Backpacking Dad

I had a chance to be awesome the other day.

I was at a playdate with Awkward Moment Mom and the the Mommy Politics Moms.

It was hosted by AMM and she had also invited one of her friends who has a slightly older girl than the rest of us; a peek into the future for the rest of us. And boy, the future looks pretty freaking adorable.

The MPMs and I were having a conversation about friends, couple friends, pre-kid friends, and post-kid friends. Our revelations? That before you have kids you make people work harder at being interesting before you let them into your "friend circle"; once you have kids, however, you have automatic ice-breakers and perhaps you make it easier for other people to enter your life.

Given the fact that I've spent more time with my mom friends in the course of one week than I did with my pre-kid friends over the course of one month, this just seems entirely true.

It's the playgroups, and wanting our oblivious little children to have BFFs when they're 6 months old, that encourages, promotes, and forces these friendships on us.

AMM's friend, with the adorable little girl, then remarked: "I think it's been hard for me to make those parent friends, because I work. I'm not 100% time, only 70% or so and I'd like to cut it down to about 60% time, but I miss out on those playgroups and playdates and opportunities to create and maintain friendships with other parents."

This comment provoked a paradigm shift for me, a parenting Copernican Revolution. I almost always view myself as the odd-parent out: the dad, the dude, the one without traumatized nipples or concussed vagina, the one who has to work hard; at fitting in, because in my mind the other moms are almost auto-friends, and I'm just tagging along.

But now, I realized, I have no monopoly on fringe-dwelling. Here was a smart, funny, charming mom who also had to work harder at these friendships. And it had nothing to do with dangly bits or lack thereof, and everything to do with opportunity.

I was stunned by my realization. And I was, like Kant, woken from my dogmatic slumber and inspired to do something. This mom had not asked for help, and perhaps didn't need any, and maybe didn't want any. But she had expressed a dissatisfaction with the state of the world, and I could do something about it, in some small way. For her. For my wife, who has to work too much. For the other working parents who feel a little excluded because of circumstance. For the other at-home parents who wished they could do more to help.

And so, on the heels of her confession, my mind raced around and I tried to think of the best, most helpful, inviting, friendly, and caring thing I could say. Because here and now, I could make a difference in this woman's life and it would cost me nothing and would probably mean a lot to her.

"..."

"..."

"...?"

I couldn't think of anything to say.

No. That's not true. I could think of something, and it was entirely inappropriate and I don't even know where it came from.

"Oh. Well. That must be hard."

I wasn't going to say it. Because it was trivial. And it was precisely the kind of dismissive comment that I always fear hearing from moms when I offer some participatory remark. Like "Oh, it's nice of you to try to engage us, Dad, but really you couldn't possibly have anything interesting to add to our mom-versation. Just sit quietly and we'll let your daughter play with our kids. Because that's really all the consideration you deserve."

So there was no way I was going to say the only thing that flashed through my mind. I was never ever going to subject another person to the kind of trauma I was paranoid about enduring.

But, because I was so focused on what I wasn't going to say, I never thought of anything I was going to say.

So I sat there. Looking at her. Perhaps prompting her to say something else with a semi-encouraging look. But she had said what was on her mind, and now, four seconds later the conversation had died and needed to move on.

Sorry folks. I am not awesome. But maybe I will be, next time.

Day One: Thursday or "The Day the Camera Stood Still"

Erin's 1st Birthday was Thursday. Because we are good (read: terrible) parents we took her to Disneyland (you know, because she's been begging us to take her). This was her third trip to visit Mickey.

Let me explain something about my wife and I. We are a little bit insane when it comes to the Disney parks. My wife's engagement ring? From the jewelry store in New Orleans Square. Proposal in front of Sleeping Beauty's Castle? Check. Honeymoon to Disneyworld? Check. Multiple trips to Disneyland Paris? Check. Free Disney Cruise to the Bahamas courtesy of "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire: Play It!"? Check. Trip to Tokyo in 2005 where we spent more time at Tokyo Disney than we did anywhere else? Check. For a brief period in 2005 we had been to every Disney park in the world. Then they opened Hong Kong. Next?

So, we're starting Erin early. We took her to Disneyland when she was 7 weeks old (for Father's Day), again at 8 months (for Christmas), and again for her birthday. We're not too happy about the Disney Princesses obsession that some little girls have, and we're going to try to temper that with some kickass Mulan-watching later, but we love Disneyland.

So, that was a long intro. Erin seems to love Disneyland too. We took her on Thursday. We went on lots of rides and even let Erin go on a few (Dumbo, Casey Jr., Pirates). The Dapper Dans sang "Happy Birthday" to Erin on Main Street:

And we met Mickey in his house for the third time.

Then:

Someone dropped the camera and broke it. I won't say who did it. I won't say who is now even with someone else for having dropped the previous camera in a river in the mountains on a camping trip with his friend.

Ok. It was Emily.

So the rest of the trip was photographed by my mother-in-law (bless her) and by me on my Blackberry (bless Research In Motion).

That night, at dinner, Erin had her first birthday cake, and she fulfilled her 1-year-old obligation and destroyed it.

Day Two: Friday or "Preparing for Jellyfish"

Friday was a blur, for more reasons than one. We had to buy all of the supplies for the party, which meant hitting up a party supply store, Michael's, and Costco all in the same day, as well as peeking into Albertson's. We then drove the supplies over to Emily's aunt and uncle's gorgeous house in Yorba Linda (next door to the lady who invented the Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles) and spent a little time there, putting food away and visiting with those lovely people and their 20 kids. No. Not 20. It just feels like 20, and there were visitors in town already and babies everywhere and it was just awesome.

After a couple of hours we headed out for Laguna Beach to take some pictures. Emily's cousin is a professional photographer (and she took a bunch of shots at Disneyland that I have yet to see) and she was in town with her mom and her little boy, who is one year older than Erin.

Laguna Beach, in the Spring, at dusk, is awesome. (I say "awesome" a lot).

After pictures we drove up to Huntington Beach to have some BBQ at Mo's. And it was awesome.

Then we went back to our Anaheim hotel. And as soon as we emerged from the elevator, vomit emerged from Erin's esophagus.

I don't know what triggered it. She had a couple of good coughs, and then urped all over.

We cleaned her up, thought about what she had eaten, wondered if it was just a water-flush from the dying-of-thirst-water-gobbling she had been doing at dinner. We put her to bed, and then we heard her coughing, sputtering, and barfing again.

Now we were a little worried.

We cleaned her up again and just held her on the bed with us. And she drifted off, coughed, barfed again. Now there was nothing left in her stomach, and she wasn't taking the water we were giving her.

So, a 1:30am Pedialyte run for Dad. Back to the hotel, dose some Pedialyte (way too much, as it turned out...but she was thirsty).

Barf.

So, a 2:30am call to the advice nurse at our home hospital. Smaller doses of Pedialyte, and only if she's actually full-on awake. Don't worry about dehydration until 8 hours of barfing.

Emily went to the other room to try to sleep and I lay with Erin all night, towels spread out beside me for her to barf on at will.

A 3:30am wakeup and more barfing. And then what seemed like 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep. For me and Erin.

Emily didn't sleep a wink all night.

Day Three: Saturday or "Oh yeah, we still have a party going on today at 1pm"

Oh yeah.

We watched Erin take some good amounts of Pedialyte in the morning. And I let Emily go to sleep once she had assured herself that Erin was fine (if very very very thirsty).

But the extra sleep meant a very late start on a day when we were going to do some last-minute party stuff: pick up the cake, decorate the house, pick up the rest of the food, start cooking etc...)

So we were in a bit of a rush when we pulled in to the cake shop to get our cakes (a big one and a little "smash cake" for Erin). And Dad, rushed, on his daughter's first birthday, is not in a particularly good mood for hearing "I don't see your order anywhere."

Gah!?!

I tried to decide if I had the time to kill him before rushing off to another bakery to pick up a last minute cake that would not be Jellyfish themed. I didn't. Have the time, that is. But I did have time, and the patience, and the "don't get thrown in jail on your daughter's birthday" presence of mind to double check that Gaby worked there. She didn't. I was at the wrong bakery entirely. The bakery I had ordered from (online) was actually really close to the hotel and I had just wasted half an hour being a stupid Google-trusting ass.

Also forgot the Jellyfish DVD at the hotel.

So, we picked up the cakes at the correct, awesome bakery and they were awesome:

And we rushed back to the hotel so I could pick up the Jellyfish DVD.

And my camcorder. Gah. What a dumbass I was that morning.

And we rushed over to the house, arriving 5 minutes before the start-time of the party, but not before other guests started arriving, some of whom actually don't know the hosts at all. Good times.

But, long story short (too late!) the party went off with a hitch (that's not a typo), but it was still awesome. And I bbq'd awesome burgers and hot dogs and other stuff. And Erin fell in love with a dog. And she smashed the hell out of her smash cake, which is really what the day, and weekend were about anyway.

And so what if some of the decorations didn't go up. And so what if I didn't have my camera. And so what if we were late.

My little girl was healthy, and happy, and well-loved by the 35 or so people who showed up.

And I'd do it all over again, every bit of it, to see this face:

"Bye bye, guys."

...but I'm too tired to write it at the moment. We've just returned from Erin's Fabulous Jellyfish Party Disneyland Birthday Weekend.

And I need to go to sleep.

But thank you to the diligent 25 or so people who kept checking back here to see if I had posted anything new after Thursday. You are awesome. As are all of you who have a feed subscription that was irritatingly silent over the weekend. You are also awesome. And clearly I need to write more often. Then I too can be awesome.

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