The Potty-Trained

Well, Catch-man is 2.5 years old now, and potty training has been sorta like an episode of Fantasy Island (that I distinctly remember watching as a child). You know the episode. The one where Tattoo greets the seemingly happy guests, but Boss reminds him that things are not always as they appear. It's kinda going well...kinda.

As modern (non-spanking-the-crap-outta-our-kid) parents, my wife and I chose the reward method of potty training. If you go poo-poo in the potty, Mommy won't blow a gasket, while getting up in your grill every five minutes asking you if you "wanna go poo-poo in the potty?" And Daddy won't seek you out every time you are silent for 2 minutes and drag you, kicking and screaming, to the potty, while simultaneously ripping your pants and pull-ups from your body and plunking your little bottom down on the cold toilet seat. We felt the rewards for having neither of the above scenarios repeated would be self-evident and Catch-man would refrain from hiding in the corner and whimpering defiantly, "don't look at me," or the ever-so-telling, "I'm not done yet." But alas and alack, it wasn't working.

Mind you, in an attempt to avoid the aforementioned scenarios, Catchr had been working diligently on the "tee-tee" portion of the curriculum, but the solid-waste disposal portion was failing to "take". We found that we had to adjust our execution of the reward method. I for one was beginning to fear that my son would develop some sort of anxiety regarding this evacuation procedure, while my wife was worried that we would be changing his diapers until we were once again in diapers. Either way, something had to be done.

My wife decided that the rewards had to be more tangible.

I had heard of people giving their children stickers for using the potty effectively, but Catch-man was having none of it. He was a little man, for crying out loud...he wanted tattoos. And tattoos he got. Press on tattoos last, they were

his badges of honor, to be worn proudly at daycare. He could show them off and proclaim his mastery of the excretory process. Every time he used the potty for the big deed (solid, mind you) he could have a tattoo (or any of a small assortment of items my wife and I placed in a small "treat box" for just this purpose). Now Catchr is just about potty-trained; only wearing pull-ups for nap time and bed time.

YEAH!!!

Unfortunately, I made the mistake of placing a few dimes and nickles in the treat box. Apparently, Catchr is a little too quick on the uptake and has begun dumping for dollars. And now, while I may be saving money on diapers, potty training has put me about $60 bucks in the hole (or toilet)...4 dimes at a time.

You see Tattoo, something more sinister, indeed.

Ay-Oh! Let's Go!

Well, Frank Turner has been usurped. While riding home with my wife at the wheel and the Catch-man in the backseat, I hear this little voice sing, "Eye-Oh Let's Go, Eye-Oh Let's Go!" Then, "Turn it up Daddy."

It seems that my wife's affinity for the old-school New York punkers, The Ramones, has rubbed off on my little thug. If you are unfamiliar with The Ramones, then you are missing out the best 2-minute punk rock the 1970s had to offer.

So I have provided a sample below...happy listening.

Note that while the intro is "Ay-Oh Let's Go," Catchr has gotten in touch with his inner Brit and belts out the line in perfect Queen's English.

Catchr's New Favorite Song

Well I guess the curse laid upon me years ago has come to fruition. You know the one..."I hope your kids are just like you!" This is not usually doled out in the midst of some sort of intellectual or athletic accomplishment, but usually in the midst of some angry adolescent tirade. I heard it many times from my father during my teenage years, and it has come to pass.

My son proclaimed that he loved Frank Turner after dancing to the following song this morning. It is a great song about the world AFTER your twenties. And while I am happy that my son has followed in my footsteps (at least regarding his current musical preference), there is something unsettling about a 2.5 year old singing the lines "I won't sit down, I won't shut up, and most of all, I won't grow up!"

Enjoy...I do!

It's Been Too Long!

Yes, as a matter of fact, it has been quite some time since my last post. As I noted earlier, I have embarked on a new career and my time was very limited through the training process. Now, however, my day is a straight 8 hours (barring any overtime) and although I come home exhausted some evenings (or mornings depending on the shift), I am beginning to find that I have a few more expendable moments...now, being one of them.

The C-boy has grown like a weed over the past 8 months, and has developed into quite a little shit. I'm not talking that cutesy-tootsy, "look at me...I can run and ignore you at the same time," type of shit. I'm talking about the full-blown terrible-two toddler turd factory. He has opinions he can't articulate, ideas upon which he can not elaborate and, quite frankly, he has been writing checks his little ass can't cash.

"Please don't shine Daddy's flashlight in your eyes."

"Catchr's flashlight."

"No, that's Daddy's flashlight...and don't shine it in your eyes."

"Catchr's flashlight!"

"Wrong again...it's Daddy's...not in Daddy's eyes...not in Catchr's..."

"Catchr's EYES!!! Daddy's EYES!!!"

"I give up."

"Yeah!!! Catchr's FLASHLIGHT!"

He used to be so small and cute and cuddly. Now...he's a thug. My lovable, wouldn't change him for the world, thug.

More Than One Blog

That's right, in case you were unaware, I write (when time permits) posts on two different blogs. I use this blog to muse over things revolving around the most obnoxiously wonderful human being in my life..."Little Freddy Sanford". The other blog is where I muse over the minutia that used to keep me up at night. www.sameoleverywhere.com I say, "used to keep me up at night," because these days, I have a new job that has put me to bed around 8:30 to 9:00 each and every night for the past month and a half.

It may be that I'm getting older...or maybe it's global warming...or MAYBE BOTH!!!

Aside from plaguing me with narcoleptic fits of geriatric enlightenment, my new job has given me the opportunity to focus on the more important things in my life. Given that I only have one to two hours of coherent thought upon returning home, I find that I treat every moment with a strange new wonderment. I'm excited to get home. I'm excited to see my wife and my little curmudgeon.

I remember not long age when I would stare out the window, longing for my wife to get home and take the hand-off. I remember when the day seemed like a week, because I was at home alone with my little monster from 7 to 4:30...

Now the day lasts a week because I keep thinking about how much I miss those days.

From Stay-at-Home Dad to Deadbeat Dad...

Well, sort of...maybe...not really, but it feels like it these days.

In August, I went back to work for the first time in 16 months. Only this time, I was not returning to the vacuous life of a financial advisor, I was taking a whole new approach to the employment endeavor. You see, after 4 years in finance (and 14 months of being a stay-at-home dad), I realized that if I were to go back to work, I wanted to come home each day from a job that would make my son (and wife) proud.

Now my wife would most certainly be proud of any job that made me happy and paid the bills...or at least helped to pay the bills. But in the world of finance, I felt that I was failing to provide the proper example for my son. Sure, taking care one's family by providing for them financially is great and all, but what about society? I could always concoct some altruist tale filled with the normal bullshit fed to the American public: I am helping people plan for a comfortable retirement or I help families build wealth...blah, blah, blah.

After 4 years in the business, I know that this is all marketing “new speak” for, “Sure, I'll bend you over just like the next guy, but you might just get a reach-around from me.” So, I went a whole new direction.

I want my son to be able to say, “My daddy makes a difference.” (Now, if you are lucky enough to be able to stay-at-home...mommy or daddy...YOU MAKE A DIFFERENCE EVERYDAY!) So I have decided to become a crime-fighter. At 35, I am one of the oldest recruits in my Police Academy class, but I am also in the top 5 of my class physically and academically. Why law enforcement? Why not? I feel that I am healthy enough and level-headed enough to do a job that most people would not give a second thought about. There are people out there everyday that need a little good to come there way, and that is what I want to do. I want to bring the calm to chaos. I am not qualified to give spiritual, medical or academic guidance, but I can train (for the next 8 months...the length of the academy) to be there when people need help.

So why the, “Deadbeat dad” crack? My academy runs from 8am to 5pm Monday-Friday...not too bad. However, the academy is 40-60 minutes away (depending on traffic) and an early physical training session is held Mon-Wed-Fri which starts at 6am. So I leave my house at 5:15am and get home a little after 6:00pm (sometimes as late as 7:00pm) and have to hit the books after my son goes to bed at 7:30pm.

My wife is my hero, as she does EVERYTHING for him (and I) throughout the week, while maintaining her own full-time job.

I now find myself spending only 60 minutes each day with the boy that consumed my every waking hour for the past year.

I think about him all the time, and hope that this is all worth it.

Started New Job Very Busy

I started a new job that consumes most, if not all, of my time these days. I have been working on my next "real" post which should happen sometime this week. In the meantime, check out this one from someone very close to me.

Or check out the rest her posts at http://www.thephdmommy.com