We Are All Wild Things

As I mentioned in The Dude’s Guide to Surviving Your First Pregnancy, I suggest that expectant parents-to-be see a lot of movies in theaters before their little bundle of diaper-destruction arrives.  Mrs. Dude and I were regular theater-goers throughout our relationship until our Little Dude was born.  Since then, I think we’ve gone 3 times in 30 months, or about as often as Lindsay Lohan gets arrested.

We had a scheduled C-Section, thanks to a large breech baby with a short umbilical cord, so we knew when he’d arrive. During our last weekend of freedom, we went to see “Where The Wild Things Are”, the film adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s classic storybook. 

Though the movie was quite picturesque, what stood out most to me was how they managed to turn a book containing a total of 10 sentences into a movie 104 minutes long. Also notable, it featured larger-than-life animatronic monsters, one of which sounded exactly like Tony Soprano. 

"Max, let's grab some Gabagool & head to the Bing"

But Sendak’s tale of young Max and his quest to find his place in the world resonated with me. I’d read the book countless times as a child, but none in the last 30 or so years.  It wasn’t until recently that I realized how much I identified with Max. Like him, I left the familiar place I was raised (Ohio) where I often wore unique non-traditional attire (tie-dye shirts) and moved to a far-off land filled with Wild Things (Los Angeles). 

When I arrived in my new distant land, many things didn’t turn out as I expected. Like Max, I sought to become king of the wild things. And even though that hasn’t happened yet, like Max my journey continues. After more than a dozen years I’ve battled my share of monsters, attended numerous Wild Rumpuses and I’m still here to tell the tale.

Now as I raise my Little Dude, I look forward to the day that he gets to hear Sendak’s classic for the first time.  And I hope that he is not afraid to express his creativity and individuality, like Max, for better or worse.

Maurice Sendak died yesterday at the age of 83.  

May his stories continue to inspire little Wild Things for generations to come. 

Maurice Sendak (on the right) and a friend.

You Make Me Sick

Just 10 days shy of the Little Dude’s 2^nd birthday we had a big “First” milestone this weekend. And everyone has been shocked to hear that we got by this long without it happening already.  After skating by for 721 days unscathed BC somehow managed to acquire his first fever. 

We took BC to the park on Saturday morning where he ran around for a while and went on the slide about 62 times.  We hoped to tire him a bit before taking him on a really fun errand: quality time at the Sprint store.  Obviously we didn’t spend enough time beforehand at the park, because he proceeded to run around the store and pick up chics for 2 solid hours afterward. And I got to be the chaser.  

Needless to say when we left the store, I was tired and hungry.  But I’m an old Dude.  I looked at BC in his car seat and his eyes were glazed and he was starting to doze off, which is not something he normally does in the car. In fact he rarely does it when we want him to (like on a long car ride), but sometimes does it when we don’t want him to, like in this circumstance before lunch.  I reached back and touched his leg which felt like it was on fire.  If it was any hotter I probably could’ve fried bacon on it.  

When we got home, I dug the infant thermometer out of my makeshift medical kit. The only other things in there are a couple Q-tips and a pack of Juicy Fruit* so it was easy to locate. We’ve used it a couple times when we thought he was sick, only to be disappointed by a reading of 98.6. One thing I’ve learned about kids and thermometers: they generally don’t get along.  

*Side note, what kind of fruit is Juicy Fruit supposed to taste like? I've never figured it out. 

Knowing he wasn’t feeling well we thought he might be easygoing about having his temp taken  this time. In the past he’s acted like fraternity kid on a mechanical bull: flailing and bucking to the best of his ability but in the end standing no chance against the bigger stronger opponent.  Nope, same thing.  

The unfortunate thing about trying to take a 2 year old’s temp is that he doesn’t understand that he could be dealing with a much less attractive option.  Since he’s not quite old enough for the oral thermometer the best option is under the arm pit.  Well, actually the doctor said there is a better option in terms of accuracy but it’s really not a better option for either the child or the parent. Or the thermometer.

We finally got the reading and it said 101. Uh oh. Weekend plans were suddenly 86’d. Too bad, because we were supposed to go watch the Ohio State/Wisconsin game at a Badger friend’s house.  I missed my chance to rub Buckeye victory in her face.  

The strange thing about a sick kid is he doesn’t know he’s supposed to change his routine and relax.  If an adult discovers his temp is even 98.7, he’s going to call off work for 3 days. With kids you need to lasso them in to force them to chill out.  I learned that Popsicles make good lure.

After sleeping for 11 hours overnight I figured he’d be feeling better today, but alas the temp lingers.  He ran around this morning like Lindsay Lohan at Kleptomaniacs Anonymous. Full speed.  He normally naps for about 3 hours. Today I spent the better part of 2 hours getting him to nap for less than 1. Clearly not effective nap time for him -- or me.  After trying to get him to nap for that long, I suddenly needed one.

Halloween is looming and I don’t think he knows what’s at stake if he’s sick. My chocolate supply for the next 3 months.  So I hope that he gets a good night sleep and tomorrow feels like a brand new Dude.  

Thanks for reading The Dude of the House! Tell your friends... 

--JJ aka The Dude of the House