DadCentric

The Official DadCentric Guide To What To Get Dad For Dad's Day That I Actually Wrote For A Site For Moms

I don't pay much attention to Father's Day - I'm an Arbor Day man myself - but Charlene Prince Birkeland asked me to send along some suggestions on what to get the dad who has everything but still wants more, greedy bastard. You'll be the first against the wall when the revolution comes, capitalist running dog lackey dad who has everything. Vive la guerra! Anyways. This is what I came up with.

Rounding out the top ten: a jet-powered hang glider, a submarine, a lifetime supply of Triscuits, a couple of hours with Alan Thicke, the original master reels of the Beach Boys' "Smile" (and people laughed at me when I said I was sending my sidekick Kato, a ninja schooled in the ancient art of hypnosis, to pay Brian Wilson a visit. Bidding starts at $320,000; email me if you want in), and a pony.

Two is the new black

Two.  Zwei.  Deux.  Due.

That's how old Little Dub is now.  And overnight he has gone from baby to little boy.  I didn't see it coming.  Oh, sure, there were warning signs and comments from others, but I never knew that once they reached this age a switch would be flipped and we'd embark on something entirely new.  Can't we just ease into these things?  Does everything have to happen immediately?  My heart can't take these abrupt changes.  Some of them we have brought on ourselves.  While at Disney, we arrived with a baby, with long curly locks - ok, ok, he was sporting Hulk Hogan chic -- but departed with a small adult, albeit with a limited vocabulary and an inability to ride Space Mountain.

Speaking of vocabularies, he apparently learns approximately 25 words a day, most of them wholly unintelligible, but words nonetheless.  Thankfully, we have yet to hear any of the saltier language his father uses (maybe because I find myself spelling out such gems as f-u-c-k and b-i-t-c-h and s-h-i-t -- I should probably be concerned with my own vocabulary, huh?).  We have the standards: mommy, daddy, baby, papa, nana, gannee (granny), gandad (granddad), dog, cat, truck, car, etc.  There's a whole host of animals: elephant (with appropriate hand gesture to indicate a trunk), duck, bunny, cow, neigh-neigh (horse) and buckey (monkeys) among others.  He knows his cousins' names as well as those of his aunts and uncles -- some of which he delivers with the strangest of high-class British accents, like he's a character in an E.M. Forster novel.  We get a "dude" when we ask him to "gimme five" and a "sweet" for high-fives.  And, like a chip off the ol' block, he has his favorite movie memorized and we often hear "Infinity and 'Eyond" or "Woo-dee" echoing throughout the house.

Finally, the little man has graduated.  We have left behind the crib and Winnie-the-Pooh motif and moved to a "big boy bed" and, of course, a Buzz Lightyear-themed room.  Buzz wall appliques, Buzz sheets and comforter, Toy Story figurines, Buzz and Woody  and Wheezy dolls action plush figures.  All we're missing is his own claw machine filled with Little Green Men or Bucket O Soldiers.

I've barely scratched the surface on the many changes - there's stair use, operating the DVD player and cleaning of discs (blowing dust off, not actually scrubbing them...yet), scrolling through the DVR menu to find "Manny" or "Elmo" just to name a few more.  Unfortunately, I was not adequately prepared for this eventuality and I'm having trouble coming to terms with the fact that we have a little boy running around the house and not the little baby we brought home two short years ago.

A Sunday Still

Today's Free Bad Parenting Advice: Let Your Three Year Old Son Name the Baby!

Here, in no particular order, are the names Lucas has suggested for Baby # 2.

For a boy:

"Soto!"
"Cup!"
"Tractor!"
"Lofty!"
"Crocodile!"

For a girl:

"Table!"
"Lofty!" (could be applied to both, I suppose, like "Leslie")
"Batman!"
"Flag!"
"Leg!"

The Winds of Change

Today my life has changed.  I suppose, technically, that change is constant and yada, yada, yada, but this is a big one, so I noticed it.

I am officially a Stay-At-Home Dad, for a while anyway. Ch-ch-ch-changes.

I had big plans to wake-up early and get things done.  I was going to take the boys and go on adventures and learn, laugh and love our way through sunshine and fields of gold.  As an added bonus, I was going to have the house spotless for my wife when she returned from work, just to prove to her that my staying home is worthwhile for everyone.

We haven't done shit.

The baby has slept most of the day, which is nice, but keeps me homebound, which luckily includes the bar across the street.  Thanks goodness for baby monitors and generous ankle bracelets.

The oldest is going independent today.  He got himself out of bed, made a breakfast of assorted snack-foods and turned on expensive electronics that I didn't even know he could work, and he did it right and kept the volume down.  He also dressed himself.  The outfit consists of three pairs of underwear, a Spiderman pajama shirt, some green shorts and a belt.  His taste in fashion is only slightly better than this guy's, but what the hell, he did it himself and I've got no problem taking him out in public that way.  Assuming the baby wakes up before the stores all close.

I guess you could make some generalization about the best laid plans of mice and men and all that, but the bigger picture is still intact.  We're having fun.  We may even pet the rabbits.

It's a day of changes, and I'm rolling with them.  Just like REO.

A Simple Turd. That's All We Ask.

After finally realizing that our daughter's vehement refusal to sit on a toilet was all due to the fact that she thought she'd fall in [like Nemo...according to her] we presented her with her own personal potty chair.  Yes, we bought one a long time ago with the delusion that hopes she'd actually try it out, but, it took no time at all before she shunned its intended use and turned it in to an above-ground pool for Barbie and her ilk.  Now, with a little age under her elastic band, we ponied up and picked up another one. 

Truth be told, I'm not looking forward to the initial stages of this new phase, but, I'm intelligent enough to understand that my ass wiping days will soon be over - well...at least the days of wiping her ass will soon be over.  I still have a few years left on me.  Anyway...

What we're experimenting with now - at her request - is the location at which said potty chair will end up.  Basically, the chair is feral until such time our daughter finds a room she's comfortable taking a dump in.  I know, it sounds weird to read that, but, that's the reality.  It's been in the default bathroom location as well as her bedroom, our bedroom, the garage, next to the picnic table and, as shown, the living room.  Still no luck.  All we're really getting is a squat, a grunt and the subsequent "It's not working, Daddy," which is shortly followed by a crap or pee in the old Dora diaper.  We're optimistic, though (read as: "this better fucking work this time!").   We're just feeling a bit of a time crunch.  All the other kids we know that are near her age have already moved on.

By the way, at this point, if we maintain all promises and bribes we've been using to get her to go, she'll own the world on her first shit.  Maybe she's having a little performance anxiety. 

There's a Support Group for Everything

At the rate we're going, it's increasingly likely that Cheeky may end up being an only child.  I like the idea of a little brother or sister for her to play with, psychologically damage, and eventually gang up with against us, but the work and commitment involved is a little daunting to us.  And I've got the easy job...I don't have to lug the equivalent of a medicine ball strapped to my belly around for nine months....again.

So I was intrigued when I came across this story about support groups for parents of only children.  I'm man enough to admit that if we decide to only have one child it will be mostly for selfish reasons, because it seems to me that caring for one child is like learning to drive a car, whereas caring for more is like flying a plane.  Through turbulence.  While Metal Machine Music is playing at full volume in the background.  And a diarrhetic monkey is slapping your face.

What do parents with one kid have to complain about that isn't some less stressful version of what the rest of the parents in the world deal with?

I have to admit, there were some compelling reasons given, not the least of which is the pressure of being a toddler's primary playmate, which I can totally relate to.  Until I teach Cheeky to operate the Xbox controller and/or she reaches drinking age we're going to be spending a lot of quality one-on-one time in her terms.  It's a lot of fun, but 24x7 can be a huge drag.

On the other hand, there's the "social pressure" of having just one kid.  There's a lot of people out there (many of whom may be readers of this blog) who raise an eyebrow or make comments like, "Why bother having kids if you’re only going to have one?" 

Everyone I know is already on their second (or third, or fourth) child, and they are all thrilled and having a great time.  I'm seriously happy for them, and can totally see the benefits, but for my wife and I we just don't get that same tug that everyone else seems to have. 

I frankly have no patience for anyone who tries to pressure us into more, and I'm especially pissed if someone asks Cheeky if she wants a brother or sister.  Leave her out of this...this ain't her decision!

I feel bad if anyone has to join a support group to deal with that.  Many of the people in the article seem to have a good attitude about the pressure ('They're children, not potato chips.") and the kids all seem to be doing great.  I'm glad that parents can get together to share stories and tips with people they can relate to.  But if you're a parent of an only child (or considering it) don't let the voices around you drown out the voices in your head (unless the words "kill" or "burn" are prominent in that dialog).  You should make your decision based on what's best for your family, not what other people may think is best for you.

It seems to me that there's a lot of more important factors in what makes children grow up happy, well-nurtured and successful than whether or not they've got an older or younger sibling. 

 

I Just Did The Grossest Thing In My Life

How many kids does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? One.

And when she got to the center, she got grossed out and didn't want it anymore,
so she wanted me to take it. Only I was driving, so I reach back, blind, and she gives me her gnarly, gnawed Tootsie Pop, and what do I do? That's right, I just pop it in my mouth in one smooth motion.

It doesn't cross my mind until I bite down on it how disgusting that is. It's not "can I have the rest of your Tater Tots?" It's, "Wait, don't throw that gum away." 

How does a parent find himself in this situation, and what does he do to get out of it? The world may never know.

How I Pay The Bills

(Actual conversation between my son and my wife, occuring this past Friday, en route to my office, shamelessly cut and pasted from my wife's blog:)

Lucas: Where are we going Mommy?

Beth: We are going to meet Daddy at work for lunch.

Lucas: Where?

Beth: We are going to get Daddy from his job.

Lucas: MY Daddy? Jason?

Beth: Yes, Lucas - your Daddy, Jason. (??? what other Daddy's do we meet for lunch?)

Lucas: At his job?

Beth: Yes, at his job. Do you know what Daddy does?

Lucas: He makes money.

Beth: Well, yes. But do you know what his job is? Do you know what Daddy does all day?

Lucas: Yea.. uh.. he dresses up like a pirate and fights clowns!

A Sunday Still

Would you mess with this?