Go with the flow

In martial arts you learn to move without intent and to be connected to everything while being attached to nothing. You learn to hit without hitting. 

Using no way as way, having no limitation as limitation. - Bruce Lee

(this photo was taken a year ago…I would like the record to show my son is still very much alive)

These same ideas can be applied to parenting. Some parents (usually of the mom variety) will say this is just a lazy attempt to avoid planning. To that I will very maturely say, “I know you are but what am I?”

Tonight I was presented with a moment that demonstrated how powerful this concept of going with the flow can be. About a year ago the fam was at our favorite BBQ restaurant (we actually had them cater at our wedding….insert Father of the Bride quote here) when Chandler was tempted by the allure of the coin operated turd machines. You know, the machines with the 4 slots (only two of which you are supposed to actually use) that you stick the quarters in, then you push the handle in, pull it back out, and out comes a cardboard sleeve with some sort of sticker type item that isn’t worth fifty cents let alone a turd? Yeah, one of those machines.

Chandler LOVES putting coins into slots. It doesn’t really matter if he gets a prize for it. The sheer joy of sticking the coin into the slot and watching it disappear is reward enough for him. He saw the coin operated turd machines and went absolutely bonkers. At first I was like, “Ugh, this going to be something horrible.” Then I saw that one of the turd machines had Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fake tattoos. That’s when I went absolutely bonkers. 

We got two. Fun times were had by all.

When we got home I was desperate to plaster a TMNTattoo on my 1-year-old and then post photos of that all over the internet(s). Chandler had other ideas. By other ideas I mean “NO”, “NO, PLEASE”, and “Aw HELL no, daddy!” 

Not wanting to traumatize my son, and more importantly not wanting to waste a perfectly good Leonardo fake tattoo, I decided not to push it. The Fattoos were safely stored in a desk drawer, to patiently await their moment.

Fast forward to today. The fam is once again at our favorite BBQ joint. Chandler is on his way to stick some coins in his favorite candy dispensing slots, when suddenly he is caught by the siren songs of the COTMs. I had to very craftily steer him away from the tramp stamps and back towards the cutesy animal tattoos.

Fifty cents later we walked away with some cute little froggies which I was certain would never feel the soft touch of my son’s skin (is that sentence okay to print?).

When we got home we asked Chandler if he wanted to put the tattoos on. He said, “no, please,” but something in his eyes said yes. We decided it’d be a good idea if I put one on myself first. Ashley applied it to my belly while Chandler helped hold me down. I’d post a picture of it, but no one wants to see that. (But if you follow me on twitter, I’ll tweet it to you).

Chandler enjoyed this, but still wasn’t sold on the idea. So we decided to give Mommy the second tattoo. Now we have matching frog tattoos on our tummies (I’m not allowed to refer to Ashley’s stomach as a belly…again). 

Now we were out of tattoos…until I remembered the Ninja Turtle tattoos sitting in my desk! I asked Chandler if he wanted a ninja tattoo that had a turtle holding swords. These were buzz words that were sure to reel him in. And they almost did, but the line was not strong enough to hold this big fish. 

I backed off and we headed upstairs for bed time. While going through his usual stall tactics, Chandler had an epiphany. He suddenly requested a tattoo. Brilliant. This was going to buy him so much time. I quickly ran downstairs to get the tattoo. I came back up and Chandler was ready to go. We asked him if he wanted it to put it on his tummy like we did. He shook his head and said, “Arm.” It was like he had been planning this all along.

In the end, it was because I initially let go of my intention of tattooing my son that I was eventually able to successfully do it. Because I was able to stay unattached to my foolish desires, my son now has Leonardo attached to his arm.

So, dear internet reader, if you’ve stuck with this story this long, here is where you will be rewarded. I will now show you awesome photos of my son rocking a Ninja Turtle Tattoo. Enjoy.

Ninja Chandler

Today Chandler decided to be a ninja. 

Anything is a weapon.

He’ll kill you with a look.

Even ninjas have to take phone calls every now and then.

Grandma, we’re in the same room! You’re wasting my minutes!

We are on camera high alert!

Tonight I got this text from my wife:

And it made me realize something. WE ARE ON HIGH ALERT HERE PEOPLE! Chandler has been flirting with standing and walking for quite some time now. If there is a vertical surface that can support him, he will pull himself up and stand to his heart’s content. And when his heart is no longer content with where he is standing, he will cruise on over to a new location.

I mentioned before that Chandler really can stand and walk but he keeps remembering that he “can’t walk” and then falls down. Well recently Chandler’s memory is deteriorating and he keeps coming closer to completely forgetting that he is still a quadruped.

I know we take a lot of photos and videos of Chandler, but suddenly it has become so much more important to be prepared. A baby’s first steps are very crucial. Some people believe that his first steps will tell you everything you need to know about his future and his personality. If he steps with his left foot first he will become a Democrat. If he steps with his right foot first, then falls on his face and gets up and says, “Mission accomplished,” he’ll become a Republican. If his first steps are completely silent, he will be a ninja. If his first steps are backwards he will be Michael Jackson.

We have to be ready for this. I’m considering hiring Michael Moore and his documentary team to follow Chandler around. Moore can harass Chandler until he finally gets so annoyed he just gets up and walks away. “Hey Chandler, did you know those little baby Nikes you are wearing were made by little Asian children the same age as you, and not only can they already walk, but they have to march to work up hill both ways? You make me sick, Chandler!”

Geez, take it easy Michael Moore. I always get him confused with the Super Size Me guy, because…well, he has already been super sized. (that one was to win the Republicans back)

Uh oh! I just had a scary thought! What if Chandler’s first steps happen in his sleep? What if he sleep walks!? I gotta go stand over Chandler’s crib and watch him all night with my night vision camera goggles.

Til Death Dew us Part?

This week I received a very nice email from an IF fan named Amanda. She started out by saying some very nice things about my blog which always makes my day. She mentioned that her husband occasionally reads IF over her shoulder on account of all the Mt Dew and ninja baby references.

But then she took it one step further by looking out for my health. She said:

“I came across this website and thought you would be interested:  

http://www.energyfiend.com/death-by-caffeine   You can type in your weight and drink of choice and see how many it would take to kill you, after consuming them in one sitting. Fortunately for my hubby he can safely drink up to 167 Mountain Dews before going into what I can only assume would be a diabetic coma.

Hopefully this information will keep you safe as you continue to do the Dew.”

Thank you so much Amanda! First of all, thank your Hubby for occasionally reading IF over your shoulder. I’ll be sure to throw in some more “Mt Dew drinking, Ninja Baby” content to keep him enticed. Secondly, tell your Hubby “IN YOUR FACE!” for me. I went to that website and entered my weight and chose Mt Dew. You know how much Mt. Dew I can drink in one sitting before my head pops off like a Mentos shooting out of a Diet Pepsi bottle? 215! That’s right! I win! And yes, EVERYTHING is a competition. I once won a “see who can go the longest without competing” competition.

I would also like to say that I have reverse engineered the results on the site to figure out that Amanda’s husband weighs 135 pounds, and is very possibly a Jockey. A really cool Jockey…with mad ninja skills.

I have to be honest though. I’m not sure this site is going to keep me as safe as you were hoping. Because you see, I look at that 215 Can limit and I take it as a challenge. You can’t tell me how many cans of Dew I’m capable of drinking. You can’t tell me how fast I can drive on the highway! You can’t tell me how many legs I have! Now every time I pick up a can of Dew, all I can think is “214 left.” That number is haunting me! But it’s not just me. Chandler wanted to know his limits too. I have to say, even I felt a little creepy plugging in my child’s weight to figure out how much Dew it would take to kill my baby. But here are the results.

The only thing worse than killing your baby by filling him up with Mt Dew, is filling him up with Mt Dew and then shaking him. It get’s….Fizzy. I don’t want to get too morbid, but I just did a dead baby joke, so I guess I’m already there. I would never ever consider offing myself, but I’ve often said the only way I would kick my own bucket is if I had the ability to physically pull my own head off. Can you imagine the response that would get if you did that in front of a crowd of people? But now I think I have a plan B. I have to say, death by Dew would be a really tasty way to go. But don’t worry. I never missed a day of school. I’ve never missed a day of work. And I don’t plan on missing a day of life. There’s a lot of Dew still out there.

“Is all this for me?”

(To see the rest of the photo shoot click the “Read More” link)

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It’s time to get Chandler a helmet

I can’t believe it has taken me this long to come to this conclusion. Chandler does so many potentially head damaging things you’d think I would have made the investment earlier.

What has prompted this newfound desire to protect my little dude’s dome? 

Nunchucks.  

Yeah, I said it. I got me some nunchucks!  

Look out crime! Justice has a new set of nunchucks! And a baby! 

This nunchuck thing looks easy! 

Run for the hills! Chandler has nunchucks!

Chandler, I don’t think this is how they work. 

THIS is how they work. 

That was the last picture we took because I nunchucked the camera to a million little pieces. 

Okay, so there may be a lot of questions especially from all you mothers out there. I imagine your questions are along the lines of, “WHAT!?” and “NO!!!!!” That second one wasn’t really a question, but I get your point. Don’t worry, I won’t nunchuck my child.  

So why do I have nunchucks?  

Here’s the story: I have this friend. This really good friend. This REALLY REALLY good friend. He lives in Tokyo right now, working for Wieden + Kennedy, the world’s greatest advertising agency.  

When he left for Japan I begged him to get me a set of authentic nunchucks. Like every well adjusted guy my age, I was/am a huge Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle fan. And because I wanted to be funny, Michelangelo was my favorite. Plus he was the only Ninja Turtle who actually used his weapon the way it was intended to be used.  

Well today something amazing and unexpected arrived in the mail. After almost 2 years of being in Japan, my friend finally found an authentic, non-touristy, set of nunchucks.  

Okay, now I have an amazing wife, an unstoppable son, an iPad, and nunchucks. What else could I possibly want? Oh yeah….a real mustache….

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Somebody is playing favorites

Recently it has become abundantly clear that Chandler is a momma’s boy. 

During the beginning stages of my parenting career, I prided myself on maintaining a strong connection with my son. People told me that in the first few months the baby will have a much stronger connection with the mother because she is his primary source of food, and she doesn’t have an annoying voice like I do. It’s natural for the mother to be more connected to the baby than the father is. I didn’t see it as natural. I saw it as a challenge.  

For those first few months I did a good job of staying involved and making sure I always got in some quality father-son bonding time. I taught him important survival techniques like how to triage an iPod, how to maintain constant awareness of your Mt Dew inventory levels, and how to catch, kill, and field dress a Keebler Elf. And for a while I was really holding my own. I’m not saying it’s a competition, but that’s only because I was never quite winning.

I also wasn’t losing horribly. Until now. Now I am losing. Horribly. Anytime Mommy leaves even for a moment, Chandler starts to freak out. What happens when Daddy leaves? I can’t confirm this, but I swear I can hear the faint sound of little pudgy baby hands clapping. 

What happens when Mommy enters the room? Smiles and giggles and impressively articulate fist pumps.

(By the way, I googled “Fist Pump” to make sure I wasn’t using a term that was going to be considered sexual, and found this awesome Wikipedia article. I don’t use fist pumps nearly enough anymore. Unfortunately, according to Google they are becoming associated with Jersey Shore…and I’m not about to jump onto that bandwagon.)

Wow, I really got sidetracked…where was I? Oh yeah, Mommy enters the room and little baby fist pumps ensue. What happens when Daddy enters the room? Chandler kind of looks at me, looks down, looks at me again, then turns and sees Mommy. “OH MOMMY IS STILL HERE!” And crawls to Mommy.

Now, I should step back a bit and say, Chandler isn’t necessarily “freaking out” when Ashley leaves the room. Occasionally we’ll witness a real meltdown. Usually it’s just a little mini-panic attack. Often nothing happens at all. But I guess you could say I’m being a little hyper-sensitive to the whole situation. After all, I’m a comedian. I want people to pay attention to me and like me. That’s a major part of what a comedian strives for. 

But don’t worry. I’ll have my time. Sure Mom is the favorite now. But just you wait. Soon Chandler will see the true wisdom behind “Bros before Hos.” (Sorry honey. You’re not a Ho. It’s just a thing people say.) And I have a plan! You see, I know what kinds of things kids like. How do I know? Because I can think like one. In fact, I can’t think like anything other than a kid. So I plan on stockpiling all sorts of awesome toys and other fun items for Chandler and I to play with. Things like nunchucks, sports gear, legos, candy stashed all over the house, and Unicorns. Yeah, UNICORNS. They are awesome! They are horses with spikes! And Chandler will learn to love them in a manly way.

Anyhow, the point is I’m going to bribe Chandler into loving me. It won’t be a glorious victory, but a win is a win. Okay, I’m off to buy some child sized ninja weapons, a pony, and a spike. 

Twin Chandlers?

Okay, kick the tires and light the fires. It’s time for another Father Knows Best? Today’s question came to me anonymously.

Do you wish you had had twins? Or is 1 Chandler enough?

Hmm…I’m going to need to think about this one. To be honest, I’m not sure that I don’t have twins. I mean, as far as I know I only have one son. I’ve never seen two Chandler’s at the same time. But I swear I’ve seen the same Chandler in two places at once. It happens all the time. I’ll set him down in the living room and walk over to the kitchen to get an ice cold refreshing Mt Dew and suddenly there he is. I’ll give him this look like, didn’t I leave you in the living room? And holding Chandler for more than 30 seconds feels more like I’m holding triplets. I swear that kid has 6 elbows.

To be honest, when I was a kid I wished I had a twin. I always wanted a brother (no offense, Sis) and thought it would be really cool if we shared a secret twin language. But just now, as I was imagining that, I realized I’m not so sure I’d really want someone who looks just like me. Because then it’d be hard to know if I was looking at a mirror or a window with my brother on the other side.

I try to never wish for things I don’t have. Instead I try to always enjoy and see the humor in whatever is right in front of me. That motto might not always hold true when it comes to Apple products, but for everything else, I’m pretty good about it. And when it comes to Chandler, I couldn’t be happier with what we got.

I will live a life of adventure

This is my adventure hat. Actually, it is my dad’s adventure hat. He got it when he was in Australia. Mom told him that he’d never actually wear it. Dad replied, “This will be my adventure hat! I’ll wear it when I go on great adventures!” Mom very lovingly humored him.

That was two summers ago and Dad still hasn’t really worn it except around the house a few times. It is propped up on his microphone stand he used to use for practicing stand up. He looks at it every now and then and imagines the great adventures he might go on. Training with ninjas in the mountains of the Iga Province. Plundering with Pirates in the Caribbean. Having shootouts in corrals that are just OK.

He might not go on those adventures, but now he is on the greatest adventure of all. He’s my dad. And now his job to get me ready for my own adventures. Right now he’s teaching me to crawl better. And we’ve been practicing standing.

Every week we go to swim class so I can be ready to deal with Pirates. We also go to music class so if I ever come across an ancient tribe and have to communicate through music and dance in order to avoid a cultural mishap, I’ll be prepared.

Dad does lots of great things to get me ready for adventures. When I’m least expecting it he’ll throw a ball at me to test my reflexes. Right now my main move is to let it bounce off my face. Dad says we still have a lot of work to do on that one.

We also spend a lot of time in my johnny jump up. Dad says this simulates what it would be like to have your ‘chute caught in trees in enemy territory. And when I’m in my car seat and Dad takes it out of the car with me still in it, we pretend like I’m being ejected from the cockpit of a jet!

Mom says I can go on as many adventures as I want as long as I always come home and tell her all about them. And I have to hug her.

I can’t wait until I am old enough, and my head is big enough, to fit into my adventure hat. Dad and I are going to go on all sorts of great adventures together. We’ll probably fight crime for a while. Dad can be my sidekick who always has something funny to say. And maybe, if we’re really lucky, on our way back home from our trip to Australia (where I’ll buy a new adventure hat for Dad), our plane will go down and we’ll land on a mysterious island filled with secret clans and underground hatches and a smoke monster! What? You don’t think we get Hulu in the womb?

Improvising and Fatherhood

In my first 100 days in office as a father I’d like to think I’m doing a great job. In reality my wife is doing all the work and I’m just the wingman making jokes as we go along. I’m like the Andy Richter to Ashley’s Conan O’Brien. I’ve learned a lot of things about being a father in the last 100 days. What has stood out the most to me is how much improv and parenting have in common.

For those of you who don’t know I am an improvisational comedian. I perform mostly at the Curious Comedy Theater (little shameless plug there). Comedy is the love of my life and improv is my favorite way to express it. In improv it is crucial that you know how to read your audience. If you go down a path that the audience just doesn’t like you have to be ready to change directions and find a new path. If the audience is low energy and isn’t responding to slow patient scenes you have to pick up the pace and do some high energy scenes. If they aren’t laughing at the intelligent humor you start making fart jokes.

As a father of a newborn child it is also imperative that you can read your audience which in this case is your baby. As I said before, my wife does all the hard work. She takes care of Chandler all day long while I work. She feeds him all day and all night long. So when I get home from work and take him off her hands for a while my main role is just to keep him happy and entertained so she can take a break (and make my dinner…am I right guys?). Entertaining a baby is a little different than entertaining an adult audience (fart jokes still work), but the basics are still the same. You have to figure out what works and milk it until it doesn’t work anymore. Then you find something else they like.

I have developed some classic go to moves like a game call “cliffhanger” where he hangs from my knees by his arms and I yell “Hang on! Don’t fall!” over and over. There’s also “ninja fight” where I make him punch me in the face and make all sorts of sound effects. And there’s a new favorite which is me simply going “Oooh Ga! Oooh Ga!” over and over. At least one of these works at any given point. But you never know which one it will be. And sometimes none of them will work.

It’s when none of them works that the real challenge begins. Then it’s like an easter egg hunt to find what will make Chandler happy. Do you want to be on your back? Your tummy? Do you want to stand? How about playing in your Johnny Jump Up? Do you need to be changed? Or do you just want to be carried around the house for an hour?

This is where my improv skills really come in handy. Most of the tactics I use to entertain Chandler can’t be found in any of the books my wife has been reading. In fact a lot of them are really counter-intuitive. There have been countless times I have started doing something, like running around the room with Chandler over my head, that my wife has said, “That’s not going to work.” And then what do know? He loves it. If you were to think about it you’d never guess he’d like it. But that’s the secret of improv. I don’t think! That’s how I try to live my life. I never think.

Ashley takes a different approach to parenting and life in general. Actually, she takes the almost complete opposite approach. If my style is improv comedy then my wife’s style is scripted comedy, like a really good Seinfeld episode. Everything she does is planned and coordinated. She studies books and reads forums and keeps a log of Chandler’s activities. Because she is so good at it, her script almost always works. She masterminds the entire day so that Chandler is sleeping when she needs to be doing chores or errands, and so that he is awake and happy when visitors come over. And she really knows what will work, so Chandler is almost always receptive to her “written material.”

But the problem with performing scripted comedy to a live audience is if it doesn’t work you’re stuck. So when Chandler doesn’t want to sleep at the pre-determined time the whole script gets screwed up. Then you have to keep going with your material and hope that eventually the audience gets back on board with it.

In contrast, the improv style has more flexibility but can be really hit and miss. And while I might be able to keep Chandler happy in the moment, it can be really hard to plan the rest of your life around this show. Then we have to get into the car and Chandler isn’t ready for that and he’s wide awake and super unhappy about being in a car seat.

So I guess the point is a good mix of scripted and improvised parenting is needed. Ashley writes the script and I flip the script. Or something like that. I dunno, I’m just making this up as I go.