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.