Episode 111: Shelf-1, Baby -0

If we have learned anything over the past year or so it is that I am very far from a perfect parent, and that every day brings with it some sort of new challenge that I haven't faced. Usually I deal with these challenges and obsticles the best way that I know how, the same way I have dealt with pretty much every challenge in my life- by making it up as I go along. My parenting skills are polished from experience and little else. I wake up every morning still with no idea what I am doing and no idea how to handle new situations. I guess this is the joy of having an 'experimental child.'

In any event, I was faced with yet another new challenge yesterday, one that I have been lucky enough to avoid for the most part thus far, when Av sustained her very first bloody wound. Kids getting hurt is an inevitability. They are clumsy, careless, hyper and, especially at this age, completely lack the ability to remain balanced when traveling quickly. Therefore I knew there would come a day, probably sooner than later, when Av would end up hurting herself worse than the usual bump on the head she gets from running around like an idiot and not paying attention. That day was yesterday.

We were playing in the house like we do most mornings while I made my usual futile attempt to pick up a little bit and get the baby dressed. Av was in the midst of her daily 'I'm not going to let you put my shirt on' act and was running around the house half naked trying to avoid me. I don't much care for this game but at the same time it doesn't really upset me either. Eventually I just wrap her up and get the shirt on. But yesterday was a little bit different as she took off running for her playroom and attempted a swan dive in to a pile of pillows laying on the floor. Usually she hops on those pillows and plays with her stuffed animals but today she was moving a little bit too fast and over shot the pile, slamming head first in to a bookshelf like an Olympic diver missing the pool. The sound was disgusting and she immediately started to cry, but somehow I did not freak out. I calmly went over and picked her up and started checking her out for cuts and bruises. As soon as I turned her head I noticed that she had blood all the way down the side of her face and started frantically looking for the cut. It was not too long before I realized that she had sustained a nasty gash right above her left eye. She looked kind of like this:




To her credit, Av stopped crying almost immediately and did a good job of letting me clean up the blood. In fact, I had barely been able to get a good look at it before she had wrestled away from me and attempted to go back to playing. I took a good look at the gash and noticed that it was about an inch long, right in her eyebrow but not terribly deep. Even better, there was almost no swelling. At this point I began to ask myself if I should take her to the ER. It is important to note that I really, really did not want to do that. I made three phone calls, one to Monica, one to my mother an one to the doctor's office nurse advice line. I played down the cut a bit too Monica and my mother because I didn't want to freak them out, and both said she should be fine as long as she was acting normal and the bleeding had stopped. It had. In fact, she was running around again a short time after and making me nervous.

Before I called the doctor's office I made up my mind that unless they tell me it is absolutely dire I was not taking her to the ER. Let's explore the reasons why. As many of you know, the ER is the most miserable place on the planet. I have been to the ER 3-4 times in my life and I have never had a good experience. The past two times, once for serious food poisoning obtained in Mexico and the second for a potential kidney stone, I sat in the waiting room for hours and was never seen. After the Mexico trip I was convinced I was going to die. I thought for sure that I had one of those 'Monsters Inside Me' parasites that was eating away at my organs. I eventually recovered about two weeks later, but I did so by pure luck as I was essentially refused medical attention. (I sat in the ER for 5 hours, next to a woman who was stroking out. They still hadn't gotten to her when I left). As for the kidney stone, I'm almost positive that I passed that in the ER bathroom while I was waiting that day. I have never had a kidney stone before and I was never officially diagnosed (although the nurse said that was 'probably' my issue before banishing me to watch soap operas in purgatory for the rest of the day) but I was in massive pain for hours in the waiting room. Eventually, I got up and took the most painful, burning piss ever- and felt 100 percent better immediately after. I walked out of the bathroom, right out the door and went to work. Thanks, ER. On both occasions they attempted to charge me $100. For no care. Both times they tore up the bill, but that isn't the point.

Anyway, all I could picture was Av and I sitting in a waiting room for hours, her causing all sorts of trouble and fussing, just so I could pay $100 for them to put some hospital strength Neosporin and a band aid on it. No thanks. So I called the nurse and, again, understated the situation. She told me the baby was fine but I needed to go to the ER to prevent scarring. Yeah, ok, scarring. She is 2. And the cut is on her eyebrow. I'll take my chances. Not to mention, I don't really need the pressure of convincing some bitch nurse that I didn't punch her in the face. I reiterate- the medical industry is a complete scam.

Armed with Neosporin, alcohol wipes and some 'boo boo stickers' I went to town on Av's eye. She hated the alcohol part but loved the cream and the 'sticker.' She walked around the rest of the day with a slightly swollen eye, a band aid and a 'don't f with me attitude.' She seriously thinks she is the coolest kid on the block now.

To be perfectly honest, I am kind of proud of myself. Faced with a scary situation I didn't freak out, I managed to prevent her from freaking out and I didn't over react and take her to the ER. A day later she thinks having a boo boo is pretty cool, except for the alcohol part, and the cut is already starting to shrink. That said, I hope I don't have to face this adversity again for a long time. I already get nervous whenever I see her going near those pillows.

A few housekeeping notes

As you may have noticed often times in this space I tend to drift off on rants about popular culture, sports, music etc... I have decided that those rants will have a new home in the form of a separate spin off blog. This will contain all non-baby related content as well as the weekly music section at the bottom of the page. I feel like this will help both myself and the reader have more of a clear focus for both blogs. I haven't had time to start the second one yet, but when I do I will post the live link here.

Episode 110: Losing the battle, losing the war.

I have come to find that fatherhood is essentially a game of survival. Every day is just a series of tiny battles that make up a larger war against an enemy that I created with my own seed. An enemy that lures you in with kindness and love, and then destroys you with psychological weaponry that is much too sophisticated for such a young opponent.

Having children essentially eliminates all manhood that you once had, mainly because you are not given the opportunity to protect it. Case and point: Today I wore a purple, flowered Dora the Explorer hat, three sizes too small for my giant adult melon, for over three hours. Why? Because Av made me. You see, every second of my day is a battle. Every second. The first thing Av used to say when she woke up was 'Hi daddy! Kitties?' Now it is 'Pop?' Then I say, 'No pop?' Then she says 'Pop' and I say ' No pop.' and so on and so forth until she finally says 'No pop? Why?' 'Because it is 6:45 in the morning.' Then she either A. yells at me or B. continues asking for a pop. Even if I don't give her one I have still lost the battle because she eventually just annoys me enough where she ends up with something that she isn't supposed to have.

Then we come to drawing time. No matter what I do at drawing time it isn't right. If I sit down she wants me to stand up. If I am standing she wants me to sit down. If we are in the playroom using crayons she wants to use her chalk. If we are using chalk she wants to play with her cars. Whatever the case, you had better believe that I am always in the wrong. I don't want to make this sound like it is all negative. I mean, often times she is very sweet about her demands. But don't let that cute face fool you, she knows what she is doing and she knows how to win.

This is precisely why she hasn't napped in two days. Every day is the same. We do our activities in the morning and by 11-12 she passes out in the car. I get her home, carry her sleeping body to her crib and she wakes up as soon as she is set down. I try to slip out of the room and she starts to scream. Then she stops for a minute to trick me in to thinking she is asleep, then she starts crying again. Eventually we come full circle back to the screaming There is never any sleep. She does this because she knows that I will go get her. It is going on right now. I don't care. She needs to sleep. When she doesn't sleep she is a dick. She yells at me. She hits me. She throws food. Another battle lost. Maybe I should leave her in there one day. She would probably just end up flipping out of her crib, opening the door and hitting me in the face. Still a loss.

The reason I bring this up is this. I want to warn all of you out there who think you want kids before you all start doing anything drastic. They are adorable and you will love them and love spending time with them, but you will never have a normal life again. They will tear out your soul and test your patience at every turn. They will damage your psyche and fill your day with mindless chatter. I love my daughter more than anything but, damn, some days I just want her to silently read for six hours straight and leave me alone. Is that mean? Probably only if you don't have kids.

As if the psychological damage of fatherhood isn't affecting me enough, it is now compounded by the horrible realization that I am an old man. Seriously, I am the oldest 26-year-old that I know. I know that I have written about this on occasion before, but it is getting worse. Parenthood by nature rapidly withers your external appearance and the shear exhaustion of sleeping about a quarter of the amount that your body requires- and the aforementioned mind games- effectively adds years to your mental age as well. And now we have officially completed the cycle. We have connected the third line to the aging triangle of eventual death. Joining mental exhaustion, and the deterioration of my once-fit, young, healthy body is... Pain. Yes, pain. The final peg. The one that means I have to start taking two Alieve every day just to prevent the pain from being that bad. Yesterday I somehow managed to injure my hip. I wasn't doing anything all that strenuous, just moved in the wrong direction and heard a pop and felt a sharp shooting pain.

It didn't go away. It will never go away. I am just going to have a sore hip for the rest of my life. Ok, ok, I am being a little bit dramatic, but that is how I feel. I mean, who hurts their hip in their 20's? No one does. Today at the park my hip injury prevented me from climbing on the apparatus with Av in an effective manor. I still did it, but I sure wasn't mobile when I did. This is depressing. Mobility should not be an issue with me I want to be monkeying around like those other kids without getting sore or winded or tired. I also got dizzy when we went down the slide. C'mon.

Whenever I start to get depressed about my age, lack of employment or stressed about being a dad Lous CK always makes me feel better. I think he hits the nail on the head with this one. This is exactly how I feel. Again, NSFW.

Today at the park

It has been a long time since we have had such an interesting day at the park, but today was one for the record books. Longtime blog readers may remember me mentioning one of my old bosses, a pony-tailed Wiccan with a creepy voice and knack for being the most awkward person in the room at any time. If you aren't familiar, all you need to know is that he is about 6'5, shaped like an oil drum with a pony tail and a Captain Morgan goatee. He no longer works at our restaurant, but he still lives in Salem with his half Mexican wife and their two young boys.

At the park today we ran in to the wife and boys, who obviously don't know who I am, and we eventually ended up playing with them. Here is the thing. These are the strangest people I have ever met in my entire life. Sitting with them at their picnic table were two dogs and a black cat on a leash. They were dressed in identical striped Mr. Rogers sweaters and both boys, aged 3 and 17-months, had pony tails. How do you even grow hair that fast when you are that young? It really made me feel bad for the kids. When you are that young all you know are your parents and you idolize them, so the pony tails make sense, but how tough is life going to be when you go to school looking like a 5-year-old Kevin Smith?

I'm not here to judge anyone's religion, but I would assume that going to school with the whole Wiccan thing going in is going to make them an easy target for bullies as it is, the poor things just have no chance. Anyway, we ended up playing with them and they were pretty nice kids, and Av got to pet the dogs and the leash cat and it was a good time, until yet another group of Marblehead fuckhead kids showed up.

I am about at the end of my rope with the privileged kid thing after the whole school incident, and the ones that we met at the park today were about as bad as they get. Popped collars, khaki shorts and names like Harrison, Marley and Layla (someone loves classic rock), this group came in and just started terrorizing everyone. First of all, I have no idea why they weren't in school because they were like, 5-years-old, and the first thing they decide to do when they get to the park is plow through Av and her new Wiccan friends on the way up to the slide. Knocked her right on her ass. Of course, their 'I don't have to work' parents were not paying any attention so they just ran amok, stealing everyone's toys and balls, throwing rocks and monopolizing the slides. I had just about had enough and was going to leave when one of them, unsupervised, jumped off the top of some playground apparatus on to the top of another one back yard wrestling style, hurting them both and causing both to start crying. Did I help either one? YOu bet your ass I didn't. Screw you, rich kids.

Music.

Today's musical selections are from Av. On the way to the park she was having a dance party in the back seat and these are three of her favorites. The last one is the best, because she really got in to it and started swaying back and forth in the car seat with her eyes closed.

First is Jimi Hendrix. This is my favorite Hendrix song so I was happy that she liked it, also.



Next is the Talking Heads. She loves classic rock, what can I say? Maybe I should have named her like those rich kids. Van Zandt Baer. Has a nice ring to it.



This last one is my favorite of the three. Tom Waits is a crazy son of a bitch. He could give that Dos Equis fraud a run for his money as the Most Interesting Man in the World title, too. She listened to this whole album and loved it, but this song got the best dance.

Blogger's Notebook III

After a few days of thinking about it I was positive that I was not going to be nearly as mad about the school situation as I was on Monday. I figured, like usual, I would realize that I had over reacted and feel like an ass. I was wrong. Here we are two days later and I am still furious. Monica and I penned an email (I guess you can't say 'penned' anymore, huh? I guess it would have to be 'typed'. Technology is ruining everything) to the director of the program Monday night. I wouldn't say that it was scathing, but it certainly made it clear that we weren't just pulling Av out because we didn't feel comfortable- there were some issues going on there. After calling Monica and leaving a voicemail asking if we could come in to talk she emailed us back this morning and said that she was 'sad' about the situation and that she wanted to 'work with us to make Av feel more comfortable.' Yeah, because it is Av not feeling comfortable that is the problem, not the teacher's inability to understand that an 18-month-old child may be a little bit nervous and upset when she starts going to school, right? This is precisely the problem with the whole situation to begin with. They want to treat my kid like cattle and I'm not going to let that happen. I'm letting Monica handle that phone call. They don't want to hear from me.

Anyway, I didn't really start to get mad today until I was getting Av ready to leave the house to go do our errands. Along with a trip to the bank and Stop and Shop I had planned to take her over to the library so that we could sign up for Thursday morning story time as an activity to replace school. I sat her on my lap to put on her shoes and said 'Do you want to go to story time tomorrow?' Well, she must have been confused and the putting on of the shoes must have made her think that she was going to school because she started to panic. She latched on to me like a koala bear and started shaking and screaming. Yeah, shaking. When we got in to the car I tried to explain to her what was going on and she just got more and more upset. We ran our errands and every time we got back in to the car seat she would start to cry again. That isn't normal. What the hell happened at that school? Obviously, something happened that upset her way beyond the fact that mommy and daddy weren't there. I'm guessing that it was the juice incident. No kid should get yelled at because they want to hold their juice. That's just not right.

Anyway, I'm pretty much over it provided that we never have to go back there again, but I am pissed that I have to sit here and try to heal the scars that it provided. That said, we have had a lot of fun over the past day or two. Here are a couple of incidents that I found particularly humorous.

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Av is pretty good at doing funny things at inappropriate times, like when she sees an old person in a scooter and starts making her car noise. Yesterday she had two pretty classic ones. First as I was cleaning the kitchen she walked over to the recycle bin and took out an empty can of Budweiser. She shook it around, looked at it and said 'Where is Papa?' This would be hilarious to you if you had ever met Monica's father, who we have taken to calling the 'Mayor of Bud town.' Dude is single-handedly keeping Anheuser Bush in business. The fact that Buds are an immediate trigger that Papa is around is priceless.

Second, we were doing our usual park stuff yesterday among the usual clan of decrepit old Russian people enjoying their daily death parade when she looked at one of them who was pushing a walker- actually, he wasn't just pushing the walker, the walker looked like it was the only thing keeping him from falling in to his own grave- and said 'Where is the baby?' Yeah, she thought it was a stroller. 'Where is the baby?' I didn't really want to explain how life will eventually become a painful, miserable struggle just to move when she gets older, so I just said 'I don't know.' I have a feeling I am going to have to answer a lot of these awkward questions pretty soon. Yet another part of parenthood that I am not prepared for.

Oh, that reminds me. One more really awesome leftover tidbit from school. Someone there, not sure if it was a teacher or a student, taught her how to say 'why?' Cool. Now all day long I just here 'Why?' 'Why?' Why?' Thing is, she has no friggin clue what it means or how to use it in context yet, so it doesn't really fit. She is getting better, though. I think she is starting to understand since I always answer her when she asks it. Thanks, school, for not letting her get to that annoying stage on her own. OK, I'm really done with bitching about school now.

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The case for Michael Vick

Time to put my sportswriter's hat back on for a moment- and this is going to be an unpopular opinion.

Whether or not you follow the National Football League there is a good chance that you know who Michael Vick is. The former Atlanta Falcons quarterback was arrested and charged in an illegal dog fighting and gambling ring back in 2007. He pleaded guilty and served just under two years in federal prison. He lost his entire fortune and was forced to work a minimum wage construction job before he was eventually reinstated in to the NFL and signed by the Philadelphia Eagles. Now entering his second season with the Eagles, Vick is experiencing a resurgence. In Atlanta he was one of the most dynamic players at his position. His ability to use his legs as well as his arms as a weapon made him one of the most elite players in the league prior to his arrest, despite not having the same success as stars like Tom Brady and Peyton Manning.

Following his arrest and the release of details pertaining to the dog fighting ring Vick was crucified, and rightly so, in the press and in the court of public opinion. PETA, in fact, protested his signing in Philadelphia last summer and there are many people out there who believe he should never be allowed to play again. I am here to tell you why those people are wrong.

Before this season I never much liked Michael Vick. I thought he was an overrated player and he was a bad character guy. I was right. Everything that went down went down and he went to prison. Good. He deserved it. He was stupid and cruel and once he got caught he continued to lie about what he did until he realized that it was no longer in his best interest. With that said, I feel like Vick has served his time both in the federal justice system and in societal court. What else do you want from this guy? They locked him up, took all of his money, took him away from his family and vilified him for three straight years. For what? Killing dogs? I'm not saying that killing dogs is right, I obviously don't support that, but let's look at some other cases. Case one: Former NFL player Leonard Little. Convicted of vehicular homicide in a woman's drunk driving death and later convicted of a second DUI. Little received four years probation and community service. His career lasted for over a decade, where he managed to get himself in to repeated legal trouble, with little to no fan backlash and little to no backlash from the media. Try to tell me that killing a woman drunk driving isn't worse than killing dogs. Please, I would love to hear someone justify this.

How about another example. Ray Lewis. Super Bowl champion, superstar linebacker for the Baltimore Ravens. One of the best, and most popular players at his position- ever. Also probably killed a guy. After the 2000 Super Bowl Lewis and two other men were involved in a confrontation that resulted in the stabbing deaths of two other men. Lewis was charged with murder but got off on a plea deal with an obstruction of justice charge that netted him one year of probation. He didn't miss a game. There is no proof that he killed that guy, but even if he didn't, he was there when one of his buddies did and you damn well better believe that he didn't stop him. Again, I would love for someone to tell me that killing dogs is worse than this. Give it a shot. Please do.

My point is this. Michael Vick did what he did, he got caught, he got punished- heavily- and he served his time. He was released just like any other criminal that does his time in the system and he went back to find a job. He just happens to be a professional football player so that is what he got a job doing. Now that he has been given a chance to play this year he has started to excel and may be on the verge of rebuilding his career. He has apologized for what he has done and donated a portion of the minuscule amount of money he still has to the rescue and care of abused dogs. Yet PETA still protests him and people still vilify him every day. That isn't right. The man served his time and acknowledged what he did. He deserves to be able to live his life from here on out without repeated harassment. And don't give me that crap about 'those dogs not being able to live their lives.' They are dogs, people. I have never liked Michael Vick but I am pulling for him now. I hope he wins the Super Bowl this year. Screw off, America. How is the view from your glass house?

Episode 109: The one where Av fails school

I knew it was a bad sign when Av started crying before we left the house this morning, but in no way did I expect her teacher to be such a bitch to me about the situation. Today, I believe, was Av's fifth day of school and as time has gone on her behavior at the YMCA has become progressively worse. The first two classes she was able to at least obtain a 'neutral' on her end of the day report card, but the final three resulted in only an 'upset' for the entire day. Here is why I think that it isn't her fault.

Monica took the baby in to the school one day last week just to pay the bill. Av started crying because she thought she was going to be left there an Monica ended up having a conversation with the woman who ran the program. The woman told her that crying was perfectly normal at that age and that her own child cried for two months before she gave in and started to like going to school. This made me feel a bit better and gave me hope that Av was just going through the normal cycle that kids go through and after another week or two she would get used to going to school. Unfortunately, her teachers today were apparently experiencing a case of the Monday's and decided they were going to give up on Av.

This morning went the way that every school morning goes. Av woke up and we played until 8 when I got her dressed and ready for school. The crying typically starts when she sees her back pack on the table, but today she managed to hold off until we got in to the school parking lot. This appeared to be a promising sign. Per usual, Av was really upset as we walked in to the classroom and was begging me to hold her. I refused, as I always do, and I held her hand as we walked in. With Av just whimpering as the door opened the first thing I heard was one of her teachers say 'Well, it must be Monday morning, Avelyn is here.' This pissed me off right off the bat. Thanks for being so understanding. You deal with f-ing toddlers, no one else cries? As I was putting her things away and Av was tugging at my pants asking to go home, the teacher then asked me. 'Is she always this upset? Is it the separation from you?' Ummm, is this your first day? You know damn well that she is always upset when we drop her off and you know damn well that it is because she doesn't want to leave us. I attempted to stick around and play with Av for a minute until she got comfortable but was promptly told to leave as the teacher scooped her up with one arm and said 'Daddy is going to work, just like he always does. You know he is coming back for you.' Awesome. Way to be compassionate.

I returned to pick Av up and before I had two feet in the door I heard the always awesome, 'We need to talk.' Great. The teacher informed me that Av did not eat and was upset most of the day. Then she said that she wasn't adjusting and required too much personal attention. 'You can't comfort her every time she is upset at home,' she told me. 'Because I can't comfort her here.' Then she asked if Av had some sort of blankie, binkie or bottle that she wasn't bringing to school. She does not. In fact, Av never has had any of these things, except for the bottle, which she only enjoys at night before bed. I told the teacher this and she said 'Well, she carries around her juice all day and gets upset when we take it away. We only have juice at table time. Also, she hasn't been eating. I don't think she has much if an appetite, does she eat too much before school?'

OK, so let me get this straight. If my daughter had some sort of vice like a binkie or a blankie that would be fine, bit God forbid she wants to carry around her Dora the Explorer juice, she is breaking some sort of grand rule? That doesn't seem right. Especially since I am almost positive that you would have scolded me if I ever brought in a binkie. Finally, this was the last straw. The teacher said that she recommended we bring her every morning for at least a half hour so she can get more acclimated to being away from us and then told me that I should 'Never pick her up if she is crying, because we aren't going to do that here.' Bullshit. That is bullshit, lady. I get that you aren't going to give my kid personal attention- that is part of the reason that she is there- but if my kid falls on her face in the kitchen you better believe that I am picking her up. I don't care if you take care of a bunch of privileged little snots all day long whose high-powered executive parents drop them off seven days a week and send a nanny to pick them up, I'm not going to ignore my own kid because it is easier for you to handle. In addition, having the baby come every day may make life easier on the teacher, but it is going to cost us at least another $200 a week. If we could afford that she would have already been in daycare every day and wouldn't need to adjust to your snooty- ass school.

As if I wasn't pissed enough after this the teacher sealed her fate by trying to tell me how to parent as I was packing her up. When I walked in the door Av was in tears and ran over in to my arms. I held her and rubbed her head while the teacher continuously scolded me. I put Av down to retrieve her belongings from the cubby and the teacher said 'You should try putting her down like that more. A good start would be walking her out of here by holding her hand instead of carrying her.' F-you lady. F-you. I hold that kid's hand every day when we walk in to that classroom and I hold her hand every day when we leave. In fact, I would say that I hold that kid's hand more often than I carry her on a daily basis. Why don't you check yourself and try not assuming that I am keeping my kid in a bubble all day because you don't know what you are talking about. I am willing to bet that Av is way ahead of most kids in that class in just about every motor skill. She drinks out of cups and bottles without spilling, she climbs, runs and jumps well before most kids her age and she is warm and social with most people she meets. I am the farthest thing from a parenting expert, but one thing I do know is that she wouldn't be able to do half of those things if we were over protective and didn't let her try and do things on her own.

I understand that Av is having a tough time at school and I get how that can be annoying to her teachers. I also understand that they think they are trying to help us by giving us advice on what to do but the fact of the matter is this. Since the first day we walked in to that classroom those teachers have treated us like a special case. They give us advice like we are 15-year-old's talking to our high school guidance councilors about accidentally getting knocked up and they treat Av like she is some sort of pain in the ass. Well, you know what? I have had it. This kid smiles more than any kid I have ever met and she has more fun on a daily basis than every kid who is at Disney World right now combined. Does she need to spend more time with other kids? Yes. Do we need to do a better job in certain areas? Of course. But one area I can assure you we are not failing in is loving our child and trying to do what is best for her and sending her to a school where 99 percent of the other kids have been in daycare since they were three days old and where the teachers don't want to deal with crying is not in her best interest.

She is going to need to get used to not having us around at some point, but for now she is 18-months old and I would rather bring her to a play group every week than sit there and listen to how horrible of a child she is because she wants juice when it isn't table time. Maybe if Miss Cindy had shown an ounce of compassion through this we would consider staying but her actions today have made up my mind. Av is done and I don't care. I'll cancel my membership to the Y and we will go to a play group a few times a week so she can get used to other kids. We may live in a world of Blackberries, 401 (K)'s and working parents but my kid isn't going to have abandonment issues, teenage angst and zero relationship with her parents just because it is the 'in' thing to do in this snobby, rich region of the country that we live in. I'm all set, YMCA, you can go ahead and not want to deal with someone else's kid for $350/ month.

Music.

Way before they started hating George Bush and recording alt/pop hits Incubus was one of the more badass bands around. Thanks to my Ipod I have rediscovered my love for the days when this band used to play trippy funk rock and sing about space aliens, doing it and smoking weed rather than recycling, voting and genocide. Life doesn't always have to be that serious, people. My anger toward Miss Cindy fueled me to throw on the album S.C.I.E.N.C.E. as the baby slept and I typed this. Here are my two favorite Incubus songs. One from that album and one from the follow up, Make Yourself- the band's last truly good release. Takes me back to my days of empty afternoons and bong hits in the college town houses. (Sorry, Mom).

Episode 108: This is why my hair is turning white...

I would like to start out with a disclaimer. I love my daughter very much. I would do anything for her and would never hurt her. That said, we aren't getting along very well this week, mostly because she is being a real jerk. Yes, it sounds harsh calling an almost 2-year-old a jerk, but it is true. Most of the time she is very sweet, happy, playful and loving. Not for the past two days. I think the 'terrible twos' may be starting up a little bit early. Whatever the case, I am just about done with this behavior and pretty soon I'm going to... well, I don't know what I am going to do. I am probably not going to do anything because I am a big softy and I suck at discipline. Every time I think I have the parenting figured out, I once again realize that I have no clue what I am doing. How do you discipline a child who doesn't understand emotions? I have no freaking idea.

The problems started a few days ago when she for some reason decided that she wasn't going to sleep anymore. She fights going to bed at night, often times waking up at 2 or 4 a.m. to just raise hell and wake everyone up, and has been awake before 6 a.m. the past two days. She also refuses to nap, falling asleep every day in the car on her way home from school, the park or the store but throwing a vicious fit in her crib as soon as she is transported there. This, combined with a nagging cold and probably a new tooth, has resulted in my life being absolutely f-ing miserable for past 48 hours. I get that most of this is not her fault, with the exception of the lack of sleep- that is her fault, but she can't do anything about the cold or the teeth and that is fine. It doesn't make it any better.

Here are a few examples that I have dealt with. Yesterday I picked her up from school at 12:30. The teachers said she was upset all day and maybe wasn't feeling good because she barely ate. She looked incredibly tired when we got in the car so I gave her a snack and told her to relax. She ate about three Froot Loops and fell asleep before we got home. Not just asleep, mind you, passed out, snoring in the car seat asleep. Like drunk Uncle Phil on the couch at Thanksgiving asleep. As I was carrying her limp, passed out body upstairs like a frat boy taking advantage of a passed out chick at a party she instantly snapped awake, looked around and started yelling to play with the kitties. That sucks. Nothing even woke her up. She just opened her eyes and it was over. I got her inside and did everything in my power to restore her to her state of blissful, unconscious dreaming. No luck. At this point naps are no longer a selfish thing for me. In the past I looked forward to them as my free time and time to catch up on my own sleep but I am used to the routine enough where now I don't care. I just want her to sleep so she isn't a d-bag for the rest of the afternoon.

So, with no nap I Instead decided to make her some lunch. She wasn't feeling great and was tired, so I thought maybe a little pasta and bread might settle her stomach and fill her up enough to go to sleep. Maybe it was her hunger that woke her up. Who knows, it was worth a shot. She willingly sat down in the chair and started to eat, but almost immediately after the first spoon full of pasta started asking for a freeze pop. Yeah, the love of freeze pops has been handed down. Now we fight over them. It is OK though, I am the dad, I just give her all the purple and orange ones and keep the good flavors to myself.

"Daddy, pop? Pop? Pop?" All day.

Anyway, I obviously said no to the freeze pop until after lunch, sparking an angry, aggressive fit. She took the bowl of pasta and sauce and threw it at me. Now, throwing the bowl at me was bad enough, but she has no coordination so it looked like one of those baseball bloopers where the pitcher throws the ball behind him and looks all confused, only it was a bowl of food so the circumstance was much messier. This way, she managed to succeed in throwing the bowl behind her off of the kitchen window and on to the floor, as well as still projecting pasta on to my pants and shoes, on to her own head and down her shirt. As if this was not bad enough, she then took her juice and hurled it up in to the air causing it to slam back down on to the high chair tray and explode. All of this just a mere 60 minutes after I had swept and mopped the floor. I was, to say the least, pissed.

So, I put her in 'time out' which is still like the least effective form of discipline ever, but she is 18-months, what else can I do? Yelling doesn't help. She knew I was pissed and started to suck up to me, but I wasn't having it. I just ignored her and refused to talk to her until the mess was clean. Still, she found a way to melt my heart when she brought me a green crayon as a sign of peace, handed it to me, tugged on my shirt and gave me a kiss. Awww. DAMMIT. Now I can't be mad anymore. Just wait, though, she gave me more opportunities.

For the rest of the day she was still grouchy and mean with fleeting moments of sweetness. At one point she punched me in the nose and bit my neck because I made her take a bath. You know, to clean the sauce off of her head. A short time later we were having a nice, calm time coloring when, right in front of me, she walked over to the full length mirror in the living room and drew all over it with crayon. I said a stern 'no' took the crayon away and made her take a time out. The second I gave her the crayon back she did it again. WTF.

Fast forward to this morning. I first heard her crying at 6:05 a.m., meaning she was awake probably 10 minutes before that, and I finally gave in and got her around 6:15-6:20. I was very tired and did not wake up in the best mood, so I was trying to be calm in the hopes that maybe we could relax in her room and get a slow start to the day. Unfortunately, she had other ideas. Just in the three minutes it took me to change her diaper she yelled at me, punched me and stole the baby powder out of my hand and threw it behind her changing table. Then it was breakfast time.

Usually for us breakfast is smooth. She has cereal, which she eats herself, some toast and some juice. We exchange banter and play a little while I tidy up the kitchen and when she is done she says 'Det Dout?' and I take her out. Today, of course, she wanted a freeze pop instead of the cereal. I said no because it was 6:30 in the morning. Guess what happened next? By the time I was done cleaning up the cereal she had angrily fired across the kitchen I had used half a roll of paper towels. I had to clean the sticky mess off of the floor, the trash can, the wall, off of some wires connected to a radio in the kitchen, out of the inside of a slightly opened cabinet and from underneath the recycle bin. This is in addition to having to change all of her cereal covered clothes. Good morning, Salem.

The rest of the day hasn't gone quite as bad, although she did attempt to throw an entire bag of strawberry flavored Corn Pops out of the cart at Walmart- because I wouldn't open both bags that I was going to buy, only one. She also bit the top off of her juice cup and dumped it all over the back seat of my car- she is damn lucky that was only water. Now she is yelling at me from her crib as she has once again refused a nap, despite barely being able to keep her eyes open. She has slept an approximate total of 14 hours since Wednesday. This is not acceptable. I cannot live like this. I will not have Easy Mac thrown at me today.

Maybe calling her an jerk is a bit unfair. I mean, she definitely isn't feeling great, I would be grouchy, too. But I am just about at the end of my rope with the fit throwing. The problem is, I know it isn't going to get any better. The other day we were playing at the park where we encountered a small boy who was two months older than she was. This small boy, although cute, was a huge dick. He was going through the 'mine' phase, but was especially mean about it, and along with being a bad sharer he was also a crier, throwing a screaming fit when he didn't get his way.

"Just wait," his mother said to me. "You're next."

Like I said, I am a big softy. I never say anything. I never yell at her. But I am reaching the end of my patience and I have no idea what the right way to discipline her is because it all seems ineffective. The silence coming from her room is promising, though. Maybe all she needs is a little sleep. Sometimes that is all any of us need.

Episode 107: Misc. daddying

A little dad perspective today. Here are a few things that only happen to you if you spend all day with a toddler.

1. You realized that the raisins you found in your back seat are not in fact raisins, but grapes from about three weeks ago that have now dried and wilted. So, I guess technically they are now raisins, but not in the traditional sense. I didn't buy raisins.

2. I just got more excited than I have been in months when I learned that the crying that I thought was coming from Av's room a mere five minutes after I put her down for her nap was actually coming from the baby across the street. It was like Christmas morning when I opened that door and saw her still passed out. Yes! Free Internet time!

3. We went to Monkey Joe's today, mostly out of guilt from dropping Av off at her second day of school Monday, and in anticipation of her third day of school tomorrow (no, the teachers have not circled a smiley face yet). Unfortunately for us, we get an early start, and since most kids are now back in school we were the only two people there for about the first half hour. I kind of felt bad for Av because, lets face it, that sucks, but eventually some other kids showed up and I figured she would be excited and want to go run around and play. Not so. Instead, she spotted the man who repairs and collects money from all of the coin operated machinery, like the mechanical horse, carousel, sticker machine, photo booth etc... and followed him around the entire place like he was her grandfather. She never spoke, she never got close enough to touch him, she just followed him over and watched what he was doing. For his part he was a very friendly man and at one point was even going to give her a free ride on the horse but she decided she didn't want it. So, for $5 I spent an hour at Monkey Joe's. The first 30 minutes were spent following Av while she did laps around all of the equipment, never actually playing with or on anything, and the second half hour was spent learning what the insides of a coin-operated mall lobby ride look like. Then she sat down on the ground Indian style (she has never done that before, prof that she may have actually learned something at school) and said 'Daddy, bye bye.' So we left. Kids are so f-ing strange man.

It's hard to get a read on deaf people

So I'm at work last night, it is probably around 10 p.m. A nicely dressed gentleman comes in and orders a beer with what I believe to be some sort of exotic accent. He sits at the bar for a bit, orders a second beer and strikes up a conversation about our dart boards. he tells me that his girlfriend is a semi-professional dart player and they just moved in to town a few months ago and were looking for a good bar to go play darts at. Throughout the conversation the guy spoke of how he traveled extensively and moved often and the whole time I was trying to place his strange accent. He was white and didn't appear European, and it was certainly not a French, Spanish or Russian sounding accent. As time went on we were going back and forth about how he likes the restaurant but our dart boards aren't at regulation height. He said if we evened them out he would start bringing his girlfriend here to play darts and hang out. Somewhere along the line I got around to asking where the hell he was from.

"So you say you travel a lot, where are you from originally?"

"Oh, South Africa, but I haven't lived there in ten years. Most recently I lived in Mexico and then Boston for a bit."

"Ohh, I was trying to place your accent but I have never really heard anything like it before. Must be like a hybrid of all of the places you have lived."

"No," he said. " I am deaf. I read lips. That is why I don't respond right away all the time."

At this point I am pretty sure that he is kidding and making a mildly insensitive joke about deaf people talking weird. He spoke way to clearly and understood me way to well to be deaf. Sure enough, though, he showed me his ears. The left one appeared to be the victim of some horrible birth defect and was essentially just a closed up flab of skin on the side of his head. The right year was equipped with some NASA level hearing aid. This dude was all sorts of deaf.

It was at this point that I realized I have little to no experience with deaf people. Not since that deaf kid from CCD was on my basketball team in elementary school have I had to spend any significant time with a person who can't hear, and the only sign language I know I learned from Steve on Blues Clues and Marlee Matlin on the Baby Einstein videos. I had no clue how to act. I mean, deaf people are hard to get a read on, right? This guy was very well spoken, I didn't want to offend him by treating him like he was retarded, but at the same time, I felt like I needed to be sensitive to his deafness.

So, kind of like how Americans always yell at people who don't speak English because they think if they say it louder the Mexican lady at Dunkin Donuts will understand, I started to consciously enunciate everything I said. I spoke more slowly and tried to avoid big words and mumbling and I moved my lips more deliberately. That was when the deaf man said 'You know, it is actually harder for me to read your lips when you talk like that." He called me out on it. Unbelievable. That is not all though. It gets worse. When he was leaving he again said how much he liked the place. Now, when people do this I have a routine for talking them up. I tell them about the ever changing list of specials and some upcoming beers. I tell them that the kitchen is open late and that we are going to have live music starting in November. I am quite the company man.

'Yeah, we've got a lot of great stuff coming up,' I said. 'We're going to have live music starting in November, you should bring your girlfriend.'

I was about half way through that line line when I again remembered that I was talking to a deaf man. But at that point it was much too late to go back. I just said it, kind of squinted and braced myself for the response. What I did not do was try to make a joke to cover my ass like I usually would. At least I made one smart move.

"Ha. Yeah, I don't think I'll be coming here those nights," he said. "But be sure to fix those dart boards and maybe we'll be back."

Music.

I have been on a big White Stripes kick lately. Jack White is an asshole but, damn, that dude can rock.



And this is my favorite White Stripes song. A cover, yes, but a damn good one.

Episode 106: The one where Av goes to school

This post isn't all that funny or sarcastic. Seeing Av go to school was about as emotionally draining as watching some sort of psycho drama or a movie about people being kidnapped. Not my bag.
After about three months of worry and anticipation yesterday was finally the big day. Av, at 18-months, had her first day of school. It was the first time she had ever spent time away from us with someone that wasn't a grandparent or close friend or relative, and most of those times we have waited until she went to bed to leave. Yeah. It went about as well as one would expect for both sides.

As you can see from the picture above she was adorably dressed for her first day, and we created the false hope in our minds that she was excited about it. We had taken her to visit the classroom, at the new YMCA in Marblehead, and she seemed to have a good time. She was in to the other kids and last time we were there she seemed like she didn't particularly want to leave. We did not take in to consideration, however, that we were still with her the entire time on those previous visits.

I don't know if any of you have ever been to the YMCA at 8:30 in the morning before, but the place is a zoo. There were literally dozens of children and their aristocratic parents bustling in and out. Some were excited, others were crying. One boy on the way in was even punching his mom because he didn't like his class. This was all very overwhelming to Av but she held it together. It was overwhelming to me, too. I also held it together. She held my hand on the walk in and we eventually made it down the endless hall to her classroom. I felt about as nervous as I felt walking in to middle school for the first time, which I think was the one year I was more nervous than any other going to school.

The thing about this class is that it is kind of half nursery school half daycare. A lot of the kids are like Av and only go for a few hours a week, but there are other ones who are abandoned by their parents every morning and not picked up until the afternoon. Av recognized the place having been there before and as soon as we walked through the door she went over and started to play at one of the tables. This put both Monica and I at ease.

Monica was a nervous wreck for weeks leading up to the first day, constantly questioning whether this was a mistake and picturing Av's sad little face when she left her alone in that room. I didn't tell her this, because I have to be the manly voice of reason (or something like that) but I was probably feeling worse. As a kid I was always terrified of being abandoned- I am not sure why, I never really had any reason to be other than my mom being late for everything- but it bothered me nonetheless. I pictured Av with that feeling and it made me sad. She is a very emotional child anyway, and she is weird. I worried about all of the kids making fun of her. You know, because 1-year-old's do that, right? So to stay strong, if you will, I just thought of the attitude my dad always had when my mom was upset, like when she followed the bus to school and wept for the entire three hour drive to college. He just told me he was proud of me and he was happy that I was growing up. I deserved it. I tried to feel the same way about Av. Like I was happy that she was going because she loves to be around other kids. I wasn't happy. I just wanted to stay over in the corner of the room in case she got scared. But I didn't.

As we spoke with her teacher and signed her in Av flocked over to another kid and started to play. The teacher commented that it was nice to see a kid come in and not be afraid and be open to the new experience, or something like that. We were impressed and comforted. We said 'goodbye' to her and waved. She looked at us kind of blankly and started playing again. 'Well,' I thought as we walked down the hall. 'That couldn't have gone better.'

Monica cried on the walk back to the car and I avoided getting sad myself by trying to comfort her. We went home where she proceeded to compulsively clean the apartment like a crazy person for the next four hours. This place has never been cleaner. I kind of did the same, taking the trash to the curb and separating the recycling two days early, making errand runs and flooding my mind with useless Internet articles. The time didn't fly, but pretty soon it was noon and, without discussion, we both agreed to just go get her a half hour early. I can't speak for what Monica was feeling, but I hated the entire time she was gone. I thought about her getting sad, or her getting in trouble for something. I thought about how she must have felt when she realized we were gone and how she was probably asking herself when we were coming back. I was glad she was in school, because it is good for her, but I was just worried about her fragile emotions.

We walked back through the chaos to the classroom and peeked through the glass. We saw a baby sleeping in the back and watched through the window as our child walked over, poked her, and woke her up. We both found this to be hysterical. She made a friend and she didn't want her to go to sleep. That is adorable. As we walked in to the classroom expecting her to have had a good day the teacher informed us that she had 'a little bit of a hard time' after she realized we were gone. Apparently, she didn't quite get the fact that we were leaving when we said goodbye. I knew that was way too smooth. Av was so happy to see us, in fact, that when she noticed us from across the room she welled up, scrunched her face and fought off tears of joy as she ran in to Monica's arms.

Her daily report card read that she was upset in the morning and 'neutral' during the day. The smiley face was not circled at all. She was never happy. The teachers told us that she did fine and that a lot of kids get upset on the first day. We both knew that she probably screamed at the top of her lungs for about two hours and then just made the best of it until we got back. She barely even ate lunch, probably because she was so nervous.

This is where my anxiety really kicked in. What if the teachers weren't that nice to her when she was crying? What if they think we are bad parents? What if she misbehaved? Monica said I was crazy, but it really, really bugs me. In order for this school thing to work she is going to have to fall in love with one of those ladies. I just hope they were sweet and understanding. They have a lot of kids there, I don't know if I could be if it were me. So, I proceeded to feel terrible for the rest of the day and I am now convinced that she is traumatized. This morning she wouldn't let either one of us out of her sight. We left to go to the park a few hours ago and she was taking inventory all the way to the car. 'Mommy? Daddy? Mommy? Daddy?' Just making sure we were all there. Worse, she won't stop clutching her juice and her snack. Monica says she was too nervous to eat at school, but now I wonder if she was scared that other kids would take it, or if she was scared to ask the teacher for it. She didn't get mad at us for taking her, but I pretty much think that she never, ever wants to go back. To be honest, I don't really want to take her back. I have to bring her alone on Monday. I don't know how I feel about that. We decided that we have to say a longer goodbye and help her understand better. If I have to leave her there crying I am not going to be OK.

Anyway, I know I am being a girl about the whole situation. It is just weird how kids mess with your emotions. Monica and I decided that we would give it two weeks and if she still didn't have any smiley faces circled on her report card at the end of the day we would pull her out and enroll her in some sort of play group or library activity where she can still be with one of us. Yeah, that won't do anything to help my anxiety, but I'd rather freak out about my own social interactions with parents then freak out about my kid crying in school. In case I haven't mentioned this, parenting is f-ing hard.

Here is a picture of her kick ass elephant backpack. That is all for today. I am off to erase this from my memory...

Episode 105: Awesome Possum! We have the same SHIRT!

I am not, nor have I ever been good with money. Maybe it is because I have never really had enough of it at once to set any aside, or maybe it is because I am not at all good with numbers, but for whatever reason I have basically been treading financial water my entire life. This week, due to the fact that I share a job primarily with lazy college students I have been forced in to picking up more shifts at work now that they are all back in school. Because of this, I have a little bit of extra money in my wallet and I decided yesterday that an upgrade of my wardrobe was in order.

To best describe my 'style' I will share a comment made by my friend Pat the other day. Before he got married and scaled it back a little bit, he was one of those white kids who dressed like a thug, meaning he would show up at the bar to meet me wearing a polo shirt that was the same color as his hat and shoes and some expensive jeans. At the same time one of our best friends was this kid named Chris. He was a musician gearing up to move to LA and record his album, and he had a style that was appropriate to that. Chris would show up to meet us at the bar wearing designer jeans, or sometimes Capri pants (which he never lived down) some sort of top that involved a draping coat or fancy vest and almost always a completely inappropriate top hat or beanie accessorized with some boots and a scarf.

"Can you imagine what people thought when they saw us?' Pat asked me. 'I show up dressed like a gangsta with my hat matching my shoes, Chris looks like some magician or street performer and then there is you wearing the same pair of shoes you wear every day and some faded, old t-shirt your mom probably bought you freshman year of high school."

At first I was kind of offended, but then I realized that he was right. I pretty much have the same wardrobe that I had in 1998. I wear jeans or cargo shorts and t-shirts pretty much every day. Sure, I own shirts and ties, a few sweaters and some polo shirts for special occasions, but apparently my 'style' is 'late 90's high school freshman.' I'm pretty much OK with that, too.

So, with the previously mentioned extra cash in my pocket and a fresh bag filled with old t-shirts that I finally gave in and donated to Goodwill, I set out to upgrade my wardrobe. I budgeted myself $80 to spend on new shirts. This is how it went down.

My first stop was Old Navy. I quickly found a long sleeve shirt that I liked. That shirt was $15. I poked over to the t-shirt section and noticed that all of the new shirts for the season were also $15. Too pricey for me. If I'm going to pay $15 for a t-shirt, it had better be awesome. Instead I went to the clearance rack. I found one shirt for $6 and another for $4.99. That was my first stop. $26 spent, $64 left in the wallet. My next stop was Marshalls where I found a few more shirts, but was unwilling to pay more than $1o for them, so I put them back. At this point, Monica was getting a bit irritated with me and suggested I go to Target. I instead decided I wanted to go to Savers. For those that don't know, Savers is a thrift store. I prefer to buy my shirts at thrift stores for two reasons. 1. I am not the type of guy that likes to advertise things on my shirts, but since most shirts say something I prefer to just sift through racks of old t-shirts and get one that says something random or irreverent. Besides, isn't a vintage t-shirt cooler if it is actually vintage? Not just a new t-shirt with something random or old printed on it? I think so. 2. New t-shirts are too loud. Go to Target or Old Navy and look at the shirts now. There is so much going on. So much graphic. So many stupid things like skulls and snakes. Not my thing. (As an aside, it also drives me insane when I see Rolling Stones or Beatles t-shirts for sale at Target in kids sizes. High school kids today don't know who the Rolling Stones are. I work with an 18-year-old kid at the restaurant. Last night he came up and asked the bartender what the 'really sick piano rock' on the radio was. It was the Doors. 'Really sick piano rock.' I don't even like the Doors and I was offended).

In any event, I went to Savers and bought three shirts. One was an Edmonton Oilers shirt because, hey, it is pointless to own that. The other says USA in some funky writing and the third is a faded orange shirt that says Tennessee, USA with a silhouette of a bear on the front. Grand total? $5.50. That brings us up to $31.50. I'm done. I'm not spending any more than that unless something jumps out at me. Did I fail at upgrading my wardrobe? Most would say yes. I say no. That is six new shirts and I saved a bunch of cash. Success! Besides, trends recycle. Kids now dress like the 80's, when I was in school kids dressed like the 70's. Pretty soon, 1998 is going to be back in style and I am going to be on the cutting edge.

A brief rant about hipsters.

The title of this post is ripped off from a stand up bit by one of the funniest comedians out there, Louis CK. It kind of fuses what I was talking about above with what I am about to talk about below. If you have never seen it or don't know who Louis CK is, check it out here. NSFW.

It has been brought to my attention recently that my love for things like old t-shirts, rock and roll and robots is shared by a culture of people that I despise. Hipsters. For those of you over 40, think of hipsters as this generation's peace and love hippies. Pretentious, carefree, immature, snobby- hipsters are those people who drink coffee and become vegetarians not because they want to stay awake and be healthy, but because it is 'cool.' Then they spend the next hour telling you all of the reasons that you should also drink coffee and become a vegetarian, and then make fun of you behind your back for being a 'square' or whatever the kids refer to it as these days. They wear old basketball jerseys and tight pants even though they scoff at sports and seemingly hate to be comfortable. They want you to look at their shiny new tattoos, but God forbid you ask them the significance of choosing whatever random, irrelevant mess they have slathered on their forearm. ( I actually never ask people about tattoos because, well, I really don't care. But it is the principle we're talking about here.)

Hipsters drive Honda Fits and ride bikes. They drink PBR not for the taste or the cost, but because they like the retro cans. They blog about horror movies and they listen to new Weezer. God I can't stand hipsters. I just really can't.

Hipsters are indeed the bane of my existence. They drive me insane. I get mad every time I see one and Salem is crawling with them because it suddenly became 'cool' a few years ago. Well, you know what? I am fighting back. Hipsters can't have faded t-shirts. They can't have robots and they sure as shit can't have rock and roll! I refuse to give these things up and I will sport my comfort-fit jeans, my baseball caps and continue to drive my 19 mile per gallon Chevy Impala while I do it. Oh, and Kings of Leon suck.

Oh, yeah. That baby.

So, enough about my love for t-shirts and my hatred for hipsters, I'll update you on the baby because that is what you are all here for. It has been a strange week. Monica had Friday and Monday off and I spent the weekend working, so we didn't get too much interaction. At the same time, we are around each other enough now to be getting on each other's nerves again. By the spring time last year we had pretty much figured out what we could and couldn't do around one another in order to stay sane. We are working through that again and starting to get better. Her days right now pretty much consist of stalking cats, eating and coloring with crayons. Mostly stalking cats. The first thing she says every morning when she gets out of bed is 'where is the kitties?' She then proceeds to chase them around the house, stalk them under the bed and fire handfuls of cat food at them from across the kitchen. Pretty entertaining. She starts school on Thursday and Monica is already in an absolute panic. I am trying not to get emotional, but I know when we leave there I am going to have a hard time. I am just trying not to think about it right now. She has to go. If she keeps spending every day with me she is going to grow up to be a neurotic, anxious, hipster-hating weirdo. Blog to follow the first day of school.

Music hipsters won't like.

My first favorite band was Local H. Remember the 'keep it copacetic' song? Yeah, you do. Well, aside from that one post-grunge hit that everyone knows, they are actually a pretty badass rock band. Two guys fusing 70's classic rock with modern alternative and drinking a lot of Maker's Mark in the process. They get little to no credit outside of Chicago for what they are, almost entirely because all people remember is that one song. Well, their five studio albums that followed that are pretty kick ass and Scott Lucas is as good a rock and roll guitarist as their is out there today. But they aren't hipsters, they don't write 'radio friendly' pop rock and they don't harmonize so they get shit on. Well, it isn't right. This, ladies and gentleman, is simply rock and roll. Nothing more. Enjoy.



Still not sure what rock and roll sounds like, hipsters? Here. It isn't 'Phoenix' Or Vampire Weekend.



And one more, because now you want to rock out. You know you do.

Episode 104: I've had it with old people

Old people: Tiny, wrinkly portals of wisdom and experience. A constant reminder of our own mortality and, for most of us, our first introduction to sorrow and loss as a young child (depending on if one of your pets dies before one of your old-ass relatives). Up until about 16 hours ago I was OK with old people. It isn't their fault that they are old and slow. It is going to happen to everyone and most of them are doing their best. There are plenty of old people in this world that I love. My grandmother is 92 and one of my favorite people. Aside from the fact that many of them make me sad simply by still existing, I typically don't mind having old people around.

Today, though, I have finally just had it. Enough is enough. I have crossed over to the other side. The dark side. The side that says 'you know what? Old people need to be stopped. And they need to be stopped now.'

Excluding the sweet old ladies and charming old men that I care for (this includes both family and random old people I encounter, like the Portuguese can collector down the street and Bob the former Item elevator man), old people are assholes. They are inconsiderate, judgmental, grumpy, angry and constantly confused. It makes sense. They are just like normal human beings, only older. Thus, they possess all of the negative attributes that force me to despise 75 percent of the human race, and compound those already wonderful traits with an inability to hear, speak in a normal or polite tone of voice or accept any sort of change to their sad, quiet, lonely world. They also can't see and they usually smell.

I don't care if you spend your whole day volunteering at a nursing home of VA shelter, you know what I'm talking about. Old people are inconsiderate. They cut the line everywhere they go. They make unreasonable requests at restaurants and malls. They drink decaf coffee. Worse, for some completely inexplicable reason, they are allowed to drive. And drive they do. Slowly. Often times in to storefronts, parked cars or large groups of people gathered in or around a sidewalk or public park. They put-put along, getting confused in parking lots and taking the widest, slowest left-hand turns you can imagine.

Today I called an old man an 'old piece of shit' in the parking lot of Target.

That is the point of this rant. This is the old man that ruined my day. Forced me to swear in front of my child and effectively eliminated any sympathy that I once had (and I had a lot) for the independent elderly.

The incident occurred around 9:15 this morning. It was about 87 degrees out and I was walking out of Target holding Av in my left arm and pushing a cart that contained two 24-packs of bottled water, a 10 pound box of kitty litter and two grocery bags filled with miscellaneous items. In other words, it was pretty f-ing heavy.

In part because of the heat, my recent lack of sleep, and the fit that Av had just thrown in the macaroni and cheese aisle my mood was sour. The fit, by the way was exactly what I pictured a fit being before I was a father. She wanted to get out of the cart so she threw her juice on the ground, waited for me to bend over to pick it up and then tried to climb out. When I tried to make her sit back down she screamed and cried until took her out and carried her. This is why I was carrying her in my left arm pushing a 30 pound carriage. This is also why some people lose their shit and leave their kids on the fire department steps. I understand now.

Anyway, pouring sweat and struggling to get the cart to turn I stopped to take a short break in front of the store. We were not in the parking lot or in front of a cross walk. We were separated from the cars by a row of giant, red concrete balls, as are found in front of most Target retail locations. I was pleading with the baby to let me put her in the cart for the 45 seconds it would take us to walk across the parking lot to the car when I saw a gold Toyota Corolla out of the corner of my eye. It had stopped in the middle of the parking lot as if it were going to turn. I stood and watched the car for about 10 seconds before I realized that the fat, decrepit old man in the drivers seat was watching me. As he started to creep forward I started to walk in the direction of the car. Again, I was behind the red balls and not in the parking lot. As the old man slowly, I mean slowly, approached I could see him yelling in the car. He was waiving his arms at me and as he drove by angrily shook his head and muttered something I couldn't understand. Due to my already awful mood, this infuriated me. It pushed me over the cliff. Why was he mad at me? Did his crazy, old depth perception trick him in to thinking I was in front of his car? Did he want me to cross? Because my car was like four rows away, I wasn't crossing there anyway. Was he upset that I had not taken a more stern approach at getting my daughter in the cart? Who was this asshole to judge? He bought a gold car. I bet his kids turned out to be whores and criminals. These were all of the thoughts that ran through my mind in the five seconds it took him to crawl past me. Disregarding the fact that I was holding a toddler who likes to mimic words I spun around and said the only thing that came to mind. 'Go take a nap you old piece of shit!' Then I gave him the finger. Not just the regular finger, either. Like the long, extended, hold it up to make sure he sees you, and so that everyone else sees you and knows this guy is an asshole finger. Then I looked at the baby, apologized, and walked to the car.

In my mind I was hoping he came back and gave me a talk on being disrespectful or a bad parent. Because I would have been able to call him more names. Like Dr. Wrinkles. But he was probably too damn old to even know I reacted. Was it a bit inappropriate? Of course. Was it out of line? Sure. I don't care. I have had it. That guy goes about his day being pissed off that he is old and judging other people's lives for it. My only regret was the 'go take a nap' part, because that was pretty much all I wanted to do at that point, too. I can't blame him for doing that. I meant the 'old piece of shit' part, though.

So today, September 2, 2010, I am officially done with old people. There will be no more new old people in my life and I will no longer refrain from blasting my horn at them if the are holding up traffic. Do you know that this afternoon I drove behind an old man for three side streets while he drove on the wrong side of the road? You bet your ass I judgmentally shook my head at him as I blew past.

I know that there are plenty of nice old people out there and I know that someday I am going to be a grumpy, wet myself old man who needs to get somewhere, too. Still, though, I am going to be the first one at the polls when they finally come to their senses and let us vote to take away driving privileges from these menaces. Unemployment in this state is astronomical, I know a lot of people who could use a paycheck for driving grumpy old people around. Besides, isn't that why we have kids? I am noting every day, like today, where my kid is a jerk to me and cashing them in when I'm 80.

"Hey, Av. Remember that day in 2010 when you threw a fit in Target, pooped on my bedroom floor and launched a bunch of your toys off of our second floor porch just to be a jerk? Well, I need a ride to the doctor." Don't think I won't go in to detail about that colonoscopy on the way home, either.

...
Happy Birthday, Joe. My gift to you is this bad ass Nonpoint montage. Enjoy.

Episode 103: That time my kid peed at PetSmart

Welcome back everyone. i hope your summer break was nice an relaxing. It is September 1 and we are officially back in to the swing of things. Monica is back to teaching snobby, snot-nosed, aristocratic pre-teens and I am back to trying not to permanently scar our child on a daily basis. Of course, it doesn't quite feel like it should be back to school time since it is 100 degrees outside, but hey, I don't make the schedule. So far, three days back in to it, I can definitively say two things. 1. Av is much more of a handful than she was three months ago and 2. I am unspeakably exhausted. Somehow we are back to the 6 a.m. wake up time. Not good, man. Not good. I'll be lucky if I don't pass out while I write this.

I will say that I am not nearly as nervous as I was at this time last year when I had just quit my full time job in favor of taking care of a baby all day, but I am certainly not entirely comfortable the second time around, either. Simple activities that used to occupy Av are no longer good enough as she has evolved in to a running, talking, wise ass little person, and the likelihood of her getting in to some sort of trouble increases by the day. One thing that hasn't changed in a year, though, is her uncanny ability to relieve herself in the most inappropriate places at the most inappropriate times. Like next to the small aquarium tanks at PetSmart.

The baby and I are frequent visitors to PetSmart, as it is not just a pet store, but also a satellite location for the local animal shelter, meaning there are always fresh, young kitties on display. It also has a dog training ring that is right in the middle of the store, large windows where you can watch dogs being groomed and a variety of fish, reptiles, birds and rodents on sale. In other words, this place is like a zoo for household animals. (That is a great business idea, by the way. Open a zoo for little kids with kittens and puppies and rabbits. They can play with them, pet them etc.. Excellent idea. Don't steal it. I'm going to open one as soon as I get my zoology degree.) We used to head in whenever we needed cat supplies, but now Av is smart enough to know when we are pulling in to the parking lot, which it shares with a bank, a Target and a Shaws, so now we pretty much end up there any time we have to run errands. This morning I was just trying to pay the rent but didn't make it out of the car before she was yelling "KITTIES!" and forcefully pointing at the store. I gave in. Surprise!

Av's pattern at the store is the same. First we look at the kitties then she takes off running through the store to see the fish and other animals before returning to the kitty cages where she plays with them through the Plexiglas. The people at the store are very friendly and never seem to care that she is running around like a terror yelling at the animals. In fact, most of them think it is funny. Especially the part where she is terrified of birds. (Seriously, she inherited my fear I think. Whenever we see a bird at the store or at the zoo she buries her head in my shoulder and says 'no.')

Anyway, we were over by the turtle tank today when Av decided that she didn't want to wear her diaper anymore. I kind of noticed that she was grabbing at it and I thought maybe it was uncomfortable so I reached down, loosened the tabs and readjusted it. We took a few more steps and she started pointing at a lizard and getting real excited. I know now that this was designed as a diversion. As I was looking at the lizard she was grabbing at the diaper again. I looked down to see it around her ankles and her smiling at me with that mischievous 'yeah, I just did that' look. There is no doubt in my mind that she tricked me. 'Daddy, lizard!" She doesn't give a shit about lizards, she just wanted to pee on the floor. (Ok, so she didn't say 'lizard, per say, bit was more like 'uzed' but I knew what she meant).

Before I had a chance to react she took off running, but she had only undone one tab so she immediately fell. I sprang in to action, not because I thought she was hurt, but because I wanted to get the diaper back on before anyone noticed and, of course, before she peed on the floor. Too late. As I reached down and stood her up I could hear the pee hitting the floor. She was going and there was nothing I could do but wait for her to stop.

Horrified, I swiveled my head around to see if anyone had noticed. The coast was clear. In what actually turned out to be a stroke of luck, none of the pee got on the diaper, meaning I was able to quickly re attach it to her wet ass and whisk her away from the crime scene to the hamster food section where I scolded her/ put her back together. My first reaction was to bolt the store, but that would make me look guilty. Instead, I just Wandered over to the complete other side and slowly made my way out the door. Who knows how long the pee sat there before someone noticed. It doesn't matter. As long as they don't know it was us. Really, how would they? Review the surveillance? This is a store that people walk through with dogs all day. It is perfectly conceivable that one of those disgusting creatures decided to go all over the floor. What's more, if you are going to let your dog pee on the floor my kid should be allowed to do it, too. Right? Right.

So, conflict was avoided but I was once again left to make a quick decision in a circumstance that involved human waste. This happens to me way, way too often. That is one of the things they don't tell you about before you become a dad. Sure, you have to change diapers, but there is going to be a lot of cleaning up non-diaper incidents as well. Like when you kid poops int he bathtub, or pees at PetSmart. Thanks for the heads up, society. It is going to be a long, long winter Stay tuned.