Hey it's Fatherhood Friday!  Make sure you go over to Dad-Blogs and check out all of the great stuff going on there.

Let me just say that the person who came up with the idea of the motivational poster is genius.  A simple picture, a one word title and an inspirational line and you got a best seller on your hands.

That being said, the guy who learned how to make motivational posters in photoshop is awesome.  Take something popular, copy it, and make fun of people and things.  It's the American way. 

My buddy sent me a bunch the other day and of course this one jumped out at me.

My little girl can be fussy, but she's not old enough for me to want to lock her in a kennel . . .YET!

For another classic fake motivational poster check out my post on some simple dad advice.

Why Are You Crying??

 This post is taken from my weekly column on Dad-Blogs (Yeah I got lazy this week)  Go on over and check it out.  While you are there check out Fatherhood Fridays, there are some great links to other dad blogs.

Once again I have angered the gods and tempted fate.

When my little girl was born she did nothing but sleep.  My friends and family would ask how things are going as a new dad and I'd say "You know, surprisingly easy.  She sleeps a lot and doesn't cry at all."

This is like someone saying "What could possibly go wrong?" in a comedy movie or "I'll be right back" in a horror flick.

When my sister visited with her new baby, I mentioned to my wife how lucky we were that our kid didn't cry like that.  I should have known that the universe would punish me for my pride in having a daughter who did not cry or fuss that much.

All of a sudden my daughter has found her pipes.  She will erupt into lip quivering, red in face crying for no apparent reason.  Having no prior baby experience, my wife taught me to go down the checklist.

Does she need to be changed?

Has she eaten?

Does she need to be burped?

Does she need to be rocked to sleep?

But now my daughter feels the urge to start screaming bloody murder when apparently all of her needs have been met.  It reminds me of when Riley, our functionally retarded labrador, figured out she could bark.  She went on a campaign of barking simply because she could.

Has my daughter figured out she can cry and make the world around her come to a stop?

The funniest thing is my kid goes from 60 to 0 with the crying.  She'll be mid cry and all of sudden just stop.  This leads my wife and into thinking she is faking this and that nothing is really wrong.

Since I'm online all day long, I Googled this situation and found that although she is only 2 months old she may be teething.  We tried to give her one of the frozen chew toys during a fit the other day and she wanted nothing to do with it.

We checked with the doctor and nothing is medically wrong with her.  But she won't sleep for the hours she was before without waking up and screaming for us.  My normally level headed wife even let some expletives drop last Saturday night as my daughter decided it would be fun to wake her up every hour!

I'm at a loss dear readers.  Please help!

So Sad. . .

Cooking with New Dad

I like to frequent other dad blogs to get tips on life and how to deal with the little one, the Mrs. etc.  A lot of Dad's like to do step by step posts on how to cook a good meal.  Since imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, allow me to present the first installment of Cooking with New Dad.

Today we'll be preparing one of my favorite dishes that I don't get to eat all that often anymore.  The delicious and nutritious Chicken Pot Pie!

Step 1: Purchase these wonder little concoctions of crust, potato, peas, carrots and chicken flavored meat cubes all in a mystery "sauce".  If you're paying more than $0.50 per you're getting robbed!

Step 2: Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Yes, you can cook these in a microwave, but they taste like ass.  Spend the extra 25 minutes and cook them in an oven.  Plus, you avoid those pesky salmonella out breaks that kept these bad boys off the shelves for a bit.

Step 3: Place on baking sheet and cut a slit in the top of each CPP.

Step 4: Bake for 30-32 minutes.  I recommend 32 minutes plus.  It makes the crust crisper and darker.

Step 5:  Take these bad boys out of the oven.  Flip them face down on a plate.  Make sure to watch out for the scalding hot steam!  Scrap out the the crust that didn't come out.  Pepper and enjoy!

35 minutes and you're on the way to the culinary wonder that is the Chicken Pot Pie.

Next time on Cooking with New Dad we will be exploring the wide selections of Chef Boyardee.  Rachel Ray better watch her back!

Don't foget to check out FatherHood Fridays at

Happy St. Patcicks Day!

St. Patty's Day; the alcoholic's Christmas!  I used to celebrate my Irish pride on this very special day by eating Lucky Charms with beer for breakfast, malt liquor through out the day and a smattering of whiskey for dinner until I purged my system of all the Irish pride I had in me (usually on the side on some one's car)

Binge drinking until you vomit on St. Patrick's Day. . .is nothing sacred?

Well, life is certainly different these days.  Not only am I gainfully employed (knock on wood) but I have a little one at home.  My idea of a good time now is watching the funny faces my little girl gets when she has gas.

To celebrate the occasion and her Irish heritage we got her some smart new outfits!


Happy St. Patrick's day to all of my Irish brethren.  The rest of you can kiss my Irish ass. . .

Skinny Fat

It's Fatherhood Friday again!  Check out other FF submissions over at  All the cool kids are doing it. . .

When I was a kid I was always the skinny one. I could eat nothing but crap and still be skin and bones.

From about 17 to 25 my diet consisted of fast food, beer and gin.  I once got salmonella and when the CDC called me to find out where I had eaten in the last 7 days I had to give them a list of 20+ fast food restaurants.  The lady just sighed and said "Wow you eat a lot of fast food. . .do you know how much work you just created for all of us?"

I became the most vicious version of fat; skinny fat. That is, if you look at me you think "oh that guy is skinny" but when the shirt comes off BAM I got some extra meat on them bones. Must be jam 'cause jelly don't shake like that!

The biggest downside of being skinny fat is when you try to eat better or work out more people say "What? You don't need to worry about that, you're skinny!" So being my lazy, unproductive self I just continued being skinny fat.

Then I moved to the Midwest.

I left California about 170 give or take. I left to accept a sales job that would put me on the road almost constantly.  This is when I discovered the meal called breakfast and a dish called chicken fried steak

Something they don't tell you about the Midwest; it's f*ckin cold!! The last thing you want on a freezing cold morning is a bowl of cereal. What you do want is a delicious piece of steak, battered and deep fried preferably served with scrambled eggs, hash browns and pancakes.

It didn't take long for the CFS and eating on the road constantly to balloon up to 190. Apparently, someone my height should weigh 165. . .

By the time my wife got pregnant I knew I needed to make some changes. If not for me or her for my little girl. Yeah, I wasn't huge or vying for a spot on the Biggest Loser but definitely wasn't healthy. Going up stairs winded me and that shit isn't cool. My little girl deserves the best and that not only means me working hard to give her material things but also being healthy enough to be around as long as I can.

After many bumps in the road like eating bad due to my wife's pregnancy cravings (and my lack of willpower) and quiting the gym because we both couldn't go anymore I finally managed to start dropping some weight.

Here's how I did it

  • Water:  I drank water constantly.  By giving my body water constantly it no longer retained it as much.  I cut out caffine which makes you retain water also.
  • Eating better: Not only did I start eating better but I started eating differently. I ate only when I was hungry, not when the clock said it was meal time. I also ate a lot slower; by not woofing down my food I gave my stomach time to tell my brain I was full. All of this leads to eating a lot less.
  • Cardio: I started hitting the elliptical everyday. Nothing crazy, just 30 minutes a day.
  • Working out: I don't belong to a gym and don't own any equipment. I was watching a show about prison on TV and noticed the inmates working out. I Googled "prison workout" and found a bunch of workouts you can do at home with little or no gym equipment. I seriously workout 3 times a week using gallon water jugs and my own body weight.
  • Stay off the scale: I only weighted myself once every 2 weeks. If you bust your ass and then see no change in the numbers after a few days you get bummed and it's hard to go on. Let your body do it's thing and focus on how you feel.
  • Alcohol:  I cut back on the booze significantly.  My wife and I slowed down on going out and having the empty calories of beer doesn't work well with a diet.

Unknown to me, wives who are gaining weight during pregnancy don't appreciate husbands who are actively trying to lose weight. So I did not discuss my weight loss, and tried to hide the fact that my wedding ring no longer fit my finger.

By the time Reagan made her appreance I was down almost 15lbs in 2 months. Jeans fit a lot better, I can wear some of my shirts again without them clinging to my gut and stairs don't take my breath away.

I still have some weight to go to hit my goal of 165 but I am well on my way! Now I just need to get a new wedding ring. . .

Future Blackmail

Ever since my daughter has been home, she has been really easy to deal with.  She sleeps a ton, makes funny sounds and makes the cutest faces the 2 hours a day she's awake.  She'll grab my finger with her hand or hold on to my sweat shirt's strings.  I could seriously watch her for hours.

But I know all of this is temporary.  I know one day she will be an angry, moody tween whose ability to cry and throw a fit will only be matched by her mastery of slamming doors.  I know one day she will be snotty and think her mom and dad are so uncool, mean and have no idea what it's like to be young.

It's for those days that I am gathering my ammunition.  I am preparing for an armageddon of embarrassment that I can heap upon her if she ever gets out of line.

We were given a gift when bringing her home.  I busted out my awesome new HD Sony camcorder to caputre the first time my daughter came through the doorway.  As my wife held her in our living room and said "Here's your home Reagan" my little girl pooped so loud the camera caught it.

But nothing compares to what would happen later. . .

My wife was laying on the couch and Reagan needed to be changed.  I took her to the Pack n Play's changing table and began the process of getting a fresh diaper on her.  I was talking to my wife about something and then it happened. . .

My daughter pointed her ass cannon right at me and sprayed me with POOP!  I was a good 18 inches away and still got a nasty spattering!  I had no idea a kid could deficate with that kind of force!

My wife started laughing so hard her C-section incision hurt!  Seeing her laugh I couldn't even be angry and started laughing too.  I laughed so hard my eyes teared up.  Just when I could see again I looked down only to see my little girl PEEING on the table!

"Oh no!  Reagan, stop peeing!"  My wife lost it again.

So here's my little girl, laying in a puddle of her own waste, poop on the changing table, poop on the carpet, poop on me, and my wife laughing like a hyena.  To top it all off Reagan closed her eyes and started napping!

Forever will the story be told about how my daughter pooped on Dad.  Just like I am (to this day) regailed with tales how I peed all over my grandma as a baby, my daughter will be reminded of this.  And if for some reason this gem gets lost in the all of the stories her childhood it is forever available to the world via the wonderful medium of the internet.

God bless technology!

So sweet. . .most of the time. . .

This is my contribution to Fatherhood Fridays at Dad-Blogs.  Go check them out!

Meet the Rest of the Family

As my wife's blood pressure dropped back into the realm of normal, we prepared for our exit from the hospital.  We packed up all of our stuff, gathered our flowers and gifts and made sure to take all of the hospital supplied stuff we were being billed for anyways.

My wife was stoked!  Everyone we talked to said "Stay in the hospital as long as possible" but she was anxious to leave.  The thought of being a dad without the safety net of a 24 hour nursery, nurses and doctors kind of freaked me out but like everything else during this journey that is fatherhood, I sucked it up and plowed forward.

Our little girl, Reagan, was not only going to see her home for the first time, but also meet the rest of our little family.  I'm not talking about my West Coast side of the family, but our two dogs.  Now, neither my wife nor I are those pet wackos who think that their dogs are their kids or that they would be my daughter's sister and brother.  But for better or worse, our dogs are part of our family and we do love them.

Riley: The Functionally Retarded Lab

Riley was our first dog. My step-mom and Dad got divorced when I was 17 and she took the dogs with her.  Ever since then I had been dying to get a dog.  The weekend I closed on my house I went and picked her up.

I love her to death but she can be a handful sometimes.  Despite puppy class and all kinds of training / discipline regiments she is hyper, destructive and doesn't realize she weights 55lbs.  She has ripped apart our couch, eaten my DVDs and done severe damage to our carpet.  She loves to drool, lick, and would probably fall in love with an intruder if one should happen upon her.  My wife and I joke that she a little "touched" and we call her "Riley; the functionally retarded lab."

Our fear with her is that she is so big she isn't aware of herself sometimes.  She has knocked over little kids before while just trying to play with them, smacked me in the eye with her tail, and scratched us both with her nails.  So naturally, we were concerned how she would be around the baby.

Barkley was our second dog.  Valentine's Day 2007, I took my wife to her favorite Indian restaurant where we had way a little bit too much of the wine.  There just happens to be a pet store close.  30 minutes later the combination of wine, Valentine's Day and my wife's pleading led to the purchase of a little ball of fur, a Bichon Frise, we named Barkley.

Toughest Dog in the World

Barkley is a crazy little dog.  I should have named him Napoleon because he has little dog syndrome like you have never seen.  Anything he gets his paws on a treat, bone or anything he wants he will growl at Riley if she even tries to approach.  He is militant in his defense of his stuff and his person.  (He let some big dogs have it at the dog park because they were sniffing him in the wrong way.)  His over protectiveness also concerns us in regards to the baby.

So in order to prepare, I did a little research on the glowing box with a keyboard and also with the help of several "Dog Whisperer" episodes I formulated a plan to get them adjusted to our newest member.

  • We started by not letting them in the baby's room for too long.  They could smell the stuff but they weren't allowed to hang around.  This way they don't think "This is my territory".
  • I brought home several blankets that had been used to swaddle the baby at the hospital.  At first I let them just smell them, but then I started wrapping stuffed animals in them and pretended it was a baby.
  • I read that you need to take the dogs out for a run and bring the baby in while they are gone.  This way they are coming into the baby's space and not vice versa.  Unfortunately, I didn't have time to do this, so I just let them outside to play before my wife came in with Reagan.
  • Finally, dogs need attention too.  My wife and I take turns playing with them, giving them treats and just petting them.  Every time they come close to the baby to smell her or see what all the fuse is, we tell them they are good.

We figured the little one would be the worse because he is my wife's lap dog.  But honestly, he doesn't seem to care much.  He likes to smell her but besides that wants nothing to do with her.  And Riley, the functionally retarded lab, well a picture says a 1000 words. . .

Best Friends