The morning pounce

The THUMP happens at around 6:15. It sounds a bit like a 60-pound ham slamming into the bedroom door. Then a pair of bony elbows finds purchase in my solar plexus. My heart leaps into overdrive, and my startled, replete bladder threatens to vent itself.

"Dad! Did the Yankees win last night?"

"Erm. Yes. 3-1, I think."  I know this because I was up way too late playing Scrabulous writing, late enough to listen to the game finish on the West Coast.

"Who pitched?" This is an abnormal question, since he usually watches the beginning of games that start at 7pm. He knows who starts the game and uses this information to gauge is optimism.

"Wang pitched into the 8th. Mo got the save."

"Cool! What's Wang's ERA now?" I love this about our dynamic. He is still so enamored of my super dad powers that he is sure I can compute and summon baseball stats in my head. Which right now is still sorting out which way is up.

"I don't know. We could look it up, though." His mom and I have moved on to our separate laptops, so Robert has virtual free reign of the ancient, ponderous, tower PC on the desk. His two most commonly visited bookmarks are Bullpen Blast and the Yankees' stats. But the PC is all the way in the living room (and takes about six weeks to warm up), whereas my laptop is right there on the nightstand. A bit later we've summoned the box score. Wang's ERA is 4.30. And A-Rod got an RBI.

"Cool! A-Rod's OPS is almost 1!" This astonishes me. When I was his age I couldn't distinguish a box score from a box turtle. This kid already knows when a pitcher's WHIP is too high. "When I'm a pro baseball player, my OPS is gonna be, like, a million."

Another thump, about half the size of the first one. TwoBert bounds in, and I have to save the laptop from certain annihilation. TwoBert is fascinated by flat-screen technology--especially when you dig into it with your fingernail.

"Gmornin Daddy!" He throws his arms around me and kisses my nose, smearing my cheeks with butter and toast crumbs. Robert resolves to assert his dominance and steer the conversation back his way.

"Dad, A-Rod is totally going to have 100 RBIs this year."

"I have 100 RBIs in my BUTT!"

"Stop it, [TwoBert]! You have no idea what you're talking about! Daaaaad!"

I can go two ways with this. I decide to fan the flames. "You have RBIs in your butt? Where?"

"Here!" The three-year-old stands up on the bed, drops trou, and starting shimmying.

Robert is distressed to see TwoBert bring such discredit to America's Game. "There are no RBIs in your butt!"

"Yes there are!" TwoBert has learned not to be swayed easily. Robert relents and starts laughing.

"No there AREN'T!"

"Yes there are!"

"AREN'T!"

"ARE!"

"ARE NOT! See?" Robert starts Butt Shimmying, thinking that the best way to win the argument is to outdance his brother. Neither backs down, so they have at each other and collapse in a scrum on my now-very-alarmed bladder. I am now awake enough to separate them.

This is the best alarm clock a father could have. One that the last year and a half has taught me not to take for granted.

Comments

[Rachel]

Boys are a wonderful beings, and mine has pulled me at a 100mph head first into potty humor. I'm learning to enjoy it and see it's appeal. It's all about the butts! And yes, enjoy these mornings....when the day comes that you won't get to see them every morning, they become that much more special. chin up and go yanks.

[RubiaLala]

That ham on the bedroom door sound is a very familiar sounds at our house as well.

As is the "there is something in my butt, drop trou and do a booty shake" dance.

Boys are wonderful.

[Brenda]

Hilarious. Having only girls I can only imagine part of it. But we have the morning jump. I can hear a door squeak at the other end of the hall. Then quick little pitter-patter feet running all the way. Then the leap onto the bed--very much assuming I was awake enough to move the covers for her.

My girls just giggle when one or the other has gas. Maybe I should ask them if either has an RBI in her bottom! (A WHAT?)

[braine]

Go to sleep with a cup, that's my advice. That pounce often seems Oedipally accurate.

[George]

My son, who is seven, jumps in my bed too. I realized the other day that without even thinking any more, I automatically cover my junk with both hands. Bill Cosby, I think, never wrote about this.

[Christy]

Awww. Moments like that are what it's all about...kinda makes up for all the sighing and eye rolling they do later! :)

[MetroDad]

TwoBert is almost right. I've often made the argument that A-Rod is like a giant hemmorhoid.

[lisa]

My son, who is 2, also has been bitten by the baseball bug. (Not the Yanks, though. We're a Mets household.) He's not quite ready for box scores, but often the first words out of his mouth in the morning are "OUTSIDE! BASEBALL BAT!"

This post made me snort coffee out my nose. A fine way to start the day, even if I did have to clean off the keyboard.

[Mike]

Man, I'd hate to be the one who has to change your little guy's diaper if he does indeed have 100 RBIs in his butt.

Great site by the way!

[Alli]

Ahhh, gotta love the boys of summer (and your boys, too).

[Mazarin]

My 2 1/2 year old son's teachers at day care keep trying to get him to call it his bottom, but he just gives them a confused look, and says, "No, it's my BUTT! LOOKIT! (smacks his rear with both hands) My BUTT!"
Between that, and the "I TOOTED!" announcements, we've got all the potty humor we desire at this time.

Fortunately, the baseball obsession he has is more than making up for it.

[Derek]

Unfortunately I am up and out the door before anyone stirs on most days, so I certainly miss the morning pounce.

Regarding baseball, my oldest son plays (and loves it) yet doesn't really show much interest in following pro ball. My youngest son, who had a very similar experience with t-ball and is not old enough yet to play "real" baseball, has lately been obsessed with the game. Every night when he goes to bed he tells me that I have to give him an update on the game the next morning.

My wife shakes her head on an almost daily basis to question what she has done to deserve two boys and a husband that enjoy potty humor so much, lol.

[Papa Bradstein]

That's an awesome alarm clock. Better than what sounds like a Huey on final, harrowing descent into an intense firefight, followed by the sounds of an elephant calling to a humpback whale in the whale's native tongue, but which is actually just Barky flapping his ears and groaning as he stretches his way into a new day. Except the part about the bladder trampoline.

[LiteralDan]

Happy Father's Day!

[stephanie brown]

I meant to come and tell you happy father's day yesterday, you deserve it! Sorry that I'm late telling ya that though.

[Nothing But Bonfires]

I am obviously a three year old boy. Having RBIs in your butt is the funniest thing I've heard in forever. In your BUTT! HAHAHA.