DadCentric

Whiffing Around

Hi Y'all! It's Whifflewife! I'm thrilled to be here today because DadCentric is a stop I make on my daily internet travels, although, I usually just read and rarely comment so I guess I'm more of a daily lurker. God, I hate that word. Makes me feel dirty. Anyway, thank you Jason and the DadCentric family for inviting us ladies over today.

I originally wanted to link you up to our little family blog and our Flickr photos so you all could see just how cute our kids really are, but, Whiffie prefers to be shrouded in mystery. So, instead, I will bore you with random - but charming - tidbits about our beloved Whiffleboy:

• Whiff has HUGE green eyes and eyelashes long enough to tickle me when we kiss.
• When we were in Maui for our honeymoon, I was the one who suggested we go to the nude beach, but, HE was the one who actually got naked. He even went for a dip in the ocean. I have the pictures to prove it too.
• When I gave birth to our daughter, Whiff literally jumped up and down and squealed like an eleven year old girl at a Jesse McCartney concert. It made a memorable moment even more memorable.
• Whiff is a closet metrosexual. He wears designer jeans, he manscapes, and reads my Lucky magazines while he sits on the toilet. Need I say more to prove my point?
• Last year we decided we wanted to learn about wine. So, Whiff started a spreadsheet for us to log in all our wines, their relevant information (price, vintage, etc.), and whether or not we liked it. I'm almost embarrassed to say we logged in about 70 different bottles of wine in less than three months. While I pretended to make this a learning experience, nodded my head, and went along with the whole logging thing, Whiff took it way too seriously and is now an official wine snob. You should see him with a wine list when we go out. It's enough to make my heart tipsy with love.
• Whiff and I dated briefly back in 1994, but, I dumped him because I didn't think I could trust him since he was this blue haired rock star that was on the road touring. I did come crawling back six years later, though, when I realized what I was missing all those years.
• And...even after sowing all his wild oats while on the road, I'm still the only Latina he's ever been with.

There is so much more that I could share, but, I'll keep it short and end it here. If any of you - for whatever reason - ever need to blackmail Whiff, feel free to use this information against him.

Have a great weekend!

Mother, College Co-ed..... Same Thing, Right?

Go through life completely exhausted – As a college student, I was constantly tired. I had a full course-load, a near full-time job and of course – a full drinking/social calendar. As a mother, I have a full-time job, a house, a husband and a child….. just like back my college days, it is not unusual for me to have to function on less than 4 hours of sleep – sadly, I can’t skip my 8:00 meeting the way I used to skip my 8:00 class, BUMMER

Public Vomit – Back in college – I witnessed people I was out with throwing up in public….. at least I could deny knowing them…….. now, not only do I have to accept the fact that people are gonna know that this ‘lil person is with me – but, I’m the one responsible for cleaning it up.

Pasta dinners – As a college student, my diet consisted of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, Lettuce and Tomato sandwiches, Grilled Cheese, Pasta and Raman Noodles. These were meals that were cheap and easy. As a mother, my diet very often consists of similar items – not so much because they are cheap, but because they are quick, easy and require minimal clean up.

The 99 – Back in college…. Places like The 99, Applebee’s, Friday’s and The Ground Round were attractive to us because the food was relatively affordable and the beers were big! Now, these places are attractive because the people lucky enough to be getting the big beers are loud enough that the other patrons won’t notice if the ‘lil Dubya has a meltdown.

McDonald’s for Breakfast – As a college students, my girlfriends and I swore that a McDonald’s breakfast had medicinal properties…… there was hardly a hangover that a good greasy McDonald’s breakfast and a fountain soda couldn’t remedy. Similarly, as an expecting mother, I learned that a good greasy Bacon Egg & Cheese Biscuit could do wonders for a bout of morning (or, in my case morning, noon & night) sickness….. and while you are there, you may as well get yourself a hash brown – it’s the right thing to do.

Dinner in a nice restaurant – When I was in school, the only hope I had of going to a nice restaurant was when my Dad came to visit and treated us to a decent meal.  Similarly, now the only chance we have of going for a nice dinner is when our parents come to visit and offer to baby-sit.

Who'd a thought there'd be so many similarities, huh?

[Written by Mrs. Big Dubya]

It's All About The Glamour

Every morning, I strap Mia into her bouncy seat, plop her on the floor in the bathroom, and take a shower. Now, I know she is too old for the bouncy seat, but she is always happy to play with whatever I have strapped to the toy bar for the few minutes it takes me to shower.

Until recently, that is, when I got out of the shower to find Mia bent at the waist playing with something she had dropped onto the floor in front of her and one good wiggle away from going ass over teakettle and landing face first on the bathroom floor under the bouncy chair.

The bouncy chair is hereby retired.  It's all about the glamour.

I cannot for the life of me figure out how I am ever going to take another shower. I can't leave her on the bathroom floor, because ew. I can't leave her on the floor outside the bathroom because of the
crawling and she would likely be halfway to Canada by the time I got out of the shower. I am not comfortable leaving her in her crib because it is down the hall from my shower and would likely cause me to spend too much time running naked past open windows to check on her and subjecting my neighbors to a view of my jiggly belly, which I can assure you nobody wants to see.

So, here's what I'm thinking. Can I put her in the bathtub? Without water of course, and it's separate from the shower. It is cleaner than the floor in that my husband (at least as far as I know) never pees on it, she can crawl around but can't get out, and banging her head on the hard sides would teach her valuable lessons about the hardships she will face later in life.

It's either that or getting her a snorkel, strapping her into the Baby Bjorn, and taking her in with me.

[Written by Beth Fish]

Postcards from Spokanistan

I can't help but feel a bit of the old Term Paper Due angst as I finally sit down to weigh in as a guest blogger here at DadCentric. Filled with both excitement and dread at the prospect of treading on hallowed Dad Turf, I wracked (racked? does anyone really know how to spell that?) my brain to settle on the ideal topic. And while I've toyed with some more heady ones, I can't seem to ignore the windfall of fodder that currently surrounds me.

You see, the Cheeky clan is currently in the midst of a visit with the in-laws in Spokane, Washington. And when I say in-laws, I of course mean my in-laws, my husband's parents and three siblings. I was tempted to play it nice, having had my typical mean-spirited nature somewhat tempered by the kid's ridiculously good performance on this trip so far. But then I remembered Tony's advice to me...just be yourself.

The truth is, my in-laws are really good people - nice, loving, sweet people who don't necessarily understand me or the world I grew up in but try their best to make me feel comfortable in their home and town. So this isn't so much about them, but more about what it feels like to be in a completely foreign environment with your 9 month old baby, painfully aware of different grandparenting styles, decorating styles, cooking styles, and, well, styles.

Now I admit that I'm certainly not quirk-free. After all, I'm usually somewhat convinced and try to convince others that I'm dying of a strange and mysterious illness. I read things that may not be considered literature. Maybe I don't act ladylike all the time. I don't like AC/DC (my husband calls this a quirk, but I call it sanity). I use the minimum amount of effort around the house whenever possible. But still, there are some things I've observed that shock and dismay me. I want to believe that these people, who did such a bang-up job raising my fabulously talented and wonderful husband, are fully capable of being outstanding grandparents, but some things just make me scratch my head...or wince.  For instance:

1. Margarine in the cabinet. Did you know that margarine doesn't need to be refrigerated?  I've seen this before on a prior visit, but I'm still taken aback when I open the kitchen cabinet to find what looks like a stick of butter wedged right in there between the salt and the vanilla extract.
2. Paper plates. I agree, washing dishes by hand is misery and wouldn't it be nice to just chuck the whole mess in the trash when done eating, but something still prevents me from embracing the use of paper plates. To be fair, though, we've only used "real" dishes.
3. Cellophane covering the lamp shade. Doesn't that come off once the lamp comes home? Or is this just the grandma's couch syndrome?
4. A shrine to Pope Benedict XVI - actually "Papst" - the more official or more Latin or Polish or whatever word for Pope. Not to mention more that a few crucifixes scattered about the bedroom we're in (his parents', which they insisted we take despite our repeated protests). I'm half afraid my skin might start to smoke. My inner Jew is scared.
5. The concept of pre-cooking dinner. The way it was explained to us, it's much easier to grill steak in the morning and then microwave it at dinnertime when you're ready to eat it. Why cook once when you can cook twice?
6. Repeated accolades for using "playpens" to keep curious infants under control. Crawling, apparently, is frowned upon.

None of this is serious, just hard to get used to. But all kidding aside, it's been pretty tough to hand off control to - granted, a set of parents that have successfully raised four children - people other than my family, who, unfortunately, Cheeky just hasn't had that much time to get to know. The temptation to pick her up every time she cries or take over when unaccustomed hands are trying to wrestle her down long enough to get a diaper on (we've ourselves only recently perfected the crawling-away-double-toe-loop-diaper-smack-down) is overwhelming. And while of course I realize that they adore her and would never let anything remotely bad happen to her, it's still hard to embrace a style of Cheeky watching that isn't our own, and isn't my mother's. Yet as our visit winds down, I see the big smiles in the photos we've captured, I watch Cheeky squeal with delight when playing with her aunt and uncles and I acknowledge that Spokane isn't all that bad and I'm glad we've spread the love.

[Written by Mrs. Tony, aka Madam Crouton]

Random Friday Minutiae

It appears that like many of my brethren, I have absolutely nothing interesting about which to write.  I am bereft of ideas at the moment.  Nada.  Zilch.  Zero.  I have no problems posting mindless drivel on my own site - that's what it's for: a repository for the useless bits of dreck that (sometimes) pass for interesting and entertaining reading.  But here...HERE...DadCentric...this is wholly different.  This hallowed place is where my writing is supposed to strive for the next level.  This is where I try and hone my craft to maybe achieve greatness some day.  To one day sit at the same table as A.J. Jacobs, Neal Pollack, Bill Simmons and Pierre Kim and discuss the finer points of the writing life, the processes and answer the eternal questions that plague us all: Ginger or MaryAnn?  Coke or Pepsi?  Tastes Great or Less Filling?

But I got nothing.  At least nothing that reaches the lofty heights I so endlessly aim to achieve.  So, rather than look skyward, allow me to bring it down to the gutter and discuss some of the interesting pop culture tidbits of the past week or so.

Won't You Let Me Take You on a Suri Cruise? - Turns out many of the Jewish faith are furiously updating their dictionaries to add a new word.  Similarly, those who speak Farsi are doing the same.  According to some scholars, Suri does not translate to "red rose" in Farsi nor does it mean "princess" in Hebrew.  However, in India the name is more likely to be used for a boy and comes from the Sanskrit word for "sun" and is usually an epithet for the Hindu god Krishna.  A while back Tom told Matt Lauer that he reads everything.  Maybe instead of buying a sonogram machine he should have picked up a baby name book or maybe just checked out the Internets once in a while.

Off the Wall & Dangerous - Michael Jackson is back in the studio currently cutting a new album in the entertainment hotspot of Bahrain.  Not much is known about it at this time except that it will include his Hurricane Katrina song "I Have This Dream."  Martin Luther King it is not, according to industry insiders.  I think he should fill the rest with cover songs; put his own twist on some old favorites.  He can start with the Divinyls' I Touch Myself and then follow that up with George Michael's Father Figure.  Maybe he could entice Slash back into the studio and cut Billy Squier's The Stroke.  Then throw in a little Frankie Goes to Hollywood and Relax.  I'm sure there are more, this is just a start.

I Know It's Not Real, But Ewwwwww - Former Lost co-stars, Ian Somerhalder (Boone) and Maggie Grace (Shannon) are reportedly dating.  Fans of the show will remember that in flashbacks during the first season, the step-siblings had an illicit love affair.  I wish them all the best, but it's still kinda icky.

Well, that's all I got today.  Make sure you come back later for our installment of Freaky Friday where you'll hear from the ladies in the lives of the men of DadCentric.  Have a great weekend.

Piss Off Mummy

I’m always amazed when our almost-2-year-old daughter imitates our behaviour. Sometimes for good, like when she pops baby’s dummy (pacifier) back in her mouth for the 3,457th time that day. Other times not so good, like when I’m changing her out of her pyjamas and I place a loving hand on her arm in anticipation of a little snuggle and she says, “Mummy, piss off.”

Just like that.

I know who’s to blame totally for this one. And even though it’s Freaky Friday – a perfect opportunity to dump my other half in the proverbial shit, I’m afraid I have to hang my head in shame and take full responsibility for this one.

Let me try and explain...

We have two dogs, two furry little terriers. And since our first girl’s birth almost two years ago, I just haven’t felt the same about them. And as hubby will testify – that’s a massive understatement.

I used to let the dogs sleep on our bed. I’d give them home-made food every day rather than letting them eat the tinned variety. I used to take them everywhere – even to the supermarket.

Looking back on it now, obviously they were the stereotypical substitute children as I approached my thirties [sticking pins in a voodoo doll] waiting for hubby to come to the party and start a family with me.

Every time I walk outside there’s a wagging, fluffball just dying for some attention. And there always seems to be a hard, plastic, spiky toy placed right in the middle of the mat, which I inevitably stand on. I think once or twice (possibly on a few hundred occasions) I’ve hurled the words ‘piss off’ in their direction.

So now whenever our girl tells us ‘leave me alone’ or ‘go away’, she uses the more colourful, socially-unacceptable-for-a-child version.

I try not to laugh in front of her when she says it, even though it’s the most adorable and funniest thing. People tell me I won’t find it funny when she says it in public, but I think that’s when I’ll be laughing the hardest.

Back to the four-legged creatures… I’ve spoken to a couple of friends about this and they also wanted nothing more to do with their dogs as soon as babies arrived on the scene. So how common is this experience?

I do feel guilty about not loving the dogs as much as I used to, but hey… that’s just another thing to add to my MotherGuilt list.

[posted by Wifey of Chocolate Makes It Better]

Lil Strummer

Help a dad out.  My daughter is nine months old.  It's not too early to pick up a quarter-sized, midget guitar for her, right?

The Blogfodder

See, the trouble with blogs is, people read them.

It's one thing when I go through life asking myself, "Should I blog this?" But it makes friends nervous sometimes, wondering if/how their kid dumping the basket of chips out--twice!--at the Mexican restaurant is going to show up on the blog. [For the record, D, it was no sweat, and the standard per-baby bonus in the tip bought the waiter's approval/silence.]

Then there are people who don't seem to care, but if I were to mention them on the blog, it might get awkward. A twist on the classic, "It's not you. It's ME!" 

With that preface, here's my complete list of things that are definitely NOT the 10th thing you should say on a playdate:
1) "Oh, she woke up sick this morning. Probably from her music class. Stop hugging [Greg's daughter] and come let me wipe your nose."

That's all I got so far. I sure I could've come up with a longer list, but my kid was up all night hacking and drowning in a headful of snot.

Notes From The Dad-O-Sphere

Ah, the yin and yang of fatherhood - today I stayed home with the kid, who had a bit of a fever and thus was a wee bit grumpy; on the flip side, I taught him to say "Stop! Hammer Time!", which amused us all to no end. The time off gave me the chance to peruse the Dad-O-Sphere, unearthing the following nugs:

Matthew overhears a theological discussion. Wonder if these guys belong to Opus Dei?

Steve's kid finds a very special Easter egg.

Kemp bares his soul.

NEWS FLASH!! UPDATED 7:35 PST!! One of my favorite OG dadbloggers is back. And Willie and Julio are in his posse.

And The Dadbloggers present: How To HitBeatSmackSlapAroundAbuse Spank Your Kid! (Hints: Use a utensil! And when you're done, remember to pray!)

Yeah, it’s That Guy With the Huge Penis Again.

There is a young man that lives around the road from us who has an enormous penis. How do I know this you might ask? Do I own a powerful telescope? Does this man shower and change in front of a full length plate glass window perhaps? Maybe I stood next to him at the urinals down at the local pub?

It’s none of these. I know this young man has a gigantic penis because he does burnouts and speeds in his car past our house almost every day. Research shows that the size and power of a young mans car, combined with the recklessness of his driving, has a direct correlation to the size of his penis.

This young man must have had a new compartment added to his car to store his amazing whanger, as he thinks nothing of hooning down our 40kmph street at about 75-80kmph. He has also decided that an appropriate way to turn corners is sideways whilst removing masses of rubber from his tyres and blaring his Bevan music at 130 decibels.

I’m not quite sure how to approach this man as I would either need to climb over his enormous phallus to actually talk to him and ask him to slow down and drive responsibly or get the police to lay in waiting on our street for a pink streak with a Holden Commodore GLS wrapped around it going 80kmph.

Has anyone else had hoons living in their street? What did you do about it?