the very expensive washer your mom made me buy, is called Gentle Whispers. This setting will lightly spritz the clothing with artesian well water while the clothes are slowly tussled. There are many breaks in the tussling where the washer will whisper encouragement to the clothing, saying things like “You can do this. You is strong. You is smart."
3. When the washer has stopped promptly move mom’s clothing to the dryer as to not disrupt the journey. Now is a good time to also reinforce the washer’s words and make sure her clothing knows that they are fully supported during this process. But for god’s sake please whisper.
4. Drying her clothing is a very delicate process. First you turn the dryer on and spread the clothing out without bunching. Then you shut the door and let the dryer use its “Natural Drying” setting to handle things. This allows the dryer to offer nothing more than a safe haven for her clothing while they air dry without the harmful effects of forced air.
5. After approximately 3 times through this cycle the clothes will be still wet. Simply spread each piece of clothing out on top of the dryer and any nearby surface until dry.
6. For all other clothing just separate into these simple piles: Colors, whites, dry clean only, no drying, wash without detergents, don’t wash, hang dry, requires treatment, wash inside out, shake first, purchased before 2000, foreign bought, accidentally reversible, and sentimental pieces.
7. Repeat steps 1-6

Well, buddy, I’m on the road and it’s time to turn in for the night and prepare for my account call in the morning. But before I go, a little advice:

Be not afraid of going slowly, be afraid only of standing still. Especially in West Virginia. Always watch your butthole there. <banjo music>

~ Your Dad

Making You (Great) ((Again))

Hey Nugget,

Our great nation is about to transfer power from a role model to a model of everything we don't want you to be. Actually, I'll be on board if you can be rich. That's cool. But otherwise, we'd like you to respect women, people who aren't white, and people who have a different origin story from you. To listen to those with opinions that differ from your own and be willing to see things from their perspective even if it's uncomfortable. Be nice. Apologize when you should and keep your mouth shut when the situation calls for it. It won't be easy, but if we take an honest look at the state of our country during this transition it's more than a little concerning.

But that's our country. How about us, your amazing parents? How are we doing?

As of 1/17/2017 your parents are doing great. Sure, there are times that I look at your mom and think "WHAT THE F$%* ARE YOU DOING?!?!" but I'm sure there are an equal amount of times that your mama looks at me and thinks "Damn if he hasn't crushed it again. He's as amazing as he is handsome!!!"

Guilty as charged, buddy.

I guess what I'm getting at is that it's not easy to be parents. We, literally, have to create you from nothing (nothing but humping...unghhhhh) and nurture you into a tiny human being. Shit can go all sorts of wrong in all sorts of ways. You'll be relying on us to handle things swiftly, effectively, and safely. It takes a steady hand and a clear mind to accomplish this task and I absolutely know I'm up for the challenge. When it comes to your mom, and I'll be completely transparent here on this blog that I know you've read every day since well before you were born, she's more than up for the challenge too. More. Like sometimes she does more and takes things a little farther in her quest for a safe household.

Here's an example...

Allow me to take you back a few months to the early morning hours of a random work day, the wee hours if you will. I woke up to take a leak (a wee!) and noticed your mama was fully awake. That's part of the job, unfortunately. Growing you in her belly, not unlike how scientists are now able to grow you a new nose on your thigh, takes time and comes with many drawbacks. In this case, that drawback is being awake in the middle of the night because you decide to have a dance party.

(Mama won't admit it but I'm 100% sure you were doing the Robot. It's in our blood.)

Well, the morning comes and you two are still sawing logs due to your late night dance party. I'm up so I head out for rations and while I'm gone I receive a text that asks where I am and informs me I wasn't around for something I'm calling "Palmetto Bug-Gate 2016".

If you aren't aware of what a Palmetto Bug is, and you probably aren't because you're a brand new baby, it's basically a roach in the south. They're big and they do look scary. That being said, they aren't shape-shifting death bugs who, at their whimsy, can leap or fly directly at your mouth to give you aids. They're scared of us. They'll hustle for the safety of your walls and molding before you can even light anything on fire.

Most people would just grab a magazine, or if you're under 60, some of those godawful advertisement bundles that won't stop showing up in your mailbox, (Fuck you, RedPlum!) and beat the stupid bug to death.

But your mama is not most people.

There's this product available on the market for all of your hornet and wasp killing needs. Because those beasts are stingers, and because most of us (me included) can be pansies about stinging things, you can fire this spray from up to 25ft and it will kill a hornet or wasp's family quicker than Trump kills democracy. (pound sign and that's quick pound sign did I do this hashed tagged thing right?)

But let's get back to what's important, your lovely mother's response to a Palmetto Bug.

She, animal rescuer and sucker for all living things that aren't jerks, knew she had to kill this thing before it morphed into a human-sized killing machine. You know, every hornet or wasp's destiny. So she ran downstairs to grab something she could kill it with, knowing full well that this harbinger of death would likely capitalize on her absence to set up a trap.

I imagine her frantically slapping away bottles of dishwasher detergent and rarely used things like Bamboo Oil so she could gain access to something that might kill this thing setting up shop in our bathroom. Something in or around the "scorched earth" level of destruction.

Enter Spectracide Wasp and Hornet Killer. Works from 25 ft away and was likely chilling at the very back of our cleaning cabinet underneath the kitchen sink due to its ability to kill things simply by touching them. Please enjoy this picture of said spray lounging with a friend in a sweet SoHo loft.

Now she has a weapon with which to take out this demon of the bug world and it's on like Donkey Kong.

Imagine, if you will, a window in any given room. It's standard window height and probably 4ft by 4ft. It has a little handle to spin that opens the window out into the world, which I'm sure has a specific name but I can't be bothered. But anyway, keep this type of window in mind:

Now imagine your mama as she stands 15ft away and burns three quarters of a can trying to kill the single bug on the window sill. She doused the entire set of blinds, the wall below, and the floor from the wall back to her firing position.

Of course the bug died. Maybe not even from the chemicals as much as it probably drowned in the sea of Spectracide your mom unleashed. Now your dad has to clean everything up because those sprays have harmful chemicals your mama can't be in contact with. It took 30 minutes to clean and almost 12 hours later I'm still a little annoyed by it.

But the good news?

You'll never feel like we didn't try hard enough. And before I go, a piece of advice:

It's said that a dead bee makes no honey. But if you don't particularly like honey or bee stings it definitely sounds like a win win to kill that bee.

~ Your Dad

The unrelenting freight train of time

Ok, that title may seem dramatic, but how is it that you are already more than six weeks old? Weren't you just born, helpless and kicking imaginary ninjas under the sun lamp meant to cure you of your slightly yellow hue? It sure seems like it, but at the same time, you have gone through a hundred little metamorphoses. Your little infant face is so different every day, and yet still a little carbon copy of your daddy.

You already know how to smile, the sight of which melts my heart into a puddle. Refuse to nap, even though I know you are so tired and that staying awake will throw off your tenuous sleep/wake schedule? Just throw me one of those open-mouthed gummy grins, and I'll gladly snuggle you against me until you drift into slumber. And then stay there, because who wants to unsnuggle a warm sleepy baby? And your snuggling is seriously other level. You squirm your entire body into mine, nuzzling your face under my chin so that you are breathing your magical breath right into my neck. I am consumed with your sweet baby smell and it is the closest thing to heaven I've ever experienced.

You make the funniest noises when you sleep. These can vary from your very unsubtle poop-making grunts and groans, to the softest, gentlest high pitched sighing of satisfaction that you are really just that cozy and content. I look at you and swear I have never been that comfortable or as deeply asleep as you are.

Your awake time is so much more alert now. You are fascinated by lights and shadows. The painting above the couch in the living room is your favorite. I'm not sure what you are seeing when you look at it, but your eyes get lost in there, as if in search for the beginning and end of every brush stroke. You love music, so much so that it will never be the way to get you to sleep. It is a reason to stay awake, to listen intently and bop along with it. You were born with rhythm. Too early yet to see if it's an innate musicality or if you'll have the most wicked white man shuffle in town, but either way, it seems to make you happy.

All this is to say, this love story is only just beginning. The more I discover you, the deeper I fall. You are the greatest conductor of love. Not only do I love you fiercely, but you inspire deeper love for those around us. Your father holds you and makes you giggle, or soothes you when you're having a moment, and my heart is filled with even more love for him. When your grandparents, aunt, uncles and cousins come to visit you, and anxiously take turns holding you, they are newly precious to me, because they are all important limbs in your family tree. I see the qualities I love in them and what I imagine you will learn from each of them. It's contagious, this love. Thank you for letting me see the world through you. It's such a gift.

Love, Mama

How I Know That 794 Isn't A Working Area Code

Hey Archer,

Did you know that 794 is not a valid area code? Yeah, me neither. Turns out that's a good thing. I'll explain...

You were born a boy, and boys have, barring some sort of cruel DNA joke, boy parts. That means your pleasure center™ is an outie. If you were a girl you'd have an innie as well as a dual purpose outie. That last part is a more in depth discussion for a few years from now but all you have to know now is that when you have your Pleasure Center™ fully on the outside there's this thing your mom and dad have to decide on, called circumcision.

Circumcision is a procedure that, in terms you may understand, takes that really long sleeve on your elephant pajamas and cuts it back so your gigantic arm can more easily make it out of the sleeve. It cuts back on your arm getting stuck in the sleeve and allows you to show off your Popeye-like forearms without hassle. Your arm won't get as many infections and you won't look different from your dad. You know, should you someday walk in on your mom and I wrestling and accidentally see something.

Does that make sense?

Well it will someday, but that's just the backstory to the story.

We got you circumcised and it was our first time taking you out of the house except for a couple checkups with your pediatrician. She's a great doctor and understands that you're a newborn and susceptible to scary viruses or bacteria until you get a little older. Thus she schedules your appointments first thing in the morning and we get invited back to the exam room almost immediately, which is important. For the first 30 days of your life we needed to keep you away from anything that could give you a fever. If a fever occurred we would have had to bring you in to the hospital for a spinal tap due to scary complications of even scarier conditions.

The place we brought you for your circumcision was, well, let's just say it was like taking you into a house from the TV show Hoarders.

Little kids were running around without parental attention being paid, messing with the visibly dirty toys meant to help keep these disgusting little rugrats busy while Obama personally calls in to add $90 to your copay and inform the staff where you keep your guns. You, being the most beautiful and precious thing currently on planet earth, were in danger of catching something from these scrubs (don't go chasing waterfalls) and wouldn't you know it took 45 minutes of exposure before we got called back. So gross.

Once back your mom politely refused to go watch the procedure. I, on the other hand, am a more curious and tolerable soul when it comes to this stuff and happily went back with you. Not four seconds after walking in the room I was posed with my first solo parental decision that could have led to decades of conflict between your mom and I.

I have barely shut the door to the procedure room when the doc turns to me, holding up what looks like a Dum Dum brand sucker, and says "OK if I give him a sucker?"

(OK, so full disclosure here...Your mom has two faces when it comes to food stuffs. Her main face is the beautiful one you're used to seeing and it appreciates anything organic or sustainable. If it was blessed by a shaman or has a yoga pose on the packaging than all the better. Her other face is triggered by meat or anything your dad likes and IT. IS. SCAAAARRRRRY.

Zero to sixty, buddy. There's no in between.

So just know that suckers at the tender age of 15 days old fall into that second category. It may surprise you that I actually feel mostly the same way, though I am much more willing to let a medical professional do what all of the world's evidence suggests is the best thing in the moment. That being said, this seemed a bit unnecessary.)

I chuckle at first, thinking he's joking. Then I realize he isn't but figure he's interested in giving something for pain (maybe?) that is just in sucker form but is really just very helpful or important medication.

After I chuckle I say that I don't think your mom would be happy about it and he says that it works like a sedative. I still decide to decline because I do believe there's no need for you to have sugar for sedation when they plan on sticking you with needles to numb the whole area of concern.

He tells me it's no problem and starts prepping. It's at this moment that a nurse walks in to assist and, seeing that you have no sucker in your mouth, immediately grabs the sucker and starts to put it in your mouth. Both the doctor and I catch her in time and your CMO diet (Chest Milk Only) is intact for another day.

The doc does his thing and you scream like a little bitch. Ha! Just kidding, you definitely screamed but it was for good reason and there isn't a guy on this planet, save for Kanye West, who isn't man enough to admit he'd have probably cried too.

We get done and the doc gives his instructions for care and what we should look out for. He says we can call him or text him pictures if there's anything we have concerns about.

As it turns out, we did end up having concerns about how things looked and I took to my phone to text a picture to the doctor. Because I'll get flagged by some douchebag if I post the picture I actually took, here's an exact rendering, to scale, of what I sent.

I asked if what I was looking at was normal, expecting to get a text back saying that it absolutely was and I shouldn't worry. Instead, I looked down at the message I'd just sent and noticed I fat-fingered a 9 in place of a 0.

PANIC SET IN!!!

I began frantically typing out an apology and a follow up text using a little humor to hopefully diffuse the situation before some offended person turned me in for trafficking child porn.

Then my phone dinged and I thought, "Well, here it is. I'm either going to get an understanding person or an offended person" and I was overwhelmed with relief to see a text bouncing back mine as not deliverable because 794 isn't a valid area code.

So that's the story about how your junk is totally normal and I almost went to jail before learning that 794 isn't a working area code.

Before I go, a little advice:


They say you should measure twice and cut once but I'd like to change that to check twice and send once when it comes to pics of any baby dicks.

~ Your Dad