Here We Go Again ...

"A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on."—Carl Sandburg

Time is a tricky beast. At work it moves too slow. On weekends it moves too fast. It crawls to a stop when you can't sleep at night, but magically speeds up when you hit snooze in the morning. Before you blink, your baby's most interesting skill is burping. After you blink, she's running around the kitchen, taking off her clothes and outsmarting your child-proofed cabinets (money well spent, indeed).

In a short, yet somehow long period of time, I've learned that being a father is my favorite thing in the world. It beats out video games. It beats out bacon. It even beats out softball (I can see 70% of you are shaking heads in disbelief). But it's true; I can't imagine my life any other way.

Why do I love being a father so much? I'm surprisingly good at it—and not "good at it" like I'm good at pretending to listen to my wife when I'm actually trying to remember the lyrics to the "Silver Spoons" theme song, but actually good at it. I've grown to be more understanding. I've developed patience. And I don't mean to brag here, but if they handed out awards for Ring Around the Rosy, I'd place top 5 in the city. Maybe top 2 if I'd perfect my falling down.

The point is, of course, that Ella is ridiculously lucky that I'm so awesome. (That's right, I'm not afraid to say it.) She also recognizes how awesome I am without me having to tell her over and over and over again—like I do with my wife. In fact, not long ago Ella said to me, "Ba boo, da bibbity boo," which my Gibberish-to-English dictionary translates to, "Dad, it'd be unfair for me to hog all your awesomeness to myself. You should have another baby."

Holy Bon Jovi, she was right! When you're given a gift, you don't ignore it—you capitalize on it. So I turned to Brittany and said, "I think it's time to have another baby." She responded like any caring, loving wife and mother of a toddler would:

"Leave me alone, I'm watching TV."

But I was determined. There was no giving-up in my fight. After further discussion, complete with pie charts, bar graphs and PowerPoint slides showcasing my awesomeness in full detail, she changed her tune to a confident:

"I'm going to pee. When I return, either you better be quieter or the TV better be louder."

Then, three glasses of wine later … Ella became a big sister.

Some folks will argue that having kids a mere 21 months apart is insane and it doesn't allow you enough time to adjust between babies. In fact, I'm one of those people. Or, at least, I used to be. Though as I get older with each passing day, and as time moves faster with each passing snooze, I don't want to put off experiences that will enhance the awesomeness that is my life. I'm already surrounded by a great group of family and friends (and Life of Dad blog readers), so why not add to it as soon as possible? I'm ready. No doubt there. Hell, I have the PowerPoint presentation to prove it.

So come April, BK4 will join our family. I can only hope that he or she will feel as loved and as lucky as I do. The same goes for Ella. I hope we can cherish the time we get together no matter how fast it flies by, developing that special bond all fathers share with their children—even the one where we all pretend to listen to Brittany but, in actuality, we're all really thinking:

"Here we are, face to face, a couple of Silver Spoons … "

The Life of Dad is updated every other Friday (barring the call of family duties). Thanks for stopping by and following my attempts to be a good dad, husband and co-ed softball player. I hope you visit again. -- Brian

29 Things I've Learned as a Parent …

A wise man once said, "Another year older, another year wiser." That man obviously had a baby. In honor of my 29th birthday (if you haven't sent that birthday card, you better get on it because it was back in May), I'd like to present you with a list of the 29 things I've learned in my first year-plus of parenthood. Some may be obvious, some a little less. But, most important, all of these lessons come from experience.

1. There is no snooze button on a baby.
2. "Stinky" and "Booger" are terms of endearment.
3. A dirty diaper smells bad. Baby formula smells worse.
4. The remote control is just an overly expensive teething ring.
5. Babies don't stay little. Neither does their poop.
6. Dangly Earrings + Holding Baby Close To Dangly Earrings = Very Bad Idea
7. Obscenities are limited to "darn," "shucks" and "great ooglie googily."
8. Crawling is a baby's first step to independence. It's also the end of yours.
9. "Don't touch that" loosely translates in to "Touch it right now—and more often."
10. Everything is a phone. Phones are phones. Shoes are phones. Potatoes are … you get the idea.
11. Drool can be annoying. It can also be used to seal envelopes.
12. No DVR? Don't even bother turning on the TV.
13. Gyms don't build muscle; 20lb babies in 25lb car seats do.
14. Embarrassing moments make for great memories—and even better photos.
15. You can never take too many photos.
16. It takes a great deal of restraint not to body slam people who pluralize non-pluralizable words. (e.g., "Did you go pees?," "Is it time for sleepies?" "Are you dumbs?")
17. Ear infections come and go, then doctor bills come and money goes.
18. Standing isn't a skill, it's just a way to knock things off the coffee table.
19. "America's Funniest Home Videos" is dead wrong—getting kicked in the crotch by a child is not funny.
20. Vegetables are eaten for dinner. Baby feet are eaten for dessert.
21. If you kiss a baby on the lips one of two things will happen: 1. She'll smile or 2. She'll sneeze in your mouth.
22. Don't let a baby sneeze in your mouth.
23. Seriously, it sucks.
24. Scrabble and Boggle are put aside for much more entertaining games like "Peek-a-Boo," "Chase Me Around the Table" and, my personal favorite, "Who Farted?"
25. Clothes for a baby should always be laid out the night before—by Mom.
26. There is nothing to fear but fear itself … and sharp objects.
27. A little poop on your hand never hurt anybody.
28. The universe doesn't revolve around you; It revolves around Dora the Explorer and Bob the Builder. (Note: If the two had a love child, would she be a Rita the Realtor?)

And finally, the most important lesson I've learned as a parent:
29. Baby laughter cures everything.

Is there wisdom I missed? If you have any to add please do so in the comments section below so everyone can enjoy them or shoot me an e-mail at fozzie007@yahoo.com. I love hearing from others about their own experiences.

The Life of Dad is updated every other Friday (barring the call of family duties). Thanks for stopping by and following my attempts to be a good dad, husband and co-ed softball player. I hope you visit again. -- Brian

You're On Notice, Mr. Gall Bladder …

There are three extremely important characteristics that all dads must have: strength, health and the ability to slide around a tag at home plate. Without these attributes, you may as well trade in your DadCard (and complementary stained white t-shirt) for a bucket of Jim Belushi DVDs (and yes, I meant Jim). Luckily, I've been fortunate enough to be blessed with all three gifts. But then came Monday.

I hate Mondays.

It was four days prior to Ella's official birthday. My wife and I were planning a big birthday of fun—a trip to the zoo, a trip to the pool, then back home for a candle-lit cupcake celebration and harmonized version of Happy Birthday, which we'd been practicing for weeks. From the minute I set foot into my work cube, it was all I could think about—until Chuck, a coworker, friend and rock star, called about lunch.

"Dude. Mall. Now. I'm starving."

"It's 9:45 a.m."

"You're a buzz kill."

When I hung up the phone, I noticed an unusual pain in my side. I'd felt it twice before but had written it off to cramps, gas or residual effects from Brittany's middle-of-the-night elbow jabs. But this time was different. The pain was constant and more severe. I'd never felt a pain like it before, unless you count listening to this. The mall was out. The hospital was in.

After eight hours of waiting rooms, x-rays, ultrasounds, poking and prodding, morphine and an unusually friendly nurse who told me to take off my clothes but didn't give me a hospital gown, the doctor finally came in.

"Well, we can't find anything conclusive, but we have a strong feeling it's your gall bladder. Nothing really to worry about. We'll run a few more tests in the morning and then probably take it out."

"Take it out? Are you sure? I guess you're the doctor, doctor. That sounds funny. On a side note, that nurse in the hallway forgot to bring me a gown."

"That person doesn't work here."

(Long pause)

"Please up my morphine."

While this was a simple and common procedure, it did worry me some. I'd never had major surgery before. In fact, the closest I'd come was having a cyst removed from my wrist. And trust me, that doesn't impress the ladies nearly as much as you'd think it would. I also worried that I wouldn't be out in time to celebrate Ella's birthday. But the sooner they fixed the problem, the sooner I could go home. After careful consideration, I sent my gall bladder a pink slip. The letter went something like this:

Dear Gall Bladder,

First of all, I'd like to thank you for the 29 years of service you've provided me and the rest of the team. As you are aware, we are all suffering from the current economic downturn and, unfortunately, the hard times have hit KlemsCo. Our resources are limited and budgets are tight. It is with a heavy heart that we have to let you go. I wish I could say it wasn't performance based, but after checking past reviews it's come to my attention that no one in the company knows exactly what you do. In fact, several members of the team thought you'd retired several years ago while others just thought you were lazy. And it wasn't until recently when you began causing a stir that we realized you were still on the payroll.

Anyway, we wish you the best in all future endeavors.

Sincerely,
Brian A. Klems
CEO and President, KlemsCo.

The next morning, I rolled in and out of exam rooms. I spoke with physicians. I spoke with surgeons. I watched an episode of "Saved by the Bell" where Zach needed surgery to repair his knee and, like me, he was scared of going under the knife. (Thankfully he got over his fear and survived to go onto "Saved by the Bell: The College Years.") When the final test results came back, my prognosis changed.

"All the tests came back negative so it doesn't look like there's anything wrong with you. We aren't going to take your gall bladder. We'll just monitor you for another night and, if all goes well, send you home in the morning."

I believe that was just a polite way of calling me a faker.

I could have stayed and pushed the issue (after all, I was still in pain), but I was ready to go—not to mention that my gall bladder was threatening a wrongful termination suit. So I left the hospital—body intact—and made it home. My side may still hurt, but it's much less painful than the idea of missing my CinderElla's first birthday.

… but seriously, Brittany, quit elbow-jabbing me in the middle of the night. It hurts.

The Life of Dad is updated every other Friday (barring the call of family duties). Thanks for stopping by and following my attempts to be a good dad, husband and co-ed softball player. I hope you visit again. -- Brian

Grading Dad (Has it Been a Year Already?) …

Planning your child's first birthday party is exhausting. So much goes into the big day—invitations, cleaning, food making, present buying, decorating, etc. Then there's the 45 minutes of yelling that your wife aims at you for not helping with the invitations, cleaning, food making, present buying, decorating, etc. In fact, she's peeved because the one job she gave you—cut the grass—is still hanging around on your To-Do list, falling somewhere after "Test freshness of month-old bag of Doritos" and "Blow nose."

Honeydew, honeydon't, honey-sleep-on-couch.

When getting things together for Ella's birthday (July 17), I started to reminisce about my first year as a dad. Life changed pretty dramatically. I no longer snooze until noon. I no longer hang out until 2 a.m. I no longer yell at the TV when the Reds are losing (though I do use some well-targeted hand gestures). And when something stinks in the house, I can no longer assume that it's me.

But this is all small-picture stuff. This is how dadhood affected me, and it's not me I'm worried about. It's the big-picture—the Ella-picture—that concerns me. After all, I've just spent the past year grooming her to be a little Klems. So I began asking myself the age-old question that all dads ask themselves when staring into their daughter's beautiful baby eyes: Do I buy a shotgun now or just lock her in her room until she's 30?

Then I realized that that's a silly question. I'm going to do both.

Moments later, I asked myself a more important question: Am I doing a good job? Yes? No? Maybe so? Catch a tiger by its toe?

"If you asked me to grade you, I'd probably give you a 'B'," says my wife. "Put on some pants and I'll bump you up to a 'B+'."

A "B" doesn't sound so bad. It's a grade that doesn't require too much extra effort but will still get you into a good school, preferably one with a mean-sounding mascot like Bobcats or Bearcats or Banana Slugs (thank you UC Santa Cruz). But it doesn't sound great. And I want greatness for my daughter. I want an "A". I'll do anything to get an "A". What will get me an "A"?

"Cutting the grass."

Well, anything but that.

Of course, it doesn't really matter what my wife thinks because she's biased—plus, she doesn't grade on the curve. What does matter is what Ella thinks, which got my brain a'clickin: If Ella could fill out a report card, how would she grade me?

First, we have to set the subjects. The modern six-key skill-set judged by schools include English, Math, Science, History, Geography and Gym. On the Dad Report, we'll call this category Knowledge. Second, dads always need to be available for their kids, so we'll call this category Accessibility. Dads have to be strong to protect their kids; therefore we add Strength to the mix. The fourth category will be Love, because without it there'd be no point in this exercise. And finally, the last grade will be for Fun.

Without further ado, I will make my case for each before Ella fills out my report card.

Why I Deserve an "A" in Knowledge: (English) I'm an editor. (Math) I can work the calculator in my cell phone. (Science) I used to watch "Mr. Wizard's World" on Nickelodeon. (History) I know the years the Cincinnati Reds have won their 5 World Championships. (Geography) I can name each and every capital for all 47 states. (Gym) One word: Softball.

Why I Deserve an "A" in Accessibility: I was there to drive you home from the hospital.

Why I Deserve an "A" in Strength: I often pick you up and swing you around the room, like an Olympic figure skater twirling in the air. And I've only dropped you twice.

Why I Deserve an "A" in Love: If you took every hug I'd ever dished out in the 28 years before you were born, it'd add up to about one-third of the hugs I've already given you. And this number will likely double by the end of the month.

Why I Deserve an "A" in Fun: I laugh at your farts.

After weighing all the evidence, Ella happily gave me an "A"—or, at least, I assume she did (she hasn't mastered writing, yet). How could she not? Since July 17, 2007, every day has been a new, fun and fascinating adventure, and I've loved being a part of it. So when she blows that first candle out next week, I can celebrate not only her first year of life but also the gratification in knowing that I haven't actually screwed her up (yet). In fact, I get to take a little credit for her being so wonderful—whether I cut the grass or not.

If you'd like to send her birthday wishes, feel free to e-mail her at EllaJaneKlems@gmail.com. She'll respond as soon as she can.

LIFE OF DAD BONUS: Brittany's Top 10 Ella Moments From Year One (Letterman-style) 10. Mom & dad collectively getting poo'ed on when we were changing her on the pack & play table. (approx 2mo) 9. Hiccups on the porch swing when it looked like her lil head was going to pop off. 8. The first time she danced while standing at her music table. 7. When Mel put Ella's Christmas dress bottoms on Ella's head & they looked like a beret. 6. The first time tasting green beans when she just opened her mouth and let the ball of food fall on her bib. 5. Kissing herself in the mirror. 4. Her "running" around the house and squealing just like ET. 3. Jumping like a crazy woman in the jumper once she really got into it. 2. Any time we can get her to laugh really hard by just making a silly face. 1. When I let her go fully naked for one minute and she stood at her music table and peed on the floor.

The Life of Dad is updated every other Friday (barring the call of family duties). Thanks for stopping by and following my attempts to be a good dad, husband and co-ed softball player. I hope you visit again. -- Brian

The Irony of Parenting

It's normal to occasionally question your parenting skills—like when you realize that in the brief 4 seconds you glanced at the TV for the sports scores, your little darling has disappeared into the bathroom and is splashing toilet water everywhere. Or when you're leaving for work and, as you pull out onto the street, you see your babe comfortably sitting in her car seat … waving to you from the porch.

I'm usually confident that I'm good dad, but lately I've been doubting myself. It was easy to raise an infant. There were books that told you exactly how much they should sleep, how much they should eat and how much money you should prepare to spend on sleepwear, formula and books guiding you on how much they should sleep and eat. But once that baby hits nine months, everything changes. The books are less specific and more general. Three naps turn into 1-to-2 naps—or five naps. Gates are needed to block the stairs. You can introduce solid foods into her diet, like bananas, cottage cheese and Chipotle, but not eggs. It's a whole new ballgame.
So I asked the doctor, "How much regular food should we give her?"

"Whatever you feel comfortable with."

Whatever I feel comfortable with? What does that mean? I feel comfortable with a well-educated doctor telling me precisely what to do. But after 8 years of medical school and $100,000-plus in student loans, the doctor would prefer to leave it up to me, the guy who took one half-semester of health class in high school. Sure I got an "A," and if you need statistics on what percentage of high schoolers used steroids between 1988 and 1993, I'm your guy. But we certainly didn't cover topics like What To Feed Your Baby At Nine Months.

I know what you're thinking: You must have turned to your parents and in-laws for advice, right? My answer to you, of course, is ARE YOU CRAZY? Parents of new parents are knowledgeable about a lot of things, like how long you should bake a potato or how to get projectile vomit stains out of your carpet. They are also helpful in the early stages by bringing you food and watching the baby while you get a few minutes of sleep. They are also … well … if we followed their ways, we would be feeding Ella gallons of apple juice and letting her roll around in the back of our station wagon with nothing strapping her in. And before you shake your head, remember that your parents probably did both too—and likely much worse.

The irony in all this is: While I'm constantly questioning my skills as a parent, the newly anointed grandparents (like all newly anointed grandparents) are 100% confident in theirs. They seem to "know" what to do at all corners. They can "advise" on anything. They don't "appreciate" your use of quote marks. Why? Because they raised wonderful children. And when the facts are laid down like that, it's hard to argue.

But the real fact is that times have changed. There's more information available today than there was a decade ago. Kids need car seats. Sugary apple juice is not good for them. Kids' growth could be stunted by secondhand smoke, alcohol and the song "It's Raining Men."
When it comes down to it, we love our parents for raising us to the best of their abilities—and are thankful we survived. You can't fault them for the now-outrageous parental guidelines they abided by years ago; they used the best information available at the time to do the best that they could. Now my wife and I are doing the same. Ultimately, we're all parents-in-training and that's OK. It's how we're supposed to be.

I guess it's that thought that has rekindled my self-confidence as a parent. What's good for our kids is always evolving. Several decades from now, when Ella has children of her own, I'm sure she's going to look at how we raised her and say things like:

I can't believe they fed me cottage cheese that early! (and)
Car Seats? How did we survive without Fully-Padded Car Bubbles? (and)
They let me splash around in toilet water!—you think I want THEIR "advice"?

I just hope that when she has her kids, she'll be able to forgive us like we've forgiven our folks. And when she does something that differs from what I did to her, I hope I can remember these five key words: Whatever you feel comfortable with. I guess those 8 years of medical school were valuable after all.

Oh, and the answer is three. Three percent of high schoolers have tried steroids.

The Life of Dad is updated every other Friday (barring the call of family duties). Thanks for stopping by and following my attempts to be a good dad, husband and co-ed softball player. I hope you visit again. -- Brian

If You Want To View Paradise ...

Once upon a time there was a living room filled with nothing but a comfortable couch, a coffee table, a few pieces of artwork and a large TV. These days, though, that couch is covered in toys. And that coffee table is covered in toys. And those pieces of artwork are covered in toys. And that TV is covered in—well, you get the picture (but I don't because it's covered in toys).

At 9 months old, Ella has effectively collected nearly 7 billion plastic playthings. Some of them were gifts. Some of them were hand-me-downs. Some of them, my wife says, "Must have appeared out of thin air"—though a drawer full of Toys R Us receipts begs to differ. I'm pretty sure that if we liquidated Ella's Fischer Price collection we could retire, move somewhere on the Pacific Coast and still have enough cash leftover to support an unhealthy gambling problem.

NO WHAMMY NO WHAMMY NO WHAMMY STOP!

The chief issue here isn't even that our baby has too many toys (though she does); it's that she doesn't care about them. She ignores them. Slinky? Pass. Building blocks? No thanks. Spinning Wheel that Makes Animal Noises? Ba-humbug. It's as if she'd already outgrown them all.
So what does she want? I'll tell you, but you better sit down and brace yourself for this shocking revelation:

She wants to be picked up and placed inside a $5.99 blue Rubbermaid tub. And no, I am not making this up.

When my folks first told me about the phenomenon, I laughed. It had to be a joke. They'd watched her for a couple of hours one night and placed her in the tub for "funnzies," and, according to one independent observer (my mom), she took to it like my wife took to Rico the Snoogle. But my parents, like any set of parents who have been promoted to grandparents, can be goofy sometimes, so I chalked up Ella's initial enjoyment to just playing with grandma and grandpa. Yet two mornings later I found my wife on the floor and Ella back in the tub.

"What can I say, she wanted in," Brittany said. "She's been squatting and slowly raising her head, playing peek-a-boo with me all morning. It may be the cutest thing I've ever seen." (And that says a lot, as my wife sees about 17 cute things a day.)

Over the next two weeks we spent a majority of our time at home playing in the Rubbermaid tub, exiting only for feedings, diaper changes, baths and drool mop-ups. Ella'd disappear for minutes at a time, then suddenly peek two eyes over the rim. We'd occasionally throw toys in the tub for her, but she'd lean down, pick them up and remove them like a taxi driver cleaning out his cab.

I didn't know what all the hubbub was about, so I figured there was only one way to find out: I got in the bin. It was a tight squeeze, sure, but after 20 minutes of bending, folding and dislocating parts of my body, I made it. I also learned a valuable lesson: Always pee before entering a Rubbermaid tub.

So I got out, peed, and got back in again. As I sat there surrounded in a sea of blue walls, I tried to envision why Ella enjoyed this so much. Maybe she loves the tub because it feels like her own little kingdom. Maybe it allows her privacy that's tough to come by when you're 9 months old. Maybe she's preparing for life in a cubicle. Who knows? Or maybe, just maybe, it gives her imagination a chance to run wild—and each time she enters there's a new adventure to be had.

Whatever the reason, this experiment made me realize something that Ella has already learned in her young life: You don't need fancy toys to have a good time. You don't need to spend ungodly amounts of money. You don't even need to leave the house. All you need is a little imagination.

And maybe a $5.99 blue Rubbermaid tub.

The Life of Dad is updated every other Friday (barring the call of family duties). Thanks for stopping by and following my attempts to be a good dad, husband and co-ed softball player. I hope you visit again. -- Brian