Tell ‘em what he wins…
If you immediately thought of a car then you are spot on. My son has reached that two-year-old milestone – he’s car obsessed. Not the “I like cars.” obsessed, but the “I need to see cars, ride in cars, eat and sleep in them, I have to park them exactly as I want to, don’t move them once they are exactly how I put them, if I hand you a car you have to telephathically know exactly what to do with it or you are in for what I like to call ‘tantrum lighting round’ and make sure that I don’t catch you trying to put my cars anywhere other than in the middle of the dark room where you will certainly step on them and kill yourself falling backwards – I have to love ‘em and squeeze ‘em and call ‘em George” kind of obsessed. Raise your hand if your little boy has never done this… Anyone?
So aside from the suitcase of cars that we brought with us to Italy and the boxes of cars that the relatives already had prepared for him upon arriving he also was constantly hoarding other kid’s cars (his cousins’, the neighbors’ etc.). I caught him trying to stuff an actual FIAT 500 into his pocket in the parking lot.
The first thing he says in the morning after screaming “Daddy Milk, Please!” directly into my ear is “Macchina! Macchina!” (car in Italian). We spent hours during our vacation in the parking lot with him running to each and every single car (there were 63… yup I counted them) pointing at them and delightedly declaring with a genuinely surprised twinkle in his eye: “Oooooo Macchina! Che bella…” as if it was the first time he saw it. You all have those goofy smiles on your face, don’t you? Probably thinking to yourself: “Aww well isn’t that the cutest…” What about me?! That’s right. Does anyone give a rat’s ass that I had to spend 12.5% of each day of the last three weeks (about 3 hours) in a freaking parking lot looking at the same cars over and over and over again? Well, someone should because I sure feel sorry for myself.
That was not enough, though, to satiate his hunger for cars. He wanted, nay, needed more. Like a Rhesus monkey looking to earn his next banana (or whatever the lab gives them for figuring out a puzzle) he parks his toy cars either in an “S” or in perfect rows. He drives them around and then parks them. Do not touch them lest the little monkey gnashes its teeth and lashes out at you! If you are unfortunate enough to pass by during this operation and he feels that he needs an assistant he orders you to ”Sit, Daddy!” and now you are in trouble. He passes you a car and you dutifully place it next to the other parked cars at which point you are berated “No!” and he swats your hand. OK. So maybe I do a lap with the car and then try to park it? “No!” Right. So how about driving it up my arm? “No! No!” Relax. How about under my leg, around my back, hop on one foot, flap my arms, over my head and park it? Silence. He hands me the next car as I feel sweat starting to trickle down my back.
Just when you think you’ve gotten the routine down you board a plane with even more cars than before and pray that he will just play quietly and sleep for most of the flight. Well it turns out that he does just that, but he will need a volunteer from the audience. ”Daddy?”. Yes? “Macchina!” Right. Over the head. Under the arm. Behind… “No!” Under the arm and then over the head? “No!”
Needless to say the flight was a good nine hours and only when the pilot announced our initial decent into JFK did my son finally fall silent and hand me another car.
I’ve become that grumpy old man…
They bump into you. They yell, scream and sometimes curse just inches from your ear. They push you aside as they chase each other around. They even yank things out of your hand. Never once uttering an “excuse me” or “sorry”. They are just plain rude and obnoxious. These are today’s kids. I call them GEN-LS or Little Snots (to avoid using a harsher term).
Spanking, I am told, is passé, but this generation may change people’s minds. I know, I sound like the grumpy old man that lived next door when “we” were kids and started every sentence with “when I was your age…” and ended à-la-Dangerfield with “… no respect I tell ya!”
It is our fault. It is not the networks, Miss Smith the 1st Grade teacher, global warming, the fact that they are bored (isn’t part of our job description to entertain them?) or any of the other excuses churned out by everyone to pardon the absolute lack of discipline amongst our youth. And the crisis is global or rather as far reaching as the places to which I have traveled. Nor do I exclude the possibility of my own kid becoming a GEN-LSer himself (how objective of me!).
So what are we doing wrong? Do we lack the patience of our parents? Is it the lack of physical discipline? Are we abusing the easy way out (i.e. videos, cookies, gifts etc.)? My folks will get a kick out of reading this. I can just see them nodding their heads and smirking (especially my mother) at this confessional with that annoying air of grandparenting superiority. As Bill Cosby said, “these are not the same people I grew up with… they are old and want to get into heaven now!” They are retired as parents and can just sit back and criticize our every decision and at the same time destroy – in mere seconds – months of painstaking parenting by handing their grandchild whatever they want knowing that they would never have given that very same thing to their own kid (a.k.a. you). They have a way of imparting obvious parenting advice using the prefix “when you were kids, I never…” at the worst possible moment (i.e. in the midst of a full blown tantrums, while trying to change a writhing child’s diaper, while restraining a screaming kid from pulling down all the cereal boxes from the store shelf, while deciding with your wife or partner how best to handle a situation etc.) and looking surprised and somewhat upset when you snap back at them with a curt “not now!” The more I look at kids today, the more I think our parents are right, though. In the end, they did their job as parents (each with varying degrees of success) and guided us through life to get to the point where we too are now supposed to do the same with our kids. And yet I see a collective failure.
I am sure there are plenty of exceptions and you are probably reading this saying “that’s not my kid.” I know, I certainly don’t think it’s mine, but again that is just me being completely not objective. Overall, though, and for many reasons that merit a separate discussion, we are failing our kids in discipline and it may just be that we are too tired or have gotten too lazy and complacent, but it is to their ultimate detriment.
Ironically, this has occurred at a time when more two parent families are benefiting from a far greater active participation by the dads. This should mean that children have two parents from which to take their cues and from which to learn “right from wrong” on a more consistent basis. So are we dads the bad influence? Do we just confuse things for the kid by sending mixed signals? Are we poorly coordinated with our significant other? The answer, as always when this dad is involved, is “I don’t know.” I can just keep putting my best parenting skills out there based on how I grew up and how I became a (fairly) responsible adult. I think I grabbed the right map, but looking around me I worry if I, like many of the other parents around me, should double check to make sure that we are holding it the right side up?
The sound of silence…
There are a few moments in the busy day and life of a parent in which you might find yourself alone. Usually, for me, it is while I am in transit between point A and point B. I may take a side street to avoid the cacophony of the larger and more frequented streets that are everywhere in New York. The hustle and bustle suddenly subsides and I might actually hear a bird chirping and hear the leaves on a tree lined street rustling. No cars are hurtling by and there is no one to bump into as I make my way down the street. If the sun is shining I sometimes stop to enjoy this moment. It is rare, but precious – like anything that is teetering on the edge of extinction. The loneliness of the moment is quite intoxicating. I can hear my thoughts. I can hear my breathing. I can remember what it was like when I was not a father and had time to just do absolutely nothing if I so chose. And then I turn the corner and plunge back into my life – my now. I do miss those moments, but I miss them because I am in a better place right now. I have my own family to go home to with a son who yells “Daddy!” when I open the door and hugs my leg. Just that moment is enough to make me survive the craziness that is being a parent. I can only appreciate the silence now that I can no longer have it on demand, but no longer really need it to function. One of the many contradictions of parenthood that I live without regrets.
A lifesaver without the hole…
As soon as the words “diaper change” come out of my mouth, a flurry of “No! No! No!” is left hanging in the room as my son scurries off to the farthest corner of the apartment he can find. This is followed by what, to the outsider or uninitiated (a.k.a. non-parent), may seem like an idyllic scene of father chasing around his son who shrieks with delight at the game. Look a little closer and you will notice the grimace on the father’s face and a mixed expression of amusement and apprehension on the son’s. After a couple of fakes around the dining room table I can usually grab my son and immediately cup the back of his head in my hand as he makes his first evasive maneuver by going completely limp. I accompany his head to the floor as he tucks and rolls away all the time yelling “No! No! No!”. He then attempts another mad dash while wiggling his whole body to get me to release my grip. As I scoop him up he attempts his most daring and dangerous move – the backwards somersault. It’s certainly an Olympic moment as he tries to push off, arms forming a perfect “Y”, his back curving backwards and his head snapping back for momentum. This is followed by a quick lurch forward with head hurtling back towards my face. I have learned to move my head to avoid contact after the first few swollen lips, but my reflexes are not what they used to be so I find that I must start the motion while he is still executing his back flip. Given his strength and purpose I really should pile drive him into the changing table and knock the wind out of him to settle him down, but he’s a kid or so the little voice in my head tells me in the heat of the moment, so I attempt to lay him gently onto the table – flailing arms, splayed legs and all.
Now comes the hard part. He does not want to part with his sopping wet stinky diaper. No Sir. And he tells you that in no uncertain terms: “No! No! No!” while pushing your hands away and holding onto his diaper as he does with his beloved blankie. This is where it gets tricky. He barely fits on the changing table and so his sustained struggle to maintain possession of his stinky diaper is causing him to teeter on the edge and to threaten falling off the table. Even a solid forearm and elbow pin cannot stop him these days (left arm and elbow slanted across torso while left hand unfastens and fastens the diaper and also secures the ankles for the lift and tuck). The right hand works feverishly to wipe, remove stinky diaper, apply cream, replace and fasten a new diaper. All of this while avoiding direct contact with the stinky part of the diaper. When the wriggling is too intense contact is, unfortunately, inevitable. And to think of how worried I was when we first brought him home two years ago. My main concern then was how do I change his diaper without breaking him?
We are at a point now where diaper changes – for everyone’s safety – must occur on the floor. This gives him unlimited roll around range so the traditional changing pads are practically useless. This is bad news for our rugs since stinky diaper stuff transfers so easily. I have, though, found a pad that is a lifesaver in more ways than one. I recently met Grace, the inventor of the patemm changing pad. It seems so simple and yet she’s the only one who thought of a round changing pad. For my current diaper change situation it’s perfect and I will say that I wish I had found it sooner because it would have saved me a lot of grief. Just to be clear it is not an ultra-portable pad, but the padding and the configuration are, in my opinion worth it. There are plenty of patterns to choose from as well as laminated (for the spill prone) and non-laminated cotton versions. For the patriots, the pad is Made in USA. For the worrywarts, the pads are free of lead, phthalate, latex, BPA, or formaldehyde. These are durable pads that will grow with your kids until they no longer need diapers so you will only need to make the purchase once unless you are a shopaholic or want to make sure you have different colors to match all of your diaper bags. The patemm pad has certainly cut down the diaper change time for me from 30 minutes to 20 minutes which these days is another small parenting victory.
My son has a nose fetish
I’m not going to say I’m worried, yet. My son, though, really, really, really likes rubbing stuff under his nose. I think you could easily classify it as an addiction. If he was an adult I might call friends and relatives for an intervention, but since he is only two years old I think I’ll hold off and see where we are in a few years.
His favored fix is blankie. He starts with a slow pass of the satin border under his nose. Eyes half closed. Slow inhale. Left to right. He then does a quick back and forth pass and his eyes go wide and wild. You can see that he has taken his first real hit and his body gives a little shudder. He then continues passing it under his nose systematically and in a continuous flowing movement from left to right and right to left.
There are three distinct moments during the day when the ritual repeats itself with different results. In the wee hours of the morning (unfortunately for us) when he wakes up and announces that he wants his milk “Mo’… Milk… Pleez!”. Once he has inhaled his first glass he retrieves blankie and much like a cigarette after coffee he runs it under his nose closing his eyes and reveling in the seemingly long lost pleasure of the act (although it was only a few minutes since his last fix). This goes on for a few more minutes until he is satiated and announces that he is ready to start his day by sticking a finger up my nose or in my eye while excitedly yelling in my ear: “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”, baffled by my reluctance to acknowledge his presence.
Then there is nap time which occurs when his playing and running around reaches a crescendo that culminates in a total lack of coordination as he runs giggling down the hallway towards a closed door while looking behind him or straight at a tree as he streaks across a stretch of green in the park. My wife or I must then pluck him up in mid-stride and in the same motion stick blankie in his hands just as he starts to protest. He goes limp, longingly runs the edge of the blankie between his fingers and then buries his nose in the plush with a sigh – falling asleep instantaneously.
Finally, evening comes around (never soon enough on those high-maintenance days) and after his evening bath he gets his “I’m so sleepy” laugh which is accentuated by his jelly legs that keep him stumbling around as we get him ready for bed. The blankie and pacifier are like a warm glass of milk. The nose rub is now slow and deliberate. The eyes flutter and close. All is good.
When is the Boogeyman coming?
My son has recently started dreaming. Actually, I would say he has always dreamt, but now he acts them out much more emphatically. He twists and turns and yelps and mutters and jolts and you get the picture. I wonder what he dreams about. I used to think (since he was always smiling) that he dreamt about milk – lots and lots of it. Now I would have to include cars, trains and gelato (or giallolo as he likes to call it). When, though, should I expect the Boogeyman to show up?
I can’t really recall when he showed up when I was growing up. I do, though, remember building the stuffed animal fortresses around me in bed or leaping into bed to avoid the hand that I was sure was going to reach out and grab me from below. My best bodyguard was Big Ted a stuffed teddy bear that was worn by my sister and my affection over the years. I would have him by side in bed and always make sure that he was between the closet and me.
I also had two sets of cultural Boogeymen to deal with (Latin and Anglo-Saxon), as well as a vast library of children’s books on the subject such as Where The Wild Things Are, There’s a Nightmare in My Closet and most of the untouched-by-Disney Brother Grimm tales. The only book, though, that I found often mixed into my dreams because it was itself a far-fetched dream sequence as well as a kid’s dream of baked goods was Sendak’s In The Night Kitchen (and to this day is one of my favorite children’s books) in which the cooks acted like Boogeymen. In my dreams I can vaguely remember not only escaping, but turning the tables on them.
I can’t say that I was really scared by any of these books, but they certainly did not lend credence to my mother’s assurances that there was no such thing as the Boogeyman or monsters under my bed or in my closet. On occasion I would, in fact, crawl into bed with my folks or wake up my older sister so she could share in my misery as the night shadows turned into fantastical creatures looking to make a midnight snack out of me.
I hope my son keeps smiling and laughing in his sleep, but if he must think of monsters I hope he gets the better of them like Max or unmasks them as scaredy-cats like the ones hiding in the closet.
Looking good kid…
A few weeks ago, I worked my way across SoHo towards the now trendy Lower East Side. Tucked away in one of the many loft buildings is an office where a family run business creates some of the most exciting children’s clothing out there.
I was meeting Harald Husum, founder and chief designer of Appaman. A few minutes into the conversation we were already side tracked and talking about our kids and raising them in New York, the challenges of modern daddyhood and then inevitably about his Liverpool and my Roma football clubs (aka soccer). Eventually we were able to get back to talking about Appaman and how Harald, a Norwegian native, was a trailblazer in the children’s fashion industry as it has evolved over the last decade. In relatively few years and from its more humble beginnings as a hip silkscreened kid’s t-shirt shop, Appaman has set the standard for cool kid’s clothing. I find myself very much in sync with Harald’s vision that children’s clothing need not be cookie cutter blues and pinks. In fact, everything Appaman designs you might want yourself if only it came in adult sizes.
When Appaman first started to expand beyond just t-shirts, there was really no one else designing “streetwear” clothing. Many have followed, but certainly Harald is a pioneer. Year after year Appaman has expanded its line of clothing and while I was there talking with Harald I could see the racks of clothing for the Fall/Winter line in the background. As soon as I can, I will tell you more about this line and what you can expect to see in stores soon.
I know that as parents we always worry about our kids growing up too fast and that means tastes in clothing as well. What I find unique about Appaman is the ability to design practical children’s clothing that is just plain cool. Looking back at some of my pictures as a kid I can only wish that Harald had been around back then to liven things up a bit.
I scream, my son screams, we all scream…
Summer time in the city means heat, humidity, park sprinklers and ice cream trucks. Lots and lots of ice cream trucks, on every corner, with their stupid little ice cream truck song. The urban Pied Pippers. The battle parents wage with these dastardly suitors to our child’s mind is nothing new and has been on going since the first Good Humor trucks started rolling around American towns in the 1920’s. In the city, though, it’s a veritable infestation. They descend in droves like city tow trucks on the last day of each month setting up on strategic corners that despite our best efforts we inevitably must traverse.
My son never paid much attention to them since he did not know what was inside. Until grandma decided to offer her cutie pie a cone of soft serve on a sweltering afternoon and everything changed. Now maps must be used and real time satellite imaging incorporated into our daily strategy sessions to find breaching points in the ice cream truck syndicate’s web.
On occasion, our intelligence gathering fails us and as we turn a corner on what we think is a cleared area we find the blue and white monster (Mr. Softee here in NYC) looming over us – its song taunting us just like in the best horror movies. Foiled, we attempt standard evasive maneuvers:
- Out of sight, out of mind – This is the easiest and fastest flanking maneuver. The parent not involved in pushing the stroller steps into the child’s line of sight. This, of course is best combined with the “Oh, look!” tactic.
- Oh, look! – This works to disturb the radio frequency of the ice cream truck’s music. Often used with the “Out of sight, out of mind” tactic, the parent closest to the child swings them away from the offending truck and points upwards at nothing in particular exclaiming in an overly excited voice “Oh, look! It’s a (fill in the blank)”.
- Run for it – usually in the opposite direction.
None of these usually work, but it’s worth a try. Inevitably my son starts to point at the truck and gets all excited until he realizes that we are not stopping. His lips start to quiver and his brow furrows into a frown. Tears starts to streak his cheeks and the whimper turns into a wail as he attempts to eject himself from the stroller. It usually takes several blocks and one parent draped across the stroller to get him to calm down or to distract him again, but the mental and physical (mainly eardrums) damage to parents is irreparable. I’m thinking of starting a support group.
Open Letter To: The Daddyhood Of Men
Dear Dads,
After almost two years of daddyhood I was lucky enough to stumble upon all of you and in the months that have followed I was happy to meet those of you who like me have done the same. I discover new things everyday as I read your writings and appreciate how willing you are to share your thoughts – whatever those might be. The diversity is not surprising and just makes it that much more fun.
I often look forward to taking a break from the daily routine and checking in to see what you are all saying and thinking. There are some of you who make me laugh and nod knowingly, those of you who bring up interesting issues, others offer unknown facts, some of you vent making me smile, many of you dispense advice by anecdote and others still bring different perspectives on some of the FAQs that are common among parents.
What I like about you guys is that you never take yourself so seriously as to sound pedantic. You leave that to others – giving our motley crew fodder for our articles.
No matter what you talk about I always find a great deal of respect amongst you when it comes to the challenges of daddyhood. I think that is unique to us. Don’t get me wrong we have our differences, but in stereotypical male terms these differences, even the more pointed ones, can often be tempered by sitting down at the bar with a beer in hand. Yes, the Neanderthal way that is often mistaken for actual male parenting style is exactly what allows us to still get along as dads and not turn every issue into a cat fight (how’s that for a stereotype?).
I don’t find myself ever trying to usurp my wife’s role as a parent (nor do I want to, quite frankly) and yet, I am constantly reminded by others that the very fact that some dads have taken to writing about their experiences as fathers is a perceived threat. Why? Are we implying that we are the only side of the parenting equation that pulls its weight? Really? I am not being naïve here. I know that there are interests involved online that go beyond thoughts and concepts and are anchored firmly in the economical and material realm. Is it that the slices of the pie are getting too thin? So why not say so instead of making it about who is the better parent?
Ladies don’t be upset, those of you who know me, know well how appreciative I am of your support and our conversation, but allow me this Hallmark moment for the dads. You guys make it fun and real – it’s the reason I write even when I don’t think it matters. That support is hard to come by in life and I thank you.
Sincerely,
New York Dad
Tigers – Tracking a Legend – Father’s Day Family Four Pack Giveaway
For a great way to spend Father’s Day with the family, one lucky New York Dad’s Blog reader can win a Family Four Pack to the Tigers – Tracking a Legend exhibit now open at South Street Seaport. 
Here are some of the fun and interactive educational features you will find:
Talk like a Tiger Interactive – Imitate the unique sounds of tiger cubs, the tigress and male tigers and get feedback by spectrogram showing how they match these tiger sounds.
Electronic Digi-Track Climbing Wall for All Ages – Explore Interactive games using sensory Indian wildlife sounds & moving lights on the hand grips offering different games and degrees of difficulty. Encourage teamwork and fun through physical fitness/coordination. Inspires family & individual motivation by achieving game challenge goals.
Carnivore Capture-Jaws/Claws & Canine Bite Force – Experience the Tiger’s Hunt through a dynamic touch sensory joystick link to animated HD simulation. Canine Bite Force engages visitors to hold onto a racer’s steering wheel feeling the resistance of eight different carnivore canine bite forces.
Inside the Tiger Exhibit – Explore the tiger’s head, heart, chest and abdomen by viewing rare “CAT”Scans on a sliding monitor. Compare a tiger’s anatomy to a human’s anatomy.
Tiger’s Cave and Conservation – Discover the Day in the Life of the Tigress and her two cubs and learn 20 Ways To Save Wild Tigers.
- Go to Tigers NYC website and then tell me what fascinates you about tigers in a comment below.
For multiple entries* you can also:
- Subscribe to New York Dad’s Blog’s RSS Feed
- Subscribe to New York Dad’s Blog using your e-mail
- Fan New York Dad’s Blog on Facebook
- Fan Tigers NYC on Facebook
- Follow @NewYorkDad on Twitter
- Follow @TigersNYC on Twitter
- Blog about this giveaway and share the link in a comment
- Tweet about the giveaway using the following ingredients: @NewYorkDad Family Four Pack @TigersNYC #Giveaway #FathersDay http://bit.ly/aPIspi
*ALWAYS give me a heads up in a separate comment below that you have done so otherwise it will NOT count as an additional entry.
No more entries will be accepted after June 17th, 2010 at 11:59pm EST (date and time stamp on the comment). Open to US readers only. I will select the winner on June 18th, 2010 and they will have until 11:59pm EST to claim their prize.
GOOD LUCK TO ALL!
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UPDATE: GIVEAWAY WINNER ANNOUNCED
CONGRATS TO Wendy! – random.org selected comment #1
My More Dashing Side
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