Dude, stop licking that...

In dealing with my 3 year old I've found it challenging to interact with him on pretty much every level that has made me a proud, responsible and productive member of society. I've learned that there is no room for negotiating, partner bargaining or rationalizing- all good adult life tools but equally terrible for getting my son to do anything other than what he wants to do.

To combat this ever-changing landscape of emotional tirades, temper tantrums and general insanity I've put in hours of diligence and research.

Parenting blogs are a great (if short term and mostly amusing) help. Books can be a decent source of wisdom in their own snarky way (do these writers actually have children I wonder..) 

Finally, important lessons from Miller's teachers have come in handy.

By handy, I mean I've learned to get down to his level when addressing the behavior in question. Its design is to not intimidate child in question which goes against what I generally want to do when confronting his unwanted behavior, but whatever. This task has relieved me from any thoughts about going to the gym as I now seem to do at least 50-60 deep knee squats a day. I've also been trying the 'option'  rule- give him 2 choices in how to correct the behavior- the first giving him the option to 'not do shit unless' and the second, me making him 'not do shit unless'. Sometimes it actually works.

What I do know is that I now have a subconscious conversation, ever so quickly, with myself before 99% of my interactions with Miller. Nothing I say flows seamlessly or in an effortless fashion- mostly because his behavior doesn't warrant an effortless or seamless response- he just does ridiculously stupid shit 99% of the time- including when he sleeps

Its not necessarily unnatural to me anymore either. I chalk it up to confirming my position on raising a well rounded, socially adept little person- like every other parent.

Occasionally though, Miller throws me a curveball. when that happens all pre- precessed daddy rhetoric goes out the window and we're just a couple of guys doing dumb stuff on the fly, like reality TV.

Today's curveball came with picking Miller up from school- a typical Monday afternoon ritual. As we get to the car though, Miller takes a swipe at it. With his tongue. He literally licked the damn car. And then did it again. And again.

I don't know when I actually chimed in- it was probably between the 2nd and 3rd lick- because I was silently screaming 'WHAT the fuck are you doing? Are you FUCKING kidding me??? OH MY FUCKING GAWDDDDD !!!!  before I finally burst out loud with, DUDE, WHERE'S your head??? I felt like Ashton Kutcher's character from that movie. I had no other response and I challenge any other parent to come up with a better one given the circumstances. It wasn't a proud moment in hindsight I admit.

I quickly got him into the car as that somehow would make the germs spread slower- then I started to think about his sister's nose thats been flowing snot since early November.

Something tells me Quinn has also been the benefactor of germs from our car and other disgusting surfaces.

I've added a new phrase to my budding Daddy vernacular-

Dude- stop licking that.

Whats behind door #3?

Both of my beasties sleep well- they're down for 11-12 hours most nights. I don't take this for granted but also think theres some hint of Darwin theory involved for everyones sake. 

Miller has his own bed, which means he can get out of it whenever he wants. He's generally great at staying put minus those random episodes where he shows up in our room at 3 AM after a bad dream. (why is it always 3 AM?) Those nights are akin to Wrestle Mania, but in the dark. I end up keeping one eye open the rest of the night defending flying elbows to the forehead and the sneaky roundhouse heel kicks to the crotch. It's something I didn't need confirmed but it validates my theory that Miller can't keep still even when asleep.

In the not so recent past he began to get out of bed all by himself and would climb up the 2 flights of stairs to our room- yippee!! This was a much heralded change to waking up to a screaming baby on the monitor, followed by a quick game of ro-sham-bo between 2 half awake parents for the dubious honor of going downstairs to collect the little guy from his puddle of confusion at daybreak.

On the days that Miller did sleep thru the night, the morning caused a bit of anxiety as I didn't have control over when he'd actually wake up. Or what he'd be wearing upon arrival at the entrance to our bedroom.


The variance is incredibly diverse let me tell ya.

Some days he'll proudly stomp into our room shirtless with his backpack on- stuffed with dinosaurs and other sundry but essential (to him) items. Other days he will announce himself fully naked. (although that is usually saved for the Amazon Fresh guy).


He has even learned to fashion his pajama shirt into a makeshift halter top- his head and one arm popped out of the neck hole while the empty sleeve dangles off to the side, intended to add some flair to the ensemble I guess.


There have also been a few nods to bad 90's hip hop artists in the form of completely backwards pajama's, top and bottom, a la Kris Kross. (I know you're singing 'Jump, Jump' in your head right now- sorry.)


There is usually a pregnant pause as he stand in the doorway, to make sure we are clearly taking in all of the awesomeness that was thought up minutes ago. Then he will proudly run across the room and pounce on us- so begins our mornings.


He does have a certain flair for the dramatic. 


Bob Barker would be proud.

Nigh- Night

Miller and Quinn's rooms are on the same floor of our home. It's the only convenience we have going for us during the evening cattle call that is our children's bedtime.

Our living room, where we spend most of our waking hours together is one floor above which is not at all convenient. But like gravity- everything that goes up must, eventually come back down.


When eyes start getting rubbed and the tantrums begin to hit an absurd level of frequency, Sarah and I give each other the high sign to commence with getting the kids ready to go to sleep. My high sign usually starts with teeth clenching, followed by a bulging vein on the side of my head- I don't know I'm doing this- I just look at Sarah and see that her eyebrows have disappeared into her hairline and her eyes are much larger than normal circumstances. Its definitely time for bed- for the safety of everyone involved.


We begin to herd the family downstairs... with the enticement of toothpaste. Our kids LOVE toothpaste- I think it was Quinn's first two- syllable word. (although for a while it sounded like 'poo-paste'- quite the opposite sounding affect)


This word is merely the starter gun to the marathon of getting them to sleep. I'd like to think that in coming years we'll miraculously train our kids to be pavlovian dogs with that one word utterance but for now its just the beginning of the fireworks.


Stalling ensues. Usually with Miller asking for more to eat. Then he'll utter 'Whe...Whe....Where's the IPad?? One more show, DADDY' followed by dancing around the living room like someone who just opened the door to an intervention. Quinn has kept her eyes on the prize and has begun her belly slide down the stairs to the bathroom. This can lead to a glare from Sarah as Quinn is my responsibility. Miller is a much more time consuming project.


You see, everything in my blood wants to follow her down the stairs and get her to bed, quickly- the light is at the end of the tunnel. In the near future I can imagine eating dinner without fear of it being flung at me, or sit on the couch and hear my brain do something uninterrupted for a change.


At the 20 minute mark we're usually all in the bathroom and the toothbrushes are in the beasties hands.


They don't respect the values of good oral hygiene, but rather abuse its minty fresh flavoring by sucking on it like newborn calves on a teet. They also stand at the sink elbowing each other for position to take a bird bath with whatever appendage they can throw towards the running water.


Hey- at least we're all on the same floor.


After what seems like hours, Sarah and I separate the warring factions, clean up the buckets of water on the bathroom floor and finally move them to their respective rooms.


There is a changing of the guard so to speak. Things begin to get quiet, pajamas are wrestled onto little bodies and reading begins.


Eventually Sarah and I will meet back upstairs- alone. Just the 2 of us. We trade stories about the bedtime ritual, what books were read, how much 30 lbs. babies can crap, etc, etc. But mostly we relish the few hours we have to make dinner, eat, not move and then, finally drag ourselves to bed.


Nigh- Night.

Let it Snow, Let it No....no.

Last week our little burrough of Seattle received about 7 inches of snow over 2 days. 

The story should end right there except this city goes completely sideways over a slight dusting of snow, much less measurable accumulation. The LA Times even called us Snow Wimps. I'll let that rivalry take care of itself- onto my personal tales of the apeshit craziness that happened within the walls of my own house.

There was ample time to prepare for the snow apocalypse as every local (and most national) TV stations were covering the impending weather, ad nauseam. The night before, Sarah and I went to the grocery store along with every other person in our greater metropolitan area. I think we all arrived at the exact same time. 


While shopping, Sarah came up with a few projects to pass the time with Miller and Quinn- making hot cocoa, baking oatmeal cookies and even using marshmallows and toothpicks to make mini igloos. Awesome and thoughtful ideas. Ideas that also contain sugar. Heaping boatloads of SUGAR. Neither one of us thought much of it at the time.


We woke up to several inches of snow already covering the neighborhood. It was beautiful. Then we realized a few things.

The snowfall meant we had no childcare to watch the Beasties. This also meant my lovely wife and I were stuck at home. With the Beasties. Like a family. For what would be 4 days. I'm convinced that modern families are not designed to be around each other that much. Isn't that why we invented the 50+ hour work week? And fantasy baseball?

I also think most of the life distractions recently invented to keep families from talking to each other in their own homes have a maximum 2 hour shelf life. For example, HBO Original programming, XBox, bathroom doors with locks, etc etc.

These distractions got us to 10:30- maybe. 

The snow falling from our living room window was starting to get deep and we could see sledders outside. This duped us into thinking it would be fun to join. Miller had also figured out that the marshmallow project was edible so it was time to get outside and expend some energy.


45 minutes later, we were all (mostly) at the front door, bundled up in layer after layer of snow clothes. Quinn had rain boots on that were two sizes too big and she stumbled around like Neil Armstrong on his maiden voyage to the moon. Miller was throwing a hissy fit about which mittens he could wear. He also repeatedly knocked Quinn down as he ran back and forth from the front door to his room. I had been sweating my ass off as I was ready 38 minutes ago.

Out the door we went.

By the time we got to the street the snow had picked up and was also really wet. We were soaked. Not letting this hinder our adventure we forged ahead, inch by inch. I was leading the group mostly because Sasha the dog was invited (not by me) and I was holding the other end of her leash as she bounded towards sledders at the end of our block. 

Miller made a break for it to catch up with Sasha and me. It began so cutely. Like any curious 3 year old he was sticking his tongue out to catch the snowflakes as he ran toward us. He also did this with his eyes closed. About 8 steps in, the little sugar fueled vehicle that was my son began to veer sharply to the right.


Bam! He tripped on the hedge of grass (covered at this point in snow and invisible to his blind eyes) and landed face first. To his credit he was going at such a good clip his landing knocked his gloves completely off.


Immediate crying and whining ensued. Cold Hands Daddy, COLD HANDS DADDYYYY!!!'


It had been a memorable 4 minutes or so outside but it was time to turn around and go home.


On the way up the 37 stairs to the house, I began plotting how to add schnapps into my hot chocolate without coming across as a derelict.

We were after all, only half way thru day 1 of 4......

Food for Thought

Quinn starts most mornings with 2 bananas. Starts.


She's 19 months old. It sounds excessive because it is. I understand as the adult in these transactions I should impact and change this ritual of gluttony- but you see, I can't. She demands 'NANA'! more NANA!! with an increasing hostility that makes me dread her entry into the 'terrible two's'.


I've tried various ways to break this process. First I cut the banana into as many pieces as possible. I'm getting so skilled they're beginning to resemble poker chips. It doesn't slow her down though, she just double fists them while mumbling 'nana'! 'nana'! her face looking like a squirrel drunk with an entire winter's haul of nuts in its cheeks.


I also try to get her involved. I'll strip off the first segment and give her the banana to finish peeling. This gives me an additional 3 or 4 seconds to get the cutting board and knife out before the yelling begins. I feel like a contestant on Hells Kitchen but my daughter is Gordon Ramsey and I'm about to be sent packing.


Mid-way thru the second banana Quinny becomes somewhat reasonable and sated. Miller takes this lull in action to announce from the couch that he is hungry. He's more of a waffle guy and being three, he likes to do everything himself. Not in a generally efficient way but by himself none- the- less. A quick trip to the freezer and Miller is back on the couch eating a waffle. A frozen, rock solid waffle. I can't convince him to see the benefits of a toaster yet. Or the perils of loosing teeth but in his defense all the current ones are coming out anyway.


This incites Quinn to riot. How dare I deprive her of carbs- she begins to yell 'down!' 'DOWN!!! off the kitchen bar stool so she too, can go grab a frozen waffle- (damn those bottom loading appliances). I meet her demands out of fear and lack of caffeine.


Quinn follows Miller to the couch where the bickering begins- I'm happily not the target during this segment of our morning. 'Mine'! mine!! MINE!! mine!!  Back and for they go, each one yelling progressively louder as to prove their waffle is most supreme.


Inevitably, the wrath of sweaty, tiny hands begins to thaw the waffles out- and the possession clock expires for both of their shrill voices- they begin eat the damn waffles, in silence.


I generally tune this out now that I've heard it a few hundred times- it's my moment to lean on the kitchen table and drink a cup of coffee-


It's MINE.

Awards Season is Upon Us

I just dropped my lovely wife off at the airport for a fun filled four days in Vegas. Bahhhhh.


Normally I'd be completely inconsolable and jealous at this turn of events but she's actually going for work- CES is this week. A work trip to Vegas is kinda like being the designated driver at Oktoberfest but I'm sure she'll find a few moments of joy eating at Bouchon educating tech bloggers on various OEM PCs and Windows.


I wanted to take a moment away from my usual posts about family dysfunction to humbly announce a couple of *ahem, awards I've graciously been a part of or nominated for.


First- thanks to Mary Harnetiaux at Bermtopia. My infant(ile) blog was nominated for a Liebster Blog award!

The Liebster Blog Award originated in Germany and recognizes up-and-coming bloggers. It is meant to showcase those who have fewer than 200 followers  (Liebster means “favorite” or “dearest” in German.) It's presented in the spirit of pay-it-forward.

I will shortly pass this forward by listing my 5 favorite blogs so please stay tuned- also definitely check out Mary's site as I read it daily and she never disappoints with humor and insight :-)

Second, I'd like to share a trailer for a short film I'm a small part of. It was just picked up as an official nominee at the Spokane International Film Festival, and I couldn't be prouder to be a (tiny) part of something so great.

link

Here is a link to Steel Drum in Space productions where you can watch the trailer and read about the real genius' behind the film. We hope to be updating the awards as we're in the midst of festival season and this will be the first of many, fingers crossed!

I'm sure the next four days of watching the beasties alone will give me plenty of fodder to resume my normal posts- carry on and thanks for reading!

The Cost of a Tree

I imagine all parents pass milestones that serve as reminders of how pricey the little beasties we put on this Earth can be.


For me it began with the amount of paper products I bought and immediately disposed of when Miller was an infant. I found myself at the store every 48 hours stocking up on enough diapers and wipes to last until he turned five. (I had no idea children shouldn't be wearing diapers at five- it was my rookie season). Without fail, two days later the diaper genie began to belch out the overflow of these now soiled and disgusting products. So off to the store I went, again and again.


I didn't really mind the errand aspect of the job as most dads will confirm, this ritual became a kind of mini-vacation, a few moments of peace- especially during those early months. It was nice to be out among the public, even though I looked like a hipster crazed homeless person. Matching socks?, mehhhh. No shower in 3 days? Thats what baseball hats are for. Off I went.


In minutes, I travelled to a distant foreign land. Modern society. A people of sensible outfits. Who had hair product and time on their hands. I however, was straight out of the pages of National Geographic.


The store lights were always the first shock. They were too bright for my cave dwelling vision. Second was the illumination these lights cast on my ridiculous attire- awesome for me.


I did see women without babies attached to their breasts, which was a welcome but foreign experience. Thankfully I had the support of a cart to lean on and stagger to my designated aisle- good ol' #6. (its a small store, thank whatever pagan god these folks thought my tribe belonged to).


In defense of the store, lighting is not designed to induce coma- like sleepy time so parents can grab a 20 minute nap. I get it. What I don't get, and would like to recommend to groceries across the world is this:

1. Put the diaper, wipe, paper product, toilet paper, paper towel, etc, etc products in the LAST aisle CLOSEST to the exit. This will ensure minimal contact with regular customers and the likes of me and the Walking Dead.
2. DIM the lights in this aisle- I understand that an heirloom tomato's chance of landing in my basket is enhanced if I see that perfectly reflected water drop from it's well positioned light source. A box of diapers doesn't warrant light- its like crack. I just need it.
3. If followed, your business will be better for it- trust me...

When I'm done with diapers forever, I promise to buy a shit load of those Heirloom Tomatoes- in season. At full price...

Just keep 'em away from aisle 6.