DadCentric

On Flatulence, Or, Did Somebody Step On A Duck?

Let us consider The Fart. The humble Fart, which, I put forth, is the foundation upon which all solid relationships are built. Example: last night, in bed, I emitted a particularly piquant blast, upon which I remarked to Beth who lay next to me, "GahDAMN. This room now smells like the legendary Elephant Graveyard." No further proof is needed that milady and I are completely of one mind - I can express myself, in both the gastronomical and emotional sense, without fear of embarrassment or reprisal. Men know that we have found that special someone when we are comfortable enough to let fly and comment on the emission in her presence.

But what of the boy? We are very European when it comes to the form and functions of the human body and how to best explain them to our kid. The Penis, for example, is just that; not the "wee-wee", or the "winky", or the "pee-pee" (although early on I pushed for "the ol' cock-and-balls", but cooler heads prevailed). Lucas has a penis, and will tell you so; during a chat with my grandmother a few months ago, he in fact pointed to his crotch and yelled "dat's my penis!", a tale which we'll be sure to tell his prom date. So too does he fart; no "pooting", "tooting", or "fluffing" (yeah, there's dual meaning there, but I learned that term when I was younger, before I learned it from Philip Seymour Hoffman. The term, not the act. Jesus, you people and your sick minds.) Lucas farts, and will tell you so.

No shame in what's natural, we say. We live in a Puritan society; children are taught that sex and poop and pee are gross and wrong, and that the body and its forms and processes are to be discussed only in shameful whispers.  "F" that, as they say on the radio; we want Lucas to understand that these are things that people do, and that's OK. And there's an added benefit. As he's not embarrassed of or by his bodily functions, he's learning the practical applications of breaking wind. Last week, he wasn't feeling well; bit of an upset stomach. At one point, Beth asked him if he still had a stomach ache. His response: a massive fart, followed by a jocular exclamation - "Not anymore!" Further proof that progressive parenting works.

The Crying Game

I have a question.  When men become fathers, do they undergo some hormonal change?  Is there some change in their chemical makeup that causes them to go from guy's guy and man's man to something akin to sensitive ponytail guy?  Since Little Dub's arrival a mere 16 months ago, I've become blithering idiot who finds himself crying at the most bizarre things.  Now, before you all get crazy, I'm not talking about body-wracking sobs or anything.  I'm just talking about some welling-up, maybe some sniffles and sometimes a single tear makes its escape.  Ok, maybe more than one, but I wouldn't be mistaken for inconsolable or anything.  Maybe some examples would help you get a clearer picture?

Anytime something bad happens to a child.  This doesn't include the reams and reams of stories we read about any number of children whose lives end tragically.  I think we all have hearts and can begin to understand the intense grief these families feel - I have a son, and Lord help people if something were to happen to him.  That's a given.  I'm talking about in movies and the like - fictional representations.  I've seen Pet Sematary a few times and have never once been bothered by the scene where Gage gets knocked out of his Keds while chasing a ball.  I knew he was coming back as Satan's Spawn so it never once fazed me.  Now?  If that scene were to come on again, I'd be bracing my eyes asking someone to tell me when it's over.  And then I'd be in tears when, later in the movie, he says, "No fair, Daddy" after he's just attacked his father with a scalpel.  I'm sure if my friends saw me there would be taunts directed my way like "Mary" and "Is your husband home."  (fyi - I am not...repeat...not implying anything about the fairer sex - I know some of you are very tough and, in some ways, actually frighten me.  I kid, I kid.  Well, sorta.)

Animals who have shed this mortal coil.  Who knew roadkill could have such a profound effect?  Don't get me wrong.  I'm not getting all teary-eyed over the slow squirrel, rabid raccoon or outwitted opossum.  Nope.  I'm talking about the ones that could be pets.  I saw a dearly departed feline yesterday morning and instead of the, "Oh, shit, that's too bad"  I instantly went to the "Oh, shit, that could be some child's pet.  And they've been scouring the neighborhood all night looking for Mr. Whiskers.  How are they going to explain this to little Madison (yes, I actually had names in this scenario)?" and on and on and on.  And it was then that I found myself welling up.  Immediately I had to ask myself, "What the hell is the matter with you?"

Honestly, I really want to know.  What the hell is the matter with me?  At one time, I actually considered myself quite tough - I was a soldier for chrissake.  I played baseball - and we all know, there's no crying in baseball.  And before someone chimes in about crying at your wedding or the birth of your child or E.T going home - those are all acceptable instances when crying is appropriate, encouraged even.  No, I'm talking about those other times that just don't make sense.  Am I alone?

Evil, Thy Name Is Ear Infection

Let me back up...but not too much because, well, there's not that much to tell.  See, I got my kid sick.  Yep, I'm a bastard - next thing you know I'll be tossing dwarves and gunning down bunnies.  I was sick and now my kid's sick.  Only, overachiever that she is, she took it one step further - ear infection.  Oh, combined with teething.  Ladies and gentlemen, I'm here to tell you that I've stared evil in the face and...well...I didn't laugh.  Really, I recoiled in terror and hid under the bed until my wife pulled me out and said something like, "get out from under the bed you selfish jackass and help me deal with our miserably sick child."  So I did.  Because you don't want to piss off evil and your wife in the same day.  That's just all kinds of wrong. 

[Note:  This, the day after I told my wife she was a pain in the ass.  Gentlemen, never do that.  It's a terrible idea.]

Anyway, we had an incredible run of fifteen months.  Fifteen months and not so much as a sniffle.  I guess it had to end sometime.  And I shouldn't complain.  But I want my daughter to feel better.  And I'd like my wife to be able to relax a little too.

If you need me, well, I'll be under the bed again.  But shhhh!

M.W.A. (Muppets With Attitude)

We're big fans of the Muppets at Casa Metro.  We're also big fans of old-school 80's rap.  That's why  we think that this mash-up of the Muppets performing N.W.A.'s "Fuck the Police" is absolutely brilliant.

Couldn't ask for a better way to start out the week.  Enjoy...

Seeya Steve, Take Care Mate.

Well, it’s been a couple of weeks since Steve Irwin’s death and I know everyone is probably a bit sick of hearing about it, but there are a few things about this great man’s tragic death that really, I mean really, made me think differently about a few things these past few weeks.

I’m not one for the hype of celebrities and news, gossip and tabloids. In fact, sometimes…I’m pretty happy to not watch the news and live in my own little bubble of self-ignorance (tell ya what, sometimes it makes for a nice break from reality). Steve’s death is pretty hard to avoid here in Australia, but one thing that I have noticed is that everyone (and I do mean pretty much everyone) is damn sorry that someone who was so worthy of life, has been taken away not only from us, but also from the animals he helped to save.

After listening to this podcast, it threw new light onto Steve Irwin. It made me think about the man, not just the television show, Aussie slang catch phrase or croc demo. The thing that rang out the loudest in this interview was his complete and utter adoration and love for his parents. As someone who never really had this feeling (at least with his level of enthusiasm) it was interesting to know how big a part his parents played in his life, making him the man he is today.

When that struck like a bolt of lighting it instantly made my look inwards and contemplate the type of father I wanted to be and if (knock on wood) I’m six feet under, scattered across the mountains, pushing up daises, whatever “what is the legacy I will leave for my children?”

How will my children feel about me, as they get older? Is there something I can do to mould, sculpt and shape the type of relationship I’m going to have with my two amazingly beautiful daughters? When I go, will they express their love as passionately or honesty as Steve did?

Crikey! I fucking hope so.

The people left behind, like Terri, Bindi and Bob are the ones who keep going and try to be strong. Bindi these past few weeks has shown wonderful fortitude and strength in a time of need and sorrow. This makes me realise that the Irwin family are just a bunch of ordinary people, doing extraordinary things in one of the most unique and unselfish ways that I have ever seen. We can learn from this.

I hope my daughters will grow up strong and intelligent like Bindi. That I will have the guts, the humour and the determination to help them in every aspect of their lives so I can be their “best daddy in the world”. Also, I hope I’m fun and I hope I don’t have to wrestle a croc.

It gives me great confidence in the human race when I know there are people like the Irwin’s on the planet. If even a slither of their passion, love and enthusiasm for family, wildlife and the world we live in slides into our lives, I think it will make us better people.

Notes From The Dad-O-Sphere: Democratizing The Process

Normally, I'd be offering up a selection of links to dadblogging sites that I find Worthy. However, I've been doing a bit of contemplating about the whole sycophantic nature of the blogosphere, and how a good word from a Major Player can make or break a blog (not that I consider myself or this site a major player; in terms of traffic, we're probably neck-in-neck with this guy). Furthermore, one wonders about one's role as arbiter of good blogging; one man's Joseph Conrad is another's Nicholas Sparks, and who am I - who is anyone, really - to play Robert Parker when it comes to the often deeply personal, heartfelt writings put forth by the myriad of dadbloggers out there? (Yeah, I do have a post in my head about what I think constitutes a good well-written blog, but it's more to do with style and substance than content - for starters, I don't go easy on those who've co-opted THE USE OF ALL CAPS TO EMPHASIZE A FUNNY/HARROWING MOMENT - and that post may emerge in, oh, a podcast with, oh, fellow DadCentrician Jay Allen.)

My point, and I do have one, is that I'm really looking to highlight dadbloggers that are flying under the radar. In that spirit, I Goggled "daddy blog" and pulled the first daddy blog that I'd never heard of. Booyah, world - say hi to David at My Dilemma. Good stuff (and nice use of italics and boldface). And I'll of course open up the comments box and ask you all - who's your largely unread Daddy Blog?

Daddy, What's a Video Tape?

Whelp...tomorrow evening, I get to make an ass of myself recapture a bit of my youth as my old band gets together for the requisite "10 Year Reunion" show.  Those couple of years we were together and touring were so textbook Spinal Tap, it's scary.  At least it was scary back then.  Now it's just plain old hilarious.  I need to write a book on this shit.  Anyway, the show will be captured on DVD compliments of the club and I'm really stoked about that.  You see, my daughters really haven't had a chance to experience any part of that time of my life except for a couple of photos and some songs [that get overly requested by my littlest one].  Why?  Because all my footage from those years is archived on video tape. 

Remember that stuff?  Those cartridge thingies with a spool of brown stuff in them where  you stick them in a contraption called a "V-C-R" which makes this weird whining noise then presents images on your television yet jiggles every once in a while with funny lines in the picture?  Yeah, that stuff. <-- This is how my oldest remembers them.  Since we haven't had a VCR in years, my youngest may grow up never even seeing one in action.  And I don't mind.  Video tape always sucked, in my opinion.  You got one good play before either 1) the tape wore down or 2) the machine ate it. It's a black mark in our technological history, no doubt.

So, I'll come home tomorrow evening with a shiny little DVD that my girls can sit down and watch with their old man over breakfast the next morning.  Finally they'll get a taste of what used to be such a big part of my life - if only an aging and embarrassing rendition of it.  Sure, it'll show me all likkered up, screaming and cussing like a sailor, but, let's face it...when am I not?

I Guess I'll be Wearing Chain-Mail While Holiday Shopping

You've been waiting with baited breath.  You've been combing the internet looking for the slightest hint of what's to come.  You've even tapped Mattel's executive boardroom.  But the secret has eluded you.

Until now.

This morning Fisher Price unveiled their newest mind-control device holiday toy, T.M.X. Elmo.  It debuted on Good Morning America this morning to what I can only assume is the adoration of marketers retailers children nationwide.

The new version of Elmo still laughs when you tickle him/her/it, but "now Elmo's laughing fits have him slapping his knee, falling to the floor, rolling over and pounding his arm." 

Personally, I find that creepy as hell.  It reminds me of that clown in Poltergeist or the ventriloquist dummy in Magic.  But I'm not 18 months old, sucking at Mr. Noodle's teet, and far be it for me to deny my daughter any high-pitched animatronic device that makes her happy.

Now here's a question for you all:  Do you think this will be this season's must-have toy?  Are we going to see stampedes at Walmart and fist-fights at Target like we did with the Cabbage Patch Kids or Elmo's earlier neanderthal incarnation?

A real pain in the ear

Did everyone move and not tell me?  That would be my luck.  Pssst - let's ditch the old guy, start a hip, new blog and not tell him.  Well, since I still have a password and a place to write my posts, I'll keep coming here.  That is, until you stop visiting and reading and then what would be the point?

A while back - wow - was it really that long ago?  Man, we've been here for a while.  And I have the utmost respect for you, dear readers, for putting up with us, reading our drivel and coming back for more - masochists!  Every last one of ya.  Anyway, way back when, I wrote about my migraines and how I hope that I don't pass them along to Little Dub.  Well, I have something else I'd like to add to that "I hope it ends with me" list of traits.  Ear infections.  Yes, yes, I know they are very common and I know there's not a lot that can be done to avoid them.  I also know having tubes placed in ones ears is also a very common procedure -- something along the lines of 2 million tubes placed each year.  Oftentimes, ear infections run their course and the child is good to go - they essentially "grow out of it."  However, some children have recurring middle ear infections (yours truly) and require tubes to relieve the infection which does not respond to the anti-biotics.  Again, most experience relief after the first go round.  Yours truly?  Not so much.  Add an ear infection to a migraine and I was one miserable little son-of-a-bitch.

I was a frequent flyer having had the procedure twice.  The second also involved a T&A - get your minds out of the gutter, people.  Tonsilectomy and adenoidectomy.  Jeeez.  I was 8 for crissakes.  Anyway, the first trip was for the smaller tubes which remain in the ear for about six months and eventually fall out on their own.  At the time, it appeared to do the trick.  Yeah,  no.  Soon after, the infections flared up again with much gusto and I found myself under the knife again, having the larger tubes placed.  In addition to being larger, these also require that they be removed rather than fall out on their own.  But, did you know that tubes can also be a traumatic event in the life of a child?

For virtually an entire summer I was required to wear a bathing cap whenever I got into a pool.  And couldn't go under water.  Or get splashed.  And I had to stay in the shallow end.  Oh, the horror.  It was a grand ritual just to get some relief from the summer swelter.  Cotton balls had to be lubed up in Vaseline and crammed into the ear canal.  Then I had to don the rubber cap and gingerly enter the pool.  Humiliating on its face, but when you're stuck in three feet of water with the grandmothers and elderly aunts, no one wants to play Marco Polo with you.

Thankfully, I was given a clean bill of health around the middle of August and went about splashing in the pool with reckless abandon.  I never again experienced an infection.  And, no, I was not scarred for life, but as I stay at home with Little Dub as he battles an ear infection, I hope they never get as full-blown as mine once did.  I'm not sure I can look at a bathing cap without breaking out into a cold sweat.

Turn And Face The Strange...

To all of you who've sent cards addressed to The Black Mailbox In The Middle of Area 51, Elko, NV, Attn: Jason, you'll be happy to know that I was not, in fact, abducted by Grays and subjected to unspeakable experiments, many of which involve the rectum. I have been incommunicado thanks to recent events that have befallen House Avant.

First, the kid. He's Two. With a capital T. A big Screaming Hitting Shrieking Throwing Hot Wheels at Daddy's Head Anytime The Word "No" Is Directed At Him T. Yeah, all of those parent bloggers out there with your flowery tales about your sweet and loving Angel Straight From Heaven who never cries or throws tantrums and gives everyone hugs and kisses and who draws all of the woodland creatures and little birds forth as they stroll together singing happily through the flowery meadows of the land of Perfect Child-dom? Eat me. And those of you who try to console me by saying "Oh, wait 'til he's three. Three is much worse"? You get sloppy seconds. And don't tell me that this is payback for all of the times that I gloated, back when Lucas was a baby, that he slept through the night starting at 6 weeks of age and loved all of his baby food, even the green stuff. Because you're right, of course. Damn you.

Second, Beth resigned from her job; she's gonna take some time off and be a SAHM, and frankly I couldn't be happier. It's gonna be an adjustment - a bit less disposable income, and some of our projects and plans are getting put on the backburner - but how cool is it that at least one of us can spend more time with the kid and have a little freedom from the daily grind? Plus - and don't tell her I said this - I can now (drum roll please) get up and go surfing before work 'cause I won't have to take the kid to daycare! See? Everyone wins.

So a double dose of Comment Fodder - how do you deal with the Terrible Twos (I'm bidding on a complete set of hockey goalie pads on eBay), and if you've gone back to being a single income family, how was the adjustment?