Rock Lobster and a rock star baby

Rock Lobster and a rock star baby

I've been working third shift for the last 6 months, it's not preferred but it's my reality for now so one does what one can.  This reality allows me a guilty pleasure; day drinking.  I am day drinking as I type and jamming out to Rock Lobster by the B-52's.  That was reason enough to include them in the title and there will be no more mention of them in this post.   Technically evening for me and I am having a horrible time typing.  It has taken me five minutes and 26 clicks of the backspace key to type these 8 sentences.  And I'm only on my first beer.  True story.  I should leave all the typos as proof.

BRB....need another burr.


The struggle with day drinking in the weather that we are enjoying here in Chicagoland is not the heat.  It's a lovely 65 degrees right now.  It's the flippin' humidity.  My fresh can is now sweating like my butt after 8 hours on the bike in July.  It's no longer fresh.

Last weekend there was a going away/birthday party for my niece at mom's house.  My sister and family moved to South Carolina in search of fame and fortune.  Or relief from Chicago winters, I forget which.  The wife, boy and I made our way out to Sycamore, IL for the day.

I have itunes on while I'm doing this.  Rock Lobster (I lied) is now over and the wife's selections are playing and making it hard to type, let alone hold a thought over my gag reflex and urge to hurl the laptop into the compost bin.  Hang on.....

OK.  Bullet for my Valentine. Another sip.  Super sweet.

Where was I?  Party at moms.  So we arrive and I carry the boy in and suddenly my life for the next 2 years at least were laid bare before me.  I am security and transport for a 30 lb. rock star.  I chauferred him to his appearance and kept the riff-raff away from him until he was ready to great his adoring fans, and maybe sign a few autographs.  Signing for a 13-month old means not crying or hollering when being held or spoken to.  That doesn't include a smile though.  He is not contractually obligated to smile at anyone other Grandmothers.

We made our way in the door and through the kitchen checking on craft services. Part of his deal is to know what the pre and post show spread was going to be.  That was only after stopping to pay homage to the grande-dame, GG,  his 85 year old Great Grandmother.  Even Sir McCartney knows to give the Queen her due and proper.  From there it was a trickle down of Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, cousins and well wishers.

When I finally set him down on the floor, and after he was passed around amongst the grandparetns and aunties like a doober at a Phish show, he found himself surrounded by 6 cousins.  Six female cousins, ranging in age from 11 to 4.  He was pinned against the front door by the crush, there was no escape.  I struggle to recall a scene filled with more cooing, petting and gushing.  Truth be told it was cute.  Cuteness aside I paused for a moment and thought about a "The Bodyguard" like Costner rescue but left the boy to fend for himself.

"Time to be a man and face the threat head on", I told myself.

He took it like a pro.  He stood tall with poise in the face of the girlie onslaught.  Not being overly friendly, but not upsetting his fan base.  He was polite yet made sure the boundaries were established.  If anyone got all hands on, a quiver of the lower lip and threat of tears set them back enough to reestablish the line.  A red carpet pro to be sure.

Unfortunately for the boy however the excitement of his appearance didn't wear off.  His fans couldn't get enough of him.  They demanded his time and attention, he had to be on all day.  It's moments like this that a true professional hones his craft and does not disappoint.  He was so on that day,  that there were no occasions that I had to take off my security hat and put on my diaper gloves.  He had a half dozen people willing to freshen up his butt.  My boy.

Is there a point to any of this?  Not really.

I enjoy writing about him and reflecting on the scenes that occur daily that probably don't mean much to anyone but me. Each moment that we share are Acts in his life and if I were to let them run on and blur into each other they would pass, quickly.  If I didn't take time to reflect on what I see I would wake up tomorrow and be 70 and it would be done.  There needs to be appreciation for the mundane day-to-day moments that maybe no one else sees, but that I see.  And that's what makes them special.

All that aside, days like this confirm that my boy is loved. And as long as I have him with me people will let me in their house and give me food and drink.


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