Today rated a solid 8. I was wearing Ol' Reliable, a pair of lightweight khaki pants, perfect to wear at work in the winter or during the summer when, on a 98-degree day, my 80-pound co-worker gets to the office in the morning and turns the freaking heat on. So I was in the break room and sat down to read the paper for a minute. There was no stereotypical ripping sound, just a peculiar feeling. I reached back and realized my pants had been dealt a potential death blow.

I timed my exit from the break room, making sure no one was behind me and scrambled to my desk, knowing that, for the next three hours, I wasn't going to be able to stand up. And that was the plan. One by one my co-workers filed out until it was just me and my editor. At that point, I casually backed my way to my car where I had a pair of basketball shorts for a game later in the evening. I picked them up and made my way back into the bathroom.

Then I could assess the damage to my pants and it was like the scene in Apollo 13 when the crew finally sees the magnitude of the explosion. 

"Houston, I'm getting a look at my pants now. One whole side of the seat is missing!" Right at the fraying on the left side a whole buttock is blown out! Right down to the crotch!" Perhaps the biggest pantstastrophe of my life. But I guess you could call it a successful failure in that my work efficiency was severely hampered today but, at the same time, no one saw my butt. 

Ever since about the 7th grade perhaps my biggest goal in life has been to not draw attention to myself. I've never thought it would be fun to be the frontman of a rock band. Let me be Charlie Watts. You still get to play great music and travel and you don't have to make an ass out of yourself on stage. And why would anyone want to be a cast member on Saturday Night Live? Let me be a writer. Backstage. Less accountability. Count me in. But I digress. 

My goal for Elliott and as well as for any and all future children is to implement a basic concept of logic as quickly as possible. You don't want to finish your vegetables? Obviously, based on past results, throwing a fit isn't going to achieve your goal. Nor will it get you this delicious cupcake. So let's think about this. What actions could be taken here that would result in you consuming this cupcake? Parenting. It's as simple as that. And honestly, I'd say the bribery principle is also an integral part of a happy marriage as well. "I would like to play golf this weekend and if I do, I'll bring you a surprise on the way home." "Let me watch this football game and I'll clean the entire kitchen." Etc...

Well I'm happy to report that Elliott has responded beautifully to my first attempts at bribery. He has become far more independent recently and quickly becomes bored when being fed. He would much rather have something in front of him to eat which he can then share with the dog. So the other day we were only halfway through our small carton of green beans when Elliott gave me the international sign for "I'm done" which was violent, almost seizure-like head shaking coupled with a scrunched up face while pushing the spoon away. Of course this was immediately followed by him making the "more" sign meaning he was still hungry, just not for green beans.

I promptly got up and brought over a graham cracker. I gave him a piece which he devoured and instantly wanted more. I then held the graham cracker so he could see it and brought the green beans up to his mouth again. He ate a bite. I gave him a bit of cracker. And so on. Until the green beans were finished. And this has worked swimmingly ever since. I think one of my biggest hopes for Elliott was that he would be a child who could be reasoned with. At least most of the time. I'm not completely unrealistic. And I know that, once Elliott hits 13, probably even sooner, all bets are off. Logic and reason go out the door at that point. And graham crackers probably won't solve many problems at that point. Unless of course that problem is being stuck with a surplus of marshmallows and chocolate and having no convenient way to consume them simultaneously without getting your fingers sticky. 

Pro: The 7 Feathers Casino. Canyonville's claim to fame. As casinos go, it's tiny  with a small poker room, roughly a dozen table games, a bingo parlor and a bunch of slot machines. It's an odd but generally friendly clientele. As my soon-to-be sister-in-law said: "I just want an option to scroll over all of these people like on a computer and a description of who they are and why they're here would pop up." 

Pro: Winning money at a casino for the first time in my life. Our table worked our friendly, elderly dealer like a speed bag. It's a good night at the blackjack tables when: A. The dealer and you both have 20, she starts taking your money, is informed of her mistake and then awards you the hand for the confusion. B: The dealer runs out of chips. C: You hit three consecutive 10s while doubling on 11. D. All of the above.

Pro: Our highly adaptable son. We messed with our poor little guy's schedule so egregiously he was on Greenwich Mean Time by the end of the weekend. But, with limited naps and after spending a day with dozens of new faces, he slept like a rock in the bathroom of an unfamiliar hotel room.

Con: The drunken Canyonville local outside our room at 1 a.m. who loudly tried to convince her new friend that they should call an escort service and then berated him loudly when he locked her out of his room.

Con: Elliott realizing that riding in the car for long periods of time is no longer the blissful catalyst to Sleepytown like it used to be. 

In all, a very successful road trip on multiple fronts.

Elliott is certainly spoiled already and never starved for attention. He's outgoing, even for a one-year-old and, as the first grandchild on both sides of the family, will probably grow up with a sizable sense of entitlement. For the first nine months of his life, Elliott wasn't really exposed to other young children much. He wasn't in daycare, he has no cousins and I couldn't bring myself to sign up for any Mommy and Me yoga classes at Gymboree. 

But, in the past few months, Elliott has been sporadically going to daycare once a week. He also has had the opportunity to interact with (chase and attempt to french kiss) the other younger kids in our home community and has spent some time in the nursery at our church. And Elliott adores kids. 

He is transfixed and enamored with anyone who is significantly smaller than an average-sized adult. Whether it's an infant or an eight-year-old Elliott is going to come at it almost manically like a scene in a baby sexual harassment video. ("I like the way you shake that rattle. I'm drooling and it's not because I'm teething.")

Today, when Shelbi dropped Elliott off at daycare, she walked in the door and he immediately reached to be held by the five-year-old who answered the door, not caring that the five-year-old would have been incapable of holding him and promptly would have dropped him to the ground. And when she came to pick him up, he smiled at her and immediately went back to playing blocks with the other kids, one of which told Shelbi that Elliott was "pretty much" her best friend. When Shelbi told Elliott to say goodbye, he turned around and walked up to another child and gave him a sloppy kiss.

We recently had a visit from friends who have a four-year-old. He is a very well-behaved little boy and also fairly active. So he enjoyed running around our small house, up and down the hall, into Elliott's room etc... And I'm not sure if I have ever seen Elliott more giddy. The most fun he has had in his life was chasing this boy around and copying him. It was a game to both of them. Josiah would run to one end of the hall and Elliott would run after him, wailing in delight, occasionally glancing over at us with a goofy grin that said "Look guys! I'm playing with the big kids!" 

I just hope when he is older, he will be just as happy and loving with little kids as well and that he will appreciate how much they will assuredly idolize him the way he, seemingly, idolizes big kids already.

But recently I have found myself breaking into song a bit more often during the day and never at a time when I would logically expected it to happen. It's always when I'm feeding Elliott. I don't know why. You tell me. Why is it standard practice for so many people to sing in the shower? Acoustics? Who knows? 

There is almost always a song in either the forefront or the back of my head and I think, particularly when Elliott was a little younger, singing kept him focused on the task at hand, which is to eat and not feed the dog. 

The early standard eating song was The Ohio Express' 1968 classic Yummy Yummy Yummy which usually was modified to include some facsimile of the lyrics "Yummy yummy yummy green beans in my tummy" and "Ooh, I like green beans, ooh they're so yummy, ooh they're my favorite foooooooood." 

Since then we have expanded Elliott's diet and my repertoire of his breakfast and lunch entertainment. Now pretty much any song that I happen to have heard within the previous 48 is in danger of undergoing my remix. I just can't wait until Elliott's watching VH1 Classic in 15 years on his 3D television contacts and comes to the startling realization that Jay Z's Dirt Off Your Shoulder actually has very little to do with Sweet Potatoes.

And, as a flagrant procrastinator, I am usually backed up against a wall and am forced to make my selections quickly and send them off in an e-mail. As someone who goes out of his way not to stir the pot in every aspect of my life, my only goal while making these picks is to spread out players from different sports and to make sure that no one gets named more than twice in a single season. As you might imagine, the pickings get pretty slim come playoff time. 

"Johnny Johnson scored two points and provided encouragement to his team from the bench in West Linn's 84-31 loss last week."

"Sally Smith did not drown while swimming the 200m freestyle against Clackamas last week."

Needless to say, I don't take these selections seriously or really give them much thought and, in all honestly, I pray each week that they go unnoticed and that I don't get an angry phone call or e-mail from a parent whose kid was, once again, bypassed. 

Tonight I was at a doubleheader at Lakeridge of boys and girls basketball and, at halftime of the boys game, it was announced that there would be an awards ceremony. When halftime rolled around, a huge contingent of students lined up at mid-court. First, a small handful of students received academic honors and took their seats. Then, it was announced that the remaining 50+ students on the court were receiving awards for being named the Lake Oswego Review's Athlete of the Week from the beginning of the school year up through yesterday's paper.

I was mortified. There it was. A line 50 people long cheerfully smiling as a monument to my laziness and indifference. They were taking it seriously! Every kid got a gym bag! Now I felt unbelievably guilty for all of those weeks (every week) when I simply mailed it in. Now that I know someone actually cares about what has always been the part of my week that has required the least amount of thought I'm going to have to change my format. I feel like I should take nominations then talk to the finalists' teachers, coaches and athletic director each week ending with a probing 30-minute in-person interview with each candidate. 

When the final name was mercifully read, I was relieved that the announcer didn't add "And a special thanks to Matt Sherman of the Lake Oswego Review, sitting right over there. If your kid wasn't out here tonight, he's the reason why." But, on the other hand, I'm the one taking time each week to make these selections. Where's my gym bag?

 

And that's what makes the inevitable so heartbreaking. Because here Elliott is having the time of his life, oblivious to the nurse who just came in with her tray of destruction. This time, he was stuck with the first shot, jolted and then just stared at us with wide eyes for a couple of seconds as if to say:

"Hey! Jerks! You know all of the pointy things I like to try and play with that you keep taking away from me because I'll hurt myself? She just put one in my leg! You'd better punish her soon or I'm going to lose it."

And sure enough he did. It's devastating because Elliott really doesn't cry or scream much. Fortunately he is still calmed down easily and was smiling again even before we got outside. 

It also struck me today as Elliott was getting vaccinated for chicken pox that, when he is 15 years old, he will probably find it hilarious and antiquated that everyone in Shelbi's and my generation actually GOT chicken pox. Yep, we broke out in a fever and itchy red spots and missed a week of school. All the cool kids were doing it. But, to Elliott, I'm sure getting the chicken pox is going to sound as ridiculous as getting the plague. "You had the chicken pox? Did you get them while fighting in WWII?" 

I brought this up with my mom today and she remembered kids she grew up with getting the measles and the mumps and, at times, even polio. And I just laughed. "Geez mom, did they get them from the Pilgrims on the Mayflower?"

He's becoming more of a person every day which is at the same time delightful and disconcerting. He now knows the difference between Shelbi, myself and the dog, preferring the dog to both of us. Although he still isn't putting many words together he is getting better at communicating with us and, perhaps most frighteningly, he has learned the Law of Conservation of Matter. Perhaps he has not fully researched the entirety of Mikhail Lomonosov's 18th century theory but he certainly gets the broad strokes. Namely that matter can not be created or destroyed.

In layman's terms, he knows that if we take something away from him, it doesn't simply disappear. The area behind our backs is not a black hole and, once something has been taken from him, we have to put it down sometime. This reared its head on a few occasions this week. First, Shelbi's brush was taken away from him and placed a good two feet out of his reach on an end table. After the obligatory freak out, I was able to distract Elliott with something slightly less choke-inducing albeit considerably less fun. A few minutes later I left the room for literally 20 seconds to refresh my e-mail, came back and when I did the mail (which was also on the end table) was on the floor and Elliott was happily gnawing on the brush again. I still have no idea how he accomplished this without tipping entire table over.

Not long afterwards, I made the mistake of leaving Elliott's Gerber Wagon Wheel container within his line of vision. I promptly swooped it up but it was too late. He had made a beeline for it and wasn't going to be denied. He screamed when I took it out of reach and followed me as I put it up on the kitchen table, out of sight. And yet not out of mind. He just stared up at me by the table whimpering with a face I'm sure he learned from watching our dog and began making the sign for "More" which he recently learned. And if you think there was even a fraction of a chance that I could resist that, you're out of your mind. 

So with Elliott eating more solid foods and becoming increasingly disinterested in his baby food, I have started buying canned vegetables since he loves eating veggies when we go out to eat. Yesterday was Shelbi's first day back at work after Christmas Break and I gave him baby food, bananas and bread prior to Shelbi getting home, telling her that he would probably like some veggies for dinner.

When I get home a few hours later, I find Elliott's entire high chair littered with carrots and what looked like half a can his bib, not to mention pieces of carrots in our dog's whiskers. It was like a crime scene from CSI: Kindercare.

I asked Shelbi what happened since I couldn't possibly fathom how this scenario, which should have consisted simply of sitting next to Elliott for 10 minutes and handing him one sliced carrot after another, could have ended in such a disaster. 

"I just put them in a bowl," she said. And before I could ask my obligatory next question, added "I thought it would make him feel like an adult." 

Sigh. By that logic, I'm about to head to Petco to get our dog's nails trimmed and I'm letting Elliott drive.