MetroDad

All Your Parenting Questions Answered...

It never ceases to amaze me how many people write to me for actual parenting advice.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm genuinely flattered that someone would cherish my opinion on such an important subject. In fact, I'm generally just happy when I hear that people are actually thinking about parenting.

On the other hand, I have no background in pediatrics or child psychology. Sure, I've got a semi-popular daddy blog but isn't asking me for parenting advice kind of like asking Hugh Laurie for medical advice just because he plays a doctor on TV? 

Anyway, whenever someone writes me for parenting advice, I usually do take the time to answer them seriously. However, I tend to have a very laid-back approach to parenting so I don't worry about a lot of the little things that might bother other people. On the other hand, I'm also the same guy who read every parenting and baby book ever written in English when he found out he was going to be a father.

I figure that anyone who takes time out of their day to write me a serious e-mail about parenting deserves a serious answer. However, most of the time, these are the replies that I really want to send...

I've been breastfeeding for only a few weeks now and it's extremely painful. Am I doing something wrong?

Don't suck so hard.

Is it true breastfeeding helps you lose baby weight? 

Not really.

I gained about 15 pounds of sympathy weight during my wife's pregnancy. I tried breastfeeding but it felt like I was living off some sort of weird vanilla ice cream diet. I really didn't lose the baby weight until I started eating salad and working out.  

Seriously now, MD. When is a child too old to breast feed?

When they're old enough to ask for it.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a strong advocate of breast feeding but some of those lactation activists need to chill out. I have a friend who breastfed her daughter until she was FIVE. It was unnerving to watch this fully-grown little girl come up to her mother and say, "Mama, may I please have some breast milk? I'm hungry."

Hell, my daughter is four. When she comes up to me and says she's hungry, I tell her to go to the kitchen and make herself a sandwich!

My child is a fussy eater. What should I do?

Nothing upsets me more than when I spend 45 minutes cooking dinner for my daughter and she refuses to eat it.

However, if I've learned one thing in my 4 years of parenting, it's that kids love games. So I made up a really fun game for my daughter. It's called "Eat It or Wear It." Either she eats all the food on her plate or I smush it all over her face. I know it sounds cruel but we've only had to play the game once!

Actually, in all seriousness, there was a brief moment when the Peanut was a fussy eater. When we asked our laid-back French pediatrician what we should do, he said, "Zoot alors! She ees not going to starve to death, n'est-ce pas? Do not worry so much, silly American!"

Despite the fact that the remarks came from a Frenchman, his words actually turned out to be perfect advice. If Peanut starts getting fussy about her food, I don't stress. I just throw her dinner in the fridge and give it to her for lunch the next day. Nobody ever died from skipping a meal or two.

At least not in this country.

My child poops in the bathtub constantly! How can I stop him from doing this?

Ewww. That is so freaking gross. I just got a mental image of that and had to toss my lunch into the garbage. That's the last time I'm eating baked falafel. Thanks!

As usual, I have no advice but I do have a good story...

In the heat of a race, hardcore sailors often piss in their pants so they don't lose any precious time. When they have to take a dump, they just grab the boom, lean their asses over the boat, and just poop over the side of the deck. The floating poop is referred to as a "sea pickle."

When my buddy Stan was a little kid, he once pooped in the bathtub. Just once. That was the only time. However, his dad thought it was so funny, he gave Stan the nickname of "Sea Pickle." Unfortunately, the nickname stuck.

Forty years later, Stan is not only a grown man but also the head of a major European media company. He speaks four languages fluently and has thousands of people reporting to him. However, every time he goes home to his parents, none of that matters.

He'll always be mommy and daddy's little "Sea Pickle."

What should you do if your son likes to wear girl's clothing?

Jeez, Dad. That was like 30 years ago. Let it go already. I told you it was just an experiment!

Is it ok to like one of your children more than the other?

Absolutely!

I know it's politically incorrect to say that you love one child over another. They're all "special" in their own little way, right? Bullshit! I've spoken to many parents about this and they've told me the same thing over and over again. Their favorite child, at any given time, is the one who is busting their chops the least.

If I ever have more kids, I intend to rank my love for them on a daily basis. I'm going to put a big chart up on the kitchen refrigerator and have them all compete to see who earns the majority of my love. All kids love a little competition, right?

Heck, I'll even give them pep talks to boost their morale. "C'mon, Mikey. You're in third place. You've got to step it up big time! Let's go, go, GO!"

How do you know if you are ready to become a parent?

I've said it a thousand times on this blog already.

Parenting is the most important job on the planet next to keeping Lindsay Lohan off the nation's highways. If you're not sure you're ready for it, you're probably not. That doesn't necessarily mean that you'll ever feel truly ready for being a parent but if you're thinking that "the whole parenting thing" might cut into your Tuesday-Friday bowling league or those weekly binge-drinking nights down at the pub, you might want to hold off before pulling the goalie.

Parenting is hard work.

It's not a part-time job. You're either in it or you're not. In order to be a good parent, you've got to commit as much time, love and wisdom as you possibly can to these tiny humans. Even when they're screaming their heads off and redecorating their bedrooms with flying poop, you've got to keep your cool.

After all, let's face it. Kids are a lot of responsibility.  I often think that some people should start off a little lower on the responsibility ladder before working their way up to having a kid. You know, start off getting something a little easier, like a job. Or a dog.  Or three days sober in a row. And then, if you can handle that, work your way up to the care and responsibility of another human being.

Look, I'm not saying that I'm a perfect parent but I like to think that I can stare between the stars into the blackness of heaven and say with a smile on my face, "I'll do anything and everything to be a good parent."

When you can say that, you're on your way towards being ready for parenthood.

Almost. 

First, get yourself a copy of "Finding Nemo."  Watch it 50 times. Pour spoiled milk all over your favorite shirt. Trash the inside of your car so it looks like a war zone. Wipe your boogers with only a finger. Eat all your meals standing over the sink. Now deprive yourself of sleep for about a year.

Ok, NOW you're ready!

Quick Poll: Children used solely for entertainment purposes

My constant need to amuse myself has caused me many problems over the years.

Like the time when the beautiful BossLady was 8 months pregnant. One night, as she was going through her closet and lamenting the fact that none of her clothes fit her anymore, she suddenly took a few steps backwards. Without even thinking, I started making the noise a NYC bus does when backing up. Beep! Beep! Beep! Sure, I slept on the couch that night and was in the doghouse for about a week but you can bet your ass I was giggling to myself the entire time.

Then, there was a time back in high school when I had a brilliantly absent-minded teacher who was constantly misplacing his belongings. It was so funny watching him get frustrated that whenever I walked by his classroom and saw that it was empty, I'd quickly run in and hide his lunch. Even when another teacher warned me not to do it again, I couldn't help myself. It was like an involuntary reflex. To this day, the mental image of him finding his lunch stuck inside a globe still cracks me up.

I find myself unconsciously doing this with my three-year-old daughter all the time.

Lately, the Peanut has been in non-stop question mode. Usually I'm fairly patient with her but sometimes I'm busy so I just reflexively snap off absurd answers to her without thinking. Last week, I stuck her in front of the television and put on "Free Willie" so I could get some work done. When she asked me what "Free Willie" was about, I hurriedly told her it was an updated morality play about two absurdly co-dependent friends: a boy who needs a whale and a whale who needs a boy.

I often forget the implications of speaking to her like that until we're out in public and I see her interacting with other people.

• Last week, one of our neighbors asked the Peanut what she wanted to be when she grew up. My daughter's deadpan reply?  "I'm going to be a greeter at Wal-Mart."

• When her little friends at school start dancing, the Peanut doesn't join them. Instead, she jumps in front of them and starts singing, "Shake shake shake, Shake shake shake, Shake your booty! Shake your booty!"

• And lately, whenever she has to go to the bathroom, she grabs a newspaper, sticks it under her arm, and announces to everyone that she's "going to the office." 

I have to admit that those things crack me up. Why wouldn't they? After all, in a simplistic way, aren't I merely putting my words into her mouth?

Don't get me wrong. There are times when I briefly worry about how my strange sense of humor is going to affect the Peanut. Will she be marked as "the weird chick" in high school? Will this cause her to be withdrawn and reclusive? Will that mean she'll have a hard time forming relationships and will never get married?

Then I remember how much I hate it when people blame their personal failures on their parents.

Quick side note: Is it me or have we become a country of ragged recidivists addicted to the belief that parents are to blame for all our personal shortcomings? This drives me insane. Too fat? Mommy must have mistakenly thought food was love. Anger issues? Daddy was always busy at work and didn't have enough time for you. Body issues? Blame it on that time Aunt Ruthie made you take a bath with her. Spare me!

Anyway, when it comes to passing on my sense of humor to the Peanut and using her as a form of entertainment, I've come to accept that when push comes to shove, I'm going to go with funny every single time.

After all, isn't one of the greatest benefits of parenthood being able to use our kids solely for entertainment purposes? How else can you explain the fact that my mother sent me to school having a bowl haircut, wearing green corduroys, packing smelly Korean food for lunch, and cruising a girl's bicycle with a wicker basket and a banana seat?

Shit, despite the embarrassment, even I think that's pretty funny.

Anyway, I mention all of this because BossLady and I have recently been discussing Halloween costumes for the Peanut. Last year's costume was perfect because she was so into "Annie." But this year, we're thinking of dressing her up in a costume solely for our own entertainment and we came up with an awesome idea. In fact, BossLady and I think the costume is so uproariously hilarious that we've completely lost perspective on the idea and can't stop giggling whenever we think about it. That's why we're turning to you, internet. Please give us your honest answer.

Is it funny or just plain wrong to dress the Peanut up as an underage Chinese Olympic gymnast?

An inquiring mind wants to know...

Use Your Words: How We're Raising a Nation of Pussies!

Walk into any playground or classroom in America and the most common phrase you'll hear parents and teachers say is "Use your words!"

I hear this phrase EVERYWHERE. Essentially, it's a mantra that enforces the idea that children should never hit or push one another. Nonviolence should be practiced at all times under every circumstance. And there is no problem that cannot be solved by open communication.

Want to know what I think? I think it's a bullshit mantra that only helps raise the next generation of pussies.

You want to know what I teach the Peanut? That actions have consequences. That one must always take responsibility for one's own actions. That words are sometimes not enough. And that, frequently in life, people need to be taught tough lessons.

Don't get me wrong. My daughter is a sweetheart. She's kind. She's caring. And she's extremely empathetic. I don't encourage her to go around indiscriminately hitting people. However, I do teach her not to take shit from anyone. Whenever another child pushes her, I tell her to politely tell that child that you don't like being pushed. But if he does it again, she has my full permission to shove his ass to the ground as hard as she can.

I guess the parenting mantra I'm trying to reenforce with her is, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."

Because I'm such an easy-going guy, people are often surprised when they hear my philosophy on this subject. Last week, I was at daycare with the Peanut when an older boy came over and grabbed a toy out of the Peanut's hand. When she kindly asked for it back, the boy pushed her. The Peanut then turned to the boy and said, "Please don't push me. I don't like being pushed."

The boy's mother witnessed the whole thing and gently admonished her son, saying that it wasn't nice to push one's friends. What does the kid do? He hits the Peanut and pushes her again!  Before the boy's mother can do anything, I calmly turn to my daughter and say, "You know what to do, kiddo."

The Peanut immediately runs up to the boy and shoves him so hard, he falls down on the ground. Predictably, he starts bawling his ass off. The mother looks at me with shock and yells at me, "how can you tell your daughter to push my child?"

I calmly reply, "My daughter very politely asked your son to stop pushing her. You yourself told him to stop pushing her. And what does your son do? Not only does he push her again but he also hit her. Do you think your way was working?"

At this point, I turn to the boy and say, "Are you ever going to push the Peanut again?"

Still choking back tears and clinging to his mother, he says "No. Never."

Five minutes later, the two kids were hugging each other and playing in the toy kitchen.

I don't know why, as parents, we've become so overprotective of our children. We coddle them. We hover over them. We don't allow them fail or to learn life's lessons on their own. And most importantly, we fail to discipline them. It's almost as if we're afraid of doing so.

As I said earlier, the most important lessons I want to teach the Peanut are that (1) actions have consequences, and (2) you should always accept responsibility for your actions. Somehow this seems to have faded from our nation's consciousness.

Look around us and you'll see adults everywhere who no longer hold themselves personally responsible for anything! From the adult who sues for wrongful termination because the employee manual didn't say that Xeroxing your bunghole was against company rules to the politician who blames his embezzling funds on the fact that he had an undiagnosed allergic reaction to mangoes, you'll notice that we've become a nation of pussies.

Don't you think it's because we're raising our kids to BECOME pussies?

Back when I was a kid, you learned your lessons the hard way. If you mouthed off to the wrong guy, you got your ass kicked. You sucked it up and walked it off. Nobody gave a rat's ass about your self-esteem or your gentle demeanor. You made a decision and that decision got your ass kicked.

That's an important lesson to learn in life, don't you think?

Are You An Asshole Parent? Take the Quiz!

Last year, Vanity Fair published a hilariously satirical article imploring readers to measure their Asshole Footprint. In the hopes of improving overall life on the planet, they offered a questionnaire to help individuals determine the size and breadth of their footprint.

Personally, I've often felt that the best way to reduce the toxic increase of assholes on this planet is to make sure that certain people never breed. Unfortunately, my lobbying efforts for mandatory targeted sterilization have been blocked by virtually every government on the planet. Some nonsense having to do with Human Rights. Whatevs.

My latest solution to the problem is to help asshole parents identify themselves. In the same manner that many completely humorless people (especially bloggers) think they're hysterically funny, many asshole parents have no idea how douchey they really are.

To help them out, I've come up with the following quiz.

While it's ok to answer "yes" to some of these questions, if you reply affirmatively for six or more of them, you're very likely an asshole parent and it is incumbent upon you to take urgent measures immediately:

FOR WOMEN

(1) Have you ever bought your 4-year-old a $500 Marc Jacobs cashmere hoodie?

(2) Are you constantly trying to impress your children's friends by being "the cool mom?" Does being "cool" involve dressing inappropriately for your age, drinking alcohol with minors, or referring to your daughter as "your best friend?"

(3) Have you ever mocked the frazzled new mom at the playground dressed in old sweatpants that are covered in breast milk and jelly?

(4) If a fellow patron comes by at a restaurant and inquires whether your children can be a little quieter, instead of apologizing for disturbing their meal, do you snap back and retort, "Don't tell me how to raise my kids!"

(5) Do you have business cards for your mommy blog?

FOR MEN

(1) Do you refer to having young children as "doing the parent thing"?

(2) Have you ever pointed at a breastfeeding woman and said to your buddies, "How'd you like to suck some milk out of those hooters?"

(3) Have you ever picked a fight with a ref during your kid's Little League game? Ever filed a formal complaint against a coach because your kid didn't get enough playing time? Have you ever heckled  a little kid on an opposing team? 

(4) Do you make your wife drive a minivan while you drive a two-seater convertible?

(5) Have you ever "smacked some sense" into your kid's head?

FOR BOTH MEN AND WOMEN

(1) Are any of your children named CoCo, Sage, Prince, Aurelius, Apple, Cat, Bryce, or Keegan?

(2) Have you ever joined a church or temple solely in order to get your children into its affiliated school?

(3) Have you ever flown your kids to summer camp in first-class, a private jet, or a helicoptor? Does your kindergartner have an iphone? Does your teenage daughter drive a Lexus?

(4) When having dinner out as a family, do you let your kids play PSP or gameboys?

(5) Does your minivan have custom rims and flames painted on the side?

HOW TO BE LESS OF AN ASSHOLE PARENT: SOME TIPS

(1) Go to the cancer center of your local hospital and spend the afternoon reading books to the kids.

(2) Donate all of your kids' used toys, clothes and books to charity. One child's junk is another's treasure.

(3) Stop referring to your kids as "rugrats."

(4) Quit drinking beer and smoking cigarettes in front of your kid.

(5) Learn to apologize for your kid's behavior. A simple "sorry" goes a long way.

PURCHASING ASSHOLE PARENT OFFSETS

There are a variety of agencies and organizations whose missions nobly uphold the tenets of anti-asshole parenting. Here are a few where your donation would be welcome:

The Make-A-Wish Foundation

Boys & Girls Clubs of America

Children's Defense Fund

National Center for Missing and Exploited Children

St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital

Obviously, the above quiz is a joke. I'm sure there are tons of people out there who would qualify me as an asshole parent for half the stuff I do. However, is it me or has there really been an increase in the number of asshole parents who seem to be loose on the streets these days? Or do all of them just live in my neighborhood?

Anyway, feel free to leave your own examples of asshole parenting. Either ones you've witnessed in person or are guilty of doing yourselves!

It Takes a Village: Questions for Other Parents

How many times can a grown man watch "The Sound of Music" with his daughter before he completely loses his sanity?

What are the future ramifications if a young girl watches "The Sound of Music" 43,287 times between the ages of two and four? Will she want to move to Austria? Pursue a career in child services? Abandon a career in the nunnery?

Why do toddlers feel compelled to unravel an entire roll of toilet paper? Is the fun in watching it unroll or in watching your parents go completely bonkers?

Is baby perfume really necessary? Febreeze and scented baby wipes seem to work just fine for us.

If you are otherwise happy with your nanny, should it matter that her cellphone's ringtone is Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar On Me?"

McDonalds Happy Meals: Ruthless case of aggressive fast-food marketing? Or greatest parenting tool ever?

If a little girl in the playground keeps pushing your adorable daughter to the ground, is it acceptable to give her an eating disorder? Or should I just confuse her by threatening to kick her in the nuts?

Is it wrong to feel completely smug and self-righteous when your kid is the only one not screaming and crying during the entire 5-hour plane ride?

Am I the only one who listens patiently to other people's boring parenting stories, waiting until they're done so I can tell my own boring parenting stories? 

By constantly telling kids to "use their words," are we raising the next generation of wussies?

Why would anyone let their pre-school son get a mohawk? Is life just not that interesting for him anymore? Is he rebelling? Against what? Vegetables?

Wait a second. High fructose corn syrup isn't just like corn? Uh-oh.

Why does everyone freak out about potty training? Do you have any adult friends who "just never quite got the hang of it?"

Anyone have any tips on how to get my toddler to take a bath? These nightly battles are driving me crazy. I'm thinking about throwing Happy Meals in the bathtub to entice her. It makes me feel like a lion tamer.

At what age do children learn to carry their own tissues and blow their own damn noses? I'm getting really sick of reaching into every single pair of my pants and pulling out a half-used snot-ridden emergency tissue.

Has anyone else gone into an important client meeting and taken out their laptop to do a PowerPoint presentation, only to find it covered with 50 Cinderella stickers?

Is it really possible for a human being to greatly enjoy a food but then one day decide never to eat it again? Or is that done solely to drive one's father insane?

What lasts longer? That fresh new baby smell or that fresh new car smell? I'm just wondering because my car still smells pretty good but my daughter's feet smell like vinegar.

Why do the worst tantrums always occur in the most public spaces with the most number of spectators?

The screaming and the whining. Does it EVER end?

Your answers to any of these questions are greatly appreciated. Feel free to add your own. Sometimes I think it really does take a village.

Bad Parenting & Child Abuse: Let's Make a Deal

Between our gubernatorial scandal, the crane collapse, the Sean Bell shooting, and the demise of Bear Stearns, there is a lot of bad news filling the local headlines here in New York.

However, for some reason, I find myself obsessed with the tragic story of young Nixzmary Brown, the 7-year-old Brooklyn girl who was systematically starved, abused, tortured, and beaten to death at the hands of her own parents. Every article I read about her has me in tears.

According to her own father's confession, both parents hit Nixzmary repeatedly with a belt, dunked her head in cold water, and used duct tape and bungee cords to tie her to a chair. A litter box was her toilet. The young girl was completely emaciated and, at her death, weighed 37 pounds (roughly the weight of a child half her age.)

The fact that a parent can inflict such pain on their own child is beyond my realm of understanding.

The scary thing is that one need only watch the local news anywhere in the world to hear these horrible tales of abuse. Nationwide, the trend has gotten so bad that there are websites solely devoted to documenting cases of child abuse.

I don't know about you guys but there seems to be a shocking rise in the incidence of child abuse on this planet and I think it augers for the end of the world.  

Look, to a certain extent, I understand man's inhumanity against their fellow man. I don't believe we'll ever see a world without war or conflict. At a purely macro level, human beings are violent creatures intent on seeking conflict with others.

At the individual level, I also get the fact that occasionally people are going to brush up against another individual and hey, their life must end. That doesn't make it acceptable but, at some level, I think we all understand that transaction. As Dennis Miller once said, we're all big boys and girls and we dig our own graves.

But when did we start taking it out on innocent children?

How about we all join in making a little pact with one another?

You've got to promise me that if you ever get to the point in your life where you are so puzzled, confused, and frightened that you feel that the only way out is to abuse or molest a little kid, well then, you have got to fucking kill yourself. You've got to bite the bullet and take one for the team.

Do we have a deal?

Because honestly I can't think of anything worse in the world. What compels a person to take out their anger on a mere child? And how can people do that to their own children?

I get the fact that raising a kid is damn hard work and can often be an exercise in futility. I've frequently thought that parenting is the greatest test of man's patience since Job.

There are times when I've spent an hour cooking my daughter her favorite dinner and she's tossed it onto the floor in a rage of fury. I've walked into her room to see that she's painted the walls with poop. We've gotten into more fights about bedtime than I thought were even possible. She seems to have her most extreme meltdowns at the most inopportune times imaginable. And don't even get me started on how many books of mine have been destroyed because the Peanut ripped out the pages, stuck them in her mouth, and said to me, "Look, Daddy! I'm chewing gum!"

But see, that's where the true test of parenting begins.

When you can stand on the brink of chaos, teeter on the verge of insanity, want to throw yourself off a building and still look at your kid and say, "God damn, I'd do anything in the world for that little munchkin"...then you're ready to be a parent.

Almost.

Run out and get yourself a copy of "Finding Nemo." Watch it 50 times. Pour some milk on your favorite shirt. Now deprive yourself of sleep for about a year.

Ok, now maybe you're ready.

Fresh Tracks

When I was seven, I told my mother that I wanted to learn how to ski.

Like most immigrants new to the country, my mother had never gone skiing before in her entire life and, at the age of 33, didn't feel compelled to start learning anytime soon. However, she was adamant in her desire to expose me and my brother to everything this country had to offer.

After doing some research, my mom found these discount group tours that would take us to the mountain and provide ski lessons. I remember how she'd wake up before sunrise in order to pack breakfast, lunch and snacks. Then, the three of us would get into this giant bus with a bunch of strangers and drive for several hours to the mountain. While I was in ski school, she would sit inside the lodge all day with a book and my little brother by her side.

Those early bus trips fostered my deep-seated love for skiing. Since then, I've been fortunate enough to ski at more than 50 different mountains in four different countries. I love it.

For a city boy like me, there are very few things in life more enjoyable than waking up early, putting on my ipod, and skiing by myself in the great outdoors. I love the peace and quiet. I love the solitude. I love the thrill of challenging yourself to overcome your fears. And besides, what's more fun than writing your name in pee on top of a secluded mountain?

Ever since the Peanut was born, I've been waiting to get her up on skis.

In fact, ever since she could speak, I've been working on getting her excited about skiing. If she asked me whether skiing was fun, I'd always reply, "Well, do you like chocolate cake? Ice cream? Penguins at the zoo? Staying up past your bedtime? Skiing is just like all that stuff...but even better!"

So, after waiting all season to find the right weekend, I finally decided that I was going to take Peanut skiing for the first time this past Sunday. Although at 3.5 years of age, she's still a little too young, I wanted her to get in a couple of days skiing this season so she could start getting really excited about it.

Fast forward to Sunday morning.

The night before, BossLady and I had gone to a friend's dinner party for his 35th birthday. It was an intimate gathering with a few close friends. However, my buddy counts among his close friends Sting, P.Diddy, Josh Hartnett, Dean Winters, and several other recognizable names. The dinner was totally bizarre and I think I ended up drinking half a bottle of vodka. I vaguely remember an extremely drunken conversation with P.Diddy, where I ended up giving him a man-hug and saying, "keep doing what you're doing, man."  I'm lucky his bodyguard didn't beat the crap out of me for being such an idiot. Oh well.

Needless to say, I woke up early Sunday morning with a massive hangover. The last thing I wanted to do was get in the car, drive two hours, and give the Peanut ski lessons. All I wanted to do was die a slow death or eat bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwiches all day in front of the television.

But then suddenly I got the image in my head of my mother waking up before dawn so that her oldest son could learn how to ski. She didn't even like skiing and was doing everything possible to allow me to learn.

How could I not do the same for my own daughter? Selfish bastard!

I popped out of bed, swallowed about 10 Advils, and then jumped in the car with the Peanut. Three hours later, she was up on skis for the first time in her life. She was so tiny compared to all the other kids. And although there was one occasion where she had a mini-meltdown, she eventually started having a great time and was soon tearing down the mountain yelling "Yippee!"

She loved riding on the "magic carpet."

And hitting her friend C on the head while wearing helmets.

When we got home, she was so excited about having gone skiing that she wouldn't shut up about it. First, she talked BossLady's ear off over dinner. Then, she demanded on calling my brother and my parents to tell them that she "went skiing for the first time by her big-girl self." She even wanted to call all her teachers and friends at home to tell them about it.

Honestly, I don't know who was more excited: me or her. It was so amazingly cool to see my daughter having so much fun skiing for the first time. I felt like I'd been waiting for this moment forever and it only served to remind me about how many things I want her to experience during the course of her lifetime.

As the old bumper sticker says, "Life is short. Carpe Skiem."

.
What activity are you dying to do with your kid? Now or when they get older? And for parents of older kids, did you always find your children receptive to sharing some of your interests? Or were they like, "Pshaw, old man. Camping is for losers."

 

Apropos of Nothing: 3 Thoughts on Fatherhood

SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

I am a man well suited for the modern era.

I'm excellent at cocktail party conversation. I have a wicked backhand. And I can make my own sushi.

However, because of those traits, I thank God every day that I wasn't born a caveman. Living in a society where premiums were placed on brute strength and hunting skills would have been difficult for me. Unless I did something drastic like invent fire, I imagine my days as a caveman would have been extremely short-lived.

As the old joke goes...the lion may be the undisputed king of the jungle, but airdrop him into Antarctica, and he's just a penguin's bitch.

Why am I bringing this all up?

Because my daughter is a million times tougher than me. Seriously, she's like from the old country or something.

Unlike her coddled father who requires a steady supply of sinus medication and cashmere blankets to make it through a winter, my daughter is a freaking beast of a human being. She's never cold. She runs faster than Marion Jones on steroids. And I've seen her bounce straight up after taking hits that would crumple a professional rugby player.

And in her 3.5 years on this planet, she has NEVER been sick!

Until now.

Sure, she's had the occasional fever. And a few times, we've had to keep her out of daycare. However, everything she's ever had, she's recovered from within a day or two.

However, ever since Saturday night, the poor Peanut has been sicker than hell. She's had a terrible fever. She's been diagnosed with strep. She's completely lost her voice. And until yesterday, she couldn't even keep any food down in her system.

If it were me, I'd be crying for my mommy and e-mailing all my friends to visit me on my deathbed.

My daughter isn't complaining a bit. She just sits there and toughs it out. Sometimes, it's almost scary how tough she is.

I look at her and I now know what it means when they say certain traits skip a generation. My father is a tough motherfucker. He was physically abused by his parents in Korea until he ran away from home as a teenager. He survived for years as a street urchin, sleeping outside in the snow without a jacket or even a blanket. Later, he got shanghaied into the U.S. Army and even bullets couldn't slow the man down. The Army was so amazed by his toughness, they gave him a Bronze Star.

I used to look at myself and be amazed at the fact that such toughness could leave the gene pool in the span of a single generation. But now, looking at my daughter, I see it never really left in the first place.

Oh well...tennis, anyone?

IT'S THE ABRIDGED VERSION, DAMMIT!

Over the course of the Peanut's lifetime, she has often favored one parent over the other. In the past, BossLady and I used to joke about it. Whoever was most favored at the time could frequently be seen running around the apartment naked, yelling "I'm number one! I'm number one!"

However, with great power comes great responsibility.

The person with Most Favored Parent status is adamantly required to put the Peanut to bed every night. No substitutions are allowed and no one else is permitted into the bedroom. These rules are strictly enforced by the Peanut.

For the past 6 months, I have been Numero Uno. At first, I was completely excited and honored. I hadn't been #1 in almost a year. It almost felt like I'd won an Academy Award. Every night, Peanut and I would go to her room at precisely 8:00 pm. I'd read her books for half an hour. We'd talk about what we were going to do on the weekend. And then I'd lie down on the floor next to her until she completely fell asleep. By the time I'd left her room, it could sometimes be as late as 9:30 or 10:00. Ridiculous, right?

Now, I don't read her books anymore. Or stay in her room. I've got the whole bedtime routine down to under a minute.

What's my secret?

Abbreviated stories and Starburst candy. My daughter will do anything for a Starburst. Natch, make that 1/4 of a Starburst.

Now, at 8:00 pm, we go into her room. I turn off all the lights and I say, "Once upon a time, there was a girl named Cinderella who lost her shoe and became a princess. The end. Go to bed."

Then, like a lion feeder at the zoo, I toss a few pieces of Starburst on her bed and run out of the room.

I know I should feel guilty about this but, shit, American Idol comes on at 8.

FLATTERY WILL GET YOU EVERYWHERE!

What the hell happened to manners in this country?

I know I've riffed on this a million times before (and maybe living in New York makes it worse) but there are times when I find myself gripped by an overwhelming desire to smack our entire country upside its collective head.

You can't get out of the subway in the morning these days without some idiot trying to spawn upstream into the train while everyone else is trying to get off.

Don't even bother sneezing in an elevator anymore. Instead of having people proffer a kind, "Bless you!," you're more likely to hear them utter, "Better not get me sick, asshole!"

And to the lady in my office building the other day?  When I hold the door open for you, the correct reply is "thank you," not "I got it myself."

I always swore that if I was only going to teach my daughter one thing, it would be manners. I don't care if she never learns how to read a single book. She's going to be the best-mannered functional illiterate in the whole damn country.

So far, everything is going according to plan. For a 3.5-year-old, the Peanut is unfailingly polite. I couldn't be happier.

Lately, she's learned the concept of "the compliment."

For those of you with toddlers, it's a fascinating phase. In the adult world, flattery is a lost art. Compliments have become valueless currency that no longer bear any meaning. However, for little kids, compliments are not only a way of being polite but also a manner in which to express their love or admiration.

And because we see kids as being wholly honest and forthcoming, we always take their compliments to heart. We then praise them for being so nice. However, this creates a cycle in which the child seeks praise so she doles out compliments constantly. It can be cute but it can also be annoying.

The other day, Peanut was in full-compliment mode. Those are nice jeans, mommy! Hey daddy, I really like your sweater. This is the best spaghetti ever. You're such a good daddy. I really like your boots.

Blah, blah, blah.

I really started tuning her out when she began complimenting the dog.

However, right before bedtime, she came up to me and said, "Daddy, you have really great hair."

Needless to say, homegirl got two Starbursts that night.

.

You guys have sent in some great banners. Keep them coming. I'll post my favorites by the end of next week and we'll decide on a winner. Thanks.

Sick toddlers are like schizophrenics (but not as cute!)

The Peanut has been sick as a dog for a week. How do I know this? Many reasons but mainly because while sleeping in our bed the other night, she lifted her head, threw up on my face, and whispered, "I think I'm sick, Daddy."

By the way, I'm no scientist but I'm pretty sure that toddler vomit is composed of asparagus pee, gorganzola cheese, dirty socks, and week-old Indian food. I've gone through 3 bottles of Kiehl's Pineapple Papaya facial scrub and I STILL can't get the vomit smell out of my skin. WTF?

Anyway, being that we live in such an egalitarian household, BossLady and I have been taking turns staying home with the Peanut.

Now, let me ask you something---did any of YOUR fathers stay home with you when you were sick?  I'm not sure whether it's cultural or generational but my father NEVER stayed home with me when I was sick. I don't think he even would have known what to do with me. He probably would have made me do homework while he practiced putting in the living room.

Peanut and I had a fun time together while she was home sick. However, during the course of the day, I've come to learn a lot about sick toddlers. Want to know the most important thing I learned?

They're fucking crazy!

One moment, we'd be cuddling up together on the couch under a blanket and watching "Happy Feet" for the 8 millionth time. Two minutes later, she's screaming her head off at me.

I tried to transcribe the snippets of conversation that came out of her mouth today. Here's a brief compendium:

"Daddy, I love being cozy with you. You're number one."

"I DON'T WANT A SWEATER, WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO PUT ONE ON ME, I WANT A JACKET, NO, NOT THAT JACKET, THE OTHER JACKET, WHY ARE YOU TORTURING ME? ARE YOU BLIND? DEAF? STUPID? GO AWAY! I HATE YOU! WAAAHH!!!"

"This soup is yummy, daddy! Thank you so much for making it for me. I love you soooo much."

"I HAVE TO PEE RIGHT NOW, NO, I CAN'T WAIT ONE SECOND, FORGET YOU, I'M PEEING AS WE SPEAK, IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT, I WANT MY MOMMY, I HATE YOU DADDY, I'M GOING TO PEE ON YOU AND WHILE I'M PEEING, I'M GOING TO SCREAM AS LOUD AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE! WAAAHH!"

"I like staying home with you. Can we do it again tomorrow? Maybe mommy can stay home with us? Want some of my ice cream, daddy?"

Seriously, sick toddlers are like Sybil, John Nash, and Syd Barrett all rolled up in one.

Personally, I think Peanut is just pissed because I kicked her little three-year-old ass in Scrabble. She's really cute but she's got the vocabulary and spelling skills of a chipmunk. Shit, half the tiles she threw down weren't even facing upwards. Does she think I was born yesterday? There are only two blanks in the entire game and she's throwing three of them down in a single turn? Nice try, kiddo.

She really got pissed when I started doing my touchdown dance and sang my version of Queen's "We are the Champions!" Little did she know that I'm the Scrabble Master!

Before I had a kid, I swore I'd never tank and lose games to him or her on purpose.  I hate seeing parents prop their kids up with false self-esteem. These days, it seems kids get praised just for putting their sneakers on the right feet. Shit, my dad never let me beat him in anything and he never showered me with false praise. And look how well I turned out!

Just kidding.

Was I too cruel? Do you let your kids win in games?

In other news...

(1) Whenever I'm sick, I crave some old-school Korean ox tail soup. I made a huge batch for the Peanut the other day and she loved it. While eating the meat, she asked me what it was and I stupidly replied "a cow's butt." Needless to say, there are probably no funnier words in the English language to a 3-year-old than "cow's butt." I'm a freaking idiot.

(2) When my friend Leah Peah interviewed me and asked me to confess a secret, I joked that when it’s late at night, I pour myself a drink and watch re-runs of “Extreme Makeover” so I can cry myself to sleep. Well on Sunday night, I found myself watching the show. It focused on a single father raising 5 sons by himself in the 'hood. None of the kids had beds. Food and money were tight. The father had suffered two heart attacks. And despite all the hardship, the dad still managed to found a community group focused on helping other single dads. There was so much love in the house and the episode was so touching that I found myself bawling elephant tears into my scotch. Man, fatherhood has really made me soft.

(3) RIP Norman Mailer.  I was fortunate enough to have met you several times over the years. You were always so gracious that it always threw me for a loop. I guess I expected your reputation as a tough guy to precede you. But you were a bear of a man, a hell of a writer, and one of my all-time literary favorites. There will never be another writer like you. You'll truly be missed. Screw the haters!

There Can Be Only One!

As I've mentioned here before, during the first year of the Peanut's life, I was The Man! 

To my lovely little daughter, I was the living embodiment of Christmas, Elmo, and an all-you-can-eat ice cream buffet.

When she woke up in the morning, she demanded that I be the one who got her out of the crib, changed her diaper, and dressed her.  When she hurt her knee at the playground, it was me that she always came running to.  When she was hungry, only I was allowed to prepare her dinner and feed her.  And every moment of every day, all she ever wanted to do was hang out with me.

But back then, it was easy to win her affections.  I was the funny guy who would stuff baby carrots up his nose just to keep her entertained.  I was the one who would make yarmulkes and beards out of the bubbles in her bathtub.  And I was the one who would run around the apartment with my boxers on my head just to hear her giggle. 

But after her first year, I dropped in the standings.  BossLady was #1, the nanny was #2, and I was a distant third.  When we switched the Peanut to daycare, I thought I'd move up to the #2 spot but I was quickly displaced by one of the Peanut's teachers.  Damn!

Now, although I have a vicious competitive streak, I would never try and compete with the BossLady for my daughter's affections.  As l've said before, if parenthood has taught me anything, it's that everything I do is for the benefit of my daughter.  So, once again, I realized that I needed to change my perspective and alter my way of thinking.  I couldn't allow my competitive spirit to manifest itself. To paraphrase Mikhail Baryshnikov, "I do not try to parent better than anyone else. I only try to parent better than myself."

So, if the Peanut loved BossLady more than she did me, so be it.  C'est la vie.  I wasn't going to try and compete for her affections and I was just going to have to learn to accept that, in her own little way, the Peanut loved me too. Mature, eh?

Well, internet, I'm proud to say today that...I'M NUMBER ONE!  WOO HOO!  THAT'S RIGHT, AMIGOS!  NUMERO UNO!  WHO ROCKS THE PARTY?  I ROCK THE PARTY! NUMBER TWO IN YOUR PROGRAM, NUMBER ONE IN YOUR HEART!  I'M THE MOTHERFLIPPPING RHYMENOCEROUS!  HEY!  HO!

Ok, so I admit it...

A part of me had a hard time dealing with the fact that the Peanut loved BossLady more than me.  It wasn't that my little girl didn't shower me with affection.  It's just that whenever the BossLady showed up, the Peanut would go bonkers!  I felt like one of those stay-at-home-moms who deals with unruly toddlers all day, only to see them turn into little angels when daddy walked in the door from work. 

Heck, after all, I'm the one who prepares all of the Peanut's meals.  I'm the one who takes her to the playground every day, brings her on bike rides around the city, drives her out to Coney Island for the amusement rides, and takes her to the water park all the time.  Why shouldn't I be #1?

Anyway, I know my time as #1 is probably short-lived but I thought it would be fun for the Peanut and I to celebrate my newfound status over a few ghetto dogs this afternoon. 

Jacket and tie optional.

Meanwhile, I just caught the end of a funny commercial promoting some new sitcom.  In it, the father leans over to his son and says, "You know how they say parents love all their kids the same?  Well, you're in third place.  Better step it up!"

For some reason, I thought that line was hilarious. Do any of you pull that stuff with your kids?  And do you find yourself competing with you spouse over your kids' affections?  Consciously or sub-consciously?  And what about you childless folks?  Surely, you have a favorite niece or nephew, right? 

An inquiring mind wants to know...