Sometimes I Wish I Was Making This Stuff Up

THE DANCE OF THE PUDDLE JUMPER

Zoey and I went to her dance/gymnastics class on Friday evening. They loosely base the class on a different theme every week. If it's Beach Week, there might be buckets and shovels hanging from the ceiling (not much thought or decorations ever seem to be involved with these themes). I really have no idea what Friday's theme was supposed to be, but in hindsight it should've been dubbed Anarchy Week.

It was chaotic from the moment the girls entered the dance room. No one was listening. No one was really dancing. They were all giggling and playing with each other. Comparing tutus. Girlie stuff. I could see the teachers were becoming frustrated, but they don't want parents in the classroom this year, so it was their problem. Deal.

The girls moved into the gymnastics room for that portion of their class. Once again, more giggling, playing, and ignoring of teachers. I was leafing through a magazine when I heard gasps coming from some of the other parents. I looked up, expecting to see an injured child.

What I saw was much worse.

Standing in the middle of the mat at the bottom of the uneven bars was a little girl. She was crying.

She was also standing in the biggest pool of urine I had ever seen in my life.

The little girl then took off running, leaving urine prints all through the gym. I immediately scanned the room for Zoey.

Of course, she was heading straight for the puddle.

My daughter looooooves puddles. She will jump straight up and down in a puddle for ten minutes if I allow it. Knowing this, I ran into the classroom. "No parents in the classroom" rule be damned!

You know those scenes in action movies where the hero runs in slow motion, yelling "Noooooooooooooo!" as he nears a building that's about to explode?

That was me.

I got to Zoey just as she was mere inches away from the urine pool and swept her off her feet.

Ok. She was really ten feet away from it. But it felt like mere inches. She was in her bare feet! I would've had to have them amputated if they actually came in contact with the urine.

I stood there holding Zoey, ignoring the angry glares from the teachers until the HAZMAT crew (the new girl that just started working there last week) showed up with paper towels.

GO NAPKIN YOURSELF

Backstory: Zoey is slowly creating her own language. Granted, she has an excellent grasp on English (or at least I like to think so, but I'm biased), but if she doesn't know a word, rather than actually having to ask someone else what the word is, she'll just make something up.

Not only that, she believes her made-up word is the correct term.

For instance, she has learned the Spanish equivalents for certain colors due to excessive viewings of Dora The Explorer we've been teaching her Spanish words for certain colors. She knows red is rojo. Blue is azul. Green is verde. Every once in awhile, I'll throw in a color she doesn't know. I'll ask, "What's the Spanish word for pink?" She won't even hesitate. She'll make up something like, "Rocoboco." I'll say, "That's not the Spanish word for pink." And then she actually becomes offended that I dare question her.

Anyway...

The four of us went out to eat on Saturday evening. Zoey noticed her place setting (I don't know the correct term either), which consisted of a fork, spoon, and knife wrapped up in a napkin, with a paper napkin holder around the napkin.

She picked it up and proudly exclaimed, "This is called a fucker."

Ella and I both screamed, "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"

She repeated it slooooowly and loudly, as if her parents were the dumbest people on Earth. "This. Is. Called. A. Fuh-ker."

Ella quickly jumped in, "Let's just call it a napkin. So, Zoey, tell me more about Curious George."

GHS: 14 (10 for the urine, 4 for the napkin)

Stuff Only I Care About

Hi. Welcome to the fist installment of Stuff Only I Care About. Every weekend, I plan to write about a few things that interest me that DO NOT INVOLVE MY CHILDREN.

You've been forewarned.

GN'R LIES

For the past few years, I've felt like we have had a better chance of finding Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, or Osama bin Laden than putting our paws on the long-awaited Chinese Democracy from Axl Rose Guns N' Roses.

Maybe not.

Last weekend, three new Guns N' Roses songs were "leaked." I've had the pleasure of listening to all three and, truth be told, I am unimpressed. I guess my anticipation has been building for so long that the music did not (and could not) meet my expectations. Imagine if you were a kid and Christmas came once every ten years. At this point, Axl Rose could release Pet Sounds vs. The White Album and I would still be unimpressed.

There's a lot that's wrong with the new songs. What's up with the drum loops? Why does The Blues sound like Estranged Part Deux? And why do you have to strain to hear Axl's vocal track? Axl IS Guns N' Roses. Please bring the vocal track up in the final mix, Geffen.

I still hold out hope for the rest of the album. I'll still buy it. But I'm not as excited about it as I once was.

Regardless, I still feel Appetite For Destruction is easily one of the top ten, if not top five, most important/influential albums ever, right up there with It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back, London Calling, Nevermind, Never Mind The Bollocks Here's The Sex Pistols, and Girl You Know It's True.

AND SPEAKING OF THE PISTOLS

In a handwritten note published on their website (which reads as if it was written by my three-year-old daughter), the Sex Pistols announced that they would not be attending this year's Rock And Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony. I'm a bit sad. I would've loved to hear Lydon rage against fellow inductee Lynyrd Skynyrd. And to see him share the same stage as Ozzy. Oh well.

SUNDAY MORNING HANGOVER

Here are some of the more interesting/entertaining posts I've come across this week:

• Dutch questions his manliness.
• Lucinda creates the world's funniest chain email.
• MetroDad tries to fool a motion sensor in his Vegas minibar.
• Mir details her daughter's disappointment in not winning the Invention Convention (why do I feel I'll be writing the exact same post in three years?).
• Susan dissects the Mommy Wars.
• Weirdgirl reviews the Roomba.
  

IS THAT A FRUIT ROLL-UP IN YOUR POCKET OR ARE YOU JUST HAPPY TO SEE ME?

Kristen at Motherhood Uncensored is having a contest inspired by some insipid writer. She wants you to send in your funniest pornographic/risqué/sexy line accidentally uttered by you or your child. You can win a MotherDuds t-shirt or 500 Blog Explosion points (sorry, I have no idea what that means). Or if you're the grand prize winner, you get both! I know I'm not the only one who has a child that speaks like a pornstar, so send in your entry!

FUN WITH GOOGLE

Here are some recent search terms people have used to get to my site:

• preschooler sticking finger in butt
  As long as he's sticking it in his own butt, I say don't worry.
• father playing trick on son linda blair
  I would love to see what this guy has in mind.
• dad uses video to scare child
  It must have been Barney's Great Adventure. Or Faces of Death. Both are equally terrifying.
• The Kind of Dad i want to be
  Dude, I am definitely not the kind of dad you want to be.
  

And this one from Yahoo!:

• stay at home moms makes porno
  Susan, this is why you guys aren't winning the Mommy Wars. Or maybe this is why you guys are winning the Mommy Wars.
  

I Asked My Mother, "What Will I Be?"

Lately, Zoey has been obsessed with growing up. She's constantly standing against walls in our home, asking me to measure her. Hell, half the time she dreams about growing. I'll ask, "Did you have sweet dreams last night?" She'll reply, "Yes! I dreamt I grew bigger and bigger and BIGGER!"

I have trouble dealing with the fact that she's already three and a half and will be starting kindergarten in eighteen short months. Meanwhile, she's ready to get her own apartment.

And don't even get me started on her obsession with marriage.

But I guess I can't blame her. Modern society has put the onus on kids. They're supposed to do everything faster, better, and far earlier than we ever did.

In my neck of the woods, kids are expected to be able to read and write before they enter kindergarten. When I was in kindergarten, we learned to tie our shoes.

This probably explains why my writing is so lame. But I can tie a mean knot!

I entered college having no clue what my major would be. Today's kids don't have that luxury. They have to declare their majors in kindergarten. We have charter schools where children are immersed in a particular area of study, be it Spanish, mathematics, computers, or communications. At six years old. What six-year-old knows what he/she wants to be later in life? When I was six, I wanted to be a rock star.

Actually, I still want to be a rock star.

Seriously, I think kids take their pre-pre-SATs in third grade. A soccer mom told me the other day that she's afraid her child's C- on a fourth grade social studies test will keep him out of Princeton.

Ok, that's a slight exaggeration. But probably not too far off the mark.

It's just crazy. I imagine today's kids are under an enormous amount of pressure; pressure I never felt until college. And now my daughter is starting to succumb to it.

Sometimes, Zoey will tell me she wants to be a doctor when she grows up. Other times, she wants to be a teacher.

There are also times when she acts sad. I'll ask her why she's sad and she'll reply, "Because I don't know what I want to be when I grow up!"

You'd better hurry up, kid. You've got eighteen months to decide.

To be continued...

Miscellaneous Debris II

WHEN THE 80S ATTACKED

Kristen over at Motherhood Uncensored tagged me with the following meme. Basically, you're supposed to find a picture of your 80s alter ego. Here's mine:

The Person I Like To Think I Am


Probably Closer To The Truth


This was actually a fun meme. I encourage everyone reading to do the same. If you do decide to participate, leave a comment so I can check out your alter ego.

SLAM THIS!

Today, Zoey came to me with one of her My Little Pony books.

"Daddy, read this and I'll dance."

"Um, ok?"

When I started reading, she began a clumsy, bizarre interpretive dance to the story. It truly was a sight to see.

We'll be working on the Dr. Seuss library in the weeks to come, hoping to take our production on the road as the opening act on the next Wiggles North American tour.

I NEED ANSWERS

Ok, folks. I'm going to make you work now. If you or anyone you know can answer either of the following questions (preferably the first one), please send me an email or leave a comment. Thanks in advance!

• I've been doing sites using ASP/SQL for about five years now. I feel the time has come to move over to PHP/MySQL. Anyone have any experience with both? I was wondering what the learning curve is. Is it a jump from the kazoo to violin? Or more of a lateral jump?
    
• At what age did you first take your child to the movies? Zoey's 3 1/2 now and has been jonesing to see Curious George. I just don't know if she's ready yet. I don't know if her hyper ass can sit still for ninety minutes. Or is that what actually happens during kids' movies: lots of kids talking and jumping around? Please share.
  

Because It's Not A Birthday Party Until You're Performing The Heimlich Maneuver

Monday is Zed's first birthday. We celebrated today.

This morning, Zoey and I went to the party store (no, Dutch, not your kind of party store) to buy some balloons for Zed's party (you'll all be pleased to know that after the party, we set the balloons free in a wildlife preserve). I bought one giant Blue's Clues head balloon (the boy doesn't actually like Blue's Clues; he loves Hi-5 and Jack's Big Music Show, but since they don't make balloons or favors for either show, we opted for a Blue's Clues theme), one blue "Baby's First Birthday" balloon, one blue "1" balloon, two royal blue balloons, two light blue balloons, and one pink "It's A Girl!" balloon.

No, we're not pregnant.

I took the balloons to the register. The attendant held up the pink balloon and gave me a puzzled look. "She picked it out. It's for her," I said, pointing to Zoey. "We have free balloons if she would like one of those." I looked at the box of free balloons. "Yeah, but none of those are pink. She has to have pink. I'll take the 'It's A Girl!' balloon, please."

At 2:00 PM, everyone began showing up. My mother, mother-in-law, father-in-law, and grandmother-in-law. Everyone, that is, except the Nap Nazis.

I'm a B-I-G fan of routine when it comes to children. But I can be quite flexible when the need arises. Not my brother and his wife. Nothing gets in the way of their child's naps. House on fire? Sorry, kid's napping. Their child is put in her crib at 1:00 PM and is removed from her crib at 2:00 PM. Everyone and everything else be damned!

They informed me ahead of time they would be a little late. They called at 2:30 PM to let me know they were on their way (they still had a thirty minute drive ahead of them). It took every ounce of restraint I had not to tell them, "Don't worry. We'll celebrate birthdays, Christmases, and everything else when your child outgrows naps!"

When I got off the phone, I announced to the room, "Screw them. Let's have cake."

Ella had made Zed a Blue's Clues cake in the shape of Blue's head without a mold. Everyone was quite impressed. We put Zed in his highchair, lit the candle, sang Happy Birthday, and let him stare at the cake.

And stare.

And stare.

Finally, he poked his finger into the cake. He pulled it out and, after examining his finger v-e-r-y closely, he realized it neither burned him, bit him, nor killed him, so he stuck his whole hand into the cake. He then became really brave and stuck his other hand into the cake. He dug around in the cake for a few moments but never once tried to eat any of it. Not that I was surprised. This is a kid who tries to lick power outlets yet will not eat solid food.

So we started with the icing. Ella dipped her finger into the cake and put it to Zed's mouth. He made a face like we were feeding him our world-famous rat-feces flavored turkey drumsticks. Unfazed, Ella tried again. This time, Zed licked his lips. Success!

So we foolishly decided to let Zoey fed him some icing (not that we had any say in the matter). He opened his mouth when her finger neared, ready to taste the sweet goodness. Zoey dipped her finger in the cake again and pulled out a pea-sized helping of icing. "That's too big of a bite!" I yelled. But I was too late. It was already in his mouth.

And he gagged.

And gagged again.

And then threw up all over the place.

We took Zoey to Chuck E. Cheese's for her first birthday. She was halfway through her pizza when she started gagging. I had to turn her over on my knee and hit her back until she finally stopped choking.

Family traditions are nice.

While Ella was cleaning Zed's hands and changing his clothes, he started laughing hysterically. If you spoke to him, he would giggle. If you looked at him, he would giggle. It was like he was stoned.

I wish sugar had that effect on me.

I then brought Zed's presents into the living room. The Nap Nazis arrived at this time, visually peeved we had not waited for them. The nerve!

Zoey helped Zed open his presents. By helped, I mean Zoey opened Zed's presents. Not that he cared. He beat on one of the boxes for a few minutes and then crawled off to run his fingers across the vent.

I don't know why we spend money on these kids. Zoey would be happy with a ball of string and Zed is fine playing with our vents all day long.

FINAL THOUGHT

Why do we spend so much money on automobiles and car seats with high safety ratings, helmets, and pads for every joint on their body, yet have no problem placing a flaming piece of pastry mere inches from our children's faces?

GHS: 8

But Isn't Every Day A Circus At Her Preschool?

Today was Circus Day at Zoey's preschool. Students were allowed to dress in circus-related attire, as long as it fit over their clothes. Because we are cheap forgot about it until late last night, Zoey went as a tightrope walker. Essentially, she wore her ballet leotard and tutu over her clothes.

We suck.

But as we were heading to school, Zoey became unglued because we didn't bring a tightrope for her to walk across. "I need a tightrope!" she screamed the entire ride to school. I told her, "Maybe your teachers will have a tightrope." When in doubt, pass the buck.

When I picked her up today, I got to see all the circus kids. There was another tightrope walker, a ringmaster, a lion, a tiger, a giraffe, and several clowns.

And a dragon.

The hell?

I've never been a big fan of circuses, but had I known there were dragons involved, I would have been there every year. When I was a kid, the circus stapled a stick to a goat's head and tried to pass it off as a unicorn. There's a sucker born ever minute, indeed!

And her teachers? They brought out a jump rope and placed it on the ground for Zoey to use as a tightrope.

They love her. Or they're afraid of her.

Or both.

GHS: 0

Valentine's Day Recap And Other Stuff

THE FLOWERS OF ROMANCE

I actually sent Ella flowers for Valentine's Day. This is actually a big deal as we've been married for five years and have been an item for eleven and a half years and I've given her flowers three times. That includes yesterday.

She's a lucky gal, no?

I've never given her flowers for her birthday or our anniversary. Hell, I've never even given her an IScrewedUp Bouquet (but there have been plenty of times when I should have). I had flowers sent to her after the birth of Zoey and for her first Mother's Day. That's been it.

Would you like to know why I'm anti-flowers? (I'll assume you said yes.)

A) I'm cheap.
Flowers are expensive. When I went to the florist on Monday, I told the florist, "I'm looking for some flowers for my wife for Valentine's Day. And I don't want to break the bank." Her reply? "Your best bet would be three roses in this lovely M&M's Commemorative Vase (the hell?). It's only $35. $43 if you want it delivered."

I replied, "Ok. Just let me go make a quick deposit at the sperm bank. What else you got?" "You can get one rose and a vase for $12.50. Two roses for $20. Plus $8 for delivery." I gave her a look that said, Lower, honey. Forget those silly roses. Where are your weeds? Show me your weeds! She added, "We also have carnations. You can get three carnations and a vase delivered for $20."

Now why didn't she tell me this in the beginning?

So I started filling out the card. All I wanted to write was Happy Valentine's Day!. We Love You! – Chag, Zoey, & Zed. I successfully filled out the card when I noticed I had picked a card that read With Deepest Sympathy. I'm a moron. Or was this foreshadowing?

So I filled out another card. Only this time I signed it – Chag, Ella, Zoey, & Zed. Once again, I'm an idiot.

I turned around and saw Zoey with a long stemmed rose in each hand, twirling them like they were sparklers. I screamed, "Zoey! Put those down! That's twenty bucks you're playing with! Don't think I won't leave you here for the rest of the day so you can pay off your debt!"

I finally got the card right on the third try. The florist then asked, "Would you like the flowers delivered?" Now, I could have easily taken the flowers home with me and given them to Ella when she got home that evening, but I know that half (or all) the fun in receiving flowers is showing them to other women in your office who didn't receive any flowers.

Unfortunately her work address was in the car. I probably could've let Zoey remain in the store for the seventy-four seconds I was gone, but I'm a) neurotic and b) didn't want to let the bull loose in the flower shop. So I gathered up the kids, went to the car, got the address, and went back inside the store and completed the transaction.

B) Flowers are perishable.
I do not like to give one-and-done gifts, be it food, restaurant gift cards, flowers, wine, etc. I like to give gifts that people can hang onto. I'd rather give someone a Virginia Is For Lovers coffee mug than a meal at a fancy restaurant.

And why would anyone give another a rose as a symbol of love? It's got thorns! And if you think a rose symbolizes your love for another, does that mean your love starts out beautiful and sweet, only to slowly wither and die?

I love you too!

I'm done ranting. And by the way, she loved the carnations.

MY FUNNY VALENTINE

When Zoey awoke yesterday morning, she received her Valentine's Day gift from Ella and I. Three books: a Dora the Explorer book, a Care Bears book, and a My Little Pony book. She looked at them, smiled, and then looked at us and said, "Is this all?"

Nice.

Later that day. I was reading the Care Bears book to her. It finished with the words, "and love is all around us."

Zoey added, "And so is God."

At least she's learning something in preschool! She's not getting that information from us. I haven't been to church, other than for weddings and funerals, in about, oh, twenty years or so.

But then Zoey quickly added, "And so is Cupid!"

See, folks? Those threats really do work!

SPREADING THE LOVE

I've added a few new sites to my Narcikidstic Sites list on the right. You should probably stop reading my garbage and check these sites out right now (if you're not already familiar with them):

• Motherhood Uncensored is sarcastic, cynical, and funny. Kind of like my site, only Motherhood Uncensored is sarcastic, cynical, and funny.
• Suburban Turmoil was the winner of this year's BOB for Best Mommy Blog. The design rocks (love the "Save me from the plastic people!" tagline) and so does the writing.
• The Blogfathers is an all-star site that debuted on Valentine's Day, featuring the guys behind AdventureDad, The Bean's Dad, Because I'm Your Father, Child's Play x2, Dad Gone Mad, Genuine, Laid-Off Dad, More Diapers, Mr. Nice Guy, Not-For-Profit Dad, Sweet Juniper!, Woodge, and The Zero Boss. With this lineup, this site should be h-u-g-e.
  

SHOW ME THE LOVE

Do any guys read this site anymore? I know Dutch pops by now and then, but judging by my comments here of late, only women are reading. So if any guys are still around, drop me a note or leave a comment.

Porn or Toddlerspeak II: You Make The Call!

It's time for another exciting installment of Porn or Toddlerspeak. The following phrase was heard in the Cynical Dad household on Friday evening. Your mission is to decide whether the phrase came from my three-year-old daughter or from a three-year-old porno DVD.

Phrase
"I want that big pecker."

Answer
Trick question. This was actually something Ella said to me as we were headed to bed. Toddlerspeak. We were all sitting at the kitchen table, eating birthday cake. After I picked my jaw off the floor, I scanned the table to determine what she desired.

I held up a fork. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes."

"What is this?"

"A fork."

"Then why are you calling it a big pecker?"

She only smiled and gave me a look that said Because I'm trying to kill you. Happy Birthday, Daddy.

TODAY, MY DAUGHTER BECAME A WOMAN

Zoey put a headband in her hair and admired her reflection in the mirror.

"This thing gives me a headache. But I look good."

Only three years old and she's already discovered the following relationship: Fashion > Comfort.

GHS: 4 (because no father should have to hear the words "I want that big pecker" come from his daughter's lips)

Click here for the previous Porn or Toddlerspeak.

Recipe Of The Day: Black Eyed Peas With Moldy Peaches

With some of the emails and comments I've received lately, I suppose I'm one dubious post away from one of you guys reporting me to CPS. Guess what? Here's your ammo!

Ammo... Dick Cheney... HaHaHaHaHa!

I digress.

Over the weekend, both Ella and I were guilty of exposing Zoey to songs she had no business hearing. It happens. But here's what I want to know: which one of us is the worse parent?

Ella and Zoey were riding to the grocery store on Friday. On the way there, Black Eyed Peas' My Humps came on the radio and Zoey immediately committed it to memory. She sang, "I love I love I love I love my lady" over and over and OVER all evening. True, she's singing the wrong lyrics, but...

What? I looked up the lyrics on the web. I don't know the lyrics to My Humps!

Hold on a sec, my nose is growing.

I'm such a poseur.

But the simple fact remains: SHE'S SINGING BLACK EYED PEAS!

Today, Zoey and I went to Target. On the way over, I was playing a mix CD. Normally, I'm pretty aware of what's coming out of my speakers and will turn down the volume if a song gets too offensive. I guess my mind was drifting because when Moldy Peaches' Who's Got The Crack? came on, I continued to play it at a normal volume. Next thing I know, we're inside Target and my Punk Rock Princess is singing, "Who's got the crack? Who-ooh-ooh's got the crack?" at the top of her lungs. I was a little embarrassed, but also a little proud. Rock on, sweet child o' mine!

So which song is more offensive? Both songs are equally distasteful lyrics-wise, but my vote goes to My Humps. There's nothing much more offensive than Top 40 dreck.

GHS: 2 (nothing warms the heart like your daughter trying to sing Black Eyed Peas)

ET CETERA

Miss Domestic posted two songs from the forthcoming Flaming Lips CD. Yeah Yeah Yeah Song is definitely worth a listen.

Next Year, I'll Be Making Tons Of "IN A ROW?" Jokes

On this date in history:

1763: The Treaty of Paris was signed, ending the French And Indian War.

1863: General Tom Thumb and Lavinia Warren were married.

1897: "All the News That's Fit to Print" first appeared on the front page of the New York Times.

1949: Death of a Salesman opened in New York City.

1970: I was born in a tiny town in south central Pennsylvania. How small? The subdivision I currently live in has more homes than that town had people.

1978: Van Halen released Van Halen.

1986: I received my driver's license and my first vehicle, a Ford Ranger pickup, to haul my music gear. I discovered four months later that girls aren't really attracted to Rangers, so I traded it in on a convertible. I discovered later that while girls might be attracted to convertibles, you need something else to keep them in the car.

1989: The WWF admitted wrestling was fake. Gasp!

1990: Buster Douglas defeated Mike Tyson in Tokyo.

1991: Mike Tyson was found guilty of raping Desiree Washington (something tells me Mike Tyson is not too fond of my birthday).

1996: Click here.

2001: Ella and I were honeymooning. We did a 4-day cruise to Nassau followed by three days at Universal Studios Orlando. She's a lucky gal, no?

2005: Ella and I were in the last stages of preparation for the arrival of Zed.

2006: Another year older, another year dumber.

Note: All important events (in other words, all that do not pertain to me) were taken from On-This-Day.com.

Parenting Tips For The Overly Neurotic: Balloons

Note: I had intended to send this tip to Blogging Baby or Parent Hacks. But then I figured they'd just think I was insane. Which I am. So I decided to keep my insanity our little secret, ok?

I am deathly afraid of my children choking. I'm constantly scouring the floors looking for things that could make Zed choke. Zoey has an oral fixation and will absentmindedly chew on something while she's watching television, drawing, or looking at books, so I have to keep a watchful eye on her as well. I'm constantly watching her eat, making sure she's chewing her food properly and not taking big bites. This explains why the only hot dogs she gets are in milkshake form.

But my biggest fear? Balloons. Balloons cause more childhood deaths than any other toy. Even in our childbirth class, the dangers of balloons were addressed.

But what can you do? There is no escaping balloons. You can find them in kid-friendly restaurants, grocery stores, birthday parties; almost everywhere you go, some moron is trying to hand your child a balloon. Some child-hating moron, that is.

In our childbirth class, the instructor told us, "Just accept the balloon. It will keep the child busy while you eat or shop. Then when you go outside, tell the child, 'Let Mommy hold your balloon' while you put the child in the car. Then let the balloon go." This always bothered me. Your relationship with your child is built on trust. How is your child supposed to trust you when you keep setting all his balloons free?

So here's my trick. Like the instructor said, accept the balloon. Seriously. A balloon will keep your child occupied (at least for a few minutes) while you're getting groceries or trying to have a halfway decent meal with your mate. And inevitably, when it's time to return home, your child will want to take the balloon with him/her. In order to prevent a scene, you must leave the building with the balloon. There is no option here.

But once you get outside, instead of setting the balloon free, play a little game I call Balloon Wishes. See, I hand my daughter the balloon. She closes her eyes, makes a wish, and she sets the balloon free. And happily watches it float away!

Your child gets to play with a balloon and disposes of it him/herself. You're not the bad guy. Everybody wins!

Bill Murray Triple Feature

WILD THINGS

We made it through the weekend in one piece. Both kids had fun at the birthday party (which was held at a Little Gym in a nearby town) until the very end. Zed got hungry so I had to feed him. Unfortunately, this coincided with the present opening portion of the party. And everyone who has ever been to a birthday party with ten or more toddlers knows how frustrating opening presents can be. You've got the guest of honor s--l--o--w--l--y opening his/her gifts while a bunch of little vultures hover nearby, unable to comprehend why this kid gets all these presents while they're not getting a thing. Total. Chaos. All I could do was sit back and hope Zoey didn't cause too much trouble. But she was good, especially in comparison with some of the other kids.

When we returned from the party, Ella was home. I gave her a kiss, handed her the kids, and ran out of the house screaming went to the grocery store (BY MYSELF!!!) to buy beer and more beer snacks for our neighborhood's Super Bowl festivities. Which sucked. Not the party, but the game itself.

Next time Ella leaves town, we're hiring a nanny to help me. Preferably, a hot little number.

WHAT ABOUT BOB?

I didn't finish in the top 4 (out of 10) in the Best Daddy Blog category in this year's BOB Awards. Can't say I'm too surprised; I was up against nine great sites. Like last time, I managed to get a little more than 3% of the popular vote. Ouch!

Why do I suddenly feel like Susan Lucci?

Anyway, I'd like to thank the my friends at Child's Play x2, Friday Playdate, MFA Mama, Morphing Into Mama, and My Own Circle Of Confusion for encouraging their readers to vote for me. I'd also like to thank and anyone and everyone who voted for me.

Finally, I'd like to thank the folks behind the BOB Awards. You guys sent a lot of new readers my way and introduced me to a lot of blogs I wasn't familiar with, including my current fave, Blogography.

LOST IN TRANSLATION

Dutch and Wood are hosting The First Annual Sweet Juniper Weird Search Hit Contest. I've been visiting a few times a day to check out Cindy Crawford's smoking hot ass see what crazy searches people have received. Anyway, as a stats junkie, I get off on this type of stuff. I have documented crazy searches people have performed that led them to my site.

Unfortunately, I have only been receiving disturbing searches lately. Go to Google and type in I hate you daddy and guess who's the #1 result? Why do I feel that will also be the #1 phrase uttered by my children in the future?

I've also been receiving a lot of pedophilic searches lately. Remember, I am a dad who writes about his daughter a lot. I have posts entitled Porn Or Toddlerspeak: You Make The Call!, Is There A Way To Segue From Vomit To Fellatio?, and Sex And The Suburbs. You can imagine the searches I've received. Sick bastards.

The way I look at is if I can keep these sickos on my site for even thirty seconds, I may distract them enough that they'll forget what they were originally searching for.

I. Am. Naive.

Everyone's Still Alive! And Relatively Sane! That's A Good Sign, Right?

Ok. We've made it past the halfway mark. First, I'll answer a few of your questions and then give you an update.

Q: Dude, have you heard of this invention called a baby monitor?
A: Baby monitor? Is that some fancy word for a sitter? Oh, wait – you mean that white thing that sits on our dresser that Ella uses to listen to Zed! See, the volume on that thing doesn't go up to Air Siren, so it's pretty much useless to me. VERY sound sleeper.

Q: Dude, Zed's almost a year old. He should be sleeping through the night! (That's not really a question, but I'll answer it anyway.)
A: Yes, he should. We had Zoey sleeping through the night at three and a half months. When we took Zed to the doctor for his three-month checkup, we inquired about weaning him from his night feeding(s). The doctor told us that since he was so big, he needed to eat more than most babies, so we were to feed him whenever he asked for it. We asked again at six months, same reply, only he added, "We'll wean him after he becomes one." I tried to broach the subject again at nine months, same reply. Sixteen more days. Sixteen more days.

Anyway.

Thursday was just like any normal (if there is such a thing) day around here. But at about 6:00 PM, the realization kicked in that I was on my own for the night. Ugh. So I made the kids their dinner, played with them for a little while, and then began my plan of attack for bedtime.

At 8:00 PM, I put Zoey in the den in front of the TV and let her watch a Dora DVD (Teacher, Mother, Secret Lover indeed! Babysitter, too!). I gave Zed his bottle, rocked him to sleep, took Zoey upstairs, gave her a bath, and read her two bedtime stories. Both children were in bed by 9:00 PM. It was almost too easy!

It was too easy.

Zed awoke at 10:00 PM, an hour earlier than usual. I fed him but he was still crying, slamming his pacifier against his mouth. He does this when his gums are bothering him, so I gave him some Orajel.

Then I got it in my head that I gave him too much Orajel and he was probably going to OD. My mind is a terrible thing (MIM, if you're reading this, I don't remember if you're going to be treating adults or children, but if you switched coasts I could so totally make you rich. Or perhaps we could set up IM sessions and I could pay you with Starbucks gift cards? Just a thought.). So I held him while I watched him breathe television until 1:00 AM. I figured if he was going to OD, it would've happened by then, so I put him to bed.

I awoke at 7:05 AM Friday morning to the sounds of Zed screaming and Zoey calling out to me. I have no idea how long either was awake. I do know that Zed had real tears streaming down his face and his eyebrows and face were blood red, so I assumed he had been crying for roughly sixty-four minutes. I suck.

I managed to feed the kids and take Zoey to preschool. We went to Target that afternoon because it was raining so I couldn't take them outside to play and let some of the other parents in the neighborhood help me watch them for a while.

At 5:30 PM, it was time for Zoey's gym class. Normally, it wouldn't have been too big of a deal to take both kids by myself. However, this was her first class of the new semester and instead of taking solely gymnastics, she's taking a dance/gymnastics class. Which meant I had to put her tap shoes on when we got there, put ballet shoes on her fifteen minutes later, and strip her down to her bare feet for gym class fifteen minutes after that. I felt like one of those people (don't know the actual term) waiting backstage at a Madonna concert to help her shove her boobies into a pointy bra during a costume change.

Of course, those people (costume changers?) don't have to deal with a squirming baby in their arms who refuses to sit in his stroller because he wants to get on the ground and crawl around but his father will not let him because it's a hard linoleum floor that's had eighty pairs of sweaty toddler feet running on it all day. Those people probably get paid more as well. Plus, they get to touch Madonna's boobies.

But I digress.

We did the same bedtime/bath time routine that worked so well Thursday night, only with a new twist: it was Campout Night at the Cynical Dad household. We all slept in the same room: Zed in a Pack 'N' Play, Zoey on the couch, and me on the recliner. Zed woke up at midnight and 5:00 AM and I was able to get to him both times before he woke Zoey. Victory! A night in the recliner (and a sore back!) is a small price to pay for peace of mind.

So here we are today. Both kids are currently napping. I'm a little cranky and v-e-r-y tired. I know what you're thinking. Dude? You should be sleeping right now. See, if I take a nap, even a fifteen-minute one, I'll be awake until 3:00 AM. Sucks.

It's still raining, so we won't be able to go outside to play. They've watched entirely too much television, (in Zoey's case) had too much junk food, and are beginning to despise me. But we're surviving.

And did I mention I have to take them to a birthday party tomorrow afternoon? Save me.

GHS: 10 (the max)

You Know That Macaulay Culkin Movie? The One Where He's Left Home Alone?

That's me! Only instead of battling two clumsy burglars, I get to match wits with two clumsy kids.

That's right, folks. Ella has left the building. She left this morning for NYC and will be there until Sunday afternoon.

And. I'm. Freaking. Out.

This isn't the first trip she's been on. She goes on four to six "inspirational" trips a year where her company pays for her to shop the entire time (she's a designer). In the past few years, she's been to Los Angeles (several times), San Francisco, NYC (twice a year), Atlanta, Austin, Paris, and London. To shop! She's also going to Brussels this fall.

She's a rock star. Me? You know my story.

When she first told me about the trip, she said, "I'll be gone for our anniversary (our five-year wedding anniversary is the third). Is that okay?" I responded, "Sure. We can just celebrate it some other night." And then a few hours later, I started thinking, "Wait! She'll be gone during the Super Bowl!" You see where my priorities are. I'm a jerk. But luckily, she'll be back three hours before kickoff.

Anyway, this is the first extended trip she's taken since we've had two kids and the first trip since both children have become mobile. I have been stressing out for the past six days. See, in a lot of ways, I'm like a child. I like routine. Every night, I feed Zed and rock him to sleep while Ella gives Zoey a bath and puts her to bed (Zed also wakes up at 11:00 PM and sometime during the middle of the night for additional feedings. Yeah, we suck as parents. You don't have to remind us.). I have no idea how I'm going to swing this without disrupting both children's schedules.

And then there's the middle-of-the-night feeding. I'm an extremely sound sleeper. So either I can lie awake all night, afraid to fall asleep and miss his call in the middle of the night (Can I go four days without sleep? I've done three before, but I was m-u-c-h younger) or I can sleep on the floor next to his crib. Either way, the next day will be pretty much shot for me.

So don't be too surprised if you don't hear anything from me for the next few days. I'll be pretty busy. And pretty tired. Of course, I might just decide to lock them both in a closet and post something every hour. Who knows?

Wish me luck. And if anyone would like to come over and watch the kids for a little bit, drop me a line. You don't have to stay long. Just long enough for me to go out to the curb and drink a few beers.

And sob.

More Than You Probably Ever Wanted To Know

I started off January with a meme, so let's do the same for February.

(This) Girl's Gone Child tagged me. You're supposed to write ten weird things about yourself (only ten? I could be here for days.) and ten weird things about your child. Since I have two kids, I'm doing ten weird things about me, five weird things about Zoey, and five weird things about Zed. So there!

MeMe: 10 Weird and Random Facts

1. I named my daughter after one of my favorite bands.
2. When I was in my mid 20s, I had a fear of the police. This fear kept me from driving on interstates for two years.
3. Since I mentioned this in an email to one of my WebFriends last night, I'll share it with all of you: I once received twenty-six death threats in the span of nineteen days. All were poems. Not fun, especially when you're paranoid to begin with.
4. I get my hair cut twice a year. I'm currently overdue.
5. I can touch my nose with my goatee.
6. The fact that I know I can touch my nose with my goatee is probably weird in and of itself.
7. I went through a five-year period where I would dress up as a dead celebrity for Halloween. One year, I went as Kurt Cobain. I had a ratty cardigan sweater, thermal t-shirt, and a blonde wig that Ella and I streaked with fake blood. We also created a huge shotgun wound for the side of my head. Incidentally, Ella was Betty Lou from Sesame Street that year. This was long before we had kids.
8. I have been mentioned in a book on screenwriting and a book on cults. How's that for diversity?
9. When I find a new song I really like, I have a tendency to play it OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER until I start singing it in my sleep or Ella threatens to slash my throat with the CD, whichever comes first.
10. I have a B-I-G fear of birds and needles. If a bird ever flew at me with a needle in its beak, I would probably have a heart attack and die on the spot.
    

SheShe: 5 Weird and Random Facts about Zoey

1. She's in a gang.
   
2. She used to have tons of imaginary pets (but still no imaginary friends).
3. She likes to pretend to be her friends.
4. She cannot take a decent school picture.
5. She can read my mind.
   

HeHe: 5 Weird and Random Facts about Zed

1. Like Archer, he's a protester. He's even been thrown out of a planning board meeting.
2. He stares at me and runs his fingers through my goatee when I feed him his bottle. See? I can't cut it.
3. When he's crawling around and hears a noise, he lifts one arm in the air, stretches one leg, and twists his head around. It looks like he's in the middle of a game of Twister.
4. Up until last night, he wouldn't eat any table food we had given him. But you know what? He had no problem with icing. Bastard.
5. He's already singing. If he hears a certain song that catches his fancy, he'll moan sing along. Now if he could only dance...
   

I'd like to see Kristen and the Weirdgirl do this meme (if they haven't done it already). I'd also like to see Samuel Alito play along. Since he wouldn't answer some questions during his confirmation hearing, maybe he'll answer mine.