Dear Berkley: When You Scream Like A Little Girl, God Kills a Puppy

As Berkley continues to develop a personality and exert his independence with said personality, Courtney and I have both reveled in watching him become more of a real person, and less of a eating, pooping, sleeping machine. Unfortunately, this has recently come with a bit of... high-pitched-screaming-like-his-feet-are-fire-for-no- apparant-reason.

Happy? Why not scream about it?
Didn't get something you want? How about trying to lay on the floor and scream while Momma and I go about our business as if you don't exist.
Hey, you tired? Hungry? I've got an idea, you should scream about it.

As you scream, Daddy will be over here wondering if the doctor would report us for putting one of those collars that keep dogs from barking around your leg.

So, if you're thinking of having kids and can't wait until they can talk to you, just remember, that additional vocal dexterity goes both ways. Equally as sweet as the "Da-dy" you hear first thing in the morning when you get him out of bed is the fingernails-on-a-chalkboard scream of an 18 month old trying to say "Hey mfer, did you not see that was Yo Gabba is on TV? GO BACK!"

Dear Berkley: This is Where Daddy Works, and My Mamma Sent Me to Regular Preschool

Today I got to get Berkley up and play with him for an hour or so while Courtney went to register him for pre-school. That got me thinking, and now here's the Blog post.

I should admin that I was a pretty terrible student. I always did whatever I needed to in order to get by. I wasn't terribly focused in the classroom. I mostly wanted to play sports. Fortunately, school seemed geared for the kids who needed a little more coaching, so this didn't exactly require any mental olympics until I was in college at Wake. There was that "Jet Math" class in 4th grade. Woot!

Yet, somehow, here I am today, contributing to society along with everyone else.

So I got to thinking: What difference does it make where Berkley goes to preschool?
So what if he doesn't learn to read until he's 5 or 6? Once you can read, you're in. There are no super-readers out there. You can read like an adult, or not so much.
Any who cares if he's not very good at coloring, or has a vocabulary that doesn't include "escheat" or "deleterious" when he's 16? Nobody I like uses those words in day to day conversation.

I went to the available preschool. I'm pretty sure my mom didn't search all over town for the very best 2 year old education she could find. Heck, I fell off of the same chair and busted my chin, TWICE. Must not have been Harvard Junior School.

Here's hoping Berkley is just fun to be around (like me), nice to people (like Courtney, NOT me), and is decent at something he enjoys. I find those a much better litmus test for future success than being a wonder kid mentally.

Dear Berkley: I Hope You Are Warm

Berkley has 12 coats. Twelve. That's one for every day of the week, and an additional 5 in the event we were to enter the next Ice Age.

I was trolling through the house this weekend, picking up after he so gracefully threw all of his toys all over the downstairs of the house and then threw anything he could find upstairs off of the balcony. (Don't feel sorry for me, Courtney does this more than once a day I'm told). Anyhow, I was picking up, and I started gathering his clothes too. I picked up a brown corduroy coat that makes Berkley look like a frat star. I picked up a blue and red striped zippered hoodie that makes Berkley look like a track star. I picked up TWO fleece jackets. He's fleeced out.

Then after the nap I went to hang them up in his closet and BANG, the coats just kept coming. I was astonished. At Christmas there was a coat drive for kids downtown. My kid has 12 he will grow out of in the next 6 months.

Welcome to America.