Park Road

Fatherhood and Family Life
I'm Mike Reed, family man:
Husband and (relatively) new dad. This is the story of Max.

tumblr_l8v31dChiM1qd97pi
facebook | twitter | mikereed.me



___|

  • April 22, 2014 6:15 pm

    What little boys do: a photo essay.

  • April 20, 2014 11:12 am

    Happy Easter.

  • April 18, 2014 7:39 pm
    (iPhone) movie night. View high resolution

    (iPhone) movie night.

  • April 18, 2014 5:20 pm

    No more nightmares

    image

    Max wasn’t so creeped out by the Easter Bunny this time around. He was really excited to see him. But that hasn’t always been the case.

    image

    image

    image

  • April 17, 2014 8:10 pm
    He’s watching TV from across the house, behind a counter in the kitchen, because his cartoon has a scary robot dinosaur. He’s pretending to ninja-fight it with one hand while holding on for dear life with the other. View high resolution

    He’s watching TV from across the house, behind a counter in the kitchen, because his cartoon has a scary robot dinosaur. He’s pretending to ninja-fight it with one hand while holding on for dear life with the other.

  • April 16, 2014 8:01 pm

    Today at the fast-food drive-through window (Max is already upset because I don't have anymore gummy snacks on hand) ...

      Me (to the cashier):  I'll take a Number 3 with a Diet Coke and a chicken nugget Happy Meal for a boy with an apple juice.
      Max (to me, angrily):  I DON'T WANT YOU TO HAVE A NUMBER 3. I DON'T WANT YOU TO HAVE A DIET COKE. I DON'T WANT CHICKEN NUGGETS. I DON'T WANT APPLE JUICE. I DON'T WANT A HAPPY MEAL.
      Me (to Max):  Do you want the toy?
      Max (quietly):  Yes.
  • April 13, 2014 6:06 pm

    Almost summertime.

  • April 2, 2014 12:08 am
    All you have to do is search “Ninja Bread Men” on Amazon. 

You’re welcome. View high resolution

    All you have to do is search “Ninja Bread Men” on Amazon.

    You’re welcome.

  • March 30, 2014 11:12 pm
    Max is feeling better. After the wave of sickness that hit him on Friday, he slowly returned to his mischievous little self.
He had many accidents throughout the weekend, and they were as frustrating for him as they were for us (he never figured out that you cannot fart when you have diarrhea).
The funeral service on Saturday was nice. Max made it 12 minutes before I wrangled him out of the chapel because he kept jumping around and kicking the empty chair in front of him, trying to knock it over. I am not exaggerating about that. The service began at 2 p.m. My watch said 2:12 p.m. when I carried him out.
Then I chased him around the lobby until it ended.
Today, we finally made it to the Natural History Museum. It was rainy, windy and cold. And the rain turned to ice and snow. And we didn’t pack clothes for that.
But we couldn’t leave D.C. without seeing it (thank you to babylately for the heads up that the dinosaur exhibit would close in April for five years). We felt like we might not ever see it if we didn’t go today – who knows if he’ll still be into dinosaurs in five years?




So we parked at an end of a Metro line and took the train into town. Max loved the ride, and the museum was fun.
He was still a little sick, so we had to run to the bathroom every 20 minutes. Once, at the very crowded Fossil Café, Max threw the bag of chips he wanted on the floor and screamed.
"OH NO! I HAD ANOTHER ACCIDENT!"
It was one of three accidents today at the museum. But one of them was my fault. When we got off the train, he said he had to poop, and I told him to hold it until we could find a bathroom. When we entered the museum, he said he didn’t have to go anymore because “the poop went back inside my butt.” I said “OK.” Five minutes later, he crapped his pants.
After three hours in the museum, we probably saw a tenth of it. But it was time to head home.
Traffic and weather added an extra hour to our trip. Max was good, though. No accidents. He slept for three hours, and he was pleasant for pretty much the whole ride.
We’re back home in Charlotte now, and I had a nice little stack of birthday cards from the mail waiting on me. View high resolution

    Max is feeling better. After the wave of sickness that hit him on Friday, he slowly returned to his mischievous little self.

    He had many accidents throughout the weekend, and they were as frustrating for him as they were for us (he never figured out that you cannot fart when you have diarrhea).

    The funeral service on Saturday was nice. Max made it 12 minutes before I wrangled him out of the chapel because he kept jumping around and kicking the empty chair in front of him, trying to knock it over. I am not exaggerating about that. The service began at 2 p.m. My watch said 2:12 p.m. when I carried him out.

    Then I chased him around the lobby until it ended.

    Today, we finally made it to the Natural History Museum. It was rainy, windy and cold. And the rain turned to ice and snow. And we didn’t pack clothes for that.

    But we couldn’t leave D.C. without seeing it (thank you to babylately for the heads up that the dinosaur exhibit would close in April for five years). We felt like we might not ever see it if we didn’t go today – who knows if he’ll still be into dinosaurs in five years?

    So we parked at an end of a Metro line and took the train into town. Max loved the ride, and the museum was fun.

    He was still a little sick, so we had to run to the bathroom every 20 minutes. Once, at the very crowded Fossil Café, Max threw the bag of chips he wanted on the floor and screamed.

    "OH NO! I HAD ANOTHER ACCIDENT!"

    It was one of three accidents today at the museum. But one of them was my fault. When we got off the train, he said he had to poop, and I told him to hold it until we could find a bathroom. When we entered the museum, he said he didn’t have to go anymore because “the poop went back inside my butt.” I said “OK.” Five minutes later, he crapped his pants.

    After three hours in the museum, we probably saw a tenth of it. But it was time to head home.

    Traffic and weather added an extra hour to our trip. Max was good, though. No accidents. He slept for three hours, and he was pleasant for pretty much the whole ride.

    We’re back home in Charlotte now, and I had a nice little stack of birthday cards from the mail waiting on me.

  • March 28, 2014 11:10 pm
    Today is my birthday. I’m 36.
I knew it would be a rough weekend – but not as bad as it was two years ago.
We left for Maryland yesterday to attend a funeral service for Clarissa’s grandmother. That’s life. I’m happy to support my wife and my family.
Max, however, really left his footprint on today (the funeral is tomorrow).
We split the trip from Charlotte to a suburb of Washington with a hotel in Richmond. We planned to wake up today and head into D.C. around lunch. We thought Max would like the Museum of Natural History.
But we only slept about three hours last night. Max woke up at 2 a.m., puking everywhere. He woke up again and again to throw up five or six times. We found an urgent care clinic in Richmond in the morning. Ear infection. Or maybe a virus. Anyway, they were nice and sent us off with some antibiotics.
By this point, we had already scrapped the museum trip.
Before we left Richmond, we stopped at a Walgreens to pick up some children’s Tylenol. Max crapped his pants in the parking lot. He called it “melted poop,” and we knew exactly what he meant. I had to teach him that, when you are sick, you can’t fart – you have to hold it in as tight as you can.
An hour later, almost halfway to Maryland, his mouth exploded – projectile vomit. Apple juice everywhere. Some of it hit the dashboard. Some of it hit my sleeve.
A little later, after we cleaned him up, he told us he had to poop. We were 15 minutes from the nearest bathroom, but it didn’t matter. From the rearview mirror, I watched him, sitting in his car seat, reach his arms forward and clinch his fists. His face was red.
I said, “oh, no.” Max said, “nooooo.” He couldn’t hold the diarrhea back. A second later, his mouth exploded again. Apple juice everywhere.
We checked into our hotel in Maryland a little later, and Max started feeling better. So we went to the home of the bereaved for dinner.
Max refused to go inside.

He wanted to wait in the car. He agreed to let us buckle him up in his car seat so he could watch movies on his iPad without destroying the car any more. So we did. He sat in the car by himself for three hours. We had to check on him every five or 10 minutes.
When we made it back to our hotel after dinner, whatever sickness he had seemed to be gone. He bounced from bed to bed for an hour like a lunatic, burning up his stores of energy.
He’s still awake. I want him to sleep. I’d like to relax.
Birthdays.
They’re rough. 
View high resolution

    Today is my birthday. I’m 36.

    I knew it would be a rough weekend – but not as bad as it was two years ago.

    We left for Maryland yesterday to attend a funeral service for Clarissa’s grandmother. That’s life. I’m happy to support my wife and my family.

    Max, however, really left his footprint on today (the funeral is tomorrow).

    We split the trip from Charlotte to a suburb of Washington with a hotel in Richmond. We planned to wake up today and head into D.C. around lunch. We thought Max would like the Museum of Natural History.

    But we only slept about three hours last night. Max woke up at 2 a.m., puking everywhere. He woke up again and again to throw up five or six times. We found an urgent care clinic in Richmond in the morning. Ear infection. Or maybe a virus. Anyway, they were nice and sent us off with some antibiotics.

    By this point, we had already scrapped the museum trip.

    Before we left Richmond, we stopped at a Walgreens to pick up some children’s Tylenol. Max crapped his pants in the parking lot. He called it “melted poop,” and we knew exactly what he meant. I had to teach him that, when you are sick, you can’t fart – you have to hold it in as tight as you can.

    An hour later, almost halfway to Maryland, his mouth exploded – projectile vomit. Apple juice everywhere. Some of it hit the dashboard. Some of it hit my sleeve.

    A little later, after we cleaned him up, he told us he had to poop. We were 15 minutes from the nearest bathroom, but it didn’t matter. From the rearview mirror, I watched him, sitting in his car seat, reach his arms forward and clinch his fists. His face was red.

    I said, “oh, no.” Max said, “nooooo.” He couldn’t hold the diarrhea back. A second later, his mouth exploded again. Apple juice everywhere.

    We checked into our hotel in Maryland a little later, and Max started feeling better. So we went to the home of the bereaved for dinner.

    Max refused to go inside.

    He wanted to wait in the car. He agreed to let us buckle him up in his car seat so he could watch movies on his iPad without destroying the car any more. So we did. He sat in the car by himself for three hours. We had to check on him every five or 10 minutes.

    When we made it back to our hotel after dinner, whatever sickness he had seemed to be gone. He bounced from bed to bed for an hour like a lunatic, burning up his stores of energy.

    He’s still awake. I want him to sleep. I’d like to relax.

    Birthdays.

    They’re rough