Don't Fight Over Dirty Crackers

Brothers and sisters will fight over just about everything--toys, which movie to watch, and food.  Even dirty food.

 I'd love to tell you that I sweep and mop the floor once a week, but that would be lying and I prefer to use my lies on the kids.  It's an effective way to get them to do your bidding.

In reality, I mop once a month or maybe every two months.  Let's just say the floor has to look really, really dirty.  Today it was.

When I saw Libby dining on floor scraps, I figured maybe it was time to do something about it.  Normally, I would call the dog inside and let her have a go at the crackers. It saves me from both having to sweep and feed the dog. The baby was enjoying herself too much and I hadn't fed her lunch yet, so I figured, two bird with one stone right?  A clean floor and a full baby.

 Whenever I sweep and mop, I have to remove all the chairs from the dining room.  It makes sweeping easier and it keeps the kids occupied.  There's just something about chairs being lined up that fascinates kids.  They race across them, jump over them and jump off of them. 

Whatever.  It gives me ten minutes to clean up and keeps them from stomping through my dirt pile.  It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt though.

It's usually Leah that gets hurt, this time was no exception.  The poor girl cries if you look at her the wrong way, so it's hard to know exactly why she cries sometimes.  I had assumed that brother pushed her off of a chair, but before I could start lashing out at the boy, she showed me her broken cracker.

Turns out that she had dropped her cracker on a chair while playing, it broke, and then she and her brother were fighting over whose dirty cracker it was.  I understand that you kids are hungry every five minutes, but you're fighting over one cracker. 

It's not going to do much to alleviate your hunger pangs in the first place.   Plus, not only is it broken into ten different pieces, it has also been on the floor prior to Leah's handling of and subsequent dropping of said cracker.  You are fighting over a broken, dirty cracker.  Go to your rooms.

 How I love sending the kids to their rooms.

Camping In

This past weekend was the first of what I hope to be many trips to the local boy scout camp grounds.  Despite my initial fears of us having to leave early, we had an excellent time.  Our only prior camping experience resulted in us packing up our tent at one in the morning and heading home so Caleb (and Momma and Daddy) could go to sleep.  The thought of sleeping outside in a tent was just too exciting.  He fell asleep, strapped into his booster-seat about five minutes after leaving the campground.  So, I wasn't exactly sure how this weekend was going to pan out.

We arrived a little later than I had hoped to.  This was due to a quick snack run on our way to the camp.  I wasn't sure what the cook had planned for us, but I could guarantee that whatever it was, the boy wasn't going to eat it.  We had spaghetti, which he did a pretty good job on before asking for chips.  After a little negotiating, all good meals involve some sort of bartering, he finished his meal and we dove into some chips.

After the meal, it was time for lessons.  But, before we could start, we had to get the boys to sit down in a circle.  If you've ever tried to get boys to line-up, or sit down, you know that it's kind of like herding cats.  After about twenty minutes of "You need to spread out", "You sit over there", and "Stop hitting each other", the boys were finally in a shape that closely resembled a circle.  Or maybe an oval.  Alright, it was more like a puddle.

Our fearless leader, Karl, had an interesting lesson planned for the boys.  Topics covered just about everything from astronomy to Egyptian life/death philosophy, Copernican heresies, and my personal favorite, Greek mythology.  By the end of his lesson, our little circle ended up looking like a college auditorium, with everyone facing the professor.  The only difference was that Karl's students were actually interested in what he was saying.

With the lessons over for the night, it was time to wear the boys out.  Can you say "Night Hike!"  Three or four flashlights, five or six adults, and fifteen to twenty boys headed out into the 285-acre wilderness of the camp ground for a little exercise and an introduction to Sasquatch.  I stayed behind to start clearing tables and chairs for our Camp In, while the boy went out into the mysterious beyond.   When he returned,  he told me many things about Big Foot and even claimed to have seen "red eyes" glowing in the forest.

With the Sasquatchery over, there was only one thing left to do before we turned in for the night, i.e., ghost stories by the camp fire.  With the boy scout leader ruling out any gruesome/bloody tales, I knew I wouldn't be telling any stories.  It's just as well, because the stories we heard were quite good.  They were tales, not in the sense of unbelievable, Scooby-Doo type ghosts, but more in the vein of close family members dying and trying to communicate with their loved ones afterwards.  To me, these are more frightening.  After twenty or so minutes of these stories, many of which had some boys covering their ears, we expected them to go to sleep.

Hunting for the 'Squatch

 And, go to sleep, they did.  I was amazed that none of the children freaked out in the dark.  Personally, I couldn't sleep at all.  It wasn't the ghost stories so much as it was the atmosphere.  First off, I didn't bring an air-mattress, something, I now regret.  The tiles on the floor where forged from the same ice-cold materials as Viking swords.  And, they pierced the skin through my sleeping bag, much in the same way.

If the cold wasn't enough to keep me awake, the smell of my son's feet were.  Boys' feet stink.  I've found that various socks affect podiatric stench differently.  Black, dress socks tend to increase the nasal offense to a higher degree than any other sock.  These are what he wore that night.  As if laying side-by-side weren't bad enough, throughout the course of the night, he slowly slid across the floor until his feet were right in my face.  Morning couldn't come soon enough, but would it be a better experience?

Camp Warren Levis

With the long, sleepless night of our first cub scout camping trip over, I wasn't sure if I'd have the energy to enjoy the day before us.  We had planned on hiking, doing some environmental clean-up, and fishing, but I had also planned on getting some sound rest.  You know how that turned out.

Before camping at Warren Levis, I knew little to nothing about the campground itself.    It's placement in the middle of town worried me. I assumed that we would be staying in a small cabin, fishing in a half-acre pond, and "hiking" on the city sidewalks.  I couldn't have been more wrong...or more impressed.

When we first arrived, I noticed a stone header that read "Swami Lodge."  I thought, Awesome.  I can't wait to meet Chris Berman...and then punch him in the face.  After looking at the photo longer, I realized we were actually staying at "Swaim Lodge."  Not as exciting:

The atmosphere inside the lodge.

The view from our lodge--overlooking the "pond".

  The boy was overly excited about the entire thing:

Then again, it could have been the cake:

Cake which was eaten right before bed.

If the sugar wasn't enough to keep him up all night, I figured the fire-side ghost-stories would be:

The boys were all too eager to go on a hike the next morning.  Pretty sure I was just sleep-walking the entire time.

A canteen for hydration, a compass for orienteering, and a stick for beating me if I fell asleep on the path.

After the hike, we took a journey down to the lake for a little fishing.  It was windy, cold, muddy, the fish weren't biting, and I almost took a hook to the face--several different times.

I was impressed that Caleb picked up his own worm.  He's usually afraid to touch his own dirty socks and underwear.  On the rare occasion that he does, he washes his hands three times afterwards.  With our fish-catching prospects low and our climate tolerance even lower, it was time to head home.  But first, another long hike...uphill...to our car.

My largest complaint about the camping trip is that we never had the chance to play any food sports.  I'm deadly at Egg Baseball and would have taken on any challenger in a Bacon-Eating Contest.

 If somebody went to the trouble of making a sign, I think we owe it to them to hit eggs with a baseball bat.

Lack of food fighting aside, Caleb had a wonderful time, just ask my wife, because she heard all about it when we got home.  He's already looking forward to our next trip.  And I'm already planning on packing the air-mattress and some sleeping pills.

Don't Wipe Your Butt at the Table

Nothing is more frustrating than a child potty training.  While this was true with our son, our oldest daughter pretty much potty trained herself.  I think the second child (and hopefully, the third) is easier when it comes to training, because she sees the older sibling using the toilet and she wants to try it herself. 

While Leah was easy to train, there are a few things we need to work on still, mainly proper butt wiping.  The problem isn't so much her technique as it is her location.  For this reason, we had to create a new rule yesterday.

 Wet Wipes: For messes on faces and dark, dirty places!

If you're like us, your family keeps a box of wipes at the dinner table.  Dinner time gets messy and wipes within reach can be handy.  A problem arises though when you also keep a box of wipes in the bathroom for wiping other messes away.  This problem is further complicated when your toddler runs out of both wipes and toilet paper.  What's a girl to do, but to head for the next known location of wipes?

I have no problem with her using the wipes from the table.  I'd just prefer she didn't use the wipes at the table.  And, definitely not while I'm eating.

Rule #17:  Don't Wipe Your Butt at the Dinner Table!

Home Made Lunchables

The boy gets on the bus at 7:15.  Sharp.  I am amazed at how the bus driver is consistently there day after day at the same time.  His bus has only been late twice.  Once because of snow and once because of a substitute driver.  Barb (his driver) is amazing.  Sunday's time change did not affect her schedule at all.  It did, however, turn ours upside down.

We usually roll out of bed anywhere from 6:30 to 6:40.  Monday morning we clocked in at 7:02.  Thirteen minutes to get dressed, down some Pop-Tarts, brush teeth, and catch the bus.  I didn't think it would be a problem until I started to pack the boy's lunch.  He loves him some sammiches and I was out of bread.  No time to run next door and borrow a couple of slices.  MacGyver Up!

This is why I'm not home school material.

Making Play Time Fun

Here's some quick parenting advice for those of you with toddlers.  It's not easy playing games with a toddler.  They can't catch a spiral, swing a bat, ride a bike, or play video games.  So how's a guy supposed to bond with his kid?

If you're young child is anything like mine, he or she loves to play make-believe games.  While tea-parties and dress-up have their strong points (probably) they don't offer the At-Home parent any real benefits.

Sure, you get to spend some time with your kid, but what good does that do if you're miserable every second of it.   It's not quality time if you're constantly thinking about how unfashionable you look in a boa that doesn't even match your purse or how the Tea-Party is a total sausage-fest.  Seriously, why does she have to give all of her stuffed animals guy names?

 Elmo passed out again. Did I mention we drank Jeremiah Weed at our tea parties?

Recently, I discovered a make-believe game that keeps my daughter happy and serves a greater purpose for this Stay At Home Dad.  It's called house, but you can't just play any ol' version of this classic.  Before you begin, you need to set down some ground rules.

Rule #1:  The girl always gets to be the Mama.

Rule #2:  The baby gets to be the Daddy.   This isn't a stretch, because we both whine about the same amount.

Rule #3:  Daddy gets to be the baby.

Rule #4:  Babies always sleep.

Look at how much fun she's having!

6 Months on the Inside

A couple of weeks ago our scout pack had its Blue and Gold dinner.  It's a time for recognizing the achievements of the boys with various cub scout awards as well as a rite of passage for the older children.  For the boy and me, it marked the sixth month battle of wills between his "I don't wanna go to Scouts" and my "It'll be good for you."   I still believe it is good for him, much better than these other activities anyway, and while I still haven't been able to convince him scouting is more fun that staying home and watching X-Men Origins: Wolverine for the 18th time, he is starting to enjoy all the cool things we do.

One of the first trips the boys took was to the local college radio station.  As a former student of this very radio program, I was looking forward to checking out the new sound room and the possibility of being able to mess with all the sliders and knobs.

 Unfortunately, I was on diaper duty that night and wasn't able to go.  From what the wife told me, I missed my chance to make farting noises on live air.  Maybe next time.

My boy is the one demonstrating how to NOT catch a pass.

One of his favorite trips was our outing to (yet another) local college for our sports requirement.  The boys learned how to shoot some hoops.

When you're not much taller than four foot, "shooting hoops" usually consists of seeing how high you can throw the ball into the air and then running out of the way before it falls on your head.

I was impressed with how much he enjoyed this activity, considering that when I paid thirty dollars to sign him up for basketball classes he showed no interest at all.  Let this be a lesson to you parents out there:  Skip the $30 class, purchase a $10 basketball, and take your kid to the park.  On the way home, buy $20 worth of bacon.

 Before anybody got a bloody nose, the boys were moved from the gym to the rock-climbing wall.  Here they were able to test feats of strength.  Not their strength, but the strength of the parents that had to support their tiny frames as they scurried up the wall.

This wouldn't have been so bad on the old man's body if it wasn't for the fact that my son decided he had to touch every single rock on that wall.  There was no "One and done" for my little scout.  He must have climbed every inch of that forty-foot long wall, because every inch of my six-foot three frame felt it the following morning.

 A few weeks later, we took the boys to go watch a basketball game.  This was one of those moments I was the most proud of my son.  He didn't have to do anything other than sit there and watch the game.

For the first half, he sat next to me, quietly, not paying any attention to the other boys.  Then, suddenly, he asked if he could go play with the other kids. 

My son, the perfectly-fine-all-by-himself introvert wanted to hang out with the other boys.  I was so proud, I didn't care if he watched the game.  At the time, I wouldn't have cared if he set something on fire.  At least he would have been raising hell with other kids.  And this brings me back to our Blue and Gold dinner.

When it came time to hand out cub scout awards, I was surprised to hear my son's name called.  As he made his way up front to receive his award, the speaker announced that the award was for those scouts that had "Come out of their shells and opened up to the group."  He won this award on the same night that he was too shy to perform in a little skit the tiger cubs put together.  He may not be out of that shell entirely, but at least he's out of his cell.





Special thanks to Diana Herman for the scout photos!

You Kids Stay Off My Newsfeed!!!

I spend way too much time on Facebook.   I'd like to think I have a valid reason being that it's the only contact I have with other adults throughout the day.  It gets a little tiresome trying to decode the girl's language and conversations with the baby don't get much further than "da-da".  The truth is, rather than spend time engaging others in meaningful conversation, I spend most of my time browsing through memes and info-graphics.   There is one particular trend of photos that I'm tired of popping up in my newsfeed--horrible parents, making their kids hold signs and begging.

Most often, they come in the form of kids wanting some type of furry critter.  Observe:

What you have just witnessed are two examples of bad parenting.  Rather than just tell their children "No" you're not going to get a puppy, these parents have created a highly un-realistic goal that the kids will probably never reach.  This allows bad parents to pass the blame from themselves to Facebook users. 

It's not like the goal is even something the kids have to strive for.  I would have more respect for your parenting skills if you made the kids raise one hundred dollars doing work for the neighbors.  Or, better yet, why not have them serve one hundred hours in some type of community service setting like Meals on Wheels?  Old people love talking to little kids.

Instead, you have them begging---wanting something for nothing.  Congratulations on raising future democratic voters.  I did notice one mom that had the right idea (see picture below).  Congratulations, Mom, you're doing it right.

I understand that parents are willing to do just about anything to make their child's dream come true.  This little girl apparently wants to meet Ellen and Taylor Swift.  First off, I think it's horrible that a child looks up to any celebrity.  I love Ellen, but come on kid, wouldn't you rather meet a female Senator?

 Also, how hard could it possibly be to meet Ellen?  Stop begging and have your Mom "purchase" some tickets to a live taping.  They're free!  You won't be able to attend the show, but you can stalk her outside the studio like normal people.

You're also going to want to stop looking up to Taylor Swift now.  I don't care if you like her songs, her numerous relationships with boys are a horrible example to little girls everywhere.

And then there are the medical pleas.

If parents will go to any lengths to help their child meet an idol, they'll damn sure do anything to save their kid's life.  I understand why you'd want to get the word out about your child needing a kidney, but don't give your kid the false hope that "One Millions Likes"  could get him one.

 This poor girl's sign doesn't even make grammatical sense.

 I'm aware that you need that green mop shaved off of your head.

I hate to speak badly about medical pleas.  It's not the children's fault and their parents are doing everything they can to help their child in some way.  But let's drop the "Awareness" crap.  There isn't a single person on Facebook that isn't aware of childhood cancer.   So drop it and just write a note that says you're hoping some rich person with a big heart and an even bigger bank roll will help you out in some way.

The "One Millions Likes" memes are getting old.  I'm sorry you have a congenital heart defect, I'm sorry you haven't met your idol yet, and I'm sorry your parents are too scared to tell you kids "No, you're not getting a dog."  There's really not much else to say, especially when the Facebook user below puts it so eloquently (and explicitly) in this picture:

The Rise and Fall of a Stay at Home Dad

Jumping in to the SAHD (Stay At Home Dad) world was a big shock.  While nothing could have prepared me for it, there were a few things I did expect--lack of sleep and constant demands to name a couple.   However, there were a couple of things that I never saw coming.  Witness the Rise and Fall of a SAHD.

The Fall

The downfall of the stay at home dad comes in the form of what I like to call "The Hygiene Dip."   Basically, you become a slob.  For those of you that work Monday through Friday, consider your hygiene on Saturday and Sunday.  Women might not be able to relate, but I imagine most guys know what I'm talking about.  Mon.-Fri. you wake up, take a shower, put on deodorant, brush your teeth and head out into the real world.  On Saturdays, you sleep in a little, scratch yourself, skip the shower (you don't have anywhere to go) and start watching some television.

Imagine you don't have anywhere to go all week long, at least, nowhere important.  I'll make a run to Wal-Mart now and then, but it's not like I have to impress anybody there with a finely combed hair-do or a mountain-spring fresh scent.  So, what's the point of showering?  Greasy hair can be fixed with a hat and any stench can be blamed on the baby.

Buy a hat. Wear it everywhere. Save money on shampoo. Use shampoo savings to purchase bacon.

Hygiene hits its lowest point when you stop wearing socially acceptable pants, i.e., sweats.  I started out my At-Home role wearing jeans everyday.  This in itself is a hygiene issue.  Some people (for example, every woman on the planet) think you can only wear a pair of jeans one day.  Not true says I.  Jeans are good for at least three days, maybe four if there are no visible stains.

Eventually, I made the switch from jeans to sweatpants.  I'll occasionally slap on some jeans, but nothing beats a pair of comfortable sweats.  I'm talking about sweats so comfortable that you almost turn your wife down for a lunch date because you don't want to put on jeans.   It's a true story.  This may be the one thing that saves me yet--I haven't worn them out in public.

However, I have no shame in wearing them outside to get the girl on the Pre-K bus.  I fear the bus is like a gateway drug that will lead me to wear sweats on short trips and errands.  The next thing you know, it's date night and we're sitting at the Olive Garden with Fettuccine on my fork and sauce on my Russell Athletics.

 The Rise

I really want to end this post on a high note, but unfortunately, "The Rise", much like "The Fall" is bad news for house husbands.  The only rise I'm talking about is the rise in my weight.  You'd think that with all of the running around, chasing kids, picking up toys, and two-player games of Duck, Duck, Goose, I would lose a little weight.  Not true.  My job in the "real-world" may have been less active, but at least it kept me out of the kitchen.

I've mentioned before that kids are hungry and they ask you for either something to eat or drink every five minutes.  When my kids eat, I eat.  And, while their little bodies burn fat like crazy, mine doesn't.  My appetite is the same one I had in high-school, but my metabolism has grown up, moved out, and had kids.

I've packed on at least twenty pounds since going from a full-time job that makes me money to a full-time job that makes me crazy.  Now you know the real reason behind my switch to sweatpants.

What To Expect After Your Wife Expected.

When we first decided that I would take on the Stay At Home Dad role, I didn't really know what to expect.  I figured I'd play video games most of the day, catch up on some quality television, and maybe even change a diaper once in a while.  Then reality hit me.  While nothing can prepare you for a role as a stay at home dad, here is a brief list of things you can expect.



You will be tired.  And instead of going to bed early, you will stay up late, because everyone else is asleep.

The dog will be easier to talk to than your baby.

Nothing will make you laugh as hard as the faces your baby makes trying to poop.

Friends will ask if you wear a French Maid's outfit.  They will find it hilarious every time they ask.

If you have a daughter, she will dress you.

In case you're wondering, yes, it matches my shoes.

 You will see more vomit than you did in your college partying days.

While it's great for spending time with your kids, playing with toys is boring.  Most likely, your kids have drained all of your imagination.  The only way you'll ever play with toys again is to place them in compromising positions.

Your Spanish vocabulary will grow as a direct result of watching Dora the Explorer all day.

Your kids will ask for something to drink every five minutes.

You will soon learn to recite no less than three stories by memory.

You will absolutely hate at least two of them.

Your baby will sleep 18 hours a day.  None of them between the hours of 12 and 6 a.m.

Scumbag Stevie Poo

 At first, you will be running errands most days of the week.

Eventually, you will get tired of buckling/unbuckling your kids and learn to coordinate your errands to all fall on one day of the week.

You will buy a cat simply because it will get at least one kid out of your butt.

If an angel gets its wings every time a bell rings, then every time a stay at home dad sits down, a child asks for something.

Your watch will be set to the bus schedule as this is really the only measure of time that matters to you anymore.

Play-dates with other dads become your main source for wrestling entertainment.

Always put your money on the bigger baby.

Your child will be more technologically advanced at the age of three than you ever will be.

Expect to sleep on the couch.  Even if you didn't do anything to deserve it.

Remember how you used to dream about having more than one girl in bed? Now, you'll dream about kicking them all out.

Your kid's idea of fun will not be the same as yours.

Your days of owning nice things are over.

You will tell lies--horrible, horrible lies that encourage the arts.

There is no such thing as everybody smiling and looking at the camera.

Grandparents will purchase every board game on the market.  In reality, the only games small children can play are Hi-Ho Cherry-O and Cooties.

You will discover new, practical uses for duct tape.

Some of them may not be legal.

I have more to say, but the girl just asked me for something to drink.