Last night, I tried to summarize the concept of parenthood to some single people. It went like this:

Having a kid is just like inviting a little freeloader into your house. He doesn’t pay any rent. He doesn’t buy any groceries. He doesn’t clean anything. Just the opposite, all he does is make things dirty. He poops in his clothes. He eats almost all the time he’s not sleeping. And cries in between. He really doesn’t even recognize your existence–even after everything you’ve done for him. And you have to keep reminding yourself: ‘I was the one who invited him in.’

But then around the 10 week mark he looks at you. Really looks at you. Not at a space two inches above your head. Not at the twirling fan on the ceiling. But at you. Then he smiles. And that “freeloader” analogy is totally blown away.

Those who scrolled through Salon.com’s home page today were “treated” to a ridiculous headline: “When the ‘gayby boom’ came for me.”

If you’re like me, the last time you frequented Salon.com was probably in the late ’90s – early ’00s. Now I realize why I haven’t visited the site in so long: seeing a term was like this in a headline made me equal parts disgusted and sad–and I’m not even a child of a gay couple. If I were, I’d be offended as hell.

As if a parent’s sexual orientation has anything to do with the child? Why would that extend to the kid? You really want to make the kid the butt of a joke like that? ‘Gayby’ sounds like a slur that would be used on the playground to make fun of the child, and not a term a lesbian writer would casually use when discussing whether or not she’s going to have a family.

Perhaps this is a simple case of the editor-gone-wild: the writer submits a story and the editor wants to make it “sizzle” a bit more by creating a pun-y headline? I hope that was the case. But if it was a straight editor, wouldn’t make the term even more offensive?

What’s next? Flippantly re-naming gay marriage “Holy Matri-homo-ny”?

Would love to hear from any same-sex parents: do you find the ‘Gayby’ term offensive? Or is it amusing?

Whoever said living in central Florida was boring? Well, it has proven so boring that people are going to jail for posing their babies doing the darnedest things: like smoking from a bong. According to the AP on rawstory.com:

Nineteen-year-old Rachel Stieringer was charged with possession of drug paraphernalia. A Texas resident called Florida’s abuse hot line after seeing the picture online of the baby posing with his face in the bong.

Sure, we’ve all posed our babies doing funny things. But we don’t usually share it on the internet. And if only Rachel had said the bong-device was for “tobacco use only,” maybe she wouldn’t have had to post $502 in bail (love those extra $2).

The saddest part of all of this was that the authorities actually tested the baby for drugs. That’s gotta make the parents feel swell.

Since when did I become an all-too-proud, all-too-annoying facebook father? Apparently today.

Even with all the fb privacy concerns, I continue to upload cuter-than-balls pictures of my kid, all while knowing I run the very real risk of someday seeing his image used in an advertisement. And guess who would benefit? Facebook Stock Images, Inc. and certainly not me.

So while it’s possible that I’ll see his picture in an ad for “KutKo’s Fast ‘n’ E-Z Home Vasectomy Kit”, I continue to post them? Why? Because I’m proud of the little guy. And I grow even more pleased/proud when people reply, “ooh, ahh, so cute!”—the number of comments in direct proportion to how cute the posted pic is.

Yes I have become a cliché: the cheesy parent who posts pics of their kid thinking others will find him as cute as I do. But not only am I a cliché, I’m also a hypocrite: because I find it somewhat irritating to see other people posting pictures of their kids. Showoffs.

from contributor Mike Rehfus

kids.woot.com

Why does kids.woot rule? Because, like grown-up woot!.com, the kids version generally features high-quality items (one item per day) at stupidly cheap prices, all for just $5 shipping no matter the size and quantity (limit 3). Today’s kids.woot-off features all the above plus items changing throughout the day as they sell out. You can shop ahead for ages/stages/occasions, too. We have a hidden stash of potty-training and good behavior rewards and oops-we-have-a-kids-party-to-go-to-but-don’t-have-a-present presents.

You might be an over-reactive parent if you’ve not only heard of Park Slope, Brooklyn, but you live there. (Before you object too strenuously object to this statement, not every parent who lives there has gone baby bonkers.)

To those who live elsewhere in this great country, Park Slope is not just the polestar of all things baby in the greater New York City area. It’s arguably the drunk-on-babies epicenter of the world. Sure, there are similar neighborhoods in cities across the globe, but they can’t possibly reach the same hysterical heights when it comes to the shorties.

Because out of Park Slope come controversies so blistering that they threaten to engulf the city, nay the country, in flames.

Take for example the story that broke awhile ago on CNN.com “Dad Brings Baby to Bar”—it featured one of the editors of Dadwagon.com who had the gall to take his kid into a bar while he quaffed a much-deserved beer. Imagine the uproar from the annoyed minority of hipsters who deem bars baby-free zones not just after 7pm (which makes sense) but all day long!

Not to be outdone, the NY Post broke a story a month or so ago that really got the parental nuts jumping: Baby Slings Smother! And this just after the sling became the preferred method of kid conveyance in Park Slope since Maclaren strollers started cutting fingers off left and right.

One can just hear the keyboards clacking now on the Park Slope Parents blog in response to the latest hulabaloo: a “ghost stroller” chained to a parking meter. [photo: Michelle V. Agins/The New York Times] You probably know of “ghost bikes” that are painted white and chained near accident sites where a biker lost their life. According to the NYTimes, local residents don’t know know why the albino buggy is there. Certainly people on the block would have heard of a baby being killed in a stroller/car collision. So it’s pretty obvious this is the work of a hipster artist commenting on how there are too many overly-sensitive parents in the area. He wants to get a reaction. And guess who’s giving it to them?

What’s the kid krazy part of your town? Do you live in it? Do you secretly (or openly) despise those who do?

I’m assuming it has to happen. You get an uneasy–albeit momentary–feeling that you don’t like being a father. It’s a shameful thing to feel and you don’t talk about it. But the thought has to occasionally occur. The thought that, hey, maybe today I don’t want the responsibility that comes with being a father. It just seems improbable that we’d always feel glad to be a dad.

I ask this because I’m reading John Updike’s “Rabbit” series–the tale of man maturing in America. It started with “Rabbit, Run” in 1960, then “Rabbit Redux” in ‘71. Now I’m onto “Rabbit is Rich” (’81). It’s really an amazingly realistic chronicle of a man going through different parts of his life. And you have to admire the author for a) being so talented, and b) having the foresight to create a series of books over such a long span of time (over 30 years as the series ends with “Rabbit at Rest” in 1990).

In the books, Rabbit (Harry Angstrom) has a rather troubled relationship with his son Nelson. Here’s the passage that inspired this post:

…he began to feel crowded, living with the kid. As long as Nelson was socked into baseball statistics or that guitar or even the rock records that threaded their sound through all the fibers of the house, his occupation of the room down the hall was no more uncomrfortable than the persistence of Rabbit’s own childhood in an annex of his brain; but when the stuff with hormones and girls and cars and beers began, Harry wanted out of fatherhood.

I’d imagine during the early childhood years, the newness and glow of fatherhood keeps any thoughts like these at bay. But when you get into those “troubled teen” years, the title of “father” could potentially start to weigh you down.

This blog is meant to be about celebrating the highs and lows of fatherhood, so I’d like to hear about some of the lows. Dads, chime in.

by contributor Matt Winkler

“Dad, remember when you told me that if a kid ever hits me, that I have your permission to beat him into the ground?”

(I did say that.) My eyes flick over my son – no evidence of injury, slightly out of breath from the two mile bike ride, bathing suit still wet from the town pond. “Tell me what happened.” Like dads have been doing for millennia, I listen patiently to a tale of pre-teen roughhousing that crossed the line. Luckily, in this story, an alert lifeguard saw my son backhand his new pal in the cheek. She blew the whistle and sent him home. “OK, now that doesn’t sound to me like self defense. Right? If you could rewind back to that moment, what else might you have done?”

“Well, I did warn him, if he didn’t stop I was going to hit him.” I give Logan a few minutes to consider an alternative strategy – one that didn’t involve threats and ejection from the park. With effort, he recalls hearing something about consulting an adult or walking away as the recommended methods of avoiding violent confrontation.

“That’s right,” I confirm, supportively. “So, you messed up. You lost your temper. You were out of line. You’re human, you’re going to mess up. Now, you have to do the hardest thing a man has to do: admit you did something wrong, and try to make it right.” For some reason, I’m sure that I’m quoting John Wayne. I’m sure that all red-blooded American men have heard or given this speech at least once in their lives.

Despite his pleas to the contrary, I drive him back to the pond. Hopefully, such uncomfortable and immediate consequences will give him pause next time. Along the way, I coach him to accept responsibility like a man, without equivocating. Apologize, and promise that it won’t happen again. He sweats bullets during the short drive.

We meet the five-foot tall, sixteen-year-old lifeguard who kicked him out. She tells us that Logan’s pal, Aaron, was bleeding, restates the rules, admonishes Logan again, and passes the buck to her boss in terms of punishment. I hold Logan’s shoulder as he absorbs all this, and I nod to her that she’s doing a good job. I park Logan at the picnic table, and he is visibly shocked to learn that he drew blood. The boss isn’t around, and neither is Aaron, so we head home. Logan sends him a note on Facebook.

The next day, we return to talk with the Rec Park boss, who looks like a young middle-school teacher who does this as a summer job. He gives the story a level hearing and determines that Logan’s contrition is sincere. We head home, the hard part over. “Now, wasn’t it much better to face it and settle it, rather than avoid it and worry about it?” Logan nods, relieved. The whole thing has worked out so neatly, like some Brady Bunch episode. But still, I hope that Aaron’s parents (whom I’ve never met) aren’t filing a lawsuit.

The day after, Logan sees Aaron at the pond and apologizes. “It happens,” Aaron shrugs, brushing it off. And like billions of boys before them, they resume roughhousing.

Since “turning the other cheek” doesn’t work so well in the modern age, how do you teach your kids to deal with fighting?

The first “Twitter to TV” experiment—”S*#% My Dad Says”—is meeting with some resistance. Not just from people who will find it unfunny, but from parent’s groups that simply cannot stand by and allow a major television network to bring “shit” into their homes. As if they haven’t been doing that for years?

From the mention in today’s Huffington Post:

“Parents really do care about profanity when their kids are watching TV,” said PTC President Tim Winter. “All parents? No, but something like 80 or 90 percent of parents. Putting an expletive in the title of a show is crossing new territory, and we can’t allow that to happen on our watch.”

“Not on our watch.” Mr. Winter does cut a noble figure, doesn’t he? And his entirely fabricated statistic? That’s something he should be held accountable for. 80-90% of  parents “care” about profanity? In what way? Mr. Winter, please be more specific.

But back to my point: where were these parents groups to protect me from being visually crapped on when I was growing up?

“Alf”? “Small Wonder”? I didn’t see any parents groups backlash then. And what about current shows like “Desperate Housewives”? Or “South Park”? It’s all offensive, so just turn off your TV. Don’t allow your kid to watch it.

Again, it’s the Big Evil Company’s fault that kids are going to shit these days. And certainly not the parent’s responsibility.

William Shatner plays the dad in question on the show. And you have to love his response to all the hullaballoo:

“Do you know what I wish?” he said. “I wish they would call it Shit. I’ve got grandchildren. I brought up three girls. They’ve all got kids. OK? And you say, `Boopy-doo-doo, you’ve got to make poo-poo. Come on. Make poo-poo in the toilet.’ Eventually, poo-poo becomes shit. `Go take a shit, you’ll feel better.’ You say that to your kids. The word shit is around us. It isn’t a terrible term. It’s a natural function. Why are we pussyfooting?”

Not to mention the fact that the past-tense of shitner is Shatner.

Should we add Band of Fathers to the list of sites that are actually retracting a story? I’m not so sure if “responsible journalism” has a place online (hell, it doesn’t seem to in the mainstream media anymore).

Gizmodo led the charge with their long, drawn-out apology regarding the original story about the Lady Pushing Stroller On Her Segway and how she dared be so lazy/irresponsible.

Why are they apologizing? The gal in question is a cancer survivor with limited walking ability..that’s why she uses the Segway to get around. Don’t we all feel bad now?

I don’t know, I still think it’s crazy to push a stroller when you’re astride another moving object. About as smart as the game of Polo.

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