The life and times of an irrational father. One man, multiple personalities.
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January 8th, 2010 | Posted by Joe in Bad parenting | conversations | family | joe | laughing | Sarah | Tyler - (9 Comments)

Picture of Tyler and Delilah

I love my son. I swear I do. Every day, I tell myself that I could not possibly love him more than I do at that particular moment. Then the next day, I realize that I love him more than I did the day before.

But he can really annoy the hell out of me sometimes.

Over the holidays, I was off work for two weeks. Sarah and I alternated sleeping in and waking up with Tyler. We spent entire days just lounging around, playing, and relaxing. Interspersed with these times of zen were periods of chaos, which is to be expected during any holiday season. Me being at home gave Sarah the opportunity to have a bit of a break from full-time, non-stop parenting. A break that she needed and deserved. A bit to her chagrin, Tyler also thoroughly enjoyed my sudden availability. On a few occasions that Sarah felt the overwhelming desire to give Tyler a hug, or read him a book, he shunned her in favor of me. So, while I know that she loved having me around, the flash of green that sparked in her eyes a few times did not go unnoticed. Quite the contrary, because I can relate.

My return to work Monday was an adjustment for all of us. Although I talked at length with Tyler about it on Sunday, telling him that I had a great time but that I had to back to work the next day, and although he said “yeah” at all the appropriate moments, signaling that we were on the same page, I get the impression that my eighteen month old little man didn’t fully grasp what I was conveying to him. Maybe I should have just said “Daddy work morrow byebye luh-loo.”

It also didn’t help that, due to both work and treacherous roads/weather conditions, I had to spend a night away from home on my first week back. Tyler hadn’t seen me in forty-five hours after having me at his disposal for two weeks. That’s like 8 months of separation, in toddler-years, right?

When I got home – after six hours of white-knuckled driving, mind you – and had given Tyler my undivided attention for the better part of ninety minutes, I made the mistake of thinking I could talk to my wife for a moment or two. Tyler turned his attention to driving his little police car on his road-rug, so I started to tell “HI” Sarah about “HI” my “HI” long day “HI” when Tyler decided that “HI” he absolutely HAD to “HI” talk to me “HI” again. I tried to “HI” talk over him “HI” and continue my “HI” conversation with “HI” Sarah when I finally “HI” had to “HI” bend to Tyler’s will.

“Hi, Tyler. How are you?”

“Ashdin.”

“Oh, did your truck get into an accident?”

“Yeah! Figgst.” He jumped up and ran to his toybox, returning with a tiny toy wrench.

“Are you going to fix it? Yes, good job, Tyler. You are fixing the truck.”

“Yeah,” he said as he pretended to tighten a bolt on the tire. When he finished, he went back to playing. Me, unable to be the better man, unable to just let things go and attempt to finish my conversation with Sarah, waited until he was well into playing with his car. Then, I decided to poke the sleeping bear.

“HI HI HI HI HI HI HI HI,” I said in my best try-to-be-as-annoying-to-Tyler-as-he-was-to-me voice. It worked, too. He turned to look at me.

“HI,” I said again.

Tyler replied flatly, without even a hint of humor, “Done.”

Why you little shit, I thought. Before I could even make an attempt at a reply, Sarah broke into laughter. I joined her. It was good to be home.

Anyone have a spare attitude they can lend us?

November 20th, 2009 | Posted by Joe in Bad parenting | frustration | irrational dad | joe | parenting | Sarah | Tyler - (11 Comments)

Picture of Tyler and Joe

Is it considered inappropriate to tell a sixteen month old toddler that he is acting like a dick, and I would be extremely grateful if he would cease in being a dick? I had a less than fantastic day at work today. I spent hours on the phone speaking with customers, quality engineers, and other people that had no desire in making this a great day. This is after having a miserable day yesterday where my wife got mad at me for asking questions about homemade fingerpaint, and I got mad at her for being mad at me for not being able to read minds. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m diagnosed bi-polar, don’t take meds, and have been dealing with gloomy, cold, rainy, and just generally shitty weather for the last couple days.

When I come home to a delicious dinner that Tyler refuses to eat, yet still says “More more more more more more more dada more more mama more more more,” I just want to scream out YES TYLER! I KNOW YOU WANT MORE EVEN THOUGH THERE IS MORE ALL OVER YOUR *#*@&$ PLATE!

We make excuses for him. He’s teething. He had a short nap. He had a really busy day. He’s teething. He didn’t sleep well last night. He’s teething. The fact is, he’s a toddler that can’t communicate with his parents as much as we both wish he could. He wants what he wants when he wants it, but Tyler just doesn’t have the means to tell us what exactly IT is. Last week, Tyler would say “no” to a question if the answer was no. “No” had one meaning. Today, “no” has multiple meanings. If he’s holding his cup and says “no,” it means Tyler doesn’t want his water anymore. Unfortunately, we didn’t know that’s what he was saying, so he threw a fit about it. God forbid he just set his water down and push it away.

Full disclosure though, it doesn’t really help that Sarah and I are pickers. We pick on each other all the time, and sometimes don’t know when is the WRONG time to pick on Tyler. Tonight, for example, Tyler desperately wanted to wear Sarah’s slippers. Sarah decided to put the slipper on her own foot. Meltdown. In her defense, we have been working with Tyler about sharing, and this seemed like a good time to continue those lessons even though we were already dealing with a tired toddler with maybe less patience than I had. Then he wanted to wear his cowboy boots. Bedtime was approaching shortly, so I told Tyler that he couldn’t wear his boots tonight, and that he’d have to wait until tomorrow. Meltdown. We told Tyler it was time to put away his toys. Meltdown. I looked at Tyler. Meltdown. I inhaled a lungful of oxygen. Meltdown. A butterfly in Oklahoma fluttered its wings. Meltdown.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I said, aloud, that, while I loved being a father, this was not one of those days.

There was a moment that made Sarah and I bust a gut though. We built a tower of mega-bloks (think big Lego blocks). Tyler was in mid-meltdown, so Sarah and I were doing our best to just ignore him. His cries and whines were drilling into my already critically low patience level, sucking any reserves dry. I took some spare mega-blocks and built an airplane. With the power of my imagination, and with guidance from my hand, the plane took flight. It circled the tower and soared the skies. In a moment of desperation, I crashed the plane into the tower, sending blocks scattering across the carpeted floor. I closed my eyes, ashamed that I couldn’t keep my cool just a bit longer. Weren’t we just about at the end of this particular nuclear reaction anyway? Why couldn’t I just hold my breath for a couple more seconds? As I lay on the floor, eyes still closed, Tyler fell silent.

“Mess. Booooom.”

The absolute innocence in his sweet little voice melts my soul. I could never imagine not being Tyler’s father. When he hugs me, kisses me, tells me he loves me, when he runs to me when I get home from work and wraps his arms around my legs saying “daddeee”; when he does these things, I feel so full of love and awe that my eyes swim for a moment. Sometimes I’m so caught off guard by these pure moments that I feel my breath catch and hitch in my chest.

I hope you didn’t come here expecting to laugh your ass off today. I’m a little apprehensive about actually putting this post up for the masses to read, but I guess parenting isn’t all sunshine and lollipops. While I really do enjoy talking about the lighter side of parenting, I also just really needed to get this off my chest.

I’m just not in a good place lately

A conversation about glue

November 6th, 2009 | Posted by Joe in Bad parenting | conversations | irrational dad | Sarah | Tyler - (8 Comments)

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The scene: I’m in the kitchen, cleaning after dinner. You know, loading the dishwasher, wiping counters, the works. Sarah and Tyler are in the living toom, playing with Tyler’s farm animals and tractors.

Sarah: Can the cows go for a ride?
Tyler: Moooo.
Sarah: Hop in, cows, let’s go to the slaughterhouse.

I paused for a couple moments, pondering whether I really heard what I thought I did. I failed in my attempts to think of another word that she may have said that would make more sense while playing with a sixteen month old.

Sarah: You can hop in too, horse. We’ll swing by the glue factory first.

*blink*

Me: SARAH!!!!!
Sarah: *wild laughter*

I walked into the office, so I could document the conversation I just overheard. For blogging purposes. And for Tyler’s psychiatrist in 25 years.

Sarah: Uh oh, TyTy, I think I’m in trouble.
Tyler: Tub.

No Sarah, dear wife, you’re not in tub. Not yet. But I would like to submit this post as Exhibit A, in the event of any future litigation. I just want to make sure my hands are clean when the bailiff calls forward the parties for “The State of Indiana v. Sarah”.  Don’t worry though, Tyler will still think you’re the most beautiful mommy in the world, even if he does have to talk to you through three inches of polycarbonate thermoplastic, and see you in a bright orange jumpsuit.

Impeccable Timing

October 20th, 2009 | Posted by Joe in Bad parenting | irrational dad | joe | Sarah | Tyler - (5 Comments)

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How is it that I can be in a room with Tyler, teaching him words and sounds, playing and wrestling with him, and having a fun and safe time, and Sarah can come into the room at the EXACT moment I am being a bad and neglectful dad? The world can be cruel and perverse in its humor at times.

We have been working with Tyler on “Hi” and “Bye bye,” and play a game that Tyler really loves. He walks out of his room, and turns to face us. “Bye bye, Tyler,” we say to him.

“Buh bye,” Tyler replies while waving.

After shutting the door between us, Tyler knocks on the door and yells in his cute, little-boy voice, “NA NA,” in his best interpretation of “knock knock.”

“Who is it?”

“TY TY,” he yells through the cheap wooden door!

“OHHHH, Ty Ty,” we say while opening the door, “come innnnnn. HI.”

“Hi,” Tyler responds. He come in, gives us a kiss and runs back out.

Repeat, ad nauseum.

Yesterday, Tyler and I were in the living room, football playing on the television, while Sarah cooked dinner. Suddenly, Tyler said “bye bye,” and disappeared from view into the stairway. I extended my farewells and snuck closer so I could keep a secretive eye on him. I watched Tyler pull the baby gate door and close it before yelling out “NA NA!”

We played the game for a few minutes, smiling and laughing and having a grand ol’ time. He would lean over the gate from the second step and kiss me prior to saying our goodbyes again. At one point, he reached for a candle on a ledge. I told him “no no” and that candles are “very HHHHHOT and dangerous.” Tyler pulled his hand back, said “Hhhhhhhaaa” and we continued our fun.

And then Sarah came in the room to see what the score was, and to see what silliness her boys were up to. I explained that the station stopped airing the destruction that the evil Patriots were dealing to the Titans, and was instead broadcasting a more closely matched Bills / Jets game. As I relayed the information, I didn’t notice Tyler leaning over the gate for his kiss. Leaning way too far over the gate. Well, I did notice, but it was too late. Of course, Sarah noticed too. We both watched as his waist created a fulcrum point against the top of the baby gate. His upper body and lower body became opposing ends of a see-saw. Cruel little Disaster Jones sat on one side, and the much nicer, and much lighter, Happy McSafety sat upon Tyler’s legs. I’ll give you three guesses what happened next, and the first two don’t count.

I’d be lying if I told you that watching Tyler upend and flip over the baby gate wasn’t a little funny. Actually, it was a lot funny, but first we had to get to the business of making sure Tyler was going to live before daddy could snicker, snort, and laugh. What made it funny wasn’t THAT Tyler fell, but rather HOW Tyler fell. It wasn’t graceful, by any stretch, but it also wasn’t awkward either. His body remained perfectly straight, as if a board were splinted against him. If the same were to happen to me from an appropriately proportional height, I would have landed in a crumpled heap, with an arm twisted behind my back and my legs in a physically questionable arrangement. With Tyler, it was as if his body simply rotated in the air. It rotated until his hands hit the floor, and continued to do so until he landed on his back, supine, looking up at us with a “was that SUPPOSED to happen?” look on his face. With a cautiously optimistic expression, I looked him over, mostly looking for limbs bent at odd angles. All the while, hysterical laughter danced and tickled at the back of my throat. But he lay there, perfectly straight, perfectly fi–

Before I could even finish my mental prognosis, Sarah scooped him into her arms, asking if he was okay, and smothering him with kisses. The mommy genes kicked in with force.

“Oh, he’s fine,” I said, mentally adding, of course he’s fine, he’s my boy.

And he was fine. Whether from being my roly-poly, pell-mell, tumble-bumble boy, or from the plethora of healing kisses that his mommy bandaged him with, we may never know. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

Bad parenting at its best?

October 1st, 2009 | Posted by Joe in adventures in babydom | Bad parenting | irrational dad | Tyler - (9 Comments)

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There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wonder if the way I’m rearing Tyler is good for him. These concerns of mine weigh heavily on me because I want to be the best father that I can for Tyler, and any of his future siblings[1]. This weight of concern doubles when I see differences in how other parents raise their spawn. While I am aware that everyone parents their children differently, and there’s no single “right way” to do so, there are certainly many wrong ways to raise a child.

Take, for example, the parental duo running one of the carnival games at our county fair this week. This was one of those games where you throw rings at a bowling pin, or some other such nonsense. I avoid all eye contact with that stuff because it will invariably lead to the game runner heckling me to “step up and win a prize for the lady.” Buddy, I’d rather hand “my lady” the twenty dollars it would inevitably take to win a “prize” worth a tenth of that cost, so that she could buy something more substantial than an inflatable tiger. Sarah did look though, and quickly told me to do the same. Roughly four feet off the ground, on a platform where all the prizes lay, stood a Pack-N-Play. Inside the Pack-N-Play was a less than two year year old toddler. A toddler who was wearing no pants. On a 50ºf (11ºc) evening. With 25 mile per hour wind gusts[2]. That, in my opinion, is poor parenting.

We don’t do that. We also don’t let Tyler play with knives, go near the stove, run around in the street, or drive the car unsupervised. In those respects, we’re good parents. I’m a good father. However, there are many other things that I do allow Tyler to do. I explain to him that he needs to be careful because he may hurt himself, but I don’t remove the “danger”.

Allow me to textually paint a picture as an example of something that may or may not take place in our house on a near daily basis. In our living room is a glide-rocker chair that Sarah used to nurse Tyler in. Its companion piece is a glide-rocker ottoman. Tyler would climb onto the ottoman, which would start rocking back-and-forth, then try to climb from that to the chair roughly 18 inches away. Both pieces sway and rock from hither to thither, threatening to drop Tyler, face first, to the floor. Instead of pulling Tyler away and telling him that he shouldn’t climb on the dangerous furniture, I tell him to be careful because he may hurt himself if he falls (which has happened more than a couple times[3]). It’s a weak example, but Tyler’s only fifteen months old. What’s he going to be doing in six more months, standing on the peak of the roof with an umbrella in his hands to act as a parachute?

I don’t want Tyler to fear doing things because I’m the one afraid he may hurt himself. But, I also don’t want him to be completely fearless and do something to severely injure himself.

I just don’t know. What say you?

[1] I say siblings as a plural just to keep Sarah happy. I really only intend on giving Tyler a single sibling.

[2] Yes, for serious.

[3] Resulting in little more than an “oww,” said barely louder than a whisper from the little guy.