Father Inc, milestones & musings, unqualified parenting tips

Who’s your daddy?

June 18, 2010

This weekend is Fathers’ Day, so today we bring you a special daddy edition.

There’s something about fathers that make them so special. Mommies are good for nap times and fixing snacks but when daddy is around, it’s all about piggyback rides and wrestling and fun outings.

And why is it that daddy’s approval seems to be worth a lot more? I’m always telling the kids that they did a great job and momma’s so proud of them and they’re like “Sure, mom, whatever.” But when daddy says the same thing, they’re look all pleased with themselves.

Although, I can’t really blame them because growing up, I thought my dad was the smartest, strongest, coolest person in the universe. He was more awesome than Superman and Batman and the Hulk all rolled into one. When I got pushed around by other kids, my trump card was to yell out “I’ll ask my daddy to whip your ass“. And I really believed it. In fact, I was also certain that my daddy could whip the other kid’s daddy’s ass too. I never got around to witnessing it, mostly because the other kid would usually shut up or leave me alone after that.

I have a feeling my kids feel the same way.

Case in point: baby girl. Kirsten is a classic daddy’s girl through and through. She’s totally biased and I KNOW YOUR DADDY IS SO SPECIAL BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO RUB IT IN. Even though she’s capable of calling mama (she does it when the stars align), her favorite word is dada. No prizes for guessing who she’s referring to. As I was changing her diaper today, I tried my luck again.

Me: Say mama, baby girl. MA-MA

Kirsten: Dada

Me: No, MA-MA

Kirsten: DADA

Me: You’re rubbing it in, aren’t you?

Kirsten: DADA, DADA, DADAAAAA *claps her hands to emphasize her point*

Me: Dada is at work. You’re stuck with me.

I can just see it. One of these days, she’s going to climb onto the husband’s lap, gaze into his eyes and say “When I grow up, I’m going to marry a boy that is just like you, daddy“, and the husband’s heart will instantly melt into putty and he will buy her anything she wants, including every single piece of that ridiculously exorbitant Sylvanian Families dollhouse set.

Tru is less obvious because there’s that alpha male vibe going on but I bet he secretly wants to be just like daddy when he grows up. The way he looks at daddy is so different from the way he looks at me, like he’s observing everything daddy does intently. Then next thing I know, he’s doing the exact same thing.

He’s got this tool box set that looks like a briefcase and from time to time, he arranges his toy cars inside neatly, gives me a kiss and announces, “Bye mommy, Truett go work.”

Most of his minor boo boos are easily solved by momma but the really serious ones, we have to bring out the big guns – daddy’s giant biceps. They are strangely effective in making them feel better. It’s either that or daddy’s masculine smell that’s the secret. Whatever the case, it works and that’s good enough for me.

Typically, Fathers’ Day comes with less hype and fanfare as compared to Mothers’ Day. I’m guessing that’s because us mothers are very protective of our turf when it comes to the kids and also, most fathers are happy to take a backseat because there are more pressing matters to attend to, like killing zombies and watching soccer.

While I agree that dads are less inclined to be maternal (they’ve got less of those soft bits that are oh-so-comfortable for babies), they’re no less important to a kid’s growth and development. They add that little extra – the stability, security and giant biceps. Of course it helps that daddy can change a diaper in 30 seconds flat and hold the fort while I go out for a shopping spree.

In short, Happy Fathers’ Day, sweetheart. You rock my world too.

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i embarrass myself sometimes, stuff best described as not safe for parents

When your car smells like a boot, something fishy is going on

June 17, 2010

During our honeymoon, we rented a car and drove from LA to SF to Tahoe to Vegas and back to LA again. By the time we returned our PT Cruiser, it was filthy like you wouldn’t believe. In fact, we were so grossed out we started calling it dirtbag halfway through the trip. Note to self: melted snow does not mix well with all that desert sand. That was just the exterior though. It was still cosy and clean inside, which was the more important thing I suppose.

When we got back home, I thought there was no way our car could ever get that dirty again. I thought wrong.

Because this thing called kids, they’re compulsive little mess-makers. It’s like they *want* to live in a shanty town and so they try their hardest to turn my house into a refugee slum trailer trash shack.

Did I say house? I also meant car.

And every little inch of clean space I own.

Just the other day, we were on our way to pick the husband up from work. I was carrying a kid in each hand, digging for my elusive car keys with my elbows/teeth and when I finally managed to get the door open, I nearly passed out from the smell that was coming out from the inside. Something smelt fishy, and I don’t mean it as a metaphor. To be more specific, it was like all the fish in the Singapore River crawled into my car and died there.

Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of foul smells coming from the car (there’s something about the sun’s heat and moist, enclosed areas that make things rot at an alarming rate) and I have a pretty high tolerance for weird odors but holy cow, that was about the most awful smell ever. I think I threw up in my mouth a little.

Even though my arms were about to give way, I stood there for a while, trying to decide if I should attempt to brave imminent death and enter the fish mausoleum. I drew in a huge gasp of air, strapped them both in and started to search for the dead fish. Except that I had to dig through a giant pile of scattered toys. Covered in dried bread pieces and drizzled with sticky, gooey pastes. I swear I saw something move, so I decided to leave whatever monstrosity that was buried underneath all that rubble the hell alone.

Remind me again why I allow my kids to bring food into the car. Oh yes, because food was the only thing that made them stop screaming during those hour-long car rides.

Now I’m paying the price for those hours of (relative) peace and quiet. With mysterious fish carcasses.

I’m pretty sure this means my life sucks.

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stuff best described as not safe for parents, the breast things in life are free, unqualified parenting tips

Mutual assured destruction

June 15, 2010

School holidays are best spent with friends. Great for the kids but more importantly, great for the parents. We call it MAD – mutual assured destruction, where they neutralize each other’s powers and all of them are completely knocked out by naptime. Spectacular win for Team Parents.

Plus, it’s so cute to see little people playing with other little people who are not your own kids. Your own siblings are always snatching your toys and being a real pain in the ass but friends, ooh, they’re so fun to be with, look they have cool cars and water guns!

And that’s not taking into account the free massages you get while you take a break and sip your water. Boys have to stick together and wear the same manly colors like brown and khaki.

Tru loves having a boy friend to play with. Not boyfriend, but boy friend. Ah, you know what I mean. All that testosterone needs to find other testosterone to be happy. They trade cars and kungfu moves and peer at creepy crawlies. Except ants. Tru hates ants. One time, he saw an ant (actually it was just a speck of dirt but he was convinced it was an ant) in his bathtub and had a meltdown of epic proportions. Even after I scooped it out, he made me change the water and scrub the tub before agreeing to get in again.

Kirsten’s favorite game now is sitting on Tru’s back and smacking him to make him go faster. He’s been a very obliging horse but he doesn’t understand the concept of size so he tries to sit on her when it’s his turn, which usually doesn’t end very well. It’s hard to explain to a kid that his sister is too small to be sat on but big enough to usurp his toys.

Oh and Tru’s latest Casanova move is  to grab us by the cheeks and plant a big, juicy kiss square on the lips. He know that when he does that, he basically gets anything he wants.

I’ll be keeping a close eye on my little Georgie Porgie when he goes back to school.

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