Operation Control Impulses

Again, control your thoughts you dirty readers.  I am not speaking of any of 'those' impulses!

Certainly one of the rights of passage for one to ensure that the proverbial ‘corner has been turned’ from child-like behaviors to adulthood is that pesky issue of impulse control.

This society is facing a minor crisis in that we as Americans find it almost impossible to control our impulses.  Be it the late-night infomercial spending sprees, the scandalous adulterous behavior found in conjunction with various online websites,  or simply not able to control yourself from buying that oh so tempting candy bar while in line at the grocery store.

This has become such an issue that it has become a recognized mental disorder amongst the wacky world of psychologists and others who proclaim various treatments… for the low price of 4 monthly installments of $39.95.

So why on earth is impulse control an issue for an expectant father, you may ask?  Well let me explain the recent outing my normally frugal wife and I experience last weekend.

With my recent promotion at work, I now get to experience the pleasure of working ‘shift’ hours and thus have changed my normally scheduled weekends to that of Sunday and Monday being my days off.  So naturally, the only coordinated time off we have currently is that of blessed non-working Sabbath, Sunday for those using layman’s terms.

As such, we decided to delight ourselves with a Sunday movie at one of the local malls.  As a side note, we saw the movie The Help and I would highly recommend it to others.  After finishing the movie, Shannon decides to drop the ‘bomb’ on me by asking if we could stop by one of the national baby box-stores.  Much to my dismay, I was unable to resist the pouty-lipped pregnant one and fight as I may; I ultimately turned the steering wheel in that direction although I do admit that there was an electronics store in the vicinity.

Now mind you that we have already registered for every conceivable gadget known to baby but I guess the ‘baby vehicle’ wanted to see if there was anything we possibly could have overlooked although I ensured her that we had registered for all we needed plus the partridge in a pear tree but she was undeterred.  Luckily I am in a profession in which ‘glazed’ is a popular term cause that is exactly what happened to my eyes as we strode in to the store.

While she was basking the glory that is everything baby, I was bound to find the nearest exit or anything resembling masculinity to reclaim what I must have lost years ago.  As we finished with our perceived window-shopping trip, we (although she is to really receive the credit for the find) stumbled upon one of those scarce deals that parents love to find and make it all but impossible to ignore.

What we found was a stroller designed to compete with the one we had originally envisioned for the wee one.  The original stroller we pined for was the Baby Jogger City Mini due to its various features of convenience and usability.  What we found was that Britax, known for their outstanding safety ratings, had devised a new stroller to steer people, like me, away from our wants into their new B-Agile stroller. 

This stroller is the chicken’s cluck, the rooster’s crow, or the mother-to-be’s smile in that it has all the bells and whistles and is certain to make this man happy.

What made this an issue of impulse control was that there was never any intention on purchasing a stroller in the near future but instead to wait until the time got closer for baby birthing.  So instead of me only being a willing participant to a window shopping spree turned into an issue of me relinquishing control of the plastic contained within my wallet.

Now I must admit the deal we got was pretty spectacular in that we not only got the stroller but also a baby car seat and extra base for $200 less than what we would have paid to get the stroller we had originally intended.  I like most other domesticated male members of society still don’t quite understand the logic of spending X amount of dollars in order to save Y amount.

So I put to you other men out there, what impulses have you been wrangled into because of parenthood?  Let it also be noted that I never did make it to the electronics store.

Dogs in Toyland

So as I ponder about toys for our soon-to-be ankle biter, I am forced to realize that any toys we may get will have to pull double duty.  One will be the obvious time spent as a baby’s toy and well, the other… as a dog chew toy.

I realized just how much this was true when one of Shannon’s friends came over to spend the night with her four children in tow.  As with most children, they did not readily want to accept that our house is a house that does not currently cater to their “kind” and no amount of reasoning would get them to accept that no toys were needed to have fun in our home.  I mean, doesn’t everyone enjoy spending some good quality time reading a book, talking about the arduous day at work, and other mind stimulating activities? 

Obviously the answer was a resounding NO!  So being good future parents, we gave them some dog toys to play with.  After explaining the wonderful benefits of such things as rawhides, pig’s ears, and other tasty morsels the children’s teeth brushing habits will no longer be the same.  I doubt their Mother will be buying such devices as I got quite the scolding for giving them such things.

So with grooming devices nixed from the list of things to play with, I gave them the next best thing, dog toys. 

Our house is loaded down with a plethora of these toys such as the completely ‘un’stuffed fox,  lamb, and some other creature that only God would recognize since it is missing most of its hair, face, and other bodily protrusions.  These toys were taken too, well like a kid in a candy store and probably saw more action in that one day/night than they had in the previous years.

What is of interest is how eerily similar the children and dogs played with the same toy (sometimes played with together for more enjoyment).  For example, the ‘un’stuffed fox found itself in the deadly grips of two little ones who commenced to yanking and pulling and otherwise playing tug-a-war with the poor creature.  I thought somewhere in the Geneva Convention such torture, also known as the “rack”, had been banned and surely no one has used such a device since the Inquisition Days (so maybe they are reading but just not the right kinds of books).  It goes without saying that the fox gave up some good secrets during such torture but none of that information proved useful to the children who quickly abandoned it for other toys. 

This same technique is used by the dogs surely to gain valuable knowledge on where the other dog’s treats are hidden with the same likely effect.

Next up was the fetch ball which turned into a dangerous game of catch inside the house.  Several broken items later, we figured out that this was probably not the wisest of decisions and retired the 2011 Jones House Homerun Derby for good.

When all other sources of fun were dismissed, we introduced them to the exciting world known as the “backyard”.  The kids seemed to enjoy this and thankfully (lucky for us) the Texas heat zapped them of any unnecessary energy leaving the adults to return to sanity.  

How to prepare for the unexpected?

Can one ever really prepare for the life-changing event of having children?  I know there’s really no way to prepare for the “suck” to use an old Army adage (not that I’m saying having kids will suck but let’s face reality that it ain’t gonna be a stroll through the park nor is my Fall football watching ritual ever going to be the same)  But I do believe that you can set yourself on the correct path by doing a fairly common thing…

That one thing (congers up the thought of Curly from City Slickers) is becoming the "Dogfather”.  Cue the theatrical and Italian music.  By the Dogfather, I simply mean becoming a parent to those loveable four-legged creatures that, not unlike children, can become the bane of our existence. 

This fall, Shannon and I will have been ‘parents’ to our beloved beagle, Eve, for 9 years (or 63 dog years, if you’re counting) and this summer we’ve had our mini-dachshund, Oscar, for 5.5 years and our lab, Ziggy, for 4 years. 

While I can’t say that owning dogs is comparable to owning (maybe raising would be a better term to use but there’s always that upside of indentured servitude also known as child labor) children; it is at the very least similar in the duties it entails.

First, dogs (or at least ours) are known to literally cry out loud for their meals.  When I get home each day, they recognize that time as the time when they normally get fed (forget that my schedule recently changed so they now DEMAND to be fed when I get home versus their  old ‘normal’ time an hour later).  While I would normally prefer to come home to dogs that only wish for their father’s time and attention; no instead, I get dogs who could care less that I’m home only that I ‘bring’ dinner home with me.  So I believe I’m up for a crying baby wishing only to be fed… although I’m sort of off the hook for the first while since I can’t ‘physically’ feed the baby myself (thank you Lord for evolution).

Secondly, our dogs do not seem to wish to abide by normal protocol of sleeping through the entire night.  No, instead Shannon and I rotate nights that we have to get up with the dogs, in the middle of the night mind you, to let them go out and go potty… or in Eve’s case to eat bugs or anything else that had the misfortune of falling in our backyard.  Therefore, the middle of the night wake-ups will already part of our normal routine.  I wonder if we can’t potty train the baby to poop outside with the dogs which would kill two birds with one stone (must check the dog training book for tips).

Thirdly, our dogs fight for our attention.  Okay, in reality it’s only Ziggy who fights for my sole attention as he has the frustrating and annoying habit of licking any exposed limb to death if, God-forbid, you love on any of the other dogs (this I believe will benefit me when the baby decides to drool all over since I don’t think there’s too much difference in spittle).  He has taken to moping if his Daddy doesn’t want to play with him (child pouting and dog pouting, again not much difference although one is cuter… the dog J) but in the end I always relent to his actions.

Lastly, is the feeling of powerlessness when they are hurt and can’t tell you what’s wrong.  This, Shannon and I had experience our fair share of and is the worst thing to deal with.  I can’t even begin to think how much it’s going to hurt when our lil’ one is hurting/sick and we are powerless to do anything about it without the excellent care of a physician.  Maybe our Veterinarian can give us some good recommendations? 

Seriously though, how do you parents deal with this?  I’m in the profession of helping people and my mentality is to go into an issue and attack the problem to get a resolution but how can I do anything if I don’t know what to do?  Hopefully, I’ll pick up parenting with relative ease or if not, my family and friends will get many ‘a frantic phone call to help me decide what to do.

 

So does having doggies prepare this future father for the upcoming journey?  You bet!

Waiting... Waiting... and More Waiting

This week marks 19 weeks since we created life, which still amazes me and makes me appreciate life for what it is that much more.  It also marks one of the slowest journeys I have traveled… Let me explain.  From almost the date of conception, we have known about our bundle of joy and with that knowledge all the joys and pains that come with expectant fatherhood.

We have already gone through several sets of names, cribs, shopping trips, other possible and suitable father figures and yet we are still only shy of half way.  It’s not that I’m complaining about the process because I would fully expect such trials and tribulations but surely most other soon-to-be fathers don’t begin this process till much further along.  And, I am not known for my patience and so patience is not a virtue to me; no, it’s a waste of time!

With that, Shannon started ‘showing’ fairly early which then placed us in the predicament of having to tell everyone how far along, when the baby was due, and the process of how the baby was conceived (no not like that but instead the medical procedures that were necessary through the specialists… I still contend that I really didn’t make the baby but instead she and the nurse did).

Although she started showing early, she really didn’t look any different to me other than she may have eaten a monster burrito instead of her dainty ‘woman’ food J. 

Then last night happened.  She walked in the door and BAM it, for the first time, struck me that she was REALLY pregnant and it was quite evident.  She looked absolutely adorable (brownie points for the day) in her black and white dress but man-o-man was she showing!

I must admit the truth in that I never really believed all the hype over how pregnant women ‘glow’ when pregnant but last night I finally saw the ‘light’. 

I am eagerly awaiting the day when I can start to feel the kicking and other baby movements.

Tech Fail - Tech Sucks Life from Man

Technology, you wonderful gift to today’s society in the form of constant frustration, headaches, and for giving us the exact reason we need to jump from the cliff but those are just reasons to start this blog.  While I have marveled in how far you’ve gone (grown) over the years, I am also still amazed at just have far you’ve regressed too. 

 

In a world where my cell phone can complete more tasks than the average human can (although I suspect many a’ child can outperform the vast majority of adults) why is it that we can’t have fail proof technology?

For example, last week while I slept peacefully and dreamt of days of old (days prior to hunny-do lists, any work responsibility, and when my priorities were juvenile at best), I was awoken by an unhappy pregnant lady (that’d be my wife and not some “Goldilocks” who wanted to test the porridge) because of an over-active smoke alarm. 

The smoke alarm must have needed some additional attention and coddling this night because it set itself out to be annoying in the way that only smoke alarms can, by constantly chirping.  This chirping, not unlike crying babies (so I’ve heard), may very well be the most horrible sound in the world at that exact hour when sleep finally finds you.  So as I stumbled from my bed (half dazed due to copious amounts of Tylenol PM to drown out the snoring from three annoying dogs and perhaps one pregnant lady) I proceeded to climb a ladder, which I must ensure that I explain to my wife how dangerous this act is and therefore I must be rewarded for such a brave act, and tear the little beast from the ceiling.  Although I don’t think I can complete these same steps with a baby but I guess we’ll see when that test arrives this winter.  I think I must heed the advice I’ve seen somewhere about testing smoke detectors and changing batteries to avoid such situations.

As a side note, why does technology seem to fail when you need it to work the most?  Luckily, this piece of “technology” didn’t fail at a time when it was most needed (fire or when I cook and proceed to burn everything) but seriously why must fail at the most inopportune times?

Then, for those who sit idly by and await my every word and posting, my laptop craps out on me this weekend which only helped cause the delays in which postings get posted (how many times can I use “post” in this post?). 

Seriously, why do we spend so much money on technology when it only seems to last for a few short years and is constantly bypassed by the latest and greatest?  This weekend, I found myself staring into that black hole abyss also known as the Blue Screen of Death that is so dreaded by mankind who’ve become so dependent on technology to fill every void in our lives.  I find that the computer repairs needed would surpass the price of a new computer so I guess I’m forced to move on and as with many other things, change is difficult to accept.

Life must go on although without my beloved computer…

On this episode of CRIBS....

While I may be somewhat of a handyman (at least in my mind’s eye) although Shannon see’s my skills as somewhat lacking in both being handy or in any perceived skills; I pride myself on my ability to put together difficult puzzles without looking at the instructions nor seeking any wisdom or advice from others.  What I mean is that who, as a child, didn’t try to force that round peg into the square hole?  While most would have been unsuccessful in that venture, I on the other hand excelled at breaking (literally) down the puzzle to ensure the piece that I believed fit did in fact fit. 

 

Surely, Noah wouldn’t have believed that building his Ark inside his home would be a good idea thus he built his outside where space isn’t a premium but why would I follow such wise advice?

Well, in one of my first acts of pending (doom) fatherhood, I decided to put together the crib for Baby Jones by myself.  While I must admit that I am rather proud (dusts off shoulders for further congratulations) of my accomplishment to put together the crib without any help or instruction, I do have to admit that I may have been bested by those pesky things called door jambs.

You see, in my exuberance to put together this first true sign of fatherhood, I decided to build the crib where it was most comfortable for me to do so.  This of course would be the front room (man cave, time-out room… call it what you will) which in terms of proximity to the baby’s room would be equivalent to Noah building his Ark in the Arctic Circle.  So there I am, in all my splendor, slaving away whilst doing such tasks that only can/should be accomplished by such a skilled builder as myself until (cue climatic music) doom struck.

Doom in this case would be when I realize that while the front room may have been comfortable for me to construct such a masterpiece, it also has the luxury of having French doors.  So the initial move of the crib proved to be easy.  Then I get back to the Baby’s room and realize that the French did not decide to venture any further in my house than that front room thereby leaving me with only American doors elsewhere.  And who says the French are adventurous?

Therefore, I was left with the dilemma of either A) leaving the crib where I dropped it, in the dining room or B) dismantling my masterpiece so that it would make it into the baby's room.  I did give idea A some serious thought as I think I read somewhere that most baby’s are required to eat so what better place for them to be than in the dining room?  But that idea was quickly dismissed by Shannon and I guess pregnant ladies get a fair shot at vetoing most of my “brilliant ideas”.

Therefore I was left with only one option and that was to dismantle what I spent hours slaving over.  Luckily, in my master-builder’s eye, I figured I only had to dismantle a portion of the door… errr, I mean crib in order to get it to fit within the confines of a standard-sized door.  The crib is now where it was meant to be until Shannon decides that it would look better on the other side of the room…. No wait, over there… no, I think I liked it better back where it was, etc.

Now the next task is figuring out what furniture stays and what furniture goes…

Rain Delay

No not really any rain up in our neck of the woods but due to my training schedule,the blog will be updated tonight as time permits.

Painting 101 for Dummies (or Daddies)

Like most good things in this world, all of which must come to an end at some point.  Whether it be that huge chicken fried steak from Babes Chicken in Roanoke, that wonderful afternoon nap at work (ummm, for those who read this, that work with me, forget you read that one) or that lovely feelin' of that liquidy stuff that falls from the sky (can't remember the name of that stuff since we have been without it for a while).

The office, or plane or dog fight (which can be taken literally or figuratively) room as dubbed by many a' visitor, has seen it's time and must now fade into oblivion.  Fear not for it shall forever remain in our hearts and memories.  Alas the season of baby beckons and with it a signaling for change.

Shannon and I have almost (I say almost cause I couldn't care in the least what color we choose so in reality Shannon is the only 'almost' in this equation) decided upon a color in which to paint the walls.  We have however decided upon a mural which will grace those soon-to-be painted walls which will either delight us as a family or forever haunt the dreams of our bundle of joy.  Which one can only be later decided upon years and years of therapy that are sure to come to rid the baby of any 'Jones' sense of humor or the like which has been the bane of so many spouses who unwittingly marry into the family.

The color is going to be some hue of the color you see here.  Speaking of hues, I have an angrily drafted email for whomever decided to grace the home improvement stores with a bazillion different 'hues' of the same dang color.  Surely it must have been a woman, who after tirelessly pestering her husband to 'move the couch just a tad that way... no a tad that way... no, I think I liked it better over here' decided to express her evility (not a word but go with me people) by lightening and darkening the same color over and over only to achieve minor differences that are completely lost upon this obviously color blind man!

In addition to the color change, what would a baby's room be without some touch of creativity strewn about the walls?  In this case, we've decided upon a tree mural from which the cradle may rock but with a small dose of superglue, I've ensure that no boughs will be breaking so CPS can't be called to the house for us to explain why the baby tumbled (cradle and all) from the tree tops.  I would be remiss if I did not note to you that in addition to the mural, we will be adding real (albeit small) bird houses to hang from the tree limbs and somewhere in there I'll sneak in a few characters from the Peanuts comic strip (like you'd expect them not to show up in the room?).

So, the only real question now is when I'll begin the 'season of change' and forever banish the planes from the baby's room.

I was just STROLL(er)ing along....

Strolling is supposed to be a leisurely activity, is it not? So why then is the decision on which one we should get, have to be such a monumental and arduous task?

A stroller is not simply just a device to get baby from point A to point B but has instead turned into a status symbol for some and for others a considerable safety issue of which first "set of wheels" the baby gets.

Over the weekend, the Rib (Adam gave up his rib for the creation of women, therefor Shannon equates to Rib) and I spent quite a bit of time shopping for our baby's first set of wheels and have come away neither wiser nor on firm footing on which direction to go.  We have tested several out (meaning I have just about beaten the sales reps to death with questions and lain holy terror upon the "test" models) and found several that we like and many more that we dislike.  While we were waiting for the sales manager to approve our line of credit for the latest driving trend... we decided to hold off and continue our research online.

From that research, I have deduced that each stroller is either "the best stroller I have ever purchased and has been 'blessed from the Almighty" or by the time I read the next review in line "the absolute worst stroller out there, don't waste your money cause surely only the Devil could have designed this death contraption".

So what does an expectant father do?

I did like most cost-sensitive fathers do and I ordered a line of different size cardboard boxes with what surely is infant safe packing peanuts.  It may be thought of as unsafe at first but we'll surely recognize the ease in which it would be to simply ship our child off to the doting grandparents versus having to pack up the car with both slobbering baby and dogs in tow.

Seriously, what to do?  So I'm just going to play with the ones we seem to like the most and make a "informed" decision with cost and size (folded size to fit in our matchbox sized cars) as the majority holders of said decision.  I believe we have narrowed down to two choices and a coin may be the deciding factor between the two.

So if one morning, you find an unexpected package on your front door... please don't be alarmed if there are breathing holes punched in it (cause what kind of father would I be if I didn't even do that)... Just unwrap the package and return the child in the self addressed return envelope!

Any advice or suggestions are welcomed... although not always heeded!