Reflections on Parenting: Year One

I've now been a parent "successfully" (meaning I'm still alive) for a year. A significant accomplishment for me considering my wife frequently tells me I'm a twelve year old. After all, who knew a twelve year old could take care of a baby? All that considered, it's been pretty interesting. While I don't think I'm ready to write any books on the subject, I have made some significant observations over the past year I wanted to pass along to the world:

1) You can invent anything for a baby and people will overpay for it. The best part is you feel like it's a must have item in your sleep deprived-internet surfing-new parent daze, yet the kid will only use it for about 6 days then be too big for it. It's similar to that phenomenon your college buddy has where he absolutely HAS to buy 6 shots of tequila a 2am.

B) Why can't one of us figure out a way to make formula? Reality is that that crap costs about 4 cents to make and they are charging the cost of 1/2 of a vital organ for a can. Thank god beer doesn't cost that much, as I'm almost out of vital organs after one year.

IV) Puffs taste like nothing. Some crazy ass scientist found a way to make a solid form of air and then started selling it. It makes the kid stop crying, but seriously. (see point 1)

iii) Having a child totally redefines your idea of noise. I used to get really annoyed by the smallest creeking, whistling or buzzing sound. Now, I have been conditioned to the simultaneous harmony of battery operated toys, crying and the radio all at once while I take a "nap." I sometimes turn on the table saw and test the carbon monoxide detector just to create some noise to relax.

XI) Kids spill a lot when they eat. I have saved all the food little baby E has dropped on the floor and will be able to have lunch at work the entire next year. You actually only feed the child 1/10th of the food you prepare. Our vacuum, however, eats very well. If we only still had the dog, she would love this baby!

iii) As a male with normal sized fingers those damn buttons on baby clothes are ridiculously small. I would have better luck playing Playstation with my feet than getting some of these clothes on the baby. It makes you feel like the people who are so uncoordinated that they fail sobriety tests when they are sober.

7) It used to be that getting peed on meant your roomate in college mistook your bed for the toilet. It usually ended by kicking him (or her) in the balls (or ovaries) and then having a beer together to "talk it out." Now you get pissed on (presumably by your child) and you just hope it dries before you get to your office.

J) I sometimes think small children have magical powers and can move really fast when we are not looking at them. One minute they are playing quietly with blocks in the living room and then 1/2 second later they are bathing in the toilet and there is 200 yards of toilet paper on the floor.....WTF? How did that all happen so quickly? The kid can't even walk yet! I'm telling you, it's magical powers.

It's been a really fun and crazy year little baby girl.....Happy 1st Birthday, Ella!

Tight Pants?

We all have to have a cause. Something we are passionate about, dedicated to and our little way of making the world better. This worry of Nate Holland's.....um......well, not exactly. You can read the story here. One would think as snowboarding gains momentum and credibility for it's amazing athletes and crazy tricks that the worries of others clothing (which could actually make you faster) would be resurfacing the snowboarder stereotype of slacker, pot-smoking misfits who have no place on the hill or in the Olympics (a stereotype I do not agree with). If the 'heritage' of the sport is so important, why doesn't Nate ride on the vintage board and see how he fairs against the rest of the world? Or possibly you should revisit the Picaboo Street downhill race that was won by 1/100th of a second? I think I would choose the gold medal over the pants of my choosing, dude. Maybe if you were good, you could get press by winning instead of super lame soundbites like this one.

Daycare Driving

My wife and I carpool to work and while she takes the baby into the daycare, I chill in the car and listen to sports radio. I've noticed that the people dropping off their children seem to have a complete inability to drive or park a car. There are a couple of prototypical drivers I've seen.

First, is the SUV lady who seems to have no idea how to cram her super giant Tahoe into a parallel parking spot, regardless of how big it is, so she doesn't. She just pulls in forward and gets as close as she can then throws it into park. This usually results in the 80% of the car out in the middle of the narrow road and the driver is amazingly unaware of the 60 degree angle between her mammoth vehicle and the curb (which should be parallel for those slow on the uptake). After all, it is her world, and we are just lucky to be living in it. Out jumps the 5 foot 1 inch parent with her 4 month old. I hope that semi-truck has enough room for that giant baby, and how many phone books is that lady sitting on?

Next is the 7 point Prius Parker. This person has one of the smallest cars made, yet is totally unable to fit it into a spot twice it's size. Here's how it goes down: Prius pulls into the spot forward trying to avoid showing the world that they don't actually know how to parallel park a car. Then as they pull forward the brakes 'malfunction' and she hits the car in front of her. Next, she backs up and the accelerator 'sticks' and she hits the car behind her. After all of this, they do the forward and back about 6 times and still leave 1/3rd of the car out in the road. I don't want to give away the identity of the driver, but the gender rhymes with squirrel. If I knew how to take out the batteries, I would.

Last, is the Minivan Mastodon. This beast has the minivan that has hit 7-9 drivers and has all the wounds to show it, including the dangling and dragging ground effects on the front end (no doubt from pulling it in just a hair to fair on a snowbank last week). This sweet ride also came with some sick wood panelling that was probably an upgrade at the dealer, if it is in fact even stock. She doesn't care about the parking job, because she will eat anyone that says anything to her. She gets out and unloads about 7 kids, crams down a few more bites of donut and herds her team into the daycare. Truly a site for all to see.

In conclusion, if you live in a city learn how to parallel park your car or just tattoo moron on your head to let us all know to drive a block farther down to save on the insurance claim.

Go Away People

Today the cashier at Target was the type that wants to become overly interested in your life based on your purchases. She comments on the greetings cards I purchased and comments on certain food items. All the while I am thinking I wished I wore a t-shirt that said "I HATE PEOPLE." I certainly appreciate good customer service, but this conversation quickly turned into her offering up information about her carpel tunnel. I wanted to comment on the sweet arm brace she was wearing, and how I thought she looked like an epic hypochondriac, but the sweetheart that I am held my tongue. Really, who am I to judge how difficult it must be to work the cash register at Targhetto? It has to be pretty intense stress having to scan items (some of which are heavy) and read numbers off of a computer screen. Next time someone wants to comment on my purchases I am going to go back into the store and buy 712 condoms, 1 frozen bratwurst, 6 pair of size 42 women's' thong underwear, a 5 gallon pail of Vaseline and a 98 degrees CD. My instincts tell me that the cashier won't say too much.