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Archive for the ‘Health’ Category

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Thankfully, I wasn’t able to afford this guy to pimp my idea.

Do you feel like you never get enough sleep? Do you wish you could just lay in bed all day and do nothing? Do you want to know how you, as a parent, can catch up on some sleep?

Well, then I have the three-step program for you!

Step 1. Get a sinus infection — Make sure to have plenty of tissue ready. While you can skimp and save a few pennies by going cheap, I highly recommend Puffs with Aloe over the 80-grit stuff. Your nose will thank you.

Step 2. Get strep throat — This can be tricky, but I find that if you sleep just one night with your nose clogged and mouth open, you can get it really easy. Or at least I do.

Step 3. Get bronchitis — Nothing like hacking up huge dollops of lung butter to make you feel alive!

Viola! You are now guaranteed to get anywhere from 18 to 20 hours of sleep a day, for about three days.

Not available in all areas. Copays and other medical expenses may apply. Side effects may include hacking, coughing, wheezing, sneezing, sore throat, and developing a taste for NyQuil. Repeating, over and over, the phrase from Friends that you are in the “Prime of Lime” may lead to threats of physical abuse from family, friends, coworkers and complete strangers. Your ability to post on the Intratubes funny stories about your son may be severely limited. Your available sick days at work may be depleted, and the vacation day you scheduled just so you could spend 8 hours playing Halo 3 will have to be cancelled so you can actually get some work done. Those living under the same roof may also find themselves using this three-step program, so be prepared. Results not typical. Sales tax may apply in MI, FL, and the U.S. Virgin Islands. Void where prohibited.

So hurry, before spring arrives and all you have to worry is allergies!

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I’d like to start by thanking those of you who sent emails the past few weeks wondering where I went. It’s nice to know someone cares, so thanks to all of you … all four of you.

Truth is, the last several weeks have been … well … I’ll be honest. They’ve sucked big, stinky, total, gigantic ass.

Thankfully I’m still employed, still married, and still a dad, so I’ve got those things going for me. Other than that, though, every thing’s kinda fallen apart.

So if you’re just interested in reading about inappropriate mispronunciations, stay tuned as I’ll have more funny stories on a semi-regular basis here soon.

If you’re interested in what’s going on, have no problems with pity-party-posts, and even would like to help, then join me after the jump. Because we all know there’s nothing smarter than sharing intimate personal details on the Internet …

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Scene: Last week, driving The Boy to day care. He sees a car broken down by the side of the road, hood up, steam pouring out.

The Boy: Dada?

Me: What what?

The Boy: That car is broken

Me:Yes. Yes it is.

The Boy: Just like Mr. The King!

Me: Yes, buddy, just like Mr. The King.

(p a u s e)

The Boy: Dada?

Me: What what?

The Boy: You broken, too.

Me: Yes … yes I am.

And end scene.

I don’t intend on getting into the gory details of my medical history, so I’ll just note that I’ve had two back surgeries and severe nerve damage that causes quite intense pain pretty much all day, every day. Needless to say, this makes being a dad a bit difficult.

I also don’t want to turn this into a “Woe is Me!” pity post. After all, there are millions of dads out there who go through fatherhood facing physical challenges—the guy who’s not sure when his MS will flare up, causing him to be debilitated for who knows how long … maybe it’s the dad who returned from Iraq without his legs and has to learn to walk all over again … or the father who was in a car wreck and is now in a wheelchair.

What I do want to do is point out something I found doing research on this topic. Specifically, that there’s no group out there to help, assist or offer support to disabled dads. At least not in America.

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Scene: Monday evening and The Boy’s had a hard day. I’m sitting on the couch and he’s on the floor in his toy corner next to it. I look over the arm rest to see what he’s doing.

Me: How ya doin’ little man?

The Boy: I am cross.

Me: You are?

The Boy: Please do not talk to me, Dada. I need time alone.

(I look at The Mrs., and then back to The Boy)

Me: Okay.

The Boy: Thank you.

Me: You’re welcome.

And … end scene.

I had a mix of excitement and shock at him being so damned clam and mature about this situation. He had a horrendous day—woke up grumpy, got bit by a boy at school, allergies driving him nuts—but yet there he was handling it all like a little grown up.

It was exciting because he understood what he was feeling and was able to express it so well. For several months now, every time he gets upset he yells, “I WANT TO BE HAAAAPPPYYY!!” We figured he was a bit young to comprehend what he was feeling, and translated his lament as, “I want to get my way and am pissed because I didn’t.” After the above conversation, we’re now not so sure.

It was shocking because he’s not supposed to have such a firm grasp of his emotions at his age. Kids may talk about their feelings and understand them at a basic level around age three, but The Boy seems to have a strong grasp of what his emotions mean and how they affect others. This is huge since I know a number of adults who can’t even do that.

It’s also a big deal to me since I used to have a rather explosive temper (I’m much better now, thanks to The Mrs.). It’s reassuring to know we may be on the way to preventing such a character trait in our son by having a healthier attitude toward his emotional development than my parents did toward mine.

Hopefully, as time goes on and he continues to experience challenging emotional issues—rejection, frustration, despair, etc.—he’ll continue to handle them so well. While expecting that to happen every time is unrealistic, we think it’s a good goal to have.

(Before anyone bring it up: Yes, we use the word “cross” in reference to being angry. This is because Thomas the Crack Engine books use it and we didn’t want to confuse The Boy by using another term. Besides, my great-grandmother used it and we like it. It’s so … Victorian.)

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Just a few things on my radar from the past few days:

June is Potty Training Awareness Month:

… no one can be more aware than the families in the throes of this or those considering the beginning of the quest. The folks at Pull-Ups Training Pants want to help and are offering one family the use of a potty training expert for a one-day, one-on-one training workshop. The family will also get a potty seat, reward stickers and a supply of Pull-Ups. To enter and for the rules, visit http://www.pull-ups.com or call toll free 1-877-4BIG-KID (424-4543).

We have not had a lot of success with potty training, so we may need to take them up on their offer.

Not your same ‘ol portrait

Via BoingBoing comes a piece from Cookie Magazine about unusual (if expensive) artists who will do unique portraits of your kids. From crayon drawings, to 3-D mosaics, to optical illusions, to unusual paintings, it lists an interesting array of options for those with a bunch of extra cash and who want something unique.

Help for abused kids and families

James Hart at Crime Scene KC has a post detailing a meeting of Bikers Against Child Abuse. I’d never heard of them, and Hart gives a good run down of what they do:

If you haven’t heard of them before, the concept is simple, but smart. Local bikers basically “adopt” kids who’ve been the victims of child abuse. They take them on rides, have picnics for them and, more importantly, escort them to court. They work with kids who’ve seen the worst from adults and let them know that somebody out there cares for them, somebody’s going to watch their back.

This is a fantastic idea and they have chapters in more than 30 states. So if you’ve got a motorcycle and some spare time — or are looking to donate to a charity — check them out.

Mullet Optional

The Hygiene Chronicles celebrates the summer tour combo of Def Leppard, Styx and Foreigner by writing a post using nothing but song titles by the groups in question. Not sure if I should be impressed he did such a great job of piecing it together, or strangely embarrassed that I know the words to each and every song he listed.

Good Idea

Jeremiah McNichols over at GeekDad (where I also contribute) has a simply marvelous solution to a problem every parent has faced: what happens if you don’t have a snack container?

Making the cup at right takes six folds, and is detailed on this German mathematics site (in English!), or you might be able to infer it from their diagram [pictured at GeekDad].

I get the feeling this is going to come in handy more than once.

Bad Idea

When participating in a spitting contest with your kid, you may want to make sure you’re wearing a harness:

A 43-year-old German man was taken to hospital in critical condition after he fell off a second storey balcony during a spitting contest with his 12-year-old son, police said Friday.A spokesman for the police in the eastern town of Cottbus said the man in Forst had apparently lost his balance after thrusting too far forward in his attempt to outspit his son.

If you can’t outspit a 12-year old, you’re not much of a man. [/sarcasm]

Coolest. Shirt. Ever.

This rules:

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If anyone want to buy us one of these for The Boy, we’d have no issues with that (My Retro Baby for $22, and a slightly different one at Trendy Tadpole for about $18. Size 4T.)

Anything else?

If you’ve found anything you’d like to share (or would like to shamelessly blogwhore/linkwhore) feel free.

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One of the things about being a parent is always worrying about your child’s future. Sure, that’s part of being human (there’s a reason there are Tarrot cards and psychic hotlines), but we parents take a bit further, trying to find ways to measure their intelligence, or growth, or whatever other metric we choose in some attempt to know what to expect.

So last night, as I was making my rounds around the Dadosphere, I came across this post over at LA Daddy — a glaring omission to my blogroll, since rectified — which linked to this site that, allegedly, tells you how big your kid will be by age 18. It’s based on the Centers for Disease Control’s growth chart gives you an idea of what to expect.

The numbers I entered last night were best guesses, so this morning I did some measuring and re-entered the numbers:

    Sex: Male
    Age: 2.5 (he’s actually 2.6, but there’s no option for that, so I did 2.5)
    Height: 3′ 5″
    Weight: 40 lbs.
    Mother’s height: 5′ 7″
    Dad’s height: 6′ 0″ (I was 6′ 1″ before my first back surgery … weird, huh?)
    Results: Your son will likely be 6 feet, 8 inches tall at age 18.

Holy crap …

Granted, the site notes this is just a “best guess.” But they also claim there’s a “96 percent chance” he’ll be within three inces of their calculation. So, barring a sudden and dramatic increase in the Earth’s gravity, on the low end he could wind up being 6′ 5″ (still damn tall) and at the high end nearly 7′.

And as much as this makes me want to start teaching him how to shoot a free throw and/or the appropriate footwork for blocking a defensive lineman, there is one issue: if he’s built like me, he’ll look more like former NBA player Shawn Bradley than future first round draft pick Joe Thomas. Not sure how I feel about that.

Feel free to enter your own kid’s info at the link above and post the results in comments, since I’m interested to see whose kids will need help getting things off of shelves.

(Hat tip to The Mrs. for the title of this post — she came up with it this morning when I told her we’ll eventually need a bigger bed for The Boy … much, much bigger.)

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The Boy and I were having a blast in his room tonight, playing with a foam clown nose and trying to “sneeze” it off. He was giggling in that way only little kids can, even falling over at one point because he was laughing so hard.He then unintentionally decided fun time was over … by accidentally mashing his face into his train table.

While he’s had bail outs before, tonight I had a bit of an epiphany about what The Mrs. and I do as parents when The Boy gets hurt:

1. When an accident first occurs, my duty as a father is to do … nothing. Instead, I wait to see if it was as painful as it looked.

2. I now remember that even minor mouth wounds bleed. A lot.

3. I freak out a bit when The Boy bleeds.

4. One of the side effects of consoling a bleeding child is that you are also soaking up whatever blood is on the child with whatever you are wearing.

5. The amount of blood a garment will hold is directly proportional to the color of the fabric. For example, a favorite white shirt appears to hold anywhere from one to four pints of blood.

Meanwhile, a forest green fraternity sweatshirt that is 14 years old and, according to The Mrs., better suited for life as a shop rag, will hold no more than a few drops. The rest, however, is readily absorbed by a light-cream colored carpet that was just cleaned.

6. The Mrs. has decided that all those evenings watching ER qualifies her as a medical practitioner. The Boy disagrees with that assessment. Loudly.

7. One should not go over the point of contact/impact/impalement poking and prodding to see if anything is wrong. Odds are you are making the problem much, much worse.

8. Frootee Ice does wonders for a mouth wound—the cold helps numb it and take down the swelling, and you can eat any leftovers.

9. You can buy Frootee Ice in bulk online. (Who knew?)

But the most important thing I learned tonight:

10. For the few hours that follow a traumatic incident, The Boy has what amounts to a running “Get Out of Time Out Free” card. This is because, regardless of what happened, we will both question our abilities as parents. I guess we figure that if The Boy skids out across the driveway on his hands and forehead, that was enough punishment for anything he did or will do that day.

But maybe we’re just suckers …

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Almost every parent tries to find ways for his or her kid to get an advantage. Whether Mozart in the womb, or Baby Einstein (which, quite frankly, is pretty useless), or even athletic training, many are a bit obsessed.

Well, this should get them excited:

Four children whose brains and mental abilities were transformed after they took a simple dietary supplement have astonished scientists.Scans showed their brains underwent three years’ worth of development in just three months.

At the same time they displayed remarkable improvements in tests of reading, concentration, problem-solving and memory.

One boy who previously scorned books and was hooked on TV developed a love of reading and declared he was “bored” with television.

Wow. Those are some pretty serious claims. Too bad it’s an insanely small sample size (which scientists pointed out in this BBC story) and the kids are British, so there’s no word on whether or not this will counteract the stunning idiocy of American television.

The children showed an increase in reading age of well over a year, their handwriting became neater and more accurate, and they paid more attention in class.

Unfortunately, there’s no word if such a thing will work in adults, nor if it’ll offset all the damage I did to my brain in high school and college (I’m guessing “no”).

The part I found funny was how the childrens’ weights were listed:

All the children were classified as overweight. Zach, aged eight, weighed eight stone; George and Rachael, both 11, each weighed 11 stone; and 13-year-old Gareth weighed 12 stone.

So the eight-year old weighed eight Mick Jaggers? And you thought converting the U.S. measurement system was tough …

Anyway, I’m sure the stock of the company that produces the supplement will go through the roof as over-eager parents rush out to buy these supplements. Granted, they’ll ignore the fact that turning off the teevee and eliminating the junk food can pretty much do the same thing, as well as the completely unrepresentative sample of the study (four kids doesn’t quite cut it for me).

But if anything can make kids smarter than, say, this one, I’m all for it.

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