Am I Smarter Than a Pre-K'er?

"Only your real friends will tell you when your face is dirty." ~Sicilian Proverb

If you ask my daughter, the answer to the question I pose in the title of this post, is a resounding "No." ("Silly daddy.") She's told me so.

It's started already. The doubting of what I say. Actually, it's not doubt. It's an outright refusal to admit I'm right, or even acknowledge the possibility that I could be right. (Maybe she's seen what I call my blog.)

But for crying out loud, she's 4 1/2 years old. And she takes the word of her friends over the word of her dad. One friend in particular. We'll call her Rhoda. (That would make the Peanut Mary, after all.)

We were at a birthday party. Peanut was sitting next to Rhoda, from whom she is inseparable. The dynamics of their relationship are equal parts adorable and annoying. In this specific instance: annoying.

They were decorating pumpkin-shaped cookies with glitter and chocolate chips. That's when I spotted one of the cunning older kids go to another table, and grab some gummy worms and M&M's. Well, I'll be damned, I thought...Peanut would certainly enjoy some of that deliciousness on her cookies.

The cookies, with unceremoniously removed gumdrops

So I went over there myself and grabbed a handful of M&M's and some gumdrops that looked like candy corn. She was psyched. But I had started a trend. Soon, the other kids were going over to that table to raid the apparently forbidden candy stash. That's when the mom in charge of the party told them those candies were for the kids with allergies.

I immediately recognized this as a genius ploy to gain control of a crowd that was quickly becoming rowdy over gummy worms and M&M's. The Peanut and her little Rhoda took it as gospel. Suddenly, my daughter who just moments before was enthusiastically piling candy corn gumdrops onto her cookie, was now unceremoniously plucking them off.

"How come you're taking them off?"

"(Rhoda) said they were for allergies." Now, instead of being proud of my daughter for listening, I'm mad at Rhoda for being a know-it-all. How dare she put a cramp in the Peanut's cookie decorating style.

"No, honey. It's fine. You can use them."

"No. (Rhoda) said."

Is she kidding me? As I pleaded my case, Rhoda came to her defense with a superior, sing-song, "Yes they ah-ahrrre." This is what my life has come down to: my four year old and her sidekick passively aggressively singing me the rules of cookie decorating.

I really didn't expect my daughter to think I was an idiot until she was a teenager. Ten or eleven at the earliest. I didn't expect her friends to tell her I was an idiot until then, either. Maybe daddy really does know less.

My wife, however, would disagree.

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Candy Land of the Lost

"That's life. That's what people say. You're riding high in April; shot down in May." -Frank Sinatra

Candy Land is a necesary rite of passage, and at the same time a form of torture. Quite simply, it is the bane of our parental existence.

Why, Hasbro? Why do you do this to us? Why do you move us painfully, slowly up that rainbow spiral board only four or five spaces at a time? (If we're lucky.) Then, like a punch in the stomach, allow one of our opponents to draw the card that lands them on Chocolate Mountain, leaving us way behind in Gummy Hills? Curse you, Hasbro.

To make matters worse, the competitor in us still wants to win, even though the only skill required to play this game is the ability to identify colors. That is when we realize our only shot is to actually root for our four year-old daughter to draw a card that sends her far enough backwards that gives us a chance at victory.

It's a double-edged sword. Because if your child is lucky enough to hit the lottery and draw that card to send her to the top, she'll be happy. But God forbid if it's you that hits the lottery. And heaven help you if your child is the one sent backwards.

So while we sit there silently hoping for a lucky card, eyes glazed from the mind-numbing boredom, you manage to close the gap. Only to get stuck in Licorice Swamp on your way back to respectability.

Subtly Un-Sweet 

This is the dance I found my green gingerbread piece doing with the Peanut's blue counterpart one rainy afternoon. But there was an anomaly. We were both closing in on Candy Castle, and the blackjack junkie in me realized neither of us had drawn one of the special cards. They were bound to come up. And sure enough, soon thereafter, I was sent packing to Ice Cream Falls. I made a big spectacle of myself.  A big, loud, "Oh, no... boohoohoo." Even fake crying.

Peanut came over to me, grabbed my face in her hands and kissed me on the cheek. She assured me it would be alright. "All you have to do is pick the colors and make your way back up," she said. As if it were that simple. Easy for her to say; she was about to win. One day she will understand the statistic improbability of my victory after that devastating turn of events.

When Peanut disavowed cupcakes

Three turns later, the Peanut was sent packing as well. All the way down to Cupcake Commons. Now she was beside herself. For real. She stormed off into her playroom.. I reminded her of the reassurance she had given me just two minutes before. Her answer: "I don't like cupcakes."

"You don't like cupcakes?!"

"No. I like cupcakes. I just don't want to play anymore."

I gave her my best pep talk. "We don't quit," I told her. "When things don't go our way, we find a way to make it better."

I took this time out to go to the bathroom. I said when I came out, I wanted her back at the game ready to play again.

She was. She told me she had picked her next card. Magically, it was the popsicle card that brought her right back up near the top of the board. Had she cheated? The thought immediately crossed my mind. Could she possibly be that cunning? And dishonest? My angel? Or were we just due for a run of special candy cards?

I will honestly never know the truth. I didn't even bring it up. But here's why I had my suspicions: Because during a game of Candy Land with my mom, I did something similar when I was the Peanut's age. Maybe a little older. So it's in her blood. Wanting to win at all costs. Being a bad loser.

To this day, I feel guilty about it. The memory of my mom's genuine (albeit over the top) reaction is etched in my brain. Did she know and just play along? Perhaps if the Peanut did in fact cheat, she feels the same way now that I did then. And will still feel the same way 30 years from now.

I will say this about Candy Land: It does teach us that life isn't fair. That no matter how hard you try, and despite your best effort, you could still be sent to the back of the line even if you didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes there isn't an explanation that will make you feel better. That's life.

Do cheaters win? Sure they do. But if they're worth a damn, they feel really crappy about it. The important thing is when your turn comes up again, you start that slow climb back up that mountain.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: Scary Crazy

We have a problem. A serious problem. A Halloween problem. In our house, we treat Halloween almost as seriously as we treat Christmas. No, you're not reading this wrong. Your calendar is correct. It's still September... and I'm talking about Halloween already. It's because we have a problem.

How into Halloween are we? We host the annual party. It used to be a drunken kegger complete with vodka gummy worms and costume contests that lasted well into the early morning. Now, it's a kidsapalooza complete with backyard games and a pinata that ends in time for dinner.

This weekend, my wife asked me to bring all of the Halloween boxes down from the attic so she could "take inventory." Yes, inventory. I stacked them in the corner of our bedroom:

You can't see 'em all but there are nine crates total

This year, we decided to be ahead of the game. Planning early because all of our October weekends are filled with other commitments. We already made the trek to Target. Speaking of being ahead of the game, I even bought two sets of Christmas lights while we were there. I can't help myself. Like I said, we have a problem.

That's not nearly as bad as my wife, who bought a bounce house. Yeah... a freakin' bounce house. Called it an "investment:"

We Bought a House

And we complain we have no money. There's not enough therapy to deal with this problem.

Peanut's into it too... rummaging into the crates to find her Halloween toys, including the vampire Mr. Potato Head. But she didn't want him in her room at night because he's "scary:"

Still smiling for a guy sleeping in the hallway

Luna's excited to have her Halloween toys back too:

My what big fangs you have.

I wonder if the Peanut will be as into Halloween as we are when she grows up. Something tells me she will:

Reminder: it's still September.

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What I Miss

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." -Dr. Seuss

Every day, you amaze me. Every day you do something, big or small, that makes me realize how much you've grown up already. And while you still have a long way to go, it's mind-boggling to think how far you've come.

You started pre-K earlier this month. You knew it was a big deal, that now you're a big girl. Even though you still go to the same building you've been going to for three years, you and I both know pre-K is a huge step.

I used to roll my eyes at the parents who said they couldn't stop the tears from flowing at pre-K graduation. Then at the end of the school year I saw the bulletin board with all of the pictures of the pre-K kids as babies. I almost lost it right there. And you've still got a full year of pre-K left until that's your baby picture up there. I'm going to be such a mess.

It seems like I blinked and you stopped being my baby. Even though I still call you that. Even though every time I do you correct me and tell me you're a little girl now. You've been calling yourself that for years. But now it's true. You're such a little girl and I love it and I love you so much.

You're gaining your independence. Writing your name. Dressing yourself. Brushing your teeth. Washing your hands. Going to the bathroom. All by yourself.

You're fearless. Riding the rides at the amusement park without hesitation. In fact, you love them and beg for more. We were nervous when you stood in line to go on your first roller coaster with one of your older cousins. Even though it was a kiddie coaster, we just didn't know how you'd react. What were we so worried about? All you did was laugh the whole time. Every time you passed us you looked like you were having the time of your life. A few weeks later at Great Adventure, you sat in the front seat on the Log Flume. You were giggling uncontrollably. Even on that last, big drop. You were soaked. And you wanted to go again.

The next day, I brought you to the playground, and caught you climbing this:

That little  boy was stalking you and you wanted no part of him

When did this happen? I'd never seen you do that before. You were always so cautious. So calculating. So careful. Not anymore.

You're growing up so fast. There are so many things I miss so much already.

I miss holding you, without you desperately trying to get away. I miss sitting in the rocking chair in your room and singing you to sleep. I miss singing you whatever I wanted. I miss when you were finally old enough to choose, and you chose "Thunder Road" every time. I thought that was so cool.

Now, singing isn't a part of the bedtime routine anymore. On the rare nights you're having trouble falling asleep, you ask me to sing you "Goodnight My Angel." That's fine. That song means a lot to your mom and me. It's the song she and Pop Pop danced to at our wedding after all. Maybe we'll do the same someday.

You're gaining your confidence. Almost swimming on your own now. I don't even go into the pool with you at swim class anymore. When we're not at swim class, you don't cling to me and demand I hold you in the water. That happened just this summer. On our last vacation, you were going under without us even asking you.

I miss giving you a bath... when giving you a bath was peaceful. When we would sing that ridiculous song "It's Naked Baby Time" to the tune of "It's Howdy Doody Time." You would get all excited, and we would walk you into the bathroom while holding your hands over your head and you would dance to that ridiculous song. I miss that.

I miss having your undivided attention. I miss sitting you somewhere and talking to or playing with or singing to you. Now, you're running wild all over the place. Asking us to do multiple things, play multiple roles, in multiple rooms.

Now you demand OUR undivided attention. Sometimes you ask to be left alone. There's that independence again.

You're getting so big. You're growing up so fast. I miss those times when you were little. But I'm so glad I'm not actually missing anything.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: S'mores Surprise

Yesterday I left work an hour earlier than usual knowing I would be solo with the Peanut for the evening. My wife had her once-a-month rendezvous with her friends in the city. (That is not a euphemism. She actually meets friends for dinner once a month.)

So I sat at home relaxing for a few minutes after walking Luna and before going to get the Peanut at daycare. I mapped out our evening. Since I was getting her early, we'd have time for something fun. But what?

Well, I love the fall. I love the sports and activities the temperatures allow us to do. I love long-sleeve t-shirts and roll neck sweaters. I love the fire pit.

That's it... S'mores. Who doesn't love S'mores? So that's what Peanut and I did after dinner. She was ecstatic when I told her in the car ride home. And was a good girl for me all night because she knew this was her reward:


We always keep these supplies stocked

It's scary how good I am at starting fires

She's a pro already

"Daddy I love it so much I have to taste it." 

A handful of awesome

Nomnomnom

When we were done and it was time to go inside and get ready for bed, she asked, "Daddy can we do it again tomorrow when mommy's here?" Absolutely. Fall rules.

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DKL in Legos (from Daddy's in Charge?)

And now for something completely different - and awesome - on DKL. A guest post. But not just any guest post. It's the first guest post on DKL that is not by my wife. This is from my friend John at Daddy's in Charge?


John and I used to work together in television news way before my wife was my wife and definitely way before we had the Peanut. It was obviously way before he was a stay-at-home dad. John is a photographer. As a producer, his job is crucial to my show's success because it's obviously tough to make compelling TV without pictures (video). 


He's one of the best at what he does but after his wife earned a big new job, he decided to stay at home. Soon after, he started a blog. One of the coolest things he does is movies starring himself and his family as Legos. He was cool enough to do one about me (I'm wearing a tie!) and the Peanut (she has a fairy wand!) for right here on DKL:

Stay at Home Dad... Starring Legos

Lego John visits DKL

I am just your average Stay-at-Home Lego with two awesome little boys. They are equal parts cool and crazy. I am not going to sit here and tell you that being a stay-at-home parent is easy. There are certainly things that drive you nuts. First and foremost, my house is full of minifigures just like me - firefighters, police officers, construction workers, Indiana Jones, guys from Star Wars. You name it, there is a Lego minifigure somewhere in my house.

Sometimes you just have to get away. I recently went to Legoland where I met Darth Vader. It was the coolest thing I have ever done in my life... until now. When Justin asked me to make a guest appearance on his blog I jumped at the chance. I mean how cool is that? A Lego guy that's in demand. I'll have to get my agent involved. Anyway, when Justin told me that being a stay-at-home parent was easy, little did he know how his day would go:



Normally I would be the star of these movies. But after all, this is his blog... and a fine one at that. I couldn't in my right mind completely hijack it, so if you wish to see more of ME in action, like how I found a snake in my yard, or when I debated whether to take my kids camping, come on over to Daddy's in Charge?

John's obviously a talented a photographer and editor. The videos and pictures he posts on his blog are great. But he's a hell of a writer too. He's also fun to chat with on Facebook or Twitter because like I've said before... he's slowly losing his mind... and he's desperate for adult conversation.

If you missed my post on John's blog about my two days as a stay-at-home dad that had me begging to go back to work, you can read it here.

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Be Our Guest



I'm Lumiere (our noses are similar.)
John is Cogsworth (but he's not as uptight.)

This is a big day for DKL. For the first time ever, I am guest posting on someone else's blog. So please hop on over to Daddy's in Charge? and check it out.

Daddy's in Charge? is written by my friend and former colleague John . He's now a stay-at-home dad and after a couple of days of doing the same this summer, I realized I was in for a lot more than I had bargained for. Prepare to laugh and then check out John's blog too while you're there. He does very entertaining videos starring Legos. And he made one starring me and the Peanut! It will debut right here on DKL tomorrow! How cool is that?

For now, hop on over to Daddy's in Charge? and read my post and enjoy!

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To Hell and Back

"You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave." -The Eagles, Hotel California

Hell hath a Swedish name.

I know that because I've survived it. Stared the devil right in the face... twice in my life. Never again.

Is it hot in here?

I am talking about IKEA. Land of cheap chic furniture and certainly one of the nine circles of hell.

What's worse, I brought my daughter on my most recent - and final - trip. Exposed her to the evil. She very nearly became a victim. One of the damned.

After my first trip - when my wife and I first moved in together, way back when she was my girlfriend, we needed an entertainment center and some other stuff for our new roach motel of an apartment - I vowed  never to return again.

Until...

My sister asked me to do her a favor. She and my brother-in-law needed some tables for the business they're opening. I agreed purely out of love and loyalty.

I put the trip to IKEA on my itinerary one day when I was at home alone with the Peanut. My stay-at-home friends tell me that planning errands is a good way to pass the time. It's also a good way to lose your mind.

(Courtesy http://americanapersona.wordpress.com)

IKEA, one of the nine circles of hell. With a four year-old. You know the trick to IKEA, right? The walking...  from the parking lot to the entrance... from the entrance to the section you're looking for... from there to the checkout.

In hell, they make you walk... a lot. Through the entire store, in fact.

On said walk, we made a pit stop in children's furniture so the Peanut could play. Apparently in hell, there is also a children's play area.

Then, more walking... through the warehouse... through the part of the store with all of the houseware tchotchkes (pronounced, "CHACH-keys")... please just let me check out.

Even after you do, you have to walk to the pick-up area and wait for them to get your order from the warehouse through which you just walked.

Are things this annoying in Sweden? Seems like such a nice place.

Our boxes finally came. I'm wheeling them out of the store on a big industrial-sized dolly. Wait a minute, though. Dude, where's my car? On the other side of the building, of course... near the entrance. In fact, it's on a whole other floor for crying out loud. Hell, I tell you.

In one of the nine circles of hell, you can't expect anything to be easy.

I make the decision to stash the boxes on the dolly in a corner of the parking garage and get the car.

Exhausted and exasperated, I carry the Peanut, who has been done with the walking and waiting for what seems like eons. In hell, times goes by very slowly.

I locate the car. I go to put her in her seat and realize... "Where's Lammie?" Oh my God are we going to be those people who lose their child's cherished play thing? (That's not a blog I ever want to write.)

I ask her again. In the second it takes her to answer I remember the Peanut putting Lammie in my pocket to carry as she played in the children's furniture section. Did she fall out of my pocket there? Or somewhere else? Her world - our world - was shattering around us.

I make a huge parenting mistake and shout, "What do you mean you don't know where Lammie is?! She's lost! We may never find her again!" Huge. Fail. I allowed hell to get the better of me.

Panic sets in. The Peanut is now crying frantically, mostly because of me. I am whipping the car in and out of parking garages like I'm a character in Grand Theft Auto. I open the back door to the minivan and throw in the boxes. I park, grab the Peanut, and we backtrack. (Remember, a lot of walking in one of the nine circles of hell.)

Peanut is now screaming. No Lammie in the parking lot. We enter the store near the checkout. No sign of her there either. I am running towards the pickup area while still carrying my hysterical Peanut.

And I spot Lammie. On the bench where we were sitting and waiting. 

Reunited. Inseparable. (Usually.)

I immediately calm down. I stop about fifty feet from the bench. I put the Peanut down and stand her on the floor. I point to the bench, squat down to look her in the eye, put my arm around her and say, "Lammie's right there where we were sitting. Go get her."

She smiles. She runs. Reunited and it feels so good. I dodged a big one. Big time.

After barely surviving another trip to hell, thou shall not return.

Suffice it to say, we're Crate& Barrel people now. Raymour and Flanagan maybe, if you twist my arm.

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The Worst Pain in the World

"Children are a great comfort in your old age - and they help you reach it faster, too." ~Lionel Kauffman

Image courtesy of noiseushop.com

Nothing hurts a guy worse than a kick in the nuts. Physically speaking, of course. 

I'm sure the ladies out there will say the same thing about a smack in the lady parts. But I'm a guy and I'm telling you, a kick in the nuts is worse. THE. WORST.

It makes you hurt. It makes you sad. And it makes you angry. Very, very angry. Because nowhere are you more vulnerable. And when you get kicked in the nuts it's just like, well... getting kicked in the nuts.

Let me set the scene for you...


One evening, the Peanut and I were roughhousing on our bed. She was jumping as I was laying there, as we got ready for bed, right before we settled down to read a book.

But one rogue leap changed the mood.

She landed, full-footed, on my babymaker. Ironic, I know. And since we're on the subject, you should know that I was in my pajamas (a pair of Syracuse basketball shorts) and I don't wear boxers to bed. The point of that bit of over-sharing about going commando is to illustrate there was very little protection for my little bicep.

I immediately hid my face in my pillow. It hurt so much I wanted to scream. But didn't. Couldn't. Not in front of her. It's not a macho thing. It's a being a good parent and not scaring the bejesus out of the Peanut thing.

The initial surge of pain wore off. Then came the dull ache. Every guy knows the dull ache. It feels like your groin is 700 lbs. Then you get nauseous.

Covering my face with my hand, I turned over and told my wife to get the Peanut out of the room. Immediately if not sooner.

Here comes the anger. You can't help the anger. Even when you're with your buddies and they're all laughing at you and you're kind of laughing too, you're still just pissed off. And you can't wait until you're physically upright so you can punch the first guy you see in the face.

Even though it was an accident, even though she was sorry and actually felt really badly, I wanted to throw my daughter across the room. The important thing is I never would do that. "Just please get her away from me," I asked, and buried my head back into my pillow.

My wife kindly obliged.

The pain subsided. The Peanut apologized. Genuinely. I accepted. Genuinely.

And I'm sure I will live to reproduce again. If we are so inclined. (But still, not anytime soon.)

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The Joys of Homeownership: Goodnight, Irene

I promise this is the last time I mention the hurricane. Why? Because the final remnants of the damage the storm did to our property are now on the curb awaiting pickup. The long weekend enabled procrastinating old me to finish the work that needed to be done.

First, the big branch that split and fell from this tree on our sidewalk:

Sad and breaky

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The Best Policy

"Honesty is hardly ever heard and mostly what I need from you." -Billy Joel

I said I was done talking about Hurricane Irene after my post from Monday. I lied. (Kind of.)

On Saturday night, I cooked a nice meal for me, the Peanut, and the friends that were hunkered down with us. I made a pot of gravy with ravioli and orecchiette, chicken cutlets, and a nice salad. If we were going to lose power for any extended period of time, I wanted to make sure we were well fed.

The Peanut was fine during dinner, but she didn't eat enough to earn dessert. She ate all of her pasta, one piece of her salad, and none of her meatball or chicken cutlet.

Regardless, she posed the inevitable question she asks nightly, "Daddy, may I have dessert?" I told her no. She didn't eat enough of her salad or her meatball. And she would have to if she wanted dessert.

She is at the age where she understands consequences now. And sometimes she accepts them. So she said, "Then I don't want dessert."

Fine.

Under the circumstances (solo parenting, with company, a huge storm about to hit), I wasn't about to fight her over a few pieces of lettuce.

My friend and I sat there polishing off the rest of the chicken cutlets. Who are we to let them go to waste if God forbid the power goes out? While doing so, his wife was busting out a package of Milano cookies they had brought. (Incidentally, when buying food for a hurricane, it appears most of it winds up being processed, boxed, and/or bagged.)

She offered one to the Peanut. To which my daughter, who continues to amaze me, replied, "No, my daddy said I couldn't have dessert, remember?"

I loved her so much in that moment. This little pain int he a$$ who fights me almost nightly because I make her eat what we eat . Who has to negotiate every single bite. Who asks for dessert just moments after we sit down for dinner.

I got out of my chair, knelt down to hug her and rewarded her for her honesty with a Milano cookie. Pepperidge Farm remembers.

Just when you think the stress of the routine, the anxiety of the coming hurricane, and the neuroses of parenting on your own have involuntarily made you a bad parent, your child will shove a little honesty in your face.

Maybe we're doing something right after all. What that is, I have no idea.

If you missed my full Irene post, click here to read it. Now I'm done with Irene posts... maybe.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: Evidence

When I was growing up my mom had a particular term she would use to describe the messes I left in the house. She would walk into the kitchen and perform a 360 degree scan of the all of the rooms. She'd spot a cereal box on the counter, an empty glass on the coffee table, a textbook on the floor where I was doing homework.

Then she'd ask, "Why do I always have to come home to evidence?"

Evidence. Genius.

Last weekend, my wife said something similar. "Why does all of your crap have to be strewn all over the counter all of the time?" I had no answer, except to compliment her on her exceptional use of the funky word "strewn."

She was right:

Laptop, iPod, running watch, 2 pairs of glasses, keys, and more....

A few days later, I noticed a similar trend when I stayed at home one day with the Peanut:

We played princesses

We camped out in the kitchen

And of course, the chair train. All aboard!

My wife mentioned the famous chair train in her now viral guest post that she wrote for my birthday. Click here to read it.

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When Daddy Met Daddy

(In case you missed what me and Derrick did for our week 3 team assignment for Blogger Idol 2011:) 

Here's what happened when two ruthless, genius, and maniacal daddy bloggers (Dad v. Autism & Daddy Knows Less) started following, sharing, and - gasp! - talking to each other on the phone:

DKL: For all intents and purposes, I have only been part of the blogging community for four months, even though I've been blogging for four years. Only this past March did I open up my blog to the world outside of my family and friends. And thank goodness, because I've made countless new friends.

One of whom is Derrick, who blogs at Dad v. Autism. He's a more than a daddy blogger. He writes about life, its struggles and triumphs, as well as his family. He calls his blog Dad v. Autism because his youngest child, Noah, is high functioning autistic and he wants the world to know how awesome Noah is. He's doing a spectacular job. You should join me in following him.

Recently, he shared with his readers one of my posts. I had written about a long vacation my wife and I took with our daughter to Seattle and Vancouver. And how we decided not to say no to her during the trip. While I was honored that he thought enough of the post to share it, I was curious as to why. (Click here to read the post)

So I decided to dig deeper into his experiences with family vacations:

DKL: Time and money are not an issue: What is your dream vacation?

DvA: I'd love to take the Cheerleader to Paris...for like a year...no kids...no package deals...just live there for a year...soak it all in.  See the sites, sure, but mostly just experience what's it like in the Paris...without kids...

DKL: Why aren't your kids involved?

DvA: Why would I take the brood on a romantic getaway with the missus?  Like they don't intrude enough already!

Ouch!  Dammit!....I'm sorry, I take it all back...I love my kids...we'd go to Disney World, move right in with Mickey and Minnie Mouse, we could borrow cups of sugar from Daisy Duck and ride Space Mountain every day...

This isn't Clark, but it's close...just like me.

DKL: Have you ever traveled across country with an ultimate destination in mind, and planned stops along the way to see family, visit national landmarks, only to experience car trouble, have your great aunt die on the trip and your ultimate destination be closed for renovations once you've arrived? No? Well, then has anyone ever told you you look like Chevy Chase?

DvA: I've never been told I look like Chevy...although I have been accused of acting like him on occasion.  Funny, you should bring up a cross country trip..we've actually done that twice..but not as vacations.  We've done them as mind melting, mental trauma inducing moves.  The first time it was just the oldest...and it was no fun.  The second time it was all three and Noah was just a baby...and it was even less fun.

DKL: You have three kids, so you MUST have a vacation horror story or 27 to tell. Care to share one? No? Hey, you agreed to the interview, pal. The least you could do is answer the questions. Please?

DvA: When we lived in California we would take regular seven hour trips to see the in-laws in Nevada.  The Goob was only three or four and she really liked to hear the sound of her own voice...for seven straight hours.  I don't know which was worse her rendition of twinkle, twinkle little star...or the time she played with the Blue's Clues Toys for the seven hours back..."Healthy-Healthy-Healthy Snacks, Healthy Snacks.  Healthy-healthy-healthy..." It never ended.  The poor stupid toy couldn't get a single sentence out before she punched that button again and again...;

"The Sun's a hot...the Sun's a hot...the Sun--the Sun--the Sun--"

All of the while going through a snow storm on Donner Pass...I am amazed we survived...We did however have to seek counseling afterwards...for the toys.

DKL: Seriously, how the hell do you travel with three kids? Two of whom are "teenagery?" Do you drink A LOT on vacation? I have one child and I try to keep a constant buzz. Could be why I don't say "no" to her on vacation. Was there a question in there? Bartender!

DvA: We don't travel with three kids anymore.  First of all, we always drove...because flying a family of five anywhere requires a second mortgage.  Also, we usually travel to family, and there aren't many heavy drinkers...And we certainly don't travel with the teenagers anymore...they eat too frickin' much and I don't want to rent a cargo van to pack them all into...

DKL: Wouldn't it be nice if your wife didn't say no to YOU on vacation? Or at home for that matter? What do you think of THAT?

DvA: I like your thinking DKL.  I think that should be a movement!  I'll help make picket signs...what was that?  NO!  NO! I would never say that...out loud...my wife is entitled to her own opinions, aside from my own...even on vacation....(Yes, dear, I'm putting the markers back where I found them.)

DKL: I have this new thing. Whenever my wife says or does anything to aggravate me, I instantly say, "I love you soooo much." And we both start laughing right away. Is that passive aggressive? Are you passive aggressive? What does your wife do, on vacation or not, that aggravates you?

DvA: Yes, that's very passive aggressive.  And that's exactly how I am.

What does my wife do that bugs me?  Well let me tell you...oh, hi honey, I didn't see you there again...NOTHING.  My wife does NOTHING that bugs me...ever...

DKL: Somewhat serious question: Why do you refer to your daughter as "The Goob?" Does she like this name? And how do your older kids feel about you writing about them on the internet for the world to see (sometimes airing their crap)? I ask because this is something my wife and I talk about every time the "where do we want this blog thing to go" discussion comes up.

DvA: "Goob?" Well, we were doing our best to clean up our language, so we started calling each other "Noobs" as in "Newbies" who just don't really know what they're doing...so I wasn't thinking one day and I misspoke "Noob" for "Goob."  The Goob immediately laughed at me, so I played it off like that was what I meant to say anyway...as in short for "Goober."  At first she hated it, which is why I started using it in my blog...but after a while, she's really gotten used to it.  She signed my Father's Day card, "From the Goob."

You know, for the most part, my kids refuse to read anything I write.  I'm just not cool enough.  So there's never been any argument about it.  In actuality, I think it goes completely in line with what I've always told my children, "If you're doing something that you have to lie about or you don't want anybody to know about, you probably shouldn't be doing it."

I've also explained in a follow up blog that when I've really felt funny about talking about delicate issues, I'm really looking more for advice, both for myself and the kids. And frankly, I've never really written anything that wasn't public knowledge for all intents and purposes.

Now if they were counter-revolutionaries trying to bring down our real estate banking overlords...I'd keep their secrets...

DvA: Now let me ask you some questions, Justin.  Let me dig into your noggin for a bit, if you will.  You write a darn good blog over there at Daddy Knows Less.  I particularly like your catch phrase "Often wrong.  Never in doubt."  I can dig that...that strikes a chord if you know what I mean.  You were nice enough to pimp out one of my blogs once too.  It was all about my neighbors who have proven...um...less than friendly. (Click here to read it.)

What makes a good neighbor? Do you consider yourself a good neighbor?

I'm no Mr. Rogers, but I'm close.

DKL: A good neighbor is someone who is helpful, not intrusive, and not annoying. And when they are annoying, they either warn you before the fact or apologize after the fact. A good neighbor shovels your walkway if you're away during a snow storm.

I'm a good neighbor. I take my neighbor's cans in if they've forgotten. If I see newspapers piling up on their front walkway, I pick them up and put them out of view so no one sees that they're away. And I don't let my dog crap on their lawns, even if I think it may actually help their lawns look nicer.

DvA: Have you ever had a "bad" neighbor? If so did you retaliate against said bad neighbor? If not, why not? If so, how?

DKL: I didn't know I had a bad neighbor until I was, coincidentally, walking the dog one evening. I live on the corner of our block, which intersects with a busy two-lane thoroughfare in our town. Luna and I were crossing the street right in front of our house when this jerk came roaring around the corner with his music blasting. He came within two feet of hitting us.

At first, I thought it was a teenager. I glared through the windshield at whomever was driving. When I reached the sidewalk, the neighbor revealed himself. He is an older guy and is known on the block as a cranky jerk. I just never had any such experience with him. Until now. He had the nerve to ask me why I looked annoyed. "Because you almost hit us, Dennis." And I walked away.

When we returned, I wasn't satisfied with my response. So I called him. I reminded him we live on a street that dead ends into a park, with lots of kids and people walking their dogs. "You don't need to tell me that. I've been living here for twenty years," he barked back.

"Then you should know not to drive like a maniac."

Now I've upset him. He went on to describe my phone call as unnecessary and say I should cross in the crosswalk and no I'm not going to apologize so I guess this conversation is over.

I did have the inclination to post a sign on his car that reads, "Please slow down" every day for the rest of our lives. But cooler heads have prevailed and I really don't have much if any interaction with this guy since he lives at the other end of the street. So screw him. Let him be miserable.

DvA: Have you ever snuck through the second story window of your bad neighbor's house, overfed their fish and stolen a six pack of beer from their fridge so they'll be forced to blame their teenage kid for the theft?  No?  Me neither.  What kind of a freak would do something like that?

DKL: Actually, I have been pool-hopping before. Does that count? But that was back in my teenage days. I never understood why we did this. Most of us had swimming pools. My father was in the swimming pool business. So not only were we trespassing on our neighbors' property, we were jeopardizing my dad's relationship with his customers. Foolish kids (shakes fist in disgust).

DvA: Have you ever had a policeman next door neighbor who had a security light that shone every night into your master bedroom and kept you awake all night and it turned out he was a complete psycho and tried to kill your whole family?  Oh, that was a movie?  Did you see it?  What'd you think?  Because that's never happened to me either.  Hollywood has a way of ruining everything...excuse me while I throw this script out....

DKL: No. But I did have a neighbor who called the cops on me every time I had friends over, whether we were drinking or not. Once they did it at my birthday party sophomore year in high school. Because all the seniors showed up and were loitering in the street, thinking it was a drinking party. But it was just a bunch of horny Catholic school guys trying to snap underwater pictures of the girls in their bikinis. (Incidentally, guys are perverts and they suck and I am going to be a psychopath when my daughter is a teenager because of everything I know.)

Actually, this WAS a drinking party. Sort of. Me and one of my friends were walking around with rum and cokes the whole time. We were hammered. And my mom's one cousin became suspicious because I had bloodshot eyes. I blamed the pH level in the pool (the pool boy's knowledge comes in handy once again).

DvA: Have you ever had a neighbor have a Mexican salsa band blaring across the street for 48 straight hours? And it wasn't even on Cinco de Mayo?  What would you do about something like that?

DKL: If I could hear it, and it was interrupting mine or my daughter's sleep, I would go absolutely apesh!t bananas. I would be that guy. I would call the cops.

DvA: Have you ever borrowed any yard tools from a neighbor?  Do you still have it?  Did you ever have a garage sale and try to sell it?  Have you ever had a neighbor borrow anything from you?

DKL: I have borrowed an axe for chopping firewood, and an extension ladder for hanging a tire swing. Actually, my neighbor is the one who climbed the ladder and hung the swing because I'm afraid of heights. Well, I'm actually more afraid of falling than of climbing, but you get the point.

I have always returned everything in a timely and efficient manner (see above about being a good neighbor). Although, I did have a baseball bat that one of my neighbors brought over for a pinata at a Halloween party for the better part of nine months. But that was more forgetfulness. And it's not like I tried to sell it.

DvA: Lastly, in my research, I discovered that you may or may not work for a MAJOR television network...well, I've got this awesome idea for pilot....no, it's so much better than that last one...that last one was crap!  This is solid gold, I promise...

DKL: This is true. I am a television news producer at a major network. But I ask you please do not make any assumptions about my political beliefs or the scope of my influence based on where I work and the title I hold. I'm really just another brick in the wall. But I'm sure your script is awesome.

DvA: Of course, it is...so where can I send it?

DKL: I'll ask Uncle Rupert and get back to you.

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Does Daddy Know Less?

My amazing wife wrote this guest post for me for my birthday. Enjoy:

Who is DKL really? He writes freely and honestly, but how honest can anyone truly be about themselves? Well, in this first ever guest blog post, I, his wife, am here to tell you on this very special day- his birthday, who he really is.

He is indeed all of the things he says he is: narcissistic, needy and self-absorbed. But he sells himself short. He is also sensitive, kind, and loves me more than I ever thought one person could. Does he have a temper? Yes. Is he moody like a woman at that time of the month? Often. Self critical? Too much. In fact, he asks a little too often for a male if I think he looks fat (a side effect of being a fat kid growing up). But what I have always been drawn to is what is underneath that gruff exterior once you scratch the surface.

He truly is a 36 year old man.

If asked, I would have to say that one of my favorite traits about my husband is that he is a big kid at heart. He becomes whatever character the Peanut asks him to and allows that character to consume him. Whether it's Zurg from Toy Story or Aladdin her prince. It does not matter how foolish it may be. He stays in full character.

He often gets annoyed with my mom when he comes home from work and the playroom is staged from their latest pretend world. But you know what? On the days when he is home with the Peanut, what do I come home to? A pretend world and a mess. Most recently it was a train made out of chairs with all of her stuffed animals in the seats with him at the head as the conductor!

Oh, he and my mother are more alike then he would ever be willing to admit...

No one is funnier than dad.

What only enhances his being a big kid is that he is also truly very funny. No one, and I mean no one, can make the Peanut belly laugh harder than he can. Our house is filled with the echoes of "More Daddy, do it one more time" until they are both on the floor laughing. Exhausted. One of her favorites is when he collapses on her and pretends to be asleep until I come to save her and tickle him.

During a recent tour of the Ben and Jerry's factory in Vermont, the tour guide was having some very embarassing technical difficulties when trying to show a movie. The crowd was hushed. That's when my husband asked the group if anyone had checked if the TV was on Channel 3.

He got more laughs at that moment than the tour guide did the whole tour. What warmed my heart the most is how my daughter turned to me and asked with a smile on her face, "Were they all laughing at Daddy?" She was so amused by that. In that moment, I was reminded of one of the many reasons I love him.

I see his humor in her and will be forever thankful that she got this from him because laughter will always allow us as a family to enjoy each other and for others to enjoy us.

Always reminding us that
there is no reason to cry
over spilled milk.

DKL is also the person who grounds us and keeps us real. At times I have a tendency to get worked up over the smallest things. He is always the one who brings me back to reality. Reassuring me that we can handle anything.

One of my favorite pieces of advice MY father ever gave me was right before we became parents. He told me as long as we put each other first as a couple our family will remain strong and intact. He said, "Your children are of course important and you will love them more than you ever thought possible. But it is your relationship as husband and wife that is the most important. If your kids see that you are a unit and are always there for each other, your family will be stronger for it."

Now, I don't mean to brag, but those who know us often say that one of the most obvious traits DKL exhibits is his love for me. It is for this alone, that I know our family will always be alright. His ability to love. I know he has the largest piece of his heart reserved for me and next in line is the Peanut (and Luna).

We are definitely a couple who bickers, but our ability to move past our differences and always work on making us better is what will allow us to live a long happy life together.

DKL and me: Best Friends.

I don't mind that our daughter sees us in our best and worst moments together because she also sees the commitment we have towards each other.

Over the past four years, I have loved being able to see my husband express himself to all of you through this blog. I worry at times that his writing for the masses may cause him to lose himself and write to please all of you. My promise in all of this is to always be the one behind him making sure he is true to himself because to me, DKL in his purist form is the man I love and the blogger who is going to go far.

Happy Birthday to a Daddy who says he knows less, but knows a lot more than he thinks.

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