Captain Bathtime

Samantha had her first non-monkeyfriend baby shower this weekend in San Antonio and I stayed home. Mojo had a soccer tournament and I had to work Sunday. When Samantha returned I got to see all the sweet loot that Sheridan had received. Although we came up empty on the plasma TV and the matching Rolexes, we did get two strollers, a bouncy seat, and a ton of clothes. I haven't seen Sheridan yet, but it's going to be pretty hard for her to not look like the most adorable child in the universe in her new outfits. It got me thinking about switching my entire wardrobe to just onesies with kitties and ducks on them. While contemplating how cute I would look with attached footies on all my pants I put the strollers together. Assembling them was much easier than I thought, especially with a helper cat.



Unbeknownst to Samantha and me, Christmas Frog went online before the shower and registered for an old friend of his, Captain Bathtime.



They served together in the Frog Foreign Legion after both flunked out of the manager training program at Burger King. Christmas Frog was delighted that Captain Bathtime made it to our house and they began to reminisce about old times. The two spent most of their time in the Legion stationed in Greenland since instead of regular frog skin, they have warm and fluffy coats. They regaled us all with tales of week-long games of Chutes and Ladders, making crescent roll hot dogs, and those unforgettable Greenland sunsets. Apparently after they went their separate ways the Captain worked as an extra in some of the most successful films ever. He brought copies of a few for us to watch:

Croak and Dagger
Reservoir Frogs
A Ribbit Runs Through It
Crouching Mojo, Hidden Shoulders

When he showed us the last title, Shoulders (being the screenwriter and cinematographer on that film) remembered the Captain and became irate. Apparently, Captain Bathtime was very critical of the screenplay and openly questioned why he was not allowed to eat Shoulders. Shoulders is probably very tasty (being young and tender and such) but like most of us, prefers not to be eaten. The Captain threw some garlic and oregano at Shoulders and a fight seemed inevitable. I wish I could tell you how Shoulders triumphed in the face of adversity this time.



The evening concluded with an epic stroller race

Baby Shower!

Having a baby means you get lots of free stuff. Not like a bite of sausage on a toothpick at the store or the miniature bottle of dish soap you get in the mail, but actual free stuff that has value. Since the cost of raising a girl is now estimated at 3.7 million dollars, our society gently comes alongside couples and "showers" them with wonderful gifts. It's really a trick though, because neither Samantha or I will remember all the free stuff when our daughter wants to go to the doctor because she's in "pain" or she wants to eat more than once a day because she's "hungry" or begs us for a real belt when she realizes other kids don't wear electrical cords around their waists and she feels "neglected." I'll pitch a fit but Samantha will probably give in and I'll be the bad guy. But in the meantime I will buy into the illusion and think we are beating the system by getting lots of awesome shower gifts that our baby will barf and poop on.

Another thing about baby showers is there are a lot of them. There's one for the family, one for the small group, one for the church folks, and one at work. Each one will have different snacks and gifts, different friends and relations. You certainly don't want to play favorites and expect one shower to be better than any other but I'm here to tell you that one was. One shower shamed all the others into crying fits and awkward feelings of rejection. You know what I'm talking about. The Mojobrand shower. Getting in well before any of the other showers even sent out invitations, Mojo and the rest of the monkeyfriends surprised Samantha with a shower for the ages. Here's who was in charge of what:

Mojo: Host
Shoulders: Decorations
Christmas Frog: Games
Sox: Snacks
Chico: Hugs and clapping when gifts are opened

The shower clearly surprised Samantha, and her smile brightened the whole room



Though Samantha was enjoying all the chit chat and hugs, it was obvious she had her eye on the presents and so we began to open them.


Mojo gave Samantha some of his finest aged bananas


Shoulders and Christmas Frog presented an enormous bottle of rum, which they promptly stole


Sox and Chico delighted Sam with the complete Lord of the Rings trilogy!

The shower came to an abrupt end when Shoulders decided to "shower" the rest of the guests with, well, you know.

The South Texas Death Machine

When I lived in Katy and did Young Life, our office was next to Taylor High School. Each day after school a herd of wild boys would burst into the office, hooting and hollering and discussing the tomfoolery of days past. One sunny fall afternoon an unkempt boy of seventeen shouted out above the din that the Death Machine had killed again. The office grew silent and fear was visible on every face. I asked who this "Death Machine" was as every pair of eyes looked down towards the carpet. The unkempt boy shot up from his seat on the sofa, chugged the rest of his Mountain Dew Code Red, and blasted a trumpet-like belch, announcing the beginning of a teenage tale of wonder.

The Death Machine was a man of course, but no ordinary man. Not a superhero, but a hero nonetheless; a beacon of truth and justice to school administrators worldwide. Although it may seem unthinkable to you and me, there are many who wish to do their school harm. A principal's worst fear is that someone will remain inside after hours and commit unspeakable acts of vandalism. Who could ever learn of such plans? Who is the one person who has the pulse of the High School? The janitor! This is the guise of the Death Machine. Working by day as the janitor, he watches and listens. When a scheme is discovered he retreats to his broom closet and waits for the sound of doors being chained.

What does the South Texas Death Machine look like? His description has been pieced together from incoherent ramblings of the victims who have escaped death, trapped forever in their own insanity. The legends say he wears nothing but a set of red long underwear, the kind with an escape hatch on the behind. Tattooed across his chest is "South Texas Death Machine" which was applied with a red hot safety pin and a Sharpie. To move quickly throughout the halls he wears brown roller skates. Atop his head is an enormous afro, and in his hands he carries a six foot battle axe. Should you be in the school after hours, the STDM will kill you. Or tickle you. Which for some people is worse than death.

The Death Machine can only see in two colors, Blood Red and Pizza. Should you find yourself sprinting down a linoleum hallway with the clack clack of roller skates getting closer and closer, this knowledge might save you. If it does, the Death Machine shakes your hand and you get a 50% off coupon to Subway. You don't chase down many sophomores with a belly full of fried foods.



STDM Likes:
The way freshmen cry and beg for mercy
Shampoo and conditioner in the same bottle
John Grisham Books
Fresh pineapple
That part in Titanic when the boat sinks

STDM Dislikes:
Feud between East & West Coast Rappers
VH1 reality shows
That cafeteria lady who throws her orange peel on the floor
Spring Break
The Milwaukee Brewers

Pregnancy Blues

Speaking strictly from my own vantage point, pregnancy doesn't seem to be very fun. Obviously it's wonderful and amazing and "miracle of life" and all that jazz, but it's just not that exciting. Samantha gets excited quite frequently and asks me things like, "Did you see that kick?" and I have to remind her to be quiet because Lost is on. I mean, until the baby comes out and I can actually hold her and play with her, it's hard to beat the auditions for American Idol. I love her and talk to her and pray for her as she hides behind what used to be an innie, but the truth is that Sheridan is kind of boring right now. "Just you wait Ryan! Soon you'll be up at all hours and she'll run you ragged and blah blah meow meow words words words." Yes, I am aware of all this. So just shut up.

I am sure Samantha is also excited by the fact that she can always go to the "I carried you for nine months" card whenever she wants to rebuke Sheridan or make her feel guilty. Never can I say something so gut-wrenching. Seriously, what can I say? I changed your diapers? No child will feel rebuked when a parent describes how they cleaned up their wayward turds. Samantha can use this same argument on me, because next to a baby what can I ever claim I've built or assembled or done that can top a Sheridan? "Sure Ryan, I feel terrible that you couldn't sleep last night. Was it because a tiny person was jabbing at your innards all night long? No? You sure?" "Hey Ryan, way to go finishing that New York Times crossword puzzle. What's a four letter word for something you can never carry inside you?" "Ryan dear, thanks for getting Shoulders unstuck from the lint trap. That seems much more difficult than giving birth to our child and then feeding it with food from my own body every three hours."

As we get closer to the due date other little things have started to make me realize my time as king is ending. Everyone wants to see the nursery. No one wants to see how I've alphabetized the DVDs in the loft. Everyone asks how Samantha is feeling. No one wants to hear about the pimple on the back of my head that has become curiously itchy. Everyone compliments Samantha on how good she looks. No one even makes eye contact with me anymore. Soon I will just be "Dad," that guy who hands out cash and farts at the worst possible time and is never allowed to meet boyfriends.

The entire universe I've constructed where I am the unquestioned greatest thing to ever happen to Samantha is about to come crashing down. Granted it's a fantasy universe, but still. I now know how the Romans felt when their empire collapsed. Of course I didn't invent pizza, or aqueducts, or cool phrases to utter when a close friend stabs you beneath Pompey's statue, but even losing a dream can be painful.

Does Samantha actually say or do any of the things I've just told you about? Of course she doesn't. I just love to complain and talk about myself. Hey, I may not be much, but I'm all I think about.