Category Archives: Crying

All I Want for Passover is My Two Front Teeth

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It is said that we celebrate Passover to commemorate the story of the Exodus from Egypt. During the Seder, there is a lot of praying, a lot of Manischewitz, and the occasional plague. This year’s Seder was unlike any other for two reasons: 1) We discovered that “teething” should be added to the list of deadly plagues. And, 2) I almost considered reenacting Plague #10 myself by killing our first born due to his uncharacteristically obnoxious behavior. What started as such a promising and exciting celebration ended in frustration, tears, and delicious left-overs.

We arrived at the home of MOGWE and FOGWE at the time they had requested. GWE and I unloaded the car and brought in bags of clothes for the kids, toys, playmates for the baby, food for the baby, etc. Anything and everything we could have needed, we brought – just in case. It looked like we were moving in. Justin was happy to see his Uncle Ethan and everyone proceeded to move into the den for appetizers and drinks.

FOGWE surprised Justin with a remote controlled car. I immediately told Justin that he could play with it, but to be careful and not drive it over his baby brother who was lying on the play mat in the middle of the room. Justin handed me the car and asked me to put batteries into it. I proceeded to quickly load the car with batteries, placed it on the ground, flicked on the remote….and then I drove it directly over Garrett!!  (Yes – I am a wonderful role model.)

What you should know is that Garrett has been teething recently. There is saliva (“slime”) everywhere. It’s on his clothes, his chin, and his fingers. He swallows it so it’s in his belly and comes out with his poop, ie diarrhea. GWE and I decided to pick him up and place him on my lap so that he could see the Passover Appetizer action! He smiled, saw the chopped liver and gefilte fish, and then blasted 4 oz of a baby formula/saliva mix all over my pants and GWE’s pants. We were “slimed” for the evening. There is nothing like having hot-and-then-ice-cold puke on your clothes for the rest of the night!

Then, we passed him off to MOGWE, who gave him a few more ounces of formula. Garrett proceeded to thank her by spitting up a few more ounces all over her blouse, pants, and shoes. She passed him back to us and left to get changed again. In the meantime, we were struggling to soothe Garrett out of discomfort due to his teething.

We all then proceeded to the dinner table. GWE had Garrett to her right and I sat diagonally across from Justin. As FOGWE attempted to lead the table in ceremony and prayer, he simply could not be heard over the sounds of my five month old babbling out of pain and my five year old being silly at the table. Justin knows when he has a captive audience and that dinner table became his playground. He would not be quiet, he would not sit still, and he would not follow directions…..so, he was being a five year old.

After a VERY abbreviated ceremony, GWE decided to try and put Garrett to sleep in the crib. At this point, we were both starting to get worn down due to Garrett’s discomfort and Justin’s behavior. After a few minutes, we decided to check on him. He was as awake and as pissed as ever.

As the traditional Matzo Ball soup was being served, GWE and I made the executive decision to bring Garrett back to the table to give him his solids. I sat in GWE’s seat to feed Garrett, GWE took my seat, and then Garrett began to devour whatever I put into his mouth. It only took about 10 minutes for Garrett to finish his food and for our food to be served. However, this was 10 long minutes and Justin was nowhere to be found.

I decided to pass the baby back to GWE and I went searching for Justin. Unfortunately, I found him. As I opened the bathroom door, I discovered Justin with his hands in his hair and his hair soaking wet. There was water EVERYWHERE! He had wet down his head and used the liquid hand soap as shampoo. “JUSTIN!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?!” I demanded to know. “I’m cleaning my hair, daddy,” he replied. I grabbed the towel behind him, tried to dry his soapy hair, gave up, and then marched him back to the table. He knew I was very upset, but I was exhausted and tired of him not listening. As we got closer and closer to the table, he begged to not be seen. My patience had ended and I tried to drag him to the table – kicking and screaming. MOGWE stepped in and decided to take Justin back to the bathroom to clean him up. I sat down and began to quietly eat my chicken.

Honestly, the rest of the evening was kind of a blur. I remember dessert and Justin finding the Afikoman. But, that’s about it.

As we drove home in silence, I thought about the evening and how it actually was reminiscent of a real Exodus. We had come to the grandparents’ house in hopes of good food and shelter, but my two little plagues practically destroy everything. And then, we were free to leave.

Law & Order: SDU (Stupid Daddy Unit)

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“Punishment” has become a recent topic in our house. When I was growing up, there were three “go to” punishments that my parents doled out: 1) Taking away toys, 2) Taking away television privileges, and 3) “Go to your room.” I currently have an immaculate collection of original G.I. Joes, Transformers, He-Man action figures, and Hot Wheels because I was rarely allowed to play with them. They are currently in my garage in air-tight, hermetically-sealed containers. If I hold onto them for another fifteen years, they will be valuable enough to pay for my kids’ college tuition!

And, I’m a child of the 80’s – we didn’t have DVRs. If you were not allowed to watch television and you missed something that aired, you were screwed. It was never going to air again! Missed that very special episode of “Family Ties?” Too bad. Miss the episode of “Miami Vice” where Calderone finally gets caught? Your loss.

And finally, “being sent to your room” really was a punishment. We didn’t have televisions or stereos in our rooms. All we had were four walls, a bed, and a couple of books.

I have a theory that it was easier for my parents to punish me as a child than it is for me to punish my son…and here’s why: My parents were not interested in the things I was interested in, so to take them away didn’t really affect them. On the other hand, I really like the things that Justin likes!! I like Television and Spongebob and Transformers and Legos (except at night) and Annoying Orange and Angry Birds, and Batman, and….you get the idea.

So, when Justin puts us in a position to take away his television privileges, it’s actually ME who suffers!! I like TV! I worked hard all day and I want to watch something stupid! Hell – part of my job is to watch television!! One night, we told Justin that as part of his punishment he was not allowed to watch television. He cried, threw a tantrum, and stormed off to his room. Five minutes later, I walked into his room only to discover him watching movies on my iPad. I was pissed! “Justin!! What do you think you’re doing??” I said. “Mommy and I said ‘no TV’.” He yelled back at me “IT’S NOT TV, DADDY!!! IT’S AN IPAD!!”

When Justin becomes defiant or breaks the rules, we must take away a toy. But it is still ME who suffers because that’s one less toy Justin and I can play with. And “go to your room” is not a punishment when your room has more toys than “Toys R Us!!” I can’t remember the last time I saw the floor in Justin’s room. It is covered in stuffed animals, Lego pieces (like it’s a minefield), Squinkies, and other random toy pieces.

So here is my message to Justin – Stop getting into trouble!! You are only five and I have already run out of punishments for you that don’t directly affect me!!

 

 

My Fat Baby

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Garrett is clearly smarter than us. GWE and I have a combined three college degrees, years and years of business experience, and a lot of common sense. However, our Butterball of a baby has managed to outwit the both of us…again.

At the beginning of the year, we got Garrett to sleep through the night. He would go down around 8:00pm and wouldn’t rise again until 6:30pm. For two adults who hadn’t slept for more than 4 hours at a time, this was heaven.

A few weeks ago, he began crying in the middle of the night again. It would range anywhere from 2:30am to 4:30am. Once again, GWE and I found ourselves taking “shifts” with Garrett. The on-call parent was in change of hearing him, waking up, racing into the kitchen, making a 6oz bottle of formula in the dark with both eyes closed, racing back to Garrett’s room, changing his diaper, feeding him, putting him back to bed, and then hopefully…..HOPEFULLY, getting a few more hours of sleep.

After awhile, I started to notice that Garrett was looking a little “pudgy.” All babies are “pudgy” – a lot goes into them and they don’t move that much. But, Garrett’s rolls of fat were starting to gather their own rolls of fat. He was starting to resemble the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from “Ghostbusters.”

It wasn’t until GWE took the baby in for a checkup that the doctor began asking questions about Garrett’s routine. Once she told him that Garrett was crying in the middle of the night and needed a bottle, the doctor put the brakes on that very quickly. “He shouldn’t need another bottle,” said the doctor. “Let him cry it out. Ferberize him!”

It turns out – my fat baby was conning us for more milk. Some people sleep-walk to the refrigerator. Our baby got us to do the walking for him! Cunning little blob monster!!

 

Only One of Us Feels Better Now

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This picture was taken last night. It’s taken me 24 hours to come to terms with being violated in such a disgusting manner. Garrett ERUPTED after a feeding and blasted me on the chest, neck, ear, chin, and leg.

The first blast was gross. Justin happened to be in the room and he burst out laughing. The second blast was more forceful and reminded me of the “Dancing Waters” fountains in front of the Bellagio Hotel. The third (and final) blast concerned me to the point where I imagined Max Von Sydow in the corner of the room flinging holy water at Garrett while screaming, “I CAST YOU OUT, DEMON!!”

I need another shower!

 

The Vanishing Spit-Up

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GWE discovered that if you let Garrett have 30-40 sucks on the bottle and then immediately burp him, he has a much better chance of not spitting up all over himself, us, the furniture, the plants, the aquarium, etc. We’ve been diligent about getting a burp out of him before we continue to feed him. Last night was no different – It was just past 1am and I had just finished feeding Garrett his bottle. I burped him well and then he lazily “lounged” in my arms in his milk-drunk stupor.

After his feeding, I decided that I was hungry as well. So, I went into the kitchen and made a small bowl of cereal – Frosted Mini-Wheats to be precise. With Garrett cradled in one arm and a cold bowl of cereal in the other, I made my way back to the sofa to watch a little television. As I sat, I balanced Garrett on my left leg and placed the cereal bowl between my legs. I had a bite or two of cereal when all of a sudden Garrett’s eyes popped open. He “flung” his little body forward and proceeded to make a burp/spit-up/heaving sound that reminded me of a large cat coughing up a wet fur ball.

Immediately, I assumed that he spit-up everywhere. I was waiting for the hot (and then instantly cold) splash of vomit to cover my shirt and pants…..but nothing. I looked at my clothes, no spit up. I checked out his Onesie, no spit-up. I looked on the sofa, no spit-up. I looked at the carpet, still – no spit-up. At that point, I thought that I was in the clear – no spit-up! It was just an awful burp.

And then I looked at my lap and saw the bowl of cereal…..my WHITE, MILKY cereal. His head has been directly over it when he burped. I honestly couldn’t tell if there was spit-up in my cereal or not. It looked ok….but all of his spit-ups look WHITE and MILKY!!! I used the spoon to poke at each exposed mini-wheat. Nothing……

At 1:15am I seriously thought – “do I continue eating the cereal or not?” I looked into Garrett’s eyes for answers. He stared back at me, smiled, and then farted.

I decided to throw the cereal out.

Boy – I’m Gonna Make You Squeal like a Pig!

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As you may remember, Justin had an accident involving a treadmill, a box of winter clothes, and an idiot parent who was only three feet away. (If not, you can read about it here.) This story has taken an unexpected twist in the past 24 hours. It turns out that the “accident” was only the second most traumatic event Justin experienced this week. What has turned out to be far more psychologically damaging to both Justin and I was the process know as “Band Aid Removal.”

Justin has one large band aid on his elbow and another large one on his thigh. Both needed to be removed yesterday before I could give him a shower. A few times over the course of the evening, I casually mentioned to Justin that we needed to take his bandages off, but it wasn’t until I got off the sofa that he realized what was about to happen. He immediately ran off and I discovered him hiding under his bed.

I ended up closing his bedroom door just to make sure that he couldn’t escape and I began to negotiate with him. He was having none of that. Justin kept telling me “It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt.” and I kept assuring him that I would rip the Band Aids off quickly to minimize the pain. I then pointed to the ceiling with one hand, tried the “Hey – look over there” method, and then attempted to rip off the Band Aid with the other hand while he wasn’t looking. That failed and Justin yelled “NO DADDY, NOOOOOOO” while squishing himself into the corner of his room to get away from me.

I then tried again to coax him out with promises of toys and stories of how I had much bigger boo boos when I was a little boy, but he kept flailing his arm to try and get me to go away. (All of this while crying, mind you.) In a flash, I quickly grabbed his floundering arm, yanked him forward onto the bed, and attacked the Band Aid again. Justin was screaming bloody murder and began punching me in the face with his free elbow. I took blow after blow to the head while trying to get the corner of the Band Aid to lift off of his skin – but the damn thing was stuck! Finally, after pinning Justin down like an out-of-control prisoner on death row, I was able to tear off the Band Aid! Justin screamed as if I had just ripped his whole leg off. With all of his strength, he pushed me away and scampered back to his corner – all the while screaming “AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH.”

There we were – Justin on one side of the room crying and nursing his wound and me in the other corner of the room trying to consol myself after “attacking” Justin. I kept telling myself that they had to come off or his bruises would have gotten infected. The two of us were in shock and breathing heavily like warriors coming off the battlefield.

GWE peeked her head inside and told us to keep it down or someone was going to call Social Services. And then she said, “Oh, and don’t forget about the other Band Aid.” Justin and I looked at each other and thought the same thing – “SHIT!”

Justin made a run for the door. I grabbed him by the leg as he was halfway out and I took him down to the ground in the hallway. Once again, I pounced on top of him as he screamed “GET OFF DADDY, GET OFF,” but I just couldn’t. I had to get that last Band Aid off! He screamed and kicked and I kept trying to find the edge of the bandage. With the heel of his foot, he blasted me in the forehead twice – but I would not give up! Finally, I heard RRRRRIIIPPPPP! I had it! I had the Band Aid in my hand.

With tears rolling down his cheeks, he scooted away from me, looked at me with distain and said. “I don’t like you daddy. You’re not my best friend anymore!!” And with that he stormed off looking for mommy.

I laid on the ground for an extra minute or two thinking – “I am such an asshole. He is never going to trust me again.”

Ten minutes later, he was fine. I was still an asshole.