MetroDad

An Open Letter to All Toddlers

Dear Toddlers:

We love you kids.  Really.  Most of the time you're absolutely adorable.  That little thing you do when you wrap both your arms around our necks, kiss us on the cheek, and say, "I love you, daddy"?  Kills us every time.  We can't get enough of that! 

We also love that you're speaking coherently now.  Life is so much easier now that you can verbalize the fact that wearing green socks makes you go completely insane.  Sorry about that.  Really, we had no idea.  Our bad.      

Seeing your imaginations at work these days has been a blast.  It's unbelievably cute watching you use the remote control as a telephone.  We wish you'd stop hiding it though.  Putting it in the refrigerator was a good idea.  We never would have looked there. 

And who knew you toddlers were so damn funny?  We LOVE that "everything is a hat" routine that you do.  When you wrapped daddy's jeans around your head, you looked like the cutest little suicide bomber this side of Tehran!  And that comedy bit about pretending to eat the dog food is the funniest thing since Eddie Murphy's "Raw."  Really, almost everything you do these days totally cracks us up. 

But, listen up, my little 3-foot friends. 

You're not going to be toddlers forever.  Pretty soon, that "being cute" thing is going to start wearing a little thin.  You're going to need to back it up with some serious substance.  After all, the world is filled with formerly cute kids who couldn't quite cut it at the next level.   If you want all this continued love and affection, you're going to need to raise your game. 

Here's some advice.

1. Enough with the whining.  Nobody likes a whiner.  Trust us on this one (if you don't believe us, ask Michael Moore!)  Seriously, you've really got to cut that out.  It's driving us fucking nuts.  Every time you whine (especially in public,) you make us want to leave you on the side of the road.  Besides, if you lazy toddlers ever took the time to run a cost/benefit analysis, you'd notice that the whining thing almost never pays off.  Service with a smile always works better.  Remember that, kiddos.

2. Make a decision and run with it.  This waffling has got to stop.  You toddlers change your minds faster than Rudy Guiliani changes his politics.  Do you want the freaking apple or don't you?  Do you want to go in the stroller or not?  Do you like looking at the pigeons or do they scare the crap out of you?  You're starting to remind us of that schizo ex-girlfriend from college.  Never a good sign.

3. Knock off the diva routine.  You toddlers have a bit of prima donna in you, n'est-ce pas?  I know you're part of the "ME Generation" but many of you behave like some spoiled actor who starts actually believing all the crap his publicists are telling him!  So knock off the Sean Preston Federline act, kiddos.  We're not rock stars.  We're just regular, working parents. No breakfast at noon.  No ice cream for lunch.  And no 24-hour room service.  Ok?   

4. It's NOT yours.  You seem to have adopted a mantra of "If I can see it, it's mine. If you have it, it's mine. If I think about it, it's mine."  Let me tell you something, kiddos.  You know when all of us leave in the morning, only to return home 8 hours later?  We're at work earning a living.  And while we're firm believers in the "mi casa es su casa" philosophy and don't really mind sharing our things with you, you need to ease up a little, ok?  That Blackberry?  Mine.  Those car keys?  Mine.  The cell phone, the sunglasses, the ipod?  Mine, mine, mine.  Please keep your peanut-butter-and-jelly fingers off them. 

5. Show some gratitude.  There is no clean underwear fairy.  There is no magic pop tart machine.  And vomit doesn't just clean itself up.  We have no problem doing all these things for you.  Just don't take them for granted.  After we've spent the past 4 hours blowing bubbles, drawing Elmo, pushing you on the swing, and wiping the dog poop off your shoes, sometimes we just need to hear a little "thank you" from you so that we don't feel like indentured servants. 

Thanks, toddlers.  Feel free to take all of this advice with a grain of salt.  We really do have your best interests at heart.  Besides, in 15 years, you're going to be begging us to buy you a car and you'll totally be sucking up to us. 

Our advice?  Start now!

Love,
Your parents

P.S. Where the heck did you put my Blackberry? 

Metropolitan Diary

Setting: A restaurant in downtown Manhattan.

Dramatis Personae: Twelve parents, all with children under the age of 3. 

As the delirium of a rare child-free evening is coupled with copious amounts of beer and sake, one of the aforementioned diners subconsciously begins humming the song "Elmo's World" underneath his breath.  Soon, the entire table is loudly singing along like a bunch of inebriated Christmas carolers.  Shortly thereafter, the group is raucously singing the theme song to "Wonder Pets."  John Mayer and Jessica Simpson are sitting nearby and abruptly leave, apparently disgusted by the lack of hipness being displayed at the adjoining table. 

We’re not too big
And we’re not too strong
But when we work together
We’ve got the right stuff

What's gonna work?
Teamwork!

For our next gathering, we plan on singing the theme song to "Bear in the Big Blue House" and "Dora the Explorer."  If things get really crazy, we might even do the dance-floor version of "Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes (Knees & Toes!)

Hipster parents, indeed!

On a side note...remember when you were younger and you couldn't get that stupid song out of your head?  Maybe it was Hansen's "MmmBop" or "Macarena?"  Hell, I remember one time where I almost started hitting my head with a fucking hammer because I couldn't get "I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie woooorrrrllld!" out of my head.  Anyway, is it me or are those annoying songs that fill your head now all mostly kid's songs? 

Because right now, the only music in my head is that duet by Bert & Ernie, "What's the Name of That Song?"  All day long, I'm singing, "La di da di da, La di da di da." 

Send help!

Are YOU a Hipster Parent?

On Saturday night, I was at this tiny lounge in the West Village drinking with a few buddies.  On the couch to my left was Alan Cumming.  Dancing in front of me was Kristen Dunst.  Standing on my other side was Fabrizio Moretti, the drummer from The Strokes. 

Meanwhile, my buddies and I were engrossed in a rather serious conversation about how our relationships with our own parents influence how we raise our own kids.  Also seeping into the conversation were discussions about the costs of daycare, maintaining a sense of balance in life, and moving to the suburbs.

Suddenly, while looking around at all the surrounding "coolness," I thought to myself, "Oh Fuck!  What the hell am I doing here?  Am I a hipster parent?"

As it turns out, I'm just a sucker for a stiff drink and some good music.

But all this debate, controversy and sturm und drang about hipster parenting has made me completely paranoid.  I detest labels of any kind.  Especially when it comes to parenting.  So how could I determine whether I was a hipster parent or not? 

So, in the interest of self-examination, I created this little poll.  Give it a try yourself and let me know what you think:

ARE YOU A HIPSTER PARENT? 

Does your child own any of the following "ironic" t-shirts or onesies?

1. The Clash, The Ramones, or Sonic Youth (add 1 point)
2. Che Guevara or Mao (add 2 points)
3. I make my child's clothing from sustainable materials (add 3 points)
4. No. They don't sell those at Wal-Mart. (add 0 points)

How would you describe your child's sense of style?

1. A miniature version of myself! (add 1 point)
2. Betsey Johnson circa 1987 (add 2 points)
3. Indie rocker meets Bohemian graffiti artist (add 3 points)
4. Baby Gap meets jelly stains (add 0 points)

What is your child's favorite music?

1. Radiohead (add 1 point)
2. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (add 2 points)
3. His own.  He started a rock band with his Park Slope pals (add 3 points)
4. The Wiggles (add 0 points)

What is your child's favorite food?

1. Edamame (add 1 point)
2. Roasted foie gras with a fricasse of cremini & shitake (add 2 points)
3. My child is a Vegan (add 3 points)
4. Chicken McNuggets (add 0 points)

What's your idea of the perfect family vacation?

1. Touring the great museums of Europe (add 1 point)
2. Backpacking in Costa Rica (add 2 points)
3. Volunteering at the local soup kitchen (add 3 points)
4. Building sandcastles at the Jersey shore (add 0 points)
   

My child LOVES coming with me to...

1. Cocktail parties (add 1 point)
2. Concerts at the Liberty Heights Tap Room (add 2 points)
3. Jivamukti yoga class (add 3 points)
4. The mall! (add 0 points)

What is your child's favorite movie?

1. Anything by Michel Gondry (add 1 point)
2. Anything by Fellini (add 2 points)
3. "Manufacturing Consent" (add 3 points)
4. "Finding Nemo" (add 0 points)

What is your child's favorite TV show?

1. The Charlie & Lola Show (add 1 point)
2. The Wire (add 2 points)
3. We don't believe in television (add 3 points)
4. Sponge Bob rules! (add 0 points)

What brand of diapers do you use?

1. gDiapers (add 1 point)
2. Cloth diaper delivery service (add 2 points)
3. I make my own out of hemp and organic cotton (add 3 points)
4. Whatever's on sale at Costco (add 0 points)

What kind of haircut does your child have?

1. A shag (add 1 point)
2. A mohawk (add 2 points)
3. Shaved head (add 3 points)
   
4. Standard bowl cut from Superfine (add 0 points)

How is your baby's room furnished?

1. DWR for Kids (add 1 point)
2. Eames furniture (add 2 points)
3. Homemade crib whittled out of teak (add 3 points)
4. Dirty finger-smudged wallpaper (add 0 points)

What's the WORST thing your child could grow up to be?

1. A corporate drone (add 1 point)
2. An investment banker (add 2 points)
3. A Republican (add 3 points)
4. A career criminal or an ax-wielding sociopath (add 0 points)

.

RESULTS

O-14 points:   Congrats!  You're so down-to-earth as a parent that you're truly alternative!  You aren't trying to desperately hold onto your youth by turning your kids into fashion accessories.  You know that kids should just be kids.  Besides, who has time to worry about all these stupid labels when you've already got your hands full with a household of rug rats, a second job, and trying to make this month's car payment?  You'd love to raise your kids to be socially-conscious humanitarians but, right now, you're busy trying to keep them from burning down the house!

15-25 points:   C'mon, admit it.  You're a little bit hipster.  If you take a step back, you know that you're sometimes a little too trendy for your own good, right?  You're a little too old and a little too square to be a hipster parent but it's not always for a lack of trying.  Sure, the kids love listening to The Cure, but you were secretly hoping that they would, weren't you?  Besides, how could they NOT like them?  You not-so-subconsciously play it every time you're in the Prius, right?  Don't worry, man.  It's cool.  I won't tell anyone. 

26-30 points:   You are firmly entrenched as a hipster parent.  Odds are you live near me in Tribeca or in Park Slope.  You and your kids are best friends.  To prove it, you insist that they call you by your first name!  You are definitely too cool for school and you mock anything that has the slightest whiff of mass appeal or corporate commercialism.  No Disney for you!  Dora is the devil!  Elmo is a four-letter word!

31-36 points:   You practice what I like to call "fascist parenting."  You have foisted your own choices onto your child so firmly that he's wound up tighter than a vise.  Your choices are your child's choices.  And while you think you're fostering free thought, you're really only imposing your own.  Your self-righteousness attitude belies an unforgiving intolerance to other styles of parenting. If your child doesn't grow up to be EXACTLY like you, then you will have failed miserably. 

I hope that most of you realize that the above is all completely frivolous and is meant solely for the purposes of entertainment.  It seems that, when it comes to different parenting styles, people have completely lost their sense of humor.  Everyone is so busy labeling other people that we don't realize that, in doing so, we're passing judgment on others.  Why do so many people care how others raise their own kids?  Don't we have more important things to get our panties in a twist about? 

Look, I think most of us parents are struggling with the issue of how best to maintain one's own sense of identity while raising a child.  We don't want to subvert our own interests and personalities.  Yet, at the same time, having a child is certainly a life-altering event (to say the least!)  How do we reconcile all of this and create a sense of balance in one's life?

Honestly, I don't know. 

Like most parents, I'm just trying to raise my daughter to be a smart, polite, sensitive, caring, spiritual person with her own identity.  Her "coolness" (or my own) is not even remotely a concern to me.  Frankly, the whole topic kind of bores the shit out of me. 

Besides, as Being Daddy once said in an eloquently brilliant post called "The Unhip Parent's Manifesto"...

Parenting is not, and never has been, about being cool. Cool is quite simply not a legitimate child-rearing paradigm. And to hold up it up as such is as silly as parenting according to the principles of phrenology or astrology.

Parenting is the greatest of democracies; anyone can participate. But this stands in direct opposition to some of the very tenents of hipsterism: exclusivity, elitism, superiority. And this seems to be what drives hipsters crazy: the fact that anyone can parent well. The dumb and the smart, the ugly and the attractive. Educated and un-. Democrat, Republican. Liberal, conservative. The hip and the unhip. Male or female, straight and (yes, you conservatives out there who proudly didn't think I was talking to you too) gay. The cool and the pathetic. The lot of them can be good parents - amazing parents. There is no formula for great parenting, no indespensible superficial ingredient.

Because love does not discriminate.

I couldn't have said it better myself. 

'Cause you've gotta have faith, baby

I spend an absurd amount of time thinking about my daughter's future. 

Now don't get me wrong. I'm a fairly laid-back guy so I rarely get myself too stressed out about parenting.  However, there probably isn't a single future event/milestone that the Peanut will ever face that I'm not already thinking about: the cost of pre-school, making friends, belly-button piercings, the SATs, orthodontist bills, shitty boyfriends, college, marriage, career, global warming.

Honestly, the list goes on forever.

Now it's bad enough that I spend so much time thinking about my daughter's future but recently I've started to concern myself with something even further removed...HER AFTERLIFE!

I'm more than a little embarrassed to say that my own experiences with organized religion have been somewhat spotty at best.  I like religion and I'm interested in theology.  I'm just not a big fan of church.  I abhor organized religion's growing intolerance and I'm extremely turned off by the scandals that seem to constantly plague them. In general, I like to consider myself a spiritual man who has always chosen bits and pieces of various religions in order to suit my own personal needs. 

For example, when I was younger, I really did believe that idle hands were the Devil's workshop, so I was constantly jerking off. 

Just kidding! 

In all seriousness, despite the fact that I was baptized and confirmed in a Korean Methodist church, I've also fasted on Yom Kippur, sought guidance from Buddha, celebrated Ramadan, and dragged my hungover ass out of bed on many a Sunday morning in order to attend Mass.  It's like I couldn't decide on a religion so I picked all of them!

To their credit, my parents did try to expose me to church when I was younger.  But for them, church was more of a social event where they could meet up with fellow Koreans and eat some donuts.  Although my father donated a lot of money to the church, I'm not sure he was ever motivated by faith or charity.  I think he just wanted better seats so he could be closer to God.   

As I look back, I realize that my personal disillusionment with religion started when I was 8 years old and got kicked out of Sunday school.  The bible teacher was asking us whether we knew God's name and I kept yelling out, "HOWARD!  God's name is HOWARD!"  When the teacher asked me to elaborate, I replied, "Haven't you ever read the Lord's Prayer?  You know, the part where it says, 'Our Father who art in Heaven, Howard be they name.'  Jeez, lady!  And you call yourself a Sunday school teacher?"

In a fit of fury, she kicked me out of class.  However, I was being completely serious at the time and her misplaced rage only served to confuse the hell out of me.  In typical fashion, I just shrugged my shoulders and went down the street to grab a slice of pizza.  Man, my ass still hurts thinking about the beating I got from my dad that night!

Sadly, I never did find God in that church either (but thanks to the basketball court in the basement, I did find one hell of a great jump shot.)

My lovely aunt, on the other hand, is a devoutly born-again Christian.  After losing her teenage son to leukemia and her asshole husband to infidelity, she found great solace and comfort in religion.  And although she's given me enough rosary beads and bibles to start my own congregation, I find her faith to be a beautiful thing.  If anything, helping people cope with life's many shitstorms is the greatest benefit of organized religion.  I truly believe that church saved my aunt's life. 

Sadly, the only times I enter a church these days are when someone dies or gets married.  However, BossLady and I are seriously contemplating attending one again so that the Peanut doesn't automatically assume that our peculiar brand of Agnostic Secularism is the natural order of things.  If the Peanut chooses to eventually opt out of organized religion, we want it to be HER choice, not ours.  As parents, we feel that, at the very least, we owe it to our daughter to make sure she is exposed to religion (or religions) so that she can eventually make her own decision about the role it's going to play in her life. 

And who knows?  Maybe in trying to help the Peanut find her faith, we'll find our own as well.

It's funny being a parent, isn't it?  You spend so much time thinking about how you're affecting your child yet you rarely notice how sometimes your child affects you more.  As I've mentioned, I became disillusioned with organized religion many years ago.  Then, after 9/11 and the loss of one of my best friends, I was convinced that religion was the core root of the world's problems.  Now, a scant two years after the birth of my daughter, I'm contemplating going to church again for the first time in years.  Who would have ever guessed that? 

Certainly not this jaded New Yorker. 

But honestly speaking, there's a part of me that is curious about attending church again.  After all, I see the Lord's work all around me.  A beautiful sunrise, my wife's gorgeous face, my daughter's heart-warming smile, the infield grass at Shea Stadium, and, of course, seeing that asshole driver in the Hummer who cut me off on the Jersey Turnpike getting pulled over by state troopers for a full-body cavity search.

Hmmm...maybe God does have a sense of humor!

In all seriousness, I'd really love to hear your thoughts about religion in regard to parenting and raising kids.  Or your own religious experiences growing up and the role your parents did or didn't play.  I know religion is generally a taboo subject in the snarky world of blogging but let's talk about it nonjudgementally just this once, ok?  A truly inquiring mind wants to know. 

Housebreaking 101: Dogs & Babies Need Not Apply

You know how television commercials always show parents waking up by slowly stretching out their arms and luxuriantly getting out of bed while the warm bask of the morning sun envelops them?  As they put on their imported Turkish bathrobes and enter their enormous kitchens, they're greeted by the aromatic pleasures of freshly-brewed coffee and some buttery croissants.  In the background, you can frequently hear the dulcet sounds of a cooing baby. 

Needless to say, BossLady and I don't wake up like that.

These days, we've been waking up to the sounds of a two-year-old girl screaming at the top of her lungs, "Mommy!  Daddy!  Come 'ere!  Come 'ere NOW!" 

And the aromatic smell with which we're awakened?  Lately, it's the pleasurable aroma of a pile of steaming hot dog shit. 

Yeah...just like on TV, man.

I don't know what's gotten into MetroDog lately.  Maybe he's getting older.  Maybe he's dealing with some personal issues.  However, for some reason, he just can't seem to make it through the night anymore.  He's only five years old so it's hard to imagine he's getting incontinent.  In dog years, he and I are about the same age.  Shit, if I can make it through the night, why can't he?

When we first got MetroDog, we had a tough time housebreaking him.  It's not like we had a backyard where he could roam around.  Learning how to poop on a New York City curb is fucking tough.  Cars, fire engines, and dump trucks are rumbling by and dozens of people are watching your every move.  For a few months, BossLady and I would take MetroDog out every morning and would end up walking around for hours before he finally pooped.

Finally, a dog trainer suggested that whenever we walked outside the building, we should just insert a paper matchstick up his butt (the dog's butt, not the trainer's.)  The act of anally pushing out the match would force the poop out of MetroDog and train him to go in the same location every day. 

Man, have you ever tried to stick a match up a dog's butt?  It is not fucking easy.  The first few times we tried it, the fire kept going out before he would poop. 

(Chill out, PETA people. That was a joke!)

Actually, that little Dog Whisperer trick totally ended up working.  And to this day, whenever I'm feeling a little constipated, BossLady will just hold up a match stick and start laughing.  Yep, works for humans too!

When it comes to the Peanut, BossLady and I are taking a fairly low-key approach to toilet training.  Basically, that means we're leaving it up to Sesame Street (as usual.)  Between "Elmo's Potty Time" DVD and the "Ernie's Too Big for Diapers" book, we figure we're covered.

The Peanut's only two so we don't want to start pressuring her.  However, our low-key approach seems to be having an effect and it appears we're getting her closer to being potty trained.  Or at least potty-aware.  Just last week, we were chilling out and eating dim sum in Chinatown with a bunch of friends when the Peanut ran up to me, pointed at her butt, and yelled, "POOP, Daddy, POOP!  Let's go!"

Unfortunately, her yelling "POOP" didn't mean she was READY to poop but rather that she already HAD pooped.  But that's cool.  Baby steps, man.  Baby steps.  That's what I keep telling myself. 

One inadvertent and highly entertaining repercussion of toilet training the Peanut is that she is now completely obsessed with watching both BossLady and I go to the bathroom.  It's not like we encourage it but, any time that one of us enters the bathroom, the Peanut is right there with us.  Most of the time, she just likes to watch us do our business.  However, sometimes if we're sitting on the toilet, she likes to lift one of our cheeks out of the way or spread our legs open so she can peer into the toilet bowl and get a better view.  Not really my cup of tea but what can you do?  Kids are natural scientists in certain ways.

You should see how unbelievably happy she becomes whenever she sees a piece of crap in there.  It's like Christmas and her birthday wrapped up in one.  Her face lights up and she actually squeals with sheer delight.  Sometimes if nothing comes out, I almost feel like I'm letting her down.  How crazy is that? 

But hey---if it makes my lovely daughter happy, I'll push a little harder in the hope that I can at least squeeze out a little turd.  We'll do anything for our kids, right? 

Anyway I recently decided that, in the grand scheme of toilet training, I'm going to defer all future lessons to the BossLady and start closing the door when I go to the bathroom.  I think, in this instance, Daddy's involvement is only confusing the issue. 

Why do I say this? 

Because yesterday I asked the Peanut if she had to go to the potty.  She enthusiastically said, "Yes, Daddy.  I go pee-pee!"  Bridling with excitement, we both ran to the bathroom, where the Peanut immediately pulled down her pants and tried to pee...standing up!

You know...just when I think I have this parenting thing down pat, something comes up and bites me in the ass.  But really, isn't that half the fun of it all? 

,

Apparently, someone decided that it’s National Delurking Week. In other words, if you read any blogs regularly but don’t comment on them, now's the time to come out of the woods and say hello.  So to all you lurkers, feel free to make your presence known and let me know you're out there. 

Normally I'm not a big fan of this group-think blog mentality but I figure as long as nobody uses the word "blogosphere," we're cool.

MetroDad Mailbag (Nov. 2006)

It's been a looooong time since we've done a MetroDad mailbag. 

For those of you unfamiliar with this aspect of the site, this is when I answer real questions submitted by my readers.   Some of the questions are related to parenting.  Some of them are, um...not. 

As per my usual disclaimer, I'd like to state that I have no professional child-rearing experience and the opinions offered here are solely my own.  In other words, you get what you pay for.

Let's kick things off, shall we?

Dear Metro...My wife and I are expecting our first son in a few months so we've been spending a lot of time coming up with boys' names.  Lately, I noticed that my wife's been suggesting some strange names---Lloyd, Denny, Lane.  Finally, I realized that all the names she's been bringing up are movie characters played by John Cusack.  Dude, I think she's got the Cusack Crush!  What am I supposed to do?  Help!
-Michael (Toronto, CA)

As Chuck Klosterman once wrote, it's much more likely that your wife is not actually in love with John Cusack.  Like countless women born between 1965 and 1978, she's probably just crushing on Lloyd Dobler, the optimistic, charmingly loquacious teenager from "Say Anything." 

My advice to you is to just forget about it.  No red-blooded American male can live up to the standards set by Lloyd Dobler.  You know it.  Your wife knows it.  Heck, even your unborn kid knows it.  But whatever happens, don't start channeling your inner Dobler.  There's nothing sadder than an overtly sensitive old guy in a black trench coat holding a boom box over his head below his wife's window.  As annoying as your wife's crush might be, just realize there's nothing you can do about it and that, as far as names for your kid go, Lloyd Dobler isn't the worst choice. 

Just be thankful that she didn't want to name the kid Jake Ryan.

Dear MD...Since you're a fellow Korean-American parent, I'm writing to seek your advice.  I briefly remember you discussing a similar predicament before.  Our problem is that we live in an area that is predominantly white and, at least twice a week, some crazy lady will see our 9-month old daughter and shriek, "Oh.My.God!  Asian babies are soooo cute.  I totally want one!"  Every time this happens, I'm stunned into silence.  What's the appropriate response?   
-Henry (Savannah, GA)

My standard reply is:   "FUCK YEAH!  You should totally get one!  Ours is awesome.  She's from Korea but you can get them even cheaper now from China. I hear if you use your credit card, you can even earn miles.  But seriously, if you want one really fast, just go sleep with a bunch of random Asian dudes."

That usually shuts them up.

By the way, my brothers, don't say I never did anything for you.

Hey MD---How did a total city slicker like you end up coming to Berkeley?  You must have stuck out like a sore thumb.  I'm a Bay Area native and I'm going to grad school at NYU.  Got any advice for me?
-Steven (Berkeley, CA)

Don't get me wrong, Steve.  I miss Berkeley.  I've been all over this planet but Berkeley is quite unique. Nowhere else in the world will you find a man with a turban wearing a 49'ers jacket and working in a lesbian bookstore.

But hey, I'm just glad dad is working again.

In all seriousness, moving to Berkeley was easy.  It's much more difficult to make the transition to New York City.  My friend Kin did it once and the first week he was here, he got hit by a car three times.  For some strange reason, he thought that pedestrians had the right of way (by the way, always watch the traffic.  NEVER look at the street light.  In the history of NYC, nobody ever got run over by a street light.)

But hey, I don't want to scare you, Steve.  If you really want to move here, let me be the first to welcome you.  NYC is a  great place and we could use some more Californians around here (so we don't have to fly out there in order to prove our intellectual superiority.)  Just ditch the tie-dye, throw away the Birkenstocks, and stop complaining about our vegetables. 

And remember...if you smell something weird in your building, it's probably just your dead neighbor.

Dear MetroDad...What's the rule on holidays with the family?  More specifically, what's the rule for New Year's?  Just because I'm married with kids, does this mean I have to spend New Year's Eve with them?  Some buddies of mine are going to be in town and I'm thinking of ditching the wife and kids to party with them.  Hell, everyone in my house will be asleep by 10:00 anyway.  Is this legit?  Or is my wife going to go through the roof?
-James G. (New York, NY)

Jimmy G...a lot of people like to say that anyone can be a father but that it takes a real man to be a Dad.  What a crock of bullshit.  Ditching your wife and kid on New Year's Eve to suck beer bongs and tequila shots with the fellas?  THAT takes some serious fucking balls. 

Let me know how that works out for you.

MD...Recently, you mentioned your man-crush on Alec Baldwin's character on "30 Rock."  Don't you find it amazing that Baldwin has made such an amazing comeback?  After all,  it was just a few years ago that he was a total nut job married to that train wreck, Kim Basinger.  This has to be the greatest comeback of all time.  What do you think?
-Al (Evanston, IL)

Alec Baldwin's comeback has to rank right up there with Ali's "Rumble in the Jungle," Michael Jordan's post-retirement championships, and Seabiscuit's return to glory.  Five years ago, Baldwin was literally getting by on cameos in "Friends," "The Fairly OddParents"  and "The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie."  Ever since "The Cooler,' he's by far the best in everything he's been in. 

But, in all honesty, I think my man-crush on his "30 Rock" character is really just an extension of my enormous crush on Tina Fey and her writing for the character.  There's simply nobody on television getting better lines than Alec Baldwin right now.  Sadly, it's really the only reason to even watch the show.  However, at least every episode, you can count on Baldwin's character making you snort with laughter...

''The Italians have a saying, Lemon: 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.' And although they've never won a war or mass-produced a decent car, in this area they are correct.''

"I like you, Liz. You have the boldness of a much younger woman."

"Your shoes, they make you look bi-curious."

"Sorry I'm late. I was at a luncheon for Ann Coulter's 60th birthday."

Dear MetroDad---We've just had our third child and, due to the soaring costs of daycare, we're contemplating getting a nanny.  None of our friends have nannies and we're just starting to interview potential candidates.  Got any advice for us?
-Adam (Miami, FL)

Hiring a nanny to care for your children is a difficult decision that shouldn't be taken lightly.  After all, you're basically letting a complete stranger into your home and allowing her to watch your most precious assets all day long.  That fact alone can make you fraught with anxiety. 

Did you know that when people install hidden nanny cams, more than 20% of the nannies end up getting fired the very next day?  Is it any wonder that sites like this exist? 

We don't have a nanny anymore.  However, I can pass on some valuable advice based on our past experience.  Here it is...

1. No good-looking nannies.  The uglier, the better.  Aside from appeasing your wife, an ugly nanny won't be distracted by potential suitors and can focus her full attention on the children. 

2. Age is a tough call.  Young nannies may show up to work with a hangover or leave to get married.  On the other hand, old nannies smell funny and can't bend over very well.   

3. During the interview, have your wife dial her cell phone and check her ring tone.  If it plays "My Humps" or the theme song to "Scarface," don't hire her.  There's a good chance your potential hiree is a wanna-be gangsta or an undercover skank. 

4. Speaking of skanks, definitely check your nanny's MySpace page.  If she's only wearing a bra and her screen-name is KrazyKatKiller, you might want to reconsider whether she's sufficiently responsible to care for your child.

5. Likewise, check to see whether she has a blog.  For all you know, in her spare time, she likes to bite the heads off bats, torch homeless people, or masturbate while watching Lou Dobbs. 

6. Acceptable nanny duties:  folding children's laundry, cleaning dishes, emptying diaper genie. 

7. Unacceptable nanny duties: running out in the rain for a pack of smokes, chopping up lines of cocaine, massaging your stinky feet. 

8. If hiring an illegal alien, be sure to keep her passport so she can't escape.  Also, don't forget to feed her every once in awhile.  A hungry nanny will have a hard time lavishing your progeny with the love and affection they so richly deserve. 

9. You are required to fill out the appropriate federal paperwork and pay taxes only if you harbor any future political aspirations.  If not, you can pay cold, hard cash.  Just don't be a cheapskate.  Nannies work their asses off and deserve as much money as you can afford to give. 

10. Assume that your nanny will be gossiping at the playground about you.  If you don't want neighbors to know that you like to wear garter belts and your wife is screwing the gardener, don't hire a nanny. 

Dear MetroDad...I love my 10-year old daughter more than life itself.  She's a great kid, stays out of trouble and is always very respectful.  My only complaint is that she and all her little friends are completely hooked on the TV show, "That's So Raven!"  They quote lines from the show, know all the words to the musical segments, and are constantly running around the house saying, "That is SO Raven!"  Please help me before I go absolutely insane!
-Julie (Seattle, WA)

C'mon, Julie.  Lighten up.  You never had a TV show that you and your friends were obsessed with?  For us, it was "What's Happening?"  My buddies and I would dance the robot like Rerun, greet each other by saying, "Hey, hey, hey," and would walk around saying, "Which Doobie you be?" 

I'll agree with you that hearing "That is SO Raven" all the time would make me want to put a bullet in my head but it's all part of the cycle of life.  Think about all the annoying catchphrases from your youth.  Was there anything worse than hearing kids saying, "Where's the beef?" or "Book 'em, Danno!"  Then, you had all the frat boy idiots running around yelling, "Whassup?"  Recently, I've been hearing kids on the subway screaming, "I'm Rick James, bitch!"  Totally annoying, right? 

Sadly, it seems that the use of catch phrases is embedded in the human genome.  Even though I'm 38 years old, I subconsciously still find myself using stupid phrases that I pick up from television.  For example, a few months ago, I started watching "Survivor" for the first time.  Now, I like to end every conference at work by standing up and solemnly saying, "The tribe has spoken."

Could anything be more annoying than that?

As always, feel free to e-mail me any questions or post them in the comments section.

The Highlight of My Wife's Thanksgiving

Peanut:  Mommy!  Mommy!
BossLady:  Yes, my darling?
Peanut:  Mommy!  Mommy!
BossLady:  Yes, what is it, Peanut?
Peanut:  Mommy!  Mommy!  I LOVE YOU!!!

This was the first time that Peanut ever used the "L" word so, needless to say, my wife's heart practically exploded with the joy of a thousand little kittens.  Me?  I was torn between completely sharing in my wife's happiness and thinking to myself, "Yo, what the fuck!  What about me?"

'Cause, you know, I'm petty like that.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the weekend asking Peanut, "do you love Daddy?"  And of course, every single time, she looked me straight in the eye, laughed, and said, "No."  Broke my heart.

Anyone know where I can buy a pony in Manhattan? 

My kid farted on your honor student!

Throw a rock in a NYC playground and you're likely to hit an Alpha-Parent who can rattle off the various achievements of their precious progeny.

Look, Sally's only two but she can say the alphabet!  Peter's four and can play Mozart on the violin!  Did you hear about Ethan?  He can count to ten in three languages!  What does your kid do?

I try not to get caught up in all that competi-parent bullshit.  NYC is brimming with Type-A overachievers and I think it's more than a little twisted that so many of them transfer their own issues and competitiveness onto their pre-schoolers. Lately I've seen some kids wound so tightly that if you stuck coal up their asses, diamonds would shoot out. 

Today, I saw a mom at the playground practically yelling at her kid and forcing him to play.  Go on the slide, Jimmy!  Climb the ladder, Jimmy!  Throw me the ball, Jimmy!  Why aren't you doing anything, Jimmy?  When Jimmy didn't respond, she shrieked at him to get in his stroller because it was time for his music lessons. 

Man, I just wanted to grab that woman and shake the shit out of her! 

Look, I'm not under any delusions.  Like most parents, I think my kid is the cutest fucking kid in the world.  However, objectively speaking, I also realize that, at this point in her life, my daughter is not as developmentally advanced as some other kids her age. 

But in typical fashion, BossLady and I don't stress out about the Peanut's academic development and we're both secure enough to joke about it.  (Typical comments:  "You know, she'd be reading by now if not for all the Ecstasy you took in college!" or "She's ain't that bright, Cletus, but dang she sho' is pretty!")

As an avid reader, it KILLS me that she'd rather run around the apartment sticking hair pins up her nose!  I'm constantly trying to read to her, teach her the alphabet, or engage her in conversations.  Most of the time, she's got no interest.   

But you know what?  The Peanut's a happy kid.  As she should be. She's TWO!  I don't want to raise a stressed-out kid filled with angst and anxiety.  I want her to have fun.  There's plenty of time for her in the future to learn a language, master an instrument, take ballet lessons, or earn a black belt in Karate. 

Right now, she's busy doing much more important things that she truly enjoys, such as...

• Screaming like a banshee just for the fun of it. 
• Walking around with her hands down the back of her diaper. 
• Wiping boogers on my leg.
• Spinning around in circles until she passes out laughing.
• Sitting outside our apartment building and high-fiving everyone who walks by.
• Talking to flowers.
• Throwing all her toys in the toilet just to see what will happen. 
• Laughing at her own farts. 

Oh yeah...and her all-time favorite thing to do these days? 

Play with garbage.

Yup, that's my girl!

5-1, I guess she really is my daughter

THE MAIN REASON WHY I SOMETIMES SUSPECT THAT I'M NOT THE PEANUT'S REAL FATHER

The drama! Good Lord, THE DRAMA! 

As most of you know, I'm a pretty mellow guy who believes that there are very few things in life worth freaking out about.  Therefore, I'm willing to give my daughter the benefit of the doubt because she is, after all, only two years old.  However, lately, she's been acting very diva-ish, a development that I like to blame on Tyra Banks.  (I'm kidding, of course. The kid much prefers watching Jerry Springer.) 

But really, in all seriousness, we're at a point where everything with my daughter has to be done in a very particular way and it's rapidly becoming apparent that I have no freaking idea what that way is. Today, she threw a total hissy fit and broke down in tears because I had the gall to put green socks on her feet instead of brown.  Bad daddy, bad!

FIVE WAYS IN WHICH MY DAUGHTER IS DEFINITELY RELATED TO ME

1.  My stomach and I have a rather tenuous relationship.  Maybe it's from all the scotch and spicy food but my doctor thinks I'm probably suffering from IBD or colitis (OK, not a REAL doctor. I don't go to those. When I say "doctor," I really mean WebMD.) As part of my self-diagnosis, I sometimes take fiber pills throughout the day, a ritual that often leads to periods of flatulence. Basically, I can get downright farty at times.  My daughter, I would venture to guess, probably farts more than any two-year-old on the entire planet.  Seriously, she blows gas like a bean-eating 75-year-old lactose-intolerant truck driver.  It's completely awesome and I plan on recording it sometime in the future so I can play it back for her dates when they come by to pick her up. 

2.  My beautiful wife good-naturedly chides me for my gift of gab but it's true. For a cynically jaded New Yorker, I'm genuinely interested in other peoples' lives and will often talk to complete strangers for hours.  It seems as though my young daughter is becoming quite the conversationalist herself.  Unfortunately, she hasn't figured it all out yet.  Last week, I caught her having some jovially long-winded discussions with (a) some flowers, (b) the dog, and (c) a sandwich.  Let me tell you something, my friends.  There are very few things cuter in this world than hearing your daughter cheerfully say, "Hi, sandwich!  Sit down! I eat!"

3. One of the reasons I quit smoking pot was because I found myself developing some strange form of OCD.  After each hit, I would immediately have to go clean my hands and wash my face. I'm noticing a similar pattern emerge with the Peanut.  When she first started feeding herself, she'd usually finish dinner with her face and body completely covered in food.  Now, she insists on having both her hands and mouth wiped clean after EACH AND EVERY BITE!  If even a single morsel of food gets on her delicate fingers, she immediately looks at me, holds out her hand, and says, "WIPE!"  It's official.  I am now my daughter's personal valet. 

4. Despite my innate and well-documented love of television, I was one of those annoying parents who never let his child watch a second of television until she was 18 months old.  You know, the whole "studies have shown..." blah, blah, blah.  However, what those studies failed to show was the fact that a freakish love of television is apparently embedded in one's DNA.  For my daughter, TV was like love at first sight.  Every night after dinner, she turns to the BossLady and says, "TV now, mama? TV ok?"  Which is funny because that's exactly what I say to the BossLady after dinner. 

5. Speaking of dinner...my daughter and I both eat food like we're in prison.  We crouch over our meals and inhale them as quickly as possible in case some big guy named Ben Dover comes over and shivs us for our applesauce.  We sometimes even use our utensils to guard our plates.  No way we're giving up our chow to any of our fellow inmates unless we get some cigarettes or prison wine in return! 

By the way, did you know that Martha Stewart's prison name was "M. Diddy?"  It's true.  I read it in Vanity Fair upon her release from the big house.  My favorite quote from the article was when she was talking about jail: ""I hate lockdown. It's just hideous."  Unfortunately, they didn't have any quotes from M.Diddy about what it was like to be thrown in the hole and peed on.  Too bad.

By the way, I just googled the term "prison nicknames" and I found this awesome Prison Bitch Name Generator.  Mine's B.F. Goodlick.  What's yours?

Take my parents, PLEASE!

In many ways, I sometimes feel that BossLady and I are wholly unqualified to be parents. 

Not in any of the BIG or IMPORTANT ways.  When it comes to raising our child to be a thoughtful, caring, intelligent and productive member of society, I'm fairly confident that we're just as capable as most other people.  At the very least, we seem to be at least as capable as the parents on the local news!

It’s just that BossLady and I are both a little silly and goofy.  For example, the other day, we were lying romantically in bed when BossLady turned to me and said, “let’s play a game.  You try to touch my face with your tongue as lightly as humanly possible.  Then, I’ll do the same to you.”

With great earnestness, I mustered up all my physical skills to touch her nose with what I was convinced was probably the lightest touch in the history of mankind, a touch barely perceptible to the human eye and recordable only by a finely-calibrated tongue sensometer developed by the finest scientists in all of Switzerland.  If I had touched any lighter, I’m convinced I would have been splitting atoms.

Brimming with confidence, I then turned to the BossLady and said, “Ha! Try to top THAT!”   Smugly secure in my imminent victory, I leaned my head back on the pillow, closed my eyes, and proffered my nose for her attempt. 

BossLady then proceeded to lick MY ENTIRE FACE with her slobbering tongue and yelled, “Ha!  I LOSE!”

We play these kinds of stupid games a lot. 

One time, we decided to produce our own two-person play on the subway.  It was late at night and there were only a few passengers on our train so we decided to sit apart from one another and pretend that we were two strangers making a spontaneous love connection.  During the train ride, I became The World’s Greatest Lover, a man capable of introducing myself to a woman, chatting her up briefly, start making out with her, and convince her to get off the train and come home with me…all in the span of 5 minutes!

We also like to speak in fake foreign accents when we’re abroad (or in the South.)  We love eating foods that require no utensils.  We like to fake-invent new variations of alarm clocks (like the scent-emitting, vibrating-pillow coffee clock.  Don’t even THINK about stealing that shit, yo!)  We sometimes go to karaoke bars and sing TV theme songs.  And we like making up our own children’s stories based on fast food chains (“Once upon a time, there was a King of All Burgers who fell madly in love with a beautiful princess from the Castle of White.”)

So yeah, I guess we’re definitely not the Asian version of Stepford parents.  However, we prefer to use the term "offbeat."

Since the Peanut is so young right now, she just thinks we’re fun parents who love showing her the food in our mouths while eating, walking down the street loudly singing “Wheels on the Bus,” and sitting on the floor together while putting Elmo stickers all over our naked bodies. 

But what if the Peanut grows up to be a stoically serious kid who thinks we’re complete idiots?  Maybe silliness skips a generation!  Sure, we’re fun NOW but I can easily envision a not-too-distant future where we’re just plain embarrassing!  Will she be reluctant to introduce us to her friends?  Will she blatantly avoid telling us about school functions?  There’s a small part of me that would be absolutely crushed to learn that my own daughter was completely embarrassed by her ridiculously goofy parents.

However, there’s another part of me that thinks it would just be awesome!

By the way, I am currently writing this post from Fayetteville, Arkansas.  It's a good thing Ptolemy never lived here because otherwise we'd all still be convinced that the earth was flat (Lucretius lives!)  Just out of curiosity, do I have any readers here in Arkansas?  If so, please stop me in the street and say hi.  I'll be the Asian guy.