Movie Premiere

It's Max's movie debut! Enjoy!

Father's Day

Any time I get to spend the whole day with my son is special. Somehow, because it was my first “Father’s Day”, last Sunday seemed different. It felt more important. That morning, while I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee watching my son eat his cereal, I started thinking about what it means to be a father.

I am a little disturbed about how husbands and fathers are portrayed lately. Every year we, as a society, are subjected to silly TV commercials that depict the American Dad as a bumbling, mouth breathing, doofus. Father's Day is the day when he gets a new grill or power tool because he managed to screw up his previous one. I am not that guy. Most of my friends are not that guy.

So what do I think it mean to be a father?

It means that I have to work hard. Not only to provide for my family, but to set a good example for my son.

It means that things like motorcycles no longer seem important.

It means that I need to know how to change a diaper, prepare baby food and warm a bottle.

It means that when I play with my son, just like in rugby, I need to be prepared for a poke in the eye, a headbut or an occasional kick to the groin, all without getting mad.

It means I want to live a safer and healthier lifestyle because I don’t want to miss a minute of my son growing up.

It means that I would walk through fire and give my life for my child.

It means that no matter what kind of day I had, when I walk in the door and see my son’s face light up, everything is good.

I could go on for days, but you get the point. It was a good first Father’s Day.

Brick Sighting!

Thanks to cousins Dakota and Jake for confirming that Max really does have a brick at Wrigley Field and that I didn't pay a bunch of money for a brick just to sit on our mantle.

Max with his first real solid food!

Oh, that crazy Bee ...

Shannon and I watched the Scripps National Spelling Bee last night. Just like the Little League World series, I try and see it every year. Call me crazy, but I just love to watch these young social misfits compete. They stand tall under the intense pressure in an effort to win the coveted trophy and a pile of scholarship money. I think about all of the hours of study and practice (not to mention countless “wedgies” and “noogies”) they must have endured to make it to the national stage. They all deserve to be commended.

Like anything Shannon and I watch involving children, we ended up in a discussion about what part of parenting makes some children driven and successful. “How do these kids get so smart?” Shannon asked at one point. “I think it is because their parents make education and learning the main priority,” I said. “That and they probably aren’t such good athletes with their pants “jacked up” so high.”

Don’t get me wrong, I am not trying to make fun of these kids or belittle their accomplishments. I will be thrilled if Max grows up to be able to spell "guerdon" (a word of Germanic origin that means “reward) like little Sameer Mishra from Indiana. Congratulations Sameer. Great Job!

Being smart is a good thing. I am lucky to be married to Shannon. I know she will make learning and reading a priority at our house. I will do what I can to help. I want my son to get good grades and go to quality schools.

In fact, I hope Max is the smartest person ever to play third base for the Chicago Cubs.

What is in that breast milk?

Max is getting very close to six months in age. If he keeps growing at this pace, before long he will be the size of a 5th grader. He has also discovered how much he likes to bang his toys on things. It’s like living with Bam Bam off the Flintstones.

You think I am exaggerating, but I’m not. Just the other night Shannon was out at book club. Max and I stayed home for a boy’s only night. (We both really wanted to go to book club but we hadn’t read the book.) Max was getting hungry so I fed him some rice cereal and a jar of green beans. I gave him a small bottle of milk to wash down all that tasty food.

After supper I put Max in the exersaucer to play. Of course, by play I mean banging his fist on the plastic toys in front of him. Soon I began to smell a foul odor. This is the benefit of adding vegetables to his diet. No longer do you have to speculate on weather or not he needs a diaper change. I also noticed a small amount of green bean paste in his right nostril.

To make a long story short, the meal combined with the “overflow”, required me to give him a bath. When he was clean and greased up, I decided to just put him in his jammies. It was already getting close to bed time.

I grabbed a pair of pajamas from the clean clothes stack and laid them on the changing table. After wrestling with flailing arms and kicking legs, I finally buttoned the last (of about 50) snaps. I looked down at my smiling baby boy and realized he wasn’t wiggling anymore. Not because he was getting sleepy, but because he couldn’t budge in his skin tight outfit. He looked like Lloyd Bridges in one of those old Sea Hunt reruns.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I thought. “He just wore those two days ago.” For a second or two I debated getting some scissors and just cutting the feet out of them. But better safe than sorry I always say. We tried on a couple more outfits before we found one that fit.

I guess that is why you see so many babies in just a diaper when you go to Wal-Mart.

My Little Cubs Fan

It was early in the morning on November 29, 2007. Shannon had given birth the night before. The hospital room was very quiet. My wife was sleeping (with the help of some pain medication) and my new son had just dozed off. I myself couldn’t sleep. Mostly from the excitement of seeing that beautiful baby boy, but also because the fold out couch felt like a burlap bag filled with concrete.

As the sun began to show through the aluminum blinds I did what any proud new father would do. I pulled out the laptop and started checking out my favorite sports teams on the internet. While looking at cubs.com, the official site of the Chicago Cubs, I noticed a link that said “Wrigley Field Brick Paver Program”. Curious, I clicked on it.

Over the winter they were redoing the sidewalk and ticket area around Wrigley Field in Chicago. For a fee you could purchase a brick and put an inscription on it. That customized brick would be laid in front of the ballpark for all to see. When the project was completed I would be sent a replica of the original paver and given directions on how to find it when we visited Wrigley Field. “This is too good to be true,” I thought. I quickly ordered one with my son’s name on it.

I spent the next few minutes looking into Max’s crib and imagining taking him up to a Cubs game and looking for “his brick”. “How old should he be when I take him?” I thought. “5 maybe 6 years old?” He needs to be old enough to appreciate it. I guess I’ll know when I know.

Several weeks later a small, heavy package arrived in the mail. I had almost forgotten about the order until I saw the Cubs logo on the outside of the box. “Max’s brick is here!” I proclaimed. Shannon looked at me a little funny until I explained what I was talking about. I hastily opened the box and pulled out the heavy block. In plain block letters it said 'Max D. Minninger'. “It’s perfect,” I said.

In a few days I received a letter explaining how to find the location at Wrigley field. It is located under the big, red Wrigley Field sign near the new Ernie Banks statue. How cool is that?

So if any of you make the trip to Chicago, and go to a Cubs game, look for the brick with Max’s name on it. (And then ask yourself, “Why didn’t I bring Dan to the game?)