DadCentric

I'd Tell Them All To Go F$#k Themselves

You know bureaucracy has gone mad when you see stories like this.
Basically a gold medal hope for the Australian women’s netball team is being told she cannot breastfeed her baby whilst at the commonwealth games.

She is being told that she can’t even express milk for her baby. I’m sorry but what a complete load of bullshit.
Australian Coach Norma Plumber had this to say.

"We don't have our own bedrooms and facilities. It's not that easy.
"There are also other people to consider.
"There's not a lot of room and the players might need their rest and she is in there expressing (breast milk)."

I would ask the question, “Has anyone bothered to ask her fellow team mates how they feel about this?” They are the ones that will be in the village together right?

I can understand this position if she wanted to have a crying baby in the room, but the women only wants to express milk for her six month old baby!

I think breastfeeding is a right not a privilege and shouldn’t be allowed to be taken away by anyone.

What do you think about this?
 

Missing: My Rockstar Street Cred

Any rockstar street cred I might have accumulated during my first 33 years of life is completely, utterly, totally blown to smithereens. 

My daughter and I were playing my guitar the other day.  We had a good groove going.  We were rockin' like Dokken and the Beast from the East.  Instinctively, my head started bobbing and I shot the devil horns.  I may or may not have screamed something to the effect of "rock on".  Regardless, I know what my daughter did - looked at me, smiled and laughed.  I tested it.  Each time I pulled the lame hair-metal band thing?  Laughter.  And not little giggles.  Full. On. Laughter. I must hang my rockstar head in shame.

D'oh! No, The Red Pill

The kid's been sick the last few days, including a 24-hour stint as a quivering, crying zombie on mom's lap (that was the day grandma came to town for the big 2nd birthday party--which was cancelled due to illness, and which was reduced to the two grandmas and the two parents and one sick kid flinching at the open flame being shoved in her face. At least we got a few pictures off, though, and isn't that what matters at this stage anyway? umm...right. sick.)

So then she got better, mostly, if "wired" is better, because although she still barely ate anything, she was buzzing like a coked up freshman and making about as much sense. And then yesterday, bam, it was like someone had sucked her soul out. She only wanted to sit on the floor all morning, drink milk, and sleep.

After a couple of hours--in which I got tons of work done, thanks, kid--I started getting a little nervous, so I woke the kid up, tried to give her a bit to eat (no), and then gave her her medicine.  She proceeded to lie there inert or asleep for most of the next six hours. I started to freak a bit running through a bunch of exotic diagnoses, running through the ER visit in my mind. By the time my wife came home, the kid was up, and started eating grapes like nothing'd happened.

It was only later, when my wife asked which cold medicine I'd given the kid, that I realized I'd dosed her up with antihistamines, the night-time formula, by mistake. I guess knocking your kid out with cough syrup while you work isn't comparable to, say, leaving them home in an opium-induced stupor while you go to the factory, but still. Had I only known what I'd done, maybe I would've scheduled some more conference calls.

As you watched yourself gavotte

I consider myself a fairly good-looking guy.  I'm not Hollywood hunkalicious or anything, but I think I'm a little better than average.  I don't turn heads, but I'm not "unfortunate" looking either.  I have some grays coming in, I have a bit of a belly - my Buddha - I have some lines that are getting more and more defined and I have hair coming in where it would never, ever be needed.  I'm just a guy nearing his forties.

That being said, I'm not sure what to make of this.  I'm beginning to wonder if maybe I need to have some work done.  I like to think I'm at least up on trends even if I'm not actively participating in them, but this looks like one I should maybe consider jumping into the fray on.  As I mentioned, I do have a belly and I am simply not motivated enough to hit the treadmill in my basement - liposuction could be the answer.  And you know, if you get rid of the gut, those lines on your face may just become more apparent so you'll need a chemical peel and then some Botox to keep everything firm.

No, that's never gonna happen.  I'm just gonna grow old gracefully.  I also have a son who I hope will keep me young anyway.  But, I love the quote in the article from career specialist Mark Swartz, who, although he hasn't seen any studies to confirm that cosmetic surgery helps on the job, it makes sense it could.  “Once they feel that they look younger, it becomes a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy,” said the author of “Get Wired, You’re Hired.” “It’s really about attitude and self-perception and self-esteem...." (emphasis mine)  Self-esteem, you say?  If they had that, would they really be getting work done?

And, somewhat related: Isn't it funny that this article was written on Valentine's Day?  Someone sure has a sense of humor.

Splinter Cell: Infant Evasion

We were out visiting some relatives a couple nights ago, and our daughter completely crashed before we were ready to leave.  She hadn't been sleeping well the last few nights--which meant that we hadn't been sleeping well the last few nights--and we were stressed that the transfer home was going to wake her up and turn us both into Pacino from Insomnia.  It was a complicated situation, exacerbated by strollers, taxis, steps, locked doors, and a freezing, windy night. 

Somehow we managed to wrap her in blankets and get her through the reward challenge without disturbing her.  Once we got home I pulled the short straw and had the honor of getting her into her crib.  This is tricky on a good night--somewhere in that still-developing, completely comatose brain of hers she knows when she's put down.  One false move and "BWAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!"  I silently padded into her bedroom, adjusted her blanket, and gently placed her in the crib.

Just as I lifted my hands off her little body, she let out a sigh, and I saw her eyes open.  Instantly, and without thinking, I hit the deck.  If I could get my head below the bumper of the crib, maybe she wouldn't see me.  I was in a full ninja-crouch, tips of my fingers pressed to the pink carpet, holding myself completely still so she wouldn't hear me.  I could hear her movement above my head.  Was she adjusting herself in her sleep?  Or had she raised her head to look for me?  If she saw me I was done for...she'd be up, and the next few hours would be a sleep-deprived hell

The door was across the room, and the lights in the next room were all on.  How would I get out without her noticing?  I had no zip line, no protective cover...just 12 feet of open space and guts. Staying in my stealth crouch, I shimmied along the wall, making my way slowly to the door.  I executed a swat turn across the door frame to get to the handle, and cracked the door just wide enough to slide through.  I checked one last time to see if her little bald head was peaking over the bumper.  It looked good.  I made my move, and silently latched the door behind me.

I was pretty proud of myself for escaping the target zone without any casualties.  I'm glad I wasn't asked to do anything athletic like a suspended split-jump, or more forceful, like taking a hostage and using them as a human shield.  But I'd have done it to if I had to.  For peace.

Walk This Way

According to this site, there's a family in Turkey with a genetic anomaly wherein they walk about on all fours instead of your standard homosapien-styled upright walking.  Eons of evolutionary progress has just been thrown out of Darwin's minivan with these folks.  They're fully-functioning humans, mind you, so, I don't feel bad poking fun at them.  I mean, you can tell by the photos that they're up on the latest Turkish fashion crazes and stuff.  Besides, I think I could out-run them if they ever came after me, so, I'm not too concerned.  What I was putting no alot of thought into was their childhood.  That must've been odd, huh?

I wonder how many playdates these folks had when they were growing up?  Sure, it'd be great to have them around if you were looking for sea shells or if you needed a center for your backyard football game, but, that's gotta be pretty much it.  I'm guessing they didn't make it on too many of their classmate's birthday party lists.  Hopefully, they had a supportive family/community to help them along and not too many people like me around.

Yeah, I know.  I'm a bastard. 

I Got A Fever...And The Prescription Is Definitely NOT More Cowbell

I've been dealing with a Fever/Sore Throat Combo for the past two days. I. Me. Not the kid. A rarity. Thank God. For you see...when I fall ill, I become, well, a pussy.

This posed a bit of a challenge last night - Beth had to work late, so I had the kid for a couple of hours. Me, Lucas, my sore throat, and my 101 degree fever. Joy. I picked him up from daycare, drove home in a semi-delirious state, immediately plopped the kid down in his booster seat, served him his dinner, and crashed on the couch.

Luckily, mercifully, the kid's a slooooow eater; it takes him 45 minutes to get through one single goldfish cracker. So I popped a handful of Advil and settled down for some Wheel Of Fortune (ever notice that there are basically three types of Wheel contestant? There's a fat guy, a dumpy-looking woman, and a hot young chick with a nice rack. And guess who usually wins? Sajak, you sly dog. Oops - digression. Sorry.)

But then dinnertime was over. So I plunked him down in front of the TV set and put on Sesame Street. Big, big mistake. 45 minutes of shrieking Muppets, singing their songs, singing out loud, singing out strong...someone pounding the top of my head with a tack hammer would have been preferable. And then came ELMO. That furry red bastard. "LALALALALALALALAELMO'SWORLD!!!"Oddly enough, I found a long strand of piano wire in one of our drawers. I started begging for Lucas to shove it into the base of my neck. He laughed, while I sat there, silent tears streaming down my face, mouth agape in the silent scream of the damned. Beth got home shortly thereafter; she told me I looked like an Edward Munch painting, to which I grunted and passed out in a heap. That night I dreamed of Muppets, their sharp fangs bared, surrounding me and pelting me with rocks and garbage, singing, singing, why won't they stop singing?

San Quentin: Home Edition

I had mentioned a couple months back about how we are using "time outs" for our youngest daughter when she gets in to trouble.  There's a little corner by the front door and coat closet with a small 1/2 wall that separates the area from the rest of the house that really works out perfectly.  Well, she's been getting in to trouble quite often these days.  Usually, for the same silly things - messing with the computer(s) or television when told not to.  (She's a two-trick pony, I guess).  So, she's been spending a lot of time in her little cell.  This is to be expected of a 2-year-old, I'm assuming. 

However, she's becoming quite comfortable with her confinement area.  In fact, this morning, she was sent to a time out and ended up staying there for well over 25 minutes - by her own choice.  Apparently, she really digs it over there.  On several occasions she's been heard singing, summoning her teddy bear across the room, and, God love her, even dancing - all the time facing the damn corner.  Of course, this means she's defused our discipline mechanism and we'll have to come up with some other location now.  And I'm sure that won't be the last time we have to go looking for corners.  I guess we're going to have to practice nomadic disciplinary actions if we're going to stick with this whole "time out" thing.  Anyway...

What does this say about her?  She knows why she's there, but, she doesn't seem to care. Where will this take us?  If I don't build an addition to the house, we're going to eventually run out of corners here.

Well Damn...No Sick Days, I Guess

Whew!  I feel like we're a family of Neos the way we dodged this little bullet.  OK, maybe that's an exaggeration...

My wife IMs me yesterday to let me know she's headed to the 10-story house of $2 shamans Kaiser Permanente because she thinks our daughter has the dreaded Pink Eye.  Doctor [insert Ped-of-the-week] took a peek, confirmed that he too thought it was conjunctivitis and gave us a prescription.  Of course, my wife, my mother-in-law and I all jump on the psychosomatic wagon at that point, thinking we're next in line for the affliction.  Our cell phone conversation after they left the office went something like this:

"Yep.  It's Pink Eye," my wife says.
"Ah...that's why my right eye's kind of watery," I reply.
"Mine's kind of itchy too," my wife says.
"Mi ojo está lastimando también," her mother says.
"This sucks," we all agree.

We took some solace in the fact that we at least had some medicine now should our "symptoms" develop any further.  Although, we still had the task of applying the medicine to the real sick one.  None of us were really looking forward to that experience.  That's a 3 person job - one to hold the dropper, one to strap her down and the other to pre-dial "9-1-*" and wait for the signal in case something goes terribly awry.  However, my wife and her mother managed to get a drop or two in her eye without incident and, miraculously, everything cleared up within a couple of hours.  This morning, no sign of it anywhere.

My wife and mother-in-law came to the conclusion that it wasn't Pink Eye after all and was simply the irritating side effect of an attempt to get a loose eye lash out of her eye the day before. Another 3-person job, if you ask me.  Somehow, they had conveniently forgotten about that little incident when her eye initially got puffy, red and gunky.  We always assume the worst, don't we? 

Of course, we're going to watch it closely as we're no experts.  However, we feel we're only slightly less qualified than Dr. Mailorderdegree who corroborated our initial suspicions.  Really, the only thing he has on us is the ability to give us a piece of paper we can trade for drugs.  That's power, for sure, but that's not knowledge.  For now, she seems fine, we think she's alright and we'll wait and see.

I have to admit that our "symptoms" seemed to have vanished overnight as well.  But you already figured that, huh?

Helpful Sayings for Dads

There seems to be lots of sayings out there for mothers but not many for dads. So here is my list of helpful sayings for fathers all around the world. Feel free to use and disperse them in your daily lives.

The Ventriloquist

This is when you say “Certainly dear” through clenched teeth and unmoving lips. This is done when your wife asks you for her fifth glass of water for the night the second your head hits the pillow after changing baby at three in the morning.

(Ladies, nothing wrong with asking us for a glass of water, just do it BEFORE we get back into bed ok?)

Stride of the Half Arm

This is the strange phenomenon explaining men’s inability to push a pram with two hands.

The Dashboard Elvis

Many of you will be familiar with the almost imperceptible wink and nod to other males of the species when their paths cross whilst out pushing prams with one arm.

The Stare at the Sun
The look you give other parents when their children are running riot around your table/house/party/funeral. It’s sometimes looks like you’re squinting at the sun but with much more menace.

The One Armed Snake Charmer

Going to a public lavatory using one hand, trying to navigate around your nether-regions whilst holding a baby in the other and not pissing on your shoes

The Luke Skywalker

This is when you carry your child in a specially designed backpack and feel like Luke on Dagobah when he carries Yoda around and around and around.

The Internal Combustion
This is the feeling you get when you realise your child has somehow managed to stuff 3 chicken nuggets, a half glass of milk and something they found behind the couch into your Playstation or X-box, but can’t blow your top because you are the stupid oaf that left it in the lounge room.

Swamp Donkey Repellent

This is a powerful and potent mixture of shopping, meetings, feeling sick and smoke and mirrors to avoid your mother in law coming around.

The Deer and Headlights

This is the act of freezing up and staring in disbelief when you realise your child has learnt how to use doorknobs and walked into the room whilst you and your wife are in the middle of steamy, raunchy, hot, porn star sex.

The Creeping Porky’s

This is the act of your stomach slowly sneaking up on you when your wife is pregnant. Before you know it, baby is born, your wife has lost all her baby fat and you are left with the flabby leftovers of a 38 week pregnancy.