It has been a full 4 months or so since I last posted to my site and  its been 4 months since my mind has shifted back into a groove I was once used to.

Stay at Home Dad with 2 kids can be brutal. I sort of forgot the non stop attention that a newborn demands. Yet, I also forgot how you can always put them in the old pack and play while checking scores or drinking coffee.

My youngest is about to become 5 months old and my older daughter will shortly be turning 3 years old. The plan for my wife and I was simple; our older daughter will love to be daddy's little helper with her new sister. At this point I will start typing "Ha!" repeatedly for several pages until it ceases to be funny. On second thought,  I will spare you that symbolic gesture and continue.

It has probably taken this long for my oldest (we will refer to her as "T", to get used to the idea that the new toy that can scream and poop, (we'll refer to her as "D"), is here to stay.  After extensive research I have found that this is actually normal. What isn't "normal" is that "D", the youngest (4 months) is crawling. Minimal with the feet, but moving nonetheless.

I thought I'd have more time to lay her safely on her play mat and take care of bathroom business in the morn...no such luck. (Did I mention I love my Pack and Play.) So I am active, all day. Chasing , changing, feeding, and on it goes. Two kids makes raising one seem like a nap in a hammock on a lazy spring day. Ahhh. Sleep and dream... Sorry only children, this is why you have disorders. On the upside I've reacquainted myself with periodic celibacy, except now I am the one with the headache. I find it conserves much needed strength and clarity for the day ahead.  Going to bed at 9:30 pm is not uncommon.

And you know what else I have learned in these 4 months since I last blogged. Stay At Home Dad is like the new black. It is fashionable. I've seen articles about it, Marie Claire just had one and it was pretty accurate, with regards to the psychology of it all. It is becoming so chic that there are dads in my neighborhood who are intentionally getting fired from their jobs so they can be Stay At Home Dads. You'd think  that I'd be happy at my popularity, but no. I'm a curmudgeon. I'm not happy. When beards became popular  I shaved mine off. When flannels were back in style,( again,) I wore T shirts.  When wearing pants was considered "cool", guess who was pant-less. That last one is to illustrate that I am a negative reactionary or "a jackass". I can't help it. The real truth is I never gave up on flannels, I was just wondering why they ever went out of style. Back to my point...it is becoming a little easier to say that, "I am a Stay At Home Father." So, whether it is "my" time or kismet, or a mental release or I'm trying to quit smoking, I am back writing and (cue the sensitive violins) sharing my story with everyone or anyone who reads this.

I suppose the strangest thing of all is that for the most part, I am really happy with the way my life is. I sort of feel as though I was meant to do this. I mean, I am a musician and prone to fantasy and delayed development. Who better to raise my kids, me or my responsible wife with the career and 401k.

Coming up: usable content...maybe.

I must admit that  my wife and I had a pretty good night time routine going; wash hands, brush teeth, warm bath, and WOOSH!!! Crib ->Sleep. We managed to watch some movies,television, have  conversations together, perhaps a little adult time...oh man!!! It was sweet. However,  a few months ago we noticed our daughter had taken a liking to adult beds; our bed, her grandparents bed, friends beds, your bed. She would actually get under the covers, tuck herself in and say, "Good night." and let out a fake snoring sound.

Well, last week I figured that it was time to turn her crib into a day bed, as per the instruction manual that came with her crib. I went out and bought her a new Winnie the Pooh sheet thinking that this would be an easy endeavor. WRONG!!!  The first night was a lie. The second night was a lie . Then she just stopped lying altogether and made it plain that she wanted to sleep in our bed exclusively. Here's a little recap:

First Night- My little peanut brittle sandwich face (todays pet name for my daughter) was pretty exhausted from the holidays (see last posting) and she passed out at 8:30pm and slept till 6:30am in her new bed. My wife and I celebrated, "Victory! Our kid is great! Is there anything that can stop her?Tomorrow we'll teach her how to make coffee for us." Alas,  Lies! A fluke I say!

LATER  NIGHTS- Each successive night was worse than the next. She would fall asleep in the living room, and I would carry her off to her bed, but she kept getting up and walking into our bedroom. Sometimes she would only be asleep in her room 1 hour and we'd hear a cockerspaniel-like whimper, "Daddy?". And into our bed she goes!

So now it's serious hardcore parenting time. Dinner, bathtime, storytime, bedtime,...get out of bedtime, beg time, put back to bedtime, more get out of bedtime, (An hour or so later) bedtime for Mom and Dad, followed by, exhaustion, family-bedtime, cat in the bed time, numbness of limb-time, etc...

Yup, I made a huge mistake. I found a small, bizzare, comfort zone for myself, and I forgot the number one rule of the parenting...the only constant in the universe is change.

Next blog teaser: Stay at home Dad, and 2 kids???

Submitted for your approval. A toddler we will simply call "Ms. T".  And a robust gift giver by the name of Santa. Twelve  days of holiday cheer that turned into 12 nights of satanic misery. What happens when the apple of your eye quickly turns into the applesauce down your pants. Let us journey now into the nether region of  cartoon and nightly news. A place where the "binky" meets the eye. A state of undoing that no cup of coffee can correct.  A place I like to refer to as...The Twilight Zone.

Could it be too much excitement? Too much attention? Too much pasta?  Too much rock and roll? Yeah, it's probably all of the above. No doubt all parents experience this rift in time, the black hole in Toddler-dom, where nap time could be anytime. Where bowel movements are few and far between. Where outfit changes become obsolete (see Hugh Hefner).  Where bedtime is anybody's guess, and location...well, that's dealers choice.

My mind is a little fuzzy from last nights lack of sleep, but I believe that this started Christmas eve at my sister in laws house. I noticed a strange phenomenon: Nudity. Not the regular nudity my daughter enjoys. Those passive few minutes between her street clothes and pajama time. I am talking about extended nudity. Nudity , unbridled and quite lively. It actually appears to be both liberating and refreshing, but after the first hour, a little extreme.  This seemed okay in front of her immediate family but what about play dates? What about lunch in a fine eating establishment? What's worse, is the end game, the "lets chase you around with a diaper before you sit on furniture sans pants".  She just loves that, but what she doesn't love is the end result...her with a diaper on and a face full of tears.

Onward and upward... diet!! A little spaghetti, kielbasa, chips, seltzer, chicken nuggets (I am becoming ill myself) does not a happy baby make. Sure, she's happy at the time, and no, Mommy and Daddy are not the main culprit ( that is a grandparents job),  but this obviously disrupted more than her sleep. wink wink, You see  she was not laying the golden egg, if you get my meaning. Not laying it for several days in fact. Ahh!! A fantastic ripple effect, no pooh, no sleep, no fun. could this week get any better? Why yes it can.

It was not enough that my daughter was now going to bed anywhere between 10:30pm and 11:30pm, in fact a  few times after my wife and I had fallen asleep on the couch. Somewhere along the line she decided that the martial bedroom was the communal bedroom. Nearly every evening ended on the same note, "Mommy, Daddy, bed." And off to bed we all went. I don't know about you, but I (and my wife) never sleep soundly when my daughter is in bed. Therefore, the plan is to let her fall asleep and put her in her own bed as quickly as possible. (Before we both fall asleep) In addition, I enjoy reading before I go to sleep. A few pages to pass the time between reality and the craddle of dreams. And I must emphasize, I really really love to read before bed. It is my private escape. If I could hold book reading parties in my bedroom I would, that is how much I enjoy it. Sadly, my daughter does not enjoy her father's reading habits. There are many moves she has created to interrupt all sense of peace and harmony, but the "Lumberjack" or "High dive" as I call it, is the worst. The premise is this. I start to read, she stands straight up and proceeds to fall on top of me, much like a wrestler in a closed cage death match. Ouch!!! All clad in her pajamas for days on end, like a mad bachelor at the height of the Playboy Mansion. And on it goes...

It has all been a bit of struggle. We've only just started to set her straight. So as you can guess, I am glad that the travel, massive meals, and general late night horse play have come to a close this magical holiday season.

Maybe I watched too much Twilight Zone on New Years Day, but I doubt it. I feel like my wife and I have to start from zero with scheduling in order to rip our child from the clutches of alternate dimension of time and space.  And if I learned anything from 2 years and 4months of child rearing it is this, SCHEDULING makes life easier.

VIVA 2010!!!!

My closest friend happens to work for MLB.com and I have had the pleasure of seeing my team in the ALCS (game 6 clincher-Holy Crap), and the  World Series game 2 (one of the biggest thrills of my life). It is here that I found the subject matter for  this entry...Baseball+ Bleachers+ Rabid fandom+fatherhood+other people with children=BEWILDERMENT

The Bleachers, in any ballpark, are place where "real" fans can express their unbridled feelings of pleasure and pain, free from the rigors of politeness and "politically correct" behavior. So, as my friend and I stepped into our packed row and looked for our seating assignment, I was a little suprised to find two families and their young children in front of us. Half of the group were Yankee fans and the other half were Phillies fans. What a dichotomy!!!! Three adorable children in their Yankee gear, and three misguided rugrats in Phillies gear.

The game began, and what a game it was. Low scoring, tense, loud, and very important (the Yankees had lost the previous nights game). No one lost any of their enthusiasm  while cheering on their team. And no one seemed to remember there were children in front of us.

Sidebar- I am a father. I do my best to curb my language in front of my daughter. I encourage others to do the same when she is around. At home, I do not mock people for being "Pedro", or for having a very silly mascot.- However, I was not at home. I was at the WORLD SERIES.

As the game continued, so did the cheering, fueled by dedication and...yes...a few adult beverages. Every now and then one of the children would turn around in wonder over some new colorful twist of the English language they had never heard. Sometimes even the  mother would look over her shoulder, as if to say, "There are children here." A small part of me would flinch and think about my daughter, but then I remembered the game and went about my business of watching the WORLD SERIES.

It was late in the game, the Yankees just went ahead on a solo home run, PANDEMONIUM!!!! After we sat back down, the little Phillie fan looked right at me so I asked, "Why are you a Phillies fan? Are you from New York? Don't you want to grow up and be a winner? A 26 time winner?" (At this point the mother was also looking at me, but I was genuinely polite and I think she could tell I wasn't being threatening. I would never try and scare a child)

The kid said he was from New York, but his Dad liked the Phillies. It was at this that  I told him, "I have a daughter as well, and I am encouraging her to get on the winning team."

This seemed to get the mothers attention and she said, "You have a daughter?" with shock and disbelief, as if I were a maniac who couldn't possibly have a child.

I responded to her, "Yes. Yes I have a daughter."

-I knew where she was going. And I wasn't bothered by it. Yes. This is a public event. Yes. We should all try and be gracious fans (had she ever been to a sporting event in NYC?). Yes. We should set a good example for the younger generation. Yes. Beer is way to expensive at the ballpark and you would think this would limit consumption.

With this in mind I was not surprised when she asked her next question, "Would you want your daughter exposed to this type of behavior?"

I paused for a millisecond. I looked at her son, my friend, and back to her and said, "No ma am. But this isn't a nursery. This is the World Series."

I said it plainly, no attitude, no sarcasm. However, I don't think she liked my answer. She left with her husband and kids  shortly after the Yankees tacked on a 3rd run.  It was only 3 to 1. "How typical" I thought.

But was it the score that chased them? Was it the late hour? Was it the price of hot dogs , which their kids consumed like goats at a paper factory? Maybe it was me. Could what I had said sunk in? Was it the "do you want to be a winner comment"? Was it the "nursery" jibe? Did I save a misguided youth from a life of mediocrity? It was probably the expensive beer. But  as Mariano Rivera took the mound for a 2 inning save , I felt I did the Yankees, the "bleacher creatures" and my daughter a favor my getting five Phillies fans out of the game. That mother knew I was right. This isn't Muppets on Ice, this was adult entertainment, gladiator stuff. A minor league game would be a much better starting point for her children. Perhaps a major league game in April or May...but October? No. This is skill level 10. There should be a height requirement to get in. I know it sounds harsh but this is how I feel.

She got it...she and her enemy team/family left.

I consider this my first save.

VIVA BASEBALL!!!

As you all know from my first post, my "money making" job consists of all things in the field of  animal transport. The main skill sets related to this are; drivers license, conceptions of time and distance, modest strength, the ability to use a phone, driving whilst breathing out the window in case of an unauthorized bathroom break by said animal, and most of all PATIENCE. The biggest headache in my line of work are nervous clients/animal owners, and slow cargo facilities ( which is where I pick up/drop off pets).

I learned pretty quickly that I would often have to take my daughter on some of these jobs, for better or worse. The first jobs I took her on were made more difficult due to the fact that she couldn't walk, so...imagine trying to lift up a 70lb bob cat while making sure your infant daughter isn't about to become a mid morning snack break. -(Note to child care services* this is a joke on many levels. A. I have never transported a bob cat. B. The majority of my jobs are in the evening so any meal would be considered dinner, possibly a late lunch.) The point is, that it is rather difficult handling the animals and my kid.  However, as time has passed, there was one silver lining which revealed itself, "daddy/ daughter favoritism"- from those with warm blood in their hearts.

A few "goo goo" words, and a crooked smile really makes even the most miserable people (airline cargo people appear to be near the top of the list) breakdown and smile. As a thank you to my daughter, these same people will move me to the front of the line,  and then they actually do their job. Man!! this is great, it saves me time and aggravation. In some circles I am known as " the guy with his cute daughter" And now, even if I don't have my kid with me I get the VIP treatment.

"Oh hi. Where is your daughter? She is so cute. Would you like a back rub and an iced tea?"

"She's with her grandparents. I miss her terribly. The quicker I'm finished here, the sooner I'll get to see her."

" Well, lets save the back rub for later and get you home."

-Again, this is exaggerated.

My little girl is now almost 26 months old, cute as a button, and  curious as can be. The bonus is that she can walk next to me, so that 70lb bob cat is less of a problem. She likes to interact with the cargo people and anyone else who will listen. Even the big scary truck drivers who  pick up manly cargo      (such as rebar and coal-I actually have no idea what's on all those pallets, but they always seem really angry) give my kid a smile as I cut them off on line.

Flashback to yesterday...standard pick up at residence and drop off at airport. Dog going JFK to SIN, (that's technical speak for New York to Singapore). Quick sidebar- game 3 of ALCS (baseball playoffs) was starting at 4:05 EST, so I really wanted to execute this job as quickly as possible and  listen to the game. Since I am pretty familiar with this particular cargo facility I felt pretty good about my chances of a fast drop off. In fact, one of my daughters' biggest fans is the manager so I wasn't worried at all.

So, I walk in with my daughter, the dog, and positive vibes, right into a ... long line? Manager meeting?? Frustrated staff not looking at my cute daughter!!? 20 minutes to game time???!!! Crap!!!

What to do? I know I'll step up my game a bit. So I picked up my daughter so the workers behind the glass could get a better look at her cuteness.- Nothing. Then, I began slowly spinning her in a circle hoping to get a big laugh out of her that will surely get the attention of the folks behind the glass.- Nothing.  Alright. Game plan #  2 time. I feigned a  bit of unhappiness for me and my daughter, "Its alright honey we'll go home soon, don't be sad." I flash some puppy dog eyes of my own and- nothing!!! DAMN!!!! It was at this moment my salvation had come, the end of the manager meeting, and  my friend who always asks about my daughter came out from the back. She says hello to me and sure enough I'm at the front of the line (stand aside, childless rabble) with 10 minutes till first pitch. I exchanged a few pleasantries and  felt good as I put my daughter down in order  to sign the last document. As my right hand was about to make the final stroke of my signature a horrible sound went off. WOOP WOOP WOOP WOOP!!!

My daughter pulled the fire alarm.

As she ran into my arms, no doubt terrified by the high pitched screaming, I knew that I was screwed.

You see, ever since 9/11 airline security, especially cargo shipments (even pets), is extremely tight. Well, I had to wait for the TSA people to come (Transportation Security Administration) and make sure everything was okay. Questions. Confusion. "No there is not an actual fire." blah, blah, blah...

After all was said and done I made it  to my car by the 3rd inning.  Thankfully no one was angry, in fact most were amused, something to the effect of,  "Now we won't have to test the alarm in a month." and the real kicker,  "Man she's cute."

I wonder if Nixon or Bernard Madoff had a little child with them all the time, would we have been so outraged?

Never underestimate the power of your child!!

"

My daughter had made some "friends" at the park. The group she infiltrated consisted of four women and their children, ages 18 months to 4 years old. This was a very gracious pack of mothers, who welcomed my daughter and myself to sit on their blanket and play with their childrens blocks.

"Okay." , I thought, I'll sit and chew the fat.

We were hanging out for over an hour, we discussed pre school and diets, etc...

Somewhere around this time as I was having a one on one with the "leader" of the group, a mother with a 4 year old son and a 2 1/2 year old daughter, a shirt was lifted by the aforementioned daughter and feeding time had begun. I was sitting about 3 feet from this woman and making eye contact, caught up in some discussion of carrots, ...BAM!!! Wow!!! Right there...boob town filling station.

Mentally, I was doing a few sommersaults to the effect of, "Alright, this is normal, I'll just keep speaking to her as if  her boobs are not exposed and in my line of sight. Her child is hungry and this is how she feeds her. No reason to get uncomfortable. I am a liberal thinking man who is meeting new people, and sometimes these things occur. She is clearly not uncomfortable by this so why should I be."

I don't care how liberal a man is, when a breast is exposed in that close proximity, your game is thrown off. It is nature, (the other way), the mind goes haywire for a minute. Ping ponging back and forth between maturity and adolescence.  The volley went something like this,

"Oh. Breastfeeding, how beautiful nature is."

"Boobs are great, just look at em."

"What are you 13 years old, this is not peep-land."

"How come parenthood means we have to lose our appreciation of admiring a pair of breasts?"

"You are an idiot,  be mature and look at the ground."

"But there are no breasts on the ground."

You get the idea. It was difficult for a little while. I did succumb to a form of admiration for the mother. I don't know if I could be that selfless...and for that long...2 1/2 years...wow.

But, eventually the lunch counter closed, and her daughter took a nap. The women eventually left with their kids and my daughter and I went on to enjoy the rest of the day. No harm, no foul.

So what did I learn? I'm not sure. It was sort of like looking at the sun for the first time...disorienting at first, but eventually you learn not to look directly at it. Wait...that came out wrong. I mean in time I became desensitized by it. No big deal? I guess not. Just another day at the park for stay at home Dad.

Typically it goes something like this, " Hi Sweetie, daddy is making a pee pee in the potty...please don't touch it. It is dirty. Say bye bye (when I flush). My daughter is two so I know that until she can understand...blah blah...hold in her  pee...blah blah, training is not really going to happen. But, I believe she recognizes what I am doing, and when I change her diaper I say, "You made pee pee.",  so I'm hoping something is sinking in. However, today, as I was standing there, it hit me, GIRLS SIT!! in fact the whole mechanics of it are quite different.

For girls,  urinating is like blue tooth technology, men are still hands on. (With some exceptions). So now I'm thinking, "Could this become problem? Girls standing up can be awful messy." I spoke with my wife about it, and she said that recognizing the action is most important, and that I shouldn't worry.  I still beg her to call our daughter into the bathroom with her whenever she has to go. I guess I could sit, but that would ruin my whole routine and seem...well strange. Why can't she be awake when I'm  hung over at 4 am and need to sit down.

So on it goes. Fingers crossed! Looking upward. Stepping Stones. One foot in...you get the idea. I'll just wait and see and I'm sure all this concern will disappear in the coming year or so. I'm really just looking forward to the day I can shut the door and go in peace.

I'm sure women must go through the same experience; "Your Time is no longer your time!!" But, it is a real adjustment. Physically and psychologically.

The most important thing I've learned is patience, and not just patience with my daughter...that is actually easy. Patience for yourself, patience in trying to accomplish the small tasks that one tries to do. Whether it's checking email (WI FI is incredible), working out, listening to music, speaking on the phone, or playing guitar, the best thing to do is let it come to you. My daughter can be stressful enough so I don't stew over what I can or can't do. However,  I have also learned that if there are things that I must do for myself, then I  schedule these things when I have to. By this I mean waking up an hour before my daughter does, in order  to workout, regardless of how early it may be. It can be a chore (and exhausting)  but the payoff is worth it.

I have worked hard to get my daughter into a routine, eating, napping, bedtime, and I can say that at  2 years old, she is far easier to deal with, than when she even 1 and 1/2. She colors, or tries to color, sometimes on paper. Street chalk and bubbles are my new best friend at the park, I highly recommend them.

As far as tending to the wife, who busts her hump at a 9 to 5 or usually a 10 to 7:30pm, the same rule applies...let the game come to you. Shopping, dinner, amore, etc. Sometimes take out is a stay at home dads best friend, and by sometimes I mean usually. Unfortunately, finances don't allow for this luxury every night, so simple dishes, with leftovers are my solution. Stir fry!!!! Homemade chicken salad!!, Frozen vegetables!!! Maybe I'll write the Stay at Home Daddy cookbook one day.

So , to briefly summarize (and perhaps for my own benefit) BE PATIENT WITH YOURSELF AS WELL AS YOUR CHILD. All stress and no fun makes dad a raging lunatic.

For real!