Tag: humour

Bedtime WTF Awards!

 

 

Go_the_fuck_to_sleep

 

One night, I was listening to Samuel L Jackson reading Go The F**k to Sleep, with K. Great story, highly recommended.  B must have been listening secretly and taking notes. That night’s Bedtime WTF Award nominees:

1) I put J on the floor in B’s room, and attempt to change B into his PJs. When I have him down to his diaper, he jumps up and starts doing laps around J.
Me – ‘Chill out! You need to calm down, it’s bedtime!’
B – ‘It’s not bedtime. It’s wake up and play cars time!’
I get him changed and settled. But then he gets on the floor and starts playing with a school bus:

Me – ‘OK, time to get into bed.’
B – ‘But the bus is just going to Ontario.’
Huh? While I’m looking at him confused, he gets up, pats J on the head, calls her a ‘handsome girl’, and gets into bed…..

2) but before I can leave, he hops out and starts screeching. Like loud, obnoxious, high pitched screeching:
Me – ‘Stop that!!’
B – ‘Does it hurt your ears?’
Me – ‘Yes!!’ He picks up a toy ladder and starts banging his bed with it.
B – ‘Does that hurt your ears?’
Me – ‘No.’
B – ‘So I can keep doing it?’
Me – ‘What? No! It’s time to go to bed!’

3) J is crying now, so we leave and close his door. B starts screaming frantically that he has to go potty. He never wants to use the potty, but what am I going to say? I let him out, and off he goes. I go back to J. B is quiet for a few minutes. I start to change her into her PJs, then all of the sudden:
B – ‘Daddy! I’m pooping!’
I turn around, and B is walking towards me, bow legged, like he just got off a horse, with his diaper in his hand! I run to him:
Me – ‘No, you have to go in the potty!’
I get to him, and look down his pants expecting the worst……but nothing. Phew! Glad I avoided that mess.
B – ‘I pooped in the potty! I get a treat!’
Well this just keeps getting better, right? No mess, and he went in toilet? Sweet! So I go to his potty to check…..and nothing. Well, nothing but a roll of toilet paper which he unrolled and jammed in it!

4) B refuses to go to bed, and STILL says that he needs to use the potty. OK, whatever. J is still screaming, and half in her PJs, so I leave him again. And again, more silence for a few minutes. I get J changed and settled, and go check on him. B is sitting on his potty, grinning, with his pants and the potty toilet seat on his head. It looked like a ghetto tophat. Or like something a princess would wear to a wedding.

 

By {{{1}}} (Flickr: Lesser royals) [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Actually, B’s hat was more stylish

5) I get B dressed, and he goes back to his room. He starts whining for his toy police car that he likes to takes to bed, and tells me that it’s downstairs. I go downstairs, he follows. I look around, no luck. Then B tells me it’s in our bed. Upstairs we go. I look around our room, nothing. B starts crying. I walk by the bathroom, and notice the shower curtain is pulled back. The police car is in the tub.
B -‘Why’s my police car taking a bath?’

tub 6)

He goes back to his room. I leave, he’s cool for a while. Then he starts screaming for me, so I check on him again:
Me – ‘What’s wrong?’
B (looks at my feet) – ‘Where are your socks?’
Me – ‘I took them off, my feet were hot.’
B – ‘I need socks. My feet are hot.’
Me – ‘No you don’t, and no they aren’t.’
B – ‘Is a spider wearing my socks?’

And I, as usual, have no idea what that means.
Tonight’s winner – we’re going to need more toilet paper, so maybe Shopper’s Drug Mart?

Tonight’s loser – Me

Any Given Sunday

 

B's ticket for the game.

B’s ticket for the game.

 

No doubt, one of the cool things about being a parent is exposing your children to those things that you enjoy. You devout a lot of attention to their interests and activities, so it’s fun to hang out with them every once in a while doing something that you like. Me? I like sports. Basketball, football and baseball mainly. I’ve been pretty excited since my kids’ births to be able to take them to some games with me.

Last year, an opportunity came up to go the last game at Ivor Wynne Stadium. The Hamilton Ticats (of the CFL) played there, and were moving into a brand new stadium that they were having built. Figured that it would be dope experience for B.

One day, I’m sure that he’ll thank for me for taking him…..not that day, though. .Here are the Sportscentre highlights:

Pre-Game: While holding his hand walking to our seats, his little hand started pulling mine to his face, and then to his nose. So I could pick his nose for him. Gross. I pull our hands down, we keep walking for a bit. Out of nowhere, some lady yells at us “His pants!” I look down, his pants are around his ankles. How long they were like that, no clue.

First Quarter: B is sort of into the game for about two minutes, then wants popcorn, and only wants popcorn. I give in, get us some. He tells me that he’s going to eat it all, and spends the rest of quarter hogging it.

Second Quarter: B wants to go home by now. However, he does ask me at one point why the game is stopped. I tell him there’s a timeout. In B’s world, a timeout means that you’ve done something bad, and you need to sit on the stairs or something. B is really interested as to the reason why the ‘football man’ got a timeout, and what he did to get it. I try to explain the different meaning to him, but he doesn’t get it. Even that night, hours later before bed, he asked me why the football man was bad. I gave up, just told him he gave another man an ‘ow boo boo’.

This ow boo boo would be timeout worthy.

This ow boo boo would be timeout worthy.

Third/Fourth Quarter: Treats and a noisemaker work for a bit, but B really wants to go home. Eventually he gives up asking. Then he decides in the pouring rain, freezing cold, and among like 20 something thousand screaming people, to curl up and go to sleep. Stays asleep until we leave.

Post-game: While walking out, he sees an ambulance. Starts freaking out excitedly at the ambulance. Later, when asked what his favorite part of the game was, he replied ‘the ambulance!’

We also thought that it be fun for him if we took the “Ticat Express” bus to and from the game. On the bus ride home, at every stop, he asked me why we had stopped, and I would give him the same answer (a red light). Finally, I get tired of him asking:

B – ‘Why are we stopped for?’

Me – ‘Why do you think we’re stopped?’

B – ‘Are cows are crossing the road?’

Me – ‘Uh, no, there aren’t any cows.’

Long silence….

B – ‘Are there goats?’

Guess I shouldn’t have asked.

 

Anyway at least the ambulance was memorable for him. He’ll thank me for that one day.

PANTS

Kids Say The Realest Things

Bill_cosby_1969

 

Remember that show, where Bill Cosby would talk to some lil’ children, and the kids would say the most random things? Sometimes, that stuff was hilarious, just straight jokes. I used to think that the kids must have been actors or something. However, I understand now that, nah, they weren’t actors. Just from talking to B, and then being around other kids (birthday parties, school,  sports etc.  You know,  those places that you probably wouldn’t be around very much if you didn’t have kids that  you had to take there), you realize that children are….random.  Sometimes (OK, a lot of the time), I have no clue WTF B is talking about.  I remember one time, when B was two, almost three years old.  K was at her baseball game, and B wasn’t feeling it when I was telling him that, so we got into an argument about it:

B- ‘Where’s mommy?’

Me- ‘I told you, she’s at a baseball game.’

B- ‘No! She’s at work!!’

Me – ‘What? I never said that. She’s playing baseball.’

B – ‘No! She’s at work!’

Me – ‘No!’

B – ‘ YES!’

Me – ‘Ok ok, she’s at work.’

B – ‘Daddy? Where’s mommy?’

Me – ‘She’s at work!!!’

B – ‘No! She’s playing baseball.’

Me – ‘ARRGH!’

B – ‘Daddy?’

Me – ‘Yes!?’

B – ‘Are you mad?’

Sigh.

No B, I wasn’t mad. Thanks for the Cosby moment, though.

 

 

Bedtime WTF Awards!

 

First post! I will get things poppin’ with an ongoing problem in our house – the bedtime routine.

As a three year old, B was your typical three year old boy. Or so I am told anyway.  Before having kids, I wasn’t really up on how toddlers were.  Getting him to go to bed varies in levels of sucktacularness and ridiculousness each night. The highest level warranted their own awards, which I call the Bedtime WTF Awards. For example, one night, here were the nominees:

1) B is screaming for help. I go to check on him. As I open his door, he sprints by like Usain Bolt, stops on a dime at his bed, grabs a book and flings it across the room like a discus. He then goes “Please get my book, daddy!”

2) Later, B is screaming and banging his door, I check on him again:

B (tears running down his face, sobbing) – ‘Your hair is on my door. Get it.’

I don’t have hair. I fake wipe the door.

B (sobbing more) – ‘No! The other side of the door!’

More fake wiping.

B (voice suddenly normal) – ‘Put the hair in your pocket! Will you put it in the garbage? For the garbage truck? What colour’s the garbage truck?’

3) Later, yet more screaming, I go to his room again:

Me – ‘What’s wrong now?’

B- ‘The cows outside. They’re mooing. The mooing is scaring me!’

Me – ‘We don’t live on a farm. There are no cows outside!’

And the winner is…no one.

The loser? Me……

.stick1

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