Putting the POO in POOL

I've tried to take the kids to the park as much as possible this summer--not so much for their sake as for my sanity.  The park I prefer to go to happens to be right next to the city pool.  Inside the pool area is a child-sized water park with a slide, water canons, and all other kinds of things that shoot water directly at your toddler's face.  It's amazing...except for when I take the kids to the park and all they want to do is go to the pool.

  Pay no attention to the small print.

One of my goals for this summer is to say "Yes" to the kids more often.  While this rule does not apply to breakfast food choices ("No Leah, you can not have ice cream for breakfast"), I have been trying to follow the rule when the kids make other requests.  Since they ask to go to the pool every time we go to the park, I finally said yes.

The only reason I had said 'No' for so long was because I dreaded the thought of having to watch all three of them at the pool by myself.  How hard could it be though, right?

The problems started before we even left the house.  Caleb had outgrown his swimming trunks, so we had to settle for a pair of sweat-shorts.  I'm not sure what sweat-shorts are made of, but I'm pretty sure it's the same stuff they use to make sponges.   He picked up at least twenty pounds with those soggy shorts, and with no way to tie them, it was an interesting day at the pool.  I don't usually mind seeing a little butt-crack at the pool...as long as it's not my son's.  I kept waiting for one of the Lifeguards to ask us to leave.

"Sir, you put sweat-shorts on your son and now he's mooning everybody.  We're going to have to ask you to leave, but not until we've contacted DCFS and the police."

My son actually was told to leave the pool.  It wasn't because of his mooning though.  It was his height:

  Pay not attention to the extremely large print.

Feeling rejected, his 47-inch frame wandered over to the edge of the pool, where I sat playing with Libby.  I was relieved to know that I would no longer have to worry about his pants falling down.  But, what was he supposed to do now?  I couldn't let him go to the big pool by himself and we hadn't been there long enough to justify going home already.  Libby would soon solve our little problem.

The three of us were sitting on the edge of the pool, playing nicely, when suddenly...it happened.  There is really no way to describe the horror of what I saw, perhaps a video would help.


That's about right.  I guess we need to buy the next size up in Swim Diapers.  At least I was justified in taking the kids home now.

Disgusting Father's Day

I decided to treat myself to an early Father's Day present this year.  After Leah decided to take up photography, it wasn't long before she had broken two of our digital cameras.  This time, I bought a nice one.  One that Leah will never touch.  One that I reluctantly let the Wife take on a recent trip to the circus.  It takes amazing photos, just look at that resolution.

Man's Best Friend

Reason To Have Kids #31:  You'll never have to feed the dog again.

Pavlov's dogs had their bells.  Our dog has the plastic, dishwasher-safe, high-chair tray.  Every time that tray clicks in to place, she comes running, mouth salivating, ready to share some of the baby's food.

One of the sad truths that you learn growing up is that your best friend might not consider you his or her best friend.  This applies to dogs as well.

Interior Designing and Milk

Teaching toddlers to clean up after themselves is like teaching tornadoes to avoid trailer parks.  It's not going to happen.  Your best bet in both situations is to find shelter and clean up after the damage is done.

The two older kids are pretty good about cleaning up after themselves.  They'll take their plates to the kitchen after meals and put their cups in the sink when they're done.  Then there's Libby.  She'll just throw stuff whenever and wherever she wants, toys, books, diapers, and most recently, her sippy cup.

Milk goes sour pretty quick, even more so in a sippy cup.  It must be the BPA.  Add time to the mix and you're in for a surprise.

Our couch has armrests that open up.  Inside there is a spot to hold the remote control.  Problem is, we can't find the remote control, so it ends up holding Pop-Tarts, bread crust, grapes, and anything else the kids decide to hide in there.  Libby decided it would be fun to hide her recently poured full glass of milk inside.

I'm not sure how long the cup was sitting in the armrest.  I will say this though.  It was sitting in there long enough to explode--all over the couch, the carpet, and my wife who was unfortunate enough to make the discovery.

 Use baking soda they said. It will remove the smell they said.

So what did we learn?  Given enough time, a sippy cup full of milk will explode.  Also, given a couple of weeks, the smell will remain.

Ship Up or Shape Out

This summer, I've made a resolution to get outside with the kids more often.  The last couple of summers I've been what you'd call a lazy slob.  Part of this is due to the "Hygiene Dip" and part of it comes from sitting while I work.  While the kids run around and play outside, I'm inside the house sitting down in front of a computer working on one of the websites.  My computer chair has an ass-print that would make hardcore gamers proud.

  Parenting: You're doing it right.

My goal this summer is to get out of the house and head to the park for some exercise.  Lucky for us, there is no shortage of parks nearby.  Yesterday, we hit up the park across from the kids' school in hopes of gaining some new friends and losing a little weight.

Unfortunately, the park was empty for at least an hour (or at least it felt like an hour), but in that time, the kids managed to get me on a pretty strict workout.  Here's how it went down.

  Time to ship up!

The playground is a giant ship with all kinds of things to do--none of which a grown man has any business doing.  Especially a grown man like myself who weighs too much to ride the horses at The Gold Mine Ranch.  Nevertheless, Caleb developed a hardcore 7-step exercise routine for me.  So, after downing the last drop of my sugary 20-ounce Mountain Dew and hiking up my pants, I began working out.

First, he expected me to crawl through this teeny, tiny, hole:

  A teeny, tiny hole that my 4-year old can barely get through.

Then, it was up and out an even smaller hole.  Caleb was going easy on me and told me that since I was so big, I probably wouldn't fit and I could just crawl back out and climb up the ladder.  He hasn't learned how stubborn his Dad is yet, so with much groaning and muscle-straining, up and out I went.

  Yep, that's the hole. And I owned it.

Step three involved swinging from the trapeze.  I'm not a gambling man, but I'd bet that if I my 6-foot 3-inch frame weighs too much to ride a horse, some little trapeze built for 4-foot, fifty-pound 1st-graders won't support my frame either.  Only one way to find out right?

 Yes, my butt dragged on the bottom.

NB4 Poopdeck

With my butt already hurting from hitting the deck, it only made sense that the boy make me use that same aching butt to go down the slide next.

Once we all hit the bottom of the slide, it was time to walk the plank back up to the helm and take a little boat ride.  All the kids took turns commanding the vessel and it wasn't long before I was ready to abandon ship and return to my park bench where another sugary soft-drink (this time a Pepsi) lay waiting.  But, Caleb still had two more exercises for me before we could call it a day.

"Remember that tiny hole you crawled in at the beginning?  Let's do that one more time Daddy.  Except, instead of crawling up and out through the tiny hole, let's climb up and stick our heads through the windows--both of them.  Yeah, that'd be great."

Let's end the workout on a high note.  Caleb, once again informing me of the limitations of my massive, pudgy frame, said that I could push him and his sister on the glider instead of actually riding it myself.  Fine.  Whatever.  Are we done now?

Why don't you kids swing while Daddy sits down, regains his breath, and downs another soda.

Correction: Why don't you kids swing while Daddy sits down, regains his breath, and watches Leah down his soda.  I swear, some days it's like you've been kicked in the face with two size 11's.

I was so glad when somebody else finally showed up.

Adventures in Babysitter Stealing

After an hour or so of Caleb running me ragged through his obstacle course, I was excited to see another parent coming up to the playground.  Maybe my kids would leave me the hell alone and play with somebody else.  As I watched this Mommy pushing her stroller up to the park benches, I thought, "Damn she looks young.  Too young to have a toddler."  When she turned around to get her kid out of the stroller, her T-shirt confirmed my thoughts.

"Class of 2013" it said in big, bold letters.  I started looking around, waiting to see the 16 and Pregnant film crew, but to no avail.

After talking with her for a while, I found out she was the babysitter.  Now I'm faced with a dilemma.  We've been looking for a babysitter for some time now.  Me-Maw just spent a week watching all three of our kids (and cousin Riley) while we were on vacation.  We can plan on her not wanting to watch them again anytime soon, so if the wife and I want a date-night between now and next year's vacation, we're going to need a sitter.

But here's the problem...I'm a dude.  An obvious observation, but one that becomes more prominent when I take the kids to the park and am sitting all alone on a bench while the other Moms chat it up.

As a dude, I felt it would be wrong to ask this young girl for her phone number so she could baby-sit for us.  If my daughter told me that an older man asked for her phone number, I'd have called her crazy for giving it to him.  I'd have said "baby-sitting" while my hands were in the air making quotation marks.

  I'm sure he'd love for you to come over and "babysit."

I've watched plenty of NBC's To Catch A Predator and my scraggly beard and Army cap makes me look like a fine candidate for the show.  Maybe I should have looked for that film crew.  Before Chris Hansen could pop out of a bush, I walked back to my park bench, had a drink, and contemplated where the wife and I would go for our next vacation.  It seems that will be the next time we have a date.