THE LYING SMART-ASS

The proverbial “they” say that when a young child lies it’s a sign of intelligence. Well my kid must be a freakin’ genius because she’s not even four years old and she’s perfected the art. She’s a bald face liar. I’ve caught her standing in a pool of chocolate milk with the dripping, empty carton in her hand and she’ll flat out deny any involvement in the spill. In her mind this not only negates her culpability, but also her responsibility to help clean up. Now that's smart.

Every kid will run to the other parent after having a request shut down by the first parent, but mine will ask my wife for ice cream for breakfast and then patiently wait for Jen to leave for work and then come to me and say, “Mommy said I could have ice cream for breakfast.” Of course most of the time these days I’ve got “baby head” and I can’t tell if I’m coming or going so I end up giving her a mountain of mint chocolate chip ice cream in a cereal bowl with a Flintstone's Vitamin on top. The cornerstone of every nutritious breakfast.

So if lying is a sign of intelligence what does being a smart-ass mean? Arden’s gotten to be a real wisenheimer these days. Twice yesterday she hit Jen and me with some real zingers. First, I was driving her home from preschool and she asked me, “How do reindeer fly?” It took me a moment to try and formulate an answer. I eventually came up with, “Thanks to the magic of Santa Claus” and then I proceeded to sing “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” hoping for a little sing-a-long, but instead Arden interrupted me and said, “What’s that song, Daddy?” I said, “It’s Rudolph. You know, the Christmas song.” And then she said with a complete straight face, “Then sing it at Christmas.” Zing!

Then last night Arden decided that the inside of the refrigerator would be a fun place to play while Jen and I were preparing for dinner. Jen asked her nicely to get out. Of course Arden didn't budge. Then Jen said a little more firmly, “Arden, get out of there.” Still nothing. So Jen got stern, “I’m not gonna repeat myself.” But Arden just ignored her. Out of options Jen had no choice but to raise her voice and say, “Get. Out. Of. There. Now.” Arden just looked at her and said with that straight face of hers, “You repeated yourself, Mommy.” Jen and I just looked at each other and then let her play in the fridge until dinner.

THE TV SITTER

A few months before Alex was born some friends were in a bind and needed a last minute babysitter for their three month old and asked if I could watch him. I said sure, why not? But when I got there they told me that they didn’t want the baby watching any TV, which meant that I couldn’t watch any TV. I was a little bummed because watching a baby is kind of boring and when Arden was that young I used to keep myself company watching the previous night’s episodes of Conan O’Brien and CSI on the DVR. Anyway, I agreed to their barbaric terms and they left. I lasted about five minutes before I turned on the TV. Wasn’t like the baby was gonna squeal on me. Anyway, I quickly noticed that the baby was entranced by the television, so I turned the baby towards me. I managed to keep the baby’s attention for about a minute before he started craning his neck to see the screen again. I then turned the baby completely away from the TV, but he kept trying to get a look. So then I muted the TV and the baby finally gave up. But then I realized I couldn’t hear the TV, which meant I had no idea what was going on so I was forced to just turn the damn thing off. Babies…



I’ve always been an early riser. When I was about 4 or 5, before I could tell time, I used to wake up at the ass crack of dawn and listen for the water to start running through the pipes. It meant my father was taking a shower and that TV would be starting in about fifteen minutes. Yeah, that’s right, I remember a time before cable where TV didn’t run 24 hours a day. But that doesn’t make me old. It makes me 36. Anyway, I’d hop out of bed, run downstairs, and find a cup filled with Cheerios waiting for me. I’d then turn on the TV and impatiently stare at an on-screen test pattern until the Star-Spangled Banner began at exactly 6:00 AM. And then the cartoons would begin. I can’t think of a more appropriate song than our National Anthem to start the day of a generation hooked on TV, one that would later be dubbed the “American Slacker.”

People have been blaming TV for the world’s problems since its inception. Personally I blame CNN for informing the terrorists about all the holes in our national security. People also think my generation is stupid and complacent because we watched too much TV. But I think I’m doing just fine and I was raised on a steady diet of Hong Kong Phooey and MTV. That’s why I’ve decided to let my kids watch as much TV as they want. I’m kidding. Sort of…

Arden’s at an age where if I need to get some stuff done around the house or if the baby needs my undivided attention, I can flip on some Spongebob or throw in a DVD of Toy Story and she’ll veg out. And I’m definitely guilty of doing this a bit too often, but then the guilt gets the best of me and the TV turns off and I’m on the floor playing Candyland by Arden’s rules (she gets to move to any space on the board she likes.) But I honestly believe that Arden is as smart as she is because of the amount of TV she watches.

Everyone thinks their kid is the smartest. I don’t know if Arden is the smartest, but she’s certainly the fastest study I’ve ever seen. She had a full vocabulary and perfect diction by age two. And when she started preschool at two and a couple of months the teachers kept telling me they had never encountered a child like Arden before. Instead of just going with the flow or crying because she didn’t get what she wanted, Arden would put her hands on her hips and start arguing with the teachers. But the most impressive part was that she actually made valid points. And she still does to this day, just shy of her fourth birthday.



If people don’t want to let their kids watch TV, that’s their prerogative. There’s plenty of terrible stuff out there that will rot their little brains, like ABC’s Wipeout, which also just happens to be the greatest show on television, brain rotting and all. Wipeout aside, I think Arden is smarter and faster thanks to Elmo and Dora and the other educational shows geared towards young children. Arden was picking up words and concepts that as a parent you don’t even think to teach your kids. And how else would Arden know to tell me last night that instead of chicken nuggets for dinner again that she wanted to “change it up a little”? Okay, maybe she got that from Conan instead of Elmo. But I’m just saying.


Photo: Arden after I had just taken TV away from her.

WHY I HATE THE PARK

I never really did the park until I had kids because where I grew up our whole town was a park. I lived in a wooded suburb of Boston where we had huge backyards and pastures and aqueducts. And everyone had a swing set and a sandbox so taking your kid to the actual park was considered suspect behavior. But Los Angeles is a city and in the neighborhood where I live no one has a backyard or a front yard for that matter. We don’t even have sidewalks on my street. So if I want the kids to get some fresh air we have to go out and find some. I actually live less than a mile from Griffith Park, which is one of the largest urban parks in North America and there’s a million things to do there, but they’re all outdoors, which is the first reason I don’t like parks.

I’m not a fan of the great outdoors. Mostly because I don’t like nature. Never have. Hated school nature walks, hated summer camp and I even managed to never take biology in high school or college. As Woody Allen once said, “I’m two with nature.” There’s just something about hanging out in the blistering sun all day with all the ants and bees and screaming kids that doesn’t really appeal to me. And it could also have something to do with the fact that I was attacked by a squirrel as a kid. But that’s another story.

When I first started taking Arden to the park she would just take off the second we arrived. By the time I popped a straw her juice box she was already a half a football field away. The only way to keep her near me was to let her play on the jungle gym or as I like to call it “the death trap.” I don’t know if this is just an L.A. thing, but all the jungle gyms here are friggin’ six feet off the ground. And have no guardrails. Little kids can just walk right off. And they do. I’ve seen it happen. So when Arden was a no-fear toddler, I would work up a sweat just trying to make sure she didn’t fall off the damn thing. And the adolescent emo kids with their skateboards barreling past her didn’t help my cause much.

There’s also a fifty-fifty chance Arden will get sick when I take her to the park because the park is where parents and nannies take kids when they’re too sick to go to school, but don’t want them cooped up in the house all day. There’s always a few snot-nosed kids running around. And of course my kid will undoubtedly want to play with the sick ones. New York City shouldn’t be closing schools in their quest to curb the Swing Flu, they should be closing the parks.

But the main reason I hate going to the park is the preparation. You go for what, an hour, maybe two, but unlike an afternoon of skee ball and cardboard pizza at Chuck E. Cheese, you have to bring water, snacks, blankets and specialized toys like pails and Dora the Explorer scooters and helmets for the bikes. And my kids are fair skinned so that means a repeated dousing of suntan lotion every hour or so. And then there’s the clean up. The minute you decided to bring the kids to the park is the same minute you decided you’re giving your kids a bath that night. If they’re not covered in suntan lotion like my kids, they’re covered in dirt and sweat and that unwanted gift that keeps on giving – sand. It gets in their shoes, the car and stuck in between every crevice on their bodies.

Taking the kids to the park is always a last resort for me. If I can’t get Jen to help me break up the day with a family lunch date I’m constantly thinking up new things to do with the girls. One day we’ll hit a movie, the next a museum, and the day after that a drop-in art class. Ironically my aversion to the park has turned me into the dad of a million ideas. And I’m probably doing my girls’ little lungs a favor by keeping them out of the fresh smoggy L.A. air. :)


Photo: Alex's first visit to the park last week.

THE LITTLE HUSTLER

I had a real piss and vinegar post planned for today about why I hate the park so much, but my current screenplay beckoned as did the premiere of So You Think You Can Dance. Yes, I actually like So You Think You Can Dance. So the park will have to wait until Monday. Though the sand from today's outing will surely remain with me until then. In the meantime, here's a little video I whipped up with Arden when she was about two and a half. Enjoy...

THE GREAT DISHWASHING WAR

I live in a house that was built in 1946 and it doesn’t have a dishwasher. The real estate agent who sold me the house called the kitchen “vintage” which translates into “no one ever bothered to update the damn thing.” Myself included. But to be fair, in the beginning, it was only Jen and me and I never thought we’d still be in this house 8 years later, let alone having a sink full of sippy cups and Hello Kitty spoons. But to be honest, doing the dishes doesn’t bother me one bit. In fact, I love doing the dishes. I find it cathartic after a long day with the girls. I literally wash away the stresses of the day.

Unfortunately Jen loves doing the dishes too. After a long day at the office and an immediate hour-plus watching the kids while I cook dinner, she’s champing at the bit for a little Palmolive therapy as well. As a matter of fact, we both enjoy doing the dishes so much we spend $13 a month to have Sirius/XM Radio in the kitchen. Not in the living room, not in our cars, just the kitchen.

The funny thing is we’ve never actually spoken about our mutual desire for washing the dishes because that would be admitting, to some degree, that we’d rather scrub some porcelain instead of spending quality time with our kids. So instead we both make “magnanimous” offers to do the dishes, “No, you go watch the kids while I clean up this huge mess,” or “You had a long day, why don’t you chill out with the girls while I take care of everything in here.” Yeah, like it’s possible to just “chill” with a 3-year-old and a 6-month-old. However, the unspoken rules of our silent dishwashing war dictate that once one of us makes an offer to do the dishes, that person gets to do the dishes. It’s kind of like calling “shotgun” when you’re about to hop in a car with a group of people.

I don’t know if there will ever be a resolution to our situation. Though we’ve occasionally talked about remodeling the kitchen so we can install one of those new super stealth dishwashers. But then we just laugh, to ourselves of course, because then who would do the dishes?

BABY HEAD

I’ve got a bad case of “baby head.” I don’t know what else to call it and I don’t know if other people get it, but ever since my life became completely consumed by raising two kids I’ve been in a perpetual fog. I’ll be at the supermarket picking up the pancetta and shallots I forgot (due to “baby head”) for my asparagus recipe and the checkout girl will say, “That’ll be two dollars and fifteen cents, Sir.” (By the way, I was never called “sir” or “mister” until I became a parent, but that’s another post.) Anyway, I’ll hand the cashier two bucks and just stare at her like an idiot, waiting for my change.

I’ve also lost my memory. My mother will call and ask what I did the day before and I’ll draw a complete blank. We could’ve just had an incredible day at Disneyland where Walt Disney himself was unthawed from his cryogenic chamber beneath the Magic Kingdom and cooked us all dinner, and I wouldn’t remember. If it’s not tattooed on some part of my body like Memento, it didn’t happen.

And if that’s not bad enough I’ve also become just plain stupid. I’ll be at my favorite store, Target, and bring my parking ticket to the pay station like I’ve done a million times before, but suddenly I have no idea how I’m supposed to insert the ticket into the machine. I’ll literally try it ten times before I figure it out.

I didn’t experience “baby head” when I was a part-time stay-at-home dad or even as an every-other-day stay-at-home dad. But with two kids, I’ve definitely got it. Part of me doesn’t mind; thanks to my babyzheimer’s I literally don’t have a care in the world, all my real world stresses have kind of disappeared, though most have been replaced by the stresses from the world of childrearing. I’m not sure if this is necessarily a good trade because occasionally I find myself forgetting to remind myself to pay the bills.

FLIRT FACTOR

I’m short, I’m bald and I’m hairy, but when I’ve got a baby in my arms the hot chicks are all over me like I’m Brad Freakin’ Pitt. I’ll be at a Starbucks with the baby in one hand and my grande decaf soy latte in the other and three hot chicks will literally pop up out of nowhere and get the door for me. Meanwhile they’ll let the door slam shut on the mother of two who’s right behind me. Probably because women are expected to be able to get a door while wrangling two kids, whereas a guy, not so much. This happens everywhere I go. The park, the supermarket, the movies. They’ll stop me, touch my arm, and laugh at things I say that aren’t even funny. I could literally say, “My mother just died,” and they’d laugh. Okay, maybe they wouldn’t laugh, but I’d get waaaaay too much sympathy from a perfect stranger. I haven’t been hit on this much since I started wearing a wedding ring. Perhaps it’s the more unavailable a man is the more attractive he is? I’d love to think these women are thinking, “Wow, great genes, how can I get me some?” Not that I’d actually act upon it. But the reality is it’s about the baby. Plus these hot chicks are probably hit on all day long by an endless sea of creeps and a stay-at-home dad with a cute baby is a safe bet for some light flirtation that isn’t going anywhere. Usually…



Last weekend I was out at one of my favorite Mexican restaurants with Jen and the girls and this semi-attractive woman, who was probably pushing 50, kept commenting on how cute my girls were. As well as complementing Jen and I on how well we’ve raised them. I always find that to be an odd comment when people have observed me with the kids for all of 30 minutes and because Alex is only 6 months old so there’s only been so much “raising” going on there. Anyway, Alex was getting a little fussy towards the end of the meal so Jen got up with the girls and took them outside while I waited for the check. Then Cougar Town turns to me again and says, “Your girls are beautiful.” I said, “Thank you.” And then she said, “And the father’s not too shabby either” which was followed by a suggestive smile and wink that said, “How can I get me some?” I got out of there fast.


Besides that incident, now that I have two kids with me most of the time, the flirting has primarily been relegated to the moms I pass on my way in and out of preschool. One of them has affectionately dubbed me “Super Dad,” not because I’m doing anything super, but because I’m just a guy who’s actually staying home with his kids…and because she’s forgotten my name. As a result of these little flirtations I don’t find myself invited on many playdates. Probably because these women think, “Gosh, I just flirted with him, if I invite him over will he get the wrong idea?” What if I did get the wrong idea, what are we gonna do? Make out in front of the kids? And on the rare occasion I have been invited on a playdate, ironically I always end up feeling like I’ve just been on a cheap one night stand - we laugh, have a good conversation, share some mixed nuts and then they never call me again. And when I bump into them at school the next morning it’s all awkward, like we actually did something tawdry. If I had to guess what happened in those mysterious hours between the end of our playdate and the next morning I’d say the woman told her husband that I ate all his nuts. And he told her that he wouldn’t be sharing them anymore.

VIDEO FLASHBACK: HANDLEBARS

I made this music video with Arden last spring, just before she turned 3. Here she takes on The Flobots. I spent a "little" more time crafting this one than the "Single Ladies" video. More musings and misadventures come Monday. Enjoy.

Arden vs. The Flobots - Handlebars - watch more funny videos

MY KID IS SMARTER THAN ME

So I’m driving in the car with the girls the other day, probably to Target, and Arden turns to me and says, “Open the sunroof, Daddy, I wanna see the sun.” I said, “Why?” She replied, “So I can make a wish.” I said, “You don’t wish on the sun.” She said, “Why not? The sun’s a star.”

THE DEVIL'S MUSIC

It finally happened. I found myself alone in the car singing along to a Kidz Bop CD. Granted the song was “Footloose,” but that’s no excuse. If you’re not familiar with Kidz Bop, they’re pop music covers aimed at kids where some cheesy adult sings the songs you know and love with a kid backup band. But the worst part is that they change certain “objectionable” words in the songs. For example on our “Kidz Bop 80’s Gold” CD they changed the words to “Karma Chameleon” from “I’m a man without conviction” to “I’m a guy without conviction.” WTF? I would love to know what focus group thought that “man” was too edgy for kids and that “guy” was an acceptable replacement?

Kidz Bop isn’t the only offender, there’s dozens of other companies out there doing the same damn thing. There’s a series of CDs under the title “Rockabye Baby!” where they do lullaby renditions of Led Zeppelin and the Beatles. It may sound cute and all, but I’ll warn you right now, these albums do not make your kids like your favorite band. They make them like these crappy versions of your formally favorite band. I say formally because after listening to these CDs a thousand times you won’t like your favorite bands anymore either. I can no longer listen to Pink Floyd the same way I used to. Well, there’s many reasons for that. Anyway, if you’re contemplating buying one of these discs for your kids, don’t do it. And if you get one as a gift from a friend, they’re not really your friend. But pray for a gift receipt. And if there is none: regift. But make sure you don’t plan on hanging out with that kid’s parents any time soon.


Since the dawn of rock ‘n roll people have been blaming the music for the heinous crimes they have committed. And I’ve always found it to be complete and utter bullshit…until Sandra Boynton, of “Moo Baa La La La” fame put out a CD called “Philadelphia Chickens” where celebrities sing her children’s board books. First of all I hate her because the songs are actually pretty catchy and I hate myself for liking the Bacon Brothers version of “Snoozers.” I actually find myself looking forward to that one. I’ll cut myself a little slack because at least these songs were written for kids unlike the Kidz Bop where they…well you know what I think of Kidz Bop. Anyway, there’s one song on the disc called “I Like to Fuss” about a little girl who’s difficult and likes to throw tantrums and ever since Arden started listening to that song she’s turned into a little monster. So much so the other day the principal of her preschool called me at home and said, “Arden’s been difficult as of late. She’s won’t listen to the teachers and she’s throwing tantrums left and right.” Why she couldn’t tell me this when I picked Arden up at school, I'll never know. But that night when I confronted Arden I said, “Why are you acting so badly?” She looked at me with a straight face and said, “I like to fuss.”

ADVENTURES IN TARGETLAND

Jen and I don't use baby talk when we speak to the kids. We don't sugarcoat things and we don't use cutesy terms for things like passing gas. When Arden farts, she farts, end of story. However, we do use some of the slangs and euphemisms we were brought up with. Only recently did Arden learn that a bra isn't called an "over the shoulder boulder holder." However, occasionally our candor has bitten us in the ass...

When Arden was about 18 months old we were at Target, spending the required visit minimum of $100, when this woman, with ridiculously huge breasts, starts walking towards us. I quickly looked away so she wouldn't think I was some kind of creep, but then I heard this high-pitched little voice shout with glee, "Boobies!" I looked up and Arden was pointing directly at the woman's chest. The woman and I both turned beet red. I feebly tried to cover and said, "Yes, Arden, we're gonna get some Pirate's BOOTY." If I had convinced myself that my little ruse had worked and that the ordeal was over, I was sorely mistaken. It turned out the woman and I were on a reverse aisle collision course. We kept passing each other every single friggin' aisle and every single time we'd pass each other Arden would point and shout, "Boobies!" After the third time I decided to just get the hell out of the store as fast as I could. The upshot was that I didn't end up spending half as much money as I usually do that day.

AIMING TOO HIGH

I’ve been a stay-at-home dad, at least part-time, for almost four years. But not until my wife went back to work in March, after my second daughter Alex was born, did I become a full-time stay-at-home dad. Ironically during the years between the births of my children I couldn’t find work to save my life, and we had a part-time nanny that whole time. But literally the day after my wife gave birth to Alex, I got hired to write a movie and of course we had just gotten rid of the nanny. But we decided not to get a new nanny because Jen would be off on maternity leave for the next four months and I would be done with the script by the time she went back to work so why pay someone to watch the kids when I was going to be available? And it didn’t exactly hurt our decision that the economy had just taken a dump and almost fifty percent of our savings had gone down the toilet with it. Of course I didn’t finish the script before Jen went back to work so for the first two weeks of being a full-time stay-at-home dad I had to watch the kids all day and then summon the energy to go down to my lair and write all night. During those two weeks I averaged about three hours of sleep a night. It was hellacious, but I got through the script and I'm actually pleased with the results and apparently so are the producers. But if another script offer comes my way any time soon, we’re definitely getting some extra help around the house, at least part-time...so I can write this blog. :)


I’ll be honest; while Jen was on maternity leave and I was about to take the full-time parenting reins, the idea of watching two kids instead of one scared the crap out of me (there’s a related story involving the E.R. that I’ll save for another time.) It wasn’t so much the idea of trying to balance both girls at home; it was the idea of leaving the house with the two of them. Arden’s the type of kid who gets to the park and takes off (part of the reason I loathe the park.) And I was worried about what I would do if she did take off? Let her go or ditch the baby and chase after her? I had nightmares about what I'd do if I was out at the mall with the girls and I had to go to the bathroom. Would I bring both girls and a stroller into a stall with me? I still haven’t taken Arden to the park or the bathroom since Alex was born.

My fear of leaving the house with the girls expanded into everywhere we could possibly go like the supermarket or a restaurant. I played up my apprehension to my wife because I thought if she felt I was overwhelmed she would suggest I get some help. Not Jen. But when the time was upon me and I knew I wasn’t getting any help I decided to commit to the experience and do the best damn job I could. I was determined to show Jen that I could handle two kids, even better then her. Yes, I was delusional. So on my first day as a full-timer, I got Arden off to school, fed the baby, did two loads of laundry, washed the dishes, tidied up the house, prepped dinner (Yes, I actually cut up vegetables in advance), and when Jen got home, I made her a nice hot meal. Oh, and I also made the beds. This was probably the most impressive part since we never make the beds. Anyway, when Jen asked how my day went, expecting me to complain (since complaining, in general, is a hobby of mine,) I told her it went great. And for the most part it had.

So on Wednesday, when it was just the baby and me again, I did all the same stuff, but I also attempted to clean the bathrooms too. The operative word is “attempted.” I did a so-so job because the baby wasn’t cooperating, but since I always do a so-so job, Jen was impressed. On the two days that week Arden was in the mix, I faced my fears and took both girls out of the house and we survived. As for the house, with two kids I could pretty much only handle the beds and getting the house in order before Jen got home, but still, I thought that was pretty impressive. By the end of the week I felt like a domestic god. And I think in kind of weird way Jen was actually turned on by my newfound gender-reversed stay-at-home prowess. But then came Sunday night. Jen and I were soaking in the hot tub after the kids were asleep and she turned to me and said, “So what are you gonna do around the house this week?” It was then that I realized I had aimed too high, that I would now be expected to do the same level of housework, if not more, every week. It was at this moment that I came to the realization that I was not just a stay-at-home dad, I was also a househusband.

QUOTABLE ARDEN

I need a cleverer title for these random tidbits from Arden, so if there's any suggestions out there, fire away.


So like every parent you find yourself amazed by your children on a daily basis whether it's something they do or something they say or it's just how they put two concepts together for the first time. Anyway, Arden's at the stage right now where we can't get her to eat anything, even the stuff she likes to eat like chicken nuggets or...okay, that's the only thing she seems to like to eat. And even though she likes chicken nuggets we still have to negotiate the number of bites with her. So last night we decided to spice things up a little and make her some Spongebob macaroni and cheese. When we put the plate down in front of her she was excited by the shapes of the macaroni, but before she even dug in she said, "How many bites?" I said, "All of them." She said, "How about 96 bites?" I looked at the plate and saw that we had only given her about twenty-five pieces so I said, "Sure." She then took her first bite and said, "By the way, I'm starting at 91."

MY NAME IS RICK AND I'M A FACEBOOK ADDICT

My wife thinks I’m a Facebook addict. And I am. But the reality is there’s not that much to do on Facebook other than making the occasional list of your “Top Five ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic Parodies” and reading that your old high school buddy just passed a kidney stone. It really only takes a minute or two to log onto your account, make a witty comment and log off. Granted I do that several times a day, but for me it’s an opportunity to communicate with adults. It’s a respite from saying “ahh goo” to my six month old for an hour straight and telling my 3-year-old “no” for the umpteenth time. I literally don’t talk to any adults during the day expect for the woman behind the counter at the deli, who incidentally told me the recession was over yesterday, so loosen those purse strings. Anyway, as pathetic as it sounds I feel like Facebook is providing me with some much needed balance in my day. And it’s wicked fun. :)

EASTER FLASHBACK

Arden got a huge Easter basket from her grandparents about a week before Easter, filled to the brim with chocolate eggs. I turned to my wife and said "Who the hell sends this much candy to a 3-year-old?" Of course I looked like an ass when I remembered the Easter basket we made for her was comprised completely of candy. Candy I had helped pick out. Anyway, we filled up several candy dishes around the house with the goods because Arden didn't like the fake straw in the baskets because it reminded her too much of hair and Arden has an irrational fear of hair and dust bunnies. After a few days of ignoring the candy - okay, I didn't exactly ignore it, I may have eaten a few pieces...every couple of hours...lactose intolerance and all. Eventually Jen turned to me and said that she didn't like that Arden had access to all the candy and I said, "Arden's not the type of kid who would just take candy without asking." Boy was I wrong. The very next morning I'm in the kitchen doing dishes with the baby while Arden was apparently watching Curious George in the other room. When I finished I walked by the living room and saw that George was over and the news was on. And she hadn't complained. That should've been my first sign that something was up. Then I realized Arden wasn't in the living room. I called out, "Arden, where are you?" A muffled response from behind the Laz-E-Boy yelled, "Go away!" I still didn't think much of it because she had been a bit moody lately and she also sometimes plays Legos back there so I told her I was gonna jump in the shower. As soon as I turned on the water it finally hit me that something was wrong, very wrong. So I went back into the living room and said, "Arden, what are you doing back there?" "Nothing, go away!" Of course if she really wanted me to go away she should've said, "Come check this out." Anyway, I walked over to the Laz-E-Boy and saw that she was hunched over a massive pile chocolate egg wrappers. I said, "What the heck are you doing?" She instantly burst into tears and said, "I love you, Daddy!" Her face and hands were covered in chocolate and she had bits of tinfoil in her teeth from trying to gnaw off the wrappers. It was so ridiculous and she was so cute I couldn't get mad. But the best part was she walked on eggshells around me for the rest of the day, waiting for the hammer to come down. But I'm a big softy and I just made her promise to never do something like that again. And of course she wasn't allowed to have any more of the candy. But I assure you, it didn't go to waste. :)

BEST BUY: MY PLAYGROUND

Despite the term “stay-at-home dad” there’s no way I could actually stay-at-home all day with the girls without going insane. There's just only so many times I can push Thomas the Train around the track or color pictures for my daughter in a ten-hour time span. And now that we have two kids, I have to be “on” at all times. Slapping in a Wall-E DVD may keep Arden busy for a couple of hours, but I still need to keep the baby entertained with a constant stream of “who’s the cutest baby in the world? Yes, you are, yes you are.” Now if Alex was a bit older and we had a yard where the kids could go outside and run themselves ragged while I lounged in a lawn chair and sipped mai-tais and surfed the web on my iPod touch all day, then I could see staying at home for the entire shift, but only every now and again.


So to break up my day I take the girls out. On Mondays, Wednesday and Fridays when Arden’s in preschool all day and I just have the baby, I try and meet one of my friends for lunch. On the other days when I have both girls I’m constantly trying to come up with fun and interesting things to do with the girls that doesn’t involve going to the park. I loathe the park, but that’s an entry for another day. Something that I used to love to do with Arden was go to Best Buy for an hour or two. I got to check out the latest gadgets while she studied the pictures on the back of an Elmo DVD and of course we would play Rock Band or Guitar Hero together. I would usually just disable whatever instrument she picked out while I got in touch with my inner Slash. And when there was a line to get on the machine I would whisper to Arden to say at the end of a song, “My turn!” No one could deny a three-year-old. With the new baby we still go to Best Buy from time-to-time, but I can only get my Guitar Hero on when the baby’s taking a siesta in the stroller. Otherwise I'm forced to let Arden play by herself and she's not quite as good with a working guitar. :)


Another thing I like to do with my girls is make silly videos. And yesterday I had the opportunity to marry my love for Rock Band and making movies. I wasn't planning on doing anything special, but I had put Arden in a new t-shirt with a guitar on it that said, “Girls Rock!” It reminded Arden of Rock Band and she kept saying, “I’m a rock star.” She then went through her toys and found her Mr. Microphone and sunglasses and said, “Let’s make a video, daddy.” So below is something I whipped up with about two minutes worth of footage and a thirty-minute window for editing when both girls were taking a nap at the same time. An extremely rare occasion, one worth a video celebration…

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

Welcome to my inaugural blog entry for “I Peed On My Kid! And Other Misadventures of a Stay-At-Home Dad.” Who knew picking a title would prove so difficult and even controversial? Part of the difficulty stemmed from trying to find a title that wasn’t already taken. I wanted something that would encompass my life as a writer and a primary care provider. I wanted something simple like “Hollywood Dad.” Taken. Or something that described my daily life like “Daddy Duty.” Taken. Or something vague like “The Dad Files.” Taken. My wife suggested “Raising Lesbian Supermodels” (not taken) because my stock response when someone gives me an “oh boy!” when they hear I have two daughters is, “I’m raising them to be lesbian supermodels so they’ll have all the perks of fame and good looks and never come home pregnant.” I liked the title, but it felt like a mouthful and only covered half of my agenda and it might also bring in the “wrong” kind of traffic, if you know what I mean. Not that “I Peed On My Kid!” doesn’t have the same potential to attract pervs, but it also said to me, hey, this stay-at-home parenting thing is tough! Which it is. And it’s a true story (see the sidebar for details.) Also when I asked my friends what they thought of the title it had a polarizing effect. Some people loved it and other people thought I was begging for a visit from social services. It was this controversy that cemented the name for me.