Archives for posts with tag: dad blog

The awful passport pictures from the last blog post were so unforgettable that Unka Wey, rising rap music mogul, decided to grab the Worm and see if he could turn him into the next Lil Bow Wow, P-Nut, or MattyBRaps!

Meet Lil’ Wormie. Here are the lyrics to his debut single, Junkfoo’! (Please use Notorious B.I.G. Juicy instrumentals as background beat.)

It’s all good baby, baby!

With cookies and cream,

I used to drink cold milk wit’ my team.

Gummi bears and sharks up in the limousine.

Hanging pictures on my wall

Every Saturday, Froot Loops and Frankenberry Cereal!

Bubble tape got rocked, til my tape stopped.

Smokin’ gum cigarettes, sippin’ on soda pop!

Way back, when I stole the red and black treats from Brach!

With Spice Drops to match!

Remember Candy Blox? Duh-ha, duh-ha

I never thought that junkfoo’ would take it this far!

Now I’m eatin’ Star Brite cuz I rhyme tight.

Time to get paid, blow up like Fun Dip Lik-m-aid.

Born sinner, the opposite of a winner

Remember when I used to eat veggies for dinner.

Peace to Starburst, Pixy stix, chewy spree,

Double Bubble, Crunch, Oh Henry!

I’m blowing bubbles, you thought I would.

Call the crib, same number same hood,

It’s all good!

And if you don’t know, now you know…

The next Vanilla Ice Cream Or M&M! Yo Yo! All About the Chedda Goldfish!

The next Vanilla Ice Cream Or Caramel M&M! Yo Yo! All About the Chedda Goldfish!

I’m being replaced by a handheld video game.

The Worm loves me a lot.  Well, he used to love me a lot.  We’re each udders best fwends.  He tells me probably 10 times a day that he loves me and/or he wants to give me a hug.  It’s an awesome feeling and I’d like to see how long it will last.  If you would have asked me last week, I would have guessed we’d be together for years.  But, I think we’ve done something to inadvertently shortened the span of our best fwendship…maybe onto the order of days.

I know that one day my little Wormie is going to leave me for another best friend.  And I hope it will be for someone that will treat him well and love him for who he is, not just for his extreme good looks and chiseled jaw that he received from his dear old dad.  I didn’t know that this new friend would be come so soon.  And on top of that, it’s not even human.  He or she is now an ‘it’.  And it is in the form of a Leap Frog LeapPad 2.

We’ve had the LeapPad 2 for over a year.  My side of the family gave it to Worm as a gift.  I watched for that entire year plus as he would take the stylus and stab the poor thing in the screen, swing it overhead by the cord, and smash it into the coffee table repeatedly.  It survived.  (It may be able to last through a nuclear winter.)  Last week, Worm actually started to use it as directed.  He loves the thing now.  A lot.

So, yesterday we’re driving along and Worm’s sitting in the back playing his game console.  We go over some bumpy road in my truck while he’s trying to draw some figures on the LeapPad screen.  Apparently, the bumps were enough to shake up our relationship.  Being the loquaciously honest son he is, Worm got something off his chest.

“Honeydaddy, I love you.  But now I only sort of love you because I can’t do my Leap Frog when you drive over bumpy bumps and that makes me sad.  Now I only sort of love you.”


This is what love looks like, I suppose.

I know technology is replacing humans on some level, but they’re already operating on the emotional level?

Gavin – 32; Honeydaddy – 20 (I’m almost obsolete…and he’s only 3.5 years old.  When computers start changing diapers, I’ll be completely useless.  *Sigh*)

It was inevitable.  The Smush Monster is spending more time on two legs than four now.  She began her bipedal trundle over a month ago, and as with all things Smushie, she bulldozed over toys, insects, and sometimes brother, with little regard to their respective muffled screams beneath her pudgy, sweaty feet.

If you recall, months ago I was overwhelmed with the idea that my little girl NEEDED to walk as soon as possible.  With her walking, I could lessen my burden by about 25 lbs and free up an arm or two for carrying other things (or just letting them sway in the breeze like normal people do).  So I put Smush through a sort of baby boot camp with pushups, wheelbarrows, squats, and situps.  She added strength, stamina, and muscle to her chubby and ‘oh so cuddly’ little body.  But, my efforts have recently turned into more of an exercise for me than for she.  (I know it’s supposed to say ‘her’, but ‘she’ rhymes with ‘me’ and I like it!)

I thought I’d eventually take both my kids for leisurely strolls in the park, free from the three-wheeled BOB that limits our mobility, flexibility, and creativity.  We’d play with the freedom bestowed upon young minds and bodies.  (When I say ‘we’, I really mean ‘they’.  I’m getting old!)

The truth is that I’m chasing the walking version of Smushie everywhere and sacrificing my body to minimize the potential perils of her climbing up the stairs, swinging from handrails, and jumping from the curbs.  She may be physically ready to walk, but her brain isn’t quite ready to take on other functions.  Her brain power is spent doing a lot of this:   “Left foot forward.  Now, right foot forward.  Hey, a tree!  Um, which foot goes next again?  System error.  Shutting down legs.  *PLOP*

Now I’m looking into exercises that will keep Smushter from walking so quickly:  overfeeding her, tying a mini parachute to her back, binding her feet, etc.

There’s an old adage that goes “Teach a baby to talk, and you’ll get a headache.  Teach a baby to walk, and you’ll get a backache.  But teach a baby to stay in a confined place and neither cry nor try to escape, and you’ll have found nirvana.”  (No, the other nirvana.)

The real lesson for me is that I should have just let things happen on their own.  I could have allowed her mind ample opportunity to wire itself for some measure of self-preservation before her body was able to find harm’s way.  Stupid, stupid, stupid….me.  Whoops, gotta go!  I’ve got to go save her from walking straight off the stairwell…again…for the eighth time…today.


Smush, Now That You're Trapped, I Can Get Some Work Done!  See You Tomorrow!

Smush, Now That You’re Trapped, I Can Get Some Work Done! See You Tomorrow!


The Worm is officially fwee years old!  Wow, time flies when you’ve got kids and they suck you into their personal black hole time-space vortex twenty-four hours a day!  I can remember the night he was born, with me standing ready to push him back in until the clocked ticked past April Fool’s, me arguing with the hospital staff about how their fetal monitoring equipment worked, and me wondering if Worm would look exactly like his dad or just 99%.  Ah, memories…

Two years ago, Worm’s first birthday party was spent with a whole lot of people.  It was a decently sized party with some invitees eager to see how much he’d grown in a year and others feeling socially obligated to honor our first successful reproduction of ourselves.  We went crazy with a theme and decorations and all sorts of minute details.  There could have been a thousand people in the room and I don’t believe the experience would have affected Worm any differently.  His poor brain was busy processing how best to get cake icing from the table to his belly without using his hands.  Everything else was insignificant.

This time, Worm knew the event was all about him.  I’d been told by other parents that it’s wonderful to see a child “get” that the party is all about him or her.  I, never having been that excited to play leading man at birthdays in general, had a hard time understanding what these parents meant.  Until I saw our little Wormie’s face last week!

Every mom and dad loves to see their children happy, especially when it doesn’t require monumental physical effort or gobs of money on their part.  We didn’t go crazy with decorations and food.  There was no dancing clown (if you didn’t include me).  There was no 30 foot tall inflatable theme park with water slide.  It was just an afternoon spent with some cool people hanging out on a warm spring day.  Sure, Worm was happy to be entertaining at his house.  But when the moment arrived for cake and candles, his mood heightened.  He filled up with (hopefully non-alcohol induced) giddiness.  He beamed when everyone sang the “Happy Birthday” song and he blew/spit out his birthday candle flame.  It was as touching for me to witness as it was for him to experience.  (Thanks to our family and friends that shared the day with us and with him.  I think it’s the first birthday that he will be old enough to remember!)

Worm is still at an age where he appreciates the little things in life…imported chocolates, fast cars, motorcycles, and women.  He’s growing out of toddlerhood and into quite a little boy.  At the party, Worm played with all the kids (even his little monster sister, Smushie), but another little girl was by his side almost the entire time.  Maybe it was the way they were gazing into each other’s eyes, or the way they were feeding each other cake at the table.  (It kind of reminded me of my wedding reception!)  I have an odd feeling they’re dating now or something.  I don’t really know, and I’m quite scared to ask because I’m not ready to deal with that yet!  So for now, I’m going to hold on to my little boy, close my eyes, and enjoy his moment of exuberant youth and innocence.  Because when I next open them, 20 years will have passed and the moment will be his wedding.

Worm, I Think it's a Little Early For You To Start Dating...Like 30 Years Too Early!

Worm, I Think it’s a Little Early For You To Start Dating…Like 30 Years Too Early!

I almost never post twice in one week anymore, but not because I don’t want to.  With the craziness of our household and the current orbital state of Mars in retrograde, it’s tough for me to complete a meal let alone a few sentences.  But this week’s different.  Smushie Meatball is turning the big single digit, one.  Wow.  What a year!

I can’t believe that she’s lasted this long!  I mean, with the Worm and the dogs, she’s not really a top priority for me as her caretaker.  But the Smushter is scrappy and feisty, just like a second child needs to behave in order to feed herself and survive.  Sure I’ll throw her a bone, both figuratively and literally.  It doesn’t matter.  She bites in with gusto.  (It’s a disgusting habit and 100% true, unfortunately.)  The plus side of chewing everything is that she’s building immunity to every strain of microbe that lives in our house and getting some form of nutrition at the same time!

Since today’s the big day, you know what she gets?  Vaccinations!  Hooray!

She also gets plenty of kisses from mommy and daddy!  At this age, kids are cheap.  I could wrap a…hell, I could just hand her a toilet paper tube and she’d feel like she won the lottery!

Smushels, you bring a lot of laughter and joy to our lives!  I hope that it continues or you’ll be spending a lot of time in your crib.

It’s pretty neat having you with us.  You’re very different from your brother, that’s for sure.  You’re not quite walking yet, but when you’re standing, you’ve often got a toy in each hand while you’re shaking to your own rhythm.  I just keep getting these flash-forwards of you at 16 with your brand new driver’s license trying to video chat, put on makeup, and paint your toenails while driving down the freeway.  Your brain is definitely wired differently than your brother’s.  That, I know.

Your smile lights up a room and it’s infectious.  I can’t tell if you’re laughing at me sometimes, or with me.  Either way, I find it adorable.  Your tiny, slightly crooked teeth remind me of a box of mini-Chiclets.  Which makes your 5-tooth smile even more cute!  Since you do put everything in your mouth, I keep my fingers away.  You bit papa’s finger a few weeks ago and I don’t even want to imagine the bite strength you have.  Which is why I feed you with utensils and from a distance.

You are fearless.  Nothing scares you, except your stuffed animals.  I love your tenacity and your boldness.  You go after things, even if you need to jump off your high chair to get them.  I’ve been your parachute and safety net for the past year, but I’m getting older and my eyesight isn’t as sharp as it used to be.  I hope that I may teach you to use thought before action before real bodily damage can occur.  For now, you’re pretty pliable, but when those bones fuse, the hard knocks of life may break appendages.  Enjoy it now.

Happy birthday littlest one!  You’ve taken us on a roller coaster ride thus far!  If there’s one characteristic our family could use, it’s someone to think and jump outside the box.  I believe that person is you.  I love you Smushie Mushie Meatball!

She's Either Going to Be a Professional Eater or Professional Fighter...

She’s Either Going to Be a Professional Eater or Professional Fighter…


Studies have shown that babies with plagiocephaly are kind, sweet, loving, and happy infants.  Our research has determined a correlation between a cranial flat spot and a jovial affect.  First, I must give you a little background on our two test monkeys subjects.  Smushie, the present subject, is all of those pleasant things and the posterior portion of her head is flat.  And a number of years ago, I (the other subject) was a baby with similar features, both of personality and of physique.  Coincidence?  No.  These two positive data points makes us (and by us, I mean me) confident that my our assumption holds 100% true.  Babies with flat heads are definitely more good-natured than their round-headed counterparts.

A little history about me.  I was a considerate baby.  I never cried much.  I slept a lot.  I ate when I needed to and excused myself after belching.  I changed my own diapers and took out the trash once a week before I could walk.  (I tied trash bags to my body and dragged them out to the curb.)  I was an easy child and my mom and dad didn’t have to lift too many extra fingers after welcoming me to the family.  Good thing for them, because they needed the rest of their fingers and all of their toes to control my wily older brother.  For the most part, I was left allowed to peacefully sit and observe my surroundings.  And by sit, I mean that my parents would prop me up against the one coconut tree (‘Nature’s babysitter’ is what the locals would call it)  growing in the center of our dirt floor house.   I enjoyed many an afternoon watching my older brother run into that tree only to rattle the occasional drupe loose.  (How I loved the ‘thunk’ of a fresh coconut colliding with my dear brother’s head.  Sorry, I digress.)  Gravity also took its toll on me as I lay at the base of the tree day after day.  The pressure of my head on the hard tree trunk eventually molded my occiput flat.  I was an amiable baby and didn’t need my parents to coddle me much.  And they needed to use their extra energy for chasing after my brother.  (On a side note, I recently thought about having some fat taken out of my ass and injected into the back of my head to give me a more normal human look.  But, I couldn’t come to grips with being a true-to-life butthead and so changed my mind.)

Now back to the Smushster.  Her head is flat in the back.  Not so much now as it was before, since she’s been a stomach sleeper for the past 2 months.  I know, I know.  SIDS risk, right?  But, I can’t force her to sleep on her back without duct taping her pj’s to the mattress and the wife nixed that idea pretty quickly.  (She quickly nixes most of my ideas, huh?)  Because of the fear of SIDS that my wife instilled in me, I now sleep in the same room as Smush.  I keep one ear peeled and pounce on any funny noises exiting her crib.  Anyhow, for the first 4 months of her life, she was always on her back.  Why?  Because we read somewhere that you should never try to make a happy baby even happier.  So, we didn’t.

It would have been foolish of me to bother to pick Smush up while she was being such a good little girl.  And boy, oh boy, has she been a good girl thus far.  The only time she really fusses is when she’s hungry or the Worm is trying to separate her feet from her ankles.  That’s why she has spent a lot of time in the crib, in the car seat, and in the baby sling (which saved us from having to find a coconut tree to lean her against).  Which proves my hypothesis – babies with flat heads are the sweetest ones.

Why?  Good babies are allowed to just be.  They don’t need to be held, carried, rocked, bounced, jostled, swinged, etc.  They hang out.  Which means that they spend more time sitting or laying down in one position than the persnickety babies that need constant attention, changing scenery, etc.  By not being held as much, the happy baby heads eventually conform to the shape of the surface they come in contact with, which is usually flat.

There you have it folks.  Theory, hypothesis, a little imagination, some results, and a conclusion.  Who said life wasn’t one big science project?  (I’m really trying to exercise my own mind here…I feel it rapidly disintegrating from lack of use.)

In Some Cultures, a Flat Spot is a Sign of Beautifulness!

In Some Cultures, a Flat Spot is a Sign of Beautifulness!

…someday I won’t need my fingers to count to ten?

Look Into My Eyes and Tell Me What You See...

Look Into My Eyes and Tell Me What You See…

July 2011

But what happens if I lose track of where I was?  Could I use my feet instead?

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