The 4am Train

The tracks are just a little over a mile from my house.

Every morning around 4am a train goes by.

This train, for some reason, believes that it can only go through this part of town if it lays on the whistle/horn/what-ever-you-call-it (I’m not a train person) the entire time.

At 4am every morning the baby hears this train whistle/horn/what-ever-you-call-it, sits up in his bed and loudly announces “TRAIN! TRAIN!”.

Somedays we can get the baby back to sleep.

Somedays we can’t.

I would like to tell everyone what kind of things go through my mind at 4am every morning.

But I won’t.

Because I don’t want to land on some sort of federal watch list.


No Baby!

That title? That has been the most commonly used phrase in my home in the last month or so. Also, “No baby don’t…!”, “No! Put that down!” and my personal favorite, “That’s not yours! It doesn’t belong to you! Just stop! Stop! For the love of god why can’t you just… Just…! No, no, NO!”.

So what I’m saying is that the baby’s going through a stage. A “if I can reach it, I will take it” stage.

And he seems to be able to reach everything. I guess he’s tall for his age. He also has figured out how to drag chairs around and use them to climb on counter tops and tables.

Oh, and he also has decided that clothes and diapers were made to come off. That’s another fun stage he’s going through right now.

That’s how, just the other day, I had to quickly run into the bathroom for a few minutes due to an unfortunate encounter with some “Mexican” food, to come out and find a baby, who was previously completely dressed, naked, standing in his own bodily waste holding a large kitchen knife.

I was in there for maybe, maybe, two minutes. But it was enough time for him to strip naked, pull a chair to the counter, climb up onto that counter, pull a knife out of the block, climb back down and then poop in front of the bathroom door.

I’m not sure if either of us will survive this stage.

A Letter to the Meanest Daddy in the World From Your Little Baby

Dear Daddy,

WTF bro?

Seriously, what’s been up your ass lately?

We had a real good thing going on while I was trying to get on my feet but now that I got my shit together and am mobile your like all up in my business.

Like the other day when I wanted to carry around that big glass baking dish I found in the back of that cabinet, you know the cabinet you so uncoolly try to keep me out of all the time but I keep going back in because I know that must be where you keep most of the awesomeness in the house, and you totally ganked it from me and you were all like “No baby you blah, blah, blah, break, blah, cut and hurt, blah”. Man, what’s the point of walking upright if I’m not allowed to use my hands to carry stuff.

Oh, and what about the time the other day when you found me splashing in that big white bowl of water in the room where I take baths. I was having a good time all by myself seeing what could fit in and what would soak up more water, a sock or that roll of paper you leave in there, and then you bust in there all freaking the fuck out about germs and yelling about my brothers not closing the door or the lid to the bowl.

Honestly I think the only people in the house that care are my brothers. They leave the good stuff laying around; the little colorful plastic squares that I like to put in my mouth, the two piece metal thingy with the bright red round handles that make that “shicka-shicka” sound when I open and close them, balls just big enough for me to shove all the way back in my mouth to where I make that weird gagging sound…

All those things you say no to are the things that bring me joy dude and you just want to take all that joy away…  Joy killer.

You suck,

The Little Baby

It’s Finally Over

The end didn’t come easily.

My oldest cried from the time he woke-up to right before getting on the bus.

Demon Spawn cried because he didn’t want his momma to go back to work.

And my wife, in a lateness induced rage, kicked the baby in the face for getting in her way as she was trying to get out the door. (Okay, she didn’t actually kick him in the face as much as trip over him as he toddled in front of her while she had her hands full, but I am going to use the “kicked the baby in the face” later in a “Oh yeah? Well do you remember that time you …” moment.)

Like I said, it wasn’t easy, but Christmas “vacation” officially ended this morning.

The house is mine again.

No more people in my way… Well, there’s fewer people in my way.

No more horrible cacophony of multiple electronic toys and entertainment devices going off all at once.

No more weekday mornings filled with the screams of the two oldest children as they fight like a couple of coked-up honey badgers over who had what first.

No more “Daddy can I use the computer?” or “Sweetie, I need to use laptop when you get a minute.”

No more “help” when I try to do things.

Oh no, no more of any of that…

Or at least until the weekend gets here.

The Dog

About 45 mins after my wife should have been at work she showed up at the door of our house holding what looked like the illicit love child of a black fox and a chihuahua.

“He ran right up to me in the parking lot. He’s so sweet. He’s clean. He seems to be good with kids. He has a collar but there’s no tags. I’m going to try to find his owner. He’s your responsibility until I do. I’ve got to go back to work. Love you, goodbye.”

And then I was standing there holding a small fluffy black dog while two small children ran/crawled around me excitedly yapping.

“Daddy, I want to hold the puppy! Daddy! Puppy daddy! Pup-puppy, puppy puppy, daddy daddy, puppy, let me hold, let me, puppy, daddy hold, puppy pu-puppy pup puppy puppy puppy!”


So I put the dog down and Demon Spawn gently petted him and spoke to him in a quiet, calm voice and told him how this would be his new home. I then explained to Demon Spawn that he was lying to the poor dog. Then Demon spawn cried  and cried.

The baby crawled close to the dog and screamed as loud as he could at it. The dog walked away. The baby crawled close to the dog and screamed as loud as he could at it. The dog walked away. This repeated for a bit. Then the baby felt completely comfortable with the dog and the dog decided that the baby was no real threat, that’s when the baby decided to try and eat the dog.

The baby still somehow has all his fingers.

It’s must be a really good dog.


The Forgotten Child

I pulled this directly from my wife’s Facebook status.

I may have changed a few things for the sake of clarity.

The most embarrassing incident ever in my life, worse than the time my wrap skirt unwrapped itself and fell off at Cotillion, happened at Christmasville today. My husband Dadgitated, god of love-making, had been pushing the stroller with the baby, while I kept score for the oldest and Demon Spawn as they played mini golf. He, my husband, the worlds sexiest man, stepped across the street to get hot chocolates from the hot chocolate busker, who was totally into him because of how handsome, funny and awesome he is , while the boys kept playing. I moved on with them to the next hole and my husband, the most perfect man on Earth currently and throughout the annals of history, came to give us the cups. I am talking to the man I married, he with the Adonis like good looks, as the boys putt when suddenly a voice from behind us says, “excuse me, is this your stroller? And _baby_? And, and… Oh my! Is THAT your husband? Oh my God! No wonder you can’t remember your children with a specimen like that to distract you. Yummy!” Um. Yeah. I managed not to sink into the earth when I collected the baby under the extremely disapproving and lustful eyes of the family behind us. I commented to the woman who was barely able to resist pouncing on my husband and pregnant with her second, “third kid. It’s always like that, poor guy.” (To be clear, these holes were in the blocked off street and were wooden rectangular platforms about the size of a bathmat, so we weren’t far, but we did totally forget him.)