Cat In Heat

Nothing says summer like a heat wave.  Yesterday's temperature brought a record-breaking 108 degrees and we face similar triple digit threats today and perhaps through early next week.  Up until now, I had successfully exiled our new cat (which I am allergic to) to the back deck.  When my wife came home and found the cat, which my son decided to name Sparky, panting outside, she decided to
bring it indoors.  The only thing I hate worse than a cat is a cat in heat, but the heat may be a safer place for this feline.

My daughter loves this cat; loves it to death. And if Sparky stays inside much longer, death will be right around the corner.  Unfortunately for the cat, the only pet my daughter has ever had is our 68 pound Labrador; the same lab she rides like a pony.  So when it comes time to play with the kitty, she can get a little rough.

I'm gonna hug you and kiss you and love you forever.

Like, Elmyra rough.

I didn't mean no harm George.

Or, Lennie stroking a puppy rough.

At least when Sparky was outside, we could bring Leah indoors to give the cat a break.  I recall one day that Sparky took a four limbed leap off of our second story deck to the welcoming freedom of earth below.  I now believe it was an attempt to get away from our daughter.  Little two-pound, no-body-fat Sparky would rather risk broken bones and almost certain death than have to be squeezed, swaddled, and man-handled by a little three year old girl.

Much to the chagrin of our cat, she survived her suicide swan-dive and is now back in the loving arms of my daughter.  The loving, powerful, bone-crushing arms of my sweet princess.  Every now and then she manages to wiggle free and make a mad dash to the safety found under the bed.  I've never seen monsters under the bed, but I've certainly seen one trying to poke at a cat that's under the bed.

108 degrees?  No problem.  She's safer outside with the heat.

Don't Worry...Be Daddy

If Bobby McFerrin taught us anything it's to not worry, be happy, and ignore internet rumors about your own suicide.  After having three children, I'm finally starting to not worry and just be happy.  As far as I know I haven't committed suicide.

Parenting's version of drawing on the person that passed out first.

It's almost funny now to recall  how over-the-top worried I was with our firstborn child.  "Why isn't he crawling yet?"  "What's that rash?"  "Will he ever learn to talk?"  "Is he mine?"    All these questions and more kept popping up for us and when we'd

Marriage Today

Marriage today is not what it used to be.  My wife and I celebrated our 8 year wedding anniversary last night and on the way to dinner we discussed how 8 years of marriage in 2012 must be similar to 24 years of marriage in 1950. Honestly, married couples should be allowed to account for marital inflation. We're dodging way more divorce bullets than couples had to in the past.

A photo from the '50's.  Not the 1950's.  50 pounds ago.

It's harder to stay married these days.  Us married folk have a lot going against us.  We face problems now that those in the '50's couldn't even begin to imagine, and today's technology is breaking up relationships faster than the speed of 4G (note to self: change to 5G when necessary).  Some of the biggest contributors to divorce today, besides not being able to keep it in your pants, are Facebook and Cell Phones.

Facebook has become such a huge factor in broken relationships today.  I know a few couples that have joint facebook accounts much like they have joint checking accounts, so everything is transparent.  They know who each other is talking to and what they are saying, which is probably a good idea when you consider the average facebook user has 250 "friends", many of which a spouse has no idea who they are.  Personally, my wife and I have separate accounts, but we know each other's passwords and are open about our usage.

Old friends are better than Facebook friends.

The biggest danger comes in reconnecting with old high school romances.  I just heard a story the other day about a couple that has been married for forty years breaking up because the wife ran away with her high school boyfriend after reconnecting on facebook.  Seriously?  You're going to leave your husband of 40 years (and her two children) because some dude you haven't seen in 50 years writes sweet nothings on your wall?  Good luck with that and I wish you well.   I understand that reconnecting with old lovers can happen without facebook, but social networking makes these things happen much easier and more often.

White people dancing.

Cell phones are another huge problem that our parents and grandparents didn't have to face.  Back then, it took you a good two minutes to make a booty call on your trusty rotary phone and chances are, there was only one phone in the house, it wasn't cordless, and it was in the living room where everybody congregated.  Now we have our own cell phones, we can send texts quicker than you can dial a rotary phone, nobody has to know whom you are calling/texting/sexting, and you can erase the evidence with the push of a button. 

So yeah, marriage today is tough.  Throw in the kids, the economy, global warming, gas prices, the series finale of Lost, and all the other depressing crap we've brought upon ourselves and it's a wonder any couples make it past the first two years alone.

Enjoy Your Kids While They're Young

As a parent you hear plenty of unsolicited advice.  Without doubt, the most common piece of advice I've heard from others is "Enjoy your kids while they're young".  This little nugget always comes from one of two types of people: grandparents or parents of teens.

The grandparents that give this advice always mean well, and if they would stop after submitting their advice, it wouldn't be so bad.  It's pretty solid advice.  The only time kids really look up to you and want to hang out with you is when they're young, so why not enjoy it.  And if you're lucky, maybe they'll like you again when they turn 30.  The problem comes when they

Big Head Mode

 Since becoming a Stay At Home Dad, my video game playing time has drastically decreased; even more so now that school is out for the summer.  However, the fond memories I have of playing video games and drinking beer all day live on through my youngest daughter's humongous head.

In the late '90's and early 2000's "Big Head Mode" was a widely popular extra found in many video games.  It was quite similar to today's video game obsession with Zombies.  It was, perhaps, made most popular by the Tony Hawk franchise which has sadly taken a turn for the worst.  Why on earth the franchise decided to make a motion controlled game I don't know.  People just wanted to get high, sit on the couch, and play "Free Skate" while they listened to killer tunes.  If I wanted to actually move around on a skateboard to pull off these moves, I'd go buy a skateboard.

Frisky Two Times

A recent trip to the vet (or, animal doctor as Caleb says) cemented my decision to no longer be fruitful and multiply.  When I later discussed this firm position on procreation with my wife, I should have been more specific.  Apparently, she thought I meant I no longer wanted human babies, and took it upon herself to bring home a feline baby.

The fact that I'm allergic to cats should be reason enough to not bring another kitten into our house.  The fact that it's a stray somebody dumped on the side of the road should be another great reason to not bring this hair ball home.  If it was perhaps adopted from a No-Kill shelter, or maybe even PetCo, I'd give it a chance.  But this cat comes from

A Face Only A Father Could Love

My eldest daughter has taken a recent interest in making silly faces in photos.  Actually, that's not entirely true.  There is only one face in particular that she enjoys making.  If you haven't had the pleasure of seeing this little jewel of a face in person, this photo is the next best thing.

I was certain this was a pose Leah had picked up from her very lady-like Aunt Crystal, but her Aunt denies it entirely and I believe her; she would have gladly taken credit for it.  While we are unaware of the origin of "The Face", we are completely aware of it's popping up in almost every picture.

Through Your Toddler's Eyes

Every now and then as I load pictures onto the computer from our digital camera, I'll notice that instead of the 54 photos I thought I had taken, there are actually somewhere around 228 pictures.  This can only mean one thing; my daughter swiped the camera when I wasn't looking.  As a Stay At Home Dad, I usually know where to put things to keep them out of little hands, but it never fails; she manages to sniff out the camera.  But my failure in hiding things can be a learning experience.  I always enjoy seeing what she has taken pictures of and with a little luck, I might actually get one or two decent photos as I get a peek into life through her eyes.

First off, everything is bigger, taller and scarier when you're a toddler.  Seems like it would be common sense, but it really gets your attention when you notice the picture your 3-year old took from the bottom of the steps.

The Best Father's Day Ever?

There are many reasons why Father's Day 2012 could be the best day I've ever had.  Not only did my wife and children give me the best Father's Day Gift they could give me, my son also gave me some advice that just might change the way I experience each day.

I started out watching the kids splash around in the kiddie pool until their lips were blue and their teeth were chattering; it was highly entertaining.

Later, we set off this eight dollar smoke bomb (Caleb confused it with a Christmas Tree ornament) which had my two older children squealing with delight, albeit from a safe distance.

Sparklers, while awesome for their level of danger, only solicited minor enthusiasm from the boy.

The sight of two large men (my father and I) trying to fix two small childrens' fishing poles, one of which was saturated with more glitter than any fishing pole should be, brought about laughs and quite a few comments from everybody. 

Watching my son cast his rod and reel for the first time was well worth the smart remarks we endured while fixing the poles.

Walking, and later running, across my father's wood piles kept him entertained for quite some time.  At least long enough for Daddy to recover from all the trail walking we did.

But the walks themselves were well worth the effort as we spotted numerous frogs, bugs, worms, and spiders.  All of these pictures could be reason enough for this day to be the best day I've ever had.  But it wasn't any of these activities that made Father's Day the best day ever.  It was a comment that my son had made a couple of days before and then again the next day and the day after that.

The Monday before Father's Day, my son said he had the best day ever.  It consisted of a trip to the park, playing outside, watching Monster House, riding bikes, and a night at the local ice cream shop; all of which are crucial components to having a best day ever.  On Tuesday, we went to a different park, ate at McDonald's, played T-Ball, and probably watched Monster House again.  Once again, Caleb said that "today" was the best day he ever had.

After my son said on Wednesday that "today" was the best day he ever had, I started to realize what exactly he was saying; even if he didn't know he was saying it.  The best days are not laid in memories of events past, they lay in the events themselves as they unfold.  The best day that anyone could ever have is the only one you ever get; it's today.  While all the fun things we did on Father's Day will create memories for years to come, it can't compare to the fact that I've been given another day with my children.  I have a feeling today is going to be the best day I've ever had.

Father's Day Gift Ideas

It's just days before Father's Day and I have no idea what to get for my own dad.  The problem is, I always want to give gifts that I would want to get.  And for father's day, there is only one gift that I want from my children.   The gift of not spending any money.  I'd like to consider myself a fairly reasonable man who understands the value of a dollar.  When I see that you've spent five dollars on a frilly card with some manufactured sentimental poem inside it, I'll smile and say "Thank You", but inside I'll be thinking "What A Waste".

A sappy card again?  At least it's not another neck tie.

 Give me the gift of not playing in to the consumerism that these holidays promote.  I understand that Father's Day, like most holidays, started out with good intentions, but once Hallmark and coffee mug companies learned how to effectively capitalize on it, all meaning is lost.

Save your mug money and just buy me some beer.

You shouldn't set aside just one day a year to honor your father or mother.  This holds true for gods, veterans, and great pumpkins as well.  If you want to honor somebody or something, you don't just do it once a year.  That's not honor, that's obligation.  I suppose that's why it's so hard to come up with a gift idea for father's day.  It seems cheap, phony, and forced.  I'm not going to buy something just to be buying something.  My dad knows I care because I lend him a hand with projects, we often have dinners together, and most importantly we talk to each other.  So here's a gift idea for Father's Day.  Don't buy a damn thing.  When it comes to your dad, spend time...not money.

Yeah, But Can You Buy Beer?

I rarely get carded.  I rarely buy alcohol when I have the kids with me.  Today, both happened.  After taking the kids to the library, where I was able to pick up a copy of the original X-Men cartoons (for the boy of course) and spending some time at the local mall's play area, we headed to the grocery store.  We needed to pick up a few essentials like bread and chocolate milk.  While there, it dawned on me that we needed to barbecue tonight.  So in the cart goes the chips, hamburger, and beer. 

Your local library is better than Netflix, Redbox, and Blockbuster.

There are quite a few things that make me anxious and those few seconds between the cashier noticing the alcohol and her actually ringing it up are spent wondering if I will be asked for an I.D.  Why this makes me anxious I don't know.  I suppose all those years of trying to purchase alcohol right around the legal age made quite an impression on my subconscious.  I notice her pick up the alcohol and start to price it.  Before I hear the ding of it registering I hear, "Can I see your I.D. please?".

Now, I'm not one of those people that gets mad when I'm asked for I.D.  It's your job to ask if you're not sure.  I'm also not one of those people that takes it as a compliment when you say "You just look so young".  Lady, I've three kids in this cart and they are aging me quickly.  Don't give me any lines about looking young.  If you knew how much hair I trimmed out of my ears and nose before leaving the house this morning, you'd know I wasn't young.

I'm thinking about letting my hair grow out.

Like I said, I'm not mad that I was carded, I just think the three kids in the cart and the worn out look on my face should have been enough.  I have a baby bottle in one hand, my daughter is holding my other hand (she's scared of your eye-shadow), and now you want me to pull out my I.D. for you.  If I'm old enough to handle the three children you see here, I'm old enough to handle that Summer Shandy you're giving me a hard time about.  By the way, Leinenkugel makes some of the best beer I've ever had.

 Do you think this is some sort of elaborate plot I designed to purchase alcohol?  Perhaps I borrowed three neighbor kids, purchased a box of diapers, wipes, and chocolate milk all in an attempt to get my hands on this seven dollar 6-pack.  Not likely.  But, bravo to you cashier lady, you did your job.  And I'm doing my job, and this job often leads to a drink or two, fortunately for me, a Stay At Home Dad is one career that lets you drink on the job.

Animal Doctor

My wife has been dropping hints about having another baby.  With her working full time, she doesn't get to spend as much time with our newborn as she did with our other two children.  I don't believe she's serious about having another one so much as she is sad to think about missing out on our littlest (and hopefully last) one growing up and us moving out of the baby making business.  I, on the other hand, have no burning desire to procreate again, nor are there any doubts about my decision to close the doors on the old baby making factory.  And, today's trip to our Veterinarian, or animal doctor, as Caleb calls him, only further cemented my decision.

I feel like I have a pretty good handle on the three kids by themselves, but for some reason, adding our dog Jetta into the mix completely threw me off my game.  I usually have no problem getting all of the kids into the van, but the added excitement of our dog going along for the ride raised the childrens' normal excitement level from "Let's Make Daddy Cuss" to "Let's Make Daddy Drink".  It was near impossible to get these kids strapped into their seats.  Kids thrive on routine and my children are probably borderline obsessive-compulsive about their routines, so a dog in the van blew their minds.

Once everyone finally calmed down and got strapped in we were ready to roll.  Once we arrived at the vet, I'm sure I made a few peoples' day as I must have been quite a sight to see.  I wish I would have had somebody to take a picture (and perhaps lend a hand).  Imagine the baby in one arm, diaper bag over the shoulder, a leashed dog in one hand, my oldest daughter trying to help hold Jetta's leash and my son running around all four of us in his normal ADHD induced marathon.

Inside wasn't much better.  Our dog seems to have the same anxiety as my children do.  It's bad enough that she was panting and shaking during the van ride to the animal doctor, but once we finally arrived, she seemed to let go of all that pent up anxiety on the other dogs and their respective owners by jumping up on the furniture, up on the dog owners, and trying to eat one poor little Yorkie.

This, of course, sent my children into another frenzy.  It's as if they were Jetta's own personal cheerleaders, laughing hysterically and screaming as she performed her Dance of Doom.  All the excitement of the older kids, sent the baby into a tear-drenched squeal fest.  So, I'm yelling at the kids to settle down, yelling at the dog to settle down, and trying to calm the baby down.  Fourth kid?  Not likely.

There was one high note to the day's festivities though.  We did get called into the exam room about fifteen minutes early.  I'm not so sure they were that far ahead of schedule as I am that they just wanted some peace and quiet in the waiting room.  Maybe a fourth kid would have it's advantages.

Cub Scout Crafts

When it comes to cub scout crafts, there is no project more popular than the Pinewood Derby.  And while it’s supposed to be something fun for the scouts to do, it’s really more of a science project for the parents.

I hate science projects.

It’s not that the scientific work of others doesn’t interest me; it does.  It’s just that I was never good at scientific work.  And, if the past results of my high-school science project days were any indication, not only would I churn out a D-minus level derby-car, but I would wait until the night before the race to complete it.

 Actually I didn’t complete the car until five minutes before the race started.  I had to borrow some weights (thanks Jim) and crazy glue (you to Karl) to bring the car up to a respectable/competitive 5 ounces.  And the derby race is nothing if not competitive.

After I had started working on the boy’s car, I looked up a few different websites to see how other people had designed their racers.  Our car was going up against the cars of physics teachers and engineers.  I’m sitting on a psych degree that’s slowly wasting away as I sit at home.  Advantage Engineer.


I was amazed at the level of design that people had put in to these cars.  They were grinding axles, lengthening wheel spans, redirecting the car’s center of gravity, and polishing wheels to name a few.  Remember, this is supposed to be fun for the kids.  Perhaps the older ones can handle all that, but I was afraid to let my son put the wheels on, let alone grind the axles.

All I wanted was a few tips on how to make the boy’s car better.  Once I saw how much work was involved, I decided we’d be better off to forget about the modifications and keep it simple.

 For those of you not familiar with Pinewood Derby manufacturing, here’s a little info.  You start with a block of wood.

 You then draw a design on it, cut it out, and sand it.

 Paint it, slap some wheels on, and add some weights.  Those are the building basics.

Now out of that entire process, the only thing  my son could do (and I was hesitant to let him do so) was sand it down.  I wish I had a picture of him in front of the belt-sander, because he was digging it.  I also wish I had captured his reaction when I told him it was his turn to use the scroll saw.  It’s similar to the look you make when you realize you just sharted.

That's the look.

 Even though we didn’t make any modifications to the car, we still came in fourth place.  That is to say that if you ranked everybody from worst to best, we would have come in 4th.  At least he received another participation trophy.  Whatever happened to participation ribbons?  At least they fit nicely inside a shoebox.

Check out pictures from the Cub Scout Derby.

T Ball's Sinister Secret

We try to give our kids as many opportunities as possible, be it Tee Ball, soccer, library reading clubs, or gymnastics.  These activities are great for social interaction and developing skills that my kids don't get a chance to develop while they watch Nickelodeon all day.  But, many parents are unaware of the dark underlying message that these activities promote.  What, on the surface, appears to be a harmless medal actually holds a sinister secret.

Somewhere in the history of pee wee league sports, somebody decided that everybody should get a medal so nobody would have their feelings hurt.  I'm all for everybody getting a chance to participate and feel like they're part of the team.  That's why you let all the kids play, even the ones that throw left-handed (it's okay for me to say that, I'm a Southpaw).  But, why on earth would you reward the kids that play in the dirt the same way you reward the kids that actually field grounders?  When all of these kids get the same medal, it teaches the ones that put no effort into playing that it doesn't matter how you do.  It teaches those that are actually good at hitting, catching, and running, that it doesn't matter, you're treated the same as the other kids.  It's the same effect that giving everybody a mandatory raise at work has.  Nobody works harder because you all get paid the same no matter what.  Where's the motivation, the drive that kids need to succeed?

I remember playing ball as a young kid and being upset when I wasn't the one to get the "Most Improved" or "Best Hitter" trophy.  But, that only fueled me to get better at hitting or to improve my overall game.  Today's "Participant" trophies are a joke, nothing more than scrap metal (or, more often, plastic) that ends up in the bottom of a drawer somewhere next to underwear and socks.  When I finally did receive one of these coveted "Most Improved" trophies, it was displayed proudly out in the open for all to see.  Now, my son has four different trophies from every time he participated in a sport, and he could not care less about any one of them. 
 
Personally, I would rather have my son not receive a medal.  I want him to know he sucks at T Ball.  The sooner he quits playing sports, the sooner he can start working on his engineering degree.  Don't fill these kids' heads with big league dreams.  Keep it real.  Tell them to put down the bat and glove and start picking up books and extra classes.

Show Your Kids You Care. Don't Home School Them.

When people learn I am a stay at home dad, one question I'm often asked is whether or not I home school my children.  Since I'm home anyway, I might as well spend all day teaching my kids basic math skills, phonics, the dewey decimal system, an entire history of the earth, and art.  I have enough stuff to keep me busy with laundry, dishes, mowing the yard, kissing boo-boos, changing diapers, making bottles, doctor appointments, grocery shopping, changing diapers, making beds, picking up the house, re-picking up the house, cooking meals, and taking out the trash (which usually includes dirty diapers I've changed).

I don't know where that thing has been.

 No, I don't home school my kids.  My children are going to be socially awkward enough thanks to their father's lack of eye contact and fear of hand shakes. They don't need the added weight of having no social interaction with their peers until college.  I suppose it's possible for a child to be home schooled through high school and then enroll in some online "university", but I'd rather my children have job prospects and a degree they didn't have to print out themselves.  I just can't imagine keeping my children sheltered from all the things that are so great about school.  Things like getting picked last in P.E. (it's going to happen son), being bullied,  having a teacher humiliate you in front of class, learning your parents lied to you about Santa Claus, and having your best friend date the girl of your dreams.

Without bullying, your kid may never grow out of stupid phases.

These are all priceless lessons that you just can't teach a child at home.  These are the things that make you grow and become a stronger person.  I respect those that do home school their children, but there is no way I could ever do it.  I have trouble getting my kids to sit down for five minutes to eat dinner.  How am I to get them to sit thirty minutes for spelling.  I have trouble getting my daughter to wipe her own butt after her "big job".  How could I get her to write her own name?


Home schooling is a huge commitment that I'm not willing to make.  I would rather enjoy the time I have with my kids than spend it working on school work.  I also rather enjoy the time I don't have with them when they are at school.