Menenism (aka: douchebaggery)

     I try to be as objective as possible when confronted with opinions I disagree with. But I might make an exception for the fatuous blowhards who call themselves 'Menenists'. What a bunch of pompous narcissistic buffoons.

     When I hear these guys start to whine about the unfairness of their lives, I want to pull out a scanning electron microscope to find the worlds tiniest violin so I can play them a tune.

It takes a monumental effort to keep my eyes from rolling back towards my brain when they spout vitriol towards today's developed countries where there's no 'need' for femenism because women have equal rights. (right!) Because... they can vote. Isn't that enough?

     The 'rights' that these so called menenists are fighting for aren't even the kind of rights that would promote any kind of sexual revolution for men. They would be perfectly content maintaining the status quo. Defending the right for men to act all macho isn't something that needs to be justified because it's already ubiquitous in today's society. (sadly)

     If we really want a sexual revolution for men (and some of us do) we would be fighting harder for paternal leave and shamelessly choose to stay at home while our spouses work. We would be building up our confidence so that we can wear pink skirts with our daughters without feeling embarrassed. We wouldn't be 'threatened' just by sitting in a Chevy Aveo. Yes, someone once told me that they wouldn't be caught dead sitting in a Chevy Aveo. It's sad to think that a male ego is so fragile that simply sitting in a small car would be enough to shatter it.

Thoughts of her getting older...

On my way to dropping E off at school this morning, she excitedly told me that on her next birthday she will be 4!  "And how old will you be after that?" I ask.
  "5!"
We went on doing this until she got to 25 or so.  She may have skipped a number or two.  I'm not sure because then my head started spinning with the thought of her at those ages.  For some reason 13 and 25 particularly jumped out at me.  I thought of her as a middle school 13 year old trying to navigate all the challenges this will bring to the both of us.  And again at the age of 25 when she will presumably be on her own doing whatever it is she wants to do. (Hopefully happy doing what she loves)
   There's a reason it takes a couple of decades to raise a child:  Because fathers and (I assume) mothers need a little extra time to come to terms with their children growing and maturing right before their eyes.
   I think my dizzy spell of imaging my daughter as a 13 year old hit me as hard as it did because I know now how much has changed in the last 3 years.  Trying to extrapolate that through the next 10 made my brain hurt.
   Then my day was topped off listening to a story on NPR about Molly Parks.  A heroin addict who died of an overdose at the age of 24.  Her father, Tom, who I think is not an ass had some very good things to say.  It's worth a listen and you can check it out HERE.
   I couldn't help wondering a couple of things listening to this.  How could a young woman become addicted to drugs if her father is engaged, devoted and loving?  I found myself wondering what Tom Parks missed that allowed his daughter into a lifestyle like this.  But Tom sounds like a pretty good guy.  What if there was not a single thing he could have done to prevent this?  Which of course brings me to my other thought that will feed my nightmares in years to come.  What is to keep my daughter from the same fate?  This makes me feel angry, incensed and hopeless all at the same time.
   Here I am now at the end of the day trying to sort out these feelings as my 3 year old daughter lies asleep on her Frozen bed sheets at 9:30pm.  At least now I know where she is.

Public Easter Egg Hunt..E

We're never doing THAT again.
   After participating in our first and last public Easter Egg hunt I have a few observations.  Just to warn you this is going to make me sound like a pretentious socialist dad who would look down his nose at pretty much every parent that will never lay eyes on this blog entry.
   I found myself on the front line of the first hole at a golf course where a couple of thin ribbons stood between a couple hundred kids aged 3-6... and a fairway of colorful plastic eggs about 50 yards away.  A couple of sandwich boards indicated the "rules" of the hunt:
  No running
  Parents can help but are not to touch the eggs
  No pushing
  One golden egg per child
In addition to these rules, an employee with a megaphone communicated (or tried to communicate) that due to the large turnout of tots, there is a 3 egg limit per child.
  Right.
  You can probably imagine how this turned out.  Needless to say, the rules were broken and there was much crying.
   My daughter, despite obeying all of the rules and only coming up with a single empty egg that a random mother was shamed into dropping, stayed surprisingly calm.  She handled the whole situation like a champ.  Not bad for a 3 year old.

   I'm not sure how this chaos could have been prevented.  I'm not sure why there were kids with baskets and bags full of eggs unwilling to share after noticing the crying kids around them.  I'm not sure why a dad I overheard tell his son not to cry if he doesn't get any eggs.  I suspect the emotional damage that has been done to this poor boy has left him more desperately needing to cry than anyone else.  (But that's another blog post.)
   As I carried my daughter away in her pastel blue and yellow Easter dress, I felt like this is a perfect model of capitalism... and why pure capitalism doesn't work.
  First, the kids who worked the hardest (ie. ran the fastest) ended up with the greatest number of eggs. (Let's call this group the 1 percenters)  Those who followed the rules, least willing or unable to work (run) ended up with nothing. (Egg poverty) The greatest percentage of kids in between ended up with a handful of eggs. (The middle class)  Not surprisingly, the 1 percenters were the ones least willing to share their abundance of eggs.  Why should they.  They 'earned' their eggs, right?  If they want to gorge themselves on chocolate and candy it's their choice.  I watched my daughter's friend give her one of his 3 eggs.
   Just imagine if the one percenters gave up a third of their eggs to those who were just a little bit too slow in joining the fray.  There would be a lot fewer criers.
   This blunt metaphor brings up a lot of questions that my wife and I discussed on our drive home tonight.
   Why are some people more willing to share than others?  Why is it easier to share with those of your own community or family structure?  Is it human nature to be kind or is there some philosophical ulterior motive to acts of kindness that only benefit yourself.
   And why the hell are so many bratty kids unsupervised by ass-parents who probably don't live by societal and moral rules themselves!

***Update***
Case in point:
THIS!  A short article about an attempted world record egg hunt in Sacramento.  This reeks of the holiday "spirit" that is now common around the Thanksgiving weekend.

Teething?

It's been a rough couple of days although you wouldn't know it from looking at this video:

VB has been home from daycare for two days now.  My wife has been taking most of the responsibility by taking time off work to be at home.
   VB was running a high fever Sunday night and wakes up pretty miserable with a hacking cough that scares me into thinking she's going to vomit all over the world.  Every hack I squint my eyes dreading what might come up.  So far, though, she's managed to calm back down before it gets to that point.
   The temperature is normal now and based on the stuffy nose, runny stool and jamming her fist down the back of her throat, I am assuming that those 2-year molars are the cause of all our torment.  I looked in there with a flashlight today but sadly, there is no sign of enamel.  I think this means we have a long way to go.  Ibuprofen to the rescue!  She reliably perks back up for a few hours after administering a dose.  Maybe I'll try to get a video of her waking up so we can compare and contrast.
   I love that the ball swishes right through her legs at the end of this video.

Almost 2!

So I decided something a while back.  I decided that a good way to not be an ass is to stop feeling guilty about not writing any blog entries in what feels like forever.  I decided that if I forced myself to spend 15-30 extra minutes each day writing something here, that's 15-30 minutes less time that I could be spending with my daughter and/or wife.  So sorry about your luck... whoever you are.
   That said, here I am now writing at 9:30pm on a Sunday night.  Both wife and daughter are asleep and I probably should be, too.  But I finally thought it would be a good time to say something here.  Especially now that VonBebe is almost 2 YEARS OLD!  (in 4 days)  Seriously, how did that even happen?
   As much as I wanted to keep up with regular entries, I just couldn't bring myself to do it.  I made lots of excuses for myself but in the end, I just chose other priorities above this.
   And here are some of those priorities:

Fatherhood has been the best thing ever to happen to me and I think it suits me well.  That and I helped make a pretty stinkin' cute kid.

Almost19 months old

I was really hoping to write more posts this summer.  But things got away from me as they usually do for parents.
   I just returned home from my 20 year high school reunion where a classmate told me that he regularly read my blog back when VB was still in Utero.  This alone is enough to motivate me to write more.  When someone else asked about the title of the blog, I had a hard time articulating who the "ass" is in the title.  I spouted something about douchey dads or inattentive fathers.  Well after giving it some thought I developed some specific ideas as to what kind of dad might be an "ass".  Here they are... Jeff Foxworthy style:

• If you spank your kid, you might be an ass
• If you refuse to read pregnancy books or child rearing books, you might be an ass
• If you've never even heard of Dr. Sears, you might be an ass
• If you refuse to change diapers, you might be an ass
• If you won't push a stroller because it's not manly, you might be an ass
• If you won't let your finger and toe nails get painted, you might be an ass
• If you won't put a clip or barrette in your hair, you might be an ass
• If you were not in the same room when your baby was born, you might be an ass
• If you don't know what a barrette is, you might be an ass
• If you don't take time off work to help your partner with your new child, you might be an ass
• If you only ever give your daughter pink, you might be an ass
• If you only ever give your son blue, you might be an ass
• If you EVER call your pregnant wife fat, you might be an ass
• If you spend too much time on your smart phone, you might be an ass

This is my opinion only.  I fully realize that I have some close family and friends who fall into some of these categories.  I also realize that times are different today than they were 50 or even 20 years ago.  I find myself victim to some of the above comments as well.  (It's really hard to tear away the smart phone sometimes)  I guess I'm saying that if you fall short in just a couple of the above points, you're probably not an ass.  If you identify with every single one, you are most decidedly an ass.  But if that's the case, you're probably not reading my blog. (that would fall under the "refuse to read" point)

   Sadly, I think the guys who are asses don't realize what they're missing.  And I don't know how to get them to understand.

   Feel free to add more points.

Meanwhile, here's my daughter being awesome....

And me trying not to be an ass...

17 Months

We just spent our first night without mom and it was pretty... successful.  There was one long period where VB just couldn't get comfy.  But aside from that, I think we both actually got enough sleep.  
   Here's an earlier shot of her in her own bed.  Mind you, she still spent most of the night in my and my wife's bed.  Co-sleeping FTW.

I think mom was way more worried than either VB or myself.  I'm glad it's only for one night, though.

   So... I use Pinterest.  (Jumped on that bandwagon kind of late actually)  And it's pretty awesome.  I have one board where I post everything that has to do with VB.  Any time there's an article on FB or the interwebs that I find relevant, I pin it.  The board is already quite full.  But there's nothing like a little mass marketed mania to give me pause.  

   While all this information is overwhelming, I take great comfort in the communal knowledge that I have gained with these resources.  A big one that has had me more than a little scared is knowing when and actually having the sex talk with my daughter.  I'm still a ways off, yet, but spending our first night alone is cake next to having this conversation.  Fortunately, some of my pinned resources will make it easier.  Like THIS, for instance.  Armed with this information and more, I might just make it through raising my daughter without making a complete ass of myself.  (I said a COMPLETE ass of myself.  It's already too late in many respects)

    17 months old and she's getting pretty good with a fork and spoon.