parenting

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My Toddler’s [Bleep] Potty Mouth

June 21, 2012 at 10:06 pm , by ‘

19 months.

My son’s pronunciation of words is much limited right now. For example, “cookie” sounds a lot different when it comes out of his mouth. In fact, it’s pretty difficult for me to keep a straight face. Why?

He hasn’t learned the “k” sound yet. And the “oo” vowel sound is more of a short “i” sound.

I’ll put it this way. “Cookie” becomes a word that rhymes with “pity” but starts with a “t” instead of a “p”.

On top of that, when Jack asks for a cookie after dinner, he generally whines for it. Hearing a toddler whine for that is pretty hilarious.

But sometimes, his “k” sound is more of an “sh” sound, making “cookie” another equally censor-worthy word in the land of toddlers.

So either it sounds like he’s upset because he wants to return to the early days of being breastfed or he’s upset because he has a dirty diaper.

Inappropriate and therefore wildly entertaining. Because I evidently I have the mind of a Junior High boy again.

It’s kind of hard not to when your son tries so honestly to ask for a cookie yet is working his way down George Carlin’s list of “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television.”

I’m guessing every toddler goes through their accidental stage of cursing like a sailor.

According to my mom, back when I was 2, I had this toy 18 wheeler truck that I stored my Hot Wheels in. Evidently I carried it around with me everywhere, referring to it as my “fruck.” Pretty close call for 1983.

Alright, so let me hear it. Tell me about your kid’s unintentional profanities, if you dare.

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Summertime Means My Son Sleeps In Longer

June 20, 2012 at 10:54 pm , by 

19 months.

Yeah, I know.

Today is the first day of summer and I’m supposed to be all happy and nostalgic about it, saying, “Ah, summer… takes me back to when I was a kid, enjoying Otter Pops and Sharkleberry Fin in the hot sun, and watching Hey Dude and Inspector Gadget on Nickelodeon. And now I get to see my own son enjoy summertime!”

Well, that’s not at all what’s really going through my head.

Instead, what I’m actually thinking is, “Okay, if today is the longest day of the year, then that means starting tomorrow, the days will be getting shorter, meaning there will be less sunlight, meaning Jack will start sleeping in longer!”

Sorry to be so goth about it, but that, my friends, is what summer is really about for me.

It’s about me gradually getting more sleep because less sunlight shining through the window will help my son sleep longer.

Yeah, we hung up thick brown curtains over the window blinds in his room but they only help so much.

Several weeks ago, Jack started waking up at 5:30 AM, as opposed to 6:15 which I am accustomed to. I know a lot of parents have it worse; they have kids who don’t sleep through the night like I taught mine to.

But for the sake of the ultimate balance in the universe, my son sleeps from 7:00 PM until the rooster crows each morning because I become a monster without a solid night of sleep.

I go from mild-mannered, Members Only jacket-wearing Bill Bixby to painted green with a bad wig Lou Ferrigno. It’s not good.

Jack and I have had this understanding that he doesn’t wake up his mother and me in the middle of the night. But too much sunlight has compromised that.

With Jack waking up 45 minutes early, it not only means I’m grumpy, but it means he’s even grumpier; as seen in the top picture of him in his Radio Flyer wagon.

Not to mention, his daytime naps have often been non-existent; here lately.

But I can’t blame Jack that he thinks that during these longest days of the year he’s been living in Nightmute, Alaska; where it’s hard to distinguish night from day.

All I know is, things are looking up for this grouchy hibernation-deprived dad.

For Father’s Day, I was able to cash in my “1 Hour Uninterrupted Nap” Daddy Coupon. Plus I received my first official Father’s Day necktie, hand-crafted by my son.

Come, winter. Come quickly.

 

Leave a comment Posted on Nostalgia, parenting

My Son, The Starving Chalk Artist

June 19, 2012 at 11:33 pm , by 

19 months.

Crayons are the gateway drug to chalk.

It began so innocently when we took home some crayons from Mellow Mushroom Pizzeria, followed by my wife soon after buying him a cheap coloring book.

But on one fateful, antsy Saturday afternoon, we naturally had the clever idea to buy Jack some chalk to decorate our sidewalk. And since then, you’d think the kid has 6 fingers on one hand; one of them typically being blue, green, yellow or red.

Jack values chalk more than Elmo. Yeah, you heard that right.

I mean, he still loves Elmo; calling out his name in vain as he sleeps, sometimes.

But right now, Jack is totally beginning his  ”starving artist” stage.

(I think he’s inspiring to become the next Julian Beever; that famous chalk artist whose genius work you’ve seen in email forwards.)

On the car ride to and from daycare, Jack often requests a piece of chalk; to hold, not to draw with. He just likes the satisfaction, and the pride, of grasping it for 30 minutes at a time.

That’s how much he appreciates the arts.

This past weekend we took Jack to Menchie’s, a pay-per-ounce frozen yogurt place right down the road from us.

Two things in particular make Menchie’s stand out to me:

Evidently the owner is Jewish and he has a rabbi bless each new flavor as soon as possible. That’s why certain flavors have a mysterious Hebrew sticker next to them and others don’t; because the rabbi hasn’t blessed them yet.

(I guess? I’m not Jewish so I don’t know. I’m all in favor of hearing a better explanation on that one.)

The other thing is that there’s a giant community chalkboard inside the shop for the customers to express themselves. Needless to say, Jack cared a lot more about the chalkboard than he did his frozen yogurt.

Lucky for me, because I got to eat all of his bananas and cream dessert.

Just look at that intensity. He wouldn’t have been a starving artist if he would have just eaten his frozen yogurt, though.

For more pictures of the event, go toThe Dadabase’s Facebook pageand see the picture folder called Menchie’s Yogurt Bar in Nashville.

 

“A man paints with his brains and not with his hands.”

-Michelangelo

Leave a comment Posted on Nostalgia, parenting

Raising A Different Kid Than My Parents Did

June 18, 2012 at 8:33 pm , by 

19 months.

Have you ever thought about how if your parents raised your kid instead of you, you’d probably end up with a much different child?

The irony is that your own parents raised you in a way that ultimately causes you to raise your child differently than they would.

Sometimes I feel a little bit bad about the potential stress I put my parents through when I have them watch Jack for an afternoon or overnight. It’s not simply, “Here the kid. See ya!”

Instead, it’s more like this: “Okay, here’s his sleep and nap schedule, and exactly what he needs to eat for each meal, and make sure he doesn’t watch TV either…”

I guess it somewhat resembles the concept of the classic TV show Family Ties, where the parents were easygoing and their son Alex P. Keaton was… basically the complete opposite.

Comparing myself to my own parents raising me in the 80′s and 90′s, I feel that they were also nicer than I am. They didn’t seem stressed out by this parenting thing; the way I often am as I raise my son.

I admit, at times, I take being a dad too seriously.

And I know it can’t just be me who feels this way when they compare their own parenting style to their parents. There are undeniable generational and cultural differences between Generation X and Y parents and their own Baby Boomer parents.

Of course I am very aware, too, that my son is wired differently than I am. My mom said she never had to worry about me trying to play in electrical outlets, for example.

As for Jack… ha! I can never turn my attention away from him for any given second. He’s way too adventurous to trust at this age.

Evidently I was a well-contained little boy. Well, my son is definitely not.

Even if I tried, I would not be able to raise my son to be just like me. But maybe my parents could….

Leave a comment Posted on Nostalgia, parenting

Infographic: Anatomy Of A Dad

June 17, 2012 at 7:22 pm , by 

19 months.

Last week I noticed at the bottom of “Daddy’s Roughhousing: Good Physically and Psychologically” in the automated portion, You Might Like, was a link to a seemingly random article written by Jenna Bromberg for H&R Block.

It was actually an infographic called “The Anatomy Of A Dad” which contrasts the stereotypical dad of “back then” to today’s modern dad.

What I thought was most interesting was how Dear Old Pops’ favorite drink was a light beer in a can, while The New Dad’s drink of choice was a microbrewed beer; in a bottle, of course.

This is actually something I’ve observed for a while and have been wanting to write about, but feared it would come across as irrelevant to the subject of parenting.

But Jenna Bromberg has helped me legitimize this cultural concept about today’s dad:

Light beer in a can is as outdated as those lame commercialsmaking Dad out to be a bumbling idiot.

So long, Al Bundy and Homer Simpson.

The beer of choice for today’s active and involved dad is most likely to be A) impossible to find in a can, B) heavy and filling, and C) made by a quirky-named company that has been established since I was born in 1981.

(Samuel Adams, America’s largest craft brewery, was only established in 1984.)

Microbreweries, also known as craft breweries, are  identified as “small, independent, and traditional.”

Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but at least for myself, I see a co-relation between microbrewed beer and the modern American dad:

I tend to see myself as an underdog (small), confident in my unique identity (independent), and quite nostalgic (traditional).

As a child of The Eighties, I was regularly told that I could do anything if I believed in myself, put my mind to it, and just said no to drugs. Now as an adult, I’m dealing with the repercussions of that over-inflated truth/false hope.

Sure, we’re all special. But that’s the problem; we’re all special.

So it totally makes sense that us Generation Y and latter Generation X dads don’t mind being perceived as different, open-minded, and maybe even a little bit weird; in a good way.

I just want to be a good dad.

And somehow, drinking light beer makes me think of the two TV shows I hate most:Two And A Half Men and16 And Pregnant.

Even if I’m simply a fleshed-out part of a well-marketed demographic, I am that modern American dad who regularly compares notes of the most recent unheard-of brand of microbrewed beer that happened to be on sale at Kroger this week.

It’s a mindset against drunkenness and irresponsibility and the need to escape from our fatherly duties; as I feel light beer in a can is often associated with.

Instead, it’s an appreciation for the finer things in life. It’s like being a responsible beer connoisseur makes you part of this cool club of relevant dads.

Maybe after a lifetime of exposure to the opening credits of Cheers, I want to be like those sophisticated, mustachioed gentlemen who lived before my grandparents were even born.

I suddenly feel the need to grow an ironic mustache.