DadCentric

Scramble the Strollers! Go Go Go!

Our apartment isn’t exactly giant (imagine your closet, but smaller), and Cheeky knows it. She can motor around pretty well, especially since she mastered her orangutan-walk a week or two ago, and there’s only so much couch-climbing she will tolerate before she demands something with slides, stairs, and other vertical dangers. 

So every morning we try to distract her with toys and TV long enough for us to shower, dress, and ram food down our throats. We know that it won’t be long before she remembers the front door and the magic world outside, a fact she alerts us to by standing in front of it and pounding her fists on it violently.

That's the signal for the lightning round. 

Once the door-pounding starts we’ve got about three minutes before things escalate to Defcon 5. Instantly, our lives begin to resemble a Japanese game show: the one where contestants are jumping from pillar to pillar over a mud-pit full of crocodiles while the hosts throw lawn darts at them. All while carrying a cow.

On good days we’re prepared. We’ve got a diaper-bag stocked with provisions (cheerios, fruit slices, something stuffed with googly-eyes) and the kid is wearing pants. But on off-days, when we dared read the paper or indulged someone’s Elmo-addiction a few minutes too long, it’s a frenetic, periodically violent death dance to get prepped.  

As Cheeky’s demands for parole become louder, sippy cups and shoes become projectiles. One of us is invariably sprinting to supply closets (“Where are the wipes!?! THE WIPES!?!?!?!) while the other pins the beast to wrestle a dress over her head or get the cuffs stroller straps in place. Meanwhile one of us (usually me) is simultaneously tucking a shirt or chugging scalding hot coffee so we don’t look and act like a homeless person stealing a child.

The whole things takes 3-5 minutes, but it feels more like twenty.  We dance on the edge of a knife between joy and chaos; one false move and we'll be nursing the wounded during nap time.  But like the triangle post offense it's a thing of beauty when executed well.

The Pleasure Principle

WARNING: POTENTIALLY OFFENSIVE ADULT CONTENT

I was just perusing Iranian Supreme Leader Sayyid Ali Khameini's Q&A on masturbation during Ramadan [as I normally do this time of year] and came across a couple things that I found a bit odd.  I thought I'd throw them out there for you guys to chew on.  Ladies, I warned you - although, deep down I think you like reading about this stuff.

Right off the bat we're given this confusing notion:

"Deliberate masturbation during the month of Ramadan renders a fast invalid"

OK, OK, I get how rubbing one out might screw up one's fast.  After all, it's forbidden I believe. That concept is not difficult to grasp.  However, the very fact that he used the word deliberate kind of infers that you could end up masturbating accidentally, doesn't it?  How the hell does that happen?  "Oops. I should be more careful about where I put my hand next time I move it aggressively in a manner resembling a rubbing motion."  I don't get it.  What are they doing over there?

Next we're given this:

"If somebody masturbates during the month of Ramadan but without any discharge, is his fasting invalidated?"

Well shit, if he didn't get any discharge out of the deal, I'd say his fast wasn't the only thing that was invalidated, wouldn't you?  Not to knock one's methods, but, fucking read your owner's manual next time, guy.  The discharge is the whole point, you freak.

So, you gotta wonder about the men of Iran.  I know they don't get a lot of secular Western influence in those parts, but, it's not like you need to watch American Pie to figure this shit out either.  It's rub, wipe, goodnight!  Male 101.  And the poor women of Iran.  It's bad enough their societal status is just one click higher than a doorknob.  Now they're sentenced to a population of Neanderthal men who can't even figure out how to pleasure themselves, much less their doorknob woman?? 

God bless America.

In Defense of Booze!

"Former Rep. Mark Foley, under FBI investigation for e-mail exchanges with teenage congressional pages, has checked himself into rehabilitation facility for alcoholism treatment and accepts responsibility for his actions."-AP News

“After drinking alcohol, I did a number of things that were very wrong and for which I am ashamed. I said things that I do not believe to be true and which are despicable."- Mel Gibson in People

I'm sick of alcohol getting a bad rap. 

If you know me in real life, you'll also know that a failure to accept personal responsibility in one's life is quite possibly my greatest pet peeve. I'm a big fan of people taking responsibility for their actions. In our current culture of victimization, it's become the norm for people to not be held accountable and to feel justified feeling moral indignation for being wronged. 

Mark Foley didn't become a pedophile because of booze. Nor did alcohol make Mel Gibson a raving anti-Semite. Alcohol may have been a contributing factor as to why these two celebrities revealed their true inner thoughts.  However, alcohol didn't make them that way! Don't be passing the blame onto the hooch!

So, real quickly, let's talk about some of the great things about alcohol...

(1) Alcohol makes most people (especially yourself) funnier, interesting, and better-looking. Sure, you may look like Nick Nolte and smell worse than the homeless guy who sleeps outside your building every night but, deep down, you know you're smoother than Pierce Brosnan. Who's cooler than you, playa?

(2) Alcohol makes you forget your problems. If you think about what's going on these days, life can get pretty damn depressing.  Our nation is at war. Gas costs more than drugs. The economy is slowing. On the home front, the bills are adding up. The mortage is late. And work is crushing your soul. But you know what? A few drinks can solve ALL your problems. After a few hours of boozing, the most serious life issue that you'll be contemplating is whether to get chili or cheese on that 2:00 am hotdog. Alcohol is what enables us to say, "Fuck it! Life is short. Why not get both?"

(3) Alcohol makes the best stories. How many funny stories have we heard that wouldn't really be funny if not for alcohol? For example, my favorite story is the night I went out with my buddy Cleves and the two of us got rip-roaring drunk. Cleves came home and passed out in bed. A few minutes later, he heard his wife yelling at him, "What the hell are you doing?" My buddy Cleves replied, "Nothing! I'm in the bathroom." At that point, his wife turned on the lights and saw that her beloved husband and the father of her children had opened their curtains and was peeing all over their bedroom window. If not for booze, this story would be a little sad.  However, knowing that alcohol was involved makes it hilarious!

(4) Hangovers can be fun. A few weeks ago, we left our daughter at the grandparents' house for an overnight visit. To celebrate, BossLady and I hit the town hard for a much-needed night of debauchery. I got so drunk that, at one point, I found myself dancing with a couple of tourists from Arkansas. The next day was even more fun than the night before.  Despite the fact that I felt like I'd been beaten by the LAPD, the BossLady and I spent the entire day snuggled up together on the couch watching mindless movies on TBS and eating greasy Chinese food. Tell me, people. If alcohol is so bad for you, then why did God invent General Tso's chicken? 

(5) Strangers become loved ones. I can't tell you how many times I've been in Asia on business working 15-hour days in a conference room with a bunch of conservative guys in dark suits who look like they haven't cracked a smile since the Ming Dynasty.  But put a little alcohol in them and the next thing you know, they're hugging you in a karaoke room while drunkenly singing "Sweet Caroline" to you and  not only telling you what a great guy you are but also how they'd like to invite you to their wedding!  (P.S. Can we pass some kind of law that bans people from singing "Sweet Caroline" together?)

Don't you think booze is getting a bad rap these days?  Don't you think we need to defend our good friend from getting maligned?  What should we do about it?  Anyone want to start a petition? 

How to Save A Life (Requires One Cell Phone, One Good Kid, And Lots of Luck)

In a world full of brutality and senseless parenting [insert shameless plug here], it's refreshing see basic human goodness shine through once every dog's age. It's even more heartening to see it shining through the actions of a child. Daddy David LeBlanc of New York fell asleep in his car this week when his blood sugar dipped dangerously low. Thanks to his son Hunter, who dialed 911 on dad's cell, both father and son are safe and sound.

I have to admit, though, that my heart stopped when I read this part:

The dispatcher told Hunter to turn on the hazard lights and beep the horn until someone noticed. A man returning home saw the lights and stopped. Hunter handed him the phone, and the man was able to tell police their location.

Apparently Verizon was attempting to trace the call, but wasn't having much luck. That kid and that dispatcher won the motherfucking lottery with that move. What if the boy had accidentally flagged down a pedophile, a sociopath, or a psycho woman looking for somebody to love?

How sad is it that this line of thought even occurred to me?

I don't think I've ever read a better advertisement for OnStar.

Train Up A Child? Oh, Hell No!

Anyone know of a good restaurant on the Isle of Sodor?  What's the nightlife like?  What's there to do outside of shunting trucks and/or hauling freight?  I can't seem to find much about the place on Tripadvisor or Expedia ("dot coooom!").  Regardless, I think this is where we're headed for our next vacation.  It's already enveloped every other aspect of our daily lives, so, why not just go with it, right?  All hail Thomas.

These goddamn trains are at the dinner table, in the bed, in the bathtub, in the sandbox, in the car, in the fridge, in the couch cushions and generally all up in our shit.  Lula is obsessed with them.  She has about a dozen of them so far - from Maymis, to Shaq, to Pussy (all her words, not mine) - and can't seem to do anything or go anywhere without them in tow.  God forbid one of them goes missing [again].  This happened to Femix or Gorble or one of those guys about a month ago and we were just shy of having his little plastic face plastered on the side of milk carton.  Lucky for me, Toy R Us had about 150 more of him in stock so we dodged that bullet.  However, it takes more effort keeping track of these little shits than it does the child herself.

And my wife...poor woman.  She already has suspicions that Lula may not be quite as...um...girly as she had expected.  Lu already calls herself a "boy" and won't wear anything but Bob the Builder diapers. This, coupled with her massive train infactuation, and my wife is just about ready to break down and buy her some Birkenstocks and the Indigo Girls box set.  But I've digressed...

So as our house slowly morphs into Sodor Engine Works and Sir Toppemhat begins his iron-fisted reign of terror over our household like the weeble-bodied Mussolini that he is, please learn from our example.  Say "no" to Thomas.  Let them shunt elsewhere.

BREAKING NEWS: 2 Year Old Boy Executes First Successful At-Home In-Toilet Urination; "Peace In Our Time" Declares Chamberlain

SAN DIEGO, CA (Reuters) - At approximately 7:25 PST, Lucas Kai Avant performed a sit-down urination in the toilet, the first time that the child has done so in the Avant household. "We think his accuracy was about 75%", said the boy's proud father. "Of course, with any kind of precision operation like this, you're gonna have some collateral damage...the seat, the rug, the dog; sometimes there's a toll to pay on the road to diaper freedom...but overall, we're calling this operation a success." The parents made the announcement at a press conference; when asked about the large banner reading "Mission Accomplished" that was unfurled during the question-and-answer session, the father was quick to say that "obviously, this was a major turn point in our War on Diapers. We're now of the belief that the toilet training is in it's closing phases, and that we'll be able to transition the entire process over to the boy within a matter of days. While there's been talk of us being overextended, let me assure you that we have always been completely capable of fulfilling our various parental missions, and talk of us cutting and running and letting our daycare providers potty-train the child is irresponsible and devisive." When asked if the focus on toilet training the child was draining time, energy, and resources away from the effort to get the child to abandon his security blanket, the father refused to comment, instead pointing out that he had recently received intelligence that "PBS Sprout is planning on running a Doodlebugs Marathon, and (that) this is of major concern."