The ferocity with which you find yourself loving and protecting your children as a parent goes beyond any primal instinct I have ever felt in my life. There, I said it. Carry on.

I love the smell of curd in the morning!

It is something you forget once your child moves on to eating solids. The tangy, slightly pungent smell of regurgitated milk. It is oddly a comforting smell. It is a newborn smell. Certainly better than what happens when you move on to solids and things get toxic.

The smell is also something that parents can relate to as a “been there, done that” badge of honor for having survived in the trenches. This is the reason you don’t sleep, the reason you lose your mind, the reason you forget everything, the reason you cannot get anything done and yet “it smells like victory.”

Despite all the laundry that goes with a newborn it becomes intoxicating to put your newborn on your shoulder and inhale that first whiff of curd. Even after a bath and a change of onesies there is that cheesy baby breath that hits your nostrils every time they sigh or yawn. You can even see those pieces in their mouth left over from their last burp.

Why am I so enthralled by this I really don’t know? Probably the realization that they are newborns today and toddlers tomorrow. I have flashbacks from my older son’s first months, but not the baby smells. Reminds me of the late great Peter Boyle as Frank Barone sniffing his grandkids because the baby smell is a sort of fountain of youth. Maybe I am crazy and find something as gross as spit up romantic? Maybe it is just the sleep deprivation? What is seen by so many as an unpleasant smell to me brings out warmth and coziness. The intimacy of holding part of you close. It is another living being, but it is an extension of your soul and a piece of your heart. All I know is that tomorrow it will be on to stinky diapers and I really don’t want to write about those so I figure I would put down a few words in honor of the classic “eau d’enfant”: curd.

I am a new dad – again. I get to deal with breastfeeding, poop, burps, spit up and less no sleep. The second time around, though, I realize that the first time was not so bad after all. Newborns really do just eat, poop and sleep. It’s the whining and now jealous older toddler that kills you. I was warned and I read dissertations about it, but as when you become a parent the first time you don’t really get it until you live it. I must premise all of this by saying that I am a lucky man. I have two beautiful and healthy boys and a lovely and loving wife. I had my kids at a time in my life when I was in a good place and was ready (although who am I kidding, you are never really ready for parenthood) to start a family. So for all these reasons I am a happy camper.

Reality is, though, that now it’s just one-on-one. There is no double-teaming my son anymore. He’s got help and no matter how reluctant he may be to have that baby brother around to take away a piece of his pie, he sure loves the added distraction to mom and dad’s vigilance.

It all started a few weeks ago (although my three year old new something was up months ago) when roughly twenty-four hours before we were scheduled to go in for an induction my second son decided he was going to one up his big brother (who was induced) and come out of his own volition.

After a false start we were back in the hospital after only a few hours and chance would have it in the same exact delivery room as my first son. My son also happened to get whisked away to the NICU with me in tow since they were worried he had inhaled some fluid, but it was a false alarm. Sure enough my second son decided that he too must visit the NICU, but this time he wanted yet again to crawl out form under his older sibling’s shadow and stayed there a full week since he actually did inhale fluid.

An earthquake and a hurricane later, we were finally allowed to bring him home and made sure to bring his big brother to the hospital to see him being brought out by myself and the nurse. We wanted him to understand that we hadn’t just bought a baby at the local pharmacy since mom had already come home without a belly or the much talked about baby brother. We even did the whole baby brother gift tactic to smooth things over.

So far I will say there has been no overt Cain and Able moments, but whatever tenderness big brother has shown to baby brother (we caught him reading to baby brother the other day of his own accord) his alter-ego, Big Bad Brother, has stricken down upon us with great vengeance and furious anger. But that my friends is whole other post altogether.

There was a game we used to play

We would hit the town on Friday night

And stay in bed until Sunday

We used to be so free

We were living for the love we had and

Living not for reality

It was just my imagination

(Just My Imagination, Bury The Hatchet – 1999)

I find it amazing how the meaning of lyrics to a song that I have listened to for years can change so drastically. Until recently it was another sappy song about love and heartbreak. Now it has become my parenthood hymn and as another great band sings “time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’”.

So my son is having a full-blown tantrum, what exactly is your problem? I am talking to you old lady. The one shaking her head with that “Oh dear!” look on her face. This is what kids do. Do you think I am enjoying myself? Picking up boxes of cereal off the supermarket floor, or worse splattered produce, is not something I asked for when I walked in with my kid. Listen Blondie. Just wait until you get knocked up and you find burp stains all over that pretty blouse. Think about that while you roll your eyes at me from behind those oversized sunglasses. Am I happy that he keeps pulling up and down the tray table a thousand times before take-off? Of course not, but I am not sure that stuffing him in the overhead bin would stop him from screaming. And yes, I do realize that this business trip you are on, Sir, is considered a vacation from your family, but such is life with a kid (you of all people should know!). Whatever you are thinking in your head is the solution (spanking, reasoning, punishing, pleading…) keep it to yourself because you obviously don’t get it. It’s just not that simple. That’s parenthood and sometimes it just plain sucks. Like right now when my son is spread eagle in the middle of the street kicking and screaming. I deal with it and frankly so should you.

Why does my kid listen to the old lady in the elevator and completely ignores me? That’s more of a rhetorical question in parenthood, but one that I am currently asking often – too often in fact. It’s not so much the ignoring me part because I have learned very quickly that it comes with the territory. It’s the same behavior that the grandparents all react to with the same disdain as they shake their heads and pedantically (petulantly?) state their favorite phrase, “When you were kids you never acted this way…” (yeah right!). Usually this is said over your shoulder as you try to control your kid and his latest rebellious act. It reminds me of my fraternity days when my spite for all that I had to go through when pledging was reversed back onto the new pledges with cutting sarcasm and a heavy dose of jeering at their helplessness and ineptitude – very constructive. Much like kicking someone when they are down except that this is your own flesh and blood doing it to you. But I digress.

Last summer we struggled to get my son to wear his armbands. We tried everything, force, coaxing, bribery, comparison to the older kids, deceit, reverse psychology, you name it we tried it. Then along comes the pimple faced dorky lifeguard and he looks down at our son and says, “Hey buddy! You better put those bad boys on so you can go for a swim.” And yes our son giggling with delight put them on.

What possesses my son to follow the instructions of a perfect stranger? I understand that his early onset rebelliousness is no different than the next three year olds’, but aren’t they supposed to learn “stranger danger” and seek out a parent?!

I have never had to use this much of my brain to outwit, outflank, outrun, out-everything anyone since I was cramming for my SATs and that was multiple-choice.

We have, though, found a quasi-solution. We basically kid swap with friends when we are out at the park or at the museum and find that the ruse works perfectly. If my friend asks my son to take his hand, he will. If he asks him to sit in the stroller, he will. If he asks him if he wants to drink some water, he will. And vice versa their kid will do pretty much anything we ask him or her to do. It’s not perfect, but it’s a Darwinian world out there and parents need to find a way to scramble to the top of the pyramid before their kids do or we’re toast. Wait, what’s that smell?

Why does everybody know how to be a better parent? I’m not saying I am an expert by any stretch of the imagination nor am I Father Of The Year or Super Dad (not even to my kid these days since he is in TT3 mode – aka the Truly Terrible Threes). Grandparents aside (they always think they did a better job with you than you are doing with your kids – it’s in the job description under “How to be a royal pain in the butt!”), everybody else, especially the childless and old ladies with dogs, have all the secrets to child rearing.

How many times does your single friend after asking if you wanted to grab a drink during Happy Hour and “hang out” (and you politely decline) grumble how they will never allow kids to ruin their lives (my twenty something sister-in-law actually told my wife and I without hesitation that she will never lead the “sad” life that we lead – uhm, gee thanks). First of all, parenting has its moments so why do you assume my life is ruined? Second of all, I have to wonder if by “never” you mean you will never have kids and as a consequence not have your life ruined?

A friend recently told my wife and I about a colleague who asked her if she wanted to do a girl’s night out. Our friend declined saying that she was tired and had to get home to her toddler son. The friend suggested that she could go home to tuck in her kid, take a quick nap and then a shower to freshen up and then meet later on. I laughed so hard that it sounded like an elephant snorting (I imagined her waving a magic wand and her child falling instantly into a deep slumber). No words were exchanged, but we all understood each other (if I go home and take a “quick nap” after work there is no way I am getting up again until morning!). The best part about the story is that the son was not even part of the nap, shower and night out equation (sure, no problem, the kid is the easy part).
I sometimes sigh and think back at those care free days and I will admit that I too did not fully comprehend why life should be any different with kids – I just hope I wasn’t that foolish and naïve. And to my sister-in-law I say this: ”We’ll talk again when you have kids!”

I’ve been warned that it would be different. Not necessarily worse, just different. As my son turns three years old the rebellious moments are probably less frequent, but more intense. The tantrums that used to be scattered throughout the day in small burst are now concentrated once or twice during the day, but seem to last an eternity. The stubbornness has intensified and distracting him from whatever seemingly petty issue has set him off becomes more and more difficult. He has learned what buttons to push and the perfect time to push them for maximum returns. Like most wild animals little kids adapt quickly to their environment and learn through their survival instinct how to get what they need (aka what they want at that particular moment) to stay at the top of the food chain. For those of you who know Shrek by heart, he is Puss in boots, using his cuteness as a cunning ruse to catch you flat-footed right before springing his trap. Sucked in by those big eyes and meek manner that he can flip on like a switch you find yourself disarmed as you prepare to discipline or punish him for his latest act of rebellion or worse right before performing such an act.

I always thought I was good, back in my days. When I was a kid I was pretty good at pulling out the whole “do you really thing that a cure thing like me could ever do that?”, but genetics often have a funny way of reinforcing the less desirable strong traits (at least from a parent’s point of view). My wife and I are bracing ourselves and taking solace in a colleague of mine’s story of his teenage son taking his car in the middle of the night during a sleep over with friends and with barely a driving permit among them took off for the nearest town to get a late night snack at the drive thru. It’s good to know that it only gets easier.

This is not the first or last time that I will breach this topic because it fascinates me. Kids really do say the darnedest things and it is not what they say so much as the expressions that gain popularity with each generation. The expressions seem to come from various sources, but all of them tied inextricably to that “decade”.  From salutations to exclamations, the variety is staggering yet only a few truly remind us of when we were kids and even fewer transcend time. They are also heavily influenced by socio-economic background, social trends (i.e. surfers, punks, yuppies, valley girls etc.) and certainly by geography.

In my youth “cool”, “awesome”, “bummer” were the time transcenders, we had inherited them and perpetuated them. We added (although I am sure other generations may argue it originated with them): “take a chill (pill)” “bite me!” “no shit, Sherlock!” “dig deeper, Watson!” “that’s just fugly!” “S’up homeboy?! “no duh!” “totally!” “oh snap!” “primo!” and “why you dissin me?!”. From the Movies and TV we got “eat my shorts!” “whatchutalkinbout?!” “don’t have a cow, man!” “homey don’t play that!” “did I do that?!” and “well isn’t that special!”. The list goes on and on (I am sure you all have plenty you remember growing up) and some expressions I used while others I hated or were just not part of me, but I wonder what my son will pick up and what his generation will come up with in the coming years. I already hear new expressions in the park and at the playgrounds, but it will be impossible to keep up as it was for our parents. I am sure the day will come sooner than I expect that I will use one of “my” expressions and my son will turn to me with a look of consternation and shaking his head will say: “Dad, that’s so lame!” or whatever the equivalent translates to these days.

I just got back from a whirlwind trip to visit my sister and my newest niece in Vienna, Austria and then a few days in Rome, Italy to say hello to the folks and the in-laws. Surviving a long flight is always a challenge and despite stocking up on crayons, cars, books, videos, lots of patience and a seat in the middle there is nothing that will ward of a toddler’s boredom on a plane.

The outbound flight plan was to connect through Rome enroute to Vienna so that the return trip was a less painful direct flight from Rome to New York. Praying that there were no delays that would reduce our already minimal two-hour window in Rome’s Fiumicino airport, we survived the crush of people at JFK’s security checkpoint where apparently people are encouraged to trample families with small children and the elderly. Much like in a video game, the TSA staff gets points for ripping your child’s blankie from them and shoving them through the metal detector as you juggle your shoes, the stroller, the diaper bag, the Ziploc with the diaper cream, the laptop and the carry on we had packed to avoid inevitably losing any luggage when switching planes with different airlines in Rome. I was tempted to use my belt to temporarily lasso my son as my wife and I got dressed again after the metal detector found the iron in our stomach from the spinach salad we ate the night before. “This way!” was his battle cry and it never corresponded to the direction that we actually had to go. Luckily there were plenty of take offs and landings to keep him moderately entertained at the gate until we were mercifully allowed on board first along with all the really rich people. We found a spanking new A330 with seat back touch screens and camera views of what the pilots saw on takeoff/landing and what was below us throughout the flight. My son got bored after ten seconds and switched his and mine off – ever so thoughtful. Take off was into a strong head wind and the fearful silence in the cabin as we bumped along was pierced by my son’s delighted laughter. Soon after reaching cruising altitude and as the stench of airplane food overtook the cabin we took out our packed dinner that was met with shocked looks from our fellow passengers (emancipation always seems to evoke jealously from others, but I digress). When people started settling in to their routines and the lady next to me decided my shoulder was more comfortable than her pillow, a flight attendant showed up with a female passenger and indicated the two empty seats in front of us in the central row of four seats with both aisle seats taken. They then left and as if electrocuted Sleeping Beauty (more the former) bolted from her seat and settled in next to what turned out to be her husband occupying one of the aisle seats in front of us. At this point I was savoring the empty seat that was left next to me and the possibility to stretch out a bit, until the flight attendant came back with the passenger and her young daughter. The exchange went something like this:

Flight attendant: “Madam, I had promised these two seats to this woman and her daughter.”

Sleeping Beauty: “But this is my husband!”

Flight attendant: “I understand, but this little girl is sitting several rows from her mother and is very frightened. Do you mind moving back to your assigned seat.”

Sleeping Beauty: “But this is my husband!”

Flight attendant: “I am asking you ‘please’”.

Sleeping Beauty: “But this is my husband!”

Turning to the man sitting in the other aisle seat the flight attendant asked if he would not mind moving back one row to sit next to me leaving two empty seats for the mother and daughter.

S.O.B.: “No. This is my seat.”

Visibly taken aback by not one, but three inconsiderate schmucks, the flight attendant looked around for other solutions.

I offered that the daughter could sit next to us and the mother could take the aisle seat diagonal from her daughter, but the daughter clung tighter still to her mother’s leg (mental note: shave before talking to kids so as to appear less menacing?).

The mother said: “Some people do not know what it is like to have children…”

“Amen!” I said out loud raising my arm a bit like a reverend.

Sleeping Beauty actually turns around, looks us both over and says, “But this is my husband!”

Luckily a few other good Samaritans volunteered to play musical chairs and finally the mother and daughter were sitting side-by-side.

The rest of the flight was fairly uneventful other than my son falling asleep with only an hour left in the flight and having stripped his seat down to the aluminum frame.

The switch in Rome was surprisingly painless and we got to our gate for Vienna with an hour to spare before boarding. This, of course, gave my son an opportunity to display to the world what a toddler on one hour of sleep after an eight-hour overnight flight and with no afternoon nap the day before can do in an airport. I’m sure many of you have seen it or can imagine.

We reached Vienna after a brief one and a half hour flight and my son’s favorite uncle (my brother in-law) was waiting to take us home. We gladly released our overly excited kid into his arms and even endured a brief tantrum when he left us in the car to pay for parking and my son told us to get out and that he only wanted his uncle. My wife and I were very tempted to comply.

(Next Post in the Series: When in Vienna…)