Nothing makes advice fly faster and in more unsolicited ways than telling people you are about to become a parent. A sliver of this advice may prove useful down the road, but most of it will fall into the real life spam category, and can be dutifully ignored. You’ll hear about everything form the best ways to deal with a temper tantrum, to the best new strategies for potty training. You’re probably more interested in how to end the conversation, how to get through the day and what time is socially acceptable to begin drinking. No matter people’s good intentions, there is an array of parenting lessons that you’ll just need to learn on your own. Feeling the Cartoon Wrath – If it’s not animated, it’s not on. At least that is how it is most of the time around these parts. If I want to watch Sunday football, playoff baseball, or even just a few minutes of the news, I have to do tune out “I WANNA WATCH A MOVIEEEE!!!!” in the background. Someone needs to hurry up and invent an app that animates live television. It’s the only way everyone gets what they want. You Will Not Negotiate With Terrorists – I don’t care how cute your kid is, he is a little terrorist bent on destroying your latest set of plans. He will tell you “No” in a thousand different ways. He will throw a temper tantrum when he doesn’t want to do what you want him to do. The best thing is to just move on and take it in stride. How to Clean Spaghetti off the Walls – It’s really not any different from cleaning it off the table, or hand washing it off a dirty dish. A little soap and water can do the trick. I bet you never thought you’d have to clean it off the wall that is five feet from your dining room table, however. In retrospect dark red seems like a great color to paint the room you eat in. You Cannot Have Things – A dog owner cannot have nice things. A parent cannot have nice things. If you are in the middle of that Venn diagram you cannot have things. Case closed. Cleaning – I’ve never particularly enjoyed this task to begin with, but it becomes a lot more challenging with a 3-foot tornado behind you bent on destroying any progress that you’ve made. Cleaning with a toddler present becomes an art form. Stickers, Crayons and Anything Else Destructive Should Be Hidden – There is no concept with a toddler on the right place, or wrong place to color. Stickers look just as good on the floor or on...

I’ve mentioned a few times now that this summer we adopted a dog. The relationship started a bit tenuous, with the dog escaping multiple crates and destroying a laundry room door, to get back into the main portion of the house. It took a gigantic leap of faith from that point to give him run of the whole house, but he seems to be doing OK with it. He is simply not a fan of confinement. While mom and dad had initial trust issues with the dog that we’ve worked through, Jamie took to the dog right away. He loves to pet him, and hug him, and shower him with attention. It’s that shower him with attention part that can come off a little suspect at times. Even the best intentions can miss wildly. And Captain, a 2-year-old German Shepherd and hound mix, has displayed the patience of a saint, as my toddler learns everything you should and should not do to animals, or the right way and wrong way to show them affection. I’m sure the dog has his thoughts on the relationship, but it’s been a great experience. There’s a special bond that develops between a kid and a dog and it’s been fun to watch. With me, I pet the dog, feed him, walk him and show him affection. The dog in turn stays by my side a large portion of the day, showing me his love. But with my son, it’s a whole new level, and a symbiotic relationship developing between our two 2-year-olds. There are a lot of ways that dogs and toddlers can be mutually beneficial to each other. Here are a few examples: Mealtimes – We typically tell the dog to go lay down during mealtimes, and he does. But as the dog has become more acclimated to us, he knows who the messy eater is. He knows who is going to leave a trail of scraps and crumbs behind. As Jamie gets older he may even try to slip the dog some carrots or green beans at some point. Captain will figure out where to go for a quick people food score. Dog food – Jamie is 2 now, so we can start to have a few things around the house that he is told not to touch. But there is a learning curve. Like Captain knows his people food, I’m pretty sure Jamie knows what dog food tastes like. An animal to ride – Surprisingly Jamie hasn’t made this request yet, but I’m waiting for it. I’m waiting for an attempt. Captain’s bigger than Jamie, but he is not THAT much bigger. So, we’ll see. Someone to blame stuff on – The...

I’ve made a lot of jokes right here, on this very blog about the lasting damage I may be doing to my son by turning him into a Cubs fan. When he was an infant I watched the final three outs of a loss on television. He broke out in crocodile tears and that stereotypical loud infant shriek, in perfect timing with that third out. “The Cubs lost, get over it,” I told him. “You better prepare for a lifetime of misery if you are going to get that attached.” And with that, we had one of his first life lessons. Or maybe he was crying because he was hungry. I’m not sure. It’s safer for him to believe Santa Claus will pay a visit at the ripe age of 25, than to think the Cubs can win the World Series, right? If I teach him the kind of hope required to be a Cubs fan, he’ll think unicorns and Leprechauns are real. He won’t have a healthy fear for the power of a Billy Goat. He’ll grow up thinking the impossible is possible, and we just can’t have that. The Chicago Cubs may be messing with my worldview a little bit, and what my role is in shaping my son’s. This team is showing no signs of the “Here we go again” Cubs. Yet I’ve been burned too many times to be anything but a cynic. I have to keep myself guarded until the third out of the ninth inning of the final game. And of course, I need to acknowledge my protective parental instinct. Let’s face it. There’s your garden-variety professional sports franchise bad, and then there’s the we haven’t won a championship in 107 years kind of bad. The second takes a special kind of talent that only Chicago’s north siders were able to muster. No team in any sport has been this perennially awful. Spring is the season of hope and new life, for all. Fans of any other sports franchise can pick themselves up with your stereotypical optimist thoughts: “Well, they play the games for a reason.” Or “There’s some possibility that they could win, right?” Not a Cubs fan. Usually sometime around opening day a Cubs fan has more in common with the bowl of petunias in Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. As it falls from the sky the bowl utters the phrase “Oh no, not again.” I’m not sure who coined the phrase “cautiously optimistic,” but I’m fairly sure it was a Cubs fan during a rare playoff series who thought he was hedging his bets. He probably ate his words then, moments later. I’m scared because I’m not feeling any...

A true enough account of what the morning hour is like around these parts It’s about 6 a.m. and talking and bouncing noises have been coming from my son’s room for a few minutes straight. It’s time to acknowledge those noises aren’t going away any time soon. “Good morning! Do you want to get up?” “I wanna play toys!! I wanna read books!!” “Can we get you dressed first?” “Play toys!! Read books!!” Yea? I want coffee, kid. A big, fresh cup of coffee. “Lay on your pad so I can change your diaper.” “NOOOOOO!!!!” He goes to pick up a book to bring over to the pad so he can “read” while I change his diaper. “No, not a library book. You don’t know where that’s been.” He puts one book down and picks up one that’s his. But this one is the biggest, tallest hard cover book he could find. “Happy? Now lay on your pad.” “Dad?” “Yea, bud.” “Can I tell you something?” This should be golden. “Shake your booty. Shake your booty.” He starts dancing and smiling, and dancing some more. There’s way too much energy in this room for 6 a.m. There’s no music, but a whole lot of dancing. OK, so I have to laugh. But it’s 6 a.m. and any efforts made by my mouth muscles hurt my face. “Shake your booty.” I need alcohol to follow those instructions, but right now all I want is coffee. After the impromptu performance, he lays down on the pad, perking the book up over his chest, and reciting every memorized line. When I go to get him dressed and change his shirt he battles me for the book with each arm. “NOOOOOO!!!! I NEEEEED MYYYY BOOOOOK!!!” “You can have your book in 2 seconds, when I’m done.” “I NEEEEEEED MICKKKEEEEEYYYY MOUUUUSSSE SHIIIIIRRRRRT!!!!” “Not this morning, bud.” I need that freakin’ coffee. “I need ‘nother shirt, then.” Coffee, coffee, coffee. “No, you get this one. The one I picked out.” “There you go. You’re all dressed. Do you want some breakfast?” “NOOOO, DAAAADY, I WAAAANA REEAAAD BOOOKS! “Breakfast?” “Read books.” “OK pick a quick book.” He goes to the shelf. Brings one. I get to page two. Reading…he interrupts mid sentence. “Daddy?” “Yes buddy.” “I wanna eat food.” “I kinda figured bud. What do you want to eat?” “I want watermelon.” “We don’t have any.” “I want peanut butter and jelly.” “That’s not a breakfast food.” “I waaaaaaant fooood-a.” “Acceptable answers are pancakes, Cheerios, eggs or yogurt.” “PAAAAANCAAAAKES” “Pancakes it is then.” I bring him a plate. He’s eaten just a couple bites. Why the hell don’t we have any ground coffee in the house? Coffee. Coffee....

“Hey Jamie. If you go pee in the potty you can wear Mickey Mouse underwear.” “Daddy?” “Yea, buddy.” “Will you wear Mickey Mouse underwear too?” As a parent, I’d like to think there are no limits to the things I would do for my 2-year-old son. But that’s just something we say. Those limits are there. They are important. My kid is giving me reasons I didn’t know existed to be anxious about his potty training. There’s been a lot of talk of potty training around this house again lately. We spend a freaking fortune on diapers. I am looking forward to not having to do that anymore (though I’m sure that money will go to something else). Getting this one behind us will be a relief. All that said, I am looking forward to the physical act of potty training about as much as I look forward to watching Jimmy Clausen play backup quarterback for the Chicago Bears – which is to say not very much. There will be kicking and whining and screaming. And I can’t even begin to predict how Jamie will react. The kid has the capability of hitting notes that put the neighbors’ China at risk. He knows how to employ his temper tantrums. It’s time. He can tell us when he needs a diaper change. He sometimes hides when he poops. He’s ready, but he’s stubborn. We’re trying to ease him into the idea, but there is resistance. “Jamie do you want to go to school with the other big boys? Then you’ll need to go potty in the toilet.” “Do you want to wear Mickey Mouse underwear? Well, Mickey Mouse doesn’t like getting wet.” None of this has really caught on. Our casual attempts at potty training have led to accidents around the house. The $%$^%t is getting real. It’s on. Soon. Kind of. And I really, really, really don’t want to be here for it. But that’s not an option, I’ve been told. All I know is no matter how bad this gets, no matter how desperate we become for our desired results, I think about all the things we’d do for our kids. And I am thankful there are limits. If you like what you read, please vote for me by clicking the Top Daddy Blog Link below or sharing on social media....

When it comes to bedtime, or any other ritual, a 2-year-old is slave to routine. Almost anything can be fun when it comes to a little bit of anticipation. It turns the most mundane tasks into a game. It helps that we have a 2-year-old who is a walking giggle factory. Sometimes we try to play it up, making him laugh at any turn possible. This has led to a few unique rituals, such as the family hug, right before bedtime. I’ll go in for the element of surprise, blindsiding Jamie as he thinks he’s receiving a routine goodnight hug from his mother. Now he asks for them nearly every night. One night, probably horsing around, we started flying Jamie into his bed like an airplane, versus simply placing him in bed. It is another ritual that wins us smiles and giggles, instead of dread as we place him in bed, and leave the room. He asks for that nearly every night as well. From these rituals to language, a toddler’s whole world is built on repetition. Before we walk out of his room, we utter the phrase: “Mommy and daddy love you.” Instead of “I love you too,” he repeats back exactly what we say: “Mommy and daddy love you.” He doesn’t understand the shift in meaning. He does the same thing when we ask him how he is doing. The conversation usually goes something like this: Dad: “How are you doing?” Jamie: “How are you doing?” Dad: “When someone says ‘How are you doing?’ you can say ‘Good,’ OK? Jamie: “OK.” Dad: “How are you doing?” Jamie: “How are you doing?” So, some things still need a little bit of work. Eventually we’ll break off from repetition to original responses, or concepts. But not yet. Sometimes I wonder why both his mother and I go in nightly to put him to bed. It’s the end of the day, so no 2-year-old is consistently in a tolerable frame of mind. There can easily be crying, tantruming, or general resistance to anything his parents are trying to accomplish. With a million things going on around the house, double-teaming the bedtime routine doesn’t feel efficient, and it’s easy to want a break. I don’t want to create an unrealistic image of what parenting is actually like. Believe me, at all other parts of the day, when one of us needs a break, we take it. It can get loud, it can get obnoxious, and it can get overwhelming. We walk away (when it’s feasible), and we come back (slightly) recharged. But for whatever reason, we both take part in that bedtime ritual, no matter how drained we are. I think...