Wednesday, August 29, 2012

What a Free Range Daddy Does

Well, one of the things I hadn't expected when Two-zy came along was his sheer ability to either wind up Pizzly or calm his little buns down with naught but a looky-loo.

I mean it is nuts, and I loves it so!

This morning after Mama Bear left for work the Pizzmeister was goofing around and making the baby shriek with laughter, his first real giggles and laughs of his life.  I loved it, and I was so damn proud of my little boys and there ability to get along.  That I decided I must to has video of it.

But, of course, when I went to grab the video camera and tape it for Mama Bear the giggles were all over and Two-zy was busy dropping a stink bomb in his diaper.

Naturally, I am too late...again

After I cleaned him up, Two-zy decided it was nap time and fell asleep, so I put him in his battery operated swing where Pizzly watched him intently for a few moments. 

And, bonus!

It wasn't too awful long before the ever energetic Pizzly was asleep too.

Notice that he is lovingly clutching his new bi-plane that Grammy and Grampy gave him.


Daddy's free range for at least a few moments!

Now, what to do with myself?  Do I watch a higher than pg rated movie, do I take a shower quickly before they wake up, or do I shave quickly and then try to pick up all the toys and quickly do the dishes?

Well, I did none of the above because as I sat on the couch pondering what I could do with my valuable free time I fell asleep on the couch for 45 minutes until the coffee I was holding spilled on my lap and I came to thinking I had somehow managed to get pee'd on or had pee'd myself.

Needless to say, I was grateful when I realized it was just coffee.

And, of course, as I cleaned up the mess the boys woke up hungry, and I had found the answer to my original question of what does a free range daddy do with his time.

He naps with his little boys.

Friday, August 24, 2012

Just a Dizzy Dad Parenting Tip: Baby Oil

Today I remembered a valuable lesson that I had forgotten since the time when the Pizzmeister was only a wee little baby.

The lesson is that you can never have too much baby oil around the house.  The stuff is amazing!

Let me tell you why.

Not only does baby oil help make your baby smell nice and feel silky smooth.  It doesn't just keep your newborn's skin nice and hydrated or help with heat rash or diaper rash.

Baby oil is also excellent at keeping your baby clean.  Well, not at keeping the runt clean but at getting the runt clean.

You may or may not know this, but newborn and little bitty baby poo is some pretty hardcore stuff. It pretty much stains anything that it comes into contact with, even skin sometimes.

Earlier today Two-zy had a poop splosion.  I am telling you it was all over the place. It even some how made it over the side of the changing table.  

Poor little Two-zy had it coming out of both leg holes and it shot right up his back and crested between his poor little shoulder blades.

Poor little guy.

Well, I knew that this was going to be one heck of a clean up job, so I decided to strip the bugger down and scrub him up in the bath.  

It was working out alright.  I used a crap load of soap and got him smelling nice and squeaky clean.  Then as I was drying him off I noticed that Two-zy didn't look quite right.  

His skin was a weird color. It was like a baby poop greeny, orangey, browny color.

"What the hell?!" I thought. "I must have totally done a terrible cleaning job in the bath."

So, I scrubbed him up again with even more soap, and again I noticed that his skin was this weird color while I was drying him off.

That's when I remembered about the wonders of baby oil, and that there were more than a few times when soap just wouldn't cut it when the Pizzmeister was a little one.  The only thing that worked to get him cleaned up sometimes was baby oil.

Yeah, that's right...Baby oil!

So, after remembering this, I grabbed the baby oil, rubbed the brat down with it, and then wiped him dry.  

Shazzam!  Baby boy was all cleaned up.

And, let me tell you that not only did the baby oil prove to be more effective than soap and water when cleaning up the baby boy, but it also cleaned the stain out of the wood on the changing table when soap wouldn't.

So, my advice to you is to keep baby oil on hand.  It's handy stuff!

P.s.  No Baby oil doesn't work for clothing stains. I've tried it. 

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Epic Dad Fail # 1,000,000: The Poopy Race!

Okay, here's the deal.  The Pizzmeister has been using the potty consistently for about a year now, but the kicker is he has to be all necked to do it.

Otherwise, he'll never tell us he has to go.

We've been making some real head way the last couple of months with getting the little brat to tell us when he has to go when he's wearing dipes or underwear, but we are still working on getting   that elusive poopy in the potty.

So, we've tried doing two things, one of which seems to work, and the other was just a plain old bad idea.

First, the good idea.

Bribery.  Every time the boy sits and lets a stink demon off in the potty he gets a "special" toy dubbed "a special poopy in the potty toy."  

Yeah, I know.  I'm creative with names.

Anyway, this tactic seems to get him trying more often with some moderate success.

Eventually, I am sure it will lead to a major break through, but I am not going to push the issue too much. We don't want to stress the poor little bugger out and have him clam all up now do we? 

No, it would probably be no fun having a kid that refuses to take a crap...ever again. So, no.  Let's not put too much pressure on the boy.

Now, for the epic fail idea, which I warn you is kind of gross.  

I decided to have a poopy in the potty race with the Pizzmeister.

Yeah...not sure what I was thinking either.

The other night I asked him if he wanted to try to take a crap on the potty before we put his night night diaper on, and he said "Yes."

So, to make it more fun, and because I had to drop a deuce too, I decided it might be a good idea to have a race with the little mighty mite.  We dragged his little froggy potty into the crapper, I helped him get on it, and then I hopped onto the old porcelain throne myself.

Here's where it all went South fast.

Immediately after we started this crap race I realized that I probably wouldn't be able to perform because it is just weird to be looking someone, even a little little someone, in the eye while you're crapping.  

But, I decided to try and muscle through it, and if I couldn't go so what?  It would be a confidence booster for the boy.

Anyway, here I was face to face with a very determined toddler, who was letting out some mighty toots, trying to see who could take a dump the fastest, and I was all puckered up and just realizing how absurd the situation was.

So, I started giggling, which seemed to offend poor Pizzly, who looked at me and said, "I'm trying really hard daddy!"

I replied, "I know buddy.  How is it going?  Did you poopy yet?"

"No!" Was his answer.

Well, since he isn't a quitter, Pizzly sat there for a half hour trying and straining to go poopy in the potty, and by that time my legs were asleep and all tingly from sitting there.

I was about to call the race a draw, but before I could stand up...let's just say I won the race.  

That just sounds so much more pleasant than announcing I passed the largest turd of my life.

Well, after we flushed our potties and washed our hands, I noticed that the Pizzmeister was a little too quiet, so I knelt down to ask him if he was ok.

That's when I noticed that he was a little teary.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Daddy gets a special toy and I not." He responded.

My heart was breaking as I hugged him and told him that I didn't need a special toy because I already had a very special boy that I loved very much. 

Then he looked at me and said, "I'm so sad daddy! I tried really hard!"

I felt so bad for the poor little guy.  Here I was trying to make something fun and to build up his confidence, and I ended up making him feel like a failure.  What a terrible dad I am!

It just breaks my heart that I am the reason why my little mighty mite felt so lousy.  

This just goes to show that somethings just shouldn't be turned into a competition, and that trying to force someone into running before they are barely walking usually ends up in a whole lot of bruises and hurt feelings.

Monday, August 13, 2012

Kids are Great...Well, Mine are Anyway.

Over the past week or so I have noticed a few things. 

Calming Two-zy down before stuff gets real
1.) Now that there are two little hooligans living here, it is harder than hell to do anything.

Yeah, yeah...laugh it up all you parents out there with multiple thugs kiddos who warned me about this.   

It's not like I didn't believe you.  I just didn't care because I couldn't foresee wanting to do anything ever again, and I am not talking about sex either, but the same goes for that too I guess.

I mean it is hard to even pick up all of the toys so we can run the darn vacuum let alone plan anything.  

One of the few precious moments where Two-zy
has allowed us to actually put him down

There is only a brief window of time where Two-zy is quiet and willing to be put down for a few minutes.  Otherwise, it's game over and the little brat cries until you give him what he wants, and there is nothing worse than hearing a one month old shriek continually to derail you.  

It just bores it's way into your brain until you'd do just about anything to shut the little bugger up!

So, before we can put the rascal down and clean up, we have to wait for that teeny tiny 5 minute window of glorious opportunity, but, of course, then we have to contend with the Pizzmeister, who is either very helpful or decidedly unhelpful at whim.

Pizzly helping pick up his cars by giving
them rides in the baby carrier
With any luck he will be in his helpful mood.  If not, then the room just doesn't get vacuumed because Two-zy will decide that he has had enough of being in baby gitmo, the pack and play, and start screaming until someone helps him "escape."

*hair being pulled out here*

I know.  

I could just let him cry, teaching him that mommy and daddy won't always be there to make things better, but I just don't have the heart to do so. 

He's a month old!  Mommy and daddy should always be there to make it all better.

But, despite never being able to do anything ever again, I still think that...

The Pizzmeister fell asleep watching
his baby bro sleep
2.) My kids are wicked great!

Yes, I know that Two-zy is still all little and sponge-like and stuff, but he is still pretty damn cool.  He is learning new crap everyday, and he is getting so darn strong and big so fast.  

It is fascinating watching him grow!

But, it is even more fascinating watching him interact with Pizzles.  

I swear that every time the Pizzmeister enters the room Two-zy knows it and is looking for him even if Pizzly hasn't said anything or is out of eye shot.  Most often the baby knows when Pizzly is around long before I do.  It's like some weird form of psychic ability or something.

And let me tell you about the Pizzmeister.  

He is one awesome big brother!  

Pizzly vigilantly watching Two-zy while he naps
We are just so damn proud of the little bugger.  He is always keeping track of his little brother, trying to comfort him when he cries, and he always wants to play with Two-zy and show him everything and explain everything to him.

It's great watching them together.  

Our little Pizzmeister shows a level of concern and empathy that just boggles my mind.  Most adult type people I know aren't even as caring and selfless as him.  Maybe he picked it up from Sesame Street or something. I don't know, but I doubt he got those characteristics from me or my side of the family.  

He is also incredibly helpful, especially when he knows that daddy isn't feeling well.  It's like having a hired hand whose sole focus is to follow you around and tell you what the baby is doing...all.the.time.  

It's cute as hell, but a little irritating too, but I'll never tell him that because I don't want to screw it all up.

I like that he is so interested and concerned about his baby brother, and I want to keep it that way for awhile.

But, as great as the boys are...

3.) I think that The Pizzmeister is losing it crazy style!

Yes, our big boy is awesome with his brother, and he is charmingly sweet and giving and caring, but I am afraid that underneath that he is crazier than a rat on bath salts!

The other day we were playing cars in the bed when out of nowhere Pizzles decided that he wanted to watch something on the t.v.

Well, this is not unusual by any means.  But, how he asked to watch the t.v. was.  

He punctuated every word by punching himself in the groin.  I don't care who you are, padded diaper or not, that hurts!

In fact, I know it hurt him because he let out a little groan every time he hit himself. 

It was too crazy, too disturbing for me to really comprehend what was going on at first.  

And, by the time I came to my senses I couldn't stop laughing to tell him that he shouldn't hit himself anymore, especially in his  nether region.

I could see doing it once by mistake, but to do it multiple times is just nuts!  

See what I did there?

Yeah...I'm immature.

Anyway, I am thinking that once Mama Bear goes back to work next week I am going to have a few really long days of trying to keep track of these two little rugrats that have invaded my home.

With any luck we will all survive it relatively unscathed.
Disaster written all over this

Friday, August 3, 2012

My Dogs/Pets are like my Kids...Yeah Right!

The muttlings before they turned all old and stuff
I have heard multiple people claim that their pets, especially dogs, are like their kids.  This makes me smirk a little because I used to think this too.  

Then I had kids, and now I know how different it really is.

My dogs are nothing like my kids, and they never were.

For one thing, the dogs are much much easier.  Plus, they are cheaper too.

A LOT cheaper!

And, those damn dogs are pretty hard to love at times.

This photo is about a year old.  The Pizzmeister with his
favorite doggy Zane, the trouble maker.
Now, don't get me wrong.  It's not like I don't love my dogs.  I just don't love them anywhere near as much as my kids.  

Sure, both my kids and my dogs are stinky and gross and a huge pain in the ass at times, but if forced to choose between the bastard dogs and the bratty kids?

I would choose the bratty kids every time with out fail.

No, my dogs aren't like my kids at all.

Here's why:

My dogs are not like my kids because

1.) I can leave my two year old dog home alone locked up safely in a crate while I go out running errands and consider  it being responsible.

You can't do that with a  toddler because, for some reason, it's abusive.  

No, you have to bring a two year old human everywhere with you or get a competent adult to sit with them while you are out and about.  Most often, this costs money.


2.) My dog doesn't need a car seat or a booster seat or even a seat belt.

I can drive the mutts around and not even buckle them in and not think anything of it.

I know.  I'm terrible right?

Would I do that with my kids?

Hell no!

First of all, it is extremely dangerous to do so, and, secondly, it would be illegal.  People have lost their kids for doing that, and rightly so.

I shudder to think of what would happen to my poor babies should I get into an accident without them seated up and buckled in tightly.

3.) My dogs don't watch television

Yeah, that means no Barney, no Baby Einstein, no Bob the Builder,  no Thomas and Friends, and no Mighty Machines was ever watched repeatedly when it was just the dogs and no kids in this house.  

We were a lot saner then!

We could watch anything we wanted with out fear of scarring the dogs for life, and if it did,  who cared? 

But, now that there are kids running around?

I can't watch anything even remotely grown up because I either can't get my hands on the remote, which the Pizzmeister has figured out how to run somehow, or everything thing that even sounds remotely interesting to me either has swearing in it or violence or something questionable.

I don't want to be the dad who has that kid who swears like a sailor.  

I also don't want to stay up all night rocking my kid back to sleep because he's having nightmares about things he's seen on the tele.

4.) My dogs will never go to college, drive a car, need school books, desire fashionable clothes, get married, beg to go to Disney Land, or even want any of that kind of stuff.  

Even if they did, I'd never know.  It's not like they can tell me.

Plus, I wouldn't care if the dogs did want any of that.  It's never going to happen.

Why not?

Because they're dogs that's why!  They'll do classic doggy things and be grateful for it.

Poor dogs...just be thankful that I take you to the park every once in awhile.

That can end at any point in time...

5.)  I frequently refer to my dogs as those "Goddamn dogs!"   and secretly fantasize about the day I don't have to deal with them anymore, using that as my happy thought when they've been particularly naughty, and I never feel guilty about it.

I could never think anything like that about my kids!

I even cry when I think about them going to pre-school because it will mean that they are growing up and will soon not need me as much!

Great!  Now, I am thinking about it again and getting all teary eyed.

6.) If everything goes as planned, when the dogs are long dead and gone my kids will still be thriving and growing and learning and becoming the wonderful people I know they will be. 

And, just think, someday when I am old and senile they will have the opportunity to pick out which home I go to.

So, I guess I better play my cards right.  I don't want to end up in the dog house.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

zane, Zoey, Pizzmeister, Whatever your Name Is...

Oh man, I am turning into to that dad that can't get his kids name right!

But, I am worse.

When I yell at my kid I usually go straight to the dog's names first.  What can I say?  I am more used to reprimanding the bratty dogs than the kids.

But, I am sure that that will change quickly enough.  

After all, the dogs are ancient as hell, so their mischievous days must numbered right?  You'd think that at 13 or so a dog would start slowing down. Nope not our dogs!

They are always misbehaving.  They are either snarfing up all the food the boy leaves behind or wagging and knocking the toddler over or something.

It's always something!

They are just naughty in general.  And, what's worse, they are naughty and old.  Old enough that they don't care anymore if they get caught because what are we gonna do? 

Nothing and they know it.  We'll say "Knock it off," or or yell at them, but that is about it.  It's not like they bite or anything.  They are just pests in general.  

So, I think that it is understandable that when the Pizzmeister is pulling some craziness I automatically yell at him using the dog's name, saying "Zane, knock it off!"  Zane, is our Platt hound mix, the usual culprit when evil shenanigans are happening.

Now, I don't really feel bad that I sometimes mistakenly call my son the dog's name.  I feel bad that the one time the poor dog is innocent he is still getting yelled at.  

Poor thing!