How to be a Dad

For my notebook today, I decided to make a video. I did this for many reasons, not the least of which was time, but also because I wanted you to hear my thanks for all that you do, dear reader, directly from me.

It’s both remarkable and inspiring what you guys do, even the trolls. Writing a comment doesn’t just happen. Sharing our stuff on Facebook isn’t by accident. So, please… know that it keeps us going to hear from you when we’ve had 30 hours of sleep between the two of us for over a week.

Feeling like someone is listening is one of the most profound feelings a writer/artist/creative can have.

OUR LINKS – PICK YOUR POISON
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I don’t want this to come off like a humblebrag, but inevitably someone will accuse us of it. We’re busy. We’re more alive than we’ve ever been and probably tireder than ever before (with the exception of the birth of our respective sons).

So, all this is meant to say that we’re working hard to try new things and bring you more fun stuff to interact with…

But we want to hear what you think and where you’d like to see this train go. Write a comment below and tell us. We mean it.

Valentine’s Day can be tough to pull off for any couple. But when you have kids? Yikesberries. So, let us help you put the spice back in your romance with 3 easy tips. We call it SPICEMANCE.

Ladies, this one’s for you, because frankly, you are in the driver’s seat. Guys, share with it your gals or just laugh until you hurt something.

Could I look any more like a weird sex guru person? Nope.

We originally titled this video “Foreplay for Moms” but then hastily realized we get might get a very different crowd to our site. HA! Who are we kidding?! We’re not above that. Bring ‘em on.

This is our first official video, and there are plans for almost 100 more over the next year.

But we need your help. Please post this to your Facebooks and Tweetsausages. Subscribe to our channel. Like the video. We’ll only be able to keep this going if we get the impression you guys want it around.

So, welcome to HowToBeADad.com, Version 2.0.

Have a romantic weekend of semi-epic proportions.

Much love,

Charlie

Having trouble with the video? Click here!
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Instructional Diagrams
Need more advice? Try these… at your own risk.
 

The apocalypse is here. Right now! While you’re reading this, this very second. It’s happening… #happeningrightnow

Probably everyone reading this grew up with TV. And probably had a “whaaaaaaatever” response to the phrase “it’ll rot your brain.” I did. And my brain is not rotten. At least let’s pretend it isn’t for argument’s sake. Anyways… I’ve stood in parks with 9 out 10 people glued to the glow of their smartphones, and everyday I order my coffee in cafes filled with people who aren’t talking to each other, but are, ironically, each probably communicating through the Internet to a tremendous number of people all over the country and planet. I’ve seen the top ten videos on YouTube and thought, “Wow! Now THAT will rot your brain.” I’m even writing this on a laptop with an iPod plugged in for file transport, a trackball (cuz that’s how I roll, har har), a set of earbuds connecting me to my iPhone, its music and all of its blooped notifications. Pure brain rottage, I admit.

The future is now! But this now-future is kind of scary, even as “plugged in” as I am. To see a kid throw a tantrum over not being allow to play with a computing tablet while an ice cream cone melts next to them unattended, unlicked… I think, “WTF? Seriously!?! Gimme that ice cream before it’s ruined you, tiny soulless android!” I try to keep my kids from becoming small-to-moderately-large soulless androids everyday. It’s hard! It’s an uphill battle, but I try.

So, just so you know, the @pocalypse has arrived. Do what you can. The world is coming to an end. #apocalypse

-Andy

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Since the World Is Ending
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You Must Master Dumb Before You Can Master Smart
(Gong!)
 

…it happens. It’s a fact of life. I wish we could say this chart was only for parents doing mountains of their kid’s or teen’s laundry, but we have to admit it… this chart is for everyone. Younger and older, male and female. It’s true. …it happens. And not just to little kids’ tighty-whities after an atomic wedgy. It’s not just about g-strings, either. Because even parachute-pant-style boxers are not safe.
 

Also! Our Valentine’s Day Gift to You

Romance tips you won’t ever forget.

You’re welcome.

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More Instructional Diagrams?
We’ve got loads more. Some of them even have the word “loads” in their titles.
 

“Daddy… Wet’s pway One-Two-Fwee, okay? OKAY! One! Two! NINE!”
-Lucas (2011, 2 years old)
 

Games with young kids = their rules. It’s okay though, I fully expect to lose every game. Always. I lost, so what! At least he’s learning his numbers and I’m laughing my ass off.
 

My Kid Just Said
The Facebook Page is waiting for your kid quotes, too.
 

They say when you have a near death experience, your life flashes before your eyes. I’ve never had that. Don’t mistake my meaning though, I’ve had near death experiences aplently. Hair standing on end, mouth flooded with the metallic taste of adrenaline, testicles making an emergency evacuation up inside my body. Yes. But never the >>>> fast-forward mental recap of all my wanderings in the world.

This story isn’t about me though. And it is. Any story about your kids is always about you in some way, isn’t it? Sometimes in every way. This is about two of my sons, Max and Cody. It was eight years ago, when they were only 3 and 5 years old.

They’re standing there dripping wet in the kitchen. Dripping of pool water. Dripping of guilt. The drops are taking a year to hit the ground as I take in what I’m seeing. Max is wet from head to toe and Cody is drenched up to his chest.

Cody and Max, 6 and 8 years old here.

Like Sherlock Holmes deducing a scene from pure observation, I saw in my mind’s eye what had happened: when I was fixing something in the apartment, they snuck out and went to the pool. Cody had undone the latch on the pool gate. He could climb like a monkey and had reached the five-foot-high latch. He had obviously watched me undoing it before. I had seen him studying me. Absorbing. Learning. I didn’t worry though. Oh, I worried all the time. Every parent does to one degree or another. But I didn’t choose to focus on that thing, that moment, that pool gate latch.

I’m standing frozen in the kitchen, my numb hands clutching a plate, as the two of them shuffle their feet nervously. I ask the question that I already know the answer to, “How did you guys get soaked?” My tight throat is making my voice sound funny. “We… uh… we were at the pool,” Cody says. The pause sends lighting down my spine.

Oh my god I already knew what had happened and I didn’t want to be right! MAX WAS ONLY THREE!!! I asked what happened in the safest tone I could manage, so they wouldn’t try to lie.

“Max went down the steps into the water.” My breathing stops as he continues, “He was under the water for a long time and then I knew he couldn’t get out so I went in and grabbed his hair and pulled him out.” As he’s speaking, both their short lives are flashing before my eyes.

Is there a way to die when you hear something and still be alive? Yes. I tell you yes, there is. I choked back the tidal wave of self-loathing and bit down on tears before they could be seen by my boys, and just hugged them as hard as I could without letting them know how dire the moment was, hoping they couldn’t feel the chill emanating from the ball of ice in my stomach.

From that moment and into the rest of that night, I was in a sort of shock at what had almost happened. As I’m writing this, I’m almost unable to see the screen with any clarity, this story is really rough to tell. I’m so glad to have my sons. My heart goes out to every parent who has suffered the most devastating blow life can deliver to a parent. Losing your child.

I bumped into an older dad who had just lost his child a few months after it had happened. He was in a living nightmare. I could see the pain in his eyes as we passed each other with token greetings. He turned to me. “Hey Andy. … …” I stood and waited, calm and silent. I wanted to hug-crush him, but his pain was his own, it belonged to him, and I respected it. “Andy, you have kids, right? Two?” I said yes. He nodded for a long moment. Then he patted my arm and seemed to lift himself a little as he walked away, reassured that the world was not a flaming ball of s##t waiting to burn and swallow each and every one of us at any second. I felt proud that having my boys, just having them, and them being okay, seemed to help this poor, devastated man.

My survivor, me and my hero.

So, Cody and Max were having it out about something in front of me yesterday. They’re always at each other’s throats, but, Cody chuckled “Shut up, I saved your life,” punching him in the arm. Max chuckled too but there was a loud silence to it all, a soberness. We were all together, here and now, looking back on a funeral that never took place.

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I normally answer back to nearly every comment on my posts, but I won’t on this one. Please understand. But know that I read and appreciate each and every one.

When you read this, Cody, my amazing son, as you most certainly will one day, please know that I thank you for saving Max’s life with every fiber of my being. And for saving mine. From what it would have been.

With a world driven by image and perfection and unattainable Photoshopped standards of beauty, it’s uncomfortable for us to imagine the magnitude of what a woman may feel she had to “sacrifice” by “ruining her body” in order to have a baby. The statement in this picture offers a different way to think about it though.

Tigers are beautiful.

We recently posted this on our Facebook Page and the reaction was so positive we had to share it on our website as well. Though our Facebook page has a rad community and is the best way to follow us, we also know our website gets so many more visitors and this message just needed to be seen far and wide. We’re honored to share and be a part of this message of impassioned encouragement, recognizing mothers and the beauty of motherhood. Whoever originally conceived this brilliant message, we thank you!

With or without stripes, mothers are tigers. And tigers are beautiful.

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“Instructional” Sounds So Boring
But these Instructional Diagrams are the opposite of boring.
 

Brain-Dead Teen, Only Capable Of Rolling Eyes And Texting, To Be Euthanized

I saw some teenagers tonight while I was getting some butt cream for my toddler son. It reminded me what an idiot I could be and how obnoxious I must have been at that age. Not sure why I employed the past tense there, but I digress.

I am both excited and terrified of what my son will be like as a teenager. He’s such an impressive personality sometimes. But will he end up following in my pimply, gawky oversized shoes? I was total eye broccoli. Forget the candy.

Or will he be a rebellious, back-talking freight train of hormones like most of the teens I see? Unable to render emotions let alone manners towards the people in his life.

I’m hoping he will be an upstanding citizen of the world who loves art and athletic activities equally. Someone who fights for the underdog and leads his peers with compassion and dignity. A gentleman.

Bwahahahahahahaha… Is there a chance in hell? Maybe.

If you could give one piece of advice on raising a teenager, what would it be? Post it in the comments below, would ya?

Alleviate my fears with some digital wisdom.

 

The nighttime abuse we take as parents is a testament to how much we love heading to bed with the baby on board. Co-sleeping is special or at least necessary for some, but a lot of people don’t know that it can also occasionally be a good way to get a bloody nose or an impressive black eye. You don’t need a kick to head to figure this one out, but it would help to illustrate the point.

Because I get such a kick (pun intended) out of all the joke Chuck Norris expressions on the interwebs, I have to add that if the baby depicted in this Instructional Diagram were actually a baby version of Chuck Norris, instead of waking up abruptly, this roundhouse kick to the head would have put him to sleep forever. Ha ha! Okay sorry, I’m done.

My wife and I have loved having our little one in bed with us. Despite all the punches and kicks and scratches we’ve received from our little sleep-fighting lad. Hmmmmm… That makes me think of something: remember, parents, sleep safely with your baby. I’m not just talking about your baby, I mean you as well! Maybe if you slept with a helmet that has a face-shield? It might not be as uncomfortable as you’d think! Maybe.

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See All Of Our Sleep Positions At least the ones we’ve illustrated so far.
 

Sometimes things are captured on video that make your heart throw up inside your brain. It makes you wonder how humanity has survived as long as it has.

We posted this to our Facebook Page the other day, thinking people would be screaming, “what horrible parents that kid must have.” And then the comments took some interesting turns.

We know people lose track of their kids. We know there isn’t such a thing as perfect parenting. But allowing your kid to almost ride the escalator in the sky? Then, deep down or plain as day, we all know we’ve failed or at least rubbed elbows with the ultimate fail as parents.

This could have been any parent. Maybe they’re oblivious, absorbed in the sale section of some store or junior was lured away by a flashing light. We don’t know. But what we do know, is that some of you are the “catchers” in life, the people and parents doing good deeds because they desperately need doing. Trying. Striving. Catching.

We salute you. Whether you are catching your own kids or someone else’s. You are heroes.

Have a great weekend, heroes.

There has been a lot of controversy around breastfeeding lately.

Retail stores have told people they couldn’t do it within their walls. Formula companies implied that formula was a better route. It’s like breastfeeding is being silently marketed as obscene or something.

With all the swirling hatred on the topic, I thought my son and I should share our thoughts…

BREASTFEEDING:
GOT A PROBLEM? SUCK IT.

For those who have trouble producing milk or choose not to breastfeed, this isn’t directed at you. This is for the idiots who have a “problem” with breastfeeding and get all bent out of shape about something that women have been doing for eons.

I thought this photo of my wife and son would be most appropriate for you ridiculous few. Enjoy.

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Need more boobie posts? Then, you’ll like this link a whole lot.

INFOGRAPHIC HELP Because you’re not getting any stupider about parenting, unless you look at those.
 

“I’m going to go change my tampon and then I’ll feel a bit better about life.” -Avara

 

You may feel foolish at first, but you’ll probably smile or burst out laughing. You’ll see. YOU’RE FIST BUMPING US (or each other) THROUGH THE INTERNET! And we think that’s almost as rad as teleportation. Except not as useful, probably.

The Fist Bump
Click to enlarge

 
It’s easy. The FBFB can be done on any screen, so you really don’t have any excuse not do it! (But be gentle!)

Whatever your thoughts are about this interactive gesture, it’s undeniable that it’s here to stay. Until it gets old and dated and is then replaced with something else, of course. But for now…

A fist bump says, “Hey! _____ is amazing, right? Yes. We both agree that _____ is indeed amazing.” All in one convenient, economical motion. Winking can say the same thing, maybe. But winking can also wind you up in other meanings and messes. A fist bump is clear, easy and is also more hygienic and energy-saving than a high-five.

Why???

A fist bump can also simply say, “Hey, rad friend!” That’s where this interactive Instructional Diagram comes into play. It’s our way of saying, “You’re rad. Thanks!” It’s also our way of giving you the chance to use it and say the same thing to someone you think is amazing. People need to hear they’re amazing more. Plus fist bumping through the Internet is super crazy fun! C’mon, try it! No one has to know!

SEND US YOUR PHOTO!

Send us a photo of you fist bumping our FBFB and we’ll feature our favorites on our Facebook Page! Email: fbfb@howtobeadad.com To see the photos we’ve posted CLICK HERE!

=@@=
Charlie & Andy

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Follow Us on Facebook If you like the Facebook Fist Bump you should Like our Page. It likes you, too.

More Instructional Diagrams One is never enough.
 

The Boob Decision

Moms tend to be beautiful, near-magical creatures. But when it comes down to a heated breastfeeding debate, sometimes we’re left with just the creature part. But this isn’t about that, we’ll leave that one to better writers who are actually women.

Mothering.com ran a design contest for a universally recognizable symbol for breastfeeding to replace the controversial icon of a bottle. Above is the winning design in use, plus some funny submissions. Click to enlarge. The Promise

Pregnant with Lucas, Lizzie decided she was going to “give him the boob” and wanted to try for 3 months. I said, “Wow, that’s going to be so great, Darlin’. Go you!” That was what I said in an alternate reality. What I said in this reality was honestly more like “Really? That long!?!” Insensitive and selfish, I know, but she saw my mopey, sad face and promised it would not be more than 3 months. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Okay, I’m done laughing bitterly.

Gentlewoman, Start Your Boobies!

Breastfeeding got off to a rough start. Ahhhhh, the elusive proper latch! The stress, the tears, the freaky pumps, the Internet, the late-night calls to the midwife. Tough.

I would try not to look too alarmed as I watched her pull her breast away from her chest like a rubber toy and cram it in his mouth. I once (and only once) made the mistake of suggesting, “I think it’s more about bringing him to your boob and less about stretching your boob across the room to him.” Despite my pointers, she got it in no time. Something else happened though. The boobs became a “off limits” to me.

Milk and Cookies The good ol’ days. I may be copping a feel in this very photo, when I still could.

There is no sweeter cookie than the cookie you can’t have. Soft, creamy cookies… Cookies with cute little candies in the middle… Mmmmm… Huh? What!?! Sorry, got lost there for a sec. I just wanted them sooooooo bad! I even resorted to covert operations at night, but was finally caught squeezing the Charmin. Her sleeping hand would rise up and remove mine like an automated robotic arm. Sigh.

So, when that 3-month marker was approaching, I’ll admit I was starting to do calendar checks. Yep. I’m boobie greedy. Let’s consider that an established fact and get on with it.

“Sooooo… One more week until you stop breastfeeding, eh? How’s the weaning going?” These kinds of questions were normally greeted with The Look. The one that says you will not be alive for much longer if you keep going where you’re going. So, I would move on to another subject in the interest of continuing one of my favorite pastimes: staying alive.

Let’s fast-forward. With Lucas still latched onto my wife’s breasts, three months came and went with new assurances of “only 6 months,” enough time to wean gradually. Then the 6-month promise showed up late to the game and was substituted with a 9-month promise, and since the 1-year marker was so close, the 9-month promise was forgotten about entirely. Blah blah blah, then there we were, 2 years later!

Whining and Weaning Such an image of beauty and love.

After all my nagging, Lizzie finally told me that I had to understand that, to her, her bazoongies were sources of food now and just not allowed for any sextracurricular activity. She needed to understand that telling a man that something that was sex-related was also now food-related just isn’t a strong argument. I still wanted ‘em! She may or may not have shot me with breast milk at that point.

I always understood how special and important the nursing was to her and the lad, it was beautiful. However, after a certain point, it was rough for me to see the life being literally sucked from my wife through her nipples. Those were her words, not mine. She knew she needed to stop, but loved it so much she dreaded the end. I had a clearer conscience knowing that my boob-desperate pestering was mixed with care and concern that was actually valid.

When Lizzie finally did stop breastfeeding, after Lucas’ turned two, she said, “You know! The funny thing is, I think I could have easily just stopped a year ago.”

Not smiling, I replied, “Heh heh. Yeah. That’s funny. Hilarious.”

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Speaking of Breastfeeding
Maybe anything is even more amazing when it’s upside-down.
 

This guy beats us even on our best mornings. Behold, the majesty of a regular dude with Jedi powers…

As the video description says, “With great power eventually comes great laziness.” So true. I am incredibly talented and hugely successful, and all I want to do is sleep right now.

I just keep imagining the ease with which I could accomplish diaper changes. That lightsaber would also come in real handy to open the “plastic” casing around toys and accessories. Have you ever tried to open the plastic around toys and baby equipment? Those suckers are made from a carbonite-like material. Someone please just get me a lightsaber. I’ll be good with it. Promise.

Happy Friday!

Enjoy,
Master Charlie of the Jedi Order

PS: To the commenter who said I put too many photos of myself in my posts… how about this one: CHARLIE

[ click the image to enlarge ]

Everyone poops. Even superheroes. Though, having been a bit of a collector in my youth, I can tell you it’s not something that you’ll ever see depicted in the colorful storyboard format of a comic book or its blockbuster movie adaptation. “Hey, Alfred! Can you hand me a roll of bat-wipe? I’m out. The curry last night must not have agreed with Robin.” Yeeeeeeah. Kind of kills the heroic image.

Honestly, now that I think about it, the idea of practically any superhero “dropping the sidekicks off at the pool” equals instantaneous laughter for me. But we’ve taken this crazy thought process further. What if superheroes had babies? If their costumes, vehicles and lairs are as wild and amazing as they are, what would their parent-gear look like? All babies are already born with the super power of pooping, but in this Instructional Diagram we’re taking a look at what superhero diaper containment units would look like.

Can you guess which superhero these diaper pails belong to?

For the comic snobs: there’s one in here which could kind of go two ways, between two possible comic characters, but I’ll give you a hint: there are three Marvel Comics characters and three DC Comics characters here.

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You Will Laugh Picture any superhero dealing with any of these and if you don’t laugh, you’re a supervillain.

Speaking of Poop Who likes chocolate!?!
 

“I tried underwear on Lucas today. I thought it would be a step in the direction of potty training. It turned out to be a step in the direction of getting poop on the floor.” -Elizabeth

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Previous “My Wife Just Said…”
 

Ed. Note: Even though Ford Motor Company paid for our travel and accommodations, I was not compensated in any other manner for my time or to write this Shakespearean-esque genius post. My opinions posted here are my own. Not Andy’s. But maybe my wife’s, I guess. If she says so.

Someone needs to tell me how to tell time. For a moment, I thought I was still in my twenties…

I recently found out a few of my ex-girlfriends have had babies. Not together, mind you. But if having a son has proved to me how old my body has gotten and how long I’ve avoided becoming dead, hearing that the girl I lost my virginity to/with/near has had a child has put things into an even more interesting perspective…

Growing up, we never feared the end. Maybe just the middle. Middle age ‘meant to us the death of our creativity. It signaled the final countdown to losing ourselves in the machinations of society and the race we would run against our hairlines, our free time, our sense of individuality.

Fore: 1st Class. Background: Coach. Spot the difference?

Is it all over for me?

And so it was with that feeling that I left Los Angeles to go to Detroit on Ford Motor Company’s dime on another wayward road trip with my comrade, Andy Herald.

For some reason all our “adventures” start at 4am or earlier. WTFord. Especially nasty for Andy, who’d just gotten sick. I drove to his place and together we headed to the airport with a box of tissues and a cabby who liked weaving into oncoming traffic as he turned up the volume knob of his financial advice show on his AM radio. LAX was unusually packed. Every flight was filled to the brim to the point I thought we might Buddy-Holly-ize.

We hit Detroit pavement in the early evening and had just enough time for me to throw my stuff onto the bed, and run to catch the shuttle to our first dinner. We arrived to the Henry Ford Museum for… we didn’t really know what. A dinner. Inside the main hall.

Like the Blues Brothers, only no dancing & singing numbers. Yet.

Let me tell you that it was nothing short of spectacular. The Rosa Parks bus. Kennedy’s final presidential limo. Edison’s signature in cement. I could go on but I’m neither the History Channel nor am I learned enough to understand it all. Andy and I just kept saying, if only our sons were here. So we filled in for them. We snuck into every corner, played with train controls and tapped people on the shoulders and disappeared behind the Wienermobile.

Ford invited us because they had some interesting news. They no longer wanted to be known as just a car company. They were becoming, essentially, a technology company, which for us as nerdtrons totally spoke our language.

The next two days were a blur of technology, talking and cars, including a 5am breakfast (which for us was in fact 2AM), a press conference about their new Fusion mid-sized sedan, going to Ford HQ to get the inside scoop about their digital design process and meeting Scott Monty, the social czar for all things Ford.

There wasn’t a whole lot of time for exploring Detroit but every time I looked out the window, I saw a lot of abandoned buildings. It was like watching “2012″ and being that it’s 2012, it felt eerily foretelling. The town had gone past the brink in many ways.

I sat in the chaos of the auto show hall (NAIAS 2012) reeling for several minutes. Everything buzzed and lit up but outside it was gray. Outside, people were being foreclosed on. They didn’t have jobs. For a good long time, I just looked around and tried to adjust.

The third day, we boarded our plane to come home. I could see those rundown homes as we took off into the air. That feeling of the nigh-end hit me once again. Have we hit our breaking point as a country? Have I? Are we in the Middle Ages again? Am I?

Flying 500mph & all he wants is Justin Bieber. On repeat.

I looked over at Andy who was fast on his phone, despite pleas by attendants. He was writing, calculating. He was crafting his takeover from an iPhone. Of the world, of course…

There it was.

The solution had been there all along. We’d all been struggling under the weight of it. We’ve been too tired to see it. I’d sloughed off some horrible shoulder chips and gray clouds for long enough to see that we needed only to decide to innovate. That we still had a choice. That maybe 2012 was the end of the world, the old broken down world.

Seeing my girlfriends of days past was a reminder of a time when I could reinvent myself depending on the day or the weather or the whim. I could skip school and walk into a different campus to see friends and pretend I was someone I’d never ever been. I was aspiring to be grown up and yet never wanted to be one. I was an infinite equation in my own human way.

Ford’s doing it. The innovation of youth. For the first time, in a very long time and despite not being a “car guy”, I’m excited for the American automotive industry and the charge we’re going to lead. And maybe a bit for myself…