MetroDad

Girl's Gone Wild: The Toddler Years

Tonight, the Peanut got pissed at me because I wouldn't give her a cookie.

Honestly?  I don't even know how she saw the fucking cookie.  It was perched on a countertop way beyond her line of vision and semi-hidden by a sippy cup. 

All I know is that, at one point, the two of us are hanging out and playing musical instruments together.  She's jamming out on the harmonica and I'm rocking some serious triangle action.  Next thing I know, she completely freezes up and I see her tiny eyes scanning the entire kitchen with the intensity of Jack Bauer looking for a terrorist in a crowded mall.  For a second there, I half-expected her to pick up an empty toilet paper roll and start using it as a telescope.  Instead, she made an immediate beeline for the cookie and tried to use her one inch vertical leap to grab it. 

Since it was close to dinner time (and because I'm the world's most sadistic father,) I refused to give her the cookie.  In my best approximation of an actual grown-up, I calmly told her that the cookie would spoil her appetite and that, if she waited a little while, we'd have dinner together. 

First, tiny tears start welling up in her eyes. Then, she begins whimpering softly.  Next thing I know, she's screaming so loudly that I'm convinced my neighbors will think I'm flushing a cat down the toilet.  I lean down to hug her but she kicks me in the nuts.  She then starts flailing around on the floor like an epileptic fish.  Her arms are going in one direction, her legs in another.  If the screams hadn't been so maddingly deafening, I think I would have sat back in a chair and laughed my ass off. 

Instead, I gave the Peanut a "time-out." 

This was actually her second time-out.  BossLady gave her one the other day because the Peanut thought it would be fun to overturn the laundry basket and start tossing Diet Coke cans out of the pantry.  While BossLady and I thought this was hilarious, we didn't want to set a bad precedent so we suppressed our smiles and scolded the Peanut.  Of course, our lovely daughter went absolutely bonkers, started screaming again, and commenced throwing soda cans like a young Satchel Paige.

So we stuck her in her crib until she cooled out (thank you, Supernanny!)

Clearly, we're at the beginning stages of the Terrible Twos.  I'm fully cognizant of the fact that the Peanut's behavior stems from an irresistible urge to make her own choices.   Recently, I've been reading a lot of parenting literature to help me prepare for this latest phase of the Peanut's development (and the ensuing onset of oppositional behavior, constant impatience and decision reversals.)

All the same, it's fascinating watching it up close and personal.   In one moment, the Peanut is cute, adorable, and charming.  Two seconds later, she's stubborn, demanding and impatient.  She's like a miniature Asian version of Sybil.

Wish us luck, my friends, and feel free to offer up any advice.  Because right now, BossLady and I are locked in a battle of the wits with a 20-month old girl who has suddenly come to realize that she knows exactly what she wants at any given time.  Nature and Nurture are colliding straight-on and the stakes are high. 

Winner gets a free cookie.

 

Mac Attack

I got my first Apple Computer in 1986 when I was 17 years old.  It was an Apple IIC and it was love at first sight.  Ever since, I've been a die-hard Mac addict.

My Macs have been with me through the good times and the bad.  They've traveled all over the world with me and been time capsules of many fond memories.  Over the past 20 years, I've gone through countless Macs, converted hundreds of people and loved each Mac greater than the last.   Their simplicity, elegance, beauty and power had only served to reinforce my undying faith and devotion.

Sunday, for the first time ever, my hard drive crashed. 

I'm crushed. 

On the one hand, it gives me a perfect excuse to go out and get the awesome new MacBook Pro.  On the other hand, I'm bummed because I hadn't backed up all my data in about a month.  Not only may I have possibly lost some great photos of the Peanut but I also lost quite a bit of valuable data (including my work on Fermat's Theorem, cognitive science and the origin of language.)

Oh yeah, I also lost some funny posts about constipation and my collection of "yo mama" jokes.

The worst part of my hard drive crash?  For the entire  week, I'm forced to use a Windows PC for the first time in my life.  Personally, this makes me feel like the love child of Aldrich Ames and Ethel Rosenberg.  I think I'd rather see my mother in a whorehouse than on a Windows PC. 

Of course, that could just be me.

Anyway, posting will be light this week.  However, MetroDad would like to offer a public service announcement to all of you, recommending that you back up all your data as frequently as possible.  Otherwise, like me, you may be taking out a second mortgage on your house to pay a team of NASA-trained data-recovery specialists to retrieve your valuable collection of "yo mama" jokes. 

Now, excuse me while I go try and figure out what the hell "C:\<Directory>\D" means.  Aarrgh!

Chilled-Out Parenting: A Manifesto for a New America

I'm sick of the hater-players, bring on the regulators
With the flavors like a farm team fucking with the majors
You runnin your mouth, but don't really know what you be talkin about
You should retire, get that complimentary watch, be out!
-Mos Def & Talib Kweli

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Whenever I travel overseas, I strive to learn from my experiences and take home lessons that might not otherwise be absorbed.  For example, on my recent trip to Vietnam, I discovered quite a bit about both myself and the natural world around us.  Like what, you may ask? 

1. It's possible to sweat so much that you don't have to pee for 6 days. 
2. Scooters can safely carry 5 people at a time. 
3. Most Vietnamese never saw "Platoon" or "Apocalypse Now" but they LOVED "Finding Nemo."
4. Even when dubbed in Vietnamese, the TV show "Joey" still sucks ass!
5. The locals don't think it's funny when you yell out, "all pho one and one pho all!" before every meal.  (They also don't think it's funny when you keep saying, "pho, pho, pho!")

Anyway...whenever I go on one of my 3rd world journeys, I always return back to the U.S. with a renewed sense of appreciation for how easy our lives are here.  Sure, we do our best to make things as complicated as possible but if we just sat back and reflected on our great fortune, I think we'd realize how much we can learn from those who have far less.

I bring this all up because, upon my return to the U.S., I started catching up on all the posts I missed on Blogging Baby  and the other 5 millions parenting blogs I read on a daily basis.  Man, I couldn't believe all the hating I was seeing out there.  It's one thing to disagree with someone else but it's another thing to attack them personally.  People criticizing Tertia's motherhood choices?  Busting on my boy Dutch? Attacking Kristen personally because she's against leashing her kids?  Mocking Dooce's battle with depression?

Everyone needs to chill the fuck out!  So someone chooses to raise their kid differently than you, what's the big deal?  With everything going on in the world, it seems a little absurd to be so critical, doesn't it? 

Personally, I think all of these so-called parenting controversies are really just symptomatic of people having too much free time on their hands.  Most people around the world are just worried about putting food on their table, giving their kids a good education and ensuring for their family's safety.  Somehow, here in the U.S., we've decided that EVERY aspect of raising a child is a life-or-death controversy that needs to be seriously addressed.  On closer inspection, I really don't see why many of these issues are controversial at all. 

Let's take a look at a few of them, shall we? 

Breastfeeding
I never understood the controversy about breastfeeding.  BossLady really wanted to breastfeed the Peanut and personally I didn't really care one way or the other.  I was never breastfed.  Neither was my buddy, The Doctor, and as he's fond of saying,  "I wasn't breast-fed and look how fucking brilliant and well-adjusted I am!"  Me?  I think the best reason for breastfeeding is solely taste.  I tried my wife's milk and thought it tasted like melted ice cream.  On the other hand, formula almost made me puke!

Nursing in Public
When did we become so puritanical?  Don't people understand that women aren't nursing in public just to show off their engorged breasts?  They're feeding their kids!  People need to stop being so judgemental and leave nursing mothers alone.  You say you're morally offended by seeing a woman's breasts in public?  Then don't look!  Personally?  I'm morally offended by baggy jeans, coin slots, ass chaps, sideways baseball caps and Birkenstocks.  So I'll tell you what.  You join me in fighting for a universal dress code, and I'll join you in banning women from baring their breasts in public.    
 
Sleep Training
Why do people care how other people sleep train their kids?  Do you really think parents who let their kids "cry it out" are evil people?  Do you really believe that parents who choose to co-sleep are self-deluding idiots?  Get off your high-horses and go on with your bad selves!  I'm sure everyone wants to get a good night of sleep, don't they?  Does anyone really choose to be sleep deprived?  The fact of the matter is that some kids are good sleepers and others aren't.  Sometimes, there's just nothing you can do.  No real need to criticize another parent's methods. 

Potty Training
Parents need to stop freaking out about whether their kid is potty trained or not.  I hear mothers in the playground stressing out about this all the time and criticizing one another's approaches.  Let me ask you something.  How many adults do you know now who aren't toilet trained? (ok...aside from Fergie.) There are probably a bunch of ways to toilet train your kid.  Want to use bribes?  Shame him into using the toilet?  Forcefully take away his diapers?  Be my guest!  Sooner or later, the kid will figure it out. 

Television
As many of you know, I don't allow the Peanut to watch television.  It's not a big deal or anything.  I just tend to agree with studies showing that television provides no educational benefit for children under the age of two.  I'd rather have the Peanut sit on my lap so we can read together.  Surprisingly, friends of mine are incredulous about my anti-television stance and some will even argue with me about how much their kids learn from television.  Personally?  I don't really give a shit what their kids learn from television.  It's called choice, my friends!!!  It's what makes this country great!

Baby Einstein
Logic follows that I also don't let Peanut watch the Baby Einstein videos.  However, I will admit that we have quite a collection of BE DVDs in our apartment.  Sometimes, I just wish I was childless again so I could invite a few friends over, take some mushrooms and spend the weekend staring at all the psychedelic images.  The fact that this is even a controversial issue at all shows how short-sighted we've all become.  It's just a kid's video, people!  Chill. 

Materialism and Consumerism
I totally respect people who choose not to shop at big-box chain stores or purchase petroleum-based toys for their kids.  Personally, I've always been a big fan of consumerism.  If a plastic doll at Wal-Mart makes my daughter happy and puts a big smile on her face?  Shit, I'll take two.  And wrap them up in some non-recyclable plastic bags while you're at it, will you?  As sweatpants mom wrote in a brilliant post recently, "even though we live green, we can still effectively contribute to the global landfill.  And boring PC toys are really no match for anything that lights up, spins around and spews soap bubbles out of a spinning princess hat."  As always, one man's junk is another man's treasure.  Is this really worthy of controversy or antagonism? 

We make life so complicated sometimes, I'm surprised parents from other countries don't laugh at us.  Maybe they don't know the depths of our modern depravity but these so-called controversies are really just high-class problems.  No need to be hating on other parents.  Really.  Can't we all just get along? 

As my man Jay-Z says, "sensitive thugs, y'all need hugs."  So c'mon, bitches.  Let's be like Piven and hug this shit out!

 

Fahrenheit 119

Tomorrow, I'm leaving for a business trip to Vietnam.

This is the first long business trip I've taken since the Peanut was born and I can't really say that I'm looking forward to it.  For starters, I haven't even left yet but I already miss her and the BossLady. I'm dreading the 23-hour transit time.  I'm convinced that I'm either going to get malaria or the Avian flu.  And I'm definitely not looking forward to the insufferable heat and humidity.  According to Accuweather, it's going to be over 119 degrees while I'm there!  My balls start dripping with sweat just THINKING about it! (Nice mental image, eh?)

However, I will admit that there's a small part of me that's looking forward to the trip.   Over the course of my life, I've visited over 38 countries.  Every place is uniquely different and I love immersing myself in the culture of new locales.  Vietnam, in particular, is an amazingly beautiful place and photos don't even begin to do it justice.  If you ever get the chance to journey around SE Asia, take it.  The scenery can be absolutely breathtaking.   

I'm also looking forward to flying First Class.  I've upgraded with miles in the belief that if you're going to fly for 23 hours, it's imperative to have a small team of Vietnamese men massaging your feet as long-legged female flight attendants hand-feed you caviar and pour champagne down your throat.  (I'm kidding.  They don't really pour champagne down your throat.  It's actually non-vintage sparkling wine. Cheap-asses!)

Anyway...before I got married five years ago, I used to spend about 20% of the year living out of my suitcase.  I'd fly from New York to London to India to Korea to Hong Kong to Thailand to Shanghai...and then reverse course and do it again.  Often times, my head would be spinning and I'd reach a point where I'd forget what city I was in or where I was even staying.  I'd dig into my pocket to find a hotel key card, only to find about 10 of them.  I'd go to Room #1020 in one city, forgetting that was the room I was booked in 5 days and 2 continents ago. It might sound chaotic but I loved every second of it.

After I got married, I began traveling a lot less.  I'd do everything possible to shorten the time that I was away from BossLady.  Once, I even travelled to Asia for 2 days of meetings and then rushed back home to be with my lovely wife.  I didn't think it was physically possible but I actually spent more time in the air than I did on the ground. 

When the Peanut was born?  Forget about it.  I haven't gone overseas for work since the day she arrived.  The last thing I wanted to do is be away from her because of business.  For the first year of her life, I was only semi-joking when I'd tell people that if I was gone for even a single day, the Peanut would completely forget what I looked like and wouldn't remember me when I came home. 

You never hear much about the feelings that fathers have about traveling and being away from their families.  You hear about the moms being left alone at home to manage the household by themselves. You hear about working moms being forced to go on business trips.  And you hear about working moms engaged in the struggle between careers and parenting.   But the travails of working fathers having to leave their families at home is rarely ever discussed.  As my buddy Brian has astutely discussed, this seems to be another arena in which the "family vs. work" balances of the working father tend to be dismissed.  I'd bitch and complain too but, really, who would listen?  Besides, as the Peanut's Godfather likes to say to everyone, "stop bitching with your high-class problems!"

As for all of you readers out there?  Strangely enough, I'm really going to miss all of you and your blogs too!  You know I love corresponding with all of you and visiting your sites on a regular basis.  It totally bums me out that we won't be able to "keep in touch." 

But, in my absence, I've got a few surprises for you that I think you'll enjoy...

(1) The infamous and beautiful BossLady has finally agreed to do her long-awaited guest post while I'm away.  Many of you have been leaving comments for the past year, hounding her to make a cameo appearance.  Stay tuned to read her debut.

(2) The brilliant filmmaker and hilarious writer, MetroBro, will also be making a short cameo at some point next week.  He's currently shooting a documentary series for CourtTV but, since he's a functional insomniac, he figures he'll write something in his sleep and throw it up here next week.

(3) We'll also have a guest post by a famous celebrity.  I'm not going to say who it's going to be.  Just make sure to come back here and check. 

Finally, in passing, I'm going to take a page out of my buddy Chris' blog (aka Rude Cactus) and open up my comments for questions---anything you want to ask, anything you want to know.  Ask me anything!  Personal, trivial, insightful or meme-licious?  I'll try to post all the answers up here at some point during my trip.  It's going to be a really long fucking plane ride.  Let's try and get to know each other a little better, ok? 

And as my good friend, The Doctor, likes to say..."Later, bitches!  I'll miss you!"

 

Am I a Mommy Blogger?

All my life, I've had a pretty healthy relationship with women. 

Now, don't get me wrong.  Like I've said many times (almost TOO many times), I'm definitely a "guy's guy."  

Most of the time, I pee standing up (sometimes I even lift the seat up!) I'm a complete sports fanatic, love classic rock, drive way too fast, and am perfectly happy eating dinner over the sink.  I drink scotch, eat meat, and nothing cracks me up like a good fart under the covers.

But I also have a softer, more sensitive side.  For a sarcastic wise-ass, I'm fairly introspective and generally in touch with my emotions.  I love curling up with a good book.  I love cuddling in bed with my wife.  And personally, there's nothing more relaxing for me than a day at the spa.

I bring this up because I'm noticing that the vast majority of my readers seem to be women.  I also find that most of the blogs I read are written by women.  In fact, most of them are written by women who have children.  It may be unusual but I enjoy reading about the challenges of raising children.  I love getting advice on how to become a better parent.  And call me crazy but I NEVER get sick of the cute stories that people tell about their kids. 

HOLY SHIT...AM I A MOMMY BLOGGER?

As my half-Korean Seoul sister Kristen informs me, there is evidently a negative connotation to being a mommy blogger.  Apparently, many people who read blogs look down on women who write about being moms and brush them all off as being bored and vapid housewives with nothing better to do than read Redbook and talk about their kids.  All "mommy bloggers" are somehow categorically dismissed and marginalized simply due to the fact that they have children.  The fact that these same mothers are smart, interesting, funny and insightful is completely disregarded by the vast majority of the blogosphere. 

To me, this is just another form of stereotyping or bias.  It's insulting and demeaning.  It's almost as offensive as dismissing and trivializing people solely due to race. 

Shit, I'm a "daddy blogger."  And if mommy bloggers are the dregs of the internet, then daddy bloggers are their red-headed stepchildren (no offense to any red-headed stepchildren out there.)  But really, NOBODY even knows that we exist!  If they did, who knows what they would think of us? 

For the most part, I'm sure many people would stereotype "daddy bloggers" as a group of emasculated and oversensitive fathers who are either SAHDs or who subscribe to some sort of New Age-type of parenting.  Those people should come here and say that to my face!  Because I'm not fucking around here.  I will literally take off my apron and beat those fools silly with a spatula and my copy of Iron John.

In all seriousness, any dismissal of fathering blogs is probably related to the fact that, when it comes to issues of parenting, fathers are often marginalized out of the discussion.  You always hear about the Mommy Wars.  Or the struggle of balancing parenthood and careers.  Or the difficulties of being a single mother.  But how often do you hear those issues as they relate to men?  Very rarely. Does this bother me?  Not at all.  I'm much more interested in being inclusive rather than divisive.  I want no part in a battle that divides mothers and fathers.

So, to all my favorite "mommy bloggers" and "moms who blog," I stand with you in unity! 

Screw all the haters!  Who cares what they think?  Life's too short too worry about all that crap.  We may all be parents but we're also a diverse group of individual personalities who have a lot more to discuss than baby wipes, drool and potty training.  So, like I've said before, fly your freak flag!  Speak your mind!  And, together, let's show the haters that there's more to all of us than just being a parent!

After all, how boring would it be if our entire identities were wrapped up solely in the fact that we're also moms and dads? 

Fucking Hector!

There's been a lot of talk recently in the blogosphere about women gaining weight after pregnancy and/or marriage (read my girl MIM's post, then go read this, this, this, this, or that.) 

Still here?

Now, I'm not jumping into this debate for many reasons.  The first is because all the women writing about it are some of my favorite bloggers and I respect their differences of opinion.  Secondly, I never get involved when women argue. Most men only need to learn that lesson ONCE. The third reason?  Well, to tell you the truth, it's because I'm a total narcissist and I don't really care about OTHER people's weight gains.  I'm much more concerned about MY OWN.

You see, my friends...about 6 months ago, I wrote a post about my new pot-bellied friend Hector (actually, the pot belly was mine.  I just decided to name him Hector.  For some reason, he looks like a Hector.)  At the time, I blamed my weight gain on the BossLady's pregnancy and the ensuing months after the Peanut's birth.  I immediately issued a one-man fatwa on my new little belly and swore that he would be gone in a month or two. 

In the meantime, it was kind of fun having him around.  I've always been fairly lean and athletic so I was enjoying the new company.  Every once in awhile, when we were on the couch, I'd even put BossLady's hand on my stomach and "make the baby kick."  Fun stuff!

Now?  Not so fun.  Hector is still hanging out here and he ain't paying the rent.  He's like that annoying roommate that you used to be friends with but now you can't stand and he won't stop calling you. 

Besides, beach season is around the corner so my vanity and self-respect demand that I start kicking things into a higher gear.  I don't have man-tits and I still look good in a suit but unfortunately, Hector's not so easy to hide when you've got no shirt on.  He's like that character Kuato in "Total Recall."  (Remember?  The psychic-mutant leader of the Mars rebellion who lives in that dude's stomach?)

Anyway, it's become clear that my 37-year-old metabolism has slowed down to a crawl.  Also, I have very little desire to hit the gym because I'd rather spend all my free moments playing with Peanut and the BossLady. 

So, in my typical Type-A personality manner, I've decided to dig in my heels and go for broke. I cancelled my gym membership and instead bought a used elliptical trainer for the apartment (God bless Craigslist!  Before them, where did people go to find used junk, concert tickets and transvestite hookers?)

Anyway, we planted the elliptical right in front of the TV and, so far, it's been great.  After the Peanut goes to sleep, I flip on "Inside Edition" or "SportsCenter" and work out for an hour or two.  I'm truly optimistic that the elliptical won't turn into the most expensive fucking coat rack this side of the Mississippi!

Now, I'm working on altering my diet.  Unfortunately, science has yet to figure out a way to lose weight by subsisting on a diet of foie gras, Peking duck, fried chicken, gnocchi, proscuitto and steamed pork dumplings.  So far, I've been contemplating my options and here's what I've come up with so far...

Atkins Diet
I've tried this before and lost weight on it.  It fits right in with my predilection for porterhouse steaks.  Only problem is that whenever I try Atkins, I feel like I'm a pork chop away from a heart attack.  Also, I find that when I'm on Atkins, I only crap once every two weeks.  Unfortunately, I do some of my best thinking when I'm on the can.   

The Zone
This diet seems very confusing.  Also, it involves math and measuring (two of my weaker skills.)  A few years ago, BossLady and I tried this home-delivery service called Zone Chefs.  Every morning at 5:00 am, they delivered fresh-cooked Zone meals to your front door.  The only problem was that there wasn't enough food diversity in the meals.  To this day, we both shudder and flinch anytime we hear someone say the word, "fritatta." 

Vegetarian Diet
Could I really live without meat?  Doubtful.  If I could eat pizza,donuts and bagels all day and lose weight, I might give it a try.  After all, have you ever met a fat vegetarian?  Unfortunately, I think I'd be a cranky bitch if I didn't eat meat.  After a month without a burger, I'd probably kill someone.  This one's not going to work out either. 

The Keith Richards Diet (aka "The Lohan")
This one sounds pretty easy.  It consists of coffee, alcohol, cigarettes and cocaine.  It can get a little expensive but it's been proven to work wonders for that quick short-term weight loss.  Unfortunately, I'm looking for more of a lifestyle solution.  Besides, this diet requires wearing leather pants and my wife says I'm not allowed to wear mine anymore.

Of course, I could just eat a healthy balanced diet but where's the fun in that?  Besides, I'm a member of the MTV generation.  Not only do I have a short attention span but also I'm looking for fast, easy results and instant gratification! 

What you got, Internet?  Tips, tricks, comments or commiseration?  Bring it on!

 

Amuse-Bouche (Tales of a Picky Eater & 6-Course Meals)

I'm being cursed for my blasphemy and lack of humility, my friends.

A scant two months ago, I posted about how my 15-month-old daughter would eat absolutely anything.  In fact, I brazenly and proudly compared her to a junkyard dog.   My smugness was understandably well-deserved, considering that I had just spent a week in Palm Beach with the Peanut and watched first-hand as she scarfed down everything from fried clams to foie gras.  It was amazing to witness.  I can only compare it to watching Star Jones work the seafood buffet at her wedding (n.b. I personally didn't attend the wedding but my overactive imagination did.)

Anyway, I now stand here before you as a rueful father eating humble pie off the tabletop of remorse.  As I mentioned over at Rice Daddies, the 17-month-old version of the Peanut has completely metamorphosized into the WORLD'S PICKIEST EATER!  She's weaned herself off milk, refuses to eat baby food, and abhors almost everything we give her.  Even if she DOES like a certain food, she never eats more than a few bites of it. 

Now, I don't know whether I've mentioned here before that the BossLady has recently started a new job that's extremely demanding.  We're not sure how it's all going to work out and I'll save the details for a later post.  However, one of the consequences of this new job is that I am now solely responsible for feeding the Peanut dinner, bathing her, and getting her ready for bed (at Casa Metro, we're only HALF-joking these days when we say that I'm the perfect housewife---not only do I bring home the bacon, I cook it up and clean the pan!)

Sounds so simple, doesn't it?  A little cooking, some feeding, a quick bath and bedtime?  In actuality, these tasks really only take me about two hours...but let's not forget that Nixon's demise was predicated on a scant 18 minutes!

Anyway...because the Peanut is such a picky eater, I'm forced to cook her these 6-course dinners, hoping that she'll eat just enough of each course to not only nourish her growing body but also also circumvent any potential 4:00 am hunger pangs. 

Being an amateur gourmand whose retirement savings are spent at restaurants all over Manhattan, I've always been a firm believer in the theatrical aspect of dining.  Therefore, to entice the Peanut to eat, I usually take great care to conjure up her meals with a great flourish of presentation.  I know it's absurd but I actually do think it helps. 

So now, in the first-ever MetroDad photo compilation, I hereby offer you tonight's multi-course meal that I personally prepared for the Peanut...
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These are couscous french fries from Dani Restaurant, leftovers from BossLady's steak dinner on Saturday night.

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My world-reknown dish, Hot Dogs and Snow Peas.  The hot dogs, prepared by Monsieur Oscar Mayer, were a big hit.  The snow peas?  Not so much.

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Here, we've mixed it up with a little home-made kimbap that I prepared,  one of the few foods (aside from dumplings) that the Peanut can eat all day long.  However, due to the high salt content, I try to limit her intake.

I call this dish "Popcorn & Fried Tofu."  Usually, Peanut ends up eating ALL the popcorn and only 1-2 pieces of tofu.

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This is a microwaveable Spinach & Feta omelet.  It's 50/50 whether the Peanut eats it or throws it against the wall.

Not surprisingly, dessert is never an issue.  Whether it's fruit yoghurt or applesauce, the Peanut loves sugar and will wolf down sweets like the girl that she is.  Sometimes, I hide baby food under something sweet just so she'll eat it. 

But, in all seriousness, my friends, how do you deal with a picky eater?  What are the tricks of the trade?  How do you get your picky child to eat?  Do you let a stubborn child go to bed hungry?  What should we do?  It's taking me a full hour to prepare her dinners these days!

I know I've asked for your parenting advice before but, this time, I'm REALLY serious.  I need your collective wisdom and ALL your tips, tricks, and tactics on how to deal with this latest stage of childhood development.

Who's going to be my shining savior and help ensure that the Peanut eats more than a Snickers bar and some popcorn every day?  (Blogging Baby?  City Mama?  MIM?  Cookie?  LM? Issa? Queenie? Marian?  Stacy? Mo-Wo? L? Misfit? Margalit? Moxie? Alice? Mimi? Melissa? Ayelet?  ANYONE?  BUELLER?)

C'mon, sisters!  Help a fellow housewife out!

Who the hell are you? And what have you done with my daughter?

The dawning of a new era has begun here at Casa Metro, my friends.  Yes, that's right, folks.  We are now officially in the Tantrum Stage of childhood development.  My heretofore adorable, little 16-month-old daughter has apparently decided that now would be a good time to start exploring the bounds of her independence and pushing the limits of her parents' patience.

I'm not quite sure exactly when it began but, during the past week, the Peanut has been, for lack of a better phrase...a whiny little rugrat. 

Several times a day, she becomes so extremely temperamental that BossLady and I are convinced that she's embarked on a secret mission to slowly drive us insane.  It's a war of attrition and, right now, we're getting our asses kicked!

If the Peanut could speak in complete sentences, it's safe to say that this would be a close approximation of what she's been saying the past few days..."Pick me up!  No, put me down!  Grab my hand!  Follow me!  Read me THIS book!  No, read me THAT book!  What is this?  I'm not eating this crap.  Give me something different!  Now!  What's taking so long?  Here, watch me as I take food out of my mouth and throw it at you!  Bath?  Hell, no!  I'm done with baths!  Naps?  No naps!  Naps are for suckers!  Diaper change?  Good luck!  Let's see you wipe my butt and put on a new diaper before I kick you in the face and attempt a double-back flip off my changing table!"

Since the Peanut CAN'T speak right now, it all comes out roughly as "Waaaaaaahhhh!!!"

Sometimes the whine is so high-pitched, the dog fucking freaks out and starts running in circles. 

Now, I might be exaggerating a little bit but that's only because the seismic shift in her personality over the past few days has been pretty cataclysmic.  She's still the adorable little apple of my eye: the one who loves hugging other infants, kissing her mother in bed, snuggling up on my chest, and laughing at the funny things in the world around her.  But when she's not engaging in that kind of adorable behavior?  Dude, it's brutal.  You just want to stick her in a box marked "Return to Sender."

(FYI...that's the part of the post where some of you humorless playa haters say, "OMG!  Put a baby in a box?  Can you believe what MetroDad said about his own daughter?  Horrendous!  Bad Daddy!  Bad!")

Anyway, in all seriousness, BossLady thinks that we might be spoiling her and that the Peanut's diva-like behavior is evidence that, due to all the constant love and affection that we've bestowed on the Peanut, we've somehow actually trained and conditioned her to be a brat.  I don't entirely disagree but there's another part of me that thinks this is just a phase that she'll quickly outgrow.

When the Peanut gets in one of her "moods,"  I've tried taking different approaches.  Sometimes, I'll just pull her up in my lap, look into her crying eyes, and calmly speak to her.  "Peanut.  It's ok.  It's not that big of a deal.  Let's just chill out, ok?  Daddy loves you."  Other times, I'll try to out-scream her to the point where together we sound like a pack of hyenas.  Although it's pretty funny to witness, that tactic doesn't seem to be working out so well either.   

So, internets, help a brother out.  What's going on with my temperamental little girl? Could it be because her molars are growing in?  Or is this just a stage in her social and cognitive development?  How long will this last?  How can I teach her that this kind of behavior won't be tolerated?  What can I do to stop the whining from echoing in my brain?

Because let's face it, folks.  There's only room for one high-maintenance prima donna in this apartment...and I was here first!

T.W.A. (Travelling While Asian)

For the next month or so, I'm going to be traveling almost non-stop.  I'm going to Vegas for a bachelor party, Florida for a wedding, Asia for work, and then Arizona for yet another wedding.  And while I generally enjoy travelling, I can't stand dealing with airports. 

Going through security at the airport drives me bonkers.  Without fail, I always seem to get stuck behind the slow-moving moron in cowboy boots travelling with his stripper girlfriend and four carry-on bags filled with his entire collection of scissors and razor blades.  What the fuck?  Where do these people come from?  How come I only see them at the airport? 

Personally, I don't think they need to check EVERYBODY through security.  I honestly think Asian dudes should be allowed to zip right through.  We've never done ANYTHING wrong EVER!!!

(Sure, we deceived the entire scientific community by falsifying cloning data on embryonic research and causing an international scandal but that's HARDLY a security risk!)

But seriously, when was the last time you saw an Asian guy on a plane squeeze a flight attendant's ass, knock over the liquor cart and try to break into the cockpit?  It's ALWAYS a drunk white guy! The only time an Asian dude ever caused trouble on a plane was when a Japanese guy used his chopsticks to poke into one of those cardboard chicken sandwiches that Continental continues to serve on EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN FLIGHT!  Otherwise, we've never been a security risk.  Just let us get on the damn plane!

Being Asian, I also tend to be very self-concious about my safety when flying.  I'm no statistician but I've got this theory that airplanes are the biggest killers of Asian people.  Think about it.  We're ALWAYS going down in planes somewhere over Indonesia.  And when we go down in planes?  We go fucking DOW-UN!  We don't go down in little Piper prop planes.  Nope, we go down in giant Jumbo 747s.  There's usually thousands of us on board at a time!  And you know why the planes go down? Because the second-leading killer of Asians is tsunamis.  If they don't get us on the ground, they get us in the air. 

I heard a comic do a routine recently about how black people never had to worry about tsunamis.  He joked that, in the entire history of the world, no black person had ever been killed in a tsunami.  They could be strolling through the eye of the storm and walk away without a scratch.  White people?  Wind fucks them up.  Hurricances LOVE white people!  They only time they die in tsunamis is when they're hanging out with their Asian friends.         

Anyway, the best thing about travelling is getting to the hotel.  As some of you already know, my work takes me all over this country.   And invariably (at least 9 times out of 10) when I'm checking into a hotel for the first time somewhere in the South or Midwest, the concierge will turn to me and say, "Hello, Sir. Welcome back!  It''s nice to see you again!"  Fuck me!  Sure, I could probably let it slide but we all know I've got a little mean streak in me so I usually reply back in my snarkiest voice, "Dude, I have never been here before in my entire fucking life.  Perhaps you are confusing me with of one of THE OTHER 2 BILLION ASIAN MEN ON THIS PLANET!" 

You should see their faces when I say that!  Most times, the concierges turn bright red and start stumbling all over the place to make amends.  That's when I start hassling them for an upgraded room or free drink coupons.  If they hesitate for even a second, I just look at them sternly and say, "Sir.  I'm trying to stay very calm right now but it's taking all of my patience not to go completely Jet Li on your ass!"

Anyway, I'm done ranting now.  Sorry.  As always, if any of you are in an airport and see a tall Asian dude at the bar tossing down scotches, run up to him, give him a big hug, and be sure to yell loudly, "I just don't know how to quit you, Ennis!"

Who knows?  It could be me. 

(If not, you'll definitely give the guy something to talk about when he gets home.)

 

Chaos Theory (Part Deux)

Sometimes I feel like there are so many things I want to share with all of you but the topics are all so random that there's not enough cohesion to write a unifying post.  And lately I've been completely overwhelmed at work so I'm feeling a little scatter-brained.  Last time I felt like this, I decided to just let fly with a random stream-of-conciousness post. 

Well, in that same vein, I hereby offer you Part Deux...

ARE THERE ANY SEATS AVAILABLE IN FIRST CLASS?

The BossLady and I recently toured a daycare center in Manhattan that had a security guard, a metal detector and an x-ray machine.  I felt like I was going through security at LaGuardia Airport.  Does anyone else besides me find this a little unsettling?  Now, don't get me wrong.  I'm all for school safety but maybe now's a good time to consider moving to the suburbs? 

OK.  SO I PUT MY SHOES & WALLET ON THE CONVEYOR BELT AND WALK WHERE? 

Who am I kidding?  I can't move to the suburbs.  I hate long commutes.  I'm afraid of spiders.  And I'm completely useless as a handyman.  If I moved to the burbs, I'm sure people would just refer to me as "that weird Korean guy down the block."  There was an article in the NY Times recently about people who moved to the 'burbs for their kids, hated it, and made a quick retreat back into Manhattan.  One guy was telling some great anecdotes about adjusting to the change of pace and style in the suburbs.  He said all those neighborhood restaurants that look really cute and quaint when you're househunting actually have really crappy food and shitty service.  He could never get over the fact that people would actually stand in line for 15 minutes to buy a bagel or pay for the newspaper.  And he said that all his neighbors were like aliens.  On the outside, they all looked normal.  But on weekends, they'd put on pink polo shirts, drink O'Douls and spend hours and hours mowing their lawns!

AT LEAST THEY DIDN'T GET YOU "BAI LING BARBIE" OR "SHANGHAI SUZY!"

Recently, Caucasian friends of ours bought Peanut an Asian doll.  The doll's name is "Yang" and it's made by Corolle, a French company.  At first, BossLady and I were a little taken aback and we didn't know whether to get our race-sensitive feathers all ruffled.  It seemed like such a strange gift to give someone.  But now, after mulling it over, we think it's absolutely fantastic and we're so grateful that our friends got it for us.  The Peanut loves it and I'm genuinely glad that my daughter is growing up in a time when she's not restricted to only having dolls with blond hair and blue eyes.  I know this was a big issue for many of my Asian female friends when they were growing up so I'm pleased that the 21st century has brought us such HUGE advances (and yes, that was meant to be sarcastic.)

Why am I being sarcastic?  Because do you know that fucking Mattel has only made two Asian Barbie dolls?  One was "Kira," from the International Set.  The other was the collector's-edition "Fantasy Goddess of Asia" (Are you fucking kidding me?  Racist!)  Also, did you know that, every election year, Mattel releases a "Barbie for President" doll?  Three flavors of the campaigning dolls are always released, complete with smart suits and sensible, shoulder-length haircuts: Caucasian, Latina, and African-American.  Where's the love for my Asian sisters, Mattel? 

I HATE THE WOMEN THAT WOMEN HATE BUT MEN LOVE AND THE FACT THAT MEN LOVE THEM ONLY MAKES WOMEN HATE THEM MORE

Recently, two of my favorite female bloggers, Bacon Grease and Crazy Virgo posted some hating on Mariah Carey (read here & here.)  Now, as my lovely wife BossLady will attest, I can't stand Mariah Carey either.  Every time I see or hear her, I start ranting like a lunatic. I just don't get her...or her popularity.  Bill Simmons from ESPN has started a short list of famous people whom women love to hate.  On top of this list is Jennifer Love Hewitt.  Number two is Mariah Carey.  Now, maybe it's the metrosexual in me but I can't stand either one of these women either.  Sure, I liked "Party of Five" but I just don't get Jennifer Love Hewitt.  Can you imagine if you were dead and got to communicate with only one living person?  How totally disappointed would you be when you found out that person was Jennifer Love Hewitt? 

But I think women hate Mariah even more.  As Mr. Simmons wrote recently, "Just think, if Brad Pitt had dumped Jennifer Aniston for Mariah instead of Angelina, it would have potentially caused a riot -- he would have been blackballed by the entire female population. Not one of them would have forgave him. Poor Brad would have been the Hollywood version of O.J. But not only do women understand Angelina's appeal, many of them would probably make out with her if they were drunk enough. That's why this whole thing was somehow OK -- women don't like Angelina, they don't trust her, but they can't totally blame Pitt for what happened.  Nobody can resist Angelina!"    Ok, ladies, is this true?  And which women do you love to hate? 

GOOD LORD, I HAVEN'T HAD THIS MUCH FUN SINCE ELTON JOHN'S BACHELOR PARTY!

In a few weeks, I'm headed out to Las Vegas for a bachelor party.  Now, whereas in the past, this would have been cause for great celebration---I'm a husband and a father now.  And in all honesty, I really don't like being away from BossLady and the Peanut for that long.  I don't get enough time with them as it is and I truly cherish every single minute of our time together.  After all, how many bachelor parties can one go to in Vegas?  It's always the same old story...load up on drinks, have an awesome meal, play blackjack until 4:00 am, win a little money, sleep in until noon, rent a bungalow poolside at the Hard Rock, play some golf, go to the spa, laugh with my buddies, and bask in some warm weather.  HOLY CRAP!  What was I thinking?  If I ever turn down an invitation to a bachelor party in Vegas, smack some sense into me, ok?  Woo hoo!  Let's go!  Mama needs a new pair of shoes!  (By the way, if any of you are in Vegas and happen to see a 6' Asian guy in a 10-gallon black cowboy hat playing craps, just tap me on the shoulder and yell loudly, "I wish I knew how to quit you, Ennis!".)

IF YOU LIKED THE MOVIE, YOU'LL LOVE THE ACCESSORIES!

I'm just kidding.  I don't really wear cowboy hats at the tables in Vegas.  That was just a "Brokeback Mountain" joke that fell a little flat.  I apologize for not making that clear.  It's just that I can't stop running around my apartment these days and yelling, "I wish I knew how to quit you, Ennis!"  (Let the record state that neither my wife, my daughter, my nanny, my superintendent, the Verizon repairman nor the Chinese food delivery guy think it's very funny.   I, on the other hand, think it's absolutely hilarious.) 

DROOLING THE DROOL OF REGRET INTO THE PILLOW OF REMORSE

The BossLady always wonders why it is that I so very rarely regret anything I've ever done.  The answer I always give her is that I think that life is too short to be constantly dwelling on the past.  We all make mistakes in life.  And I always feel that my time is better spent reflecting on my mistakes and thinking about what I can learn from them in order to avoid making the same types of mistakes in the future.  This philosphy has worked out well for me.  But recently, we've been touring daycare centers around Manhattan.  And you know what I regret?  I regret not buying a plasma TV, a fur hat and a toy robot before I had a child.  Holy crap!  With the cost of affordable daycare skyrocketing, I think I'll be brownbagging it for the next 30-40 years!  Brother, can you spare a dime?

WANT TO SPLIT THIS M&M I FOUND ON THE FLOOR?  WHOA!!!  THAT'S NOT AN M&M!  BY THE WAY, HAVE I EVER TOLD YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU?  AND KEEP RUBBING MY SCALP.  THAT FEELS REALLY GOOD!

Recently, a company called Baby Loves Disco has been organizing children's events in several nightclubs around NYC.  The events take place on Saturday afternoons and generally attract kids up to the age of four.  The premise is that kids naturally love dancing, flashing lights and bubble machines---so why not bring in some DJs and let the kids have some fun?  A few of the clubs have even brought in some big-name DJs to mix up pop-disco hits and some underground house music.  This generally sounds like a good idea.  But I've been to these clubs and I can only imagine it will be a matter of time before a little girl hands a hit of Ecstasy to one of her parents and says, "Mommy, Mommy!  What's this?  Is it candy?  I like candy.  Can I eat it?"  Maybe I'm a little paranoid but I think this business plan needs a little more work.

THE BIGGEST BOMB SINCE "ISHTAR"

I desperately try to not make my daughter's poop a subject on this blog.  Unfortunately, I've already shared so many tales with you about her Total Ass Explosions and her Whopper malted milk-ball turds.  So I might as well tell you that, the other day, BossLady was changing the Peanut's diaper.  All of sudden I heard, "Honey!  Come here!  QUICK!"  In a panic, I ran over to the two of them, only to see the LARGEST CRAP EVER in the Peanut's diaper!!!  Sure, we were used to some big turds.  But this was just a giant mass of poo!  It had no shape or definition.  It was just a huge array of poo!  Internets, how come none of you warned me about this?  WE HAD NO IDEA THIS WAS COMING!

WHAT ABOUT A SITCOM REVOLVING AROUND A NEUROTIC JEWISH COMIC WHO WORKS IN AN E.R.?  OR MAYBE A REALITY SHOW WHERE WE REPLACE THE LEAD SINGER OF QUEEN BY HAVING AN ICE-SKATING COMPETITION AND THE CONTESTANTS HAVE TO EAT BUGS? 

I'm not too proud to admit that I enjoy watching my fair share of television.  It's ironic because, as a parent, I am adamantly anti-television.  Although the Peanut is 15 months old, I've yet to allow her to zone out in front of Baby Einstein, cartoons or kids shows.  When we have free time together, I read to her.  We play on the floor.  We''ll go to the playground.  Or we'll take long walks around the city.  I figure that she'll discover television when she gets to elementary school and all her peers are talking about certain shows.  But that's a road we'll cross much later. 

But when she's in her crib and fast asleep?  Well, shit!  Grab the chips and toss me the remote, bitch!  This work/parenting thing can be exhausting.  Many a night, I just want to sit in front of the tube and zone out.

Unfortunately, there's a lot of crap on TV these days.  Half the shows are amalgamations of previously successful formats ("Well, they liked 'Dancing with the Stars.'  Why don't we do 'Skating with Celebrities'?")  But man, somebody needs to put me in charge of network television programming.  Because I've got a lot of thoughts on the subject.  In fact, I can sum up the entire demise of network television in precisely four words.  You know what those words are?  Emily's. Reasons. Why. Not.

That show had crapola written all over it.  I literally told BossLady that the show would be lucky to last a single episode and, sure enough, it was cancelled immediately after its premiere.  But, tell me, people!  What's going to be cleared up first?  My hemmorhoids or "Freddie?"  And who's the brainiac that thought anyone would possibly be interested in "The Book of Daniel," "Crumbs," or "Jake in Progress?"  Seriously?  This crap is making me long for the days of "Cop Rock" and "That's so Raven!"

Ok, folks.  I'm done now.  As always, feel free to comment on any/all of the above.  I know it's all a little random, disjointed and schizophrenic...but that's how I'm feeling these days.  Mazel Tov!