DadCentric

Friday Funny: Kids in the Hall Version

It's Friday. Get out of the office and ditch the suit, or you may be next! You've been warned.

Yar! There be a power struggle a'brewin says I

Oh that little son of mine. I'm loving how he's adding new words to his vocabulary just about every day. But he threw a two syllable doozy at me the other day that caught me a bit off guard.

See, as part of our effort to transform our office from the room with the door always closed into a space that human beings can actually occupy, The Ash scoured the local used furniture stores looking for a comfy chair. Ya gotta have a comfy chair, right? And as soon as she got home and I saw it lying there in the back of the car, I knew I was in comfy chair love.

It's like, so imagine if Jimmy Buffett were to take command of the Starship Enterprise. Or the Battlestar Galactica if you prefer, I don't care. But the first thing he would do upon taking command, that is, after he re-christened it the Parrothead or the Margaritaville or whatever, and after he ordered that a margarita machine be installed on the deck, right after he did all that, he'd have this chair installed. As soon as I brought this little secondhand beauty inside and put it in place, I took a seat and knew that it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. A great place to chill, blog, surf, and in the near future, rock a newborn little baby.

Except, see, my son was just as smitten with our new furniture addition. After I got up, he waddled right over, climbed up and had himself a big boy seat.

No big deal, right? Perhaps, like me, he was just excited to have something that was not from Ikea.

Later on, I'm sitting in my chair, just enjoying the hell out of it, when the little GooGoo walks up to me and says a word I've never heard him say before: "Move!"

Wha-huh-what?

Surely my child did not just order me to move. Surely he's doing his cow imitation for me, or he's asking me to get up and come play, but he did NOT tell me to just get up out of this chair so that he can sit here. Except he just kept going with it, repeating it over and over again, growing more and more demanding each time.

So I experiment. I pick the little guy up and put him in my lap. That pisses him off. I try sitting him next to me. Nothing doing. Finally, believing that surely he must want me to get off my ass and go play with him, I get up. I stand, leaving the chair, my chair, unoccupied.

He climbed right in. I moved. He sat.

Oh no my little son. Nothing doing on this one. I'll share anything with you, the food on my plate, the room in the bed, your mom's affection, whatever. But the comfy chair is daddy's.

Got The Life

The perfect day: after work, picked up Beth and Lucas and headed across the street the beach, surfed the new longboard to the point of exhaustion, played with the kid in the waves immediately following, zipped over to the grocery store for barbecue fare, then back home where I cooked a rockin' feast of jerk pork tenderloin with mango chutney, pear salad, and corn-on-the-cob.

Afterwards, we sat at the table, spent, Beth using her fingernail in an attempt to dislodge a corn kernal that had wedged itself between Lucas' two front teeth.

"Did you ever think", she wondered aloud, "that one day you'd be sitting around picking food out of someone else's teeth?"

I paused to ponder this. "Not in this context, no."

The post where I say "Howdy"

Just so you know, this first sentence here, the one you're reading now, is not the first part of the post that I typed, but as I was typing, I got this odd sense of deja vu. I'll explain in a few.

So the hazing rituals are over, and it would seem that I'm now officially part of the DadCentric writing team. It was worth it, I tell ya, despite the bruises and the funny taste in my mouth and the bizarre brand on the bottom of my foot. Can any of you guys tell me what language this is? Actually, from what I hear, it was all originally supposed to be a little midnight ceremony involving dudes in black cloaks, a goat, and a bottle of chloroform, but since we all live in different states and the DadCentric corporate jet is still in the shop with a busted hyperdrive (it's always the damn hyperdrive), they just sent me instructions to punch myself in the face repeatedly until, well, whenever. They weren't too specific. But I got through it, and I think I did okay. Whaddaya think?

From what I can tell, most, if not all of the other DadCentric dads are on or near the east or west coasts, so it looks like I'm representin for the dirty south contingent. It was even stipulated in my contract that I bring along some of my Austin hipster street cred, which I guess means I need to update my wardrobe and buy some cooler glasses. And probably change my name. I'll alert the rest of Austin.

So that deja vu I mentioned up above in the first sentence that was not actually the sentence that was written first? It hit me around the end of the last paragraph when I started wondering what to write next. It would seem that, here I am, starting off my first post on a new (to me anyway) blog, which of course causes me to cast my memory back to March of 2005 when I was writing the very first post over on my personal blog. And in that very first post, I was about seven months away from the birth of my first kiddo. That's him there, thinking he's stealing my 'puter. And here I am writing this first post, and I'm about six months away from the birth of my second kiddo. So yeah, strange, or maybe just me. I have, of course, announced the news hither thither and yon throughout the blog world, so this isn't exactly the official announcement to the internodes, but I guess it's sort of my introduction by way of news-telling by way of saying howdy y'all.

So howdy. Y'all.

Tell Maurice Chevalier He's On In Five

The Big Ultrasound was today. It revealed no penis. A girl! Cool! Holy fuck! This is, I must confess, thrilling - a girl! They're so...girly! - and terrifying. Because - a girl! They're so...girly!

(In other news, The Holmes has been added to the DadCentric roster. Yes, we call him The Holmes; some say Batman, others say The Batman, we say The Holmes. Cool! Holy fuck! Not as "Cool! Holy fuck!" as my news, but still, cool!)

(Also, the agonizing pain in my right shoulder turned out to be tendonitis. The doctor prescribed some vicodin, which I popped about 15 minutes ago on an empty stomach. Hence the lack of eloquence in today's post. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to sit on the couch and stare at my left thumbnail for the remainder of the evening.)

Everyone, Stay Away From the Brown Diapers! A DadCentric PSA

Remember Woodstock?  That was a great time.  I think PBS really caught the essence of the thing in their special.  It's like I was there.  Or born.

Now there is a stock for us, and it doesn't involve insider trading.  Well, it did involve some inside her...ah man, even I can't go there.

This stock isn't for everyone, only the sexy people, in this case the At Home Dads (AHD), but I'm sure if you complain loudly enough they will accommodate your personal demographic accordingly in some future capacity.  In the meantime, AHD's don't ever get anything cool, so back the fuck off.

Gentlemen, specifically the sub-category of AHD, I give you (drumroll) DadStock.

How freaking cool is that?  Alas, it's near (time) and far (distance) all at once (just messing with Grover), so I won't be able to make it. I am open to future events though, how about a mailing list DadStock?

Thanks to Darren for the tip.

As Far As You Know

I think we all, as parents, sometimes lie to our kids to keep them in line or to make our lives easier if only for a brief moment.  At least I do.  Sorry for implicating you if you don't you lying piece of shit.  Anyway, I never really feel good about it, even though I'm talking the smallest of white lies here like "You don't want any of this gum, honey, I dropped it in the dog poop yesterday after I accidentally peed on it and then spiders crawled in it," when all I really wanted to do was save her appetite for dinner without battling over whether she gets a piece beforehand or not.  That kind of stuff. 

So, I discovered a nice caveat that allows me the freedom to create the most outlandish of lies to throw around the house - without technically lying.  And boy, let me tell you, I've been guilt-free ever since:

"As far as you know"

Finish every lie with the five words above.  All of sudden, you're not lying anymore.  You're making an observation.  Fire at will.

The Highway's Jammed with Broken Heroes, On a Last Chance Power Drive...and Thanks to The Optional 3rd Row Seats, there's Room For Grandma and Grandpa!

There is, of course, a baby on the way, and we're now deep in the process of examining every aspect of our lives and trying to figure out what things we need to trade in for a bigger model. Naturally, tops on my list are a 50 inch plasma TV and a longboard; Beth is of the mind that we need a bigger family car.

I have to say that The Forthcoming Bundle of Joy # 2 Experience has been much less stressful than our first go-round. At least for me; I'm feeling a bit like Tom Sizemore in Saving Private Ryan; I've been there, in The Shit - literally and figuratively - and when November rolls around, I'll be ready. Once more unto the breach, etc. But the car thing has me vexed.

First, we have a fairly big SUV - the Nissan Xterra. It's been great; its undisputable value as a surfmobile notwithstanding, there's plenty of room for one kid, one dog, and all of the attendant crap that accompanies both. Those of you with babies will be happy to know that the attendant crap decreases expontentially with each month following the one year mark (really, one has to wonder how many parents go for #2 simply because they spent $800 on that goddamn Bugaboo and by Christ there's gonna be a baby in that thing until the axles rot and the wheels fall off). The problem is this - the Xterra, which still looks and runs great, is creeping up on 90,000 miles. The clock is ticking.

Second, we've both decided that there will be no minivan. No offense to minivan people - but we are not minivan people. We've tried to want one, we know they get better gas mileage and have the sliding doors and seat 30 people and can go underwater and can turn into giant robots, but we are not minivan people. We are SUV people. Surfboards and tents. (Ok - that's all me. You could probably talk Beth into a Nissan Quest, what with the cool multiple sunroofs.) That said, after much deliberation, we decided to give serious consideration to a pair of so-called CUV's - "crossover utility vehicles", namely the GMC Acadia and the Saturn Outlook. They seemed like a happy compromise - lots of interior space, folding third-row seats, better gas mileage than a full-sized SUV, car-like handling. What's not to love? Oh. The price. A quick glance at the MSRP, a go-round with the GMC Payment Calculator, and I came to the decision that I'd rather deal with a prolapsed rectum than those monthly payments. 

So the vexation continues. If there's a bigger pain in the ass than the process of buying a new car, I've yet to experience it. I may have to reassess my stance on minivans; the rocket launchers, though, are a dealbreaker. I'd be remiss in my fatherly duties if the family ride was vulnerable to attacks by giant radioactive scorpions. 

Happy DadCentric Day to (and from) Us

Today is Father's Day.  We are fathers.  Seems like we should mention it. 

The thing is I don't know know what is appropriate.  It's like wishing yourself a happy birthday.  There is a lot of grey area.  It's like masturbating to greeting cards.  I'm pretty sure that's not appropriate.

The competition did a nice little piece for the occasion.  Our friend The Holmes made some funny.  Us, we're lying on the couch being served inedible kid concoctions and mimosas, wondering why there isn't any baseball on until this afternoon, and thinking how sweet it will be when the kids are old enough to mow the lawn.

Until then, Father's Day isn't so much a holiday, but rather an accepted snooze-button on a Sunday.  We don't have to do any yardwork or other normal errands... yet.   After lunch, however, life kicks in.  Maybe that's why baseball isn't on until later.

Well, no matter how you see fit to mark the occasion, Happy Father's Day to you and yours. BTW, Hallmark called and said something about a "surveilance tape" and a lawsuit.  They left a message.

SPOILER ALERT! Also, You May Not Want To Bring The Kids To This Movie.