“Bob! Bob! Bob!” “What are you talking about kid?” Jamie and I were the only two people in the birthday card aisle at Jewel on a recent evening. There was no one around us. And as I scanned the vicinity of the cards he pointed at excitedly, there it was, plain as day – a yellow sponge that lives under the sea, featured prominently on the front of the card. I had no idea he knew who that was. As a new dad, there were movies and shows I couldn’t wait to share with my son, such as the Looney Tunes cartoons, Inspector Gadget, or the Peanuts. Jamie seemed like the perfect excuse to re-engage with some older classics from my childhood. Conversely, there were a few movies or shows I didn’t want to suffer through. Watching Frozen, Barney or SpongeBob Squarepants seemed like their own unique brand of parental torture. But then, I’ve written about my limited tolerance for some children’s movies in the past. Reality and well-placed intentions have a funny way of not lining up. There is an amazing level of outside influence on the entertainment that even a 2-year-old consumes. For example, a 30-second SpongeBob commercial during a different television program could be all it takes to trigger an obsession. We’ve seen Frozen more times than I would care to recount. The phrase “Let it Go” triggers an anxiety in me that makes my brow sweat and my hands reflexively cover my ears. It triggers an urge to go listen to some music, ANY music to knock that egregious earworm out from between my ears once and for all. I don’t think he’s watched much Barney, but he does have a purple dinosaur puzzle. “Always avoid purple dinosaurs” just seems like a sage piece of fatherly advice. Like I said, I have no idea how he knows SpongeBob. Purple dinosaurs and yellow sponges make it hard to do your job as a parent, instilling a proper suspension of disbelief. Some of these children’s characters are beyond ridiculous. Maybe the people in our society who are concerned about marijuana as a gateway drug should refocus their energy onto children’s entertainment. Because watching something like SpongeBob is going to leave an impressionable mind with some crazy ideas. “No kid, you cannot go live in a pineapple under the sea. As a matter of fact pineapples cannot live under the sea.” I shouldn’t have to explain these things. Not to a 2-year-old. Not ever. As a consumer of movies or books, I’m personally interested in realistic characters and plausible plotlines. For these reasons, I’m really not much of a science fiction or Star Wars fan. I saw the movies. I thought...

Dear Jamie, I suspect you may be a little surprised to get this note. But you, my toddler friend, are the competition, and as such I have a few things to say. I have worked tirelessly on my ability to communicate these thoughts. My typing skills are vastly improved, and worlds better than the cat’s. I hear there is an entire website on the Internet devoted to her kind’s inability to spell. Anyway, here goes. You are not the only one after our masters’ attention and I am asking for you to kindly back off. When you run circles around the house screaming mindless gibberish in an ear-piercing decibel range, it makes me want to eat and destroy your toys for revenge. This is just annoying and in no way considerate of those sleeping on the couch during the evening news – me and your precious “daddy.” When you hug my butt instead of my head, this also makes me want to eat and destroy your things. Do you know how humiliating this is? I just have to stand there and take it. Why would you put your head down there? Do you know what I do every morning on my walk? Luckily none of my 4-legged friends from my previous foster home have to see this. If I were human I’d be blushing, or maybe even in therapy. My head is at the front of my body. If you want to hug me and put your head on me, hug me from the front. Every day I consider myself lucky that the masters walk and feed me and not you. With your aimless wandering and your difficulty navigating the stairs I would clearly be taking you for a walk and not the other way around. I’ve seen the way you eat your own meals. You might want to find your mouth with your spaghetti before you ever worry about feeding the cat or I. On second thought don’t worry about finding your mouth with your food. I can come back and clean up after you. It beats some of the boring dried food they feed me. A few of the positives – You can keep on telling me how cute I am when you pet me. You can keep on asking where I am or what I’m doing when I am clearly right in front of you. It’s a little odd, but endearing. And a favor – would you mind slipping me some of that hot dog you won’t finish? Again, dried food – it’s boring. Even though it’s only been a month or so, things are going well. I still might need to eat another toy or...

If my son plays his cards right, he will eventually see his first white male president. The fact I may have to one day explain how white men are qualified to run this country too, is mind boggling to me. I recently watched a video online in which kids were given a cassette tape and struggled with the task of correctly placing it in a Walkman. I don’t ever remember it being that challenging. My son probably wouldn’t know what to do with a VHS tape, a telephone with a cord attached (let alone a rotary), or a video game as archaic as Oregon Trail or Pong. The idea of needing film to take a picture will be completely foreign. I’ve written about the digital vs. analog idea, and technology advancements before. Whether the change is social (as in the presidency) or technological (as in an iPhone), sometimes it’s more difficult to gauge the full impact in real time. Today’s high school students won’t have any concept for life before Sept. 11, 2001. Time marches on. What passed as modern history – what we saw thousands of times on television – will need to be read and taught. I’m sure it’s the way our parents felt about the Kennedy assassination. Again, change. On the technological level, I didn’t have a cell phone until college. I distinctly remember telling people if I left the house I am OK with not being reached. Now, forgetting your phone is tantamount to forgetting your pants – it leaves you feeling naked and vulnerable. How many versions of flip phones, phones that only called people, and Blackberries did we go through before we got to that point? It wasn’t really noticeable in the moment, but pretty soon not being able to check Facebook or email every 10 minutes left us feeling alone and disconnected. With technology, the standards changed. I’ve brought Jamie into the basement a few times while I put a record on the record player, and we listen to “Bumpa’s” (Grandpa’s) music. There is something pure about the crackle of a record – music that has not been remastered and cleaned up. Sure, portability and durability are great. But so is listening to music the way it was meant to be. I’m not really sure where I’m going with any of this. Sometimes I need to step back and look at the world the way a child now sees it. There’s so much that’s new, and there is so much that will change. There are people other than black men, white women, or Hispanics who are capable of being president. I’m hopeful there will be more tolerance and more understanding. I am...

Tonight during dinner I squared off against my son in a funny faces contest. If I’m being truly honest, I probably didn’t win, either. As evidenced by the picture at the bottom of this post, the little guy is expressive. Actor is just one of the potential careers in his future. These are the great moments of raising a toddler. They are the scenes that non-parents picture, when they think of the gloriousness of parenthood. And I wouldn’t trade them for the world. But to say that insane dosage of adorableness is evidenced in every moment of every day of being a parent would be an outright lie. It’s not rainbows and unicorns 24/7. Two days ago my son threw a temper tantrum that effectively lasted two hours. He’s persistent and stubborn, especially when he doesn’t get his way. Parenting is not always smooth. Those moments of insane adorableness are bookended by the puzzlement the comes with ketchup caked on the back of your neck, or the pull-your-hair-out frustrations of dealing with a temper tantrum. I’ve been thinking a lot about why I write about being a parent, and all it entails.  There are ramifications both long and short term. I’m reflecting on the purpose of my parenting blog, because in all honesty it’s been a bit of a rough week throughout the blogosphere. I watched a friend and fellow dad blogger privatize his blog and remove his social media channels after ruthless Internet bullies threatened the safety of his family – all because of his opinions on a social issue. I read another piece by a dad who removed blog posts that were too revealing about his growing children. Both situations have me thinking. And the best way I have to explain why I want to write about parenting is through an analogy. When I go back and look at pictures, the ones with Jamie smiling are nice, but they don’t always tell the whole story. For example, my favorite picture from last Christmas is Jamie giving a whole body frown and on the verge of tears as he sits on Santa’s lap. It’s my favorite picture because it’s genuine. It’s the way he really felt in the moment. That snapshot of a genuine moment is what I hope my blog to be. The “genuine” component often comes in a dose of adorable, but it includes tantrums, too. I want an honest look back at what Jamie and his parents were experiencing at any given moment, because there is truth in that. (At some point I’ll have to consider his privacy more, but we’re not there yet.) For example, I’ve been pretty honest about the high notes my kid could hit...

Occasionally I hear non-parent adults talk about adult things, such as decorating styles. Since I’ve never really had one (That picture looks nice, let’s frame it and put it on the wall…), I can only listen with detachment and wonder as the subject arises. If I had to describe the look of our house, I would say it is decorated in early toddler, and as of recently, dog. Try as we might, their necessities overwhelm just about anything Meg and I could convince ourselves would go great in the front room. Even when the toys are “away” there is a significant risk of tripping over anything and everything. I know we’re not far from the LEGO stage with Jamie, at which point footwear will be a necessity to navigate any room at all times. There are already enough toys in my home that could carve out a flesh hole in the bottom of your foot if stepped on. Adding LEGOS just seem a bit unfair. As of recently, a dog crate for our 65-pound German Shepherd/hound mix, Captain, became a mainstay in our living room area. It’s not a subtle addition. For that matter, neither is the dog. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad we have these toys, and I’m glad we have the dog. I’m glad my son has so much to stimulate his mind through the course of a day. And I’d happily trade the look of my house (which to be honest, I care about less than the average adult) for time with my son, and my son’s happiness. Even better? The toys must be put away after each use now, to establish boundaries between toys for the two-legged, and four-legged. But suffice it to say, our home is a toy bomb on a regular basis, and cleaning with toddler present is no easy feat. I just scratch my head in wonder when non-parent adults talk about all this adulty stuff – like decorating styles. Between a 2-year-old kid and the dog, it will be a few years before we buy a piece of furniture because it looks nice. So what becomes the solution for parents who are just looking for a tiny sliver of home or apartment not overwhelmed by toys? You can set up that spare bedroom, or basement or whatever space you might have. You can create that little slice of home to call your own. We have the basement in our house. It’s set up as a second, living area (sans the toddler motif). I’ll do a good portion of my writing from my home office down there, but the only times we’ve watched television in the basement were when we were under tornado...

I’m trying to conjure up all of the things I hate. Sure there are a bunch of them. Picking up dog poop. The smell of mothballs. Discovering rotten milk the hard way. These are all awful experiences. But the hate I muster up for these experiences pales in comparison to the hate my son has already mustered up for silence. From morning to night there’s talking. When I read a book to him, half the time he still speaks more words in than I do. Sometimes, his mother and I just don’t get to converse. There’s simply not enough air. Period. When an infant is content, he is very chill. Or possibly sleeping. It is easy to forget that someone who doesn’t make a sound is in the room. Or even in the car. I kind of understand how accidently leaving an infant in the car MIGHT happen. It is an awful thing, but sometimes they simply don’t make noise. (Note: I’ve never left Jamie in the car. I also think I’d notice pretty much immediately.) On the other hand a toddler is all about the noise. Toddlers are always chasing, but rarely finding contentment. They look for it by running, or jumping or playing. They look for it in words and questions and statements. But they never stay on any one activity too long. There are the excessive “Why’s?” to the point where the question makes no logical sense. Then, there are the demands. “I want water!” “I need to play toys!” Or, my personal favorite “I wanna need it!” This one is usually exclaimed while pointing at something in the distance. It stands to reason, that any parent would just want their toddler to spend a few moments of the day quiet then, right? WRONG. This is when parents need to worry the most, because toddlers are plotting. A quiet toddler is almost always up to something. There may be a permanent marker coloring the wall, a cat’s tail being pulled, or some other mischief afoot. Relief is the default emotion for any parent who’s been bombarded with toddler noise for an entire day, when they notice its absence. It is quickly followed with a flood of suspicion so great it quickly washes out said relief. This causes the parent to (rightly) run into the room (if they’re not there already) wondering what’s going on. Sometimes there’s a sigh of relief, and sometimes the parent needs to go into damage control mode. So long to the days when silence allowed you to rest and recharge. Now it only arouses suspicion.   If you like what you read, please vote for me by clicking the Top Daddy Blog...

Meg worked on Saturday morning, and it was supposed to be daddy and Jamie’s time to “go on a ‘venture” as he puts it. The day would start out with a short visit to his grandma and “bumpa’s” house. Then, maybe we’d head off to a local zoo, or the airport to watch planes. In short, it was a morning designed around the recreation of a 2-year-old. But one lesson I have learned as a parent is nothing ever goes quite as planned. I opened the rear door of our Corolla, placed my son in his car seat as I’ve done hundreds of times before, and noticed there was an enormous amount of give. I could shake the seat from side to side. I took Jamie out. “OK Jamie, I need you stand right there,” I told him, pointing to an empty area in the garage where any potential mischief could be contained. It was time for daddy to do some work. An hour-and-a-half later… He didn’t stand right there. He ran around the garage like a crazy person (aka a 2-year-old). His hands were black. He found every dark and dingy corner of the garage and finger-painted. Then he face painted. He picked up leaves, crumpling them between his tiny digits. He picked up sticks and tossed them into the air. And pretty soon he looked nothing like the freshened up boy, who moments ago was ready to go on a ‘venture. I opened both rear doors to our Corolla, bouncing back and forth, assessing the situation as he played. I needed to change the installation system from the belt to latches, because the seatbelt no longer locked well enough to hold the seat in place. The problem seemed simple enough. But time lost fighting a seatbelt and a car seat is time I will never win back – and I spent more time than I wanted to with this unanticipated problem. As I walked around either side of the car I had to dodge my son who stood behind me and asked “Why?” the whole time. “So I can keep you safe in the car,” I told him. Good answer, I thought. Responsible. “But I don’t wanna be safe daddy,” he told me. “I don’t wanna be safe in the car.” I’ve never done assembly well. I’ve never done elaborate directions well. It stand to reason that stubborn car seats have never been in my wheelhouse. Having a kid pulling on your leg while you’re swearing that you are smarter than the technology you are working with can do funny things to your disposition, and your ability to problem-solve. “I wanna go on a ‘venture!!” he insisted,...