The chronicles and ramblings of a stay-at-home father raising his three beautiful girls, Anya Rose, Caitlin Rose and Reegan Rose.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

A day at Papa and Nana's

Why is it that whenever I try to do something, nothing ever works the way that it’s supposed to? I mean besides procreating.

We went up to my parents house today so the Roses could spend some quality time with my folks. Since the weather was so nice today I thought it would be a great opportunity to finally clean out the van; not that it needed it though, the maggots weren't going to hatch until early April and the opossum seemed to be rabid to bother anybody anymore. But whenever you plan to do anything at my parents’ house, know that it will be accompanied by a series of unfortunate events. It’s like the bad-karma nexus of the universe.

My parents have a handy, one gallon wet-dry vac that's perfect for cleaning out a car. As I picked it up to carry it out of my mom's art studio (don't ask me why the hell a wet dry vac is in the art studio), the bucket came off, dumping the previously collected broken glass all over the floor. No problem. I put the bucket back in place and plugged in the little guy. I sucked up the mess in a couple minutes and was back to cleaning the car. After removing the car seats and exposing the rancid collection of raisins and half eaten French fries, I fired the vac up and went to work. I didn't finish with Caitlin's seat before my vacuum crapped out on me. Seriously?

After losing round one, I went out to the pole barn to find our larger shop vac. I tried to swing the barn door open while holding the shop vac, but something was wrong. The doors wouldn't budge. They were iced shut. Grabbing a pick axe from the garage, I spent the next 10 minutes hacking away at the 2 inches of ice that kept me from getting the door opened. Finally I was able to squeeze the vac through the doors and get back to the task at hand.

The 6 horse power vac roared as I continued my quest to find the vans carpet beneath the bread sticks, crayons, and candy wrappers. While I was sucking up a full string cheese under Anya's seat, I heard a funny pop, and again my vacuum died. Cleaning your car is a 5 minute job tops. I had over an hour into this project and two broken shop vacs. I felt like a one legged man in an ass-kicking contest. But I knew when to throw in the towel. It was time for the USA v. Canada game, and watching that took all my stresses away...until overtime.

Tip of the Day: Life is much easier when you’re a 'the car is half- clean’ type of person, even when it’s more like 80-20 on the dirty side.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

No rest for the weary

Before I talk about our interesting night, I just want to give props to my three year old daughter who somehow fixed my Lenovo netbook. Three months ago it crapped out on me and miraculously she brought it back from the dead today. It gets dropped off the couch, it dies. It gets tossed against the wall, it comes back. I don’t know…

Anyway, last evening was quite interesting. Around midnight my wife and I were awakened by the moans of 20 month old daughter Caitlin. For some unexplained reason, she had woken herself up and was apparently hungry, as all we heard from the room next door was ‘Cereal, cereal, cereal!!!’ In true father-of-the-year like fashion, I pretended I didn’t hear her until my wife got up and made it half way across the room. In an attempt to sound surprised and concerned, I mumbled “Is everything alright?” When my wife responded that she was going to check on Cai Cai I added, “Well let me know if you need anything,”( just as a formality really).

About two minutes later I was taken up on my offer. Reegan, having heard Caitlin’s moans, started to cry. Damnit! As I begrudgingly got out of bed I noticed a slight chill to the air. While I was only wearing my boxer shorts, it seemed slightly cooler than normal. When I arrived at Reegan’s crib, my nipples were so hard they could have cut glass. Something was definitely wrong. Did we forget to pay the heating bill? I carried Reegan across the room to check the thermostat. 57 degrees and set to air conditioning. Hmmm. In the same manner that Seinfeld curses the name of his dispised mail carrier friend, I grimaced and whispered “Anya…”

I turned the heat back on in the house and it took a good 45 minutes to get the house back to a comfortable temperature. By the time we got the girls back to sleep was already passed 2:00am. Just another night in the Schmidt house…

Tip of the Day: If you’re going to blog that you “pretended not to hear” your daughter wake up, make sure you take your spouse off the blogs email list.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Father of the year?

The other day I visited a friend of mine who was watching his kids for a few days while his wife was visiting friends in California. Because he usually works a 9 to 5, he cherishes the opportunity to spend time watching his girls during the day. He mentioned to me that when he stays home, he tells his kids that the TV is broken so he can get the most out of his time with them. While I understand how sweet that is, it really makes me feel like a lazy ass dad. There have been more than a few days where I’ve turned on the TV and told my Roses that their daddy is broken.

They say the 90% of parenting is just showing up, so I got that going for me, but I don’t want to coast through my parenting responsibilities. The last thing I need is to wake up 15 years from now and find one of my Roses’ twirling around a striper pole in a dank bar in southern Minnesota. A wise man once said (Chris Rock) ‘They don’t give grades for fatherhood, but if your daughter ends up on a pole, you fucked up.”

Well I’m not letting my daughters end up on a pole. I’m stepping up my game. Starting today I’m going to make a point to spend time with each of Roses independently. Anya loves art, Caitlin loves music, and Reegan loves whatever (she’s cool as shit). I know my days get busy, but that’s no excuse for not spending quality time with my Roses. After all, isn’t that what being a stay at home dad is all about?

Tip of the Day: When you manage to clean the house, immediately tell everyone you know. It only takes about five minutes for my girls to return the house to its normal state of disorder and I want credit for my hours of hard work.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

I gots to get paid!

One of the biggest challenges of being a stay at home dad for me is not having an income.  I understand that what I do is valuable; the cost of sending three kids to daycare would wipe out my teachers salary and then some.  And I know that there are other benefits to staying at home with our Roses', but there is something gratifying about bringing home a paycheck with your name on it.

When Alicia goes to work, if she does her accounting thing, and if she does a good job she is financially compensative for her hard work.  What do I get?  A couple of "The house looks great, hun"s or "dinner smells delicious tonight"s.

While the compliments are great, are the compliments going to pay for a couple rounds of beer on the weekend?

Bartender - "Okay sir, three Blue Moon's, two Stellas, a pair of Jack and Cokes, and a Jag Bomb.  That comes to $42 even."
Me - "No problem bartender, this week I changed 52 diapers, made 23 bottles, cut up 17 hot dogs, and my wife told me I did a super job.  That ought to cover me for the night." 

So I thought I'd find a part time job to help ease my financial woes.  At a volleyball tournament last year, a friend of mine mentioned to me that they pay volleyball officials pretty well these days.  Having been an official in college, I thought it might be something I would enjoy so I went for it.  I made a few calls and before I knew it I was an official for a couple division three NCAA conferences.

Every year each official needs to be rated by a panel of refs to maintain good standing in the association. Last Saturday I reffed two matches and was critiqued by some of the best officials in the Nation, DI refs who do Big 10, Big 12 and ACC conferences.  While nervous as hell, I did my best and tried to forget that every minute detail of my performance was being scrutinized.  After my matches we had a debriefing session where you recieve feedback.  While I didn't think I did all that well, it turns out I kicked ass!  If I continue to work at it and progress, I was told that I have a promising shot at becoming a future National official.  That's freaking huge!  You know how much those guys get for a match?  Like $400!  Imagine a four game tournament?

Tip of the Day - When attempting to write a blog during nap time, don't let your 3 year old daughter jump on your 6 month old daughter, which in turn will lead to waking up your 2 year old daughter.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

A day at church

For as long as I can remember, Sunday has always meant going to church.  Believe it or not, I had a four year stretch where I didn't miss a single Sunday Mass.  For the past three years, my wife and I have tried to make it to Mass as often as possible, but with three kids going to church is like giving yourself a cold water enema; it gets the job done, but the whole experience could be much more enjoyable. 

Ever since Anya was born, we have banished ourselves to the crying room.  I'm not sure I like the term 'crying' room.  I mean the room itself offers so many other spiritual experiences.  It could be the 'Oh my God, someone shit their pants' room ,or 'that kid just picked his nose and now wants to shake my hand for peace' room, or my personal favorite, 'that kid just ate a handful of grapes and puked all over the pew!' room.  The general church really misses out.

While I would like to say that my Roses are the well behaved children in the room, the reality is that Anya and Caitlin can't sit still for more than five minutes (they must get that from their mother).  This week we tried the nursery for the third time.  Much like our early experiences at the Lifetime Fitness' Child Care, Anya and Cai Cai aren't too crazy about the idea.  The first time I tried dropping them off there, I made it just inside the church when I heard Anya screaming "I WANT MY DADDY!"  Shortly after her wail, she made a bee line for the door, broke two tackles from the nursery supervisors and found me just outside the main worship space.  At least at Lifetime the workers got paid for putting up with my kids grief.

Finally we decided one of us would stay in the nursery while the other took Reegan into the crying room.  With a heavy heart, Alicia volunteered to stay with the girls.  While my wife goes to Mass, she (like her mother) will capitalize on any opportunity NOT to go to church.  The nursery thing seems like a good fit, instead of  having to pray and celebrate the Eucharist, she gets to gossip and eat pretzel flavored goldfish ( I really do love my wife, by the way, I just can't pass up giving her a hard time).  We hope our stradegy continues to work as it gives everyone in our family the opportunity to get the most out of what our parish has to offer.

Tip of the Day: Try not to let your child lick the tops of the pews, they often contain more bacteria than the hands of a disgrutled McDonald's employee.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Fences make good neighbors.

For the past 6 years, we've lived next door to the most uninhabitable house in St. Louis Park.  The guy who lived there was such a drunk, he made Barney Gumble look like Ned Flanders, dittily.  In 6 years we never saw him mow his lawn, shovel his driveway, or trim his trees.  You could smell a funk of stale booze and cigarettes emunating from his house.  When the big hail storm in May of 08 hit our neighborhood, he staggered out of his house in his skivvies, looked around his yard, mumbled a few drunken curse words, and went back into hibernation.  All the windows on the north side of his house had been shattered and much of the Viking-purple paint had chipped off.  The window at the foundation of his house had broke clear through to his basement, but he saw that as no cause for concern.  For two years that window went un-repaired.  We literally watched squirrels jump through the window into his basement.

While his house was definitely an eyesore, as a neighbor, he wasn't all that bad.  You never heard from him and he didn't care if we played in his back yard (if you didn't mind the broken glass or itchweed).

Recently he moved out and the house foreclosed.  My wife and I have been really nervous about who is going to buy the house.  Unless the new owner completely guts the house, what kind of person is going to live in such a hell hole?

For the past few weeks a company by the name of Xenith Holding has been cleaning out the house and starting minor repairs.  We had assumed some real estate holding company had purchased the place and was planning on flipping it.  They had pulled the carpets and the appliances and had started painting the interior.

Just yesterday though, a nice young guy dropped by our house and introduced himself as the new owner of the house.  As I mentioned to him that he had been doing a lot of work lately, he looked at me and said "Really? I haven't done anything yet?" As it turns out, Kyle (the young guy) holds the deed to the house but this company has been doing all kinds of half ass repairs to the place.  Jacked up or what?

This morning Kyle was changing the locks to the house and stopped by to inform me that if the company comes to the house, I should call the Sheriff.  No shit!  "  This is like a good ol' fashion soap opera unfolding right before my very house!

He said the Sheriff is near!

Tip of the Day:  When you attend a yoga class, don't sit right behind an attractive person; it gets uncomfortable very quickly.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Why I hate President's Day

Why is President's Day a holiday?  I mean seriously.  The only people that know it's some sort of holiday are the mail delivery persons (or whatever the hell your supposed to call them these days) and students/teachers.  Everybody else in the country is sitting at work wondering where their mail is and trying to figure out why the bus didn't pick up their kid this morning.

Bo, why are so angry about a National Holiday?  I'll tell you why.  When kids have the day off of school, every regular hangout joint I bring my Roses to is teaming with children.  I used to think I liked kids, it turns out I only like my kids (and my kids' friends of course).

This morning I had made plans to meet a friend over at Edinborough Park, an indoor 'tree-house' fully equipped with slides and tunnels.  When we arrived it was somewhat busier than normal, but nothing that was going to prevent us from enjoying a morning at the playground.  By 10:00, every Susie, Johnny, and Samantha in the southern metro had congregated at the labyrinth of shoots and ladders.  The place got so packed you could hardly find a place to sit.  Doug and I found a corner of cement to rest on as our kids headed off to the park, except for Reegan or course; she got to hang with me.  After an hour or so of running around we decided it was time to pack it in and make our way back to the car.  As we weaved our way through the masses of people, Caitlin decided she had had enough of this whole walking thing.  Being the wonderful dad that I am I scooped her up with my left arm (Reegan was in my right) and we continued our journey.

Now Anya didn't think it was very fair that everyone else in the family was getting a free ride, so she decided to stage a protest.  While grabbing my sweatpants, she goes epileptic on me and starts dragging herself on the ground while screaming about the injustices of her situation.  While I did have the drawstring at an appropriate tension, Anya's strength proved to be too great for my cotton trousers.  As I stopped to pull up my pants, I set Caitlin down.  Seeing this as her chance to get out of this stressful situation, she bolted for the nearest door with a handicapped opener.  By the time I had calmed Anya down, wrangled Caitlin from the sidewalk, and covered Reegan in her carseat, I had completely exhausted myself.  I tried to stay positive through the situation, but the only thought that really helped was "I'm never going leaving the house again on a made-up, fricken holiday!"

Tip of the Day:  When an unprovoked child shouts "I'm doing nothing!!!" from upstairs, expect the worst.

American Idol?

My wife Alicia and I were talking about why people would read a blog.  She made the comparison that following a blog very similar to watching a reality show.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized how right she was.  As you will see, following my blog is essentially the same thing as watching a season of American Idol.

Just as American Idol has a cast of characters, my life too has a similar cast of characters:

Alicia - Simon Cowell. Obviously.

My Parents - The millions of screaming fans that follow the show religiously.  They single-handedly click on enough ads to keep this blog in production.

My Roses - Susan Boyle.  They all have their hidden talents that are unique and special. (Who did you think I was going to compare them to?  Carrie Underwood?  Are you crazy!  The last thing I want to think about is my Rose's having boobs!).

Me - Sanjaya.  We have three things in common.  First, we're both likable guys who do the best with the limited talents we've been given.  Second, we're often on Simon Cowell's shit list.  And third, we're both of Indian decent with lush, beautiful heads of hair.  Oh wait, I guess we only have two things in common.

As diverse as the American Idol personalities are, they are all needed to make the show a success.  My family is great.  We thrive on the differences that we have and emphasize each others strengths.  My Rose's my have Sanjaya for a father, but one things for sure, this Sanjaya busts his ass everyday to show his little girls that he loves them more than life itself.

Tip of the Day:  Honesty is always the best policy, except when your three-year-old finds your bottle of KY Jelly and asks, "What do you use this for?"

Friday, February 12, 2010

A Trip to the Doctor

This morning I had to take Reegan in for her 6 month checkup.  While I usually bring all the girls along, I decided to spare myself the punishment and asked my dad to watch Cai Cai and Anya for the morning.  Man is it easy to go somewhere with only one kid!  I threw a spare diaper in my pocket and off we went.

Reegan's appointment went wonderfully.  Like my other girls, Reegan is off the charts in her height and above average in weight.  The highlight of the trip was when the nurse pulled out the five shots that Reegan needed for the visit.  It was the typical drill, lay the kid down on the deli paper, restrain her arms while the nurse pins the legs, and then BOOM, rapid fire needles.

I remember the first time we brought Anya in to get her shots.  Alicia had to hold down her arms and she was bawling before they even finished with the shots.  That's right, the stone faced CPA with ice in her veins, actually started to cry.  Today I didn't even wince.  When the doc brought up immunizations, I had two questions, 1) Will insurance cover it? 2) I don't have to get any shots, right?  (Those hurt like a son of a buck).

Dealing with a crying 6 month old is so much easier than dealing with a hysterical 3 year old after her shots.  Reegan cried, but composed herself by the time we got to the lobby.  When Anya got her most recent set of shots, she made a scene from the doctors office to the front steps of our house.  Onlookers must of thought they amputated her arm by the way she screaming and nursing her wound.

All in all, we have been blest with very healthy children and for that I couldn't be more appreciative.

Tip of the Day:  When your best friend introduces you to his new girlfriend, it is not appropriate to ask him about his genital rash.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Training Update

It took two months of hard work, but my girls have finally come around on the Lifetime Fitness Child Care Center.  Anya broke pretty easy.  Once she realized she was able to color whenever she wanted and could play on the computers, she was sold.  She now looks forward to going on a daily basis.

Caitlin was a tougher shell to crack.  More often than not, when I was paged to return to the child care center, it was because Caitlin had become indignant and refused the consultation from anybody but her father; her sweaty, pitted-out father (is that love or what?).  After weeks of 30 minute workouts, we've finally come to the point where she can tolerate being there.  She's still not entirely sold on the idea, but she manages to keep it together.

Reegan has always been a piece of cake.  With all the kids running around, she has stimulation overload.  90% of the time I come to pick them up, she's sacked out in the dark room.  I find it amusing to watch other parents talk to the providers about all the 'special needs' their infant requires: "I don't want him to lay on the ground...I need his formula heated up to 98 degrees...If he needs a nap, his blanket is located in the second pocket of our diaper bag right next to his five favorite bedtime books." Forget that.  If Reegan is hungry, she's going to drink the luke warm bottle of formula that's been in my gym bag for the past hour and a half.  Special needs?  If she's crying turn off the light, she'll eventually tire herself out.  She's been a real trooper through this whole Lifetime introduction.

So that leaves me with one and a half hours of pure fitness enjoyment.  I've found that treadmill running is not for me.  Not only is it ridiculously hot and stuffy, but you have to refrain from flatulence at all costs.  There's really no way to get away with it.  There's people all around and it sucks running next to the smelly guy.  Running around the track has much better ventilation and if you do feel a social error arising, you can crop dust that thing over 20 yards.  By the time anyone notices your on the other side of the gym.

I try to log about 20 miles a week right now and I'm feeling pretty good about it.  In addition to running, I'm trying to take care of those few inches around my waistline.  I lift for 20 minutes and do some core training focusing on my abs.  It's a great stress reliever to get away from the girls and focus on myself for a change.  Not only do I feel better after my workouts, but I have more energy and enthusiasm to play with my Roses when we get home.

Tip of the Day:    When serving any sort of meat, cut it up into small bites and tell your children it's hot dogs.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

I'm glad the Vikings lost.

For as much as I was whining about how the Vikings got hosed against the Saints, I'm glad we lost the game.  That may sound strange that a lifelong fan would want his favorite team to lose, but I feel like I would have missed out on all the fun of winning the Super Bowl.  

First off, the schedulers over there at the NFL have no idea how ridiculous the Super Bowl start time is.  5:25?  Really?  All year you have noon games, 3:15 games, and night games.  I can live with that.  But nobody over there must have any children under 5.  5:25 is just about the worst time a game can start for me.  I mean you can plan to eat an early supper, but then you have to worry about dessert.  My girls are like crack-heads for their sugar.  

Even if eating goes off without a hitch, there is no way I could go from 5:30 -8:30 without a complete meltdown.   While at 3pm Anya taking Caitlin's doll is a slight inconvenience, by 7 it's Armageddon.  There's tears, flailing, snot dribbling down chins; I just couldn't deal with that while trying to watch a game.  

And what about the Vikings parade?  I'm sure I would have stubborn enough to bring the girls downtown to see the team.   Not only would I be the only sober person there, but my Rose's would lose interest faster than Brett Farve changes his mind about retirement.  How do you change a diaper amidst 200,000 of your closest friends?  It would be a logistical nightmare.

As for next year, I wish the team the best of luck.  I'm sure I can sneak out for a Monday night game, and I'm sure to watch the Vikes beat up Green Bay again, but lets the other teams have the Super Bowl.  I need more time to cultivate my Roses into face-painting, ref-hating, root beer-chugging, Vikings fans.

Tip of the Day:  NFP works wonderfully, especially if you want to inadvertently have three children ridiculously close together. 

Monday, February 8, 2010

Life in the Stone Ages

First off I would like to apologize to my loyal readers.  Our computer monitor went ka-put last Friday and I haven't had access to a computer until tonight.  I am writing this on my wife's work computer but her security settings don't allow me to check my email.  And to make matters worse, Alicia and I both left our phones at my parent’s house.  I feel like I'm living in the stone ages, or at least the late 80's. 

It's amazing how reliant I have become on my email and phone communications.  As an at home parent, the email forwards I receive from my friends and family are the closest thing I have to socializing.  I may have gotten the same 'Wal-Mart Shoppers' email a half dozen times, but by God, I read it every time. 

And try going through your day without your cell phone.  I'm sure I have a half dozen messages from people wondering why I'm not responding. I know what's waiting for me, so here you go people:

Kari - Yes, Kari I did catch pieces of the game.  That's too bad that you had to buy a couple rounds of drinks at the bar last night, I guess that's one of the curses of winning $500 on the Super Bowl.  I was able to watch the first half.  I tried to listen to the second half of the game in the car with my screaming children, while driving home in the front end of a winter snow storm, but yeah that sucks.

Mom - Yes I am fine, but didn't you notice that ringing sound on the coffee table every time you tried to call me? 

Doug - Any chance I could borrow your mac for the day? Stop by if your in the neighborhood.

Random Craigslist Customer - No I will not trade it for a bomber jacket.

Ruth Lundquist - May I ask who's calling? Oh I'm sorry he's not here right now, but I'm sure he put the check in the mail today. Thanks.

Tip of the Day:  Have a hard time getting up in the morning?  Simply fill a bottle with cold water and dump it on your crotchel region.  Caitlin did that to me this morning and it got me out of bed pretty quick.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

A Day at the Zoo

This morning I had plans to meet a friend of mine at the Minnesota Zoo. In preparation, we went to the library yesterday to pick up some Adventure Passes so we wouldn't have the cost of admission (there's free passes to other museums as well, check it out - It will be a cold day in hell before I fork over $25 for zoo admission when I can watch Wonder Pets at home for free. But since the price was right, I thought we'd go.

Usually Alicia and I give the girls a bath before they go to bed, but I've been busy the past few nights and Alicia has had the girls to herself. I thought I'd do the general public a favor and wash everybody up this morning. The easiest way to clean them up without getting absolutely drenched is to take a bath with them. Now for those of you who don't know, I'm a pretty tall guy and I hardly fit in our bathtub by myself. Imagine trying to fit my three Roses in there with me as well (but imagine me with a swim suit on please). With only a handful of tears shed, I managed to wash, dry, and cloth my girls and myself in less than an hour.

We left for the zoo and had a wonderful time. We went with my friend Doug and his three-year-old son Joshua. I always thought my girls were active, but man oh man, Josh makes them look sedentary! I'm pretty sure the monkeys were getting tired watching him run around.  But it sure makes life a lot easier when Anya has someone to run around with so I can focus on Caitlin and Reegan.  All in all, they all did very well, which makes for a boring blog, but helps maintain my sanity for at least one more day.   We had a great time and look forward to going long as it's free.

Tip of the Day - Never play charades against deaf people, there just too good.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Going Somewhere?

Why does it seem to take so long to go anywhere these days? A task as simple as going to the store requires 45 minutes of preparation. Every time I attempt to leave the house I feel like Steve Martin in The Jerk:

"And I don't need any of this! I don't need this stuff. I don't need anything except this (I pick up the box of wipes) and that's it and that's the only thing I need, is this. I don't need this or this. Just this box of wipes. And these diapers, the box of wipes and these diapers and that's all I need. And this sippy cup. The box of wipes, the diapers, and the sippy cup, that's all I need. And this bottle. The box of wipes, the diapers, the sippy cup, and the bottle. And the formula. The box of wipes, the diapers, the sippy cup, the bottle and the formula and that's all I need. And that's all I need too. I don't need one other thing, not one - I need this!..."

Yesterday we went to the library. Since Caitlin and Reegan had emptied their bowels several times earlier in the day, I got cocky and decided to leave the diaper bag in the car. No sooner did we get inside the door did Cai Cai start grabbing her crotch and begin muttering 'Poopy, poopy.' Hoping it was one of her frequent false alarms, I picked her up to the sniff the old trousers and it was confirmed. Mud butt. We were far enough inside the library for Anya to see the children's section and she made a bee-line for the toys (toys really? Yes, these aren't the same boring libraries you and I grew up with, you know the one's with just books?).

I knew I wasn't going to get Anya out of there without a scene, but Caitlin's stench was becoming quite offensive. As I explained the situation to Anya, the librarian overheard my dilemma and came to the rescue. "Do you need a diaper, sir? Cause we have some if you need one." The clouds parted and seraphim's trumpeted in the sky. Crisis averted. But that was a close one. The librarian bailed me out, but not before I had learned my lesson.

Tip of the Day: Never leave home without spare diapers. The GI track of an 20 month old is remarkably large and unpredictable.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Blogging about Blogging

Over the past few weeks I have been asked time and time again, ‘How do you have time to blog?’ Well the answer is easy: I don’t. As we speak, my daughter is standing next to me dressed in jeans with a pair of Nemo pull-ups over them saying, ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…’ while pressing the ‘copy’ button on our printer and making it beep incessantly. I couldn’t possibly make this stuff up.

So why do I do it? I’m not quite sure. While the $17 I have waiting in my ad sense account is nice, I haven’t given up my day job (at least I wouldn’t if I had one). I guess it makes me feel connected in some odd way. Not necessarily with my readers, but with myself. I’ve never really kept a journal but I would imagine it would be something like this. To just take time on a regular basis to look at what’s going on in your life is pretty amazing.

Tip of the Day: If you buy a multi-colored pack of Play-Doh, just mix them all up before you give them to the kids. While nobody likes the poop brown color, it’s better than listening to ‘But I want the red back!’ when you have a two-foot technicolored snake.