Fatherhood: A Meme

I've seen a lot of the "What my so-and-so thinks I do" going around the Internet and thought I would take a stab at my own. Please keep in mind, this is my 1st meme, so be kind. If you like it please feel free to share.

A man’s house is his…childrens playroom

As you may already know, my grandfather was the greatest man I have ever known. That guy was all sorts of awesome. His home was his castle. He had this lazy boy chair that everyone knew was his and his alone. You could sit in it, no worries; Pop was a man, not an A-hole. But when he got home, you got up. That’s just the way it was.

I’ve modeled a great deal of my existence on his example. So from time to time I find myself asking, what the hell happened to me?
I bought a house. I got myself a nice chair and a rug that really tied the whole thing together nicely. Things were good.

Then Abby came along. The chair got moved out as we needed the space. I didn’t mind. Once Abby started walking we had to replace the rug with padded mats. Apparently, she could really have hurt herself if she fell on the floor. I didn’t mind. I mean she was only going to be a danger to herself for a while, right?

Then Zach came along. And long story short, I’ve been living in a preschool play room for the past three years. Now, I tend to use exaggeration as a comedic device. And I think you would agree, I’m pretty freaking funny. However, this is not the case this time. I found some pics of our house the day the deal went through and it was all ours. I thought it would be interesting to do a little before and after comparison.

before

The 1st thing I said when I saw the main floor living room was something along the lines "Holy Frig! A three sided Fireplace. LES GET IN HERE, THERE'S A THREE SIDED FIREPLACE! So sweet...I'm getting a bearskin rug"

And now...

after

"Holy Frig! There's a three sided fireplace in here somewhere" My god man, it's ridiculous. The really sad part of this picture is the fact that this is taken AFTER we cleaned up.

Go ahead, laugh it up. Either you have kids and you know this to be true or you don't have kids and...well, screw you, that's what.

before

Oh look! What a lovely, clean kitchen. Nice appliances. Clean lines.

Yeah, well guess what.

after

Boom! That’s what. Look at the fridge for god's sake. LOOK AT IT! Covered in photos and crappy kids’ art. The stove is piled high with pots and pans and the front of the  stove is reserved for bibs. I tried to put a pic of my wife in the kitchen, but she didn't appreciate the 6 "Make me a sandwich" jokes I had written. Woman! Am I right, fellas?

before

MAKE ME A SANDWHICH...nah, not the same. Here's Les in the dining room. Nice, right? Plenty of room for entertaining over dinner and drinks with your best couple friends.

after

Nope! Here's a fun game, let's count the chairs in this room. There's the high chair, that's one. Numbers two and three right up front. Abby is sitting in number four. My wife's purse is over there on number five and there's number six over in the corner. Now let's count the chairs that can actually be used for sitting. There's the high chair and, looks like that's it.

before

Ahh, the tub. Do you see those jets there, yeah those are for Les. I was downstairs still amazed with the three-sided fireplace when I hear "DAN, GET UP HERE, THERE'S A WHILRPOOL TUB UP HERE!"

And now.

after

Bath time has never been more fun, nor has shower time been more treacherous. Look at all those cute, plush slip hazards. And this is after "Abby put your toys away". It's dangerous enough in the shower with the soapy tub and water spraying every which way. Did you know that there are over 200,000 deaths in North America annually that are directly caused by slips in the bathtub and bathroom? Now imagine that same danger while hopping on one foot because your other foot is bleeding from that damn Mickey Mouse Water Clubhouse with additional Water Works Mickey with the surfboard accessory. I hate that mouse so much.

before

The stairs. Look at the quality craftsmanship. Look at the fine woodwork on the rails and banister. Sweet stuff, my friend

after

What did you expect, they're stairs. There's really not much you can do. Having said that, please take note of the runner. We had that installed after the 3rd or 4th time Abby took a header and after the 1st time my loving wife slipped down the stairs while holding Abby. Still, it was a good quality job, so I'm not complaining about that.

What I am complaining about is the fact that in the whole house, I have no space to call my own. My wife has the bathroom [make up and all], so it's not like she's scoring here either. The kids have the rest of the house. I might have 5 square feet to use from time. It's in the garage, next to the garbage can. But that's only when the car isn't there, and it's not a recycling day, and Abby or Zach don't need it. How the hell did this happen. They don't even pay rent.

Dress up: a photo essay on humiliation

Often, I’m asked “What’s it like being a dad?” I’m sure that person is looking for something like “Oh, it’s magical” or “I learn so much from those little darlings.” So I do understand their shock and dismay when I answer with “Oh my god, It’s humiliating.”

But it is. And I finally have proof. I had my Itouch on me one time when I heard “Daddy, wanna play dress up” and captured the whole thing.

This is me. Overall a pretty good looking guy, maybe in need of a shave, but still. Look at that guy, that’s a guy who don’t take no guff from no one, no how.

Then BOOM RIGHT IN THE EYE! I’ve said this so often that it's getting to be a catch phrase for me. But there you have it, proof that my daughter is trying to blind me.

And again….

And once more…Jesus, how many time does it take to put on a pair of friggin' sunglasses.

Wait…Three times and this is the best you could do. C’mon man!

“You pretty dad?” Yes, yes, I’m pretty

And now the lipstick…not real lipstick of course, plastic lipstick…It’s cleaner and more painful

That’s my nose

There you go, get that right in there. Nothing says fashion like bleeding gums

 And the crown

“You so pretty daddy!” I ask you, is it wrong to want to tell your first born child to piss off. Cause I really want to at this point. Look at that mirror! Look how close it is to my face. She doesn't care what I think.

“Got to brush you hair.” Notice how she grabs a comb instead of a brush. One of those cheap plastic combs with tiny little teeth. What you can’t see is that instead of combing through my hair, my daughter decided to go with a rapid back and forth movement as you would with a saw

“Look daddy, you so pretty.”

Oh, the magic of it all. I have learned so much from my little darling today. By the way, if your find a bunch of man tickets laying on their ground somewhere, they're probably mine.

Well that sucked...

Abby has pink eye. I am pretty sure they call it “pink eye” to gloss over the fact that your child’s left eyeball is basically vomiting this soft green stuff that hardens into darker green stuff. Seriously, it’s all

“OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH HER EYE?!”

“Oh, it’s pink eye”

“Ahh…pink eye, so cute…”

Anyway, I got a call from my wife, who got a call from day care. Long story short, I missed a half a day of work and Abby got pink eye.

Side note: If you want to get out of a meeting, just claim your child has pink eye. It was amazing... I don’t know what your place of work is like, but if I want a day off I have to fill out multiple forms in triplicate. When I said Abby got pink eye, I was almost pushed out the door by my immediate supervisor.

So, as you can probably guess by the title of my blog post, I plan to discuss something unpleasant about pink eye. However, if you thought this blog post was about the actual condition of pink eye, you’d be wrong.

Instead, I’d like to talk about modern torture techniques. Specifically, water boarding.

I watched a Fox News special once, where the reporter planned to dispel the confusion surrounding water boarding, by actually undergoing a session. It was typical Fox News over dramatic filler. They had these two guys wearing hoods, strap the reporter to a board and then tip him so that his head was below his legs. Hooded guy one asks if the reporter was ready and the reporter makes this big production of psyching himself up. He looks at the camera and says something to the effect of “my goal is two minutes”. Hooded guy two pours a little bit of water on the reporter. The reporter starts screaming like a little girl. I’m watching this at home going “what the hell happened to two minutes, buddy.”

I tell this little story for a reason. To let you know that I am now emotionally and psychologically hardened enough to water board anyone of you with little to no emotion.

How can you be so cruel? You may ask. Where’s you compassion? Where’s your empathy for others? What happened to make you so cruel?

The answer: I gave my daughter eye drops. Two in each eye, three times a day for five days, to be exact. And it sucked. Balls.

The first time you do it, it’s not so bad. She has no idea what’s going on. She lies down on the bed and you put your hand on her head in the loving manner that only a father can. you put your face close to her ear and whisper “Look up honey, look way up” and she does because she loves and trusts you. Then BAM, you squirt her in the eye. Done. The second one is not so easy. She starts crying “No daddy, I don’t want it” and starts thrashing her arms and legs around. So now you have to pin her arms down with your body so she can’t move. She squints her eyes shut so hard that your only option is to pry her eyes open. I was a Beethoven’s Fifth away from a scene out of Clockwork Orange. She’s screaming “NO DADDY, NO DADDY, NO DADDY” and crying to break her heart, which does more to yours than you’ll ever know. Finally you manage to get the two drops in her eye and you release her and she runs to the only safe place she has left… her mom.

That’s right, not you, not daddy. Mom! It used to be you who protected her from evil. Now you are evil. And there’s nothing you can do about it, cause in 4 hours time you’re going to do this whole thing over again. You know it, she knows it and it sucks. Balls.

So, if you ever get arrested by the government and are sent to a dark room for an “interrogation”, you better hope I don’t walk through those doors. Cause if the screams of my little baby-girl didn’t stop me…

OMG! I am so sorry!

So I was playing with Zach on the floor the other day. Although I wouldn’t really call what we were doing “play”. Perhaps “Trying to control his spastic movements and hopefully avoid an acquired brain injury” would be more appropriate. He’s 7 months old and at that age all his motor skills are at the same level of your university dorm mate when he was really, really drunk. You know the guy…hell, if you’re like me, you probably were that guy.

At any rate, during our play time Zach scratched my face while he was widely swinging his arms. My 1^st thought was “Holy cow kid. Your nails are getting pretty long there, buddy”. It was like having my own little Logan hacking and slashing his way around my face and neck. If you don’t get that reference, you need to read more comic books. My second thought was “hey, remember that time you horribly maimed and mutilated Abby?”

As a new dad, there are certain jobs that naturally fall under your responsibility. Some of these responsibilities are pretty low risk. Taking out the garbage, monster removal and working the DVD are pretty good examples. However, some of these jobs are high risk to both baby and you. For example, cutting finger nails.

To start, how did this become my responsibility? My sister use to date this meterosexual fella. He was a hipster douchebag before being a hipster douchebag was so mainstream. The 1^st time we met he told me that he gets a manicure once every two weeks. My response? “The fact that you are comfortable telling me that tells me we will have nothing in common.”

A man’s finger nails are meant to be dirty, chipped and broken.

But so it goes. One day I found myself with a pair of nail clippers and the wee tiny hands of my first born. I flatten her fingers as tenderly as I possible can so I can make sure I am clipping nail and only nail. Slip the clippers under the nail and ever so gingerly, ever so tenderly ,take the tip of my daughters index finger clean off. Not even close. Not even close.

My inner voice then went something like this;

“Shit, maybe it’s not so bad.”

“Man, that’s a lot of blood from such a tiny finger.”

“maybe she won’t notice.”

-child screaming-

“Nope, no luck there.”

-mother comes running down the stairs-

“Great!”

Les screamed at me “Oh My God!  What did you do?” What could I say? I looked at my wife and responded with “I took her finger clean off.”

In retrospect, I probably should have said “the next statement is not factual, but, instead, a humorous use of exaggeration to help alleviate what will otherwise be an awkward and uncomfortable new experience for both of us” before I said “I took her finger clean off.” Oh well, live and learn I suppose.

The fact is as a new dad you’re gonna screw up, a lot. Most of these screw ups will be the humorous kind where you mistakenly use diaper cream as moisturizer or put the onesie on in such a way so that both legs come out of the same hole. But some of them are going to make you fell really, really bad.

Learn from them, don’t do them again. And when you child comes to you and ask why one of her fingers is shorter then the other you reply with “genetics I guess”.

Another top ten

TOP TEN words and phrases I've used since becoming a dad and a brief explanation of each.

10) We don’t poke people in the eye.

            You would think that anyone that has eyes would understand how sensitive they can be. But, you would be wrong. In the two and half years I’ve been a dad, I’ve had my eyes stabbed with thumbs, fingers, spoons, a thermometer, a toy whistle, a toe and a butter knife. I’m not kidding. I’ve been stabbed in the eye with a knife by my own daughter. If she was 16 we’d be in family court right now, but because she’s two, it’s all “ahhh…she’s developing motor skills”. By the way, in the six months that Zach has been alive he’s received the same treatment.

Well, maybe not the butter knife. We keep those in a different drawer now a days

9) Don't put that in your mouth.

            I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Kids are stupid. The four day old cheerio they found under the couch I can understand. But rocks! C’mon man, a rock. It doesn’t even look like food. And they never go to eat whatever-the-hell-it-is when they are close by you so you have a chance to stop it. No, they’re always on the other side of the room or a solid 15 feet away. You look over and see them bend over, pick something up, look at it for a second. You realize what’s about to happen, reach your hands out and scream “Don’t put that in your mou…” and gulp there it goes. Next thing you know, you have your child in your arms trying to pry their mouth open screaming “spit it out, spit it out”. I believe narcotic officers go through this exact same routine on a regular basis as well.

8) Where's your other sock/shoe/mitten/etc

            Seriously, I just gave it to you. What could you have possibly done with it. What do you mean you don’t know?

            On a side note, I have solved the problem of what to do with the worlds nuclear waste material. Mold it into the shape of a pair of size 8 toddler Velcro shoes. Put them on any child under the age of five and turn around for five seconds. Bam! Half of the world’s nuclear waste gone just like that.

7) What the hell happened here?!

            If you are about to become a parent, let me save you some time. Take every nice thing that you own and through it in the middle of the floor. Now vomit all over it. Then, take the breakable things out and step on them. Remove all the knobs and throw them away. You won’t need them any more. Take all the non-breakable things (ie clothing, books, etc) and vomit on them again.

6) What, what, what?! For the love of god what?!

            There is nothing that will make you regret a hangover like the little pitter patter of feet up to the side of your bed followed by “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy” Persistence, thy name is a toddler who wants a bowl of cheerios.

5) I’m gonna count to three...1...2....2 and a bit...

            If you ask me, counting to three is a pointless game. Either you pull the trigger right at three and feel like a complete and total ass when you realize that if you had just given a little more time they would have acted on your directions perfectly. Or, you continue to count smaller and smaller increments. Never reaching 3 in some sick version of Zeno’s Paradox. “2 and an insty bit…2 and a tinee tiny bit…2 and a wincy bitsy bit”

4) No, no daddy do...daddy’s in a rush.

            See my earlier post. If you have a solution, please leave a comment. I got nothing.

3) Fine! Here, have the damn Cheerios!

            What is with kids and cheerios? Seriously, cause I need to know. I have never liked a food so much that I needed to have it for every meal and snack. And if they don’t get it, they go absolutely bat shit crazy. Down they go to the floor, they start kicking and screaming “Me want, me want”. Tears start flowing and they start running around the room and for what? Whole grain oats, corn starch and sugar, that’s what. Crack addicts handle disappointment better than this.

            New Parent Tip: start buying cheerios in bulk.

2) OMG what did you just do...seriously...what’s wrong with you...why would you do that...

            Every so often, not often, but once in a while, your child will do something that defies all logic and reason. Putting a grilled cheese sandwich in the Blue Ray or smearing a whole jar of diaper rash cream all over themselves, the bed and the walls are a couple of examples. I have no idea why kids do this, but I believe it has something to with the fact that they secretly resent us and want us to suffer.

1) What a day hey honey? I'm getting a beer, you want one?

            This is one is self explanatory.

three little words

Do you want to know the most frustrating words in the English language? The three words that cause everything you are doing to stop, regardless of how late, tired or pissed off you might be.

The 1^st time I heard these words, I never really absorbed the full weight of what was happening. It was one of those really crappy mornings we all have from time to time. I had woken up late and was trying to rush out the door to work.

B.K. [Before Kids] I woke up late all the time with little to no real ramifications. 5 minutes late, no biggie, I’ll get a cup of Joe on the way. 10 minutes late? No biggie, the shirt from two days ago looks pretty clean. Quick sniff test here and [sniff] Houston, we are go. 15 minutes late? Oral hygiene can wait. 30 minutes? Oooh, I feel bad for the guy working next to me.

The point being that there were options. Work arounds. Not anymore. Now it’s, 5 minutes late? Great! There goes the whole freaking day. What the hell, alarm clock?! You have one job! One Job! You stupid, stupid piece of…

Okay, okay, calm down, calm down. Pull it together. You got this. Quick, spring into action. Ninja wake up. Jump out of bed, wake the wife up with a “GET UP, GET UP, GET UP” that use to be reserved for a fire or possibly, a zombie invasion. You run to your child’s room and get her out bed and run back to your room screaming “I’M LATE, I’M LATE, GET UP, GET UP” to a woman who is staring at you through sleep deprived eyes and tussled hair. “WHY AREN’T YOU UP”. She replies with the kind, caring voice of the angel that you have come to love with all your being. “I AM UP! GAWD, WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM?” If you had the time you would probably stop and stare at her incredulously and say “Seriously? I…I just finished saying I’m late!”

But you don’t have time. You’re late.

You run down the stairs, stepping on every pointed toy your child owns; that little triangle block that goes in the triangle hole, the leg of a little tiny table left lying upside down from last nights. As a measure to try and avoid further cuts to the soles of your feet you look down for a second. Ahh, rookie mistake. BOOM, little tiny thumb to the eye! Now you’re hobbled and blind. You manage to make it down the stairs and plop the kid on the couch. You spin and turn on the TV. C’mon, c’mon, please be something she’ll watch for five minutes. YES, Jungle Junction. God bless you, you animal/vehicular mutants.

Okay, the kids good for 15 minutes. Time check. You look at the little clock on the microwave. 20 Minutes!? How the hell did that take 20 minutes? Never mind, you have no time. Quick! Ninja Coffee Brew!

As you take the 1^st scoop of coffee out of the can and throw half of it onto the floor and the other half in the sink, you scream up stairs. “Honey, I need you down here, I’m running late.”

“I’ll be right there, just hold on a minute.”

Once again, if you had time you’d stop and say “Seriously, I just finished saying….never mind.”

You run to the laundry room and grab a shirt out of the laundry. It’s a little wrinkled, but it’ll have to do. Thank god your wife is here. She starts getting breakfast ready while you run to the coffee maker. Pour a cup of a coffee and take 30 seconds to enjoy the smell…Ahhhh…slow down. That smells good. Fresh, delicious wake juice...so good. You lift if to your lips and take a deep sip. And quick, back to the laundry to get a new shirt to replace the one you’re currently wearing that has a huge freaking coffee stain on the front.

You dress. Brush your teeth. Grab a tie. Put the tie on and look into the mirror to see that you haven’t shaved. Screw it! You have no meetings today. I’ll just hide in the office.

Back downstairs. Quick! Ninja Lunch Pack. Can of tuna, two slices of bread, a grapefruit and a bag of porridge. Later, when you’re actually having your lunch you’ll look at this motley mix and think “what the hell was I doing? Porridge?! Who brings Porridge?”

At any rate, its lunch packed. Time for a check and glance over to the microwave and, HOLY F!*%ING CRAP! You run out grab the kid, kiss the wife who may or may not have had a chance to actually dress your child, and run downstairs. Slip on your shoes and bend down to put her cute little pink shoes and…

“No! Me do!”

BOOM GOES THE TIME DELAY DYNAMITE!

Three words. Three little words…

You reply that you don’t have time and return to putting the shoes on.

“NOOOOOO! MEEEEE! DOOOO!”

Crap.

Fine, whatever. You’re already 45 minutes late. A little more won’t hurt. You stand up and cross your arms and watch. And watch. And watch.

First she puts it on the wrong foot. Then she puts it on the right foot. Then she takes it off that foot and for some unknown reason puts it back on the floor. She then does the same damn thing with the other shoe. You sit there patiently supporting her efforts saying “You can do it. That’s right…oh-oh try again” But inside you’re all,

“IT’S A SHOE! It’s Velcro for gods’ sake. This shouldn’t be this hard. Why are you doing this to daddy? Is it because I didn’t read that damn “Where oh Where is Huggle Buggle Bear” book a 3^rd time. IT’S A STUPID BOOK!”

And then after all her huffing and puffing she looks up at you smiling and says,

“I did it”

And it’s awesome. The pride she has is just amazing. Amazing!

“You did it” you reply and pick her up and swing her around. They two of you go out the door singing “You did it, you did it.” And it’s kind of okay…