5 Things

I’ve been reading over some of my past blog posts and I’ve noticed  that there is a great deal of posts dedicated to the  negative side of parenting. I believe the reason for this is that, for the most part, parenting sucks. Its early mornings wake ups, late night feedings, cleaning loads of crap and no appreciation. Here’s a neat fact, did you know that the minimum amount of sleep you need to complete a rejuvenating sleep cycle is 4 hours? Here’s another neat fact, a newborn child wakes on average every three hours. How Mankind has survived as a species is a complete mystery to me.

When I first mentioned this revelation to my wife, she responded with “Parenting might suck, but being a parent doesn’t.” I retorted that little gem with “Oh for the love of Jesus…” She has a point though. There are parts of parenting that are pretty cool. I thought it would be a good idea to share some of those with you.

#1: You can dress them however you like.

The fact they do not have well defined motor skills also means they can’t fight you on what you put them in. They can barely understand the notion of toes, let alone buttons. Now my wife and I had very different views on what’s cool. For example, I like cool stuff and she likes shows about teenage moms with 27 children who want to buy the perfect wedding dress so they can flip houses on a budget or something like that. Still, she is pretty cool with letting me dress the kids my way from time to time. Here are some of my favorites.

Ace of Spades, Daddy?

I was almost named Luke.

Bumble Zee!

 Eventually, they start having their own opinions about what they want to wear and start pulling crap like this.

 Look at her. She looks like a crack addict.

#2) You can make them do things.

Once your child starts talking, they will literally repeat everything you say. At first it’s awkward because you curse a lot and now so do they. [See more Here]. Once you know its coming you can really have some fun…like this

Intense, right? The best part about this is I taught her this just before she and Mom went to the mall. I giggled every time I thought of my wife trying to keep Abby from screaming “STAR WARS IS THE BEST!” all throughout Wal-Mart. Still makes me giggle.

#3) They have low expectations of a good time.

Look at this….

We had a blast that day. And it was a box. Amazing.

#4 You have really interesting conversations.

Not being the most sophisticated of creatures; a child's conversation can be really amusing when put in the right light. Here are some actual conversations we’ve had with Abby: 

Abby: Daddy, the moon is soooo big..

Me: How big is it?

Abby: It’s huge, like your bum

Les: mommy is going out now. Remember what you said you promised?
Abby: Yes.
Les: You said you’d be good for daddy. When it's time for bed who at you going to listen to?
Abby: Auntie Stephanie

Les: Not Daddy?

Abby: No.

Abby: [patting my stomach] You have a baby in your belly, daddy?
Me: Are you calling me fat?
Abby: [patting my stomach] You have a bigger and bigger baby in your belly?

Les: What do you want to be when you grow up?
Abby: A witch!
Les: You want to be a witch? Do you want to be a good witch or a mean witch?
Abby: A mean witch!

Me: (to Abby) I love you.
Abby: Thanks...

#5: When they want to be they can be great for your self esteem.

There is nothing like having your daughter look at pictures from your wedding and saying “Mommy is a princess and Daddy is magic” Plus there’s this:

I am the Man! At least for now, I doubt she will have the same opinion of me when she’s 15.

Protect yourself at all times

If you have been reading this blog on a regular basis, you may have noticed that there are a couple of reoccurring themes. One of these themes is that my children are trying to blind me. You can see evidence of this here and here. Recently, I came to the realization that the truth is much worst than I had originally believed. My children are not simply trying to blind me. They are trying to kill me. The fact that, to date, they have not succeeded is due, in large part to the fact that they are still very wee and have not developed the upper body strength to inflict serious harm.

As a Dad, there is no greater joy then coming home to your two loving children and playing with them on the floor. At least, that’s what we’ve been taught by modern fatherhood culture. The truth is that playing on the floor is the most hazardous activity in which new father can partake. Forget deep sea diving or skydiving, they don’t even come close. If insurance companies knew the truth, every father would have their premium rates increase ten fold.

I usually get home from work at 5:30 and am met by two lil’ ones running over to play. I get down on the floor and lay on my back and both kids immediately start to jump and crawl all over me. It’s so sweet. Two of the three people I love most on this planet (mad shot out to my beautiful wife) laughing and jumping and rolling around on the floor with me. It’s truly magical. I feel so loved. I feel so needed. I feel…MOTHERF@#*ER! What the hell was that!?!

Zach looks up at me with the cutest grin. Between his teeth is the skin from that really sensitive part where your arm meets your chest. He is laughing and having a great time. I am trying to pry my skin from his teeth. I bring my arm across to pull Zach’s teeth from my body just as Abby gives me Seated Senton. A Seated Senton is a wrestling move where a person stands over a prone person, lifts their legs up and allows their full weight to drop onto that person’s abdomen area. It’s also referred to as Butt Drop. I let out an “Oomph” and jack-knife my body to absorb some of the impact only to have Zach poke my eye with a magnifying glass. A magnifying glass! Where the hell did that come from anyways?

It’s around then that I realize I’ve got to get some control back here. This is getting out of hand and I’m now at serious risk. I use my biggest daddy voice I can muster and say something manly like “You are hurting Daddy! Why are you hurting daddy?” I can just imagine my inner Man face=palming and muttering “Oh Jesus, when did you turn into such a sissy?”

But it works. They back off. Abby looks at me and says “Daddy hurt”. I’m rolling and writhing in pain “Yes, daddy hurt.”

“I’ll make you better” The sweet child who loves me is back and wants to make me happy. She goes and grabs her doctor bag and comes back. She tells me to lie down. She takes my temperature and listens to my heart beat. “You sick daddy, look up”. I look up so she can continue the medical exam. I’m so proud at her empathy and her care. It makes it all worth while. All the pain that I just went through just slips away. My daughter, the doctor.

“Now choke!” Wait, what?

BOOM. Karate chop to the throat.

I am not kidding. She just tried to crush my larynx with the side of her palm. I’m choking and gasping for air. My wife comes out from the kitchen (without a sandwich I might add) and asks “Everything okay?”

I’m 245 pounds. I’ve played semi-pro rugby overseas. What the hell am I gonna say? “No, everything is not okay? Our 35 pound daughter just hurt me. I need to go to the emergency room. Quick, grab a pen. I think I might need a tracheotomy?” I can’t say that. Instead, I look up at her from all fours. “I’m fine, I’m good.”

Touché Abby. You got me good. I’ll be ready for you next time. You won’t catch me in a vulnerable position again. I’ve learnt my lesson. I’m gonna protect myself at all…OUCH. MOTHER F@#*ER! Zach Stop biting!

Pockets: the revenge of the forgotten

One of my earlier posts was about pockets and the weird stuff parents can expect to find in their pockets. If you haven’t read it, check it out here.

Today I’d like to tell you a story of how my pockets almost got me arrested. It was a typical Tuesday morning in that I was running late and was in no mood for any crap. I had dropped Abby of at the daycare and was standing in line at my local Tim Horton’s. It was a little cold outside and I had on my winter jacket. You know the one. It has eight pockets on the outside and another four inside. I get to the front of the line and order my large double double and begin rummaging through my pockets for change. Right away I knew what was about to happen. I was about to be that guy we all hate. The loser that can’t find a buck sixty five and holds up the rest of the line.

I look sheepishly at the coffemaid, or customer service rep, or whatever it is we are suppose to call the cashier at Tim Horton’s. “Sorry” I mumble, “I had some change here a second ago.” She looks at me with her head cocked to one side and says something supportive and understanding like “mmm-hmm”.

I figured the only way I’m gonna get through this quickly is to start dumping out my pockets. So I fish in my pocket and pull out a car seat belt restraint. I look at the barista (can you call them a barista?) who is looking a little more pissed at me. I reach back in my pocket and pull out a child’s crown. At least this time, I also manage to fish out a loonie, so I’m getting close. I look at the coffee wench (seriously, if you know what to call them, please let me know) who is now looking confused on top of pissed. I can imagine she’s thinking “Why the hell is this guy walking around with a kiddy crown?” Back to the pockets, I need 65 more cents.

By now my coffee is ready and is just sitting there waiting for me to get my act together and get this damn money on the table. I reach back into another pocket and pull out two quarters and one of those clunky baby necklaces. I hear a grown and look up. The look I’m getting is the weirdest mix of anger, frustration and confusion I have ever seen from someone making minimum wage. Back to the pockets, men. I fish around and grasp a bunch of change that’s wrapped up in some tissue. I try for a second to get the change loose from the tissue and finally just accept the fact I’m gonna have to hand this lady 15 cents from a dirty tissue. Screw it, I don’t care if she thinks I’m gross. I’m just gonna pull out the tissue and get it over with.

Only I don’t pull out tissue. I pull out an extra pair of Abby’s underwear that I had meant to leave at daycare. I look up and the look of anger from the coffee getter has been replaced with pure shock. I look back at the stuff I’ve dragged out of my pocket and quickly realize “Oh my god, she thinks I’m a pedophile or something”

I start to stammer some sort of explanation and then quickly realize that it is impossible to explain why I have a restraining device, child’s hair piece, toy necklace and crumpled panties in my pocket. I fish out the last fifteen cents, slam it on the counter, grab my coffee and get the eff out of there as quickly as possible. The whole ride to work, I was expecting to get pulled over based on an “anonymous tip from a concerned citizen”.

Kids. Sure they fun and all, but they’ll probably get you arrested.

By the way, I’ve recently started going to Starbucks.

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…