The other day I was looking through my Facebook albums, more than aware that everyone else has albums entitled things like ‘Las Vegas 2010′ or ‘Mallorca 2007′ whilst mine consist of ‘Cov City vs Notts Forest’ and ‘Grandparents’ 50th Wedding Anniversary’. After glumly clicking through photo after photo of aged relative, I came across an album containing photos of my second son, Noah, when he’d just been born.

And then it struck me. All – sorry, most – newborn babies are ugly.

I mean, look at this. 

Man the guns, the aliens have invaded…

At the time I thought he was the most gorgeous thing ever. I sent this photo to friends and family, for crying out loud; who, when they received the above image on their phones, must have given a small audible shriek, covered their mouth with their free hand and held their mobile at arms length pinched between thumb and forefinger.

I know, I should give the kid a break. At the time this photo was taken he was barely an hour old, and had just been squeezed through a birth canal. I can imagine my face wouldn’t look too peachy if I’d just forced myself through a drainpipe. But, in the cold light of day, it’s not a great photo. I guess love really is blind.

Fortunately, he grew into his face, and now he’s the most gorgeous 2 year-old I’ve ever seen. That is, until I write a blog post in another two years.

Disclaimer: This is in no way directed at two of my close friends who have just become parents for the second time. I haven’t seen their baby yet, but know he’ll be gorgeous.

An imperfect man,

Trying to guide his children,

Loving them always.

I’d love to hear from the inner poet in you. Can you come up with a parenting focused haiku? If so, post it in the comments below and gain the love and adoration of my thousands of readers.

photo courtesy of chillihead

Don’t worry. I’ll be back.

Primo does not like being picked up late

Segundo wanted to go on an adventure. “Let’s take the bus daddy, when we go pick up Primo let’s take the bus!” He was excited and it was raining so why not. We could ride the bike and he could sit in his warm trailer dry and happy as a clam while I pedaled into the blustery mist of swirling seas, or something like that. No taking the bus sounded great so I checked in with the trip planner and found our best route. A simple matter of taking the 4 bus to the train and the train to the school, we can do this.

Step one, get on the right number bus going in the wrong direction. At first I was mad that Tri-met’s trip planner lead me astray but after thinking about it for a bit I realized my error. Getting on the bus that was going in the wrong direction from where I wanted to go should have been my first clue but I just thought it looped around.

Step two, Choose another bus that will get you there on time. The 75 bus would still get us where we needed to go and might even get us to the train on time. The bus was early picking us up but the driver waited at the next stop for 2 minutes because she was ahead of schedule. We made it to the train just as the max was pulling away. That train would have put us right in front of the school just as Primo was done but instead we waited another 15 minutes for the next train.

Step Three, get off the train one stop too early. Flustered and a little wet I thought we were at the school but we weren’t. We had to walk 8 more blocks to get to the stop we should have gotten off at and at this point we were 20 minutes late picking up the boy. He was not happy but at least I wasn’t the last parent there. His teacher had a good laugh at my retelling of the story and Primo soon warmed to the idea of a trip back home on the bus. We stopped for some lunch and by the time we were walking the last bit to our house we were all soaked but enjoying the adventure we had originally set out on.

[ click the image to enlarge ]

Oh how they sing. Oh how they dance. You gave it as a gift, not knowing any better. Or someone else gave it to your kid, not knowing that it could ultimately make you want to stab pens in your ears or kill yourself. But whatever you do, don’t do these things! There is another way…

Sometimes toy murder is necessary. Let’s give our consciences a lollipop though and call it something else, “murder” is such a harsh word. Something like: electronic toy euthanasia. Or better yet, “assisted malfunction.” Paging Dr. Toyvorkian!

I’ve included some higher-risk emergency methods, just in case. However, bear in mind that “accidents” are risky because they’re caused by people, and people happen to be things that kids can point fingers at. Tiny, quivering, accusatory fingers. A real jury is nothing compared to the guilt lasers that shoot out of your kid’s big, watery eyes of misery and betrayal. Better for it to look like a natural toy death. No one to blame! And your child could also be a lot less likely to want another one since the last one “broke.”

I know what you’re thinking. Deceiving your kids is generally not a good way to parent, but sometimes you have to choose between the lesser of two evils: A) deception, or B) high-strung parenting brought about by musical and animatronic torture, accompanied by restless sing-songy nightmares. Your choice.

And remember, despite how amazing the Toy Story films are, toys are not actually alive. Relax, take a deep breath, and grab a hammer.

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In other toy-related news…

The Ways Toys Can Suck for a Parent
Know thy enemy.

Toys Make You a Singing Psycho
Apparently the topic of insanity-inducing toys it trending right now in the social network of my home.

New Hazard Signs for Parents
Sort of toy related. Maybe only 10-20%, sure, but that’s something!
 

When I was still a bachelor, sleeping in my room is really great because I can stay to bed till sunrise. Lights are off and I can surely sleep more than eight hours. That’s my life before.

Now that I’m a father slacking on bed is not good. I can really now understand that parents sure does make a big sacrifice, especially with their time of sleeps.