Father Inc, lists you should paste on your fridge, milestones & musings

and Dad’s why you make resolutions

February 1, 2010

Parenting requires a lot of resolve. Which is why parents, of all people, should make resolutions. (resolve – resolutions – root word, geddit?)  Your approach may mean the difference between your child becoming a Hitler or a Ben Tennyson.

Here are my resolutions for 2010.

1. Must not refer to myself as Superdad.

Seriously guys, I’m totally overrated. I change a few diapers, take a couple of feeds and I get a prefix that implies overriding awesomeness and infinite ability? To me, a Superdad is someone who brings home the bacon – in a vehicle like this.

Honey, I'm home.

2. Must stop calling wife “retard” and “moron” (and vice versa – not in the sense of “must stop calling retards and morons ‘wife'”, but as in Daf should also stop calling me names, ah, you did get it the first time).

This started waaaaaay back in when we were first dating and we attended this “terms of endearment” course in school, the lecturer was going on about semantics,  semiotics and how 80% of  all communication is non-verbal. Which was to say you could call your honey-pumpkin “Nazi Puppy” if you say it in the most awshucks, sweety-pie-sixteen voice and STILL could make her goosebumps stand. You got to try it to believe it.

So in a totally non-derogatory sense we have been calling each other “hey moron“, “what’s up, retard” for years and people around us are so used to it, they think our marriage is on the rocks otherwise “Did you call her ‘sweetheart??’ Are you guys quarreling again?” Plus it *helps* put people at ease when they’re doing projects with us.

[Sidenote: Daf and I pulled of this awesome scam a few years back. We were introduced through a friend of ours to this lady and for some reason she immediately assumed we were siblings (as apparently, we both look alike, fair enough). This went on for almost a year and every single time this lady bumped into us she would go “Hey, why are you guys always together? You’re giving people the wrong idea, how to find girl friend and boyfriend, like that?”

We were having a meal one day with a bunch of friends and she couldn’t help but to remark again on our perpetual proximity to one another until a bewildered mutual friend went “What the hell are you talking about, they’ve been together for 4 years!”

Total awesomeness.]

Thing is Truett has been a sponge of late and taken to calling Daf “baaaaaaabbbbbeee” in the way i call her when she’s across the room/hallway/hawker centre from a distance.  It’s only a matter of time – if we don’t stop – he’s gonna calling his friends mentally-handicapped individuals in the un-PC way.  If people ask, I’ll say something along the lines of how the nurses at Mt A thought he had failed the Oscar test and mentioned it to him repeatedly when he was under phototherapy. Poor boy.

3.  Must stop grinning and nodding approvingly when child does something awesome (but dangerous).

I’m a firm believer that parents should always think their kids are the most awesome (I know, i overuse the word. It’s an “honorable mention” sort of resolution to cut down on it) creatures to have roamed the earth, the finest species of mankind ever produced and vastly superior to all other children be it red or yellow black and white.

But when Tru attempts to fling himself off a 2m high platform and lands immaculately with a shoulder roll (that’s *how* parachutists do it, mate), one must not get carried away with thoughts of son being the incarnate of Maximus Decimus Meridius and do celebratory chariot race around the playground with him on piggy back.

That is because he may actually get injured or worse, die, although I do think its more important that what you do in life echoes in eternity!!

4. Must not play Winning Eleven/Football Manager/FIFA and leave kids unattended.

When you become a parent, you basically surrender all rights to personal rest and recreation. No afternoon naps, no late mornings, no movies, no GAMING.

So on the off-chance I get presented with the opportunity to cradle a Playstation 3 controller in the bosom of my fatherly being (ok, yucky expression), i unleash the repressed desires of my sub-thirty-year-old consciousness to get my GAME ON.

This happens on the weekly visit to Mother-in-law’s house, because Brother-in-law (BIL), despite being only a year younger, is very much single, certainly kidless, free from the shackles of feeds and woggly baby legs. As such his status enables him to be the proud owner of the holy trinity of gaming consoles – the PS3, the XBOX 360 and the Nintendo Wii.

The ideal is when everybody is around i.e.  the adult to baby ratio readjusted to a favourable 5:2 whereby I get to play reasonably undisturbed. The problem only arises in a 2:2 ratio where it becomes a rather iffy situation if the 2 adults are in question BIL  (player 1) and “superdad” a.k.a player 2.

BIL has a rather nifty stereo system hooked up to the gaming “altar” so it drowns out the sound of screaming kids in the adjacent room, not that I *ever* did that. I’m just saying it y’all.

5. Must not buy toys that promote either 300 B.C or 2010A.D violence.

It started off innocuously with two water pistols which i thought would be handy in giving me some added range for taking down those pesky ceiling lizards. However it also marked the introduction of “pulling the trigger”, “aiming”, and “shooting to KILL” to a nineteen-month old boy.

A visit to a friend’s house not too long after became the initiation to swords, then maces then death-by-steamrolling and finally, chainsaws. I’m not even joking about the use of chainsaws; without going into the details it was a game of “doctor” gone wrong – horribly wrong.

Therefore, Truett and Kirsten will play with cuddly bears, petite trucks and vegetarian dinosaurs at most.  That way they may secure a job in the United Nations or Green Peace. And we all know how important the United Nations are.

*****

So that’s my list of parenting resolutions. Feel free to be inspired. You’re welcome.

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kids in motion

The one where I tell you all about the zoo

January 29, 2010

I try not to inundate you with posts of banality like my kids going to the zoo or the loo to poo (too much Dr. Seuss) unless you’re into that sort of thing, then please drop me an email and I promise to flood your mailbox. But seeing that the kids just went on their first field trip to the zoo and seeing that given the lack of attractions here in Singapore, the zoo is something of a big deal, I am going to tell you all about it.

Like most zoos, there were lots of animals sitting around looking pretty stoned and more than a little bored. To be honest, I was a little disappointed I didn’t get to see any predatory action like those I’m accustomed to seeing on Nat Geo. Once I saw a lion ripping apart the spine of a wildebeest while it was still alive and squirming (in slow motion, no less). But the lions I saw up close all looked kind they couldn’t even take on an elderly deer with no legs. Tru threw them an obligatory glance and went back to digging crackers from his snack catcher while we were all like “Tru, look at the LIONS!”

this was the ostrich before it became lion food

the ostrich before it became lion food

The only animal he really liked were the hippos and it was mostly because he thought it was Barney. It was like being in Barneyland, except without the singing. Which makes it almost bearable.

Also, I just found out that they have a kickass water play area tucked neatly into a little corner of the zoo, in an area called kidzworld. It’s exactly like that home on the range song ~~where the buffalo roam and the deer and the antelope play~~. The animals don’t actually play in the water but they’re close enough for you to smell the horse sweat.

The absolute highlight was when the husband got completely drenched by a ginormous bucket of water that tips over every few minutes. And of course he had to be standing right beneath it at the exact moment it tipped. I couldn’t have timed it better myself if I tried.

I've got pretty big shoes to fill

I've got pretty big shoes to fill

Baby girl wasn’t particularly impressed by the animals but she started beaming when she saw the water fountains and sprinklers.

daddy says I look like a farmer but I think he means flower

daddy says I look like a farmer but I think he means flower

So that’s my day at the zoo. I hope you had fun too.

UPDATED: I was informed that the ostrich is in fact an emu. I’m not sure about that though. I see a bird with a large ass and it’s likely to be an ostrich. But I’m willing to compromise and call it a bird because I’m a blogger who stands for world peace. That way, we all win.

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Father Inc, stuff best described as not safe for parents

Now I can’t even fart in public anymore, not that I used to do it. I’m considerate that way.

January 28, 2010

If you know Daf and I personally or read this blog long enough, you would know that we were both classmates from the same university and took a course that landed many of my peers jobs in the media industry.

And apparently being young parents is a news angle because we get approached for soundbites more often then I would have liked.

Daphne has been in the news for her wisdom-in-a-neat-box quote of ” a wedding is but for a day, marriage is for a lifetime.” Hear, Hear.

We also (reportedly) beat the recession of late 2008-2009 by stocking up on expiring can food and a diet of spinach and tofu.

So some time back, she  did yet another email interview with a writer friend from a woman’s magazine which had to be weird because it was another of those too-much-information types.

The first signs of regret came quickly – a few weeks ago a colleague (more of an acquaintance actually, he was from the other side literally and figuratively speaking, but the devil is in the details and I don’t want to sin) came up to me out of the blue and said “Hey! I saw your photo in this woman’s magazine. Man, you looked different back then, dude.”

I mumbled something about putting the “fat” back  in “father” and made a quick escape, scrambling to recall which it magazine it was  and the context of the story.

Stepping into my boss’ office on the same day brought a cynical, split-second stare and a rhetorical “I read your article. Good job there.”

And the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back came when a colleague that sat right behind me (no escape!)  spun her chair around and blurted suddenly- “I saw your wedding photos! Man, i dig those suspenders. You looked different back then.” Incidentally, this was the same girl that declared my virility to the entire office when she found out that Daphne was pregnant with Kirsten less than six months after Truett was born. (Which was also why I was really keeping my fingers crossed during the recent pregnancy scare. I love them kids, but one at a time please.)

I mumbled something punny about “Dad’s the reason why” and headed off to the pantry pretending to make a drink -without my cup. Drats.

But there was no escaping the paparazzi and 2 days later I got a message on MSN.

“Read your article, good job dude. “

“Uh, yeah. Thanks. What the heck were you buying a woman’s magazine for anyway?”

“I clicked through a link on Asiaone.com, man. I thought it was about handjobs or something.”

By the mountains of Kilimanjaro, the story was online, on a major news site nonetheless. And totally searchable on Google if you key in the right words. Heck, we should have charged loading fees.

And if the camel’s back wasn’t broken (is there a gay joke in here somewhere?)  he was truly, completely severed into two when my mother started dishing out very descriptive advice on family planning and the host of contraceptives out there. Apparently she read the article too.

Note to all mothers, do your children a favour – avoid any description, not matter how matter-of-fact your execution is, avoid ANY description that conjure mental images of you getting it on with Dad. Just don’t do it. Please.

Well the fact is we’ve been bumping into people on the streets, shopping centres, parks that have been reading Mother, Inc. While no doubt Daphne can work the prose as a kickass writer, I wasn’t getting quite comfortable with the meet-and-greet thing. So, this will sound totally idiotic since we’re evidently not celebrities or anything but I’ve been feeling like I can’t even “let it rip” in public.  I’m just afraid people may be like, “hey you saw the guy that just farted, he’s actually the husband of Daphne from Mother, Inc. You know that blog with all that stuff about handjobs and getting it on.”

Sex does sell though (there, you’ve got the context of the interview) and given the rising divorce rates in Singapore, I suppose there’s no nobler cause than towards the building of strong marriages through some smokin’ hot sexytime.

You can quote me on that, thankyouverymuch.

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