How to Weatherize Your Kids for the Winter

When leaving for a summer outing, it takes roughly 11 seconds to get your kids out the door. They are dressed. They have brushed their teeth (mostly). They slide on some flip flops. They are ready for the daily adventure that lies ahead, so much so that you only need to say “Let’s go” once and you can do it without an exclamation point.

Leaving for a winter outing, on the other hand, takes exactly 2 hours, 30 minutes and 45 exclamation points.

I call this The Winter Effect.

The Winter Effect happens when your wife decides it’s time to start weatherproofing your children. Much like you insulate your house for the cold days of winter, your wife insulates your kids in 14 layers of clothes that keep them so warm you could cook bacon on them. (NOTE TO SELF: NEED TO TRY THIS.) The Winter Effect required-apparel for each kid includes:

Gloves
Mittens
Snow boots
Thermal underwear
Sweater
Hooded sweatshirt over sweater
Coat over hooded sweatshirt over sweater
Hat
Earmuffs on top of hat
Hood from coat over earmuffs on top of hat
Two pairs of wool socks
Scarf
Snowsuit
Ski Mask
Blanket
Snuggie

Understanding the Winter Effect is difficult for us dads, as we wear shorts year round. In order to explain it, I’ve decided to use terms and references guys are more likely to understand. The Winter Effect usually starts sometime around the World Series and lasts until Opening Day. The ballpark price of clothing needed to insulate your kids is roughly the same price as buying an actual ballpark. And if you make the poor executive decision not to follow your wife’s wishes to weatherize your kids, your wife will weatherize herself each and every night before bed, leaving you to celebrate Pantsless Thursdays all by yourself.

The Winter Effect causes every kid in your house to move slower than a 7th inning pitching change. They’ll act shocked (SHOCKED!) when you ask them to put on their own coats. Also, they’ll look at you as if instead of saying “put on your coat” you said “sit and do nothing.” So you become tasked with putting each layer on each kid, which they make difficult by doing things like “running away from you” and “complaining.”

Middle Daughter: Dad, why did you put my hat on Mia!?!
Me: Your hat? You both have the same hat. They are identical.
Middle Daughter: No they aren’t.
Me: What makes them different?
Middle Daughter: The difference is THIS ONE IS MINE!

It’s conversations like this, mixed with the number of clothing items you need to apply to each kid, that make it impossible to actually leave your house and to make it to any event on time. Let me give you an example:

Subject A, who has no kids, is heading to a rock concert that starts at 8 PM. Subject A wakes up from a nap at 7:15 and is showered, dressed and out scraping the wintry ice off his windshield by 7:20.

Subject B, who has kids, is heading to the grocery store to buy more Dora Band-Aids. Subject B has been changing diapers, cleaning up Play Doh and tending to a sprained knee from a rather aggressive game of Ring Around the Rosy since approximately 6 AM. Subject B plans to get out the door (with the kids) at 4 PM, so he starts weatherizing his kids at 3 PM. He finally steps foot outside at precisely 5:45 PM. (It’s also worth noting that 10 minutes later he realizes he forgot the diaper bag.)

Why do I bring this up? Mainly to let you know that you are not alone, my friend. I spend most of my non-sleeping, non-working hours putting some layer of clothes on someone in my house—be it me, one of my kids or Sylvia the Cabbage Patch Doll. It is not easy and it challenges one of the most sacred virtues of fatherhood: Punctuality. But I do it every morning, and not just because of not-so-idle threats by my wife. I do it because I love my kids. I do it because I care about their well-being and I want them to be warm and cozy even in the bitter cold. And, most important, I do it because if I didn’t, I’d be serenaded each car ride by a chorus of “Dad, we forgot my scarf! I can’t live without it! I need it! I need it! I need it!” Then tears. Then loud tears. Then meltdown.

So embrace The Winter Effect and weatherize your kids every morning. If you practice long and hard enough, you may be able to do it in 2 hours and 25 minutes, leaving you a whole 5 minutes to daydream about summer. And the beach club episodes of Saved by the Bell. (Thank goodness Zach figured out how to throw two parties in the clubhouse at once!)

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The 10 Rules of Making a Valentine’s Day Card for Mom

One thing every Mom deserves from her kids on Valentine’s Day is a homemade Valentine’s Day card. It’s a simple, loving gesture, and a project we Dads are in charge of organizing. It is also a project we are inevitably going to screw up. But have no fear! I’m here to help. Follow these 10 rules for guiding your kids into making the perfect Valentine’s Day card for your wife that will make your wife smile and, for the briefest of moments, make her lose sight of the fact that you didn’t buy her jewelry.

1. Get Mom out of the house. 

On any other given evening, when given the opportunity for a night out, your wife would be out the door so fast that she wouldn’t even notice if you had shaved off one of your eyebrows and glued it to your chin. But for some reason, when you are trying to craft a surprise gift and need her gone, she’ll act as if the only place on Earth she wants to be is at your house. The only solution is to tell her that you’ve scheduled a surprise massage for her that night and that it starts in 20 minutes. This will buy you just enough time to have the kids make Valentine’s Day cards. It will also buy you enough time to make an apology card, which you will need to make up for lying to her about the massage.

2. Gather all the kids in one room. 

If you have more than one kid, this is nearly impossible. By the time you get one kid settled into a chair, another one has gone missing, with the most likely destination being In Front of the TV. The best solution to keeping them in one room is to either bribe them with candy or threaten them with duct tape. These are two of the three most valuable tools you will ever have as a father (the other is a Dora DVD).

3. Make sure you have all the necessary supplies.

Making a Valentine’s Day card requires a lot of supplies, such as construction paper, stickers, crayons, glue, markers, boogers, scissors, gauze and Band-Aids. If you are missing any of the mandatory supplies, you will hear about it.
“There are no stickers, Dad?”
“No, but I’ve cut out all these red hearts from construction paper that you can glue on.”
“But I NEED stickers! Without them, this card is RUINED.”
“I don’t think the card is ruined.”
“I may as well give Mom a half-eaten lollipop for Valentine’s Day.”
If your wife is reading this then she will finally understand why her Valentine’s Day card is covered in approximately $11 worth of postage stamps.

4. Always work over a table.

If you don’t want to find marker stains on your couch and a remote glued to your fireplace, then make sure you’re crafting these cards over a table. If the table is at someone else’s house, all the better.

5. Never try to tell your kids which side of the card is the front.

It doesn’t matter what you say or how logical your suggestion is to use the front of the card as “the front of the card,” your kids will dismiss it--just like they dismiss your other wise, fatherly suggestions like “clean up your room” and “stop sitting there--my head is not a resting spot for your butt!” To them, every side of the card is the front. The front is the front. The back is the front. The inside is the front. Sometimes even your table is “the front.” Just be happy that they are settled in and finally working on the cards. Worry about your sanity later.

6. Prepare for multicolored arms.

Whenever markers or paints are involved, you can rest assure that your kids will unintentionally (and sometimes completely intentionally) draw all over their arms. By the time the Valentine’s Day cards are complete, their arms will look like the work of a drunk tattoo artist who was testing out a new design that he calls “the epic rainbow.” The best way to deal with this is put the kids to bed in long-sleeved PJs and giant oven mitts, and pray that your wife doesn’t notice when she gets home.

7. Make sure you spell “Mom” correctly.

Sounds simple, but if you turn away for too long the kids may accidentally add extra letters to “Mom” and spell something nonsensical like “MomIsStinky.” It won’t be the most pleasent of Valentine’s Days when you have to spend most of it explaining to your wife where they learned how to spell that. Also, your wife will not believe you when you say “Twitter.”

8. Have a predetermined card making start and stop time.

There are two types of cards kids make: Cards that are finished with just one scribble on them (so they can return to trying to break your iPad) and cards that will never be finished (so they can avoid bedtime at all costs). Explain to your kids that for the next 30 minutes (and only 30 minutes) they will be giving all their attention to making the best Valentine’s Day card for Mom that they possibly can. After five minutes, feel free to abandon this plan and send them to their rooms.

9. Clean up the evidence.

When the cards are finally finished and all the “fronts” are decorated, be sure to clean up all the materials and scraps that have overtaken your house. It’s amazing how a few simple cards can lead to enough paper waste to fill a bowling alley.

10. Hide the cards in a top secret location, namely a spot that Mom hasn’t looked in for so long it has cobwebs on it.

Hey, it’s about time you got some use out of her lingerie drawer.

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A Night Out is Different Once You Have Kids

A night out for me used to mean dressing up to look good for my wife, sharing a few drinks with her at Murphy’s Pub and grabbing a 10-sack of White Castles on the way home. Our bedtime was in the AM while our wake time was in the PM. The only two things I had to worry about were my wife and whether or not I remembered to close my bar tab.  

Nights out are a little different these days now that I’m a parent.

First, there needs to be a reason for a night out—like, it’s grandma’s birthday or we need a headlight replaced. Second, there is less emphasis on “looking good” and more emphasis on “finding at least one piece of clothing that doesn’t smell like baby vomit.” Third, bedtime is at 8:30 sharp (unless, of course, someone forgot to lotion hands or put on chap stick or wear the socks with furry toes or has to pee again). Finally, I have to worry about 100 million things, with the most pressing on the list being cleaning up all the magnet letters that are all over our kitchen floor and solving the mystery of where my youngest hid the remote.

Recently, we had a night out as a family thanks to my eldest daughter’s school. In honor of Catholic Schools Week—which is religious speak for having Out Of Uniform Days, Crazy Hair Days, Crazy Sock Days and, I’m not making this up, Science Class—the school hosted an amazing Luau Dance. For a small donation you could eat pizza and embarrass your child with your sweet dance moves, all at the same time! I find opportunities like this are rare, so you need to take advantage of them when you can.

Because these events are so few and far between, my wife and I decided to make the most of it. She and our daughters got all dolled up, wearing flowery dresses and other luau gear my wife picked up at our favorite costume shop. I broke out my beloved Hawaiian shirt, which causes my wife to give me the old look-up-and-down, from head to toe, with that gleam in her eye that says, "If you ever wear that shirt again, I'm leaving you."

We arrive at the dance and are greeted by many of the other families we know, also dressed for the event. We grab a table, but the minute my daughter spots one of her friends she's off. Once my middle daughter spots my oldest bolt, she's off. And when my youngest spots a piece of dropped popcorn on the ground, she's off. I sit for a moment at a table with my wife, as our kids run off. It's as if we are on a date. I smile and think about giving her a kiss, when my wife turns to me and says, "Are you seriously going to let her eat that piece of popcorn?"

Just then, a loud, God-like voice speaks over a PA system.

"It's time to get this party started. Let's dance!"

All the kids from the school, as well as some brave moms, are on the dance floor. It's a line dance, which is my favorite kind of dance because you don't really have to "talent" to participate. My daughters are all mingling, watching the dance with great attention. So I get up and join in. First a few moves to the left. Then a few moves to the right. Then stomp (right foot this time). Stop (left foot this time). Hands on your knees. Hands on your knees. Everybody clap your hands (clap, clap, clap, clap, clap). I lean over to my daughters and say, "This is so much fun. Come on out here and dance with me!" All three look at each other as if I asked them to, in unison, spontaneously combust.

"No thanks, Dad." It was like getting turned down by the prom queens.

I came off the dance floor a bit bummed. My daughters aren't even as old as my newest pair of jeans and they are already uninterested in dancing with me, their old, uncool (but pulling off this awesome Hawaiian shirt) Dad. My spirit had been a bit crushed. Then this older gentleman stopped me as I made my way off the floor.

"Don't worry. I've been there. Keep dancing and one day they'll come back to you."

That line really stuck with me. While I think that I yearn for carefree nights out like I used to have with my wife, I now yearn for nights out with my daughters—the same ones I often crack jokes about. And just as I'm ready to admit that out loud, my girls are off, playing with their friends and leaving me to dance all alone. The only hope I have is that one day, eventually, they come back and share a few dances with their old, uncool (but super awesome) Dad.

I return to my seat next to my wife. She knows I'm a little sad by this revelation, so she puts her hand on my shoulder and gives a sympathetic shake of the head. At least I have her.

"You'll always dance with me, right?"

"Not if you're wearing that Hawaiian shirt."

NEED A FATHER'S DAY GIFT? PREORDER:
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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:
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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
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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.

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