The Duggar Escape Plan

I remember the joys and wonders of our first pregnancy--the hopes and dreams, the worries, the baby-proofing.  It's hard to believe that was over seven years ago.  I recall one question people loved to ask us after our first-born:  Are you done?  The potato has barely cooled down since coming out of the oven and people already want to know if that's that.  Give me some time to figure out if I like this one before asking me if there's going to be another.  Ask me again in two years.

There are many times I would have loved to answer "Yes" to that question.  But the truth is, if you're going to have one kid, you need to have two.  The benefits of two children far outweigh the initial start-up costs of adding a second child.  If you can have them both at the same time, you'll save yourself a bit of money.  Sure, having a kid is expensive and with the world in its current state, maybe we should be adopting kids instead of making new ones.  But, having that second child solves a lot of problems.

 Twins are cute and cost-effective when compared to two pregnancies.

An only child gets all the attention, doesn't have to share, and worse yet, wants to play with you.  You need to shake his world up.  I don't care how cute the first child is, he'll take a backseat to a newborn every time.   He'll learn his place once you start calling him by the baby's name.  That's if he's lucky.  More than likely, you'll have such a hard time coming up with his name that he'll only get a "Hey you" or "Big Brother".

Don't worry.  It's perfectly fine to forget your child's name or to use the wrong one.  In fact, it's helpful.  I have no research to back this up, but have you seen child research?  It's creepy.

  See. Creepy. Good luck sleeping tonight.

Do you want your first-born to be a spoiled, ego-centric narcissist? Do you?  Then hurry up with that second child.  Big brother will be old news and he'll learn that the world doesn't revolve around him.  He'll hear the baby screaming at 2 in the morning and then watch you run in to spend time with his little sister.   Meanwhile, anytime he screams for something to drink, you tell him to quiet down and get it himself.  You know that's going to knock him down a few rungs.  Mom and Dad can't get baby a bottle fast enough, but won't lift a finger to get the boy some chocolate milk.  Such is life.

Now that your first-born is knocked back to reality, it's time to focus on another problem that a second child can fix--tantrums.  Tantrums will soon be a thing of the past.  While the older child lies on the floor kicking and screaming, you can take the baby into another room and relax.   While you're getting your chill on with the baby, big sister's screams eventually deplete her of air and she passes out leaving you and baby to your rocking chair and scented candles.  Enjoy.

  The only scented candle a man should own.

Baby also learns from older siblings.  Potty-training Caleb was a nightmare.  Leah was a breeze.  (Here's to hoping Libby is too.) She watched big brother going potty and wanted to do it herself.  And she did.  She basically potty-trained herself, leaving her Mom and me to more important things, like watching LOST and Dexter (there wasn't much else on t.v. in 2008).  Leah learned to dress herself while we were busy helping Caleb get dressed and she mastered utensils while watching us feed the boy.  I'm telling you, the second one is so much easier.  If you feel like a crappy parent with your first child, the second one will be a confidence booster.

  It's important to remember that being confident doesn't necessarily mean you're NOT a crappy parent.

But here's the most important benefit.   After some time, the older kid realizes that the baby gets all the good stuff from Mom and Dad--hugs and kisses instead of yells and switches.  (Does anybody use a switch anymore?  I think it's time we brought 'em back.)  Once they've discovered this, they start playing with the baby.  This frees you up from having to deal with either one of them.  Genius!

Some of you may want to know about the problems that arise from having two kids instead of one.  While things do get a little hairy with a second child, it's an easy fix.   Have a third kid.  By this time, your oldest can help with the baby, and the middle child is happy to have somebody smaller to boss around.  All you'll have to do is pour food in their bowls in the morning.  When you start having problems with your three children, toss a fourth into the mix.  Problem solved.  Eventually, you'll have enough kids to start your own reality t.v. show.  You'll be rich and famous.  You're welcome.

Lose For Winning

Never let your kid win at games.  I don't care if it's chess or EleFun, you play to win.  Letting your kid win only does one thing--it makes them think they're better than they are.  Kids need to know the value of sucking at something.  They need to know that everybody sucks at everything the first time they do anything.  Teach them that practice is the only way to get better.

  I highly recommend not actually calling your kid a loser. Although, it may be motivating.

You let them win and they'll never practice.  Some say it's best to let your kid win now and then, i.e., it's a confidence booster.  Maybe, but it's a false confidence and a false faith in their own ability.  They'll turn in to that one adult that thinks everything they do is golden.  They think they're unbeatable, and when they do actually get put in their place, they come up with excuses.  You know somebody like that.  We all do.  Do your kids a favor, beat them every time. Don't let them be that guy.

  Also, good advice.

Let them know it's okay to lose.   Teach them how to lose gracefully and how to use that loss to motivate themselves to become better.  There is nothing worse than a sore loser, except maybe a sore winner.  (Side Note: Sore winners don't apply to Fantasy Football.  Suck it losers.)

Our kids love winning.  Who doesn't?  The older two make everything a competition whether its finishing dinner, buckling the seat belt, or getting in the tub.  First to finish wins and lets everybody know that they've won.     The loser usually ends up making excuses by saying something along the lines of "Everything isn't a race", or "I wasn't racing anyway."  That's actually quite true, because nobody is aware of a race until one is the self-proclaimed victor.

While the constant races get to be annoying, it's also a blessing.  Neither one of them wins all the time and they both get to experience winning and losing.  I hate to see the look of disappointment on my child's face when one of them loses.  But I love to see the look of determination when they smile and say, "Let's play again!"

Don't forget to strip away those pesky Participation Trophies.

Danger Is My Middle Name

Some people like to say that once you have children, the thrill of living is over.  No more exciting weekend ski trips, no more Fast Pass fun at amusement parks, and no more hanky-panky without hearing a small child knocking on the door asking what you're doing.  Well, they're right.  But I say you just have to make your own excitement once you have kids.  Just because you gain thirty pounds, have high cholesterol, and are on anti-depression meds doesn't mean you don't know how to party.  Here are a few ideas for making life a little more fun.

Paint:  We've been redecorating our house lately and while painting is about as much fun as watching it dry, it can easily become an exciting adventure.  After three days of mundane taping, pouring, and wearing raggedy clothes, I decided to liven things up a little.  I put on my nice, black dress-shirt and started painting.

Every brush dip into the paint can was a breath-holding moment similar to those experienced by snipers on the battle field.  Every stroke of the brush on the wall made my heart beat quicker and my mind rush.  Would this be the time that the bristles splattered paint all over my nice shirt.  It was a rush.   Insanity Wolf approves.

Drinks:  My kids drink like I did in my early twenties.  The only exception is that chocolate milk doesn't make them black out and lose track of time.  I thought science would have came up with some type of drink that would make your kids pass out for a couple of hours by now.    I guess there's always the Benadryl Cocktail.

 Prepare to stock up on milk. Four gallons should last you two days.

Take sippy cups to the next level by letting your children pour their own drinks.  Watching your child lift a gallon jug of milk into the air with two hands is sure to get your blood flowing.  Their arms start shaking, the milk begins sloshing back and forth, and you're standing there wondering if you should jump in and help or just enjoy the rush.

Enjoy it.

Besides, eventually your kid will get the hang of it and you won't have to pour those drinks at all anymore.  For added excitement, I recommend putting important documents underneath the sippy cup your child is trying to pour milk into.

Dinner:  After you've spent an hour making dinner, prepare your child's plate.  Fill it up until you can't see Dora staring at you through those giant, dead eyes of hers.  Then, let your kid carry the plate to the table.  The suspense will damn near kill you.

Don't warn your son that he's tilting his plate to the left.  Don't you dare tell your daughter to use both hands to steady the plate.  Much like that corn, carrots and peas medley, you'll be living on the edge, just waiting to watch all of your hard work come crashing down around you.  Thank goodness that bedtime follows soon after dinner, you'll be spent by the time your kid makes it to the table.

 Not even close to being full enough.

  Closer, but you can still see those beady eyes.

 Now you've got it.

For more dinner time fun, try leaving your child's shirt on while he eats.

Reality Football

Some people play Fantasy Football.  The fantasy being winning their league's championship trophy.

Not me.
I'm a winner.
No fantasies here.

I'm living the dream.  In fact, I'd like to take the time to show nine friends of mine what they've been missing this year.

The Kapowski has enjoyed its new home and has been treated with the utmost respect and care.  Like the popular girl she is, Kelly has had no problem making new friends.

 We spent a lot of time frolicking (yes, frolicking) in the park.  Kelly loves to be pushed in the swing.

And the slide was tons of fun too.  Look, Kapowski is at the bottom.  The same place that Rich's team was in last season.

We also spent some time at a petting zoo.  It reminded us a lot of Danielle's, Sara's, Garrett's and Wes' teams.  That is to say, it really stunk.

We also visited this cool statue which seemed to have such a sad, sad expression on his face.  We imagine it's a lot like what Jeff's face looked like as he saw his Fantasy Football Championship dreams come crashing down around him during the Kapowski Bowl.

We also spent plenty of time in the pool this summer.  Here's a picture of a little 4-year old girl (not my child) doing something that Levi has never done yet--holding a championship trophy.

It's been a great summer spending time with Kelly and I look forward to keeping her with me for another year.  She's finally home.

 *Zach was not mentioned in this post.  He never logs in to set his lineup, so there is little to no chance that he would ever read this anyway.  And Sid, no longer able to handle failure has dropped out of Polk High.

Breastfeeding Older Children

I can think of two reasons that breastfeeding older children is a bad idea.

Reason 1: The left
Reason 2: The right

Two Baths, One Girl

The kids are usually lucky to have two baths in three days.  Today, Elizabeth had two baths in twenty minutes.

 This picture is from an unrelated Magic Marker incident, but I felt it deserved to be posted. Notice the "crazy" in her eyes.

We've been working on repainting the girls' bedroom.  When we built the house in '08, the contractor only offered us two different colors.  Since we didn't know how we were going to decorate we chose neutral colors.  Our entire house is a giant beige-ish, monochromatic fun house.  Except there's no fun.  And it doesn't seem so giant anymore.

Since we're painting the girls' room, there is no where to put Elizabeth while we paint.  She's recently learned how to crawl out of her crib and the Pack 'N Play, so she gets to roam the house while we work.

Giving a two-year old unsupervised, free range of the house is a bad idea.

We took a break from painting and found that Libby had found her way through one baby-gate and into the cat's tiny corner of the house.  It's a quiet little alcove where the cat can eat, sleep, and most importantly, do his business.  For some reason, Elizabeth felt she had business there.  Her work?  Eating kitty litter.  Again!!!

I'm sure you've heard about her first encounter with kitty litter.    I thought it was a one time deal, but, like a dog returning to its vomit (or a cat returning to its litter box) she placed another handful of scented rocks into her mouth and began eating.

To the Bath Tub!

With the baby gate back up and Elizabeth smelling so fresh and so clean clean, we thought it was safe to go back to painting.  And here is the problem with thinking things are safe.  They rarely are.  Especially when kids are involved.  Children will find a way to destroy, create havoc, or make you crazy in general.

When I came out from the girls' room to get a drink, I found Elizabeth covered in what I hoped was Kabuki make-up.  Sadly, my wife's Kabuki career never did take off and I had forgotten that we threw the makeup out.  In reality, Libby had found the spackle that I left out (up high and towards the back of the kitchen counter where I thought she couldn't reach it) and must have confused it with face cream.

 This is pretty much what the girl's face looked like when she painted it with a screwdriver.



At least with those holes plugged I won't have to worry about nose-picking anymore.

Gifts For New Parents

When it comes time to buy gifts for new parents, a lot of friends and family spend time searching for the cutest onesie, a bedding set that matches the nursery theme, or the perfect toy.  These are all worth-while pursuits, but there is one gift that is often overlooked, but I can guarantee it will be one of the most welcomed.  Diapers.

A first pregnancy usually means an awesome baby shower for the new parents.  The second child may get a half-hearted shower if it's the opposite sex of the first-born.  Otherwise, it's hand-me-down town.  The third child doesn't stand a chance.  By the time our third (AND FINAL) pregnancy was here, we had all we needed.

Almost.

My parents have always tried to provide equally for my sister and me.  If they spent a hundred dollars on her birthday, they'd spend a hundred on mine.  If they helped pay her tuition, they paid mine as well.  If they took her on a trip to Jamaica, they brought me home some souvenirs.

They have tried to do the same with their grandchildren.  Caleb and Leah both received clothes, bibs, and amazing toys.  When Elizabeth came around, we didn't need clothes or accessories.  So, they bought diapers.

Lots of them.



One package a week until Libby was born. While we loved all the hand-made blankets, hair-bows, beautiful clothes, and stuffed animals, we were afraid to use them. Babies spit-up on new clothes and blankets, rip eyes and tails off stuffed animals, and eat hair-bows. The diapers were an amazing gift that we didn't care if she pooped on or not.   In fact, we preferred that she did poop on them.

We still have two packages of Stage 5's left. I'm hoping we won't need them, but her only interest in the potty so far seems to be dumping objects in the water.

When You Gotta Go...

We've been half-heartedly working on potty-training Elizabeth.  If we see her "Special Face", we pick her up and run (with arms outstretched) to the nearest potty.  All of this potty-time has given Libby a new-found interest in the toilet.  More specifically, it's given her an interest in what can fit into that tiny porcelain port-hole.

Pictures fit nicely.  I guess she was mad about that lame birthday cake we got her.

So does yogurt-esque, character-licensed tubes of fruit-flavored substance:

At least she hasn't learned how to flush any of this stuff down the toilet yet.  Then again, neither of the other kids have learned how to flush either.

Grandma - a.k.a. My New Momma

Vacation is supposed to be a fun, stress-free time to unwind from your job, co-workers and mundane home life.  That's cool and all, but for a Stay At Home Dad,  family vacation means your job, co-workers and mundane home life are coming with you.  Stress-free time?  Not likely.

The frustration begins with travel.  Our vacation destination would be a 15-hour drive.  Add in potty-breaks, McPlay Places, and car sickness, you're looking at an 18 to 20-hour pavement pounding and a van that smells like  a Hippie's foot farting.  Air is the only way to go.  Families may bond on road trips, but parents maintain sanity and children stay alive on 2-hour direct flights.

I was nervous about taking Libby on a plane ride, even if it was a short 120 minutes.  She's recently developed this high-pitched scream that would make most 80's hair-metal cover bands envious.  And, like 80's metal bands and their hairspray, she overuses it.  We've never dealt with a tantrum throwing child before and I wasn't about to handle one in a confined space  33,000 feet in the air.  We left her at home in the loving hands of Grandma Laura.

  Don't you love me Daddy? Take me with you.

Those hands were so loving that Libby didn't want to come home with us when we picked her up later.  When Grandma picked her up, we didn't get a single "Bye-bye" or "Love You".  She couldn't get into Grandma's car quick enough.   We got a "Peace Out Suckaz, I'm chilling at Gram-gram's."  When we picked her up a week later, there were tears, those infamous screams, and a slight look of terror that seemed to say, "You're not my parents."

I can't say that I blame her though.  Being the last of three children means she has to fight for  food, water, and whatever else it is that babies need.  Attention maybe?  I don't know.  One week at Grandma's with no brother and sister stealing the spotlight must have seemed like a dream come true for her.  Seeing us again just reminded her of the hell that awaited her back home.  Babies need breaks too.

Nose Picking - A Necessary Evil

It's amazing how different your children can be.  Our one-child family life with the boy was rocked when we added Leah.  I expected some differences between the two--- sports vs. dancing, running and yelling vs. sitting demurely, innie vs. outie---but their personalities were so worlds apart.  I had always attributed these differences to their respective genders and never really thought more about them.

Then we had Elizabeth.

She is unlike either one of her siblings.  I expected her to be more like Leah and less like Caleb, but she is in a category all her own.  All three of them have their own unique personality and while Libby has been the happiest baby we've had, she's becoming the most dangerous toddler I've ever known.

She has no fear.

Leah had no fear either, but she also had brains.  Elizabeth...well, at least she's cute.

We're only a short way from her second birthday and it amazes me that she's made it this far in life.  The girl is doing things I've only heard about in parenting horror stories.  It all started with eating the kitty litter.  Soon after, she was happy to play in her own poo.  When I shoot her the "Evil Eye" and ask her WTH she's thinking, she only looks back at me, smiles, and laughs like Beavis.   Now she's begun the nose stuffing.

 Such tiny holes...so much storage.

This is a whole new arena for us.  The other kids had their poop-play and occasional run-in with kitty litter (never eating it), but they were never ones for shoving things up the nose hole.  It's Libby's new hobby.

One week it was fruit loops
The next week it was Pop-Tarts
Last week it was a black-bean from an amazing Mexican Lasagna I made--thank you Food Network.

Today, I don't know what it was.  She's been doing the bra trick with her diaper and I think she ripped off a piece of her size-4 crap-catcher and shoved it up her nose as far as her tiny, fat fingers could reach.  Now, it's time for my large, fat fingers to do some serious digging.  Sometimes, nose-picking is necessary.

 Great beans for eating. Great nose-plugs for swimming.