DadCentric

What that are there?

A while back, I bought a tee-shirt with this design on it so that I could advertise to the world about one of my favorite word choice mistakes. And by favorite, I mean that which makes me cringe the most. You might think that a guy who wears a shirt like this is some kind of grammar snob, and to a certain extent, you might be right. But hey, I can’t help it.

Actually, I’m not all that uptight about it. True, a sentence like “The dog is over they’re, next to it’s doghouse” might make me twitch a bit. But more important than staying within the bounds of so-called proper grammar is the use of language to clearly express an idea. And on top of that, I’m just as likely to overuse commas or leave something dangling as anybody else.

Dangling. Hehehe.

Then of course, there are those fantastic sentences that little kids come up with. I can’t imagine even the strictest English teacher getting bent out of shape listening to a toddler string words together to express one of their toddler thoughts. Ever since my eldest son went vocal and started trying to harness the power of language to his own ends, he’s constructed some of the most hilarious bits of speech ever uttered. As far as I'm concerned, toddler talk is well worth the price of admission. The fact that the grammar may be completely wrong doesn't even register except for its ability to add to the humor. I’m not about to get all bothered over my two year old's sentence structure. Well, except for this one case.

See, here’s the deal. My wife’s aunt lived in New Orleans all her life. She evacuated to Texas on the eve of Hurricane Katrina’s landfall. And while I got nothing against the good people of New Orleans, and while I’m sure that the vast majority of them can speak just fine, this woman’s grammar sometimes leaves just a wee bit to be desired. She’s a sweet woman, she’s great with our kids, and our son loves her dearly. But the problem is, he’s picking up on some bad habits. For example, his phrasing of a question when he doesn’t know what something is.

“What that are?”

See, now that would be SO CUTE if I knew that he had just come up with that on his own. Adorable even. But nope, sorry, he can't claim credit for that one. He picked that up from an adult. And for some reason, the fact that it’s something that he learned how to say from listening to a grown-up and not just another little kid language quirk really bothers me.

“Daddy, what those are?”

Ow! Those are my bleeding ears!

But hey, I’m cool. I don’t get visibly upset. I just try to gently correct and remind myself that he’ll grow out of it, and maybe he’ll even learn the right way when he goes off to school. And every now and then, I’m rewarded for my efforts. Like the other night in the store when he ran full speed down the aisle, screeched to a halt right before running into another shopper, picked up a bottle of shampoo, and asked, “Daddy, what is this?”

This, son, is your uptight dad feeling just a wee bit of relief.

Jobs Parents Won't Do

Wow - we have guest posters now.  I guess that says a lot about the staff writers here, wouldn't you say?  I, for one, have sucked at posting here lately.  I'd chalk it up to a new job, new baby on the way (just days, btw, as in seven...SEVEN!) or a host of other reasons, but I'd be just making excuses.  The real reason is that I've been on sabbatical sponsored by DadCentric.  See, we have this great program whereby talented, prolific contributors are entitled to a three-month break with pay.  Ha!  I almost wrote that with a straight face.  Pay?!  Right.  Oh, you're laughing at the "talented, prolific" part?  Bite me.

Anyway, as I mentioned, we are just days away from adding numero tres to the brood that already includes Little Dub and Little Dubyette.  So, for a matter of 96 hours (give or take), we will have the dreaded "three under three" and then be spared any future trouble as Little Dub turns three and miraculously matures, bathing and dressing himself, using the potty regularly and getting his own meals.  Can't wait!  As we prepare for Littlest Dubs(yette), I was reminded of an article in the Washington Post back in March.  The article and its subject intrigued me: it's kind of cool, but I'd also feel embarrassed by it and, ultimately, like I've missed something.

I'm sure there are plenty of us out there who have said, at one time or another during this whole parenting thing, "I wish I could just pay someone to do this for me."  Well, you're in luck.  There are.  Sleep trainers, potty professionals, safety consultants who wrap your house in bubble wrap at a rate of $250/hour + materials - whatever you need, there's someone out there who specializes in relieving you of any parental responsibilities.  I always thought these things were a rite of passage for parents; moments that allow us to relate to our parents (and give them something to chuckle about) and provide fodder for future guilt trips when these babies and toddlers become obstinate teens.  Aren't these milestones, as exasperating (and enjoyable, of course enjoyable) as they can be, what bonds us together as parents?  Aren't Little Dub's trials and tribulations during potty training something that Tony or Jason or Whit can laugh at me about, but ultimately understand and sympathize with (not that they would, mind you, because we're guys - we'd rather laugh at you)?

Imagine this: Scenario One: you're at a party with several other married-with-children-couples and conversation turns, as it often does (doesn't it?), to potty training.  The woman across from you says, "Young Damian was potty trained in two days.  Our consultant was amazing."  My first thought?  "Damian?  Really?  Like the anti-Christ?"  The next would be, "A consultant?  You hired someone to do that?  Um...yeah...I think I see my wife on fire.  Time for another beer."

Scenario Two: Same party except now standing with a harried-looking dad, who says,"So, there he was, in the middle of the kitchen, pants around his ankles, diaper five feet away, spinning around like he's a sprinkler.  Funniest damn thing I'd ever seen.  At least he knew enough to drop his drawers and remove the diaper.  That's progress."

I find Scenario Two a far more enjoyable conversation to be in.  But that's just me.  If you can afford to hire the fashion coordinator, potty professional and entertainment evangelist, by all means, get crazy with yo' bad self.  But, if you like trying to one-up your fellow parents with offspring antics, then stick to doing it yourself.  It's far more rewarding.  And funny.  Definitely funny.

Special Guest Dad: Christopher Harder

Since this is an election year, I thought I'd spread a little democracy to the freedom-starved peoples of DadCentric. From time to time, we'll be featuring posts by contributing Guest Dads (and yes, I'm looking for submissions, so feel free to send 'em to petcobra@gmail.com). I'm pleased to present the following from Christopher Harder. Chris is a veteran journalist who left his job as an editor at the Wall Street Journal's website to join the ranks of the stay-at-home-dads. Here's his take on the current presidential hopefuls, and how the Youth Vote in his home has swayed his opinion...

A Diaper Change We Can Believe In
by Christopher Harder

Rumor has it there’s a presidential campaign going on.

It looks like it’s getting pretty interesting, too. Only three major candidates are left, and even they might get whittled down to two soon. That means no more of those pesky minor candidates gumming up the debates.

It also means the campaign will be easier for me to follow. I used to make a living covering the news. Now I stay home all day caring for my two-and-a-half-year-old son, Nicholas. I change diapers, do laundry, make meals and treat illnesses. I’m lucky if I can glance at a couple of newspapers and hear the radio news roundup over my son’s pleas to play with him.

I don’t watch the evening news because that’s bath time. I don’t watch the late news because I’m usually in bed exhausted by 10. Sometimes I watch a campaign video on YouTube during Nicholas’s naptime, but nothing longer than a sound bite.

Still, I care about the election. Now that my life revolves around my son, I care most about family issues. The economy and the Iraq war may be grabbing the headlines, but where do the candidates stand on family leave and work flexibility?

I headed to their Web sites to find out. Hey, it’s quicker than sitting through the debates.

Hillary Clinton’s homepage has a section called “Supporting Parents and Caring for Children.” That has a nice ring to it. Barack Obama has a section titled “Family.” It sounds like he cares. John McCain has a “Human Dignity” section – a bit vague.

They all have commendable things to say. Clinton’s Web site mentions stay-at-home parents. I like that. She wants to offer grants to allow them to stay at home. She also mentions fathers. I like that, too. She says they shouldn’t be fired for taking care of their children. Obama wants to help states set up paid family-leave programs, and he supports flexibility in telecommuting and working part-time. Sounds good. McCain discusses noble concepts such as the importance of the family in strengthening communities.

I still couldn’t decide who made the most sense. Then I realized my most valuable adviser was right next to me in the booster seat. Nicholas would be “the decider.” He always manages to pick up on two particular words when he hears them during radio newscasts:

“That man said ‘Barack Obama,’” Nicholas says each time he hears the name. He’s a toddler who’s made up his mind about the election, even if his key issue is that “Barack Obama” is more fun to say than “Hillary Clinton” or “John McCain.”

Maybe Nicholas isn’t so different from many people who are actually old enough to vote. I wonder how many simply don’t have the time to follow a campaign closely, and ultimately decide based on a gut feeling -- or a candidate’s name. This may be especially true in a contest where the names Clinton and Barack Hussein Obama have stirred up such emotions.

As for me, it’s time to change another diaper. Now there’s a change I can believe in.

Hair of The Dog, Or, Why We Need To Buy One of Them Thar Fancy Dyson Vac-yooms

Check this out.

No, we did not pick up a Tribble at Petco. That, dear friends, is the result of one single comb/brush session with Mick. Poor furry bastard - thanks to the recent heat wave, he's been losing hair faster than...than...ah...well, some fast-hair-losing thing. (Gimme a break - it's 10:05 at night and it's still about 85 degrees inside our house.) The job of dad, as noted in section C, subparagraph 4.3, includes "dog grooming". So there you have it. A big pile of dog hair. Happy Monday.

You talking to me Elmo?

I caught this bit while getting the boys ready this morning.

Maybe it's just me, but I fully expected to hear him say "Look at me, I'm a fucking cabbage."

I Can FINALLY Turn a Profit On the Little Freeloader

Mother's Day, Like Us, Comes but Once a Year

I had big plans for running a collective post with my other DadCentric homies for Mother's Day.  I thought it would be sweet if we all compiled a list of gifts that we endorsed or at least found amusing. I never heard back from any of them.  I don't know if it's because I referred to us as a bunch of motherfuckers or if any correspondence from me goes automatically into their junk box. I'm guessing a bit of both.

That said, it's too big a project for one man, even if that one man is me.  Especially if it's me.  Tomorrow is not only Mother's Day, but it is also our wedding anniversary.  It's 6 p.m. on Saturday night and I'm sitting here drinking Bass and writing this post without a single gift purchased.  I should probably wrap this up (after the basketball game).

I will suggest some good e-cards for those of you that missed the deadline for actual post (like me) to those you won't be seeing tomorrow.  I'll be using a few of these.  Of course by the time my grandmother checks her email it will be Thanksgiving and I'll be standing in her living room showing her, again, how to check her email.  Still, at least I'll be able to prove that I didn't forget.  Her email account is my personal time capsule for living life guilt free.  Thanks, dial-up internet!

Here are some cards that I recommend.   They may not be for everyone:

These cards are all from SomeEcards, "when you care enough to hit send."  They have a lot more and all of them are just as special.  Have fun, and good luck!

Happy Mother's Day!