Looky, Daddy!

I Am Finally Cool

I am finally cool. I own an iPod.

It's an 80 gigabyte mother of an iPod, too, all sleek and black and shiny. And it was free.

I won't go into just how I landed a free iPod, but I will say that US Gypsum makes a fine sheetrock product. If you are planning on purchasing drywall for your home, you can't do better than US Gypsum. They allow you to design and build with confidence. That's US Gypsum, leading the building materials industry for more than 100 years.

And this iPod came just in time, because my entire imaginary life was collapsing upon itself. You see, an imaginary life can only hold so many lies. It needs a few solid truths on which to build its flimsy web of dreams. And now my imaginary life, my web of dreams, is firmly anchored upon my very real iPod.

Now all I need is a drastic downsizing of the number of kids and cats in my house (in fact, let's just do away with both of those departments altogether), a relocation to a cozy one-bedroom apartment in the Village, a pay-raise for The Mom, and a nice book deal for me and the rest of my imaginary life will be realized.

But until then, I think the iPod is a good start. Now does anyone want to come over and watch my kids while I load a few songs into this thing?

Anyone?

One More Travel Tip

Well, the whole crew is back in New Jersey, just in time for Halloween, and on our way home, I thought of one more tip for traveling with twins that I left out last time. Here it is:

After you choose your destination, buy a guide book, a nice one. Take it home and read it, cover to cover. Read some passages twice and linger a little over the good parts. Does it feel like you are there already? Can't you just smell the smells, see the sights, and taste the tastes?

Good, because that's as close as you should come to ever actually traveling there.

Case in point: Everything was planned out for today's return flight. The flight was scheduled for 11:30 AM, which was perfect. We could spend a little time on the plane eating, then my delightful darling children would be in the air for their noontime nap. Perfect.

But we had forgotten daylight savings time. I'll save my rant against daylight savings time for another post, just suffice it to say that toddlers don't give a flip what a clock says, they wake at the same time, eat at the same time, and nap at the same time each day. So today's 11:30 AM flight was really at 12:30 PM twin time.

No big deal yet, but then yesterday we checked our flight and learned to our surprise that it had been rescheduled to 12:30 PM, or 1:30 Twin Time. Still not terrible, but hardly ideal.

And sure enough, true to their word, the plane pulled away from the gate at 12:30 PM sharp. And then came the announcement. Due to high winds in Newark, we've been asked to stay put in Dallas  for an extra 90 minutes. On the tarmac. And so we did. 90 unmoving minutes on a runway at DFW.

At exactly 87 minutes into our bonus time, a new announcement came over. The captain apologetically stated that the wind in Newark had not diminished and we had been asked to hold our position for 2 more hours. On the tarmac. 120 additional unmoving minutes on a runway at DFW.

We were still sitting, unmoving, looking out over the bleak, brown, autumn grass of Texas at the time that the flight should have been landing in Newark.

But just before the two hours expired, our pilot was given the go-ahead for takeoff but with a warning attached, he told us over the intercom, that we might have to stay in the air for a bit once we got to Newark. And sure enough, our 3 hour 17 minute travel time was stretched well past the 4-hour mark before we finally touched down on New Jersey soil.

But wait, The Dad, I hear you calling. All this is so clinical. It's just places and times. What about the human element? What about the impact all this had on the people involved? What about the twins? And to that I say, you are all intelligent, creative people. Sit for a minute and imagine the twins on a flight that begins 90 minutes after their nap should have started, waits for three and a half hours on a runway, then finally flies over 3 hours to its destination, but doesn't land until it has circled the airport for almost another hour.

Go ahead. Close your eyes and imagine it. I dare you.

But Enough About Me

I'm pleased. Very pleased. My blog account tells me that there are either an awful lot of you reading my little blog daily or my mother has learned how to mask her IP address and just make it seem like I'm popular. And I really did not expect this. To tell the truth, it's kind of weird to have these limited one-way conversations with so many people. I mean, who are all of you? Some of you are simply numbers on my stats page while others comment so regularly that I speak of you as friends to my, um, real friends, which makes me look mighty geeky to say the least.

So I'm going to step away from my computer for a while (consider it a three-day weekend) and I'm going to open this post up to you, Gentle Reader. Tell me a little about yourself. You need not include any real identifying information, just little stuff like where you are from, if you have kids, what you do, etc. And fellow bloggers, feel free to plug your own blog here if you like.

I'll start on the first comment.

Ask The Dad

Dear The Dad,

What did you want to do before wanting to be a dad of three?  Did you go to college?  If so, was it to be a dad?  Or did you have other ideas not as cool as being a dad and decided this would be best?

Thanks,

Katie

Dear Katie,

What did I do before wanting to be a dad of three? Dearie, I never wanted to be a dad of three. One? Okay. Two? Begrudgingly. Three? Oh dear lord, no. But that's what happens sometimes. I blame The Mom. You see, I figure The Mom was at work, babysitting our second child who at the time was no more than the tiniest of tiny fertilized eggs. I picture her there with her egg, like Horton in his tree, being faithful 100%, when I guess she looked away for a split-second (probably to gaze over at that Johnny Depp poster in her office that she thinks I don't know about) and, sploof! that egg split. So the next thing we know, Mr. Sonogram-technician is saying, "Hey, look! There's another heartbeat!" And sploof! I'm a father of three.

Life's kind of wacky that way.

To answer your other questions: Yes, I did go to college. In fact, it was on my first day of college that I met The Mom. Within hours of meeting her, we were sitting down and sharing a chocolate milkshake in the cafeteria, a situation brought on more by our extreme lack of money than by our budding love. In fact, it took our love a full four more years to fully bud and then a good seven after that to turn into a marriage.

No, I did not go to college to be a dad. I went to college to study philosophy. (Please feel free to insert any and all "philosophy major" jokes you might know in the comments section. Here's the one to beat: What's the difference between an armadillo and a philosophy major when they are both found dead on the side of a road? The armadillo may have been on its way to a job.)

Did I have other ideas besides being a dad? Absolutely, but becoming a dad was part of the package deal when I asked The Mom—of course this was before she was The Mom and went by her maiden name, The Hottie (even now she hyphenates her name on her business cards as The Hottie-Mom)—to marry me, so my dreams of being a childless rodeo clown will sadly never be realized.

Sigh,

The Dad

Got a question for The Dad? Email me.

Email The Dad

Hush Little Baby

I memorize things. Not important things, mind you. No, I memorize useless information.

It really bothers me that I can never remember necessary things like, you know, my age, but instead I've filled my mind with countless Bob Dylan lyrics and mathematical equations. I secretly justify this to myself by pretending that one day I'll be walking down the streets of Los Angeles and I'll meet Jay Leno who will offer me fame and fortune if only I can recite pi to 35 digits. So far, no luck.

But now that I have a blog, I can post snippets of my enormous stock of useless knowledge so that you, Gentle Reader, may benefit. It is in that spirit that I am writing today.

In the past I have spoken with more than a few parents of infants who have been quite perturbed by the fact that they can only remember two or three lines of the Mockingbird song . You know, "Hush little baby, don't say a word..." So, since the lyrics to that song are currently cluttering up my memory, I thought I'd share them here. Maybe this way I can put them to rest and have room to remember something new, like what size shoe my oldest daughter wears. That would be nice.

Oh, and you'll have to excuse me if, a long time ago, I changed the character in the song from Momma to Daddy. I figure, if I'm going to be home singing this song ad infinitum, then dadgummit, it's going to be about me.

Hush little baby, don't say a word

Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird won't sing

Daddy's gonna buy you a diamond ring

And if that diamond ring turns brass

Daddy's gonna buy you a looking glass

And if that looking glass gets broke

Daddy's gonna buy you a billy goat

And if that goat breaks from his cage

Daddy's gonna go through middle age

And if that crisis goes too far

Daddy's gonna buy a red sports car

And if that sports car really vrooms

Daddy's gonna date a girl with big bazooms

And if that girl informs your mom

Momma's gonna make a homemade bomb

And if that little bomb goes boom

Daddy's gonna take a trip to the moon

And if that Dad never comes back down

You'll still be the sweetest little girl in town

There, now you all know it, too. Go sing it to your little ones.

Nighty-night.

Flying the Friendly Skies

I’m blogging in real time here. We are 30,000 feet above the earth, facing a strong headwind, traveling to Dallas/Fort Worth at eight-tenths of the speed of sound. My whole family is here. The Mom is in the row in front of me squeezed between Kathryn and Victoria while I’m in the middle seat behind her, between Lila and a woman I don’t know.

There is an art to flying with twins; an art you must learn quickly. Our first flight, a little under a year ago at Christmas, was horrific. The second flight, just a week later returning home, was much better. Now, on this flight, we are seasoned pros.

I have learned that it is necessary to dress your little ones in their cutest clothes, and then let them run around in front of the check-in desk before your flight. Tell them to wave at the check-in attendants and even blow kisses if possible. Make them so adorable and irresistible that even the most harassed check-in clerks' hearts will melt, because nothing makes your day go better than when the people in charge like your babies.

I did not know this a year ago. Back then, the babies were crawling, not walking, and The Mom and I set up them up in a defensible and enclosed location far removed from the gate where they could crawl around and get their wiggles out beforehand. The gatekeepers never saw the kids and thus their icy hearts never melted. And when the time came to board, they were ugly. Oh so ugly.

But that is a topic for another post. I think I’ll call it “I Made 145 People Miss Their Connecting Flights and Other Stories of Traveling with Twins”. Come to think of it, that would be an awesome title for a book, wouldn’t it? Okay, nobody steal it—it’s mine.

I have also learned that car seats can only go in an airplane’s window seat. They cannot be placed side-by-side because the FAA says that a car seat in a middle chair will block the window seat passenger’s emergency escape route. It does not matter to the FAA that the window seat passenger is also an 11-month-old whose ability to escape is already blocked by simply being an infant and a car seat or two is not going to change anything.

I have learned that it is better for twins to be one behind the other, not across the isle from each other. That way, when they kick the seat in front of them (and they will kick the seat in front of them), only one of them is kicking a stranger.

I have learned that having a flight attendant who also happens to have twins can be the difference between a bad flight and a flight that is nicer and more relaxing than many spa trips. “More wine, The Dad? You look like you could use it. Courtesy of American Airlines.”

I have learned that pre-boarding a toddler is just plain dumb. In fact, airlines should board everyone else first, make sure that everything is ready to go, get clearance for take-off, and then bring on the babies.

I have learned that nothing can keep a toddler more entertained than a game of "airsickness-bag surprise." This is when you take random toy and place it inside a folded, secured, and above all unused airsickness bag and then let the toddler wrestle with it for a good 20 minutes just to see what's inside. And if toys aren't an exciting enough reward, place a little 'Nilla wafer in there. They'll go nuts.

I have learned that pilots will wait until just after your baby has gone to sleep to announce that you are now flying over Lake Whogivesacrap.

I have learned that babies love turbulence. "More shakey! More shakey!"

And most importantly, I have learned that a little half-teaspoon a half-hour before take-off of Benadryl never hurt anyone.

Weekend Weblink

Because even sick stay at home dads need a break on the weekends, here's your weekend weblink. It's a keeper.

See you Monday when I'll be blogging from my home state of Texas. That's right--this weekend I'll be taking my whole de-lightful family on a plane. It'll be a karma-building experience, I'm sure. (More for those seated near us than for us. Poor blighters.)

White and Nerdy (movie with sound)

I Lost My Number

I was not always a stay-at-home dad, so I do know a few things. I know about the number.

Don't be coy. You know about the number, too. The number. That you call. When you are sick.

When I was a math teacher in Texas, I had a number. Before that, when I worked out in Arizona with homeless youth, I had a number. When I taught in Japan, and before that, the Czech Republic, I had a number. There was even a number to call way back when I was flipping burgers after school for 1985's minimum wage.

But now I have no number.

I'm coughing up a lung, my head is splitting open, my voice sounds like it is coming from the bottom of an impossibly deep and gravely well, and I have no number.

There's no one I can call to tell that I feel like crap and I'm not coming in to work today. "Cancel my meetings, and tell Mr. Doo-Dah that I'll get back to him when I'm feeling better. And have Zippy check the levels in the deep fat fryer, they seemed a little low yesterday. Thanks." Click.

Why is that? Is my current job really less important than when I was flipping burgers at Braum's Ice Cream and Dairy stores 20 years ago? Is it so easy that even a sick person should be able to do it? Why do I have no number to call?

No. The reason is simple. I have no number because I am the number. I am the living, breathing number to call for everyone in my family. A baby is sick? I'll take care of her. Kathryn can't go to school? I'll stay with her. The Mom sprains her ankle? I'll make her comfortable and shoulder her workload, too. And if The Dad gets sick, well, I guess I'll have to handle that one as well. It's what I do.

I am my own number.

Dorothy's Been Thinking About Feminism, Too, and Dorothy Has a Question! Let's Ask Mr. Noodle.

Monday on Elmo's World there was no Mr. Noodle. There was no Mr. Noodle's brother, Mr. Noodle. Instead there was a rare appearance by Mr. Noodle's sister, Ms. Noodle. Now if you don't know who the Noodles are, or even the steps to the Noodle Family Dance, then perhaps you should go explore the LookyDaddy archives    let your child watch more television   congratulate yourself on your parenting skills    go ask the nearest 3-year-old read something else, because this post is definitely not for you.

So Kathryn is sitting there, watching Mr. Noodle's sister, Ms. Noodle, lamely try to answer the Dorothy's question when she turned to me and said, "You'd think Ms. Noodle would be smarter. I mean, she is a girl."

Right on, sister. Right on.

More Fun with Science

Hey kids! Last time we learned what it was like to feed an infant. Have you ever wondered what it's like to feed a toddler? Follow along with these simple steps. LookyDaddy makes learning fun!

Supplies:

peas

corn

pasta

banana slices

partner

car

Procedure:

First, have your partner drive the car into your dining room. You may need to rearrange the furniture to make it fit. Remember to always ask a grown-up before moving any heavy items.

Next, prepare the pasta according to the package directions. While the pasta cooks, have your partner simulate a hungry child by blowing the car horn for the duration of the cooking time.

Also while the pasta cooks, prepare the peas and corn. Heat them in the microwave for 30 seconds on high, then place in the refrigerator for 5 minutes to cool them back down.

Once all of the ingredients are prepared, approach the car. Have your partner stop blowing the horn while you carefully arrange half of the peas, corn, pasta, and banana slices on the outside of the car's windshield.

Wait five seconds and then have your partner turn on the car's windshield wipers while simultaneously honking the horn again.

With the windshield wipers and horn still on, try to place the remaining portions of food on the windshield. Continue until food is gone. Then have your partner drive the car to the front of the television to watch Baby Mozart while you clean the walls, the floor, and yourself.

Wasn't that fun?