“Is there anything else I can get for you?” the server asked. “MORE FOOOOOD!!!!” This wasn’t the response of some blowhard patron, unburdened by the convention of treating wait staff with human decency. It’s the response of a hungry 2-year-old who doesn’t care that dinner cannot be materialized from the ether. It’s not a one-time occurrence. It’s every time we go to a restaurant. The waiters and waitresses smile and walk away at this point, too polite to outwardly acknowledge the outburst (at least in our presence). After all, he’s 2, but it sure makes the food come faster. You’d be surprised how little time it actually takes to cook up some restaurant food, even during the busy times. All you need to do to discover this, is bring a hungry toddler. When I was a smoker many years ago, I believed lighting a cigarette could make the meal appear faster. When I quit smoking, I figured a trip to the bathroom would do the trick. Now that I’m a parent I realize it’s bringing a tiny human that is the golden ticket to a shorter wait. The restaurant staff is always courteous and personable, but they recognize a ticking time bomb when they see one. Much to Jamie’s chagrin, the meals don’t appear out of the ether, and that means mom and dad are tasked with keeping a 2-year-old occupied. This whole fatherhood thing has upped my tic-tac-toe game, especially when my opponent cannot draw the requisite Xs and Os. My other options are to hand the crayons over to the kid for more refrigerator art, or listen to the same soundtrack of urgent requests for more food. We sometimes have a random assortment of toys with us in a bag, or Meg’s purse if the menu activities aren’t up to snuff. The speed of the dining process typically stalls out when his meal arrives. It’s well documented that toddlers are picky, messy eaters. I could’ve written this entire blog post while he ate his meal. If I didn’t move the process along, he might be eating last night’s dinner tonight. On a quiet night, you might be able to hear the “No! No! No! No! No!” chant coming from the far west suburbs of Chicago. That’s Jamie shaking his head while we try to feed him something he told us was good 30 seconds earlier. One other thing about restaurant meals. When we had a table for two, it was often an intimate experience, depending not the restaurant. Now, it is an outgoing and extroverted experience. People who were strangers before the meal are waving and conversing with Jamie by the end. He has an outgoing personality. There is no...

Want to hear a knock knock joke as told by a 2-year-old? Jamie: knock knock. (Hitting the table and smiling.) Me: Who’s there? Jamie: MMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! So the sophistication isn’t quite there yet, but the enthusiasm came in spades. It isn’t even my son’s first attempt at humor. I don’t even remember how it began, but my son has been obsessed with sneezes. Once he observed the “bless you” response, he began fake sneezing. I mean he’d look right at you, smile and just say “AAAAA-CHOOOO!” approximately 50 times consecutively. It became his first attempt to seek a laugh, and sometimes you have to because of how cute it is. This routine evolved into a physical comedy routine that involves sneezing something off of his head. Sometimes he’ll make ridiculously funny/expressive faces that force you to laugh when you see them. He’ll have the ability for physical humor as he grows older, I’m thinking. He knows he’s commanding the attention of the room with these kinds of jokes. He thrives on repetition, which either makes you laugh more, or want to stab your eyeballs out with a butter knife, depending on your mood of course. My son is also incredibly funny, in a way that only a 2-year-old can manage. Like so many of us, the humor comes out in the subtle moments of life, not necessarily when he is in search of a laugh. My son’s humor comes in his attempts to figure out his surroundings. I correctly predicted my problem with toddler humor way before my wife ever became pregnant. It’s the stuff they didn’t necessarily mean to be funny that has me laughing uncontrollably. The problem is that you cannot laugh whole-heartedly and follow up with “Don’t do that” in the same breath. Well you can, but it’s not an effective way to parent. The whole “Do as I say, not as I do” element of parenting must come much later. There are so many genuine toddler moments that make my sense of humor a detriment to my ability to parent. When my only child says he has a sister. When you correct him he argues, and says he got her from his friend. When he cleans his hands at the dinner table by wiping the spaghetti in his hair. When he demonstrates a commanding knowledge of the human anatomy you were not aware he had. When he asks if the older lady at the store is a dinosaur. When “I POOOPED ON GOOFY!!!!” is his way of telling you he had an accident (while wearing Goofy underwear.). When he continuously asks for Halloween candy, cookies or chips for breakfast. Sometimes I need to excuse myself from...

The second those halloween decorations come down, I am in the Christmas spirit. I tell my wife all the time that I wish I could buy 4th Of July sparklers and Christmas garland at the same time. It’s only appropriate. Ok, you caught me. I don’t really tell her that. The red cups are out at Starbucks and the retailers are in high gear. We’re glossing over Thanksgiving when we prepare this early, and more toddlers probably associate the day with Santa Claus than Jesus. I wish more stores were doing what REI is doing on Black Friday – staying home. I’m not even sure what they sell there, but I want some. Anyway, here’s a post halloween Christmas poem for everyone. Enjoy:   ‘Twas Two Months Before Christmas ‘Twas two months before Christmas and all thru the store, shoppers were bustling, and searching for more. All the shelving was stocked with ornaments and wreaths, stressed holiday shoppers searched for fake plastic trees. Then what to my wondering thoughts should come clear? The pressure of Christmas replaced Halloween fear. I wandered the aisles, they were disheveled and strewn, and wished I had Xanax since the day would be here so soon. The Grim Reaper Costume was removed from the shelf, when in its place was a decorative elf. The big event is still months away, but our nation’s economy thrives off this day. To the front lanes we bounded with excitement and glee, shopping carts filled from our capitalist spree. The man in the red suit Could keep the children pleased, with everything imagined soon under our tree. While we sat waiting for Santa sleigh-bound, under the weight of his bag, he soon hit the ground. They offered him pain meds,  clearly in plight. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night! If you like what you read, please vote for me by clicking the Top Daddy Blog Link below or sharing on social media....

Toddlers are a fickle bunch. Their behaviors can depend on the day of the week, or the way the stars are aligned. Even the happiest-go-lucky toddler is perfectly capable of a full-blown temper tantrum at any moment. The crafty, Pinterest-obsessed parent can turn the items on this list into toddler Bingo, and see how quick the results pile up. This list can also be turned into a drinking game if that is more your speed. Cheers! Without further ado, here are 50 ways to piss your toddler off: Eat something different than they do for dinner. Let them see the cookie you are snacking on while they are still eating. Don’t let them eat watermelon and cookies instead of chicken and broccoli. Tell them it’s time to clean up. Clean up their mess when they refuse. Ask if they have to go pee. Take them away from their toys. Stop doing anything that they are asking to be done “Again?” Make them eat two more bites of broccoli before they can play again. Bring them to daycare. Pick them up from daycare. Insist that they cannot lick the dinner table. Explain that they can throw a ball, but not their books. Read to them. Don’t read to them. Bring the snack they said they wanted. Tell them chicken is what’s for dinner. Ask them to put that permanent marker down. Ask them to stop stabbing the table with a butter knife. Use candy to explain taxes. Not cave in to their temper tantrum. Cave in to their temper tantrum. Insist they brush their teeth. Insist they wash their hands. Tell them it is time for a bath. Tell them bath time is over. Insist ice cream is not a breakfast food. Insist Cheerios are not a dinner food. Scold them for kissing the dog on the mouth. Insist they find a toilet when they tell you they have to pee. Insist on changing their underwear when they couldn’t find the toilet. Tell them they cannot eat the dog’s food. Say hello. Say goodbye. Try to make them laugh. Tell them not to lick their milk off the floor, even if that is what the cat is doing. Teach them manners. Say no. Run errands with them. Don’t let them have something. Wake them up. Do not let them wear the shirt they are asking for. Make them drink their milk. Don’t let them watch a movie. Tell them it’s too cold to go outside. Don’t let them try your coffee. Then let them try your coffee when they insist. Tell them they are going home. Take them from what they were doing. When they scream for mom, tell them she is never coming...

Nothing makes you feel like you are living in a fishbowl quite like parenting. When it comes to a small child, opinions are like that certain piece of human anatomy – everyone’s got one (including the childless). It takes practice and a grace period before you realize that what the people watching your parenting from afar think, doesn’t really matter. For the most part, I’ve learned to discount the opinions of other people, both real and projected, unless said opinions also come with an offer to babysit. I’m not perfect at this, but I can certainly recognize an opinion that shouldn’t matter. This was a tough lesson living in a one-bedroom apartment with thin walls for the first few weeks of Jamie’s life, while we continued to look for a home. Jamie joined this world with something to say. He came out with a cry so fierce that once I gained my hearing back, I wondered what people on other floors of the hospital must have thought of this angry newborn infant. That shrill cry raged on for months, until he had other ways to tell us he needed something. In an environment where a normal room-volume conversation could be faintly overheard through apartment walls, I wondered how far an ear-piercing cry traveled. What the neighbors could hear became a legitimate concern. A baby crying that fiercely out in public is also a great way to attract attention. As Jamie grows, the reasons for the fishbowl vary. I don’t really care as much anymore about what people think, but a 2-year-old being 2 is a quick way to garner attention while in public. The nonsensical things he says and does sometimes need to be met with nonsensical responses. “Never touch your shoe to your face.” “Don’t wipe your spaghetti in your hair.” “Don’t lick your toys.” “Don’t hug the dog’s butt.” When these kinds of responses come in public, they can land you back in the parenting fishbowl. Sometimes it’s his awkward words or actions that put us there. When he asks his mother if the woman sharing the aisle at the grocery store is a dinosaur, you’re in that parenting fishbowl. When he feels the need to touch every item placed below the three foot level in the checkout lane, you’re in the fishbowl. When he emphatically tells the waitress at the crowded restaurant “MORE FOOODDD PLLLEEEAAASSSSEEE!!!!” you guessed it, back in the fishbowl. Public places equals eyes on the parents. But being 2 is being 2. Dealing with public temper tantrums, become a quick trip to the parenting fishbowl. The bottom line is we live in an environment where nearly everyone has an opinion about nearly everything – especially when...

As a kid I always loved Halloween. Any excuse to knock on strangers’ doors and ask for candy was OK with me. Dressing up in a costume seemed a small price to pay for high volumes of processed sugar. My friends and I spent lunch and free time at school discussing our strategy for hitting up every house in the neighborhood. If they were giving out full size candy bars we hit them up twice. If they were giving out fruit they would be skipped, and immediately blacklisted. Like Pete Rose and baseball, these homes were never again to play the game of Halloween. I came home from school on the holiday, probably already on a sugar buzz. Before going out trick or treating, we would sit down and have dinner as a family. I didn’t want to waste valuable intestinal real estate on actual food when there would be sugar, but for some reason my mother insisted. It was dark. It was cold. But none of that mattered, because candy. It was time to go out and have fun and celebrate this strange day that simultaneously promoted evil, fear, and the power of a sugar buzz. I’d have to hand my candy stash over at home, so it could be inspected and output could be controlled. As a parent, things are different now, in a lot of ways. I’ll still monitor my son’s candy output through the month of November, but more on that later. The stark contrast between my time and Jamie’s is in the trick or treating hours. At some point trick or treating became an afternoon pastime, instead of a celebration through the night. I became vaguely aware of a societal shift when traffic to my door seemed to be heavier at 3 p.m. than 8. A quick scan of local trick or treating hours shows the majority of towns where I live starting at 3 or 4 p.m. Some start as early as 1 p.m. Some are done by 6, and they are all done by 8. Traffic seems to die off well before the back half of the window, and a majority of homeowners may not even be home on the front half. My son is 2, so he typically goes to bed pretty early. To me, part of the mystique of the holiday is due to the dark. Maybe we start trick or treating with him in the daylight, but trick or treating at 3 p.m. seems a little sanitized for my taste. I don’t think being outside after the sun goes down one day out of the year will cause him to melt. I do still believe in safety, and monitoring...