Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Pooper Helpers

I'm about to comment on an "Issue That Must Not Be Named" today: pooping and privacy.

As parents of young children, let's face it, we deal with a lot of poop (LITERALLY and FIGURATIVELY!).

And when it comes to my boys and poop, I take the lead. Not because Mom-E is unwilling (far from it), but rather since they're boys we approach potty time as "it's a boy thing".

If I had a nickel for every poopy diaper I've changed...well...I'd have a LOT of nickels.

I'm sure there are plenty out there who would disagree, but imho newborn poop (for those of you no longer suffering from fatigue-induced amnesia)--that is from those first weeks of life when you go through 48 diapers/day--really doesn't smell at all. I think this is a gift from God to the parents (in addition to the baby themselves, of course).

And even after a child is potty trained, many times they still want you in the bathroom when they poop.

Big Brother, who errs on the side of constipation, often says, "Dad-E can you come sit in here." I've worn a small groove in the rug, where I often sit and read a story to "pass" the time.

(Not that I ever did the same as a young child. No, not me.)

And we've tried to talk about (and work on) the importance of privacy while going to the bathroom.

Big Brother is still working on this concept. Sometimes he'll run to the bathroom screaming, "I need privacy," only to run back (to the table) moments later, his pants and underwear hanging down at the level of his ankles.

Umm, Big Brother, we need privacy, too.

We've tried to explain the whole privacy issue applies to Dad-E's (and Mom-E's) as well.

Even with noble intentions, if I go potty (and hence am gone from the room), it's like "moths to a flame."

The boys will make a bee line for the bathroom, flinging the door open to pretty much just say "hello."

Feeding off of the boys' excitement, the dog invariably rushes in, too.

And now I'm trying to "drop the kids off at the pool" while ushering 2 boys and a dog out of the room.

I guess they consider themselves my "Pooper Helpers."

My "favorite" was when Little Brother barged in on me and said, "Dad-E go poo-poo?"

"Yes. All done." I replied.

He proceeded to clap his hands for me and cheer, "Yay, Dad-E!"

(Okay, so we cheer and clap for our kids to help their pott-E training. Obviously it's been effective :)

Perhaps we should be more consistent about locking the door (which tends to result in bangs and screams of protest), except for the fact that the latch mechanism really doesn't work so well on that door.

Making things even more difficult, when I get home from work, Little Brother pretty much expects that I'm going to carry him around for the next 2 hours. Even if I say, "I'm going to set you down for a minute to get your milk," he still often has a minor tantrum.

If I have to go to the bathroom, he doesn't care. The message is "don't put me down. Take me with you."

He is perfectly content to hang out in the bathroom while I take care of business.

(And I'm not a newborn.)

Of course, at some point in the (VERY NEAR) future we'll have to put a stop to this behavior. But for now, sometimes you just have to pick your battles.

And now you know, in part, why my blog is anonymous.

Have a good week and close the door,

Monday, September 28, 2009


The comedian Gallagher once said (and millions of others, myself included, agree) that “you don’t have a baby. A baby has you.”

This was certainly the case with both of our boys. Bab-E is proving to be no different. In addition to all of the “usual” preparations for our upcoming arrival, oh by the way we’re selling our current house and hoping to move to another house with a little more space.

If that’s not a Bab-E controlling the actions of multiple adults and children, I don’t have an example.

However, Mom-E and I have made a discovery recently that tips the balance (albeit just ever-so-slightly and briefly) of control back in our favor:

Gummy Vitamins.

I’m serious.

Not only are they the most balanced part of Big and Little Brothers’s nutrition, they can make an (almost) 5 and 2-year old snap to attention with mere utterance of the phrase, “It’s bedtime. Who wants a vitamin?” (Perhaps because it’s pretty much like getting a piece of candy.)

Instantly, the boys will stop laying complete waste to the house whatever they’re doing and run to the kitchen for a handout, screaming “I do. I do.” as they knock each other over to get in line first

I even tried it today at different time than usual. “Hey boys, if you put away those blocks you can have a vitamin.”

(FYI. Apparently it only works at bedtime.)

Right now we prefer Wall-E vitamins, but it’s worked just fine with Spiderman and Scooby-Doo, too.

This has made Mom-E and I wish for an entire line of gumm-E food products. They would have the nutritional value of the desired food, but the consistency and flavor of gumm-E vitamins:

“Hey boys, come and get your gumm-E chicken and your gumm-E asparagus.”

Although we’d probably get sued for copyright infringement by Bertie Bots Every Flavor Beans.

Oh well, it’s still fun.

Have a good week,

Friday, September 25, 2009

O Lord Where's My Ring

Happy Fatherhood Friday everyone!

Don't forget to check out all of the great bloggers over at The "Eye" is watching to see if you do.

Today, another letter for my boys.


Dear Boys,

Don't ever lose your wedding ring. Not even for 15 minutes.


The other weekend I was doing some yard work.

I was spreading some mulching to build a flower bed.

All of a sudden, I looked down to see a small swarm of ants on my left hand (apparently they had set up camp in the mulching).

My first thought was, "I'm going to end up like the people devoured by the scarab beetles in the Mummy."

A few dribbles down my leg screams later, I was brushing the little buggers off while running inside.

Once inside, I made a bee-line for the sink to wash my hands, all the while chanting "Ow. Ow. Ow."

Ants now off of my hands, I found myself still chanting "Ow. Ow. Ow."

Looking down, it was apparent that a few ants were trying to join their lost bretheren in my hands by climbing my legs.

At this point, I pretty much started screaming again.

Mom-E and the boys looked perplexed as I'm now running towards the bathroom, stripping my clothes off as I go.

Fortunately the next set of dribbles down my leg were that of the shower washing off the remainder of the ants.

Meanwhile, the family has congregated in the bathroom.

"What's going on?" Mom-E asks.


The echoes of my screams suddenly took a back seat to sheer terror and panic
(my first thought was, "I'm going to be sleeping outside--WITH THE ANTS--for the rest of my life.")

Mom-E's first thought was that the ring went flying off in the back yard while I tried to brush them off.

Back outside I go, more or less retracing my steps run and tearing up the back yard.

No ring.

Mom-E comes outside a few moments later to ask, "Does your stud finder have a metal detector?"

#1 I wasn't aware that you knew I had a stud finder.
#2 I don't know whether to be impressed or a little turned-on.

(My stud finder does not have a metal detector).

Being a most resourceful, multitasking woman, within 5 minutes Mom-E has price compared metal detectors at 5 different stores, called her family to let them know what happened, and sewn an oversized pillow that will be my new bed for sleeping outside.

Then, Mom-E came out in to the back yard to help.

Mind you, we're going to church in about an hour, and Mom-E comes out in her dress and some old flip-flops.

Of course, as she's looking, the ants start going after her legs, too.

I will never forget the image of noticeably pregnant Mom-E wearing a dress in the back yard, hopping around on 1 foot (in the mud), trying to brush ants off her leg.

By divine intervention, she did not fall in the mud.

We headed back inside.

As I go to enter the house through the garage, I happen to notice my ring next to the door.

And then I remembered. The ants had gotten under my ring. I must've taken it off as I was entering the house and set it on the step stool next to the door. However, the stool must've been bumped and the ring fell off.


Okay, it's a little funny now, but wasn't so funny at the time.

Have a good weekend. Hold on to your ring.


Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Happy Halloween

I know, I know, it’s only September.

However, there are two major forces at play in our house right now.

Halloween (or Fall, more generally) is Mom-E’s favorite time of year. (No, she does not fly around on a broom or use a cauldron. Shame on you for thinking such). She’s just almost loved this time of year: the colors, the decorations, and, of course, pumpkin-spiced lattes from Starbucks. (Don’t get me started. Don’t EVEN get me started. I’m the rogue non-coffee drinker in the family. Please pass the chai.) So anyway, we’re already starting to get the house decorated for Halloween. In fact, the Halloween dish towels have been on display for like 3 weeks now.

The other reason to usher in the Halloween season so early is that we went costume shopping with the boys last week, and SOMEBODY has been very excited.

The boys will be going as Batman and (mini, darker, fleecier) Batman. (Darned if the Robin costume was just way too big). Big Brother was absolutely THRILLED with his costume. It took a small act of Congress to dissuade him from wearing the bat-mask that goes with the costume into the restaurant after we bought it.

(We still managed to draw a fair share of attention to our table with the usual antics.)

On the other hand, Little Brother wasn’t too terribly excited about costumes in general. He wanted to look at a number of them—Spiderman, The Incredible Hulk, and Batman—but had no desire to actually try anything on.

And so, Mom-E and I made an executive decision that (fraternal) peer-pressure would probably get the best of things in the long-run, and that it made sense that both of the boys would get to be Batman.

Thus far, it hasn’t exactly worked out, as Little Brother pretty much screams his head off even at the mention of putting his costume on. Fortunately, we all know that candy changes minds.

(At least it did for me when my parents put me in that darn clown costume when I was 3.)

However, even Big Brother has been a bit fickle about his costume. It’s not uncommon for him to wake-up and want to morph into Batman first thing in the morning. 2 minutes later (after the 10 minutes it takes to put on) though he wants to take it off.

I guess if you can’t drink chocolate milk through the bat mask you’ve got to take off the entire suit?

But I was able to convince him that Batman’s tool belt really is tied into a yellow bow on his back beneath his cape.

The moment we get home he also wants to put it on again. However, if Mom-E should come home, he immediately wants to take it off again (even though he says Mom-E is Bat Girl and therefore knows his true identity.)

I guess that makes me Alfred the butler.

For now, here’s a glimpse Big Brother Batman in full regalia.

And Little Brother in his "costume."

See you on Fatherhood Friday,

Monday, September 21, 2009


Hi everyone. It’s good to be “back.” I’m sorry I had to use the “life permitting” clause on Friday.

Nope, the title of today’s post is not a misspelling. It’s a new word I created that’s an amalgam of the words “soccer” and “sucker.”

Fall soccer season has caused us enough of a headache so far that we now own some stock in Excedrine Migraine.

My guess is that if you heard it, many would recognize the tune “La donne e mobile” from Verdi’s opera Rigoletto. The Italian translates to “Woman is fickle.”

If I wrote a song about Fall Soccer, it would be called:
“Big Brother’s Soccer Participation e mobile.”

The chorus would go something like “I don’t want to go to soccer. Well, yeah I do. No, I don’t want to play. Can you get my ball? Soccer is a bad word. I love soccer. Soccer, NO!”

It’s a minute-to-minute decision about what’s going to happen, although nap or no-nap status makes a big difference.

Initially we thought his frustration about soccer came from improperly fitting equipment, but of course life is never that simple.

We’ve seen the gamut of running his heart out and scoring goals to having to be dragged to the car (NOT literally) to go, and everything in between.

Last Thursday took the cake. Mom-E took a half-day from work to be able to pick him up in the early afternoon for soccer. He hadn’t napped. Dad-E fought traffic for about a half-hour to get to the game. Even Grampap-E made the journey to watch him play.

We spent the entire pre-game sitting on a spectator’s bench pouting.

Then I had to go get his ball (while he continued to pout on the bench).

Then with massive coaxing we got him to stand on the sidelines NEAR his team.

When he finally got “in” to the game, he stood on the sideline and REFUSED to move. I mean, wouldn’t even turn around when everyone else went flying in the opposite direction.

So, at that point, full of embarrassment, we picked him up and left.

As upset as I was (soccer pretty much had to “take a number” behind my other frustrations that day), I was of course reminded by MY Dad-E that when I was about 5 or 6, I refused to play at a Y soccer game because I was assigned to play goalie, and apparently I didn’t want to play goalie.

I'd never do that. No, not me.

Hmm…Suddenly it was hard to get too upset, and I was beginning to feel like a “pot” talking to ”kettle” Big Brother.

As much as we’d like to quit, I think we’re stuck going because:
1. We don’t want to teach him to quit, and
2. If we did, it’d just teach him that if he throws a big enough fit he’ll get his way.

Oh, to be strong-willed and 4 again.

At least if this keeps up, we’ll have a little less worry about peer-pressure-related things when he gets older.

Have a good week,

Friday, September 18, 2009

Fatherhood Friday #31

Happy Fatherhood Friday everyone!

Don't forget to check out all of the great bloggers over at

This has been a week to forget for me. Sometimes, things are just too bus-E and something's gotta give. Today is one of 'dem days, and it's the blog that gets the short end.

In the meantime, I'd rather be here:

Back in action on Monday,

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

While Mom-E is Out

Welcome to a "Wordless Wednesday" post (okay, well, maybe just a few words of explanation).

Here's what you get while Mom-E is out of the house doing "boring girl stuff" and the boys (Dad-E and Big Brother) go wild with Thomas the Train track, Legos, and about 90 minutes of uninterrupted engineering time while Little Brother naps.

And yes, on its own the train can actually complete the loop from the floor up to the ottoman, across the bridge to the coffee table, across another bridge to the couch, down the waterfall, and back again.

See you on Fatherhood Friday,

P.S. Bab-E Brother says he'd rather play with trains than tag along for "boring girl stuff", unfortunately he has no choice in the matter.

Monday, September 14, 2009


I have a confession...

Today's post will have nothing to do with fatherhood or children.

I have another confession that I need to rant about...(hey, after all it is my blog).

We have a cockroach that lives in our garage.

Her name is Bertha. (I've dubbed her said name.)

Bertha is a large cockroach.

Sometimes I think she's the leader of a new race of genetically engineered roaches whose aim is no less than to take over the world.

Or at least just annoy the ever livin' dickens out of me.

You see, Bertha only comes out at night.

I think she knows when it's time for me to go into the garage at night to take out the trash, or put something away, etc.

And she just stands there in plain sight, taunting me, as if she's saying, "You can't catch me Dad-E."

And she knows I can't (YET!). She's way smarter than regular bugs.

She runs too fast. Apparently she has been training.

Even if I come after her with a long object (e.g. golf club), she scatters before I have a chance to attack, usually under the car. (And when I look under the car, she's gone.)

I mean, most bugs just sit there waiting for you to smash them. Not Bertha. She has stealth powers.

Once I had her in plain sight on the side of the garage, and she was able to dart in and out of tricycles and baseball tees and the like to evade me, though I came within millimeters of squashing her with a tire.

Now you're probably thinking, why not just put out some bait (or a trap or fumigate the garage or something).

No way. This is a game of intellectual chess (albeit my opponent is a roach).

I will settle for no less than squashing her with (an object projecting outward from) my own hand. Only that will truly be satisfying. I envision that it will look something like this:

It's like Spy vs Spy.

Game on.

Just you wait, Bertha. Your time will come.

Okay, I need to go take my medicine now.

Have a good week,


I actually wrote this post last week.

Less than 24 hours after writing it, Mom-E, who is usually terrified of spiders the size of your pinky nail, called to inform me that she had killed Bertha with the shoe she was wearing!?! Apparently, a side effect of pregnancy is decreased fear of bugs.

Mom-E did have a slight advantage in that my car was out of the garage.

Apparently drunk from a night of partying with her roach cronies, Bertha was hanging out where my car should have been, leaving her exposed and in plain sight.

Mom-E was apparently able to make quick work of Bertha using her jungle cat-like reflexes. (I must admit to wishing that I had video of pregnant Mom-E running around the garage stomping a roach with her foot.)

Unfortunately, she did not take any pictures of the carnage.

However, let this serve as a warning to you, you genetically engineered roaches, if any of Bertha's kin or followers sets foot in our garage, your fate will be the same as Bertha's!

Let this also serve as a lesson that if you're going to hunt down a female genetically engineered roach, you best hire a female assassin. I bow to the superior sex.

You could also say "never get a man to do a woman's job."

Problem is that according to Raymond, the only reasons Mom-E keeps me around are:
1. Kill bugs
2. Open jars

Honey, you got any jars for me to open?

Friday, September 11, 2009

Labor Day Weekend: A Festival of Fevers, Popsicles, and "Vacation"

Happy Fatherhood Friday everyone!

Although H1N1 is not transmissible over the net, a good way to bolster your immune system is to check out all of the great bloggers over at

So, we, uh, had an interesting Labor Day weekend.

Our original plans were to drive several hundred miles to my boyhood home to visit with my Dad-E and my grandparents (who are both in their UPPER-90's, and doing pretty well given their age).

And then the weekend before, Big Brother had a fever spike to 104. He was never swabbed with H1N1, but the pediatrician said they'd been seeing a lot of (relatively mild) flu, and that flu of some kind was the presumptive diagnosis.

And then the night before we were to leave, Mom-E started to feel sick. The next day, she had fever to 101.4 (which is always a little scary when you're 20-some weeks pregnant). I mean, it's not like you can just turn a fan on in there to cool off Bab-E. Although maybe he'll like hot tubs when he grows up? Can we bill him retroactively for a "spa" treatment in utero?

Of course, nix went our roadtrip. No reason for a sick, pregnant lady to travel by car feeling that miserable, nor reason to expose two nonagenerians to (presumed) flu.

I had her see the doctor about 5 minutes later. No H1N1 swab for her either, but they put her on Tamiflu as a precaution. Her fever went away pretty quickly.

And was promptly replaced with a throbbing sinus headache and congestion. Stop Tamiflu. Start Z-pack.

Mom-E, who normally explodes if she sits down for 5 minutes, pretty much spent 4 days in bed or on the couch in the family room.

I managed to put as many miles on the car going to and from the pharmacy as we would have if we made the trip.

Does anyone need some more Tylenol Multisymptom? If so, I can pick up more on lap 95.

Pitt stop coming up on lap 86 for more soup, ginger ale, and popsicles.


I haven't had popsicles in years. And now I'm a major stockholder in Popsicle brand.

I forgot how much fun popsicles are for kids and adult kids alike.

Sooth your throat, sneak in some extra fluids, color your tongue, DON'T EAT IT OVER THE RUG, it's all good popsicles.

I found out I can get my kids to do pretty much anything with a popsicle as a reward.

And the popsicles are so technologically advanced now.

We enjoyed Ice Age "slow melt" popsicles. They really are slow melt. Rising 2 year-old approved. Though beware the slightly awkward gummy acorn at the top.

And the absolute best: Super Hero popsicles for your budding Iron Man, Spider Man, or Incredible Hulk.

And just as Mom-E started to turn the corner, of course Little Brother spikes a fever to 101 on Sunday. Poor guy was spewing more snot than an offshore oil rig.

I had taken Friday off as a vacation day, plus the long weekend, plus I took Tuesday off since Little Brother was still under the weather. Amazingly, I have been spared from illness thus far.

And while I could skulk and complain that I spent my mini-vacation taking care of a house full of sickos (all the while trying to keep it clean since we're on the market), I decided to make the best of it.

And prove that men can multitask (to a limited extent).

I earned some husband points from Mom-E for my attentiveness and "bedside manner" (aka frequent refills of ginger ale, water, gaterade, crackers, tylenol, and pleas of "boys Mom-E feels yuck-E and needs to rest.")

I didn't shave for some 5 days (which hasn't happened since college) in order to render myself unkissable by Mom-E and thus less likely to get sick.

During an extended nap for Mom-E and Little Brother, I took Big Brother out on a "date" to a movie and a couple of movie-side video games.

Little Brother was extra clingy, and I enjoyed carrying him around pretty much everywhere, night and day.

Except that time my bicep fell off.

And while I was disappointed about missing the trip to see family (which we'll try to reschedule soon), it was still strangely nice just to have some time off to spend with the boys and Mom-E.

No doubt we'll always remember the Labor Day weekend when everyone was sick.

Have a good and HEALTHY weekend,

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Call Off the Boys

Sometimes when Big Brother rips toys out of Little Brother's clutches picks on Little Brother, I make the subtle suggestion that, "someday Little Brother might be bigger than you, and if that happens, he's going to remember all the times you took toys away from him."

Well, apparently both boys have remembered previously repressed memories of being smaller than Pupp-E, and all of the times Pupp-E has snatched food out of their hands, or grabbed one of their toys, run off with it, and attempted to chew it under the table.

And now it's time for their "revenge."

The boys' new favorite pastime is to form a hunting party (of 2), and chase Pupp-E ALL OVER THE HOUSE, wherever he may be.

Armed with only Mom-E's hairbrushes in one arm and dragging their blankies in the other, they set off on a mission to terrorize that poor, little dog.

(They look like a cross between and Muppet Babies and Don Quixote.)

And by terroize I mean run through the house kackling loudly and attempting to "lasso" Pupp-E by throwing their blankies over him. And occasionally combing his hair with Mom-E's hairbrush. Sorry, Mom-E.

"Hey Little Brother, let's go get Pupp-E," I hear Big Brother whisper.

And, like the zombies in the Mumm-E movie shouting "Im-ho-tep", Little Brother is in complete kahootz with Big Brother.

And they're off.

They're undeterred in their quest for vengence.

And by undettered, I mean Little Brother is sick with a fever to 101, and is still frolicking around the house trying to "get" Pupp-E.

And if Pupp-E goes outside because Dad-E "accidentally" opens the door, the mob boys want to follow him into the yard.

And if Pupp-E retreats to Mom-E and Dad-E's bed, where Mom-E lies with a fever of 101and throbbing sinus headache, the boys try to climb into bed like Orks at the Battle For Helms Deep. (More details on that on Friday.)

For now, I better go call off the boys rescue the dog.

See you on Fatherhood Friday,

Monday, September 7, 2009

Big Brother Explains Special Handshakes

Happy Labor Day!

Since I don't feel like working much today, I've decided to let Big Brother shoulder some of the workload.

It's been awhile since we've done a "Big Brother Explains" post, where he gives us his own unique how-to.

Actually, this is something we came up with together. A long time ago, I thought it would be cool if the boys and I had our own special handshake, and he agreed.

With that, take it away Big Brother.


Here's our special handshake. It's called "Thumbs up, Shake it up, Pop".

1) First, you give each other a thumbs up.

2) Next, you shake the thumbs up--up and down--like you're shaking up a soda can.

3) Last, you bump fists, while holding the thumbs up position.

Don't forget to say the words with each step: Thumbs up, Shake it up, Pop.

It always gives us a smile and a chuckle.

Do you have a special handshake or greeting with your children?

Have a good week,

Friday, September 4, 2009

Moving Men

Happy Fatherhood Friday everyone!

Thanks to for helping dad bloggers to take over the blogosphere one week at a time.

I think that we, as dad bloggers, need to make our own tv show.

Perhaps it’s because we’re trying to sell our house right now, but I think all of those “This Old House”, “Extreme Home Makeover”, and home improvement-type shows have it all wrong.

They claim to be “Reality TV”. When it comes to home improvement/moving with young families, they’re pretty far from reality.

I think we should make a home repair-type show, but it has to be done WITH KIDS “HELPING”. To show home repair/moving as it really is.

Take the other day for example. We’re trying to get the house ready to go on the market, and at a fairly frenetic pace. The weekends are our best time to get stuff done. Of course we have plenty of “help.” All of the following occurs within the same 24-hour period:

-Big Brother insists on making the entire Island of Sodor with his Thomas track no less than 5 times a day, and it must cover at least the entire space of the living room. Niche marketing ploy on our part. "Yes, the house comes with the train track."

-Little Brother enjoys helping Mom-E “clean” windows. Usually to the tune of autographing newly cleaned windows with his “high-five” handprints. C’mon, you know they needed cleaning twice anyway.

-Little Brother continues to help Mom-E “clean” windows. In a moment of boredom (the window in his bathroom starts at about twice his height), Little Brother opts to swish his hands around in a (not clean) toilet bowl. Slow down Little Brother. We’ll get you a brush.

-Attempts to touch-up trim paint turn into a game of, “Keep Little Brother’s Hand Out of The Paint.”
Only one player is allowed to laugh during the game, and that player must be under 36 inches tall.

-Big Brother proceeds to spike a fever to 104F, complete with puking, 36 hours before the house officially goes on the market. We’re convinced he has swine flu.

-Big Brother’s fever disappears within the first two doses of Tylenol, and he is darn near back to himself, arguing against influenza.

-Little Brother adamantly REFUSES to go down for a nap. Probably because the carpet in his room has just been cleaned, and almost all of his furniture is out of the room, thereby completely disrupting his routine. He proceeds to scream in protest to the point of making himself puke at least 3 times, requiring a bath, and coming within millimeters of having to re-do the carpet in his room.

-Big Brother is doing well such that he goes grocery shopping with Dad-E. We decide to go shopping at the literal point the monsoon decides to hit. Despite an umbrella and a relatively short walk into the store, our shirts are so wet that we had to go to the bathroom to wring them out. Unfortunately you can’t wring water out of shoes. I’m convinced the wet clothes plus the subzero temps in the store will bring his fever right back.

-Little Brother’s grows tired of the “Paint” game, and switches over to a games of “Walk With a Melting Purple Popsicle Over Newly Cleaned Carpet” and “Who Can Spit Chocolate Juice Closest to the Newly Cleaned Carpet Without Actually Hitting It.”

Now that’s what I call a reality show. You get a prize just for completing a given task.

Anyone can paint a room. But can you paint with a 4 year-old pulling on your arm, protesting, "Dad-E we need to make a track", while simultaneously preventing a 2 year-old from diving head-first into the paint can. Now that takes skills.

C’mon, as long as you’re not the one doing the repairs, you know you’d watch it.

Have a good weekend,

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Old 100th

We’ll, Blogger has just informed me that I’ve hit a milestone here at Busy-Dad-E: my 100th post!

I started blogging 8 months ago, and I must say that I’ve enjoyed the experience more than I could’ve anticipated.

My goal was to create an online journal to capture the thoughts, ideas, and emotions of fatherhood with a young family.

Early on, I made a decision to make my blog public, rather than inviting just family and friends, in the hopes of connecting with other dad (and mom) bloggers, who could relate to the joyful chaos that is our house. I’ve been more than delighted with the result.

As I searched out ways to connect with other bloggers, I was fortunate to come across I really enjoy this site, particularly Fatherhood Fridays. I’m thankful for the publicity for my blog, the great articles, and most importantly the wonderful people with whom I’ve met online and communicated.

I’m honored that so many of you have regularly come to my blog to read of our goings on, and I’m privileged to have had the opportunity to share in yours.

I was also lucky to pick up an endorsement of sorts from the British website,, which has been an exciting source of traffic to my blog from across the pond.

I also found the interesting website (which apparently has been renamed, which has also brought some traffic my way.

I also tweet some from Thanks goes out to my followers there.

Of course, I greatly appreciate those of you who have me on your blogroll.

At the risk of neglecting to mention someone, let me give a personal thanks to the following folks:
Aunt Karen
Weasel Momma
Surprised Mom
Shank Rabbit
Mocha Dad
Melisa with One S
Bella Daddy
Otter Thomas
Super Mega Dad

Thanks to those of you who read the blog without commenting (I know who you are :)

And of course, BIG BIG BIG thanks to Mom-E for your love, support, and encouragement (not to mention that little part about carrying and giving birth and breast-feeding, etc, etc, to Big Brother, Little Brother, and soon-to-be Bab-E Brother). You’re my love and my best friend, and I wouldn’t want anyone else next to me on this roller coaster.

Last but certainly not least, thanks to Big Brother and Little Brother, for all of the joy and pride and laughter (and occasional headaches and worry and frustration) that you bring to our family. You make me truly happy. Not to be left out, we love you Bab-E Brother. We love you and you’re already beginning to control us even before you make your official entrance.

In short, thanks to everyone. It’s been a blast!

See you on Fatherhood Friday,