Tuesday, June 24, 2014

And Then She Could Read

And Then Our Daughter Could Read


Duchess hops into my lap and hands me her single-word flash cards. I'd purchased the flashcards at Walmart over a year ago in one of those optimistic parent moments. You know those moments? They’re the ones where you’re walking around Walmart and you imagine your kid sitting in your lap, happily looking at flashcards and talking about how they want to be a doctor someday. They’re the ones where you close your eyes and see an exact picture of your child, older now and calmer, sitting in the shade of a cottonwood tree, reading “Of Mice and Men”. She gets to the end, “Tell me about the rabbits, George.” The air she is breathing gets trapped in her chest. She closes the book on her index finger and bites her lower lip to push the tears back in, then opens the book and looks back out over the vista with Lenny and George. 

“Cuh…ahh…t… Cat.” 

“That’s right! Good job!”

Friday, June 20, 2014

You're in Charge of Your Body. I Still Get to Make Rules.

Source: Kristine-Claire Tumblr

Have you seen this shirt? It has been all over the place. I shared it. I cheered. I like to think of myself as a feminist father. And I agree with the shirt, mostly. 

Here’s the problem with shirts and bumper stickers and sound bites. They boil everything down into a simple digestible message that, while catchy and convenient, is also easily misconstrued. I could see myself buying this shirt, wearing it proudly, only to have it come back and bite me in the ass when my 14 year old daughter wants to create all the rules when it comes to dating. That’s not going to fly. 

Friday, June 13, 2014

This is the #PowerofDad - Oral B

This is the third of three sponsored posts I am doing leading up to Father's Day. I was compensated for my participation in this campaign.



Technically I became a father the when Duchess was born. But you're never really a fully formed father. You are constantly in a state of becoming. The first time my kid fell and called my name through her tears, the first time I woke up at 3 AM to have her standing next to my bed creepily staring at my face, the first time she didn't need me to sit next to her while she pooped. These were all steps in my never ending journey to becoming a dad. But with each one I become more powerful, more dad like, more cheese filled, and with every #PowerofDad moment I want to yell, "FOOLS, YOU HAVEN'T EVEN SEEN MY FINAL FORM!"

Thursday, June 12, 2014

My Daughter Throws a Fit

Not Duchess, but a fair representation of how she looked.

Here’s my #realdadmoment for the week. My kid threw a Category 5 fit in front of her daycare yesterday. It started when she wanted to open the door to the car. I shut the door and motioned to her to open it. She yelled that it was too late because she hadn't wanted me to open it at all. I explained the transitional nature of a door and that it can be open and shut multiple times and that she could still open the door. She laid down in the parking lot and started crying. I picked her up and she punched me in the face.

This is the first time she has hit in months. My eyes watered, both from anger and from the pain of a fist being thrust down upon my nose. Why does it always have to be the nose! 

I had to force her into the car and clip her in while praying that no one around would think I was kidnapping her. Then, when I got home all of our neighbors were out in their yards to see me pry my daughter out of my 99 Accord (she didn't want to get out of the car just as much as she didn't want to get in it) and fireman carry her, still kicking and screaming, into the house. Oh and I had my 1 y/o son too. Sometimes I paint a pretty picture of parenthood, but sometimes it is really f*cking hard.

When we got inside she went straight to her room. OK, I carried her straight to her room and set her down. I told her she was on time out and that she needed to stay in her room. She screamed and sobbed and lost her breath, and I walked out, shut the door, and held the knob as she struggled against it. 

“Daddy! I d….on’t… wa…nt to…. be…be be….. in my room. Let me OOOOOOUT! Take me back to daycare!!!”

“No. We don’t hit. You go and you sit in your chair and you can come out in ten minutes when you have calmed down.”

“D….a…….a…..a” It was getting worse. It is so long ago, but I remember that feeling like it was yesterday. I remember being so upset that getting a single word out through the stuttered sobs was as upsetting as the reason for the sobs themselves. I wanted to open the door. I wanted to pick her up and hold her until she caught her breath. I wanted to… I needed her to know that she shouldn't throw fits like that.

“Da….d….I….don’t…wa…aaant…to…. be….trapped.”

That’s how I felt. I felt trapped. I don’t know how to do this. I have no f*cking clue what I am doing. Everything I do could be wrong, and I might not even find out for 18 years. At least one of us didn’t have to feel trapped. I opened the door. 

“Can…I…come…out?”

“No, you need to sit in your chair. Come here.” I picked her up and carried her to the glider in her room. I got down on her level. “Look me in the eyes.” I gently pulled her chin up from her chest to look at me. “You need to sit here and take some time to calm down. I know you are very upset. I am not going to lock your door. I am going to leave it open. You are not trapped. I am also going to go get you some water. But you can’t come out for ten minutes. OK?” 

“OK.”

I grabbed her a small glass of water and when I came back in the room her crying had stopped and she was left with only a few sporadic breath spasms. 

“Here’s your water. I will tell you when you can come out.”

“OK.”

I spent the next ten minutes calming myself down.  I unloaded the dishwasher. I obsessed over the words, “I don’t want to be trapped.” I played with my son. I buried my face in my hands and questioned how anyone can ever claim to be a great parent. I preheated the oven and got the fish sticks ready.  I replayed the scene in the parking lot of the daycare in my head and was ashamed. I looked at my watch.

“It’s been ten minutes. As soon as you’re ready to say sorry, you can come out!”

15 minutes later she quietly walked out of her room, eyes still red and puffy. She came up to me and crawled into my lap. She gently lifted my chin and brought my eyes to meet hers. 

“I’m sorry for throwing a fit, dad.”

“What else are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for hitting you and not listening.”

“Do you know why we don’t hit?”

“Because it hurts?”

“Yes. Because it hurts people. You hurt me when you hit me.” Sometimes as I watch her eyes while I talk to her, I can tell that what I am saying is getting in. When I said she hurt me, I could see it. I could see that hurting me hurt her and then that hurt me. “I love you, Duchess.” 

“I know. You love me even when I throw fits.”

“I do. I love you all the time.”

“I love you all the time too, daddy.”

“No more fits tonight? Your mommy is out with her friends. I need you to be my special helper.”

Her eyes lit up, “Can I be in charge of Captain?”

“Yes. You can be in charge of Captain, as long as you are nice and share.” 

 “I will. I promise.”

“No more fits?”

“No more fits.”

And we ate our fishsticks. And we put Captain to bed. And we watched Tinkerbell. And there were no more fits. 

Sorry. No lessons to be learned here. Just an unvarnished tale of how sometimes shit gets shitty and then it gets a little better. I don't ever want to just paint a picture of the good things. Not everything looks better with an Instagram Filter. I try to do my best and sometimes my best isn't good enough. Hell, sometimes it isn't even my best. Anyway, something something follow me on Facebook. You all rock. Thanks for reading. - John

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

A Letter to Pre-Dad Me

Dear John 2010,

Hey man, how’s it going! It’s me, you. Well, you from the future. Four years in the future to be exact. Right now you’re probably reading this on your iPhone 3G while Stevie is rubbing cocoa butter on her belly to help prevent stretch-marks from the basketball of a daughter she’s carrying in that tiny body of hers. That doesn't really work by the way. You know what does? Telling her you love her stretch marks, kissing them, and thanking her over and over for making a baby. Do you know why it works? Because you aren't lying. You are truly grateful, and she’ll know it. 

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Destination Dad - Finding Gifts While Wearing Silly Mustaches




I have been compensated for this post. Well, I haven't been compensated yet, but I will be eventually. The mustaches are fake, the words belong to me.

So Stevie, Duchess, Captain, and I put on fake mustaches and went to Sears. Why? A few reasons. 1, we like fake mustaches. 2, We're participating in the Sears #DestinationDad Campaign. 3, we like fake mustaches. First, a little about the awesome campaign.

Any time before June 15, take a photo of your or your dad’s mustache and share it at 
sears.com/DestinationDad for a chance to win the ultimate Father’s Day gift – a trip to the Craftsman MAKEcation!

What is a Craftsman MAKEcation? Well, I'm told that it is a magical place where your dad will meet a celebrity yet to be named, learn to make whiskey (bonus), roll cigars (not really my thing, but I know a lot of dudes who like a stogey), grill steaks (yum), and amass survival skills (because you can never have enough survival skills)! Runner up prizes include other great gifts like a Craftsman Quiet Lawnmower Craftsman portable gas grill and Craftsman MACH Series tools.

Thursday, June 5, 2014

Fatherhood is All About the Unscripted Moments - Cardstore

This post is sponsored. The words and opinions are mine. The videos are theirs.

The nice thing about writing a blog is that I get to take moments out of my day, package them in pretty prose, and make myself sound twice as witty as when they actually happened. Have you ever walked away from a tense conversation and then spent the rest of the night going over and over it in your head, consistently coming to those, "I should have said that!" moments? Well, start a blog. Then you can say everything exactly how you wish you would have said it. Being a parent. Being a father. Not so much. I can practice over and over how I am going to convince Duchess not to try an climb onto the roof, but the moment she starts up the side of the patio all my planning goes out the window and I am in full daddy-improv mode.

I recently signed on with Cardstore to help them out with their Father's Day campaign. You probably recognize the name Cardstore from their mega viral #worldstoughestjob campaign in May. In case you don't remember, here's the spot from just before Mother's Day.



Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Ballad of the Octonauts - Adorable Video

This is our talented friend Mark playing a tiny, toy plastic guitar for Duchess's friend Samson. His adorable improvised song will now be stuck in your head for the rest of the day. You are welcome. 



"Hey Captain Barnacle, do you haaave any ink on your face?"