The SuperDad Chronicles

You Gotta' Fight for Your Right to Potty

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 14:53:00 +0000

Potty training. Few things make me shudder like seeing my wife leave for work on a Saturday while our 2-year-old daughter sits in the family room watching TV with absolutely no pants on whatsoever.

I try to influence her telepathically..."No accidents, no accidents, no accidents."

She approaches our leather sofa.

"No, no, honey, I saved this special spot on the floor JUST for you," I say.

It seems to be working.

The other day as we sat eating brunch at a local Dunkin' Donuts, our 2-year-old announced that she had to "go potty."

My wife got up and took her.

About 5 minutes later, our daughter came flying across the crowded shop shouting proudly at the top of her lungs, "DADDY, DADDY, I WENT PEE PEE IN THE POTTY!!!"

She then received a rousing ovation from every single patron in the restaurant as SuperMom and I exchanged embarrassed glances.

More Supervision Please

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 20:21:00 +0000

The other day, our 5-year-old asked my wife if she could play with a new toy that she had just gotten.

My wife answered, "No, not without some supervision."

My 5-year-old replied, "Mommy, where do we keep the supervision?"

If only it were that simple. :-)

Enough Already!

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 02:03:00 +0000

First things first. I know it's been a long time. When I last posted, I thought I would have a little more time on my hands.

That was because I had no job. I was in mortgage until last November. Yes, mortgage. It's OK, I've heard 'em all before, go ahead.

Luckily, I was one of the GOOD guys. You know, the kind that only gave mortgages to those individuals whom the bank felt could actually REPAY them one day.

2008 was a harsh year in the mortgage biz. My pipeline dried up a bit, but not from a lack of effort. You simply couldn't get a loan in 2008 unless you could walk on water, spell "dysphasia", and understand Bob Dylan.

After helping my clients' loans get through underwriting for a few weeks, I would finally get a loan approved.

Then, the day before settlement, I would have the following conversation with my underwriters:

"Are we all set for closing tomorrow?", I would ask.

"Yeah, about that," my underwriter would reply, "I know we gave you an approval and all, but, after thinking about it a little more, we've decided not to approve this loan."

"Maybe I misunderstood this letter that says 'approved'," I would say.

"No, you're right," my underwriter would say, "we did originally approve the loan. It's just that now we've decided not to."

I swear to you I am not making this up. This is pretty much a verbatim conversation I had on several occasions.

It would usually end with me shouting a few things into my speakerphone that probably shouldn't really be shouted, let alone spoken, in the workplace.

Banks and lenders were so nervous to approve ANYBODY, they wound up approving NOBODY.

Then, my clients would call me.

"So, Chris, are we ready for our closing tomorrow?", they would ask.

"Yeah, about that," I would reply...

So I decided I wasn't going to treat my clients that way and took a little break, cleared my head a bit. A couple of months later now, and I'm BACK with a great mortgage lender, the number one mortgage lender in the country, actually.

Just in time, too, because rates are about to drop through the floor.

Can you say REFI BOOM?

Although, that's not necessarily a GOOD thing. The reason it's happening is because the economy is in the crapper.

The reason the economy is in the crapper is because the government decided that all of us folks who have worked hard all our lives and have always paid our mortgages on time, should pay for the sins of all those who DIDN'T pay their mortgage on time.

Apparently, we should also be forced to suffer while the guys who gave 100% financing to people with 500 credit scores are taking their private jets to the Bahamas.

Apparently, corporations now have a good excuse to lay people off and cut costs wherever they can. I still have friends without jobs, I have family members without jobs.

So enough! Enough! No more bailouts. No more hand-holding.

CEO's, if your company is about to go broke, we're not paying for it, tough. The government should NOT be expected to bail you out.

Take that bailout money and divide it up among every American citizen. We'll all have enough to pay off our mortgages and stimulate the economy.

In fact, Jon Stewart nailed it the other night on "The Daily Show". Best. Rant. Ever.

You should take 5 minutes right now and watch it below. Then watch the scene right below it from the movie "Network". It's time to get mad as hell!

Then you'll know exactly what we need to do to get out of this mess.

I promise I'll be back to my humorous self next time. :-)

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far from the Tree

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 05:55:00 +0000

OK, first of all, I know I've been a little sporadic with the posting lately. I've been going through some career changes lately so I'll try to get back to a more regular posting schedule now that I've got a little more free time.

So our one-year-old little girl is reminding me of someone, I just can't think of who it is.

The other day we heard her fussing from the playroom. We thought she was just being grumpy, but when we walked in, she had gotten her hand stuck in one of her toys. You know, the one where they shove different shapes into the proper holes? Her hand was stuck in "the triangle", or the Bermuda Triangle in this case.

We quickly freed her hand and helped her calm down.

She calmly collected herself, picked up the toy, walked into the kitchen, and proceeded to slam it into the kitchen floor.

"Glubbadubba!", she exclaimed with an angry look on her face.

I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure if I translated that literally, it would look something like...

"@#%!*^&*($"

I just don't know where she picks up that awful temper.

She reminds me of someone, I just can't think of whom it could be.

The Wheels on the Bus Hurt My Head

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 21:30:00 +0000

As we were in the middle of a long car ride last week, our 4-year-old daughter was very graciously helping us entertain our 1-year-old daughter, who was clearly sick of being in the car.

My wife and I decided to sing a rousing rendition of "The Wheels on the Bus" to help keep her occupied.

If you've ever wanted to feel like a super-cool guy, forget football on Sundays or riding a motorcyle on the open road, a la Ah-nold in Terminator 2, you've just GOT to sing "Wheels on the Bus".

It's right up there with "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" in the originality department.

In fact, my first inclination was to break into the first verse of "99 Bottles". Then I realized, A) I was setting myself up for a REALLY long performance and B) something just didn't seem right about singing to my kids about beer bottles...although it does sound cool on some weird level.

Anyway, we got through almost all of the verses of "Wheels on the Bus", including the "wheels on the bus" verse, the "wipers on the bus", the "doors on the bus", the "babies on the bus", the "teachers on the bus", and the "mommies on the bus".

The "mommies on the bus", of course, go "Shh, shh, shh!"

We couldn't think of any more verses, so our 4-year-old said,

"Oh, I know! How about the 'daddies' on the bus?"

That's a new one. OK, we said.

"What exactly do the 'daddies on the bus' say?", we asked.

She replied,

"The daddies on the bus say, 'Oh, my head hurts!'"

Well, I don't know about the bus, but that was certainly how I felt right about then. How does she KNOW these things??

The Kid Who Knew Too Much

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 14:44:00 +0000

The other day, my wife and I were driving the kids home from the mall, when the traffic light turned yellow.

I, of course, sped up a bit to make it through the light. I did "make it" even though the light might have been "orange", as we like to call it.

Our 4-year-old daughter was very curious about this, however, much to my dismay. This is one of those things I will have to remember when I'm trying to set a good example for our older, 11-year-old daughter, who will be driving in just over 4 years (yikes!....she can hardly clean her room, let alone pilot a 2-ton moving vehicle!).

Anyway, our 4-year-old turned to me and asked,

"Daddy, why did you go faster through that light?"

My wife found this question very amusing.

"Well," I replied, "the light was about to turn red, so I had to get through it."

"But, Daddy....how did you KNOW it was going to turn red?", she asked.

You know, sometimes I swear she knows the answers to these questions but she just likes to hear herself talk or something. That, or she just doesn't know how to ask what she really wants to ask so I get the "decoy" question first.

"Well, when the light is green, you can go, but when it turns yellow, that means it's about to turn red, and then you have to wait.", I answered.

"Oh!", she exclaimed. Aha! The light bulb has gone off. Whew.

Then, as is inevitably the case with my kids, the whole illusion unraveled right before my eyes.

"But, Daddy.....I thought that a yellow light meant you were supposed to slow DOWN?"

"Well, sweetie, that's for OTHER people.", I thought to myself.

What I said on the OUTSIDE was,

"That's right, sweetie! Very good job. Here, have some M&M's."

Remember, when all else fails, distraction is your friend!

My Kids: Killing Me Softly

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 15:08:00 +0000

I went to get a haircut last week as I usually do when the temperature hits 90 degrees. After all, if the air conditioning is all the way down, the kids are running around the house in their underwear, and the back deck thermometer reads 110 degrees (it's in direct sunlight), then the only thing I can do is go get as much of this thick black stuff off my head as possible.

Except that it's not so black these days. As my 'stylist' was cutting my hair (I can't say 'barber'...my wife looked at me and said, "Who still says 'barber'?"...I do, but that's beside the point), I noticed more and more gray hair falling to the floor. How does this happen?

Look, there goes one now! That one was caused by the fact that our central air coniditioning broke right before the 4th of July weekend.

You might think, "Gee, Chris, that must have been hot."

Trust me when I tell you that you have NO idea. I actually lost 5 pounds. We would all come back home from running errands, open the front door and wait for that refreshing cold blast....oh yeah, it's broken. It was HOT. I mean it was Africa HOT!

There's nothing I love more than sweating my ass off for a few days and then shelling out several thousand dollars on a new central air unit. This one lasted 16 years so I shouldn't complain. Did I mention that it was HOT?

Look, there goes another gray hair. That one was from last Tuesday when my 11-year-old daughter, was rocking in our living room rocking chair...a little too aggressively. So aggressively, in fact, that she slammed into our grandfather clock, knocked it over and it shattered into a million pieces all over the living room floor.

Boy, I'll tell you, there's nothing more fun with a toddler in the house than worrying about broken glass all over the floor.

We pretty much had a cow...and the clock is toast. I've never really seen a grandfather clock shatter. In retrospect, it was quite a site to see. It's one of those things you've always WANTED to do, but never really had the opportunity. Kind of like seeing if Super Glue really COULD hold you suspended in mid-air by a hard hat.

Look, there goes another gray hair. That's from when our 11-year-old BIT our 4-year-old last week. Nope, I didn't get that backwards. To make it worse, she was fighting with her over a tub of building blocks. Yes, building blocks.

I think older siblings that have younger siblings must just revert to the age of the youngest sibling. I remember getting in to quite a few "nyah nyah" battles with my younger brother as a teen. I don't remember biting him, though. The things I did were much worse.

Oh, there's another gray hair. That's from the 11-month-old constantly splashing around in the dog's water dish. She also likes to stealthily sneak under my chair and turn the computer off. Oh, and that other gray hair, that's from when I caught the dog drinking out of our toilet last night.

Look, there go a couple more gray hairs. Let's see, those are from the fact that both our 4-year-old and 11-month-old daughters had colds last week and were miserable and grouchy. Oh, and that other gray hair, that's because our printer broke at home and we have to go get a new one. Oh, and that other gray hair, well, that's because I'm in the mortgage industry. Enough said.

Hey, look at that. Walgreens is having a sale on "Just for Men".

"Honey, I'm heading out! I'll be back when school starts."

She Pooped a Sticker

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 17:08:00 +0000

Well, that was the punchline, hope you enjoyed it. There's not that much more to tell, really. Once you see something like that, nothing will ever surprise you again.

OK, ok...I'll give you a FEW more details. The other night, as we were sitting down to dinner, our 4-year-old daughter came over and put a pink, heart-shaped sticker on the back on my hand. Being a hairy guy, I really love this, by the way. I always smile and lovingly accept the sticker, knowing that later, I will be ripping hair follicles from my flesh in an effort to remove the thing.

Anyway, we ate dinner, the sticker was on my hand, life was good. I never really thought any more about it until the next day when I noticed that the sticker was gone. Must have fallen off, I though. Right.

My wife called me at work that morning in hysterics. Apparently, our 9-month-old daughter had unleashed a whopper.

"You will never believe what's in our daughter's diaper!"

OK, I thought. There are really only two choices, in my book...neither of them are really anything I care to think about in any amount of great detail, especially while at work.

It seems that neither "number one" nor "number two" were the proper choices in this case. You see, there was a mysterious "number three"...a pink, heart-shaped sticker was apparently conducting an experiment in osmosis with "number two".

I remember picking her up after dinner and carrying her over to the sink to clean off her hands...and face, and hair, and eyebrows, and eyelashes, and ears, and pants...you know what it's like when a 9-month-old feeds herself. She tends to look like she's been in a Thanksgiving Day food fight after every meal.

Anyway, all I can figure is that, while I was distracted, she must have peeled the sticker off my hand and thought it looked yummy...so down the hatch it went.

Like Bill Cosby says, "Babies have no digestive system. IN a raisin....OUT a raisin."

So the lesson here is that I guess we need to keep a closer eye on what's around the baby at all times. Babies are faster than they seem. She can turn off the computer before I even realize she's under my chair.

Lesson learned. Hey! Has anyone seen my watch??

Has Anyone Seen My Balls?

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 14:30:00 +0000

So I'm pulling into the driveway after work last week and I hit the 'open' button on the automatic garage door remote.

As the door opens, I see that my daughter's inflatable ball pit, which we decided to store in the garage since she's not playing with it that much anymore, has deflated. Not only has it deflated but, AS it was slowly deflating, it slipped off of the dining room table that we keep in our garage and flipped over, landing upside-down in my parking spot.

Why do we keep a dining room table in our garage? Because we've converted our dining room into a 'play room'. We never used to actually USE our dining room anyway so why not put up some shelves, store some toys in there and turn it into a temporary play room? It really works out great because we can play with the kids without having to travel ALL the way down to the back of the basement where the other play room is.

Besides, as I've learned from my parents...garages aren't really meant for parking cars, they are meant for storage. Until recently my parents' garage looked like clearance day at the Good Will outlet. I think they've kept every single toy that my brother and I had growing up and are now slowly giving them back to us, one-by-one, every time we visit because they probably just can't bear to throw them away or sell them. Heck, I'll probably do the same thing one day.

Anyway, I do still like to park my car in the garage, in between the dining room table, the beach chairs, the recycling boxes, the bikes, and our old computer monitor which no longer works...so of course I decided to keep it in the garage.

Hey, you never know. I might hook it up to my old PC which no longer works and we'll have a matching set.

So, back to the ball pit. It's flipped over in the garage in my parking spot. This is especially bad because the only way to move it is to lift it up, set the little plastic balls free which are trapped underneath, then flip it right-side-up.

So pick it up as gently as possible. Hey, not too bad. The balls are rolling around all over but it's nothing I can't handle. That is, until they hit the driveway, which I have forgotten is sloped downwards...and several of the little plastic balls are now quickly rolling toward our busy street.

Remember that old Atari game "Missile Command" where you had to stop the rapidly descending missiles before they hit each of your bases? Better yet, remember "Breakout" where you had to use your paddle to hit all of the blocks and keep the ball from getting past you?

I'm now running back and forth across the bottom of our driveway slapping the balls back up into our garage as fast as possible, as though I were a human paddle in a haywire game of "Breakout".

A few of them actually make it JUST to the bottom of the driveway before I manage to get there and slap them back up into the garage, all as the drivers passing by are honking and pointing and laughing.

Yeah, come a little closer. I wonder if I could hit this guy right in his cell phone if I aim it just right...no, better to keep cool.

So, about 5 minutes later, all the balls have been subdued and are safely back in the garage. I started putting them back in the pit, one by one.

Ten minutes later, I'm finally able to pull into my parking spot.

I look around and see that a few neighbors had been watching the fun. Great.

This whole episode reminds me that I used to have a giant, full-sized arcade game version of "Breakout" several years ago. What ever happened to that thing?

Oh, that's right. It's in my parents' garage (I'm dead serious). :-)

She's Playing with What??

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Wed, 07 May 2008 17:01:00 +0000

Why do toddlers do this? Our 8-month-old daughter has tons of toys to play with in our family room.

There is a musical seat that she can sit in and push buttons that play music, there are little stuffed animals everywhere, there is even a walker that she can cruise around in.

The other day I looked under the table because she was crawling around down there and I heard her laughing.

What was she playing with? My empty Diet Coke bottle. She would knock the bottle over, laugh, it would roll away, she would go get it, knock it over again, lather, rinse, repeat.

It must be very entertaining to be an 8-month-old. I wish I could be entertained by such little things.

Then she put the bottle down and went over and started chewing on my wife's "switch flops". Yummy!

What is it with these "switch flops" anyway? Do we really flip-flops where you can just rip off the top and change the color? They're right up there with Crocs. Boy, THOSE look attractive.

I have a pair of flip flops and about four pairs of shoes. That's all I really need out of life.

My wife's side of the closet looks like a DSW liquidation sale.

The little one can really COOK in that walker, by the way. I mean I put her in it, turn around to get something, and she is GONE in a puff of smoke.

BOOM! Just like that she's at the top of the basement steps. OK, time to keep THAT door closed from now on.

She's also taken a keen interest in eating the fake grass that's in our fake plant in the bathroom. The other day, I got out of the shower and she had this funny green mustache.

OK, I thought. She's either eaten her Kermit the Frog doll or she got into the Diaper Genie again.

Then, I realized what she had been doing. Why fake grass?

The eight-month-old criteria for whether or not something is entertaining must go like this...
1) Does it light up?
2) Does it make noise?
3) Can I eat it?

If it doesn't pass 1) or 2), we skip right to 3), I suppose.

Well, something smells rotten so she's either finger-painting in her own spit-up again or there's a diaper to be changed.

Either way, I'm outta' here! Gosh, would ya' look at the time?

"That is One Big Pile of....."

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 19:09:00 +0000

Well, the lawns in this town should be pretty green this summer, if the level of fertilizer output from my kids this month is any indication.

While my wife was at work yesterday, there was a rare, brief lull in the action so I thought I would fill in a few frames of the Saturday crossword puzzle. I don't know what it's like where you live, but around here, the Saturday puzzle is pretty much reserved for nuclear physicists and people who have memorized all of the rivers and mountains in Russia. Why these crossword authors think anyone will remember the name of Samantha's cousin on "Bewitched" is beyond me. How about a "Family Guy" crossword? Now that I could finish.

Anyway, I sat down for a brief intermission when I noticed that our 8-month-old had that familiar bright red glow about her. I gave it a second, took a sniff, and sure enough, the Cracker Jacks box suddenly had a prize in it.

I gave her a few minutes to finish up (I mean really, who likes to get right up? You have to savor the moment a bit.), and took her upstairs for a fresh diaper. I don't know why, but when I changer her, she seems to look at me with this look that says, "Yeah, who's holding the poop NOW?"

So we get her all cleaned up. I came back downstairs to try and figure out what James I and Charles I had in common (my guess...they both have "I" in their names).

Just then, the 4-year-old calls my name from afar...

"Daaaaaaddy!"

"Yes?", I reply.

"I'm finished!", she says.

"Finished what?", I ask.

"Poooooooping!"

[sigh]

"Better take care of it.", I say optimistically.

"No, you better help this time.", she says.

[This can't be good] I'm thinking.

OK, I've now taken care of number two number two (that's NOT a typo). Finally. Now I need a five-letter word for a banana liquer drink frozen over ice.

Just then I look over and see that our 8-month-old has that familiar bright red glow about her.

Great, if I've got to be in the sequel to "Groundhog Day", why did the universe have to pick THIS particular 15-minute period for me to relive over and over again? Diapers are expensive. Enjoy it for a while, kiddo.

P.S. - My favorite line of the day...

"Daddy, guess what I just sneezed out of my mouth?"

Boy, I wonder if I can coax it out of her...

"What would that be, sweetie?", I replied.

"A banana!"

Is this a knock-knock joke?

Kids Say the Darndest Things

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 18:57:00 +0000

Just when it seems like nothing funny will ever happen again and my blog will die off, my kids come to the rescue.

As I was getting ready for work last week, my four-year-old girl came up to me and asked,

"Daddy, will you put fingernail polish on my nails?"

Hmmm...SuperDad does not recognize this alien terminology. What is this pol-ish of which she speaks? Apparently, she hasn't read the Daddy manual that says I am the one to teach about football, car parts, and bodily functions. Luckily, SuperMom bailed me out of this one.

Then came Saturday. Saturdays are always entertaining as my wife works and I am home with the girls. As the four-year-old was playing by herself in the playroom, I heard a sneeze followed by, "Bless myself!"

Yes, that's the way it works isn't it? Why not?
------------------------------------------------
Yesterday, she also treated me to a classic knock-knock joke...almost.

"Knock knock, Daddy", she said.

"Who's there", I replied.

"Banana", she said.

I better get comfortable, I thought, "Banana who?", I responded.

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Banana", she said.

"Banana who?", I asked.

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

Wait for it....

"Aren't you glad I didn't say 'orange'?", she said proudly.

OK, so she almost had it right.
-------------------------------------------
Just when it seemed that my 8-month-old had lost her ability to speak (it had been two weeks since she blurted out her name!), she has shown us that she's still 'got it'.

Friday night was 'date night'. We got an actual babysitter and everything. This was the first time that someone other than a grandparent would be watching the kids while we were out.

Anyway, I walked in the door, said a big "Hiiii!" to our 8-month-old, she looked right up at me and said,

"Hi, Dada!"

Hey, that was a sentence! The babysitter even gaped! Pretty cool.

Get It? Get It? I Don't Get It

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 13:54:00 +0000

It's easy to forget how difficult the concept of humor can be. What makes one thing funny and another thing not funny? Is it the material? The delivery? The personality of the person?

My four-year-old clearly doesn't quite grasp the concept of puns yet...although I'm trying my best.

We were drawing the other day and we made a house and some trees. She wanted to keep coloring the tree although it was pretty much complete. Harkening back to MY dad's own slightly dry sense of humor, I said,

"Why don't we LEAVE the tree alone. Get it? Leave? A tree has leaves?"

She seemed to get it and laughed. She has mastered the art of mimicing social laughter. Even if she doesn't know why it's funny, she knows that she should be laughing. This makes it hard to tell if she 'gets it' or not.

Well, the answer seems to be 'not'. The last week has been full of comments like,

"Daddy, I'm coloring with a crayon. Get it? A crayon?"

::crickets chirping::

"Ooooh!", I say, "a crayon....hahahaha!"

We can't damage her fragile ego as she pursues her first stand-up career, right?

"Look, Daddy! I have a booger! Get it? A booger?"

OK, well that one actually WAS pretty funny, but for all the wrong reasons.

"Look, Daddy! The baby has a poopy! Get it? A poopy?"

Yep, she's been on a roll this week. Before you know it, she'll be closing with,

"Thank you very much. You've been great. I'm here all week. Tip your waiter."

-----

On another note, our 7-month-old now has an astonishing vocabulary, consisting of:

"Hi" ("Haaaaaaaah")
"Dada" ("Dadadadadadada")
Her own name (this one comes out clear as a bell)

and....of course....

"Dora" (Dooooooo-ah)

Still no "anthropomorphism". Guess I'll have to settle for "plethora". :-)

Attack of the Easter Monster

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 00:04:00 +0000

It's that time of year again. While my wife was at work on Saturday, I took our 4-year-old daughter and our 6-month-old daughter to the annual Easter egg hunt.

I use the term 'hunt' very loosely. This is basically a giant field with the crowd gathered in a big circle around the perimeter of the mine field, er, egg field.

We wait for the giant fire engine to honk its horn, and.......

HOOOOOOOOOOOONK!

Free for all! The crowd converges on the eggs! We pick up 6 eggs and stuff them into the plastic grocery bag that I remembered to bring this year (hey, it's not a fancy Easter basket but it works).

Just like that, it's over. 60 seconds flat. Now, the real fun begins.

The Easter Bunny comes riding up on a big fire engine, basically scaring the crap out of the 4-year-0ld. She is pretty much done at this point. We run away from the Easter Bunny, head over to the prize table and get her little $1.99 stuffed bunny that she got for collecting a 'golden egg'.

My arm suddenly feels surprising warm. I realize that the 6-month-old has spit up on my left arm. Good times.

We sit on the curb for five minutes eating Reese's Peanut Butter cups and chocolate eggs.

"Daddy, can we pleeeeease go home now?"

Total time elapsed = 30 minutes.

Hey, this is my kind of family outing!

Houston, We Have "Dada"

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Fri, 29 Feb 2008 20:20:00 +0000

She said it. Yep. She definitely said it.

My wife brought six-month-old daughter into our bed the other morning. She rolled over, looked at me, and said,

"Dada."

Wait for it....

"Dadadadadadadadadadadadada."

A bit of overkill but, hey, that's OK. She's got it.

Now, we're working on "anthropomorphism". :-)

Page 123

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 00:39:00 +0000

This is an interesting little meme that Flea sent me the other day.

Here are the instructions:

1. Pick up the nearest book ( of at least 123 pages).

2. Open the book to page 123.

3. Find the fifth sentence.

4. Post the next three sentences.

So, you'll never guess it but, here goes...

"After working through my initial disinclination, I discovered that Atlanta was exactly where I was supposed to be. I was somewhat indisposed to moving, but I wasn't rebellious. Rebellion tells God that we refuse to do what He wants us to do."

I know, it's riveting, right? Can't wait for the sequel.

I'm actually supposed to tag 5 people right now, but the six-month-old is wailing and they four-year-old is making fun of the eleven-year-old.

If anyone needs me I'll be in the back yard for four or five months.

Busy as a Beaver

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 13:07:00 +0000

My four-year-old daughter apparently watched a T.V. show about beavers yesterday.

I know this because, when I came home from work, she had made a "beaver house" out of pillows, blankets, and chairs in the middle of the family room.

In a famous quote that will be repeated for years to come, I walked in the door and my daughter said to me,

"Daddy, come and see my dam beaver house!"

:-)

P.S. - If you're in the mood for a tear-jerker and you have a little girl, go get the "This Moment" CD by Steven Curtis Chapman.

I'm a pretty macho guy but I just cannot listen to "Cinderella" without choking up.

It would make a great Valentine's Day gift for YOUR SuperDad.

Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Thu, 31 Jan 2008 03:57:00 +0000

My four-year-old daughter woke up the other day, came into our bedroom, and announced...

"Daddy, I had a dream about the big, bad wolf."

"Oh really?", I said, "what about the big, bad wolf?"

"Well," she replied, "the big, bad wolf was in my room...and I was a little bit scared...then the big, bad wolf turned into YOU, Daddy!"

Just when I think I have heard everything. My wife and I are currently having a debate. She is laughing because she takes it to mean that our daughter thinks that I'm scary when I'm angry.

I, on the other hand, think that she was scared so she drummed an image of safety and security to protect her from the mean, angry wolf.

Or maybe it's just because I look like a Wookie without a shirt on. :-)

P.S. - I had a Top Ten Daddy moment at the grocery store this week. My four-year-old wanted to come with me so I brought her along. As I was pushing her down the cereal aisle in her cart, she looked me right in the eye and said, "Daddy, you're my hero." That one will stick with me for quite a while.

Free Will? Not So Much

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Sun, 20 Jan 2008 21:20:00 +0000

My 4-year-old daughter asked me to play with her in her pretend kitchen yesterday. This kid is creative AND persistent. She will do whatever it takes to get the results she wants.

She asked me if I wanted a drink from her pretend kitchen. This is my cue that she wants to get me a drink from the pretend water dispenser on the front of her pretend refrigerator.

I thought I would have a little fun with her...

"I think I would like some milk," I said.

She opened the fridge, picked up the 'milk carton', 'opened it', and sniffed it.

"Ooh, Daddy, I think the milk is bad," she said.

"OK, then how about some orange juice?", I said.

"Hmm," she replied, "we seem to be all out of orange juice, Daddy, but I will get you some at the store tomorrow."

I stifled a chuckle as I'm sure I have said this to her many times over the course of the last few months.

"OK, I will just have some water," I said.

"From the sink or from the 'fridge?", she asked.

Still trying to get a rise out of her, I replied...

"Hmm, how about just from the sink?"

She went over and pretended to turn the handles.

"Gee, Daddy, the sink is broken...it's not working. How about some nice cold water from the fridge?"

Boy, she's good.

"OK," I finally said, "I'll take some water from the refrigerator."

"There. Now see, Daddy? Isn't that better?"

It's a good thing I was never that stubborn. ;-)

To Shave or Not to Shave?

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 18:24:00 +0000

Well, I shaved my Christmas goatee yesterday. I let it grow for about two weeks every year right around the holidays.

It actually looked pretty cool...I felt like "evil Kirk" from that old Star Trek episode with the parallel universe.

Still, every time I kissed my little girls they would say, "too scratchy!".

So I shaved it.

My four-year-old must have gotten used to the look of it, though, because she came into the bathroom after I had shaved, looked at me, and said,

"Gee, Daddy, your head sure looks funny!"

Boy, how's that for a nice send-off to start the work week?? :-)

My First Time

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Sat, 05 Jan 2008 14:20:00 +0000

Stop that. Get your mind our of the gutter. I'm talking about my first "Meme". This will be my first attempt at one so please, be kind...rewind (sorry, wrong slogan).

It seems, my friend kidzmama over at Not a Spare Moment has tagged me for a Meme. I think I will dedicate this post to seeing how many times I can say the word, "Meme", because, well, it's just a fun word to say. If I say it 10 times fast, I sound like I'm warming up to sing.

So, if you're like I was and have no idea what a Meme is, then got over to Wikipedia and read the definition of the word "Meme".

Without further ado, this Meme is supposed to revolve around Seven Things About Me You Don't Already Know.

1) As you may know, before I became a dad, I used to sing in a rock band. I actually sing, play the piano, and play the guitar.

What you may NOT know is that one of our songs was actually played on MTV. Once. Yep, once. Hey, that's better than most so I'm happy.

Yep, that's me, second from the left...AKA "the short one".

2) Let's see, I lived in Spain for a month while studying Spanish in college. THAT was an interesting experience. Everyone should study abroad once in their lives.

3) I hate seafood. Can't stand crabs. Most people are amazed at this given that I live on the East Coast. I am easy to find at crab feasts...I'm the guy eating the burger.

4) I sing at church. Yep, I'm a choirboy. Of course, my church "choir" has drums, electric guitars, keyboard, and a bass player. >:-)

5) Boxers or briefs? BOTH...boxer briefs! It's the only way to go. Whoever invented these should win a Nobel Peace Prize.

6) I HAVE a 'red-headed step-child' so don't use that wonderful, slangy expression around me (if you don't know what I'm talking about...great).

7) My wife and I are each on our second marriage. Why? Well, the first time was just practice...and obviously practice makes perfect! SuperMom is a wonderful partner and my best friend.

So there you have it. Seven things you probably didn't know about me. I know, I know...you laughed, you cried...it was better than "Cats".

I am now supposed to 'tag' seven people. I, therefore, choose...

The Sports Mama

Crunchy Domestic Goddess

Flea over at Flea's World

Amy over at Memories and Musings of a Mommy

Rachel over at From the Land of Monkeys and Princesses

The Burgh Baby

AND,

Lisa over at Crazy Adventures in Parenting

Please link back to this blog, post your meme in YOUR blog, then tag seven more people...and hey, if you know any other good DADDY blogger let me know...I just don't know of any.

Thanks!

I Threw up the Sash

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Wed, 02 Jan 2008 15:34:00 +0000

'Twas the Night Before Christmas and all through my tummy,
something wasn't quite right, something felt quite funny.

Could it have been the meatballs, the potatoes, the stew?
Or maybe the turkey all covered with goo?

No, this was quite different, a terrible pain.
My efforts to fight it so far were in vain.

My sister-in-law from Alaska had been sick.
She passed it on to my in-laws and passed it on quick!

From there, it went on to my three-year-old girl.
Last week, she woke up at 2am and started to hurl.

"That must be the culprit", I said to myself.
I began looking for Tums on the medicine shelf.

I still wasn't quite right, though, and then came the chills.
Followed by a fever and the search for more pills.

Oh no! No more Tylenol! Now what will I do?
Ah, SuperMom ran to the store and got me some Ginger Ale too.

OK, the presents are out and I can head off to bed.
But this unsettling feeling lingers inside of my head.

Could this be the very sum of my fears?
You see, SuperDad hasn't thrown up in over ten years.

Well, finally I'm able to nod off to sleep.
Only to waken in big trouble...but deep!

It's midnight and off to the bathroom I rush!
I can feel my insides quickly turning to mush!

I hope I can make it. I think I might faint.
I feel like I've inhaled three days worth of paint.

I made it to the bathroom in ten seconds flat!
Now which end goes on the toilet? Thank goodness there's a mat!

Oh no, here it comes, just like my college years.
After partying with frat brothers and chugging six beers.

The noise is quite awful, I have to confess.
Like being punched in the stomach and stomped on the chest.

I'm sure I was making an unusual clatter.
Then, SuperMom came in to see what was the matter.

"Can I come in and help you?", she asked, springing from bed.
"Trust me," I said, "you don't want THIS image stuck in your head."

At last, the worst was over. I actually felt pretty good.
After all that commotion, I suppose that I should.

SuperMom passed me my toothbrush and then the Listerine...
followed by the all-purpose cleaner for the latrine.

Finally, I slipped back into bed, and into my trunks.
2007: The year Santa blew chunks.

Fake Plastic Trees

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Fri, 21 Dec 2007 16:54:00 +0000

Nope, this isn't about Radiohead, sorry. It's about trees. Well, actually it's about plastic. I broke down this year and opted for the fake tree.

Why? With two kids it wasn't so hard to get out and look for a tree. Now that we have THREE kids, and busy schedules it was getting to be downright impossible.

So, when my 4-year-old said, "Daddy, can we go pick a tree?"

I said, "Sure," and off to WalMart we went.

"Daddy, this isn't where we get trees. We get trees OUTSIDE."

"Yes, I know...but this will be a SPECIAL tree. This will be one that we can use over and over and over!"

Gee, can you tell that I am in sales?

We got the tree and took it home. It's not so bad, really. It looks a little bit fake but it came with lights pre-attached! Man, you can't beat that with a stick!

I might just have to buy some of that pine spray, just to make it a little more realistic.

This is really a first for me. We ALWAYS had a real tree growing up, but now I can see why sometimes we didn't have our tree up until Christmas Eve when I was little. Life is HECTIC. This will be one less thing to have to 'run out and do' every year.

Which reminds me, we were out shopping at the mall this weekend and the toy store had this semi-intelligent toy pony named "Butterscotch" that reacts to your words, lights, sounds, etc. It even comes with a pretend carrot to feed to it.

This thing is really kind of creepy...and it costs $250! Really, for $250 it should be able to change a diaper and vacuum the house too.

Luckily, my 4-year-old was not into this. I think I would have to sleep with garlic around my neck or something...the thing is just creepy.

Anyway, only three shopping days left! This year I'm almost done except for one person (no, not my wife...I'm not STUPID!).

I will be strapping on my racing shoes on Christmas Eve as usual, I'm sure. There's just something insanely fun about being out with the masses. I'm better under pressure anyway.

'Tis the season! Maybe one day soon we will actually DECORATE the tree!

Do Not Read While Eating....Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Sat, 15 Dec 2007 20:31:00 +0000

Well, it's been a record 5 minutes since my last post (scroll down and read Part I if you haven't already). It's funny, two weeks...no inspiration. Five minutes...an entire book's worth of lovely, blog-worthy, family moments.

After surviving the incident pictured in the previous post, my lovely wife got the baby changed, bathed her, and put her in a nice, new, clean outfit.

I had just finished hitting "Publish Post"...when I hear, "OH MY GOD!"

I look over...and I see baby formula SPEWING from my daughter's mouth and BOTH nostrils. This was not her typical little 'spit-up'. This was her imitation of a fire-breathing dragon on steroids. Barry Bonds would be jealous of this one. Then...it happens again. And yet AGAIN.

This reminded me of an incident from my childhood that my mother and I now simply refer to as...."The Brioschi Incident". Without going into the gory details, if there had been an Olympic event called 'Hurling for Distance', I would have won.

This time, we had to remove the baby's NEW outfit AND my wife had to change too.

The worst part of all this is that I was home with the kids all day while my wife was at work and everything was fine.

Now that my wife has decided to try and spend a few minutes with our daughter, she's been pooped on and puked on within the last 30 minutes.

My first reaction was to reach for the camera again but my paternal instincts kicked in and said 'clean the baby, idiot.' Of course, later, my wife said, "Why didn't you take a picture of that too?"

Yeah, like THAT's what you all really would have wanted to see. The next thing you know, I'll be taking pictures of their poopy diapers. Sheesh.

In her defense, the baby had a check-up yesterday and got FOUR shots in her legs so she's probably not feeling quite right. Poor kid.

Well, I'm off to go put on a tarp and play with the baby. Probably see you in another five minutes.

Do Not Read While Eating...Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Chris) — Sat, 15 Dec 2007 20:22:00 +0000

Oh, so you just had to see, huh? The headline wasn't warning enough, right? It's like saying, "DON'T think about a pink elephant!"

(By the way, YES I'm still around. Two of our three daughters have December birthdays so, like the magician in Frosty the Snowman, we've been BUSY, BUSY, BUSY! Now, where were we? Oh yes...)

Well, you brought this upon yourSELF. Just remember that.

Let me just say this...sometimes, when you're suffering from a mild case of writer's block, something happens that makes you think, "Gee, that was easy."

So.....without further ado.....

Would SOMEONE.....PLEASE.....tell me WHAT....in the WORLD.....we're supposed to do with THIS???...