The life and times of an irrational father. One man, multiple personalities.
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And in that moment, I was ashamed

November 5th, 2010 | Posted by Joe in Bad parenting | frustration | irrational dad | Tyler - (6 Comments)

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How is it that a three foot tall, 28 month old child can make a grown man feel like a horrible, selfish person?

Tyler likes wearing my shoes. Truth be told, he likes wearing any adult shoes. We are a “shoes off at the door” family, but tend to let Tyler’s propensity for stomping around the house in shoes that could contain three feet his size slide. After some time, and realizing that this “phase” doesn’t appear to be waning anytime in the near future, I explained to Tyler that only a couple select pairs of my shoes are to be worn in the house. The most common pair that he chooses are my running shoes. Not because I never run (which, I don’t), but because they are my treadmill shoes that don’t go outside ever.

When Tyler first developed his affinity towards my shoes, he would simply step into them and start stumbling around the house. More times than not, the left shoe would end up on his right foot, and the right on his left.

More recently, however, Tyler has begun to develop his autonomy. He can put his own slippers on. His own boots. His own pants. Pants are easy to explain to a little one. Put the tag (on the inside of the pants) towards the floor. It’s difficult to say to put the snap or the button in front, because not all kids’ pants have snaps or buttons on them, and are simply elastic waisted. Sarah put an “L” and an “R” on the bottom of Tyler’s slippers so he can differentiate between left and right. His boots have distinct characteristics to help determine which is which. Even though he knows which is which, he still tends to ask, mostly for confirmation.

“Dis goes on dis foot?”

Looking down at his feet, we’ll reply “Yes, Tyler. That shoe goes on your left foot.”

“And dis goes on dis foot?”

Well son, seeing as how you already have one on the correct foot, and you only have one to go, yes, that is the correct foot too.

“Yes, Tyler. That shoe goes on your right foot.”

He has now begun doing the same with my shoes as well.

Recently, Sarah was sitting in her chair. I was across the room on the couch, having a conversation with her. It seemed that, over the last couple of weeks, we haven’t been connecting. She’s had plans. I’ve had plans. I’m coming as she’s going. It’s been difficult for the both of us, but it doesn’t happen terribly often.

Tyler walked into the room with my shoes in his hands. He sat on the floor and asked “dis goes on dis foot?”

“No, Tyler. You’ve got that on the wrong foot.”

He pulled the shoe off, and placed it near his other foot. I turned my attention back to Sarah to continue our conversation.

“Dis goes on dis foot?”

Sigh. After getting Tyler squared away, he happily stomped off. Sarah and I talked for a couple more minutes while the sound of his feet clomping away in my shoes filled the room. We talked about life, things that have bothered us lately, things we need to do… things.

“Skuse me daddy?”

We’ve been working on manners with Tyler. Like most children his age, he thinks the universe revolves around him. No matter what Sarah and I are doing, he tends to think he can run up and start talking to us. Sarah explained to him that he has to say “excuse me” when he needs our attention. On the occasions that he follows those rules of etiquette, we have to make sure and address him right away.

“Yes, Tyler?”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Tyler?” Don’t get frustrated, don’t get frustrated, don’t get frustrated. “What do you want?”

“You tie dis?”

I looked down at the shoe. It was tied. Both shoes were tied. Up until this point, I had done an Emmy-worthy job of masking my ever-so-slight frustration. But it was becoming more and more difficult. Why couldn’t he just let me talk to my wife?

“Tyler, the shoes are both tied already. I’m trying to talk to your mommy right now.”

“Shoes not tight enough,” he replied.

I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth, and squeezed my hands into fists, driving my fingernails into my palms. Without replying to Tyler, I stood up, walked to him, crouched down, and untied his (my) shoe. I pulled the laces tight and began tying them again. My frustration was unmistakable. I just wanted to talk to my wife for a few moments, and this little… brat… couldn’t give that to me.

“Thank you helping me, daddy. You da best daddy ever.”

A tidal wave of shame rushed and swept away my anger. I looked to Sarah and saw the face of a proud mother. In that moment, I hated myself.

I have an awesome, awesome child.

Like a ragdoll

September 28th, 2010 | Posted by Joe in Bad parenting | family | scared | Tyler - (18 Comments)

One of the great things about this little town we live in is the annual fair. The roads around the downtown area get closed off and the carnival rides get wheeled in. Deep fried Twinkies, elephant ears, rides I’ll never ride and games I’ll never play. Along with all the typical awesomeness of having a FREE fair, is the 4H aspect. Over at the fairgrounds are multiple barns, full of horses, cows, sheep, rabbits, chickens, pigs and many other breeds.

Of course, this is where Tyler wanted to be. He petted horse after horse after donkey after mule and never tired of it. In the pig pens, he had to place his hand on darn near every single pig in there. He pet many animals and loved it. As we walked from barn to barn we mentioned the animals that were coming up. We neared the final barn and asked Tyler if he was ready to see the cows.

“Ohhhh yes,” he replied, happily skipping/running along.

I don’t know the different breeds of cows, so I don’t know if we walked into a dairy barn or some other “cow barn”. All the cows were standing, facing away from us. So, we had a beautiful view of many, many cow butts. Tyler continued ahead of Sarah and I, looking up in awe of the huge creatures. I walked ahead of Sarah to catch up with Tyler. She had just moments ago told him to be careful around the animals. I took another step closer, slightly blocking Sarah’s view, as Tyler suddenly turned and placed his hand on a cow’s leg.

They saw that when tragedy strikes, everything slows down.

In less than one full second, I watched the cow’s hoof kick out and strike Tyler in his chest. In that same one second, I watched Tyler get thrown six foot backwards. I watched his head and legs jolt forward as his body propelled back.

It’s amazing, the details you notice in only one second. Like the fact that the cow’s hoof had already been returned to its original position while Tyler was still in the air.

His head suddenly snapped back when his body slammed into a stack of hay. I heard the metallic clang as his neck and skull hit the metal pail on the ground.

And then I went blind. I distinctly remember running to Tyler, but my brain couldn’t process the visuals. I was blind to the world, but seeing everything. I knew that he would be unconscious. I just didn’t know how bad it would be.

All in one eternal second.

I picked him up, but still my brain either wouldn’t or couldn’t allow me to see what was happening. A thought entered my head that I shouldn’t touch or move Tyler, yet I still lifted him to me, embracing him.

I heard him draw a deep breath, then begin screaming. Unable to move, I stood there and held him, asking if he was ok. In another sobbing scream, he yelled “yeeeeeeeeeeah,” in response. I felt Sarah next to me, putting her arm around Tyler while trying to push me a little further away from the cow. I whispered “I’m sorry” into Tyler’s ear.

He screamed again.

Sarah asked if she could look at him to see if he was hurt. He tightened his arms around my neck and said no. We all stood there for a couple minutes. When Tyler’s hitching sobs slowed, I stood him on a wooden chest nearby, so we could look at him. The muddy hoof-print on his sweatshirt showed us where to start. There was no mark. He did have a scrape under his eye, which we can’t explain. I picked him up again and held him tight, kissing his head over and over again. As we walked, Sarah found the cure to Tyler’s ailment.

Whispering in his ear, she asked, “Ty, do you want some cotton candy?”

I spent the next fifteen minutes, eating pink and blue cotton candy with Sarah and Tyler. The entire time, I wondered how it was possible that I saw what I saw and my son has little more than a scrape on his cheek that he says “hurt a liddle bit.” I watched him SHOVEL handfuls of cotton candy in his mouth, and “ooh” and “ahh” with Sarah at some horses walking by, befuddled that we weren’t presently rushing to the hospital with a limp and unconscious child.

Later, at home, Tyler asked, “Daddy, why a cow kick me?”

“Well, Tyler, you know how when we see a fly near our food and we tell it to go away and wave our arms at it?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Well, when you touched the cow’s leg, it tickled him a little bit. He didn’t know you were a boy because he couldn’t see you. The cow thought you were a fly and tried to kick you away. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“My cheek ouchie. Why cow hurt me?”

“Why did I just tell you, buddy?”

“Cow think I a fly.”

Swimming and snake wrangling

June 11th, 2010 | Posted by Joe in Bad parenting | camping | family | photos | Tyler | video - (6 Comments)

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You’ve already seen a glimpse of the third day of our camping trip on the last Wordless Wednesday post. Two very substantial things took place on this day, which I’d like to share with you now.

Early in the afternoon, while Tyler was napping, I took Delilah for a walk. She seemed pent up, so I wanted to take her to a secluded area where she could run free and burn up some energy. We had a great time walking running through the woods, and through the marsh (which I found purely by accident). I could have taken Delilah back to camp covered in mud. I actually wanted to, so I could show off the fun we had. The problem was that Delilah crashed into me while running around. This was while I was snapping off some landscape pictures. She knocked my foot off of the fallen tree that I had presently been perched upon. When said foot contacted the earth, it promptly sank eight inches into warm black mud. This, my dear friends, was unacceptable. Next stop, the lake.

I share a trait with Delilah in that neither of us can swim. I promise to write about my reasons later. Delilah just thrashes around. This day, our third day of camping, Delilah “got it” and simply started swimming.

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Later, my step-dad (Ganpa) and I had just finished a little fishing and were walking up a hill when he brought my attention to a snake slithering by. Minutes later, Ganpa was (nervously) driving us back to camp while I tightly gripped a thirty-six inch snake in my hands. I looked down to see blood on my hands. Resisting the urge to drop the snake, and likely cause Ganpa to send the truck careening into the lake, I carefully inspected my hands as the snake redoubled its efforts at escaping my grasp. I began to suspect that the snake was poisonous and had injected me with an anesthetic-like venom, because I didn’t feel any pain. Just as I processed that thought, the snake performed a barrel roll in my hands and I spotted a wound on its tail. It appears to have happened recently, but I know I didn’t do it, so I just made a mental note to scrub my hands later.

We arrived at camp seconds later, and I beckoned Tyler to me. Ganpa was able to get some video before his batteries died and caught me being an evil daddy by scaring Tyler with the snake.

In case you don’t have 2 minutes to spare to watch the video – really, you should watch the video – you can forward to the one minute mark to watch me scare Tyler with it.

Tyler helped me release the snake a few moments later.

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Tyler then decided to make like his daddy and set off chasing the snake. AND CAUGHT IT!

He held it up by it’s tail and said, “Lonnnng.”

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Then, he held it with both hands and STRETCHED it. I was preoccupied with laughing and taking pictures, so my mom (Gamma) had to tell Tyler it wasn’t nice to stretch a snake.

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For reasons unknown to all of us, Tyler then put the snake up to his neck like it was choking him.

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Afterward, Tyler set the snake free and we all went back to camp. The fearlessness of my son amazes me and warms my heart.

Come on, Tyler! Daddy’s hungover!

April 24th, 2010 | Posted by Joe in Bad parenting | Tyler - (8 Comments)

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Tyler can open doors. Tyler’s aunts and uncles think this is great. Tyler’s grandparents think this is a testament to his intelligence. Tyler’s parents are terrified. We try to always keep our exterior doors locked, but that doesn’t mean we always remember to do so. I attribute it to the fact that, even though we live in a great town, I grew up in a town where you damn well better lock your doors. But, what about those rare occasions that we forget to lock our doors? Doesn’t Murphy’s Law require that to be the day that Tyler walks out of the house while I’m in the shower? This is why people have grey hair.

This past Sunday morning, my sleep was disturbed by the sound of Tyler’s door being SLAMMED shut. I glanced at the green glowing numbers on the alarm clock. It was early, but not too early to be awake. Unfortunately for me, I enjoyed a strong gin and tonic just six hours ago. Unfortunatelyer for me, I went to bed just five hours ago. Unfortunatelyest for me, I couldn’t roll over and plead with Sarah to get up with Tyler because she was out of town.

So, I did what any parent whom had a strong drink (or two) the night before and was currently operating on five hours of sleep would do. I closed my eyes and hoped that the situation would resolve itself. Then, rattle rattle rattle SLAM, followed by the thump thump thumping of a toddler’s feet across his floor and to his bed. Shocked and confounded by my good luck, I instantly let myself fall into a doze. I knew it wouldn’t last long and resolved myself t- SLAM!

I closed my eyes tighter. I knew that there was no longer any chance of Tyler being a good little boy and going back to bed so that his ever-so-slightly hungover, and extremely tired daddy could continue his sweet, sweet slumber. But that sure as hell didn’t stop me from hoping. As I lay there, I heard Tyler’s incredibly sweet and innocent voice coming from directly next to me.

“Hi daddy.”

Headache and exhaustion be damned, I opened my eyes and smiled at Tyler. “Hi, bug. Do you wanna snuggle with daddy for a minute?”

“Yeah,” Tyler replied as he tried climbing into the bed.

I pulled him up and put my arm around him. Fifteen minutes later, Tyler climbed down from the bed. I asked where he was going.

“Nigh night. New bed.”

“New bed” is what Tyler has been calling his bed since we converted it from crib to bed. It’s adorable.

“Okay, buddy. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Tyler answered, “okay buh-dee.”

My little angel of a son gave me another thirty minutes of sleep before waking up for good.

A Father’s Guilt Over Imaginary Monkey Poop

February 5th, 2010 | Posted by Joe in Bad parenting | family | irrational dad | milestones | poop | potty training | Tyler - (9 Comments)

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Potty training is not, as they sometimes say, “in full swing,” but we’re working on it. We’re at the point that Tyler knows to run his little ass as far away from us as possible when we see that he’s pooping and ask him about it. When asked, he provides no hesitation in telling us that he does not want to use the potty. So, for better or for worse, right or wrong, we’ve resorted to bribery to get Tyler to plant his butt on the potty. Personally, I don’t agree with using candy as a reward, but, well, that’s what we’re doing. Let’s face it, Joe, it’s not always about what you want. It’s a hard realization, and I’m coming to terms with it. All I know for sure is that if we don’t put on a united front, Tyler will conquer us.

When Tyler tries on the potty (a few minutes, at least. None of this sit-down, stand-up, done that he has attempted to pass off as “trying”), he is rewarded with one M&M candy. If he, um, produces results while on the potty, Tyler gets two M&M candies. If you’ve read my previous post, you already know that Tyler tries to convince us that he gets two candies just for trying.

A couple days ago, I was doing dishes in the kitchen, while Sarah slept upstairs, because it was her morning to sleep in. I looked over to Tyler, who had fallen uncharacteristically silent, and saw the tell-tale face. Bulging eyes… Red cheeks… Slightly opened mouth… Stern concentration…

“ARE YOU POOPING?! Let’s go use the potty!”

“NO!”

Tyler turned and ran from the kitchen, shouting, “NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!” He’s a quick little booger, too! I didn’t catch him until he hit the dead-end of the baby gate that led upstairs to the safety of his sleeping mommy.

I picked him up and put his butt to my nose, sniffing. Aww, shit, I thought. I took a moment to both appreciate the irony of that thought, and to wonder when exactly I got to the point of it being second nature to smell my toddler’s butt to check for poop.

I carried Tyler into the bathroom and we talked about where we need to make our pee-pees and poo-poos. He had all the right answers to my inquiries. Upon being asked, he told me he didn’t want to sit on the potty and frankly, I didn’t see the point in making him do so anyway.

“Okay buddy, but you don’t get candy if you don’t try.”

“Ah-ah…. poddy.”

“Do you think Ah-ah needs to use the potty?”

“Yeeeeah.”

We placed Tyler’s monkey on the potty and read a couple books to him. After finishing the second book, Tyler jumped up and yelled, “Candy! Two.” It came out more as “Kaynd! Doo,” but the parental translator that seems to have been implanted in my skull understood perfectly.

I told Tyler that Ah-ah was a good little monkey for making poo-poos in the potty, and would get two M&Ms for doing so.

“Yeeeah,” Tyler yelled while running into the kitchen.

Using slight-of-hand that would never fool the eyes of an adult, I gave Ah-ah two pieces of candy. All the while, Tyler slapped his chest, shouting, “TyTy! TyTy! TyTy! TyTy! TyTy!”

“I’m sorry, Tyler, but you didn’t use the potty. Ah-ah gets candy for using the potty, but not Tyler.”

An immense level of guilt descended and came to rest on my shoulders as I said those words. I’m giving fake candy to a fake monkey for taking a fake dump, and I’m rubbing Tyler’s nose in the fake stink of it.

Recently, I’ve been working with Tyler on faces. He loves making a happy face and a surprised face. Yesterday, we started making a poo-poo face. It’s just as it sounds; we make the face Tyler makes when he’s pooping. a few nights ago, while making poo-poo face for me and Sarah, Tyler peed in the potty! He was so excited (as were we)! Tyler started running in place, clapping his hands and shouting “I DID IT!” and “YAY!”

Then, he suddenly fell silent, looked at Sarah and yelled, “EMM EMM!”

“Yes, Tyler, you get two M&Ms for using the potty!”

All things being said, I’ll call it a success. I still feel guilty about gving Ah-ah candy and shunning Tyler. I’m glad that I didn’t get all hunter/gatherer on Sarah, pound my chest and refuse to hop on the M&M bandwagon with her (yes, I’m eating my words over here. OM NOM NOMNOM). Most of all, I’m hoping this is the last box of diapers we have to buy for Tyler.

Update after writing but before publishing this post:
Tyler has peed in the potty three times, lots of times in his diapers, and twice on the carpet. I don’t know who’s winning, but progress is progress.