Roxy's Vocabulary

My Mother-In-Law likes to talk about the fact that Leni knew over 100 words by the time she was 1 year old. I'd love to get my hands on this supposed list, but who am I to argue with someone who watches my kid for free?

As for me, I've never asked my Mom exactly what language skills I had at my disposal back then, but I'm sure at some point in her recollection, my mother would use the word "genius." And while this contention may cause some of you to snicker, know that you are not alone. I highly doubt anyone, other than my mother, thought I was a genius.

Probably more like a super genius.

In any event, even though Roxy's Verbal Skills are certainly nowhere near as advanced as her Physical capabilities, my little girl was gracious enough to go through her entire vocabulary at once for this video. Let's take a look:

I counted 3, plus the beginning of "Walk Like A Man" by Frankie Valli. This doesn't look promising.

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

Roxy figured out how to open our front door today.

I've seen her reach up and twist the doorknob. I've seen her open the sideboard, my laptop, reach into my pocket for my phone. I've even watched her take the cabinet locks off and throw them on the Kitchen floor. So it makes sense both logically and developmentally that she would turn her focus towards the local points of egress.

And I need to believe that this is true. I need to believe Leni wasn't too busy to notice. I need to believe Max and Brian didn't leave the front door open during a game. That Roxy's path to a flight of stairs 12 steps high wasn't left completely unobstructed by caprice or indifference. And that the one riser she did fall off of was a warning to stay on our toes.

But mostly, I need to believe that tread pattern on her forehead will go away. Because, Jesus, who wants to go through life looking like that?

Roxy's Diner!

Everyday, I get hundreds of emails asking me "Rodney, just what does Roxy eat?" And that's usually why I don't post on my blog as frequently as I used to: I'm too busy helping other parents construct a balanced diet for their newborn.

Well, I have exciting news. Roxy and I have secured a loan to open a chain of restaurants catering specifically to her, and babies like her. It's called Roxy's Diner.

We just got a proof of the kids menu, so let's take a look!

Who Does Roxy Look Like?

I'm really tired of hearing about it. Everyone has an opinion about who Roxy most resembles and not a single one of them agree. If we were at the Bronx Zoo, people would compliment her on her ivory tusks and leathery skin.

So I took 9 pictures of Roxy, then had Leni, Max, and I all mimic the poses. Maybe you can help us finally gain some clarity on the subject in a controlled, scientific kind of way.

Now let's go collect some data!

Book Nook Review: Dadlabs Guide to Fatherhood

Roxy: What the hell is "Book Nook?"
Me: It's where we engage in a sophisticated round table discussion about the written word and its impact on the world around us.
Roxy: So it's "Man Vs. Baby..."
Me: Except more erudite.
Roxy: Because it's about books?
Me: Because we'll use words like "erudite" and "didactic."
Roxy: As our bodies succumb to ennui.
Me: That's the spirit! Now, considering you spent the first 9 months of your life drinking Mommy Brand Beer in a Uterean Hot Tub, I'm going to take the helm on this one.
Roxy: [pretends to be asleep, snoring]
Me: DadLabs Guide to Fatherhood is a Daddy Guide written by 4 dads based in Austin, Texas. It covers Pregnancy and the baby's first year. Oh, they also do DVD's and Podcasts on their website.
Roxy: They look like doctors on the cover.
Me: They're not doctors.
Roxy: And look at all the different colored babies. It's like a Benetton ad.
Me: This is supposed to be an exercise in Grace and Refinement, Roxy.
Roxy: Like they got ahold of Angelina Jolie's Baby Swatch Book. There's an Asian one and a Spanish one, and this one looks like a little white baby covered in caramel.
Me: That's enough about the cover.
Roxy: [not listening] Maybe we should have monocles.
Me: Are you f**king kidding me? Can we please talk about the book? Talk about the book. Will you talk about the book? Will you talk about the book?
[A beat]
Roxy: You're doing Mamet.
Me: I thought that might get your attention.
Roxy: Alright...proceed.
Me: I have to give DadLabs credit. These guys have done their research. One of them even wore an Empathy Belly filled with 35 lbs. of water, sand, and lead to get a better idea of what pregnancy was like. And I think this kind of dedication to their subject matter adds a tremendous amount of value to their Fatherhood Guide.
Roxy: Let's just be grateful their dedication didn't mislead them into trying to deliver a coconut out of their you-know-what-uss-is.
Me: [exhaling slowly in frustration] Often, when I found myself distracted by the fact that they had omitted something I felt was important, those moments were shortlived. I simply had to read a bit further down the page to discover what was missing. I was especially pleased to find them suggesting bringing extra t-shirts to get the baby's first footprints stamped on them, something I had done.
Roxy: I actually had a very similar experience.
Me: Really?
Roxy: Take the section on "CROWNING," for example. I kept anticipating these bold, emblazoned letters spelling out "For Christ's Sake, Don't Look! This Isn't Something You Can Un-See!" Except then, a little farther along, they recommended the cheap seats in the 3rd level mezzanine up by Mom's shoulders to allow her even the smallest modicum of dignity.
Me: Or at least, the illusion of...
Roxy: Precisely. Right before she poops on the table.
A beat.
Me: IsweartogodI'mgoingtoeffingstrang...
Roxy: What do you feel...is the greatest strength of the DadLabs Guide?
Me: How comprehensive the Guide is. They cover a broad range of subjects, from Finances, Essential Gear, Milestones and the fear that accompanies them, How-To-Not-Anger-Your-Wife, By-The-Book births versus the More-Likely-And-Realistic birthing experiences. And while those topics are most certainly covered in detail in other Fatherhood Guides, DadLabs' presentation seems designed specifically for a new generation of men. Men who prefer directness, a distillation of the knowledge to the purest, simplest form. I don't need to read 40 pages on a Birthing Plan. Just tell me to bring extra pillows, and I'll bring extra pillows.
Roxy: It's like the "Previously on Lost" of Daddy Guides.
Me: Right. Or if your friend gave you his copy of "What To Expect When You're Expecting," except highlighted all the important stuff.
Roxy: I was touched by how encouraging they were of being involved. That "pregnancy" didn't have to remain an abstract concept experienced only by women until the day the child is born.
Me: Yeah...Right, exactly.
Roxy: That men can contribute and support and accompany the entire process, be rewarded, as such. That has been something absent, I find, historically, within our society.
Me: Wow. I, uh, I concur.
Roxy: Low points?
Me: Trifles, really. Not enough on consignment shops or Second Hand Markets for Baby Gear, which I feel are essential avenues towards saving money. The importance of Slings (especially if the baby has Colic). And perhaps nudging Men towards researching the growing wariness of the dreaded Pitocin/Epidural cycle that can cause stress on the infant before it's born.
Roxy: Anything else?
Me: I didn't find them as funny as they seemed to think they were.
Roxy: Dear Kettle, You're black. All the best, Pot.
Me: The idea of the family as a corporation became cloying and labored. Weak metaphors.
Roxy: Says the man who likened fighting with his wife to having an angry wolverine in his underpants.
Me: How is that weak? What do both of those predicaments share in terms of commonalities: Your balls are at stake. That's fairly linear, if you ask me.
Roxy: How were you intending on ending this, by the way?
Me: I don't know. It's a new feature.
Roxy: It's really long.
Me: [reading] Jesus, will you look at that...
Roxy: Maybe we should just tell people to stop reading...
Me: Honestly, I think Last Call was about 12 jokes ago. It's just you and me, I think.
Roxy: Hmmm.
Me: Hmmmm.
A beat.
Roxy: I'm glad you're my daddy.
Me: Me too, sweetheart. Me too.

Dear Max's Possibly Boyfriend Brian...

Roxy loves her new toy, so, thanks.

As for me? I f**king hate it.

Start thinking about your future, kid...'cause if you haven't moved to a different town this time next year, we're going to have a problem.

Sincerely,
Rodney

Roxy's First Birthday!

To be honest, I didn't really think we should celebrate Roxy's birthday. I mean, she's 1. It's not like she's going to remember any of it (and, consequently, neither will I). But I felt the same way I did before her first Christmas when Leni asked me what I thought we should get Roxy:

Me: An attitude adjustment.
Leni: Come on, I'm serious.
Me: Other parents?
Leni: Really?
Me: She's 6 months old. The only thing she needs are diapers.
Leni (leaving): Forget it, I'll do it myself.
Me (yelling): Fine. Invisible Fencing.

Despite my attempts to do nothing, Leni insisted on going overboard for Roxy's special day. So we invited a ton of people; had Spinach Pies and homemade sausage; brought catered food from Taverna Kyclades; and enough liquor to stop zombie Ulysses S. Grant in his tracks (famous alcoholic, not-so-famous zombie).

How did it go? I have no idea. The reason I'm not in that photo up there is I was busy getting to the bottom of an entire bottle of gin. Not all at once. But it may as well have been. By the time 6 PM rolled around, Charisma and Sobriety had long since departed, having an early dinner in the city.

Leaving us with this to entertain:
Jesus, is this guy ever going home?

Roxy's First Fat Lip

There are 2 ways to tell if Roxy is ready for bed at night. One, she'll start rubbing her eyes and getting really fussy. The other is if she's created a triangle between the floor, her feet, and her face. Allow me to illustrate:
After 6 PM and a long day of walking around on her new legs, Roxy has considerable muscle fatigue. Her Dexterity and Balance start to betray her, as if at some point in the late afternoon they've grown bored and have resolved not to play nice anymore.

By the time Roxy's large bald head accepts Gravity's invitation to dance, her body has already decided to sit this Cha-cha out.

So rather than Birthday wishes, maybe we should all just hope the swelling goes down.

How's The Weather Up Here? It Sucks.

If you look in the picture you'll see a portion of my Mother's apartment, the small room directly in front of the bathroom. You may also notice the enormous brass Decapitator she's hung from the ceiling.

I'm not standing on a chair. That's how high it is. And when pressed, my Mother will shrug, as if she did everything she could within the constraints posed by the height of the ceiling.

"The problem is it can't go up any further..." I agree: there is a problem, but it isn't up, Mom. If there's one thing you should do with this f**king chandelier it's take it down.

But no. She likes it. And why not?

Why sacrifice Danger for Style? Why not hang something that gores eyeballs fresh from the skull of your son from the ceiling? Did the Ninja clash? The wolverine too gaudy? Were the Heppelwhite Side Cabinets too difficult to rig so that they would swing down on ropes and crush me if I didn't use a coaster?

Or were all of those too obvious. You painted the chandelier white. It hangs from a white ceiling that sits atop 4 white walls. Know why you can't see a polar bear? It's called CAMOFLAGE. Know why I can't see? Because I bashed my effing face into your light.

Losing Touch

Max went to the movies the other day with 2 friends of hers. One was Aya, a girlfriend from school. The other, Brian, was a boy who may or may not be Max's boyfriend (whatever that means when you're 11). She wouldn't tell me. Anyway...

Me: How did you like the movie?
Max: It was terrible.
Me: Really? You didn't like Shrek?
Max: We didn't see Shrek!
Me: I thought you went to see Shrek 4...
Max: No, we saw Letters to Juliet.

Letters to Juliet?! She may as well have told me they saw a restored print of Barry Lyndon at the Film Forum. That's how ridiculous it was.

Me: Who picked that?
Max: Brian.

Brian? What the hell is wrong with that kid? And just what is there to interest 11 year-olds in Letters to Juliet? Old people holding hands and a Taylor Swift song. You could go to a Gastroenterologist and have the same experience. Or a Diner (but not on the Upper East Side, that's all Strollers and Preggers). Because if someone on YouTube stole the credits and tacked them on to the end of the trailer, you wouldn't have missed a single detail other than the $9 Twizzlers.

Now, I understand sneaking a sip from the liquor cabinet. Lying about something they did wrong. Even looking at Porn on the internet. Because kids are going to be curious and experiment. But this? This might require a psychologist.