Potty Rockers

For some insane reason, I really wanted to have a horrific potty training story.  I wanted to tell you that we had poop everywhere.  That everything from the dogs to the newel post had been pissed on.  That I went in as a naive stay at home dad, but came out an R. Kelly supporter.  I wanted to have some real useful information for you parents or soon-to-be parents out there who were looking for comfort or direction.  Alas, there is no goopy, smeared up, or inadvertent golden shower end to this story nor is there any real direction (well...maybe a little, but you're really going to have to look hard).

We started potty training the Big Guy in April.  I had this not so glamorous idea of hammering it out through what is called the 'commando plan'.  You let your kid run around buck naked for the weekend, don't leave the house and keep placing them on the toilet until they start to get the sensation of needing to go to the bathroom.  The point to keeping them undressed is so that they can see the action instead of it be even remotely held back by pull-ups or even underwear.

All of the write ups on this method certainly gave warning to the possibility of mass accidents, that it would be a miserable weekend for all involved, but that in the end, we would have conquered the almighty porcelain god...or in our case, the duck potty.

This never happened.

So we went with the easier approach.  The ol'just-pop'im-on-the-potty-every-fifteen-to-twenty-minutes-until-something-happens-and-go-from-there method.  I don't really think that is a per se method, but you get my drift.

The main reason for going about it this way was I was simply too much of a pansy to make a go of the 'commando plan'.  Call me crazy, but I didn't want full fledged piss streams with mini logs running through my house.  I hate getting even remotely close to poop.  After wiping one of the boys, if it happens to touch my skin somehow, I nearly lose it.  You'd think that after two kids that I would have more than gotten over this.  But I haven't.

Just yesterday, the Big Guy said he need to take a dump, then once he was on the toilet he said "my poop won't come out, Dadda".  But apparently he had a turltler (for you uninitiated, that's a poop that just breaks the barrier and is just itching for a reason to drop or smear somewhere).  Because when I came back to the bathroom I saw a small ball of something outside the door, thinking it was dirt I went to pick it up...it was shit.  Now while I really do try to curb my foul language around the boys, when fecal matter is involved, I invariably drop a few bombs.  Nothing too imaginative, just your usual 'son of bitch', 'fuck my life' and 'are you fucking kidding me' variety.  Then to compound the problem, the Big Guy then changed his mind and said he really did have to take a poop.  After wiping him, we needed to get his underwear back on (which he had happily shed upon his false alarm), so as I held his Toy Story 3 underwear for him to step into, I noticed a grape sized smear of crap on his ankle.  As my stomach began to sink, while I realized that there must be the rest of that smear near by, I noticed that the other half was closer than somewhere, it was running down the knuckle of my finger.  And the cussing re-commenced.  But I digress.

Truth be told, the first day of potty training went better than expected.  We had two accidents and one success.  Since we diaper the Big Guy at nap time and bed time, we missed out on a few.  But overall I was happy.  From then on, it wasn't too bad.  The only real trouble is that while he was a wiz (no pun intended) with peeing in the toilet, he had yet to take a poop in it.

That would take a few more months.  Like I said, we took the scenic route.

Now that he is pretty well trained (though we still do nap time and bed time diapers for him), we run into other somewhat awkward issues.  Just things I never expected.  Such as teaching him to wipe.  As natural as it is, just try to (assuming you haven't had to yet) explain the concept and motion to a three year old.  It's hard enough to explain the sun rising or why Momma works, let alone a backwards crank of the shoulder, mixed with a twist of the wrist, very specific targeting and the inward/upward motion that is ass wiping.  With my aversion to getting excrement on me (or as would be in this case, being around other people with crap on them), it makes it difficult to want to explain to him how to wipe himself.  I know I will have to, but I can just imagine all the crappy hands I will be cleaning and just the thought alone of that makes me ill.

Right now we are dealing with 'itchy butt' and 'Dadda, come wipe me'.  Just today as we were having the house sprayed for insects (I now have the advantage of knowing the difference between a smoky brown cockroach, the standard wood roach - also known as the American cockroach and the apparently very fertile German cockroach...and knowledge is power), Benj yelled from the top of the basement stairs "Dadda, I have itchy butt".  To which I told him to go ahead and scratch it, otherwise I would check him out after I was done speaking with the exterminator.  He yelled back "but I have itchy butt now, Dadda".  What's a guy to do?

A few weeks ago, as I was canceling my Direct TV service (since our new house would unfortunately have no line of sight of the southern sky), Benj declared that he had to poop.  He likes to tell me that he has to go to the bathroom.  I am not sure why.  Probably because it is still pretty new to him that he is doing it mostly on his own.  Or perhaps, maybe he is some sort of excrement exhibitionist.  I don't know.  Either way, when he finished, he loudly demanded (of course during a moment that the Direct TV rep was quietly researching something):  "Dadda, I went poop.  Now you wipe my butt".  The Direct TV rep enjoyed this to no end.

All in all, I guess I am happy that my stories aren't more gruesome or that I don't have to wonder where the smell is coming from or why the carpet is wet.  It was a surprising turn of events for me, but like most other things with the Big Guy, I suspect he has something in store for me in some other regard.  Something that will make me want to crawl out of my skin.  Something that will drive me nuts.  Almost certainly something I haven't even thought of yet.  And then there is the Taz.  They remind me a bit of myself.  Crafty, conniving, mischievous prone and ill timed bladder having little shits.      

It's Been Real

I'm not a sappy guy.  In fact most people who know me might tell you I can be an asshole a little rough around the edges.  I'm no thug.  I just get queasy around emotional people.  I crack jokes and poke fun.  It's not meant to be mean, I just need to do something to break the discomfort (my own).  No, I am not one of those "guys don't cry" type of guys, I've cried while watching Extreme Home Makeover...so no "man" card here, to be fair I think they pump estrogen through the air waves.  But this move back to the east coast is not met with the same "get me the fuck out of here" mentality as when we left Virginia nine years ago (think Guillermo Diaz in Half Baked).

I'm getting all choked up here.

San Diego has been great to us.  We moved 3000 miles away from family and friends.  It was just me and the Mrs (back then she was just Ms.).  We found a dump of an apartment in Mission Beach, but it had a view of the ocean.  We were sold.

Nine months later we woke up to a skylight full of termites scratching to get out.  We left with them.  We found a better place in Pacific Beach.

What followed were drunken nights, bar crawls, the best pizza in all SoCal (Hoboken), late night destruction of breakfast burritos from the local establishment (Roberto's), adopting a bitchy kooky Australian Shepherd mutt, I took up playing golf again, the Ms' graduated from law school and eight years after our first date  I finally made the Ms a Mrs (apparently dating does not age like a fine wine, you have to buy the proverbial cow...and I am in no way calling my wife a cow - if I were to call her any animal it would be a baby sloth and we all know how cute they are...they make people cry).

Thank you.

Then we bought a house, with the help of the Mrs' folks.  We left the beach for a land known only as "east of the 5".  We (and by we, I mean I) became foodies and beer snobs.  We got a Golden Retriever.  We adopted two cats.  We had the Big Guy.  I got involved in triathlons and running half marathons (not competitively, have you seen my picture?).  We lost a beautiful person, friend, sister, daughter, wife, mother and aunt when the Mrs' mom passed away.  I became a stay at home Dad.  We had the Taz.  And I started my photography business.

Things.  Happened.  Here.

And this only covers the tip of the iceberg.  We made amazing friends.  We had an assortment of people making our life better from pet sitters to house cleaners, that we got to know all very well.  We took some great vacations.  We saw most of our friends get married.  We ate some fantastic food.  We drank a lot of beer...etc.

I know we'll have it better in North Carolina, but I know we've had it good, in fact, really good here.

It's a hundred degrees plus humidity back east today.  It's 75 here.  When the weather was frigid or insanely hot back east, I used to send obnoxious emails of overturned lawn chairs to friends on the east coast to show them that, as Californians, we were in the thick of it with them.

It's weird doing things here for the last time: taking the kids to the doctor, getting my haircut, playing Torrey Pines at local rates, hiring a babysitter, eating at various restaurants, visiting playgrounds, hanging out with the crew of Stay At Home Dads, going to the beach, watching the Padres suck again, etc...

Right now, the Big Guy has Vans (the shoes).  He looks like a little surfer in training.  The Taz, is well...the Taz - a loud, quick crawling tank of a boy.  I doubt we'll be back here in the next two or three  years.  But I wonder if when we do make it back, will the boys have slight southern accents?  Will the Big Guy remember all the places he fell down and scraped his knees as we drive by them, as he does now?  Will we have an insatiable hunger for a breakfast burrito as soon as we get off the plane?  Will we admire the postings of friends visiting In'N'Out?

In ten days from now, the boys and I will walk into the airport and get our one-way tickets to head home for the first time.  And as much as I will always consider Philadelphia home, San Diego has wormed it's way into that coveted call tag of places I call "home".  I am familiar with the nooks and crannies here.  I know the short cuts to just about everywhere.  If you come to San Diego, I can show you a great time and one that will make you want to move here.

I'm glad we have friends here to come back to and I look forward to bringing the boys back to show them the hospital they were born at, the home we lived in, the parks we played at, the restaurants we ate at, and the life we lived however many years ago.

You are probably wondering why I would leave then, right?  I guess I am getting old.  It's no longer about what's fun or exciting for me anymore.  Now I think of where my kids will go to school and what the quality of education will be there.  I think of how close can I be to my family who can help with the kids as well as watch them grow up.  And I think of how much the Mrs is working and how that translates to less time that we spend together as a family.  Add it all up and San Diego, as nice as it is, just isn't for us anymore.  The square peg, round hole issue.

So yes, it's kind of sad, or as people keep saying - bitter sweet.

San Diego, we bid you farewell.  We leave the "Hola, dudes"  for the "Hey ya'lls."  We leave the fish tacos for shrimp and grits.  And we leave the sunshine tax for potential heat stroke.  But we leave it all knowing we can come back.  Stay good San Diego, it's been real.

 

Cruising For A Bruising

Whoever said "payback is a bitch", never had to discipline a child.  Sure there are bad things such as when your kids are sick, when they're sad or when they get hurt.  But disciplining eats those other things for breakfast.  When your kids are sick, you feel for them and want nothing more than to be able to take their sickness from them and give it to yourself so that they don't have to deal with it.  When they're sad, all you want to do is comfort them and somehow make them laugh.  When they get hurt, you are willing to put your lips to a bloody knee and make it feel better.  Ice cream is always a great equalizer and never use hand sanitizer to clean a wound.  Unfortunately you can't provide rewards, comfort or try to make your kids smile when they've done something bad and that in a nutshell is what makes it a miserable undertaking.

There are three main problems when it comes to discipline:  determining what actions to discipline, being consistent in your approach and finding a punishment that dissuades the bad behavior permanently.  

If you don't have kids, let me save you the suspense, they do a lot of bad shit.  The good news is that it takes about two and half years for that stuff to start.  I know what you're thinking, the terrible twos.  Well...yes and no.  The Big Guy hasn't been that bad during his life's sophomore year, certainly nothing I would label as "terrible".  Around December of last year he started showing signs of turning the forbidden corner.  It wasn't crazy, outlandish attacks that would make Henry Evans blush, it really just started out as an incessant whine (which I wrote about here) mixed with stubborn "no's".  However it grew into something a bit more than that relatively quickly.  Within just a few months, the Big Guy started laying on top of the Little Man.  We're not just talking his head...this was his whole body.  And just to put it in more visual perspective, the Big Guy weighs 33 lbs, while the Little Man at the time was probably about 18 lbs (now a hefty 21 lbs.).  From there, we experienced our first push, nothing intentionally violent but clearly testing the waters.  And then finally, the coup de grace, the first punch.  This brings me to our first point, determining what actions to discipline.  

Your kids will do things that need correction.  You need to decide what those things are, as it is different for each parent.  What type of parent are you?  I think more often than not, the kids determine the parenting style.  It's all fine and good to sit down with your spouse and talk this stuff out before your kids get here (as our useless prenatal class instructed us to do...talk about a waste of time), but until it's real, until you are smack dab in the middle of it...you're talking out of your ass.  Once you have figured out what actions need to have repercussions then you can decide how consistent you are going to be.

This portion of the problem is simple.  If you are not consistent, your kids will rule your world, the world around you will hate you and the eyes people are giving you...yep, they are definitely judging you.  Setting an imaginary, movable boundary with your children is like staging a Biggest Loser competition in a Krispy Kreme factory.  Your kids thrive on boundaries, real ones where they know what happens if they cross the line.  Move the line once and you have created confusion.  The Mrs and I get into these debates (to put it nicely) all of the time.  She doesn't like playing the bad guy or inconveniencing herself or the kids to keep discipline consistent.  Guess what?  Neither do I.  But I know that if we are at the grocery store and the Big Guy blows into a full tantrum or hits me, that taking him home that instant is the best thing I can do for all involved.  Yes, the shopping cart if left full and yes, I have to come back and do the grocery shopping all over again.  Which brings us to the final countdown, the punishment.

We have gone through a myriad of punishments with the Big Guy and what I have learned with him is that extended time outs and simply time are the answer to curbing bad behavior.  We tried taking away toys, videos, treats, special day trips we had planned (Sea World, museums, zoo etc) and nothing worked.  As soon as time outs were involved, I started to see an understanding from him.  After I have put him in time out and given him time to think (it has been as short as 2 minutes and as long as an hour) he is then asked to explain what he did wrong and then right that wrong (which usually means he has to apologize...usually to his little brother).  If he chooses to not right the wrong then the time out continues.  I am also not a nice guy during this time.  Time out means just that, so no toys, no talking...just good ol'fashioned sitting and thinking.  Once he rights the wrong, however, we can hug it out.

Now, I am a fairly strict parent by my own view.  I see a lot of other parents let their kids get away with things that I typically frown upon.  These are the dreaded kids-will-be-kids type of parents...to each their own, I guess.  But if your kid pushes, throws something at or punches my kid for no reason, don't expect me to have that same tree hugger approach to him or to you...yes, I will parent your child if you make me.  Too many parents today want to be their kids friends first.  They want to do away with the word "no".  They want there children to be confident.  They want to level the playing field.  Newsflash:  you were a parent before you became friends, "no" is one of the best words your children can learn, confident kids are bratty kids and the playing field won't be level until your kids have kids.  Being the bad guy isn't so bad.  So settle in for the ride and in about 20 years the two of you can have a few laughs about all of this over a few beers.       

The Slippery Slope

March 13, 2010 was my first official day as a stay at home dad.  It was an exciting as well as a frightening change in my life.  I was used to going to an office everyday, talking with and sometimes getting chewed out by clients, chatting with co-workers and sitting in rush hour traffic to and from my workplace.  Suddenly, I was just getting up to feed the Big Guy (back then he was more of a little guy), hitting up the zoo, going to our Gymboree classes, trying out sign language for infants classes and going on hikes.  It was pretty great.  Sure I had some bad days, and the learning curve of taking care of the Big Guy full time and balancing responsibilities at home was steep for me, but overall I was having a great time.  After a few months I had a system.  Mondays we went to the grocery store.  Tuesdays I did laundry.  Wednesdays we had Gymboree.  Thursdays I cleaned the pool.  Fridays...well, those were mine, lunch at Station Tavern with a few beers while the Big Guy played in the tavern's playground.  I had it down.  I was the master of my domain.

Then came the Little Man.  Perhaps it was having the Mrs home for four months, maybe it was having two kids to look after thus doubling my parenting duties, maybe it was I was getting a touch of senioritis (a debilitating disease to high school and college seniors about 1-2 months prior to graduation which causes the infected to play video games, hang out with friends and avoid school work at all costs) and maybe it was a combination of all three.  Whatever it is, I haven't really gotten on a schedule.  My days are somewhat a bit of the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants variety.  The Big Guy wants to go to the park, sure.  Some fellow SAHDs want to get together, I'm in.  There's a premiership soccer match on, let's watch that.  

There are some other factors too:  I am taking some photography classes and trying to start a family/couples photography business (you've seen my pictures here, if you like them then HIRE ME!), writing a blog and the Mrs has been working 12-18 hour days seven days a week for the past 2 1/2 months.  In addition to a few other factors which have come up recently, though I can't go into them just yet (I'll share those details in a few months - but no, it's not another kid.  Let me rephrase that, hell no, it's not another kid), I have been slacking in my duties at home.  

To give you a picture of my now:  I have a basket of laundry that hasn't been folded in five days,  I have a load of clothes in the dryer that has been done for 24 hours and hasn't been touched, I haven't picked up the dog poop in the backyard for four days, I haven't changed the bed sheets on our bed in three weeks, for three months our dining room has been filled with bags and boxes bound for Goodwill and I haven't showered in two days.  Luckily, we have a house cleaner who comes every other week - so we don't live in complete filth.  If you aren't slack jawed yet, then we should be hanging out.

The amazing part is that I don't actually feel like I am slacking, I feel that most days are fairly busy.  "Busy" is a term I use loosely, by the way.  I don't want to give the impression that I am crunching numbers, scanning documents and facilitating multi-billion dollar company mergers, I did mention I was a stay at home dad, right?  But I am changing diapers, giving baths, feeding two boys, getting in a workout, heading out on playdates, working on potty training (not me, the Big Guy...though some people may argue that I could use a refresher) and acting as a jungle gym/doctor's patient/horse/block builder for my boys.  It may not sound like a lot, but wrap all of that up in 12 hours and it's a full, full day.

I was at a friend's daughters first birthday a couple weekends ago.  While the Big Guy slowly warmed up to the crowd (these days he hides behind me and tucks his chin into his chest/turns his head away whenever anyone he is not entirely familiar with looks at him, however, this does not include strangers at the store, who he happily waves to and says "hello"...if you figure that out, let me know), I sat down outside and starting chatting with some guy who I never figured out the relation to the hosts as well as another SAHD.  The other SAHD was right in my shoes.  Grass on his lawn was looking more like a wavy field of golden wheat, laundry was backing up, dishes were done less frequently, and the house was a bit of a mess.  He had also just become a father x 2 in the past 3 months.  I felt relieved to know I wasn't alone.  We reminisced about our beautiful schedules from a year ago, we laughed about how easy just one child was and that we never quite appreciated it, and we agreed that two was enough.    

The other guy sitting there remarked how we would get the hang of it again soon.  He sounded so certain of it, it was not like he was trying to make small talk.  This guy was an Iowan dairy farmer, I don't think they do small talk there.  This guy works hours I don't ever want to be familiar with, is responsible for the livelihood of more living beings than I have friends on Facebook and yet he wishes he had more kids.  He told us we would regret not having more kids.  Are you nuts?!  Did I mention I was 180 minutes late, also known as three hours, to the birthday party?  I can't get to anything on time these days.  If I am 15 minutes late, that's early for me.  If we had another kid, I would never see anyone.  I would end up speaking like Curious George.  I would invest in stretchy pants and a matching Snuggie.  Babysitters would put us on the too many to sit list.  Things would not be good.  

I'm sure the dairy farmer is right.  I'm sure I will get the hang of this two kids things soon.  I may even show up (dare I say) on time to a few get togethers.  The laundry will get folded.  The dishes will get cleaned.  The bed sheets will get changed.  All will be right with the world again.  But I may just go another day without a shower.

       

Do You See What I See?

Fortunately or unfortunately for my kids, I'm with them all day everyday and the camera is often with me. So the other day I decided to record the day.  For my kids sake, I left the lighting equipment at home (yup, I often use that on them when we're at home, they are not exactly the best models...but they are free).  I also wanted to make a time-lapse movie of something completely ordinary, so the Big Guy and I weeded the pool area (I've been a little neglectful of some of my duties lately...to be covered in my next post) and got this.

For whatever reason, this file is a lot jumpier and shorter than the original..ehhh, my first foray into time-lapse.

We hung out in the backyard while the Little Man napped.  We even watered the garden I can never grow (bit of a black thumb), and cleaned up the dog poop that I hadn't picked up in a week.  From there it was off to lunch with Papa who was in town.  Then some good ol'fashioned play time, bath time and then bed.  Here's what it all looked like, enjoy the story.

I know, I know...I have it rough.

Boys Gone Wild

I love the outdoors.  Sunshine or snow (not that we get snow near downtown San Diego) it's always great to be out and about.  I love running in the rain, and though a torrential downpour can be disheartening at first, once you are soaked to the bone it's actually not that bad.  All of the sights and sounds (as long as you can get far enough away from the sounds of traffic passing) can really take you away.  That being said we rarely get out into the great outdoors, at least not in the grander sense.  Sure, we make it to playgrounds, we take walks around the neighborhood, we go to the beach and sure those are all outdoors but I wouldn't label any of them "great".

Luckily in San Diego we have a few national and state park areas that are close enough to reach in under 45 minutes but still placed just far enough or are just deep enough to escape the urban reality.

Yesterday, the boys and I as well as a fellow SAHD and his two boys headed out to Torrey Pines State Park.  Hands down it is one of the best spots to go in San Diego county.  If you love the beach, it's there.  If you love trails, they're there.  If you want history, you can find it there.  And if you want to experience a section of the great La Jolla Half Marathon known only as "the hill" (a one mile long ultra-steep grade switch back paved road leading from the beach to the trail heads), you'll find it here.

The trails are always in great condition and even with the overcast and marine layer you still have the beautiful and aptly named Torrey Pines.  The trails offer a little bit of everything from steep stairs, to smooth dirt trails, to rocky tops (not like West Virginia) and steep switch back descents.  Just get yourself a map and pick a route.

We chose an almost 2-mile loop and the older boys (almost 3 and 4), were able to handle the whole loop with little to no fussing.  We took our time as both Dads were strapped with an extra 15-20 lbs of sub-1 year olds, and the older boys wanted to stick sword fight, dig in the dirt and generally horse around.  We had a great time, and though I can't speak for the Big Guy's friend, I can say that the Big Guy crashed for 2.5 hours as soon as we came home.  Even the Little Man was washed out by the time we got home...or as you'll see below...he was done when we reached the car.

The only downside is that I was shooting with my D80 and left the ISO at 500...the D80 doesn't shoot much without grain over 400 so the pics weren't blow up keepers, but they'll do for the ol'blog.

This Won't Be Pretty

I can be a little tough on my kids, more so on the Big Guy, as he is almost three.  I have these moments where I get it stuck in my head that I can help him reach that next developmental milestone...or simply catch up.  The Big Guy has been developmentally slower than average, but he is by no means stupid.  He grasps most things just fine, however, there are a few things that he really struggles with which really drive me nuts.  

The problem (besides me, of course) is that as a parent we are given all of these abstract ages by which our kids should be doing certain things.  Books and doctors tell you that your kids should be able to walk, talk, hop, skip and jump between X months and Y years.  Then if your child goes over that amount they just say that you should wait a little while as it may start happening any day.  And if you go past that, then they send you to developmental specialists...and having been to one before for the Bug Guy, I have little faith in their expertise.  

There are no step-by-step instructions on how to help guide your kids to success, if there was I would be fine and blogging would seem a waste to me.  So some parents subscribe to the ultra casual approach of "they'll get there when they get there".  Good for them, but I think that mentality is a bunch of horseshit.   To me it seems lazy, then again maybe it is pure genius (I'm leaning more towards the prior). 

That brings us to tonight.  I had gotten the Big Guy's bath ready and it was time to get undressed.  I asked him to take off his shirt and he starts pulling it in all sorts of directions and making these obnoxious grunting sounds.  All of his moves are over exaggerated, he keeps dropping his hands to his side, looking up at me and breathing heavy as if to say "well...I gave it the ol'college try, Dadda.  Now you do it for me."  So I sit down and I start telling him how to do it.

"Grab your shirt sleeve and pull it out.  Then pull your arm back in" I say.  He goes back to the abstract tugging and grunting.  "No, that's not what I said.  C'mon, we've been over this a hundred times.  You know how to take your shirt off, just grab your shirt like this," I say as I grab the bottom of my t-shirt sleeve and pull it out towards my outstretched hand to show him, "and pull your arm back like this".  He proceeds to grab the top of his sleeve and pulls it across his chest, while trying to pull his sleeved arm back the other way.  It's obvious that this is not working, but he keeps going (and so do I).  

Next I tell him to quit that method and to try another way.  

"Grab the back of your shirt like this," I say as I grab the neck of my shirt from behind my head, "and pull it over your head like this".  He grabs his shirt and pulls it on top of his head, and while I am about a 6 out of 10 on the frustration scale I still find it hard to not laugh as he looks like Beavis playing Cornholio.  He keeps pulling the shirt up as the neck of the shirt gets stuck under his chin, so I tell him to just pull the front of his shirt over his face.  He just keeps doing the same thing, looking at me like I am speaking another language.  

This has now been going on for 15 minutes.  Frustration scale is now 7 out of 10.  A smart man would give up here and just do it, a smarter man would never have started this in the first place and I am neither of those two men.

I tell him to go back to the other method, because this is clearly not working and as I have seen him do it the other way successfully, I figure we should just stick to it.   The tugging in odd directions and exaggerated grunts starts again.  I sit watching him for 5 minutes.

Frustration has reached 10.

This is where I unattractively lose my cool.  The "oh gods" come out, my face drops into my hands, the stare down begins and I punch the floor (my hand still hurts as I am writing this).  I told you this wouldn't be pretty.  

So I walk out of his room, close his door and try to cool off.  At this point, I keep thinking two things:  why does this matter to me and why can't he do what he has been able to do before?  

I know the answer to the first question; if I knew the answer to the second then I wouldn't be writing this.

Newsflash, kids are mean.  If you aren't at least normal, you are cast into the loser group.  To make matters worse, we now have social media so other kids who aren’t as cool as they think broadcast our kid’s not-so-cool attributes all over the Internet.  

When I was a kid, if you weren't one of the cool kids or at least somewhere in the middle, then the worst part of your day was at school.  Now that crap can follow you home.  I get that he is almost only three and it is probably a couple years before kids get really mean, but I don't want to wait until some kids are making fun of him.  So yes, I put a lot of pressure on myself to teach him these things and consequentially a load of pressure is dropped on him.  At times like these I feel like I'd make a better Bela Karolyi than I do a Dad.  It's unfair to both of us and frankly ruins evenings or even whole days depending on when the charade starts, but somehow I feel like this is all for the greater good...though I am not entirely sure how.  

I come back in the room, not cool as a cucumber...more like a squash which in case you didn't know is not so cool.  He climbs out of his bed and I tell him to try again, but this time try the other arm first.  He pulls his arm right out of the sleeve like he's been doing it for years, like I have seen him do before.  I am ecstatic!  I tell him to do the other arm.  He does it in a flash.  He takes his shirt off and tosses it in the hamper with a huge smile on his face.  

"That's my boy," I say "let's try it again".  So I take out his shirt and put it back on him (this is where I imagine hearing a resound "what an asshole" from my readers).  This time he struggles like he has never taken his shirt off by himself ever before in his life.  He is putting his arm up through the bottom of the shirt, pulling on the neck, making the grunting noises and raising my frustration level again.  So I tell him to drop his hands and just relax, then when he is relaxed I tell him to try again.  He pops his right arm out and then his left. 

I am smiling and laughing.  He has a big shit-eating grin on his face.  I offer him up a high-5 and a fist bump.  He is swelling with pride and frankly so am I.

I give him a hug and tell him I love him.  He gives me a kiss and off to bed he goes.  

Now was that so hard?  Yes.  Yes, it was.  Who knows?  Maybe he'll wake up tomorrow and he won't need my help getting dressed or undressed anymore.  But if you believe that, then I have some beach front property in Idaho that I'd love to sell you.  

     

Time Out: Not a Story About Punishments

Having a kid is tough.  Your life changes.  Your relationship with your spouse changes (getting lucky takes on a much more literal meaning).  Your relationship with your friends will be tested, especially if they don't have kids of their own (or even worse if they don't like kids - and whether you know it or not, you have some of these friends).  You can kiss your circadian rhythms goodbye.  You can take a sick day from work when you have a hangover; your kids, however, don't offer a vacation plan.  No one prepares you for this, not your parents, not your friends with kids (unless you're lucky enough to be friends with a stellar fellow like me) and certainly not the waste of time parenting class that you take over the course of several weeks or for nine hours in one day before your due date (note: don't waste your time.  If you've seen the movies, you know how to breathe.  If you've seen the movies, know that nothing happens like it does in the movies - there, now you have taken the course.  Oh and your baby's stomach is the size of a golf ball when they are born.  Do what you will with that nugget of knowledge).  Yep, there is no doubt about it, being a parent changes everything...you, your life, your bowel movements...everything.

Now add one more kid to the mix and multiply everything above by two.  Yes, I know single child parents...you're life is tough too.  Ahhh, you guys are so cute.  But seriously, two kids is much tougher than I thought it would be.  You have two schedules, two personalities, two mouths to feed and two asses to wipe.  You don't get breaks like you did when it was just one.  If one is taking a nap, you are entertaining the other one.  When one needs to eat, the other needs to get a new diaper.  When one is supposed to go to bed, the other should be getting a bath.  Your older kid will probably eat dinner alone often since you will likely be putting your younger one to bed at dinner time.  If you're like me, Mrs Griswold Wanna-Be (the family bread, bacon, lettuce, tomato and avocado winner) isn't home from work at normal times, so it is often if not always just me and the boys from 8 AM until everyone is fed, bathed and in bed (about 8:30 PM).  It's chaotic.  I've tried schedules, but aside from nap times I haven't been able to hold the schedules due to a myriad of reasons.  You do the best you can and hope that you haven't fucked up your kids somehow.

I was tentative to write about this.  Not for what you would think of me, but more how it would be read by Mrs Griswold Wanna-Be.  She can be a little sensitive to these things, especially when it has to do with my feelings about infants (re: our youngest before four months).  I decided I would just throw it out there in conversation and see how she took to it.  So when she came home I managed to wiggle in, and by "wiggle" I mean put out a full walk-on-egg-shells disclaimer (i.e "Now, this does't mean I don't love the little guy but...") and passively aggressively toss the topic into the ring.  After I told her how great I thought it was to be the father of just one child, even if for just a weekend, she came back saying that she felt the exact same way.  No shit, right?!?  After 14 years, she still has the ability to occasionally surprise me.

We've only been living this two child parent life for seven and a half months, but I had already forgotten what it was like to just have one kid.  What did with we do with our time way back when?  Was it as easy/hard as we thought it was?  Is there a time machine that can take us back?  Apparently there is one.  The Mrs goes out of town to visit Great Grandpa for his 90th birthday with the wee one and the big guy and I have a theme park weekend.  Granted this isn't the ideal travel back in time scenario, but it's as close as I'm going to get.

As much as I love my two boys, I'm done with kids, at least in the reproductive sense.  A third isn't even an option as far as I'm concerned.  I barely have enough time to whip up a decent meal for myself with the little time I have as is, adding another (though a solid diet choice) would be the end.   People tell me that going from one to two is much harder than from two to three, I'm not buying what they're selling.  And you shouldn't either.  You should be skeptical of anyone who tells you that garbage, and remember that misery loves company...and these folks need more friends like them.  Yeah, sure I've told Mrs Griswold Wanna-Be that I'll keep my berries from the knotting table until I'm thirty-five, however, we both know that's more for show.  If you have three or more kids, and are a stay at home, then more power to you.  My hat and what's left of my man card are off to you.  Call me a quitter.  Call me a pansy.  Just don't call me a father of three.

A weekend of just one was just what I needed.  The schedule felt so much more open.  There were no morning naps and even the afternoon nap could be skipped or pushed.  The big guy and I were able to eat dinner together.  This was probably the best part; just spending that time with him, one-on-one.  Legoland and Disneyland were great, no doubt about it.  But even there, by ourselves, there is still the crowd to deal with, the logistics of where and when we are going to eat and which lines to brave now or later.  But at home, at the table with no interruptions (aside from Curious George - yes we are those barbaric parents that allow our kids to watch TV during meals - feel free to judge away) that was a treat.  When it's the three boys, the big guy usually has to eat alone since his brother goes to bed at that time.  I feel terrible about this everyday, but like I said, I haven't mastered the art of the two kid schedule.  Frankly, I have given up on it until the wee one comes into a similar schedule as his brother and I simply don't have to worry about it anymore.

It's for reasons like that that I find having two to be so much harder.  Maybe part of it is that I am an only child so I never had to really share my time, my toys or anything else for that matter.  I suppose that all of this is just normal.  Just not my normal, or the normal that I have to compare this with.  But any way you slice it, that alone time with your kids (especially the older ones that see that they are having to share a lot of time they used to have to themselves) is priceless.  Just in this past week I feel like I am that much more back in tune with the big guy.  Just the other night he rattled off the ABC's four times in a row.  I feel like he was hung up on "C" for so long and without us really trying he just bangs it out.  It made me wonder what else I have been missing, and what's scary is that we are together all day, everyday.  Where the hell have a I been?  Was it some sort of alternate reality time out?  Who cares, I'm just glad to be back.