The Best Worst-Gift I Received for Christmas

Many people had asked me what was the best Christmas present I received last year. For weeks I’ve been trying to come up with an answer, but the truth is that the best Christmas presents are usually kind of dull. And they are dull because they are practical. Socks. Underwear. Gift cards. Cash. A Gift Certificate of Forgiveness (from your wife) to be played at any one event during the year where you forget to get her a gift, such as your anniversary.

Instead of showing off some of the best gifts (the Rosie Reds membership from my wife's aunt is pretty hard to beat), I'd prefer to share with you the Best Worst-Gift I received.

Every year, most of us get a gift from a loved one—typically an older member of the family—that is meaningful but usually kind of ridiculous. For example, a few years back my wife's grandma gave me a tool that you keep in your car's glove compartment to use, and I quote, "to break your window in the event you drive into a lake." I could only assume she had given me this gift based on her own driving experiences. Another year my mom gave me a tie that looked like a piano and actually played music. There were only two problems with this: 1) I don't know how to play the piano and 2) Guys who wear piano ties don't get invited to parties. (They get invited to sit home alone on Saturday nights, locked securely in a sound-proof room at least 70 yards from their wives.)

But this year's Best Worst-Gift takes the cake. It really puts all other gifts to shame. In fact, I previously mentioned that a gift such as this would be the ultimate in bad gifts. And, apparently, someone was listening.

So I'd like to thank my wife for giving me the Best Worst-Gift I've ever received, which I now proudly display (on the floor) in my office. It serves as a constant reminder that my wife is, and always will be, pure evil.¹

¹It's important to note that John Stamos is my arch enemy. It's also important to note that Kelly Kapowski would never have given me a gift like this. 

OK, so I can't keep it on my office floor forever. What do you think I should do with it? Comment below and perhaps I will take your suggestion.

NEED A FATHER'S DAY GIFT? PREORDER:
Oh Boy, You're Having a Girl
(A Dad's Survival Guide to Raising Daughters)

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Adams Media

IndieBound

****** 
* Subscribe to The Life of Dad via email or RSS feed!  
* Also, follow me on Twitter @BrianKlems. I promise to occasionally say funny things. 
 

When Toddlers Develop 1,000 Hands

I don’t quite know when it happened, but sometime over the course of her first 18-months of life, my youngest daughter developed 1,000 hands.

These hands are used for many useful things, like giving hugs and blowing kisses. They are also used for not-so-useful things, like making messes at the dinner table and reprogramming the television so it only speaks Spanish. When there are two grown adults to keep the hands under control (such as my wife and me), it’s not so bad. One of us can try to entertain her while the other one stands guard like a pit boss at a casino, eyeing the crowd for any shenanigans. But when my wife is out of the house and has, against all logic and reason, left me all alone to watch our kids—which includes a 5-year-old, a 3-year-old and a 1,000-handed toddler—I spend all night using one phrase:

“I turn away for TWO SECONDS and (fill in the blank)!!!”

Every parent I know has used this phrase at one time or another. And if they haven’t said it, they’ve thought it. Many times. Why? Because two seconds is the precise measurement of time it takes for any 18-month-old to use any one of her 1,000 hands to draw a picture for you ... on your freshly painted bedroom wall.

It’d be nice if the phrase was used to indicate something pleasant, like “I turn away for TWO SECONDS and she made us all dinner!!!” or “I turn away for TWO SECONDS and she reorganized the linen closet so all our towels are arranged by color and our toiletries are neatly tucked to the side!!!” Unfortunately it’s more likely that you are yelling, “I turn away for TWO SECONDS and she reorganized the linen closet by throwing all our towels in the toilet!!!”

This brings me to the other night. My wife left to help a family member who needed some help, which we all know is code for “Mario Kart Tournament.” She gave the kids hugs and kisses, and then turned to me and said, “Good luck.” Then she let out a loud laugh as she sneaked out the back door.

I turned to my daughters and noticed my youngest was missing.

“Where did she go?”

Then I heard a noise come from the dining room. She had pulled a box of crayons off the table and dumped them all over the floor. I started cleaning them up when she disappeared. Two seconds later I heard a noise come from the living room. She knocked over the toy bin. I moved my way in when I heard a noise from the kitchen. She somehow managed to reach a roll of tape that was placed on the counter—so far back on the counter that even I have trouble reaching it—and managed to unravel it and get tape on everything in sight. When I finally started removing the tape, I saw her trying to call someone on my phone. When I started apologizing to Time Warner Cable and explained that my daughter dialed them by mistake, another noise came from the dining room: She had knocked over the crayons again!

Keep in mind, at this point my wife had only been gone for about 4 minutes.

This game continued for the next 3 hours. Before I’d finished cleaning up a mess, she’d make another one. My older two girls even offered to help by watching my 1,000-handed toddler. It was the sweetest gesture in the world! It also lasted an amazing seventeen seconds before they abandoned this operation for something much, much more important: Bubble Guppies.

By the time my wife returned home, I was beat. The house was a wreck. I was sprawled out on the floor, all three kids sitting on top of me as if I were awkwardly-shaped couch.

“What happened in here?” she asked.

“Well, I turned away for TWO SECONDS and the house exploded.”

“I guess that means you didn’t have time to do the dishes?”

“That’s the one thing our 1,000-handed toddler didn’t touch.”

While I know this is just a phase, it’s an exhausting phase. It’s one that ends in chipped picture frames and broken bobbleheads and, occasionally, someone needing an ice pack. I’m sure one day I’ll miss her toddler hands and having to chase her around our house, but right now I don’t have time to do it. I’m too busy wondering what that noise was in the other room.

OMG—It’s the crayons again! I turn away for TWO SECONDS ...

NEED A FATHER'S DAY GIFT? PREORDER:
Oh Boy, You're Having a Girl
(A Dad's Survival Guide to Raising Daughters)

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Adams Media

IndieBound

****** 
* Subscribe to The Life of Dad via email or RSS feed!  
* Also, follow me on Twitter @BrianKlems. I promise to occasionally say funny things. 
 

My Big Announcement - Oh Boy!

For those of you following my blog, you know from my Year of Amazing post that I set several goals for myself last year (if you missed it, check it out here). All were important to me, but the most challenging goal I set was to “pitch a Life of Dad book to agents and put myself out there.” It’s something I always claimed I would do, but made excuses as to why I couldn’t. Top excuses included “I’m too tired from taking care of the kids” to “There’s yard work to be done” to “Who’s Harry Crumb? is on TV? My wife would be crushed if I didn’t watch it—after all, she’s a big fan of viewing movies with me while I simultaneously recite each line of hilarious dialogue. (I think this may be a huge turn on for her.)”

After facing a challenging year of losing my Dad and losing my sister-in-law, I decided my excuses had to go. I ignored yard work (which my wife loved) and packed my Who’s Harry Crumb DVD away (which she actually loved). I stayed up late at night. I wrote. I worked. I (occasionally) slept. I put my heart and soul into developing an idea, which developed into a pitch, which developed into a full-out proposal, which developed into landing a literary agent, which developed into getting offered a book deal, which developed into writing a full-out manuscript—and working through the entire creative publishing process—which developed into this moment.

I am so humbled and excited to officially announce that in April 2013 one of my biggest dreams will come true, as Adams Media releases my first book OH BOY, YOU'RE HAVING A GIRL: A DAD'S SURVIVAL GUIDE TO RAISING DAUGHTERS.

The book has already received praise from my all-time writing idol, Dave Barry ("As the father of a daughter, I wish I'd read this very funny book sooner, if only to know that it's OK for a grown man to wear a tutu.")—which I still can’t believe—as well as several other humor writers whom I deeply admire. The shock of this all coming together and the sense of accomplishment still hasn’t worn off—and may never wear off. Hell, I’ll consider myself lucky if it doesn’t.

So if you’ve ever enjoyed this blog or have a daughter or are having a daughter or know someone who is having a daughter or are married to a guy who can’t believe he has a daughter or just want a reason to smile, I ask that you consider purchasing this book (you can preorder it now through Amazon or Barnes & Noble, which is my favorite store of all time!). It's written for both Dads and Moms to enjoy. You'll notice there's a new "PREORDER BRIAN'S BOOK" tab at the top of the blog. I’ll be spending a lot of time over the next year marketing the hell out of the book (I apologize up front for that), but I just want the thing to sell well enough so they continue to let me write more books.

Finally, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to every one of you who has ever laid eyeballs on this blog and supported my writing. If it weren’t for you guys, I wouldn’t have had the faith and courage to put myself out there and reach for my dream. I am, and always will be, forever grateful to you for that.

I’d like to leave you with this extremely profound quote from an incredibly wise gentleman, which sums up not only this past year, but the coming year as well:

“You know Nikki, you and I are a lot alike. We're both traveling through life... [He presses the brake pedal and nothing happens] ... IN A CAR WITH NO BRAKES!” —Harry Crumb

Happy New Year everyone.

****** 
* Subscribe to The Life of Dad via email or RSS feed!  
* Also, follow me on Twitter @BrianKlems. I promise to occasionally say funny things. 
 

Merry Christmas (& A Happy New Year)

****** 
* Subscribe to The Life of Dad via email or RSS feed!  
* Also, follow me on Twitter @BrianKlems. I promise to occasionally say funny things. 
 

Letter of Recommendation to Santa 2012



Santa Claus

North Pole

cc: mrs.claus@gmail.com



Dear Santa,



What’s up, dude? How’s life at the Pole? Did you get that email forward I sent with the 25 Funniest Autocorrects of the Year? I know, right! I, too, laugh every time I read the word “boobsicle.”



Anyway, I know we’re pretty close to Christmas and I’m a bit behind, but I’ve been holding off making my Naughty or Nice List recommendations for the kids until they finished their Christmas shopping and I was positive that they didn’t buy me a terrible gift, like necktie or framed photo of John Stamos. And, according to my wife, they didn’t: mostly because their “Gift For Dad” budget was $3.75. Also, I know our Elf on the Shelf, Snowflake, hasn’t made any trips back up North to report in on the Klems kids, but it’s for good reason—he’s kind of creepy. We’ll try again next year, I promise. 



So I’d like to take a minute and tell you about their achievements this year in my annual Christmas Letter of Recommendation. Here it goes. 



My oldest, Ella, has had a pretty good year. She graduated from preschool. She started kindergarten. She learned to read. She figured out how to tell time, thus pointing out each and every instance in which I was trying to sneak the girls to bed early so I could get back to playing on Facebook reading classic novels. She’s had her not-so-nice moments, where she takes 45 minutes to get ready for school in the morning (keep in mind she’s 5) and only finally puts on her uniform after I say, “For the ELEVENTH TIME, get ready for school!” I get frustrated but my wife says to calm down. After all, she says I’ll look back on this time fondly during her teenage years and say, “I remember when it took Ella only 45 minutes to get ready. Those were the days.”



My middle daughter, Anna, has probably had the most amazing year of all. She’s quietly adjusted to having an older sister who’s pretty loud and a younger sister who’s even louder. She started preschool. She learned how to write her own name, help me make pancakes, say the evening dinner prayer and sing every word to the Theme from Growing Pains. Mike Seaver would be proud. She’s also become my grocery store buddy. Every time we need something, she always offers to come along and we simply have the best time. Sometimes I think I intentionally forget the milk just so we can run out again. 



My youngest daughter, Mia, has covered a lot of ground in the past 12 months. I’ll run through the list. Walking? Check! Talking? Check! Starting to use the potty? Check! Being able to get most of her dinner in her mouth instead of on the floor? Kind-of-check! She’s also learned to give some of the kindest hugs and sweetest kisses, even if they are with her mouth wide open and slobber dripping out the side. 



And finally, no need to get my wife anything. She hasn’t used her gift from last year. It’s still sitting under a giant pile of sweatshirts and thermal wear, trapped inside the pristine Victoria’s Secret box it came in. In fact, if you want, you can take the giant pile of sweatshirts and thermal wear and distribute among the elves. Consider it my Christmas present to you.



As for me, 2012 was a pretty amazing year. I ran a half marathon. I lost some weight. I changed my haircut for the first time in years, shaving it really short, trying to mask my baldness with additional baldness. I cut back on the number of times in a day that I use the word “amazeballs.” And I made giant strides in reaching some of my dreams; so while 2012 was amazing, I expect 2013 to blow it out of the water. 



In the words of my good friends BTO: Trust me, Santa—you ain’t seen nothin yet. 


I recommend that everyone in my family be treated with love and kindness this holiday season. You don’t have to reward them with lots of gifts, just take a minute to help them appreciate how lucky they are to be surrounded by folks who love them and look out for them 365 days a year. That’s the best gift anyone can ever receive—running slightly ahead of getting a pet elephant named Bruno, which would be amazeballs.



(Sorry Santa … some habits are hard to kick.)



Thank you and Merry Christmas,

Brian A. Klems

Founder, CEO and Potty Training Coach of Team Klems



P.S. - Say "hi" to Mrs. Claus for me. Also remind her that it’s her turn in Words With Friends. I’ve been waiting patiently. 




****** 
* Subscribe to The Life of Dad via email or RSS feed!  
* Also, follow me on Twitter @BrianKlems. I promise to occasionally say funny things. 
 

The Elf on The Shelf

When I was growing up, we didn't have a lot of things that kids have today. We didn't have iPads or iPods or TVs the size of Texas. We didn't have text messaging. We didn't have Twitter. We didn't have Stefon. We didn't even have the 100-plus flavors of Doritos that kids have today—we only had three: Nacho Cheese, Cool Ranch and Found Under the Couch.

We also didn't have The Elf on the Shelf.

If you haven't heard of The Elf on the Shelf, you are not alone: There are at least three other people in America who haven't and one of them is probably this guy. The Elf is supposed to help encourage your kids to be good during the Christmas season. Let me briefly explain how it works: Elf sits on shelf. After kids are in bed, Elf flies to the North Pole (presumably on Delta) and delivers behavioral reports to Santa. Elf flies back and sits in a different spot, unequivocally proving to your kids he left your house and visited Santa. 

There are only two other important notes to The Elf on the Shelf: 1. Your family is in charge of naming the Elf and 2. Kids are not, under any circumstances, allowed to touch the Elf. If they do, his "magic might go and he won't be able to fly to the North Pole, and thus Santa won't hear all he's seen or what he knows."

In other words, if you're a bad kid, you better touch that Elf. Several times. (Of course, if you're a bad kid, you probably touched it anyway.)

This is our first year to have The Elf on the Shelf. My wife's lovely Aunt Lisa bought our girls one assuming it would get her out of buying me a Nintendo Wii U.¹ After discussing the story of The Elf on the Shelf with our kids, we let him out of his box.

"What should we name him?" my wife asked the girls.

An assortment of names were offered up. Buddy. Skippy. Bob. Simon James Alexander Ragsdale the 4th. Little Tony. Fart (Thank you Ella). Twizzler. Jeff.

But throughout the naming process, my daughter Anna—who's generally a very opinionated 3-year-old—remained surprisingly silent. Her eyebrows were arched high above her overly opened eyes. She gripped tightly onto the arm of my wife. 

"Anna, what's wrong?" I asked.

"Does he really come to life at night?" She tripped over her words and shook with fear. The excitement of the Elf on the Shelf was gone and had been replaced by anxiety. It's as if we had opened something super scary, like a box labeled "Monster in the Closet" or a box labeled "Two and a Half Men, Season 7." 

Attempting to change the mood, I spoke up.

"Anna, what do you think we should name him?" I asked.

"Uh … um … Snowflake." 

"I like the name Snowflake." I had hoped this personal connection would help calm her worries. So I tried again. "What if we try Snowflake out for a night?" 

There was a pause. Then she shook her head "no" so hard that I wasn't convinced I'd ever be able to get her to stop. 

Ever the compassionate sister, my 5-year-old turned to Anna and said, "Don't worry, Anna. It's not really real. He's just plastic. See?" Then she poked him with her finger. "I bet he doesn't go to the North Pole and parents just move him around at night."²

"Don't touch it!" screamed Anna and she burst into tears.

My wife and I were suddenly caught between a rock and a stinky diaper. We could argue with our eldest daughter that the Elf was, in fact, real, but at a price: Anna would be scared further. Or we could admit that the Elf is just a toy, thus calming her fears, but completely defeating the purpose of the Elf and taking away all the fun. (This thought was super depressing because I had big plans for that Elf. BIG. PLANS. Like this.) 

My wife tried her best to calm Anna and I attempted to crack Ella's skepticism, but neither worked. All we did was upset both of them even more. So, as Dad of the house, I made an executive decision that would alter the course of the evening.

"Who wants marshmallows?" 

"MARSHMALLOWS!" cheered the girls. And with that, they all rushed into the kitchen, including my 18-month-old Mia who had no idea what a marshmallow was but, based on her response, definitely wanted a piece of that action. 

So, with a heavy heart, I packed Snowflake back in his box. I gave him the, "It's not you, it's me" speech but he would have none of it. He just gave me the silent treatment. He also gave me the finger for naming him Snowflake.  

Christmas is intended to be a fun, happy holiday, and it didn't make sense to me to introduce this controversial character into our home when one daughter is scared of him, one doesn't believe in him and one would only care about him if she could eat him. He may have a future at Klems Manor, but not this year. This year he's headed back to the basement to live with our other unused Christmas decorations, dirty laundry and 1,500 rolls of toilet paper I've stockpiled from Sam's Club.³

It's back to simpler times at Klems Manor, where the colorful lights and a decorated tree are all we need to celebrate this fine Christmas season. Well, that and a Nintendo Wii U. (I'm looking at you Aunt Lisa).

¹ It doesn't.

² My 5-year-old Ella is cut from the same skeptical mold as her father. I bet in her free time she also disproves e-mail forwards.

³ I'm prepared for the Zombie Apocalypse. Are you?

ORDER NOW (GREAT GIFT FOR DADS):
Oh Boy, You're Having a Girl
(A Dad's Survival Guide to Raising Daughters)

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Adams Media

IndieBound

****** 
* Subscribe to The Life of Dad via email or RSS feed!  
* Also, follow me on Twitter @BrianKlems. I promise to occasionally say funny things.