15 December 2012

Midnight Rant

(WARNING! The following post is written by a father going on his third night without sleep because of the people written about below.) 

This goes out to all you danged, inconsiderate, idiotic jerks out there who either think your actions have no impact on others, or who are just too sick to care. You know who you are. You drive around with your radios blasting at ear shattering volumes. You drive around thinking it's cool to have your exhaust system modified to be louder than a 747 at takeoff. You rev your motorcycle, with its freight train-like mufflers, in the middle of the night. You have no concern for the children you wake, or the dogs you set to barking, or the people who actually have to sleep. You don't care that the noise you so thoughtlessly produce scared a child so badly that he couldn't go back to sleep. Of course, even if he had been able to go back to sleep, you would have woken him up again as you continued to drive around all night long.

Now, we all know that your penises are so tiny that you feel you have to try to prove your manhood by making loud noises and beating your chest - rather like the Neanderthals you seem to aspire to emulate. But do the rest of us have to suffer because of your inadequacies? A booming radio is not going to make you a man. Waking up children in the middle of the night with your ridiculously loud vehicle will not make you little wee wee grow. 

So grow up and learn some consideration, you jerk!

And if not, let me leave you with the words of one of my favorite songs of old, by the great Jimmy Dickens:

"May the bird of paradise fly up your nose, May an elephant caress you with its toes ..."

Well, the rest is about your wife, and we all know you probably don't have one of those, so I'll add my own words to it.

May your testicles explode in a fury so that your genes may leave humanity forever and relieve the rest of us of your stupidity.

13 December 2012

Thought for the Day #21

You know it's going to be an interesting day when your two year old sleeps so fitfully that he manages to roll off his bed twice during the night and you actually have to hunt for him on the floor - "Hmm, is he under the bed or did he roll across the room to land under the chair?" (answer: 11:30 pm and 2:30 am respectively)

06 December 2012

Daddy School: Attention To Detail

I learned this in the Navy, and it has kept me out of trouble many, many times. Especially as a Daddy.

What is "attention to detail" you ask? It is basically the art of being aware of everything around you and also of being aware of the possible consequences which might arise from possible scenarios involving things and people around you. I know this might sound impossible, but it's actually not. It simply takes a little forethought.

For instance, if I leave my tablet on the kitchen table after writing this post, and then Little Man comes into the kitchen while my back is turned, then my tablet is going to be damaged when he pulls if off the table to play with. So, I will not leave this tablet on the table where little hands can grab it. That's a detail I'm going to pay attention to , therefore avoiding the consequence of having to replace a fairly expensive tool.

Daddies are the ones who have to check the tires before a trip to ensure that their entire family isn't killed in some horrific explosion. And Daddies are the ones who have to make sure that the home security alarm is always on when the kids are safely tucked in bed, not to save the family from hordes of raging zombies or hoodlum burglars, but to keep those ingenious little kids from falling out of their second floor windows if they figure out how to get the windows unlocked. Hey, let me introduce you to my daughter and you'll realize it's not that farfetched.

This kind of thinking amuses my wife, until such a time as I'm proven right. For instance, I made her favorite red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting for her birthday. The frosting on that cake consisted of roughly six full cups of powdered sugar. I should point out the fact that we do NOT eat a great deal of sugar in our home. About the only times I use this much sugar in anything are the four annual birthdays we celebrate (I don't make a cake for the Furball's birthday, just a recall big southern biscuit shaped like a bone. He loves it!). Now, my habit of paying attention to the details of life ensured that I only ate one piece of that cake (per day). My wife on the other hand, ate two pieces (both worthy of a man of my girth, not a little bitty thing like her), not thinking at all of the possible consequences. This is why I slept well that night while she LITERALLY bounced around the house laughing hysterically, wondering why she was so hyper. Suffice to say, she often has to say this wonderful words, "You were right." Well, at least I think they're wonderful. Her, not so much.

However, while it pains me to admit it, I'm not always great at paying attention to, or even remembering the details of everyday life either. For instance, I could use the same cake as an example against myself as well. I was changing Little Man's diaper when I just about came out of my skin and started to call for Sweetheart to grab the car so we could get to the ER. But thankfully, I caught myself just before I made a complete fool of myself.

You see, if you pay attention to details, you'll remember that when you feed a toddler cake with green food coloring in it (I didn't have enough red), his poop will be a terrifyingly fluorescent shade of green.

05 December 2012

Daddy School: Be Enthusiastic

When I first became a Daddy, I had grandiose notions of guiding my child gently, but firmly, through life to adulthood. I imagined sitting at the table, teaching her Aristotle and Twain, Churchill and Verne, geometry and geography. I would tell her, "Job well done, daughter.", and she would smile contentedly.

Oh, the idealistic days.

Reality is slightly different. Now I find myself standing over the boy as he pees in the potty while I scream, "Yay! Yay! Way to go! Wow!", and generally going into hysterical affirmations and other wild encouragements.

You see, as a Daddy, one of the foremost requirements is enthusiasm. And not just your average, mundane, run of the mill enthusiasm, such as you would exhibit for your favorite team. No, I speak of the extraordinary, wild, seemingly uncontrolled, often forced, very loud and EXTREME enthusiasm small children demand for every step they take towards maturity. It's the only thing capable of convincing them that something is right and good. That they have done something correctly. That you actually ARE paying attention to them as they put together yet another stack of blocks for you to revel in with uncontrollable joy and NOT actually passing out on the couch from sheer exhaustion. It's hollering "Yay!" so many times for so many things that other adults look at you like you're insane because you see them buckle their seat belt on their own and you began clapping and yelling, "Yay!! You did it! Such a big boy!"

Yes, enthusiasm is an absolute Daddy requirement, as stated by Law.  Our children require it to build their self confidence and basic skills, such as motor skills, hand-eye coordination, balance, speech, eating , walking, etc. They look to us to know that they are clearing the current hurdle, and if we are quiet or inattentive, they see no reason to continue their stellar progress. Oh sure, they will develop certain skills naturally, simply through necessity, but they will not develop as quickly or as steadily as they will when they see and hear their Daddy (or Mommy) wildly approve of their actions. Nor will they develop the same level of self confidence.

So don't be ashamed to show your nurturing side. Enthusiastically cheer your children on to accomplishment. That's what Daddies do.

And if, the next time you're eating supper at your favorite steakhouse, you loudly cheer for the huge man in the next booth for using his knife correctly, don't despair. You may be kicked out, or you may get your hind end beaten into the ground - but you'll still be building up his self confidence.

04 December 2012

Daddy School: Drive Like A Daddy

My dogs actually taught me about this one.

Before we even had children, we adopted two Cocker Spaniel puppies. At the time, we had a Subaru Forester with one of those protective doggy seat cover/hammock type thing. It was advertised as protecting your seats and your dogs at the same time. Yeah right. Dang dogs ate through the "chew-proof" fabric within a week.

Anyway, one evening, we were coming back from the dog park and had both pups in the back seat. They were fine until we were a few blocks from home. Suddenly, we began hearing whimpering and whining coming from the back seat. I didn't think too much of it because we were almost home. No big deal. Yeah right!

A few minutes later, the smell began hitting us. Oh, it was awful. As was the fact that both pups were frantically jumping and running around the back seat. I pulled over as quickly as I could, but it was way too late. Oh, yes, it was entirely too late.

When we got parked, we were horrified. The seat cover was dislodged from their crazed activity. What we saw made me cry. Two dogs and the entire back seat of my car were covered in vile, runny, extraordinarily malodorous puppy poop. They had ground it into the seats, the seat belts, the worthless freaking seat cover and each other.

Being the wonderfully loving husband I am, I agreed to drive the car (with my head as far out the window as I could get it) the rest of the way home, while my wife took both dogs the remaining block to the house on their leashes. Daddies (even if they're only doggy Daddies at the time) are always required to take the short straw. That's just the law.

Now of course, due to my epilepsy, my wife has to do all of the driving. But I'm steadily teaching her to drive like a Daddy.

You would think that her memory would be long enough to remember that incident from five years back just as clearly as my much more foggy brain. Nope. She forgot.

Recently, we were beginning a long road trip to attend my nephew's wedding. Now, we live in the Metroplex. If you're not from the greatest land on Earth and live in ignorance of the geography of this most beautiful land, then you know my home as the Dallas-Forth Worth area. It's a little area of about 160 some-odd cities and towns all spread together. It's populated by a couple million of the most aggressive, crazy and non-vigilant mix of Rednecks and transplanted freaking Yankees in the world. I mention that so you will understand that we have a rather high incidence of traffic accidents and their attendant traffic jams. So when my wife, who thinks like a woman (I can leave ten minutes before I have to be at a destination 30 miles away and I'll be there in plenty of time), left the house, she expected to have an easy trip.

HAHAHAHAHAHA

Oops, sorry, Sweetheart.

So, there we were in the car. The kids were in the back seat comfortably playing and napping. I was heavily drugged to ensure a seizure-free drive (which meant I was peacefully snoring) and my poor wife was in the driver's seat with a white-knuckled grip on the wheel and eyes wide with shock as she began the horrifying experience of driving through the Metroplex, from one side to the other, for the first time in seven years. See, as the Daddy, I always drove. She always slept. Not anymore.

Three hours later, I began to wake up and looked over to see my beloved wife glued to the wheel with red face, frazzled hair, glassy eyes and smoking ears. The girl was in the back saying, "I have to go potty and I can't hold it!" The boy was back their crying. We were in heavy traffic and my wife was saying something to the effect of, "I said I'll pull off and find a rest from as soon as I can!"

Oh, my! It's my fault. I hadn't taught her enough about driving like a Daddy.

I told her to pull off at the next exit. She said no, she couldn't get off in this traffic. I said pull off at the next exit. Period.

It took me awhile to convince her, pretty much until the smell started coming forward. Then she agreed to pull off.

An hour later, after we had changed both kids clothes, bagged them up to burn at the first opportunity, cleaned the poop out of BOTH car seats, powdered both behinds and taken them both to the potty again - just to be sure - and eaten a snack (to let the car air out), we were back on the road. It was an awful way to learn a lesson.
  • Now, I am very proud to say, my wife is well on her way to driving like a Daddy. She is learning the ,most important lessons quickly. Things like:
  • Always asking about the need for potty breaks at every single exit you pass.
  • Always have snacks portioned out in easily opened packages within easy reach.
  • Always have plenty of fluids to drink - no sugar allowed.
  • Always have plenty of baby wipes, hand sanitizer, sturdy plastic bags, diapers, changes of clothes and tissues on hand.
  • If at all possible, drive in the right hand lane, in case you hear those horrible words - "I'm going to be sick!"
  • Always remember, there is a destination. The trip WILL end and you will be able to get out of the car and the kids will stop driving you insane - and hopefully be taken by grandparents happy so happy to see them that they won't notice you sneaking off to the nearest bedroom to cry into a pillow and close your eyes for a minute before you have to unload the car.
  • And most importantly, if you ever hear a child (or a pregnant spouse) say, "I have to go potty and I can't hold it!", you pull that car over immediately and make rapid arrangements to get that child in a safe position - namely, out of my car!
And that is driving like a Daddy.

Daddy School

Today, as my Sweetheart and I were redecorating the parlor after our children happily "decorated" the tree, she asked me how I had managed to fix a tricky section of lighting. I told her I had learned it in Daddy School. She looked at me like I was crazy before asking me what Daddy School was.

Now, I will be the first to admit that my ancestors didn't just kiss the Blarney Stone, they married the danged thing and had kids with it.  In other words, we can sling it just a wee bit better than most. Especially the men of my family.

This may explain why she thought I was making it all up when I began to explain that all Daddies go to Daddy School when their wives are pregnant with their first child. It's the law I told her. The Daddy Law.

She seemed less than convinced, and I'm a little offended by that. So I decided to break the Daddy Laws and reveal some of the secrets I learned when I attended Daddy School. That way she'll know I'm not just full of it. Right?

So, thus begins a series of articles revealing the secrets of how to be a Daddy. Secrets passed down for thousands of years, from one Daddy to the next. Secrets intended to ensure that Daddies may always be known as the great fixer, the supernatural bouncer, the most bestest hugger, the most awesomest block tower builder and so much more.

Welcome to Daddy School

03 December 2012

Sweet Revenge

My dog loves little more than to lie under my feet passing gas. Often it gets so bad he has to leave, while I'm left gagging.

Today, I got revenge.

He jumped up in my lap expecting a good ear scratch, and when he landed on me, I passed gas. Right in his face! The shock in his eyes was priceless. That dog has never moved so fast. He broke and ran, crossing the room in a split-second before diving head first into the floor and rolling around snorting. I guess he was trying to rub the stink off. I must admit it was pretty potent.

I was laughing and enjoying my revenge right up until my wife started hollering at me, saying something about something being crude, or something or other. I'm not exactly sure, as I was already running from the room to escape the toxic cloud myself.

It's good to be a man!

02 December 2012

It's Her Birthday!

It's my Sweetheart's birthday. So we've kind of been celebrating all weekend. Especially since our church had a Parent's Night Out Friday, which meant we could actually relax and watch a movie. Keep in mind, we don't ever get to see a movie unless it's at Red Box and the kids are passed out - and we still have energy to sit up long enough to watch one. I don't remember the last time I was in a theater.

Now, of course, since it's her birthday, I told her we could watch anything she wanted. I told her I would even sit through a sappy chick flick with her. She said, "You make that sound so bad." To which I replied, "Of course I do! It's required by law for men to object to chick flicks - especially the sappy romantic comedies."

She wasn't amused.

Which meant that on Friday, I had to sit through the "Five Year Engagement."

"Oh Dear Lord, I prayed, please take me home now so I don't have to watch the rest of this movie!"

That was my prayer after about fifteen minutes. It had to be the worst movie I've ever seen. It was SO bad, Sweetheart even apologized for picking it.

YES!

Any time your wife feels guilty without you saying anything, is a good time. It's like a blank check  Of course, that works the other way to, but that doesn't matter, because it means that tonight I get to watch a "Prometheus" and see aliens and gore and action! HA HA HA HA HA!

Oh, dang - kind of got carried away there. Oh well, it's off to the movies.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart!

Things I Never Expected To Say #1

Sweetheart, our son is licking the dog's food bowl.

01 December 2012

All Hail Pharaoh!

So I was sitting at the kitchen table, peacefully enjoying my coffee, when Sweetheart suddenly asked me what I wanted to do today. Now, I have learned a little Femaleze over the last 7 years, so I knew what she was saying. In MaleSpeak, she said, "I have a list a mile long of tasks for you slave, now jump!"

{At this point, I probably should state for any folks out there reading this, who might be deficient in the humor department, that this is a humorous translation - pretty real to life, but no whips involved - and I don't want any freaky emails about me being a woman hater, or pro-slavery, or any of that other nonsense. I'm not a politician - I'll just laugh at you.}

Anyway, I felt frisky, so I headed her off at the pass.

"I have in mind a rather Pharaonic day, supervising the slaves." I said. "I'll have them cleaning the courtyard so that they may erect a pyramid to the glory of our wondrous Creator."

Translation: "I'm gonna let the kids run rampant and watch TV, while I amble around the parlor clearing it out so I can build my annual Christmas Extravaganza - all the while trying to keep the girl from playing with the nativity, and the boy from eating ornaments and the dog from eating fake snow.

Lo and behold, it actually worked!

She looked at me and said, "Boy your in a goofy mood." Which ,in Femaleze of course, means, "I'm thinking of having you committed to the state asylum, but before I have you hauled off, I'm going to see just how much work you can actually get out of these little critters. Just in case it works."

Or maybe it meant, "You're so nuts, I'm going to give you a pass today so you won't screw up and burn the house down."

Who cares which.

I got to go back to enjoying my coffee.