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Worm’s First Haircut

February 26, 2013 //
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There’s a limit to the amount of risk I’m willing to take with Worm.  Holding a pointy scissors inches from that flailing toddler’s ears and eyes is outside of my comfort zone.  So I happily deferred this task to a professional.  That way, if anything happened to Worm’s precious little head, I could be a savior rather than the villain.

It wasn’t that we didn’t like Worm’s coiffure.  We just tired of washing the juice, peanut butter, and snot out of it.  (A slippery kid in a slippery bath being washed by my slippery hands for longer than 30 seconds, is a recipe for disaster.)  Less hair for him equals less work for us.  Besides, Worm’s hair is in that awkward stage between crew cut and mullet.  Yep, he’s got helmet hair…not quite the Gene Simmons look, but pretty darn close.

So off to the internet we went in search of a toddler friendly hairdresser.  Surprisingly, my Googling didn’t turn up more than a handful of local shops.  We picked out one that wasn’t too far away and hopped in the car, anxious as to what was in store for us.

Worm, Next Time I Get The Car!

Worm, Can I At Least Ride Shotgun?!

We strolled into the hair place and the first thing Worm saw was the big red car in the middle of the floor.  When his eyes lit up, we knew we had a winner!  Feeling kind of left out, I asked if I could get a haircut too.  (There was only one car and it took every last ounce of restraint for me not to shove Wormie to the floor and jump in behind that steering wheel!)  I settled for the normal lame-ass (I’m not bitter.) swivel chair.  At least I was sitting closest to the TV blasting the cartoons.  Yeah, the closest.  Me.

We both ordered our haircuts:

“What cut would you like sir?” said the hairdresser.

“Ung. Dat! Pop! Bebop Bo!” responds the diminutive communicates like a caveman.

“So how do you like it cut?” asks the other hairdresser.

“Could I please get 1/2″ off the sides and have the top cut short enough for me to spike it, shall the need present itself?” replied the sophisticated, dashing and debonair gentleman.

(Guess which conversation was Worm’s…)

And so the hair starts flying in all directions.  I braced myself for a deafening cry from the other side of the room, but I heard none.  Worm never once screamed or pitched a fit.  In fact, every time I had the opportunity to glance in his general direction, he was contently playing in my his little red Beetle or watching the cartoons on the TV.  He was eerily quiet.  (As the old saying goes, “A quiet toddler is the devil’s workshop assistant.”)  Today was the exception to the rule.

And at the end of it all, no tears were shed from either of us.  Worm got a nice big lollipop for his effort as well as a lock of his own hair that we will bake into a chocolate cake for his 18th birthday and serve it to him in the name of recycling.

The haircut was a resounding success!  Hooray for Worm being on his best behavior!

Two Good Looking Dudes!

Two Good Looking Dudes!

Next time though, I GET TO DRIVE THE BEETLE!

Gavin – 22; Dad – 11 (I was certain you were going to scream bloody murder during your haircut.  Guess I was wrong…)

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Can’t Drink The Pine-Sol Anymore

January 3, 2013 //
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We waited long enough to do this, but it’s time.  Worm’s just turned 21 months old and eager to explore the ends of his universe, our house.  He’s in Lewis & Clark mode and wants to leave no closet unexamined and no cabinet unpilfered.

I don’t know why, but the one place that Worm must visit 100 times a day is the cabinet storage under the kitchen sink.  And after he tried mixing Comet cleaner and Pine-sol onto the floor, I had to restrict access to this hazardous area.  I was afraid he might try to toss some cleaning powder in my eye and beat me up “Bloodsport” style…

I installed some cabinet latches that require a little more dexterity than the Worm has got at this age…and then I videotaped his reaction…priceless

I’m so happy I didn’t give him the butcher knife to hold during this video!

I was laughing up to the point where he hit me.  But, I still got the upper hand on him!

Gavin – 19; Dad – 11 (It brings so much joy to my life when I can outwit a toddler…)

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We Infiltrated the Mommy and Me Dance Class…

December 6, 2012 //
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…in broad daylight and we didn’t wear a disguise!  (Worm and I are brave soldiers in the constant battle for equal treatment of men in this woman’s world.)  Publicly, we scoff at the cornucopia of mommy and baby activities in San Diego.  But deep down, we yearn to participate!  And so we did just that after hearing through the grapevine that a dance class was being offered in the neighborhood.

I’m not a mommy, but I play one at home (and I’m even having sympathy pains with this pregnancy)!  And for me, that’s good enough.  I just hoped that it was good enough to sneak us into the blatantly gender-biased dance class unobserved…(Do you think my mustache would give me away as a dad?  Nah, not in crunchy California where mustachioed women are gaining broader acceptance by everyone except Republicans.)

The Mommy and me sing and dance class is one-hour long, $5 a family, and designed for toddlers.  So you’re telling me that I can give someone $5 to let my kid off-leash to run around their store like a maniac?   Where do I sign up!  I didn’t believe it.  I had to see for myself what kind of establishment would allow for such lunacy.

A Time To Dance dance studio is the place.  When we arrived and I was getting Worm out of the car, I kept saying “We’re late. We’re late.  We’ve got to hurry.  This is not a good first impression.”  And then as we walked in, I breathed a sigh of relief at a room full of screaming toddlers bouncing off the floors, mirrors and the ceiling.  (Duh.  We’re fine.  What was I thinking?  This is not a job interview.  A good first impression for toddlers is sharing one another’s boogers.)

“Worm, I don’t think anyone will notice the ‘daddy’ as long as you’re screaming at the top of your lungs and flapping your arms a bunch.  We should be incognito.  There’s too much going on for any mom here to focus on more than their own child and the object he or she is crashing towards.  Just do me a favor, for the next 60 minutes, my name is ‘Ma ma’.  Ok?”

We dropped our entrance fee into the bowl and I scouted the adult crowd.  Immediately, I gravitated towards the lone bearded man in the corner of the room and introduced myself.  We exchanged the clan handshake.

“Our group is growing!” he exclaimed.

“Once we get a foothold in this place, the other SAHDs will be called in for reinforcements.  We won’t be outnumbered for long.”  I winked in response.

Talk about nuts.  (Not him and I.  The atmosphere of the dance class!)

At first, the Worm clung to my neck like a baby lemur with sharp fingernails that need to be clipped tonight sometime after bath and dinner time.  Worm’s survey of the dizzying situation was complete within 10 minutes.  (Worm is like a pot of chili ramen noodles.  Give him some time to warm up and eventually he’ll be a spoonful of bubbly spicy awesomeness for under 25 cents.)  He was ready to be set loose.  And off he went.

It’s amazing what your child pays his mind to when thrown in a new environment.  For Worm, it was:

  • Why is that light off?
  • The music is coming out of that box on the wall.  I can hear it.
  • What the hell are all these kids screaming about?
  • This place has the “Itsy Bitsy Spider” song?  You kept telling me you made it up, Dad!
  • Why is that kid holding my new favorite plastic red cone?  Gimme that!
  • Wow!  Beach balls!
  • Why is everyone dancing in a circle?  While they’re distracted, I’m going to grab some of these finger puppets.  Dad, put these in your pocket.
  • Shit, they stopped moving.  Are they looking at us?  Run!
  • A parachute!  Let’s try to walk acr…Whoa!  This thing’s extraordinarily slippery, if I do say so myself!
  • Amazing!  There’s ten of me in the mirrors.  And we’re all handsome!  Except that one way over there…
  • I’m tired Dad.  I’m ready to go home.

“Dude, we’ve got 45 minutes left.” I whispered to Worm.  “Why don’t we try to participate with the rest of the class?  Don’t you want to learn how to dance so that you can be on SYTYCD and make your mother proud of you?  You wouldn’t want to disappoint her.  So, let’s work on the pirouette and petite allegro.  Point the toes.  Point!”

I'm All Danced Out, Dad. Stop Taking Pictures and Let's Go Home and Nap!

I’m All Danced Out, Dad. Stop Taking Pictures and Let’s Go Home and Nap!

Ok, so maybe the dance teacher was only trying to get the kids to touch their knees and jump up.  I just thought it be impressive if my son did some ballet techniques in the middle of the room instead.  (I only want what I think is best for Worm.  Is that too much to ask?)

Sweet! Dancing With Parachutes! That's Brilliant!

Sweet! Dancing With Parachutes! That’s Brilliant!

We actually had quite a bit of fun at dance class.  It wasn’t as chaotic as I thought it would be.  The benefit of locking a bunch of toddlers in a room together is at some point they are forced to collide interact and that is precisely what Worm’s little life needs.  I’m pretty sure the dance studio didn’t mind that a couple dads came in through the side door and had some fun.  Did Worm dance?  Not quite.  There’s definitely room for improvement, so we’re going back for more.  The sky’s the limit!

Am I going to YouTube some breakdancing moves for us to do in class next week?  YES!  We’re going to show ’em ‘Gangnam Style’!

Related Links:

A Time to Dance Dance Studio – There’s more than just toddler dancing…

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Glitzy Glamorous Galliformes and Gambling

November 29, 2012 //
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Please forgive me, I couldn’t post this beforehand. The paparazzi would have staked themselves outside our hotel room the entire time and we would have graced the cover of US Weekly without getting paid for it!  (Ah, the life of a celebrity…)

When I think of Las Vegas, the first thing that comes to mind is “Wow, I can’t believe I’m thinking about the shrimp eating capital of the United States.”  And when I have dreams of myself snorkeling from one slot machine to the next in the hopes I could jackpot a lifetime supply of shrimp with just one pull of the lever, it’s time for a shrink a visit.

Las Vegas built a direct road to San Diego.  Scratch that, San Diego built a direct road to Las Vegas.  (It’s part of the reason why our city is broke.)  One freeway, the I-15, whisks you over the hills and through the woods desert to the place where the fourth largest pyramid in the world resides.  (If you’re visiting from space, hover directly over the vertical light beam in the sky and descend.  It will take you right to the center.)

When I was younger and had time, money, and energy, Vegas was a fun place to let my single self cavort and run wild.  “Sleep during the day and party at night” was the motto.  Funny.  Now that I look back, I don’t remember seeing any babies or toddlers in Vegas.  (In my mid-twenties, I probably couldn’t tell you what a toddler was, let alone spot one in public.) Today, I know why you don’t see a lot of young families like mine in a place like Las Vegas.  Would you still view Vegas the same way if the consequences of your sins committed there were standing next to you on the people mover?  Watching a poor sap like me lugging a 50-lb bag of diapers, a stroller full of toddler screams, and schlepping a tired, worn-out pregnant woman from casino to casino would make any sane man question his free-wheeling motives!  So, strollers and babies are forced to navigate the “Strip” more covertly…through the service and maintenance routes.

2.9 Members of the MVG clan!

I’m on the other side of the Stratosphere now, and I’ve had to begrudgingly change my Vegas habits to a more G-Rated, all ages version. Wake up at 6:30am.  Nap time at noon.  Breakfast, lunch, and dinner time scheduled around pregnancy munchies and Worm’s occasional desire to eat.  Squeeze all that in by 8pm and everyone’s happy…almost.  During our three-day stay, I saw more of my hotel room than I have in all the other times I’ve visited combined.  Not the most fun for me, but I sacrifice my own joys in life to be with my family.

During Thanksgiving, Vegas gets much fewer visitors.  This time of year isn’t hard to find a great hotel package deal for the whole clan.  We haven’t been on a vacation since before Worm was hatched.  It was a perfect opportunity to test out the little guy’s portability and travel manners during the “terrible twos” period.  Besides, the thick walls of these hotel rooms can muffle sounds from the most unhappy toddlers.

I found Vegas to be surprisingly kid-friendly.  There’s a ton to do.  If your kid is bored in Vegas, consider the clergy for them.  The mobsters running the Boulevard (just kidding, please don’t shoot me) know that Vegas runs in two shifts (day and midnight) and never the twain shall meet.  Every day well before the witching hour, we hit the pool, the buffets, and the Strip.  On the last day, we blazed through the Mandalay Bay Shark Reef Aquarium in about 10 minutes.  (We were overstimulated, ready for nap time, and our brain had shut down…we were out of sins and ready for home.  We = Worm.)

Though I had plenty of misdeeds left in me, Worm was right.  Out of time and Thanksgiving turkey, we left Paradise (Clark County) and headed for home.  It was a nice detour from reality, if only for a few days.

Looks Like Someone Was Enjoying the Mandalay Bay Exhibits

If you’re wondering, Worm racked up the 11 hours of driving in excellent condition.  He was a great travel companion.  When strapped down, he was easy to talk to and didn’t once try to escape my lecture on “Why Vegas is Called Sin City”.  We managed without shoving a TV, iPod, iPad, or laptop computer in his face.  (Yes, I’m amazed too.)

Finally Able to Catch Some Z’s! Vegas was Awesome!

Gavin – 19; Dad – 9 (From the pictures, it looks like you got the Vegas thing down pat, Worm.  Good job!)

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What Not to Do For Halloween

October 31, 2012 //
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This Pretty Much Defines Our Halloween 2012…

I’m a horrible parent.  Luckily, Worm isn’t going to remember this awful Halloween of 2012.  Childhood amnesia will work to my advantage for the rest of the holiday season…and no I haven’t dropped him on his head…yet.

If you remember, a couple of weeks ago we went Punkin’ Huntin’‘.  We picked up 4 glorious specimens of the cucurbita family (for me, Steph, Worm, and grandma who is visiting), mine bearing the fittingly beautiful name, Pepita.  Remember?

In all our eagerness, we carved out faces on our pumpkins, with grandma leaving hers uncut to exude the purity that Mother Earth intended for it.  Then we carried the pumpkins out on the porch for the entire world (here world = neighborhood) to set eyes upon.  And for a few days, passersby would gasp in the awe that glimmered just outside our home.

We thought that Pepita and her patch mates would stand the test of time, or at least until the end of October.  Sadly, this wasn’t the case.  I try to pass blame on the abnormal weather we had…90 degree temps, then rain, and 90 degree days again.  Blaming nature makes me feel good for a short while.  Then the guilt sets in and deep down I admit I didn’t have the emotional strength to resist the immediate life-affirming gratification of pumpkin carving.  I was weak.  Next year, I will try to be stronger…who am I kidding?  I will do what any red-blooded human would do, which is cut my pumpkin when I WANT TO and then bend the laws of nature in my favor.

Below are a few tips that I learned after the mold and bacteria began to devour my sweet Pepita and her cousins 10 days before Halloween.  Hopefully, I’ve told you after your pumpkin suffered the same fate.  Just kidding.

  1. After carving your pumpkin, spray inside with a mild bleach solution (1 part bleach to 10 parts water).  Dry with paper towels.
  2. Take petroleum jelly (Vaseline if you want to go name brand) and put a thin coat on the inside of the pumpkin where you carved.
  3. Use those electronic candles instead of the tea lights that use a live flame.
  4. Stun your family and friends as you watch your pumpkin last through the New Year.

As if the pumpkin fiasco wasn’t enough, it gets worse.  Worm doesn’t even have a costume, yet.  October 31st started almost 13 hours ago and we’ve got nothing…unless we try to squeeze him into his 6 month old bunny rabbit outfit from last year (which is a possibility considering we have some extra Vaseline lying around….)

As I write this, Steph is at Babies R’ Us sifting through the broken, unwanted scraps of the Halloween costumes.  I’m sure that the only ones left are a 6 and 1/2 legged spider and a toilet.  Yes, toilet costumes exist and it can get worse, if you really want to see.

Pretty Pepita and the Uglies

Can we save Halloween 2012?  Possibly.  If we dress Worm up in something cute (Oh Steph, I hope you didn’t get the toilet costume…),  we may be able to milk the neighbors for all the candy they’ve got!  And for me, that’s a win.

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Punkin’ Huntin’

October 18, 2012 //
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Fall is my favorite season.  Once a young lad, I spent many an autumn raking the fallen leaves, sipping chai tea in the brisk evening air, and baking apple pies for my family.  Just kidding.  I was shooting rabbits with my bow and arrow, planning out ‘Mischief Night‘, calculating my trick-or-treat route, and making traps in the woods and covering them with leaves for unsuspecting victims.  I lived in New Jersey.  The bar of morality and righteousness wasn’t very high and I was damned if I was to trip over it.  So, I crawled under.

Now that we live in San Diego, we don’t get the big weather changes that strongly signal the closing half of the year.  So to imitate the fall season here, we decorate the house in orange and brown, turn on the air conditioning, and parade around in turtlenecks.  Hooray!

To further the charade…at this age Worm will believe anything…we drive out of the city to pick pumpkins from a fake patch on the side of the freeway.  Just like the pilgrims used to do!

A little bit northeast of us (you can’t really go anywhere except for north and east of San Diego) is a little town called Ramona.  Yeah, that one.  The former “Turkey Capital of the World”.  It’s been a long time since the feathered kind of turkeys have been spotted there, but you’re sure to run into a few of the human variety.

If 70 Degree Autumn Weather Disgusts You, LOOK AWAY!

Ramona is home to Mountain Valley Ranch, a nice little stop off the 67 highway, near the edge of town.  Mountain Valley Ranch delivers the goods with pumpkins by the truckload!  Pumpkins as far as the eye can see, which from Worm’s 34″ of elevation, is only about 20 feet off into the distance.  So, the Ranch was perfect for him, and for us!

Worm decided the patch was a bit too ‘natural’ and went for the easy kill, the peck of pre-picked prepared pumpkins in presentable propriety.  This was an area where white collar children could pick the pumpkin (or supervise a parent picking the pumpkin, as in our case) without expending too much energy or leaving the comfort of his/her dry-cleaned and pressed clothing.

Mom, I Think This Is the One!

Then it was daddy’s turn.  And I wanted to do the real deal.  Let me forage through the patch and find myself a pulchritudinous specimen.  For this, we needed a wagon.

Worm, I Feel Like I’m Doing All The Work…BTW, Does The Earth Seem More Tilted To You?

A few hours later and deep into the isqoutm squash patch, I found the cucurbit of my dreams!  It was the finest pumpkin 2012 had ever delivered and I laid eyes on it first.  Quickly, I kicked the little monkey out and used his shirt to provide a cushioned wagon ride for ‘Pepita’ all the way to the cash register.  (In case you’re going for a visit, Mountain Valley Ranch only takes cash!)

Where Fore Art Thou, Pepita?

Worm, exhausted from the extra walking effort on unpaved ground, fell asleep on the hour long ride home.  And I spent that quiet car time basking in the thrill of the hunt and relishing in the glory of my find.  It was as if Tebow shined brightest upon ‘Pepita’ for mine own eyes to see.  Now that I’ve found you, I cannot wait to gut you, carve out your eyes, and light a match inside of your head…

 

As a side note, Mountain Valley Ranch also has: petting zoo, corn maze, corn cannon, and more!  It’s a fun, memorable place to take little ones!  You can check out their website for more information.

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Worm, I Thought You Were Sick…

October 3, 2012 //
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Worm caught a cold on Saturday.  By the wee hours of Sunday morning, someone was having trouble sleeping because the little vermin was squirming and coughing.  (It’s ok to feel sorry for me not getting my beauty sleep.  It’s how I keep that youthful glow!)  When the Worm began crying miserably, Steph went into the baby room to try and soothe the savage.  Feeling heroic, I bounced out of bed to see how I could save the day.  (OK, I was forced to remove the pillow from over my head and get my ass and other parts of the body up ASAP.  Sergeant’s orders…)

So at 3am, the whole family was awake and suffering.  2/3 of us were crying.  On the outside, Worm was crying from the fever and body aches.  On the inside, I was crying from the stink eye that Steph gave to “encourage” my cooperation!

We spent the better part of Sunday caring for the virus incubator poor baby and teaching him to blow snot bubbles.  The great thing about children is that colds and flu usually pass through them swiftly.  There’s no conscious mind telling them that bills need to get paid, car needs to go to the mechanic, work projects need to get done this week, etc.  They’re free to hear their bodies’ request for nature’s best remedy, Otter pops and rest.

Sunday night, a more comfortable respite found the Worm.  In fact, it must have been awesome sleep because on Monday the little guy decided to do house chores!  (I swear this was all unprovoked.  If I had a hand in it, he would have been out washing the car or cutting the lawn.  But hey, I’ll take any help I can get!)

First, he tackled the laundry.

You See Worm, Pink and Lavender Laundry Balls Entice Women To Do Laundry.  The Soft Colors Are Attractive to Females. It’s Subliminal.

Then he decided that the dogs needed to be fed…again.  (Note to self:  Son has figured out twist-top containers.)

Worm, I’m Not Sure Duncan Needs More Food This Morning…

And then he decided that he didn’t want to live in a pig sty (like my dad used to say to me, ha ha), so he Swiffer-ed the carpets…and the coffee table…and the couch.

Worm, You Missed a Spot…Like the Entire Kitchen Floor!

And if that wasn’t enough to show daddy that he was independent and could now get his own apartment, he changed his own diaper.

Worm, If You’re Going To Take Off the Dirty Diaper, You May Want To Put a CLEAN ONE ON!

Almost!

If Worm does housework every time he gets sick, I think we may be able to get free monthly housekeeping.  All I need are a few germs and a couple of Petri dishes…

Gavin – 17; Dad – 7 (I gladly give you two points every time you do chores!  Shoot, I’ll give you 5 points for every blog you post too!)

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