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…

WHAT DID YOU JUST #$%KING SAY?!

Ahh Toddlers. Wide eyed optimism, brimming with a joy and filed with a happiness forgotten by those of us tainted with the corruption of age. I look upon my little Abby and I am in awe of the courageous way she goes about exploring her world.

She sees a leaf. Abby runs over picks it up and turns to me “Look daddy a leaf”

She sees a bird fly over head. She points skyward and yells “A bird, a bird. Look Daddy, look.”

She sees a puddle and runs over to it screaming joyfully at the top of her lungs. She jumps in, splashing muddy water on her white tights. She looks down and says “Oh Shit!”

Wait, what…

Did she just say…

…Oh shit…

No, no, no, no this is not good. Not good at all.

Turns out she is listening to me and not the good stuff either. C’mon, man. You can’t be saying that. Your mother is gonna kill me if she’s hears you say that.. Why, why, why!? After ever word I’ve said. All the sage advice I’ve given. Why?! Why is that the thing you decide to repeat?

You couldn’t look down at your dirty cloths and say “Thank you” or “Fill ‘er up” or even “When’s lunch”. But, Nooo…you had to curse. You had to ruin my little “I can say what ever I want and it doesn’t matter cause you don’t repeat the crap I say” world. You had to go and say “shit”

Almost as soon as I realize what she just said, I realize what she could have said. I’m from Newfoundland, cursing is a part of my native tongue. I spill the coffee and I drop the S-Bomb. Someone cuts me off and out comes the son of a B-bomb. The other team scores against my team and there’s a mother F-bomb. I’m dropping bomb all over the place, most of them conventional weapons, but there are some thermal nuclear weapons in there as well. But it didn’t matter cause the only person who knew what I was saying was my wife. As far as Abby is concerned I was just saying “Blah” and “Blah blah” and “Mommy Blaher”. There was no harm, no foul

Until today…

Well. there it is…I’ve got to stop cursing and start watching my language. That’s going be weird for me. I remember on time when I was around 15 years old, I watched in awe as my grandfather cursed for 5 minuets straight and he didn’t repeat the same word twice. I’m serious, it was amazing. Old guy’s…Am I right?

Still, as weird it’s going to be for me it’s going to be even weirder for my buddies. They simply are not prepared for this. There I’ll be playing poker with the guys, cold beer, good cigars. I bet heavy, raise, re-raise. I’ve got that guy right where I want him. I’m holding three aces…nothing’s going to beat that. I lay them down, smile and watch as my opponent turns over not one, not two, not three, but four kings.

“C’Mon! You’ve got to be Fudging Pooping me here! What the Heck is this Poop!? How did a son of a birdbath like you get so fudging lucky! Lady of Ill repute! MotherFudger, Sock Corker”

Like I said…It’s going to be weird.

S'been a while...Sorry about that

So it’s been a while since my last blog post. Sorry about that, but I think I have a pretty good excuse.

After going through the hell that is being a new parent, the sleepless nights, the crying, the screaming, the vomiting, the poor bladder control…and that’s just me. Don’t even get me started on what my darling little girl went through…

But after going through all that, my wife looked at me and said “D’you want to do this again?”

To which I replied “Sure, why the hell not?”

[note: this is not a per verbatim transcript of the actual conversation]

So we did. Now I have a little boy. Zach is his name. I almost had him named Luke. My beautiful wife was in agreement that Luke was a good name for a boy. However, it got cut when I came home a little drunk one night and put my mouth next to my wife’s belly and said “Luke, I’m your father.” That was the end of that. I almost had it, too. I almost had the Star Wars geek’s dream situation, a son named Luke. I was gonna get a Darth Vadar mask and everything.

Still, Zach’s a cool name. I like the cool handles you can come up with like Zach Attack and Zach-a-roni and…Alright, so far I’ve only got those two. But I’m working on some other ones.

…Zach-ster?

…Zach ness monster?

Like I said, I’m working on them.

Anyway…

Zach is six months old, so we’re pretty much through the worst of it now. Like I’ve said before, you make it through the first four months and you’re golden. Although…I am still getting up in the middle of the night to feed him. And he still cries for no good reason. And he screams when you don’t get to him right away. And he spits up on me a lot. And the bladder control is still an issue.

Wait. Why did we do this again?

Oh right, because despite all the crap you go through [figurative and literally], they are still kind of cool. Kids man, am I right?

So now I’ve got two…A girl named Abby and a boy named Zach. So I’ve been busy. But that’s not the only reason why I haven’t written recently. I’m still not really sure what exactly I’m trying to do with this blog. Am I trying to educate new parents? Or entertain experienced parents? And with two children it got even more confusing…do I write about Abby, the toddler…or Zach the baby. Cause two kids is a whole new world for me…a whole new adventure…

Hey that works out pretty good, cause the blog is called Adventures of Dad, right? Get it? Yup, I closed that circle nicely.

…Zach-tastic? No, that’s no good, sounds stupid…Zach-gammon? Hmm…maybe, just maybe…

There comes a time in ever parents life when they go from rookie parents to full fledge paretning veterns. This is commonly refered to amongst parents as "What's the friggin number for Poison Control". Mine came not to long ago, today actually. Lemmie tell you about it...

We have recently transition Abby from her crid to her first "Big girl" bed. This transistion has so far been about as smooth as the transition of power that is currently going on in Egypt. So not good. I'm not saying there has been gunfire, but there has been some bloodshed.

Are you ready to be a Parent

I feel bad for not posting more. We are still waiting on our new computer to come. Apparently, Dell has shipped the monitor, but has decided to let us enjoy it for a few days before shipping the actual computer. This is nice...now I get to do my best to keep Abby from opening a mysterious box that was brought from god knows where. That should be easy enough.

Like I said I feel bad, so I plagiarized this from the net to give you all something to read and hopefully renew your faith that adventures of dad is still doing all the dad things that he loves/hates to do. As soon as we get a computer, I'll write. I promise.

Hmm...seems like my relationship with you is very similar to my relationship with my mother...weird.

Anyway, here it is, fresh from my copy and paste...


HOW TO KNOW WHETHER OR NOT YOU ARE READY TO HAVE A BABY

MESS TEST

Smear peanut butter on the sofa and curtains. Now rub your hands in
the wet flower bed and rub on the walls.

Place a fish stick behind the couch and leave it there all summer.

Obtain a 55-gallon box of Legos. (If Legos are not available, you may
substitute roofing tacks or broken bottles.) Have a friend spread them
all over the house. Put on a blindfold. Try to walk to the bathroom or
kitchen. Do not scream (this could wake a child at night).

GROCERY STORE TEST

Borrow one or two small animals (goats are best) and take them with
you as you shop at the grocery store. Always keep them in sight and
pay for anything they eat or damage.

DRESSING TEST

Obtain one large, unhappy, live octopus. Stuff into a small net bag
making sure that all arms stay inside.

FEEDING TEST

Obtain a large plastic milk jug. Fill halfway with water. Suspend from
the ceiling with a stout cord. Start the jug swinging. Try to insert
spoonfuls of soggy cereal (such as Fruit Loops or Cheerios) into the
mouth of the jug while pretending to be an airplane. Now dump the
contents of the jug on the floor.

NIGHT TEST

Prepare by obtaining a small cloth bag and fill it with 8 to 12 pounds
of sand. Soak it thoroughly in water. At 8:00 PM begin to waltz and
hum with the bag until 9:00 PM. Lay down your bag and set your alarm
for 10:00 PM.Get up, pick up your bag, and sing every song you have
ever heard. Make up about a dozen more and sing these too until 4:00
AM.  Set alarm for 5:00 AM. Get up and make breakfast. Keep this up
for 5 years. Look cheerful.

PHYSICAL TEST

Obtain a large bean-bag chair and attach it to the front of your
clothes. Leave it there for 9 months. Now remove 10% of the beans.

Purchase a newspaper. Go home and read it quietly for the last time.

FINAL ASSIGNMENT

Find a couple who already have a small child. Lecture them on how they
can improve their child's discipline, patience, tolerance, toilet
training, and table manners. Suggest many ways they can improve.
Emphasize to them that they should never allow their children to run
wild.

Enjoy this experience. It will be the last time you will have all the
answers.

Computer is Down

For all of those who might be wondering where I have gone, no need to worry. I’m not dead, my computer is though.

I’ll write more as soon as I have reliable access.

Thanks for reading…

And if you have a blog idea, let me know.

Top Ten things I learned on my trip to Bermuda

My apologies for taking so long to write this blog, however, upon our return from our vacation in Bermuda, we spent about a week trying to catch up on things like work, family, etc. I hope you understand. We had a great time in Bermuda and I highly recommend it to anyone planning a trip. During our trip I kept my eyes open for good blog post ideas. However, there were simply too many. So Instead, I made a top ten, I hope you enjoy.

Here we go...

1)

The rat maze at the airport check-in is the prefect hight for toddlers to run under. Mid-30’s parents, not so much. There you stand with your passport, pre-printed boarding pass and a pile of luggage so high that even Paris Hilton would say “Damn, that’s a lot luggage”. You and your wife and trying to figure out kilos to pounds to make sure you’re not overweight …is it 1.8 pounds to a kilo or 2.2? Wait my phone has a calculator.

You let go of the kids hand for a second and Zoom! Zero to “Get back here this instant” in 0.6 seconds. She’s off in a straight line, but not you. Nope you get to run three feet, turn right, run three feet, turn left, run three feet, turn right again. You get the idea. If you’re going to have a system designed to keep people in order, make sure it considers all people. Even little ones.

2)

 Airport play areas are where toys come to die. It’s nice that the designers though of place to keep children entertained while you wait for your flight, but geez, this is just sad. A Lego table with no Legos, a doll house with 1 table and chair with only three legs and two toy ducks. My God, it’s like Tim Burton designed the place. Having said that, it kept the little one quiet for ten minutes, so thank you.

3) That little pouch on the back of Airplane seats are meant for the following:

·         Vomit bags

·         Safety brochure

·         The Sky mall catalogue

·         That stupid airline magazine that no one reads

·         Nothing else

Anything else you put in there will be forgotten. Then you have to go around Bermuda trying to find a copy of “The Mickey Mouse Club’s Big Pop-up Adventure”, while your beautiful, loving child cries “My Book, My book”.

4) There is no such thing as too many teddy bears.

Corollary of number 4:

All souvenir stores put their most expensive teddy bears at toddler level right in front of the store. Seriously, 30 Bucks for a teddy bear with a shirt that says “I survived the Bermuda Triangle”? Why is the $5.00 bear way up on the shelf? You ever try to take a teddy bear from a child. It’s the saddest thing you’ll ever do. One the plus side, Abby now has a $30.00 teddy bear with a shirt that says “I survived the Bermuda Triangle”.

5) Children do not understand the terms “Later”, “In a minute” or “Hold on a sec”.

6) Children Freaking LOVE Dolphins. End of sentence.

7) The statistical possibility of your child vomiting is a derivative of how many people are around divided by the distance in feet from any safe vomit zone. If no one is around and your child is in front of a toilet, nothing. If you’re way at the back of a bus loaded with people, Exorcist.

            Corollary of number 7:

Hockey Jerseys absorb vomit surprisingly well.

8) If your child suffers a boo-boo early on in the trip, ever subsequent, cut, scrape or bruise will happen within a three inch square of the original boo-boo. No one does this except children. When an adult gets a scrap on their the knee, the thought process is “Well, better be careful of that knee” When a child gets a scrap on their knee, the thought process is something like “Wow, that hurt, but I will continue to do those very same things and actions that lead to this injury”. As I’ve said before, children are stupid. If you hurt yourself running around a bunch of jagged rocks, STOP RUNNING AROUND JAGGED ROCKS!

9) You can remove blood from your nice Egyptian cotton button up shirt with an ice cube.

10) Flight Attendants Freaking LOVE sleeping children. Seriously, I’ve never had better service in my life. And I flew 1^st class once. Along time ago before I had children and could afford it…

Children = never being spontaneous again. Ever

I once went to Cuba for a friends wedding. It was awesome. Apart from the clothes for the day of the wedding, I brought 2 pairs of shorts, a t-shirt, some sun block, flip-flops and a toothbrush. I never did wear the t-shirt. To this day I cannot tell you what resort we stayed at. I was told to buy a ticket and show up at the airport on a certain date.

That was me, one hip cat. I went by my own rules and damned the consequences.

Tomorrow, I’m going to Bermuda for a winter get away. A last minute get away sort of thing that my wife organized. My list is pretty much the same as before. But now I have a child and she has needs that can’t be glossed over with copious amounts of free liquor [I highly recommend all-inclusive by the way]. We have to make sure that she has everything she needs because we can’t guarantee that we’ll be able to get the stuff there. So far, the list includes…

swim diapers,

Tylenol,

sandals,

2 sweaters,

rain jacket,

running shoes,

sun block ,

socks,

t-shirts,

shorts,

bib,

kiddy utensils,

kiddy plate,

sippies,

bottles,

liners,

tent [seriously, a tent],

car seat,

stroller,

hat,

sunglasses,

pj’s,

wipes (two packs),

diapers,

Vaseline,

diaper cream,

blanket,

crib sheet,

sleep teddy,

regular teddy [cause god forbid we leave one of the bears behind],

books,

toothbrush,

toothpaste,

shampoo,

comb,

hair elastics,

snacks,

swim suit

And that’s just to start. The pile of luggage is starting to look like we getting ready to mount a run for the summit of Mt. Everest. Our Sherpa Kha-Joo-Whe assures me we’ll have good weather as long as we leave by February. I drive a Nissan Versa, people! How in the hell am I going to get this stuff to the airport? I called a local moving company, but I can’t repeat what they said to me here.

The fact that we have to pack all this stuff is not what makes us un-spontaneous. It’s the fact that we knew we needed to make a list just to make sure there wasn’t anything we forgot. We need that list, too. Did you even read that list? Did you notice that we had “Hair Elastics”? Of course not! That’s why we have the list in the first place.

I’m going to make another list called “All the stuff I’ll never be again” Spontaneous will be number three behind Carefree and one Hip Cat.

So, people are actually reading this...

You may notice some changes to the adventures of dad blog. The reason for this is that I've discovered that people are actually reading this and being kind enough to offer advice and suggestions on how to make it better. If you have a suggestions on something or if there is a certain topic you'd like to see covered, please feel free to let me know.

And thanks for reading...

Adventures of Dad

Child Safety; a Conspiracy Theory.

A couple of days ago my wife told me that we might need to purchase a new car seat. Seeing as these things can sometimes cost more than the actual car, I asked why. Apparently, the Canadian government has changed the safety standards on these things to make them safer. My response of “So…” didn’t go over well. My child’s safety and the safety of all children is not something you can put a price on…apparently.

Now before you get all huffy at me. I’m not a bad person. I understand that as a child of almost two years, Abby is very stupid and she is going to do stupid things like grab knifes by the shiny part or stick forks in those funny looking slots in the wall. I understand that as her dad, it’s my job to ensure that her environment is as safe as possible to give her as good a shot as possible of seeing her sweet 16 with all her fingers and toes. However, I do have to ask…what happened?

Why is it that the car seat we spent good money on just a 2 year ago is now deemed to be so unsafe that we have to get another one? The car seat hasn’t changed. The car hasn’t changed. The road conditions haven’t changed. Same bunch of Not-Looking-Before-Making-Lane-Change idiots that was there before…maybe a few more, but isn’t that why we all took that defensive driving course?

I racked my brains trying to think of the reason why I had to buy a $300.00 car seat to replace the $275.00 car seat I bought just two years ago [damn inflation]. I just didn’t and don’t get it.  My wife recently suggested it might be because car seats have expiry dates. That can’t be it though. Expiry dates?! Seriously?! Is the thing made out of yogurt!? It’s not organic certified. It makes no sense to even suggest it.

The only thing I can figure is that we, as a society, have been made so paranoid with regards to safety that manufactures can buy of politicians to change these safety standards and we just kind of go along with it.  Every two years, a new set of standards. Every two years, a new ready-to-go revenue stream.

Like I said, it’s a conspiracy theory…

Before you start yelling at me about lead paint in toys manufactured in china and/or children slipping between crib rails, I want you to know that I take my child’s safety very seriously. She’s the most important thing in my life and I don’t want anything to ever happen to her.

Having said that…

Do you remember lawn darts? I do. They were friggin’ sweet. 6 huge darts with cheap plastic flights slightly dull lead tips that you could file down to surgical sharpness. They came with two colorful hoops that we never used. Instead we use to play a game where one kid stands about 20 feet away from the other. Then you start firing these flying scalpels at each other. If you moved or got hit, you lost. I doubt that would ever get approved now a days.

I was given my first pocket knife at the age of 7. It was one of those cheap plastic encased piece of craps. The plastic was made to look like ivory carved with a horse and wagon running across a western wilderness. It was the best thing I ever had. Until my stupid brother almost lost his finger while I was showing him a way cool trick.  

I have distinct memories of going to the dump with my father in his Ford F150. I remember standing on the seat with my hands on the dash trying to see if I could touch my nose to the windshield. Car seats!? Pft…Those were good times.

Sometime it feels like we’re just two pieces of legislation away from packing our kids in bubble wrap until they reach 80 pounds or 60 inches, which ever comes first. Course, I did know a kid named Billy who actually shot his eye with a bb gun. And I do have a scar across my scalp where I got hit by an ax beating up an ant hill. My brother’s finger still doesn’t look quite right.

In fact, looking back, it’s a friggin’ wonder I’m still alive. There’s a conspiracy theory for you.