Spring is upon us, and it’s putting most men in the mind of improving their outdoor spaces (should they be so lucky as to have some).
Ever since moving into his place, my brother had been planning to update his back deck. Years later, he and his wife had a baby. When they started planning their wee one’s first birthday party, my brother finally found the motivation to get the deck done. So with the help of a carpenter friend, we did get it done, with just a few hours to spare.
Did we smash our thumbs with hammers and wish we had the skills of the neighbor carpenter? Of course we did. Did we fall just shy of having enough wood and then cut corners so we didn’t have to make another trip to Lowe’s? Damn right we did.
But it’s got to be the same way with dads the world over. Whether it’s a deck, a swingset, or some other project. You manage to avoid it for years, but then all of sudden, it has to be done…now!
What projects did you put off for years until the very last moment?
My wife and I never thought we would. But when we realized our young, fragile, crying daughter wasn’t getting enough to eat even though she seemed to be “latching” properly, we did what any new parents would do: we panicked.
Luckily, before we went to extremes like having the underside of our newborn’s tongue clipped (which was actually recommended by a cut-rate lactation consultant in Brooklyn) we got Freda Rosenfeld’s name from a trusted source (this before the NYTimes covered her). We arrived at Freda’s house, tires squealing, with mothers-in-law in tow. She exuded the wisdom of a shaman and was as welcoming as a Labrador retriever. She was overjoyed to see us and to help us overcome the trauma—and embrace the beauty—of breast feeding.
Freda spent the better part of an hour with us, teaching us how to soothe the little one and coax her into latching properly. It was clear that she’d done this before and we’ve come to learn that damn near everyone in Brooklyn has seen her for this service. It turns out that our baby had weak jaw muscles as a result of her very lengthy delivery. Freda helped us learn how to massage the baby’s jaw, and after we practiced a couple of times, she was eating like a champ. At the time, my wife dubbed Freda the “boob whisperer” (I think the Times stole the title from her).
Though the fee for a good Lactation Consultant may seem steep, it’s worth every penny—especially if you’ve exhausted your other options or are facing even the simplest of surgical procedures.
Our little one is old enough where she’s no longer breast-feeding, but the connection my wife was able to make with her all those months is something you just can’t put a price on.
Parenthood brings about many epiphanies. One is, “I’m never going to get to go to Vegas again, am I.” Another is, “Manufacturers of baby gear hate us.”
About that first one: there’s still a decent chance your company will send you to a conference in Las Vegas, so just relax, okay?
About the second one? Baby gear manufacturers don’t actually hate you; but sometimes it sure seems like they have it in for your single and/or childless friends. Evidence: a whole class of baby gear with almost zero practical function, but unlimited, mind-clouding “AWWWWW” factor, guaranteeing these pointless, yet irresistible items an unwelcome place on a gift table at a baby shower somewhere in the world at this very moment.
One example: the PEE-PEE TEEPEE by Bebabean. Price range: $11.50 wrapped in cellophane; $13.30 in a mini laundry bag; $23.75 Gift Set.
Yes: it’s a terrycloth cone available in a range of amusing designer patterns, designed to be placed over a baby boy’s wiener during diaper changing to prevent—I hope you’re sitting down/haven’t eaten within the last eight hours/aren’t prone to night terrors, heart palpitations or vertigo—accidental contact with a stream of urine!
Let us recover.
Okay, thinking back to how I saw the world from the other side of fatherhood, I can imagine how being peed upon by some guy would seem like a nightmare scenario. But honestly: before you even leave the delivery room with your first child, you’ve already been up to your wrists in Cronenberg-grade gore for hours. And the carnival of horrors only follows you home. Newborn tar poops. Calcifying umbilical stub. The very evidence of a scalpel to the wing wang. Heck: after a few rounds of curdled breastmilk down your shoulder, you’ll welcome a golden shower.
Okay, so let’s assume you can’t accept the fact that all animals urinate, and that fresh urine is as sterile as that bottle of Gatorade G2 Glacier Freeze Thirst Quencher you bought from that dude on the way to work. And let’s assume your little slugger is just holding it in anticipation of a diaper change from soakable old dad. How will you ever shield yourself from that relentless torrent of shame?
Well, chances are good that if you’re tasked with diapering a child, you already have a piece of highly absorbent material ALREADY IN YOUR HAND. Drape the new diaper over your little guy’s junk until he’s cleaned up, then lift, wrap, tape and roll. Done. Even if he unleashed on you, you’ll probably never even notice. Especially if you’re tired enough. And you will be.
Okay the niceties: are Pee-Pee Teepees cute as all hell? Yes. Does it seem to have a trace functional benefit? Perhaps. Did humans survive for millennia without it? Sure, but those poor saps also missed out on Maclaren folding strollers and the Graco Pack n’ Play.
The reality: Will junior lie in his own filth while mommy sends daddy out into a blizzard to acquire a fresh pack of Pee Pee Teepees? I sure hope not.
The verdict. At upwards of $24.00 for the Gift Pack, the Pee-Pee Teepee is why the Lord God our Creator invented gift receipts (He really is all-powerful). $24.00 buys a decent six pack and bottle of wine. You’ll need it after junior nails you with his first salvo of projectile diarrhea.
Cheers!
Mike Rehfus was raised by parents raised during the Great Depression, and will use this fact to ruin his kids’ lives, too.
Matt Winkler tells Band of Fathers what inspired him to take his kid on a skateboarding tour of all 50 states.
Imagine this scenario: despite genuine effort, your eleven-year-old child’s reading speed is a year below grade level, and it takes hours for him to memorize the ten words for the weekly spelling test. Except for art, P.E., and recess, going to school becomes an exercise in humiliation. Your kid’s attitude toward school is spiraling through dread, bound for rejection. What do you do?
My wife and I faced this situation last May with our son Logan. He’s a bright kid, but has a mild LD when processing text (the “ripple out” effect is incredible). We felt we needed to come up with a plan to get him back on track. Our unorthodox solution leverages his passion for skateboarding and his naturally hands-on learning style, combined with the longest field trip in the history of sixth grade: 50skatekid.
Since Logan and I left home in Wilmot Flat, NH, last September, he has skated in 43 states. We’ve stayed with altruistic strangers all across the country (thanks to couchsurfing.org). We’ve walked the battlefield at Gettysburg, the White Sands of New Mexico, and the deserts of Nevada. We’ve visited many museums, met pro skater Mike Vallely, and made a deck with skateboard manufacturing godfather, Paul Schmitt.
When we started this journey, I had second thoughts. And at the end of each week, I’d ask myself: Would he be better off in school? For all 29 weeks so far, the answer has been clear: No. Way.
A typical weekday morning finds us in the local public library, knocking out the next chapter in textbooks borrowed from Logan’s school, or completing a module of his online English course. Afternoons belong to museums, skate parks, and the interstate. We’ve only spent six nights in a hotel so far, so evenings involve meeting new people, swapping stories and ideas, and imposing on the hospitality of our countrymen.
This recipe–for Logan, at least–has resulted in a huge jump in his confidence. Liberation from a classroom audience deflated his anxiety about reading. (He now reads for pleasure–on his Kindle–thanks, Mom!) Our tight student-teacher ratio means he masters content quickly and completely, resulting in feelings of academic success. Harder to quantify, but more valuable, is the life experience he’s gained, including the lesson: “If you can’t win the game, change the rules.”
We have seven weeks and seven states left until the finish line on Mother’s Day in Washington DC, but the journey is already a success. Logan believes in himself again. He has taken the measure of his abilities and found them equal to this epic adventure. Travel along with us at 50skatekid.com
What do you think of this amazing and inspiring journey? Have you as a father had to take drastic action to positively affect the academic or social life of your child?
The photo you’re looking at got me in trouble. I thought it would be funny: pregnant woman cooking while sitting on a stool. Funny, right?
No. It was not funny. Not for one of us at least. In fact, it kind of became a small issue. We sorted it out because we love each other. (And because I gave her a foot rub.) But just a warning to those of you who have pregnant wives: after 7 months even funny things become far less funny to them.*
*This photo was not staged. My wife is cooking chicken with artichokes. It was very tasty. and I appreciated it very much (see how sensitive I am?).
What bone-headed moves did you make with your super-pregnant wife?
If you’re a dad and have been dragged to see Strawberry Shortcake: A Berryfest Princess Movie, we want to hear from you.
Seriously, how did you have the strength to make it through? As a soon-to-be father, I believe I’ll have the courage to watch my child be birthed, but I don’t think I’ll have the stomach to watch the kinds of movies they’ll beg to see years from now.
Below, I’ve posted not the trailer, but a portion of the actual movie. I challenge you to watch the entire clip without audibly groaning in pain (unfortunately, you first have to sit through a :30 Google-served ad, the bastards):
So dads, step forward and tell your story of sitting through the entire 90-minute movie. Were you drunk? How did you get through it? These are things the Band of Fathers needs to know! NOTE: Any fathers who want to write reviews of children’s movies, we’d love to post them.
You probably noticed the lack of new posts last week. You didn’t? Oh…okay.
That’s because my wife and I went off-grid (for a few days, quite literally). We were taking a last, big trip before the arrival of our first baby. Our OB/GYN suggested that my wife discontinue flying after 32 weeks, so we fit in a trip to the California desert. While not everyone follows the doctor’s “no-fly rule”—we’re looking at you Sarah Palin—we chose to stick to it.
As with anything related to babies, the babymoon has already been co-opted by the Baby Industrial Complex. Sites are devoted to pre-packaging trips for the dad- and mom-to-be—but let’s be honest, it’s mostly for the mom. Spa treatments, nice dinners, that kind of thing.
For part of our trip, we took the slightly less conventional route: renting an entirely off-grid house 20 miles north of Joshua Tree. The house was “off-grid” in the sense that it was powered only by solar energy, and you couldn’t get cellphone reception unless you drove into town (a 30 minute trip). It took 15 minutes of driving on a dirt road to even reach the place. And there were very few neighbors: to the point that one car might go by every eight hours or so.
As you can see by the pictures, we were by no means “roughing it.” It was a beautiful house. Unfortunately, because of a minor glitch the first night, the system didn’t collect enough power. As we were entirely without energy, there was also no radiant floor heat. While the darkness and stars made it feel romantic, after a while, all we could feel was cold.
I have to hand it to my wife who dealt with the off-grid scene very graciously, not complaining a bit when she had to wear pants and a sweater to bed with two comforters over us. And how did she fare the next day? She did over five miles of hiking, the most challenging being a 3+ mile hard scrabble hike to the 49 Palms.
While we remained unconnected to the grid, my wife and I connected to each other. Not only that, I gained even more respect for her and her fortitude. No doubt I’ll feel that exponentially when I see her give birth.
Despite the dippy name, I recommend that every couple take a ‘babymoon.’ Even if it’s just for a weekend and you have to stay local. It’s all about remembering why you’re together in the first place. And I hear that comes in handy when you’re running on two hours of sleep and your wits are at an end.
Did you try to fit a vacation in before baby? How would you re-name the ‘babymoon’?
While other baby carriers are good, the Ergo Baby Carrier has worked best for me. Before we had kids, we never thought Dads with babies strapped to their chests were cool. Of course when you’re a parent, your first priority isn’t “coolness”, it’s doing what is most comfortable and calming for the baby.
As Dads, we have to take advantage of the little time we get with the newborn as they’re sleeping and eating most of the day. I realized the best way for me to be involved was to calm our crying baby by any means possible. I decided to take it upon myself to ditch the expensive glider and try out the baby carrier and bounce her away to sleep on an exercise ball. If I had known it would be so easy with the carrier and ball I would have never dropped the cash on a glider. Once I realized that she felt safe & sound listening to my heartbeat while bouncing her to sleep, I no longer cared about being cool. The only thing that mattered was my baby wasn’t crying. And putting an end to the crying is a parent’s prime directive.
There are a few options for these baby carriers, but the most popular seem to be from Baby Bjorn and Ergo. I liked the Ergo over the Bjorn because it can be in service up to 40 lbs or 4 years, and the Bjorn just over a year. And since we’re plunking down major money on child seats that only last a few years each, this is a smart move.
The Ergo also seems to be a lot more comfortable as it has plush straps and can be used in multiple positions, although the front position is typical for the first year or so. I had done a fair amount of homework on the carriers as I knew I would be the one carrying her most of the time. I didn’t like some of the reviews talking about circulation being cut off in the babies legs with the Bjorn and that was all I needed to know. The Ergo is comfortable for both the wearer and baby and provides a safe zone for napping on Dad, which could very well be one of the coolest things ever. Yes, I said “coolest.” Funny how our idea of that concept changes.
The Ergo has been such a help during the times when a stroller is just overkill—when in crowds, or in the bar for a drink or two. Also, you will be left with jobs to do while taking care of the baby and throwing them on your chest makes getting around so much easier, especially if tasked with going to the grocery store.
While the Ergo is on the pricier side, it does last much longer which helps justify the expense over time. We all have our preferences for what works best, and the Ergo Baby carrier has been a go-to for me in many situations when I need to hold her close. Which is something I want to do often.
STEER CLEAR OR REVERE? REVERE
Pros:
Long-term use
Multiple positions: front, back, hip
Easy on the back
Plush straps
Cons:
Cost
Rob Curtis is a dad, outdoor adventurer, bike commuter, telemark skier, golfer, and a wool maven.
When I was about 7 years old, I was in the the Cub Scouts. That Spring I got out my trusty, dull Cub Scout pocket knife and began to whittle my official chunk of wood to make a car for my first Pinewood Derby.
Now my Dad will confess to not being much of a handyman–and even if he were, as a father of five kids he sometimes worked two jobs to support us–he didn’t have a lot of time for this kind of thing.
So operating under the assumption that all young kids were doing this by project by themselves–and not with their dad’s help–I gnawed away at the hunk of wood with my knife. It was tough going. I think I expected it to be more along the lines of what I know now to be balsa would: soft, light, and easy to carve.
Pushing my knife down the corners of the block, I found it impossible to control the cut. The blade was taken in the direction of the grain; it was like this piece of pine had a mind of its own. Not being a particularly diligent kid, I tired of that after about 20 minutes and moved onto something more familiar and a lot less challenging–like playing with my G.I. Joe action figures.
But alas, the day of the event did arrive. In a panick that Saturday morning, I doused that mangled piece of wood in dark blue model paint, slid the wheels onto the nail axles, hastily glued the wheel assemblies on, and set off by myself to the middle school I was later to attend–the car still wet from paint and Elmer’s school glue.
When I got there, I saw all the other Scouts had smooth, contoured, evenly spray-painted cars. Many of them with “concealed” fishing weights for added performance. “They’d cheated,” I thought. “Their dads did all the work!”
After taking a look at the insurmountable competition, I meandered off to another part of the schoolyard to play with friends who had also lost interest in the event. Probably since it had stopped being “their car” the minute their Dads took over.
A bit later, somebody called me when my car was up to race. I ran back just in time to see my creation roll down the track. About eighteen inches from the start, the two front wheels sank–stopping the car cold, even though it was on a 30 degree incline. The axles had given way from the weight of the car, the cause being the undried glue.
Folks laughed. Not cruelly, mind you. I laughed too, then wandered back to play with my pals again. A bit later, another friend ran up to me screaming “You’ve won something! You won a trophy!”
I came back to see my pathetic entry next to a gold trophy with the words “MOST UNUSUAL” engraved on it.
Looking back, I thought I had won it because my car gave everyone a good chuckle. But as years passed, I like to think that I got the trophy because I attempted to do something by myself. I’d failed. But I tried.
Since then I’ve become quite capable at building things. I have a decent shop set up in the garage and built a few Pinewood Derby cars–with a tiny bit of help–for my 7 year old son. But just like his dad before him, he built his own, too. When all three were done, he chose his for the race. He won 2nd place.
It seems a majority of American kids go through the Pinewood Derby right-of-passage. How’d your experience go? Did dad build yours? Did you take credit? Or did you go it alone like you were on a vision quest?
My father used to rock the Mercedes-Benzos when he got into his 50s. My brother and I welcomed these Germans as they were a marked improvement over the American series of embarassing family automobiles (the Cadillac Brougham, Mercury Grand Marquis and the like). He went through a couple of used 300SD Turbo Diesels similar to the one pictured here.
We could hear those clattering beasts coming from a mile away, which meant we knew he was going to be home from work at least a minute before he arrived.
He loved those Teutonic tanks. Even used, he felt they were a real status symbol: like he had finally arrived. He said more than once how he felt as though he owned the road and could drive however he wanted. Like he was above the law. Why? “Because it’s a Mercedes.”
This evening, my wife and I were hanging out in the blindingly lit intersection of 43rd Street and Broadway in Manhattan. I work in the advertising industry as a writer, and this is the first time my work has appeared on a Times Square billboard. It’s only fitting that the ad was for Mercedes-Benz.
As we looked up at the 22-story tall sign—in the midst of all the traffic and tourists streaming by—it somehow got supernaturally quiet for me. I said to my wife, “My dad would have loved this.”
What kind of car did/does your dad drive? Were there ones you loved/hated or most identified with him?
by contributor Dan Beeby
My father used to rock the Mercedes-Benzos when he got into his 50s. My brother and I welcomed these Germans as they were a marked improvement over the American series of embarassing family automobiles (the Cadillac Brougham, Mercury Grand Marquis and the like). He went through a couple of used 300SD Turbo Diesels similar to the one pictured here.
