Dads Behaving Dadly 2 by Hogan Hilling & Al Watts

Author:Hogan Hilling & Al Watts [Hilling, Hogan & Watts, Al]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Motivational Press
Published: 2016-07-02T22:00:00+00:00

Art Eddy III is an at-home dad. He and his wife Jess are blessed with two daughters, Lily and Jordan. Art is a writer for www.LifeOfDad.com and produces two podcasts on that site: The Life of Dad Show and The Life of Dad After Show. Art loves making his family laugh, doing crafts with his daughters, and just hanging out with his family. A self-proclaimed sneakerhead, Art also loves anything that deals with Star Wars, 49ers, Bulls and Red Sox.

A HILL OF BEANS

Ryan A. Bell, Berkeley, CA

“Mom, give the baby some of your beans.” I said.

“Beans?” my mother replied as though it were some unfamiliar word.

“Yes, Poppy loves beans.”

“She eats beans?” my mother replied, again with eyes as vacant as a Detroit Nordstrom.

My mother and her boyfriend, Randall, were visiting for our Thanksgiving gathering that was just two short days away. They average one visit every six months and have a difficult time keeping their eyes off the baby.

Poppy, at the head of the table, was stretching the straps of her booster seat to its very limits, reaching for the delicious and protein-filled black beans on my mother’s plate. I loved giving her beans and welcomed the healthy dark poops the next day. They were the base that countered the acids Poppy craved and kept her diaper rash at bay. They were fun, time-consuming and taught her fine motor skills. I loved giving my daughter beans so much I didn’t even mind the farts that would slowly be filtering out of her diapers tomorrow.

“Yes,” I repeated, “Poppy loves beans.”

My wife shot me a quick look from the kitchen sink. I couldn’t tell if it was consternation, warning or commiseration. My sister-in-law, Michelle, squirmed in her seat a little but said nothing.

“She’ll eat beans, huh?” mother said with her head cocked Golden Retriever style still looking at the child.

“Yes,” I said losing only a little bit of cool, “Beans are seriously her favorite.”

My mother looked up at the light above the dining room table to take in all of this new information.

“You,” I continued, “should give her some of the ones that you have…”

“They might be hot …” she said opening up another window in this conversations browser.

“Spicy hot or temperature hot?” I asked, all the while knowing they were neither.

“I don’t know really …” She studied the beans again. She had turned the fork upside down and was using it to point at the beans. “Maybe both since she’s a baby.”

“You do know that she eats pretty much everything and she loves beans, right?”

“Well, do you think that she’ll like these beans?” my mother asked.

My sister-in-law couldn’t take it anymore. The squirming had turned into a visible chin jutting and exhalation exercise.

“Give her,” an uncharacteristically low voice came from Michelle, “some beans.”

My mother rotated the fork over as slowly as one would push a very large roll of carpet up a hill, until the four-pronged utensil was in the appropriate position. All eyes were on the tendons working inside of her long and graceful fingers manipulating it.

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