Photographing Children

Not to blow my own horn, but I'm a pretty good photographer. Better than good. So good in fact, people actually pay me to do it. I get compliments on my work all of the time and people are amazed by some of the shots I manage to capture of their children. I am frequently asked by friends, family and other parents many different questions with the number one question being "what is the secret?" Well hold onto your horses cow pokes because I am about to give away the biggest secrets a baby and child photographer has. You all knew there was a secret, but nobody ever blabbed about it; like a secret button on the camera or a program that is super secret that has to be passed from professional to professional. Well I assure you that there are no magic or secret buttons, nor is there a program to make all of your photos look professional, though there are some that come very close but are mis-used by amateurs. The real three part secret to taking incredible children's photographs is as follows:

1. Know how to work your camera. 
When I say know how to work it, I mean you should be able to make adjustments on the fly, without looking. Your kid could not care less that you really want these pictures to come out better than your pretentious asshole brother's Christmas card photo, so you have to be able to make adjustments quick to get the shot you are looking for. The best photos are lost in the moments you are looking at your camera and fumbling with the buttons, so learn to work your camera with the same skill and ability as you have when you wake up to piss at 3 in the morning. If you're the type who can's take a piss on auto-pilot without peeing all over yourself or the floor, especially if you're a woman, you have bigger issues than taking pictures and should be back in the group home for a little longer before tackling society. 

2. Keep the camera up to your eye at all times. 

You child, unless he/she is a lazy little fatty who will do your bidding for candy or gravy in a sippy cup, has the attention span and energy of a coked up hummingbird. They stop occasionally and 90% of the time, its when you take the camera away from your eye. If you want their attention, employ a friend or an assistant. Don't be a hero, as it will just result in shitty pictures. 

3. Be lucky. 

No, really, be lucky. Photographing children is like roulette. You are the player, the child is the casino. The house wins 99% of the time. If your kid saw something that he didn't like moments before the shoot; the session is going to suck!  Sees something behind you that distracts him? The session is going to suck! His outfit is itchy? Knock knock...who's there? Its going to suck! Truth be told, there are untold numbers of ways that a child can non-verbally tell you to fuck off when you ask them to "sit still" or "hold on for just one more good shot". If you are truly lucky, you can parlay one of those instances into a cute photo, but the odds are completely stacked against you! Luck comes into play if you want to have a go at making a living as a children's photographer. Were you born with a penis? If so, you may as well just give up and focus on photographing food in a dark warehouse. Don't want to do that? Well, You are going to have to get married and have children, or at the very least, have children of your own with a willing female that you can practice on. Shoot them morning noon and night. Every landmark occasion, every dumb activity, and every stupid face they make. Build a portfolio that way and then you can move on to your friends' children if you prove to be good enough. I should also mention that even if you are a man with children and thousands of great photos of them; if your children are ugly, you're back to the warehouse with your fruit. I'm an overweight, bald, loudmouth, but because my girls are freakishly adorable, people who hire me to shoot their children look past those qualities in hopes that I can make their children appear as beautiful as mine. Once you have clients, you need to be lucky to get the ones who have cute kids. So far, I have been lucky on this front too. Cute kids make better pictures. Better pictures make more people want to hire you! 

Those are the secrets! Get out there and make me proud!

Pervert Elf

I knew he was a pervert!

In the summer, he runs a youth football camp at Penn State

The Scumbag Photographer

I'm going to make you a star!

"You know what would look good?
If you took your top off slowly.
The lighting will make them wicked artistic." 

Scumbag Elf 4: Worst of the Worst

Never date a Flyers fan; even if she shaves her mustache.

Indefensible Mr. Elf, indefensible. 

Scumbag Elf 3: The Extremist

Oh Elf, how could you?

Ironically, he's not edible pork until he's dead!

Scumbag Elf: Father of The Year

"Just shut up and act natural sweetie and you will
get your precious dolly back in one piece."

Presenting: The Adventures of Scumbag Elf

Its every Space Ranger's worst nightmare!

Sweetie? Are you back there? Surpri... Oh god... Oh god!
You're a whore! You're a dirty whore! And you! I trusted you! 

Very Pissed Daddy

So this evening, after my wife came home from work, I took a shower and then sat down at my computer to a slew of open messages. The unifying topic: "did you make a Facebook page for your girls?" This was followed by the same question from my wife who added, "I just got a friend request from our girls." I checked it out, and sure enough, there was a profile set up in my daughters' names, featuring photos of them, intentionally misspelled status updates and open friend requests to everyone that I know. The person responsible even went as far as liking Whiskey Nap on Facebook. At this point, I was fuming and could only think about choking-out whomever was responsible.  My first order of business was to report it. To my surprise, FB had taken the profile down immediately while someone reviewed the report. This would later become a full removal of it all together. My next order of business was to update the privacy settings on my account; nobody aside from my "friends" can see or, more importantly, download any of my pictures to use in such a way ever again. I suppose now the only thing left to do is sit and wait till whom ever the dip-shit is cops to being responsible. I have a few theories.

The sad thing is, it was not a bad idea: a profile in my kids names to provide "their point of view" on the shit they put me through on a daily basis could have been pretty damn funny. If only the person had given me the idea or at the very least gotten my blessing. (That's assuming that this was the work of someone that I know.)

Toy of the Year!

This weekend, the family and I took a day trip with some friends to Kringle Candle in Bernardston MA. (Its a real town, I swear; in the part of Massachusetts where it is more important to have a truck than a full set of teeth or a grade school education.) While there, the kids and I had a blast going through their on-site toy department. The place was set up to look like a functioning Santa's Workshop, with all of the toys for sale looking like they could have been manufactured by the Jolly old elf himself. Very few things for sale there required batteries, in fact, a large percentage of the toys for sale were high quality wood or composite. They did have some modern toys, but they were mostly along the lines of Melissa and Doug... Toys that fed the kid's imagination as well as their insatiable need to be entertained 100% of the time. While we were there, we made a discovery so awesome, that we purchased it on the spot due to both of our girls being fascinated by it. Had we bothered to do a quick search on our phones, we would have found it much cheaper than they were selling it for, but that doesn't change the fact that I am naming it My toy pick of the year.
Presenting the Buddha Board. Available in several colors, the BBoard is a great way to keep your little brats entertained while ensuring they don't make a mess. It's a slate board and bamboo brush that uses water to "paint". It's laptop-esque design makes it great for travel and it dries quickly enough to keep them painting over and over, but not so fast that their art disappears before they can finish.
I must admit, the BBoard has become a favorite of mine to play with as well as it is strangely settling to my ADHD brain! Like their website says, Buddha Board is based on the Zen concept of living in the moment.  I'm a big fan! (oh, the girls like it too!)

I'm not receiving anything for this glowing review of this product that we love, but if anyone at the Buddha Board company is reading this...do the right thing! ;-)

Why it's so much easier to go to work than stay home with the kids!!!

The following is an account of one of the worst evenings in memory through the eyes of my wife Heather.
The names and locations have not been changed to protect us, as we are not worthy of such protections.

I had great plans for this week.  Had Monday and Tuesday off, leaving a blissfully short week at work.  A working dinner Wednesday night, paid for by my manager (with Booze), off site meeting on Thursday with free breakfast and lunch (I like food and free is my favorite) leaving only Friday as a boring normal work day.  Unfortunately, The girls and Jimmy's stomach had other plans.  I start getting text messages as soon as I arrive at dinner.  They go as follows, J's are Jimmy and H's are me:

J  5:00 - Can you pick up some powdered Miralax on your way home? I'm getting sick of Sloane constantly smelling like shit.
J  5:01 - Oh, when you get the Miralax, get a Powerball ticket too
                               H  - OK

J  5:05 - Still nauseous

J  5:15 - I'm actually sick
                               H - Want me to bring home some soup or something, or leave the meal now?
J  5:17 - No

J  6:02 - How far are you from home?
                               H - Maybe 45 min to an hour
J  6:03 - Forget the laxative and the Powerball, just get home as soon as you can!
                               H - Food hasn't come but I will leave as soon as I get it.
J  6:04 - Seriously?
                               H - Yes, I'm sorry, I'll leave really soon, the girls OK?
J  6:05 - Quinn is crabby, Sloane is being obnoxious, smells like shit and refuses to clean herself and I'm throwing up.
                               H - So sorry, be home as soon as I can.

J  6:42 - Your daughter wiped her shit all over the side of the bed.  I'm not referring to Quinn.

J  6:50 - I'm done.  Fucking done.  The girls are no longer in my care for the night. And they are no longer allowed in our room. Period.


Made excuses to my Boss and coworkers.  I grabbed the steak I ordered and ate it in the car (with my hands) on the way home, leaving a barely touched glass of wine and dreams of a nice dessert.  I got home around 7:20 (after driving the fastest I've ever driven on windy dark back roads) and actually stopped outside the front door.  I really didn't want to walk into what was sure to be a war zone, but I sucked it up and opened the door.  Surprisingly, it was quiet.  That scared me more than noise and yelling would have.  Don't turn around and run away, Don't turn around and run away, Please let them be alive ...

Living room - no people, Play-doh everywhere
Kitchen - no people, pickles everywhere
Hallway - finally see Jimmy, white as a ghost.  He looks like he is either going to kill me or pass out from exhaustion.
Bedroom - Quinn, in her usual way, comes running up chipper and happy, yelling Mommy and gives me a hug as if nothing happened.  I note that she is not clothed.
Bathroom - Sloane, I find out, has locked herself in to avoid Daddy.

What followed is a blur.  Keep children away from Daddy, Clean up poop with kid's help (must teach lesson), clean up child, talk to child about why poop should only be in the potty, start load of laundry with child to clean sheets, feed children, keep children away from Daddy, clean children again, dress in PJ's, have children apologize to Daddy, attempt to put them down to bed, run out to buy Miralax, ginger ale and a Powerball ticket, console Daddy with a cold glass of ginger ale with a straw, get ready for bed, have child wake me up at midnight because of nightmare, put them back to bed, Child up again at 2:30, screw bed and put child on recliner in bedroom with blanket to sleep, other child wakes up at 4:00 calling for her sister, change diaper, convince both kids it's still night time, put them back in bed.  Alarm goes off at 6:00, try to wake up Jimmy, 6:30, try to wake up Jimmy, have to leave by 7 am at the latest to make 9AM meeting south of Boston, 6:50, try to wake up Jimmy, Give up and call in sick for work.

I honestly have no idea what I did with my time before I had children.
The previous story is true, to the best of my recollection, I couldn't make that up.
Thank God I get to go to work every day!!!

Fatherly Pride

My friend Zach has a 4 year old daughter, and like myself, isn't afraid to expose her to topics that some would see as inappropriate for children. Below is a recent conversation between the two while on a drive.

Irie: "daddy we have to prepare for the zombies."
Zach: "ok how do we do that?"
Irie: "I know how to kill them."
Zach: "really?"
Irie: "you have to destroy the brain"

Thank heaven for little girls,
for little girls kill walkers every day!

Knowing Zach, this was the equivalent to the level of pride one would take in their children if they were to ask to give away their toys to the poor. I can picture his eyes welling up and a single tear rolling down his cheek, because if my oldest had said this, that's exactly how I would react.

This has nothing to do with a 4 year old,
but boy oh boy what a zombie hunter!
JINKIES!

Aspirations

I blame the Toys-r-us catalog and their McDonalds kitchen play-set for the outcome of this conversation.

"Daddy, when I grow up, I want to be a doctor who saves babies from cancer."

"Wow Sloane, a pediactric oncologist is a noble profession."

"Yeah, I know. Maybe i'll work at McDonalds instead."

"Gee Sloane, you really know how to knock a guy's pride down a peg."

On the plus side, at least she's keeping her options WIDE open

Dah, dah, dah, dah, dah... oncology!

Ladies and Gentlemen, Mark Wahlberg

Guy Fieri Sucks

Anyone who knows me well, or even casually, probably has heard me voice my disdain for the Food Network's experiment in douchebaggery that is Guy Fiery. I call him an experiment because that clearly the only explanation for this man. One day, a focus group comprised of 40+ year old southern and Midwestern housewives was locked in a room with sacks of body parts, assorted foodstuffs and a deep fryer, then told to create a man and a menu that "the kids would go crazy for". After 34 excruciating hours, their mission was complete: They gave him attitude, but the right kind of homogenized family-friendly attitude that stood up to the status quo, but only within reason... Leather studded bracelets, lots of rings and a gold chain. They wanted him to be "in your face" like the kid's say, but approachable and harmless. His original hair style was to be a Billy Ray Cyrus mullet, but a phone call to Phyllis' 8 year old granddaughter shifted their mindset towards "frosted tips" because she had a crush on an older boy at school with that haircut. His personal style came next, but unfortunately, the focus group was only supplied with a few boxes of left over clothing from Chess King, the now defunct Times Square WWF store and a bunch of Jeff Gordon merchandise from his DuPont years.
Finally, there is his "food". I cannot do any better than New York Times restaurant critic Pete Wells, so I'll simply provide a link to his recent review of Guy's great big times square sparkling turd. http://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/14/dining/reviews/restaurant-review-guys-American-kitchen-bar-in-times-square.html?pagewanted=1

EXTREME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If Guy Fieri were a headlining rock band, his openers would be Nickel back and Smash mouth.

Those days

Every now and again, I experience days where I feel like I have no business raising my kids. Sometimes, those occasions are so demoralizing that I just throw my hands up in surrender like a Frenchman, turn my kids over to someone who knows what they are doing, and spend the rest of my life living under a bridge under the assumed name of Javier the Tramp, whose days consist of shouting matches with rats and perfecting my recipe for hobo chili, and avoiding getting shanked for my shoes at night... A relatively stress-free life when compared to raising two girls.
I often think to myself, "how do the 'perfect' parents do it?" (More realistically, 'perfect' moms... We stay at home dads are still a very small minority) what is the secret to living a life that would appear to have been plucked directly from the pages of Pinterest. How does one keep a child entertained while using television as a 'rare treat' reserved for milestone occasions, and only then for a half hour at a time? How do these moms get anything done around their houses? If it weren't for the Busytown Mysteries and the various programs on Disney Jr., my house would look like it belonged in an episode of hoarders.
Aside from TV related questions, I often wonder how they, not only get their kids to eat their vegetables, but also have time to do creative and fun things with their meals to get their kids to eat them?
I've gotten so off track that I had to go back and re-read the beginning of this post to remember what the hell I was writing about! Looks my Adderall has worn off! To my original point, raising kids is a really f##king difficult job. Anyone who tells you otherwise has never really had to do it.  There is no time off, even if you are out and the kids are with a sitter, your mind is still with them more than 50% of the time. You're always on call, and there is always a part of your brain that is thinking about a worst case scenario and how to deal with it if such an event arises. The worst part of the deal is what seems like a complete lack of respect from your societal peers and even your family.

Wow, I feel like I have just wasted your time! Sorry for the incoherent ramble session. It's been a long day and as I stated earlier, my Adderall has worn off.

Guest Entry

Today I am offering up a nugget of funny from an equally twisted and funny woman-daddy (some people know this species as a "mommy") I first met Cassy and her husband Chris, long before they had their adorable daughter Charlotte, when they tapped me to photograph their wedding and engagement. We often ask ourselves "why do we not hang out with these awesome people?" because they are very similar to us in many respects. Well, we have formed a long-term facebook-exclusive friendship with them because Cassy doesn't drive (she grew up in the city where a car is just an unnecessary expense) and when Chris is around, they have a life. (damn show-offs) Oh we also live almost two hours from them, and even our closest friends will only make the trek 2 times a year! OK, that's enough of the storied history of the Paquette-Morin connection, time to get to the point. This morning she posted something on facebook that hit home:

Since Charlotte watches very little TV, it proves to be a great distraction when I take a shower because she is always so engrossed in it. However, the past few days she has had the need to come into the bathroom every few minutes to let me know what's going on. Here's what she said today:
- Oh no mommy, water fell off the couch!
- Mommy, watch me go potty!
- Abby Cadabby's on!
- Mommy, look, an eyelash!

- You okay, Mommy?
- I'm watching Sesame Street!
- All clean, mommy?
- Tissue please!

- Mommy, watch me go potty again!

I am taking the time to write this to reply to her with a sad reality: This may be a new thing for Charlie, but know that it is only the beginning! Soon she will discover the art of flushing the toilet while you are in the shower, sneaking up on you and scaring the hell out of you, and of course, announcing that she is doing something destructive, thus forcing you to do a nude 40 yard dash through the house to avoid the repercussions of whatever it is she decided to destroy!.

Good Luck!

I Need A Play Cafe

If you were to ask me what I miss most about living in Massachusetts, I would seriously put The Great Escape Play Cafe at the top of my list. Now, there are a lot of places in the area around me that cater to young kids, but they seriously do not compare. Why, there is a place less than a mile from my front door, but it has no real amenities; its basically a retail space with pastel walls filled with a few toys and art supplies, yet they still manage to charge $8 per kid for admission. I'm sorry, but I'm not paying $16 bucks for my kids to play with the same toys they have at home.

Welcome to Kidz Fun Zone.
(all patrons must sign a waiver as there is broken glass, literally, all over the place)
Please don't expect much from the staff, they're not "all-there" if you know what I mean

---

The other popular option, of which there are about a dozen in the area, is "inflatable playgrounds". Yup, bounce houses; indoors. The nicest of these places in this area has a seating area in the front, with a rather depressing "Cafe", while the worst of these places is THE SAME EXACT THING! As an adult, you're paying $10 per kid to develop a nice pounding headache.

I would happily punch a baby to make the pain stop

"Where does the headache come in", you ask? Well, for those of you familiar with how an inflatable bounce house works, you know that there is a big blower that constantly supplies air to what is essentially a large semi-porous balloon that smells like plastic and vomit residue. That blower isn't really all that loud when you are near one that is outdoors, however, move that same blower indoors, into a space with some type of sound reflecting walls (because it would just kill the owner's bottom line to put up a little g-damn sound dampening, right?), and multiply it by between 10 to 20 blowers, and you have a very loud mid-tone hum that permeates your skull and pokes at the part of your brain that headaches are made. On top of the sound, there are the children shrieking in either horror or excitement depending on the exact moment in time. Another down side is that these places are popular with day camps and other large groups of kids, usually between 8 and 12 years old, and as the father of the two year old who just wants to go up and down the slide, I am constantly finding myself holding back the urge to punch a child squarely in the face for not paying attention and stepping-on, knocking over, or landing on my little bean. Don't even get me started on the "caretakers" or "counselors" that accompany these little beasts. I think what I don't like most about these places is that they might as well be rolling in field that has been flooded by an overflowing cesspool. Lets be realistic for a minute; these places host birthday parties on weekends. Birthday parties where kids are filled with pizza and sugar and then told to "go jump up and down for a while". Yup, that sounds like a great idea to me! I think its safe to assume that every square inch of these places is as clean as a men's room floor.

This doesn't occur in or near the restroom
at an inflatable playground  

---

The final location for indoor play that I will talk about is the ever popular, ever crowded mall play area, or "the yard" as I like to refer to it. At any given time, of any given day, this squishy-floored oasis of mid-mall rumpus time is full; usually with kids who are too old to be there. Late Wednesday morning on a school day; there is an unsupervised 9 year old in the corner with a pack of smokes rolled up in his sleeve and a cold icy look in his eyes that just scream out "I've seen some shit go down in my time." You want to ask him why he is not in school, but you also don't want to be knifed in front of your children by someone who won't face jail time and will probably hunt you down after the fact to finish the job.

"You bitches see the big tree, the turtle and the bunny? That's my corner and you best remember that less you wanna get cut"

If the threat of aggravated assault at the hands of a pre-pubescent boy doesn't scare you off, the overall sanitary conditions should. The first thing you notice is bare feet; dozens of bare feet on kids who will likely be, or have been, sent home from school  due to "hygiene issues." These little petri dishes that they call feet come in contact with every surface in the play area. EVERY SURFACE. This ensures that if your child didn't enter with a fungal infection, they are sure as shit leaving with one!

"Mama calls it my sexy feet spray to make my itchies go away!"

---

This brings me to my happy place. The Great Escape. There are many reasons that we love this place, but I have narrowed it down to three major points. They are as follows:

The People 

For some strange reason, most of the people I met there, especially Olga, were more receptive to me than any other place I have been around here. I'm a large bald man with a full beard. Most moms see me on the playground and peg me as a walking Amber Alert. I never felt that there. I would often be invited into conversations with complete strangers on a wide range of topics. Here, it seems, speaking to me or at the very least, eye-contact for a brief moment, is too much for most to handle. I end up being like the kid on the other side of the fence watching the other kids play. Lucky for me, that side of the fence is the direction the walkers will be coming from and I'll have ample time to escape and plan my next step in survival! (In a zombie situation, always, ALWAYS befriend the first person with a beard that you see. He is manlier and your chances of survival improve ten-fold)

Ron Swanson WILL be the last man standing in a zombie apocalypse.

---

The Barrier

TGE has a large windowed wall separating the play area from the cafe. When you have kids that are old enough to play on their own in there, you could let them run free while you sit back, drink your latte and dream about days past when you didn't have these little parasites sucking the life out of you at every chance they got. It is peaceful, relaxing and just plain good. Even on a bad day, all is still good. The most you have to worry about is telling your kid to "get back in there and play." They even have monitors keeping track of the kids at play.  You really can't ask for more.

Daddy can't hear you sweetie pie, he's in his happy place now

---

The Cafe

Ok, I was wrong when I said you can't ask for more, because if you're there, you're going to order a coffee or a latte, or a cappuccino the size of a bath tub. And its all damn good too! They have a bunch of snack options for the kids that are, wickedly, placed in their line of sight, but aside from that minor "daddy-can-I-have..." flaw, It's perfect. They make great panini for the grown ups, and plenty of kid-friendly options for lunch time as well, but if your kids are like mine, you can order them whatever you want to eat because you're going to be the one finishing 90% of their meal. Aside from the great coffee and food, there is just a nice vibe about the space that makes it ideal to read a book, get a little work done, play a board game or just stare at the wall in relative peace without your kids tearing at your psyche!

From my experience, the answer is always "not enough"

---

That should give you a good idea of why I truly miss TGE, and why, one day I hope to emulate their vibe in a shop of my own where I rule with an iron fist or an indifferent shrug, depending on what mood i am in that day. 

Politics as Unusual

Every so often, someone that I know does something so amazing that I am almost duty bound to share their work with the world. Today I am excited to share an incredible and adorable personal project of a very talented and very good friend of mine, Ashley Pizzuti of Pizzuti Studios Photography. Her "political" project is a welcome change to what has been a particularly nasty election season.

Select here to visit the project gallery. 

"I'm Chase and I approve this message"
Photo used with permission of Pizzuti Studios. 

26 lbs of Adorable Destruction

A silent child is always up to something they shouldn't be doing. I'll write that again because it bears repeating: A silent child is always up to something they shouldn't be doing.

I'm afraid you dont fully understand what I said.
A silent child is always up to something they shouldn't be doing. 

15 seconds is all the time she needs to create havoc. I turned my back on Quinn to make space on a shelf for a pan I had just finished cleaning and in this time, she went to town on a loaf of bread. She impressively poked a hole in every slice of what was a brand new loaf this morning, and she did so silently, a mere inches from where I stood. I blame myself for underestimating her destructive awesomeness. Now I have to go to the grocery store once again for more bread.

Worst Toys of 2012

In an effort to help my fellow parents avoid wasting money this holiday season, I will be occasionally showing off the worst toys available for your dollar*. Like the t-shirts that get printed for the team that loses the Super Bowl in the event they were to win, many of these toys will be widely available in humanitarian drop boxes shortly after the holiday season.

"um...thank you?"

Drunkard

Life with a two year old is what life must be like in a half-way house where the residents are just not trying at all. At any given time, there is something in this house that has been left in a location that nobody in their right mind could even fathom placing it, but it's location makes perfect sense to the one who put it there. Just this morning, I found what was once a strawberry pressed into a a little wooden birdhouse that my older girl painted. I can safely assume that my 2 year old put it there because why not? The imaginary birds living in the tiny house love strawberries. We have a big Lego head that is a storage container for Lego's...perfect place for half a pop tart and a used magic eraser. You want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? you're in luck...look in the bottom right corner of the toy box. You're welcome.

Its not all hidden treasure that confirms that my child is a 40 year old alcoholic in a 2 year old body, its also her mannerisms and movements. As I write this, she is sitting on an inflatable lady bug chair, watching the ceiling fan while attempting to eat granola out of a small bowl. She seems to be taking it on faith that the bowl is still where it was when she started, because she has not turned her head away from the fan at all. Her tiny arm flops to the side and begins to feel around, eventually grabbing a handful and blindly moving it back toward her mouth and indiscriminately dropping the crunchy treat in the area above her mouth. for every piece that lands in her mouth, about 5 or 6 land on her face, belly, neck, chair, and she genuinely does not care! This is something I could picture honey boo boo's mama doing with a ladle and a crock of gravy.

Walking is also a treat to observe. Some days, she walks with grace and purpose...most days, she walks like a zombie walking on a water bed. I'm worried that one day, her drunken stumbling will lead to a hilarious minor injury; perhaps a Chris Foley-esque fall onto a play table, crushing all in her path. If you are fortunate enough to witness such an event, the puke walk is concrete evidence of her true self. This is when you watch your child throw up a little bit, as she is walking, and not being phased by it one bit; not even so much as an acknowledgement of what just happened. As nonchalant as passing wind whilst walking down the street. Second to this phenomena is the casual puke. This is where she will be sitting doing something, perhaps eating but not necessarily, and just throws up without warning, and then casually proceeds with her business, as if she had only burped. Those confuse me the most.

Whats almost as bad as their involuntary mouth discharge is what comes out of the other end. I'm assuming most of those reading this have changed a diaper or two in their lives, and in doing so, have experienced an "OH MY DEAR LORD" moment at least once. I am convinced that, once a month, the toddler body reprocesses everything that the child eats and tells their body that they just got off a wild night of drinking a whole 40 pack of Ice House tall boys. It doesn't matter what you fed them, or how much of it they ate: their body is going to perform a magic show, and you are the lucky attendee. If you have ever been to college, you know what the dorm or apartment bathroom smells like on Sunday morning/afternoon after a keg party where you and your roommates shattered your personal records. Now take that stench and concentrate it into a diaper-sized space. When it comes time to open and change that atrocity of human biology, you need an open window, a full package of wipes, and the ability to put it out of your mind right away, as there are going to be 3 or four more peppered throughout your day.

 
Perhaps my favorite "drunken" behavior of my 2 year old is the spontaneous nap. These are the rarest, but they are the most appreciated because they involve no cleaning and you get a break for a short time. Typically, these come on like this: Quinn will approach me and speak to me in gibberish, and follow it up with a scream and then a calm statement, also in gibberish. (One day, I hope to decipher the meaning.) This is followed up by one of two actions: 1. She gestures to me to pick her up and she falls asleep almost instantly in my arms. 2. She lays in the spot where she is standing and passes out cold.
I know that these are not actions that are unique to my child and that most 2 year olds are little drunkards at heart. If you have a story, share it! I'm sure everyone would love to read it!

I'll name this later.

After begging and pleading with a very good friend of mine to contribute to the blog, he finally told me to go screw! Well, maybe not in those words, it was more like blah blah blah, wife and I work day and night on our photography business, blah blah blah, while we balance taking care of our daughter, blah blah blah, sleep deprived, yak yak yak so stressful, and then a bunch of nonsense because I tuned him out because he was bringing me down!*  There was however, one golden nugget; he offered to contribute short thoughts, musings, etcetera... I'll be thinking of a title for what I hope will be a regular contribution, but until then I present to you: Pizzuti's Peculiar Proverbs. Short Thoughts on Life as a Dad**

1. "why does a toddler poop sometimes smell like the kid tried to cover up dead body stench with the smell of popcorn?"

* this conversation may or may not have happened.
** working title

On a serious note.

I've tried to write an introduction to this story I read on the Huffington Post, but it's nearly impossible to find the words, so I'll just let it speak for its self. 

Lots of Tears With Less Than a Few Months to Live 

Meredith Israel Thomas and her Daughter Niomi.

The World's Greatest Grocery Store

I was daydreaming today while grocery shopping, all by myself, about what the perfect grocery store would have for those of us who typically have to shop with kids attached to us. Ideally, there would be some sort of supervised play area before you even step into the market itself. Walking into the store all by yourself is a glorious feeling, so having a separate entrance for the play area would allow that feeling upon every visit. If that is not possible, here is a list of features that are easily added to existing supermarkets to make a parent's trip a little sweeter.

1. Shopping cart crotch guards.
   If you are a man and you have ever pushed a shopping cart with a toddler in it, you have been kicked squarely in the junk at least once in your life. If you're like me, its far from a rare occurrence and you really don't like pushing the cart in an arched-over position to protect your naughty bits from the shod feet of a toddler.  Well friend-o, fret no more because the Crotch Guard is here to help. Simply remove the Crotch Guard from the display bin, or rack, clip onto the cart and viola, the child can now only swing her feet a few inches, and your nether regions are pain free for the duration of your trip. Done shopping? Un-clip Crotch Guard and place it in the collection bin.
2. Phone clips for shopping carts.
   Face it; you want to be there with your kid as much as they want to be there with you. A kid who doesn't want to be some place will remind you repeatedly for the duration of your time at said-place. That's where the phone clip comes into place. Clip your phone into place, turn on a movie and their hands are free to eat samples and not get your phone covered in goo. and that brings us to...
3. Non-messy food samples at every other isle.
   Supermarkets hate people who bring kids with them. I can prove this simply by listing the things that they give out as samples regularly: Chocolate Klondike bars, strange colored yogurt, Cheetos...they may as well give out jars of India ink with defective tops or cut out the hassle and simply have an employee standing at a tub or ranch dressing smear handfuls onto your kid's clothes. From now on, I'd like to see things like plain white popcorn, goldfish crackers, uncooked pasta. Place them every other isle so that the kids stay distracted and fed for the whole trip.
   A separate store for flowers and balloons:
4. Leave the flowers and balloons to the florists. I don't want to cause a tantrum because I have to say no to the Dora balloon clipped to the damn meat counter. What is it doing at the meat counter? Baiting kids with balloons so that parents wanting to avoid a tantrum will buy them is a dick-move.
5. Real liquor.
   I'm not a "beer guy", I'm a "Tequila Guy" Your row of Anheuser-Busch bush products does nothing for me. Sell the good stuff at the grocery store so that I don't have to be the deadbeat asshole who brings his kids into the liquor store. 
6. Plain, industrial-looking packaging on everything marketed to kids.

That should do it.

Do you hear me grocery stores? Hook a father up!

LEGO Envy

You name it, I've been called it: sad, pathetic, creepy, Sandusky, nuts, man-boy, immature, and bizarre just to name a few. And that's just what people have called me regarding my fascination addiction to collecting LEGO Mini figures! So just to clear the air and get this out of the way: Hello, my name is Jimmy and I have a LEGO problem. To be perfectly honest, my addiction began a long time ago, when I was but a wee lad in Leominster. It was a hunger I could not feed however, as LEGO sets are really expensive as far as toys go, and being the youngest of 10, I'm amazed that I was not sacrificed at an early age to feed the family and make for one less mouth to feed*. Because of that, I had to envy the sets that my spoiled friend had and never wanted to play with as if out of spite!

That son of a bitch had the airport...THE AIRPORT!

So due to the price of LEGO sets, I was left with a 2x3 brick shaped hole in my heart. (and a matching scar on my foot! you ever step on a 2x3 brick barefoot? THE PAIN, oh the pain!) Fast forward a few years to when I started working and making money. I was forced to shelf my fondness for the colorful little bricks in favor of a social life.

Being the Lego guy in high school is about as cool as being involved
in live action role play. (sure they had girls, but at what cost?)  

After high school was college, and any spare cash was not going to be spent on toys, so once again, I set my future hobby adrift on a sea of alcohol and bong water. 8 years later, I was finally finished school** and on the verge of being married.
The next few years were pretty bitchin'. I married my wife, we traveled as much as we could and when the time was right, we made Sloane.*** Having a child was the greatest feeling in the world...I now have an excuse to buy Legos! But it would take some time and a 2nd child to bring my dreams to fruition. The moment everything fell into place was on a trip to Toys R Us to pick up a gift for Sloane.
At the register was a box of series 6 Mini-figures. $3 at the time didn't seem like much to have a small taste of what the kid in me had been clamoring for. I grabbed one, along with my original intended purchase, paid the cashier and made for the car. I waited a total of about 1 minute before tearing open the pack like a crazed 10 year old and was delighted to see the parts for "Bandit". That's all it took for me to be hooked. My addiction is well under control, I typically only get 2-3 new figs per month if I am lucky, but if I should ever be on the receiving end of a large sum of extra cash, there is a solid chance I will end up divorced, living in a storage facility surrounded by millions of tiny bricks.

I'll also have all my little friends!

* Can you imagine having to feed and care for 10 children? I have 2 and feeding them is expensive enough! When I was a kid, I always thought my dad was a hard-ass cheapskate, which he was, but in retrospect, it was for a pretty damn good reason...he had 10 ungrateful little shits like me to feed.
** Don't you judge me! I went to school part time while delivering pizza 60 hours a week. Good money, but your car ends up smelling something awful!
*** You think the instructions for IKEA furniture are complicated, you should try making a kid!

How Not To Keep New Friends

There are several ways that one can sabotage a friendship. For example, one could introduce their new friends' children to the video below. For the next few weeks, those parents will be forced to hear this song repeatedly and for that we are sorry! To my readers, if you are reading this and your kids are close by, its too late for you too! They have seen the still frame and are hopping up and down asking to see what it is. Enjoy the upcoming weeks!

Quinn The Thief Strikes Again!

Thieving Toddler Sets Her Sights On Credit Union Lollipops

More addictive to a small child than crystal meth to white trash, Dum-Dums have
become a popular target for thieving toddlers looking for their next sugar fix.

Someday, this blog will look good.

As a Graphic Designer by trade, I am ashamed of the fact that I am using a generic blog template from the available choices that were provided to me. I'm hoping that someday, i'll have the time, motivation, and most important, the focus necessary to remedy this. One thing is for certain: I'll never be one of those assholes who use white text on a black background and therefore forcing my readers to see zebra stripes for 10 minutes after reading.

Therapy

Back when we lived in Massachusetts, I would see a therapist twice a month to maintain my sanity. On my first session, I was describing the stress I was under simply due to my girls wanting to be near me or play with me every waking moment of the day. His response still resonates with me to this day.
"I know what you mean; it's tough having someone around who loves you to the point of worship and is happiest when you are around." It was a blunt slap in the face skillfully delivered via sarcasm and it forever flipped a switch in my head as to how I think about my kids. Upon further discussion on the topic with him, I walked away with a better understanding of myself and more importantly my family. That conversation was the first step toward my decision to leave my job to spend even more time with the girls by becoming a stay-at-home-dad.

Sorry if this post was boring...they can't all be comic gold!

AKA "Quinny Goodtimes" Master Thief

Today we had a humorously eventful trip to CVS to pick up a few necessities. Upon entering the store and grabbing a basket, Quinn grabbed one too. Without missing a beat, she made her way to the candy display, her basket in tow, and began to grab whatever was at her level to fill it up. This took all of about 15 seconds, or the time it took me to scan my Extracare card to see if I had any discounts. As much as it displeased her, i proceeded to empty her basket back onto the shelves and carry her around for the duration of our visit. When we arrived at the register, I paid for our things and the cashier commented on how cute Quinn was and we said good bye. At this point, I need to put Quinn down because my hands were too full to carry her. That's when she made her move. She saw someone entering the store and thought it would be a perfect opportunity. She ran to the snickers display and proceeded to grab as many as she could handle, and then some, and make toward the open door, dropping the excess snickers bars behind her every three feet or so, clenching onto two of them with her tiny hands to ensure that her heist yielded at least something. Out the door and around the side of our building toward the car, leaving me behind to repeatedly apologize and reassure them that I'll bring back the candy. I made a dash for her, being careful not to squish the 5 or 6 candy bars she was unable to hold onto and caught up to her half way to the car. I grabbed her and brought her, as well as the dropped candy, back into the store to the sound of hysterical laughter from the staff behind the counter who applauded her determination but condemned her actions. In the end, we left the store with our things and she was given a snack sized snickers from a very amused manager. I have mixed feelings on the lesson that she learned, that if you don't get away with the crime, you at least get a consolation prize, but I suppose we have plenty of time to teach her not to steal things!

"Yeah I did it; and I'll do it again, see!"

Bratz

If I dressed my girl's like Bratz dolls, I would be worse than Honey Boo Boo's Mamma. If I were to buy my girls Bratz dolls, I would also feel obligated to put a pole in their room so they can practice for their future career, as well as introduce them to cocaine and meth and put an air freshener in their room that time releases the stench of failure.

Slutz

I had a wonderful dream!

If there were more of her, I wouldn't be forced to play UNO ever again!

Cartoons sure do suck these days.

Ruby Gloom

I really don't understand the point of this show. Is she dead? is she alive? All that i can say for sure is that somewhere, in a mall food court, there is a pale, chubby teenaged girl dressed all in black and somewhere on her clothing, or the lunch box she carries as a purse, is the image of this cartoon character. Because, although she is brooding, deep and undoubtably hates her parents (probably for no good reason), she has a whimsical side... and she is a complete poser.   

I don't like anything that convinces my kids that being a pale goth chick is cool. 

Child Star vs. Child "Reality" Star

I can't imagine because they have yet to invent the hillbilly drug that she'll be hooked on.

Child Rule #2 Elaborated

Never assume you are alone. 

In a ongoing post called Child Rules, rule number 2 states: "A closed door is meaningless. If you wanted to use the toilet in peace, alone, you should have snuck in while i was not looking and securely locked the door as quietly as possible. If I know you're in there, I will scream; loudly and as long as it takes for me to get you to open the door and let me in." This morning, was no exception. Its about as often as the girls putting themselves both down for a 3 hour voluntary nap that I get to take a long, relaxing shower, but this morning the opportunity presented itself and I jumped on it like Honey Boo Boo's mama on something deep fried and covered in syrup and the antidote to feeling shame. All was well in the house as I stood still, the hot water splashing my face and the only sound to be heard was that of the shower itself and the hum of the ceiling vent. If my life were a slasher movie, here is the point where i would have met my bloody, stabby death; "DADDY!" The tiny voice said loudly, snapping me out of my hot, sudsy trance. There with her face pressed firmly against the shower door was Sloane, as if startling me wasn't enough, she had to up the ante by creepily watching me for god-knows how long. 

"GET OUT" I yell. 

"I just wanted to say good morning, daddy" she replies with a smile.

"Good Morning Sloane, now get out" I say back to her.

"Good morning. where is mommy? is she with Quinn?" she says.

"If you go find her, you'll answer both questions" I tell her.

"but you can answer the question for me" she replies.

"Sloane, get out of the bathroom" I say and begin to shampoo my hair.

"Whats in your hair? Why is it blue?" she asks.

"Shampoo. Its green because its a special shampoo to get rid of dandruff" I Tell her.

"Whats dandruff" She says back

"Dandruff is flaky skin that falls off your head when it gets too dry" I tell her.

"Thats gross daddy" she tells me.

"It is, thats why I use the...wait, didn't I tell you to get out of here?" I say.

"Yes"

"Well why are you still here? for the love of god Sloane, I just want to finish my shower in peace, can you please just get the hell out of here and let me do that?" I plead with her.

"Thats all you had to say daddy." she says back to me with a snide tone.

"What?" I ask.

"Please" she says exiting the room. 

Moments later, she pops her head in the door to ask "Can I pleeeeeeeeeeeeease take a shower after you?" fully understanding that she is driving me crazy on purpose. Her wit is only matched by her capacity for evil.

The lessons you should take away from this:

• Children will use anything and everything that you teach them to tear down your psyche. Its akin to having a therapist spend the last 15 minutes of every session ridiculing and insulting you based on what they learned about you in the first 45 minutes.

• Lock your damn doors. Incessant knocking is better than the alternative. 

  

For the love of god, September isn't even over yet!

Why? Why are they already selling Christmas candy?

Just think of them as sweetened Cheerios

It's Sunday morning! Care to see a neat trick? Give your kids a bowl of Lucky Charms or any sweetened oat cereal featuring marshmallows and watch them remove and eat said marshmallows with near-surgical precision, leaving you with a bowl of what is essentially sweetened cheerios. Pour on some cold milk and enjoy your perfectly sweetened breakfast while you watch your kids spin out of control from their sugar high and then crash in the form of a tantrum/melt down. It's like giving a speed freak a little meth and then locking him in a room with no more meth. First, they beg for more. Next they get angry and start to cry. This is followed by an epic meltdown that cannot be stopped; it has to run its course naturally. Finally, they fall into a restful/remorseful state. This is an attempt to garner sympathy and get more of the treat they desire. Don't fall for it. For future reference, give them a banana and some toast: It won't be as much fun to watch, but its better for them, and their reaction won't piss off your neighbors.  

This is what lucky charms look like when their luck has run out.

There's a reason for this...

Dressing them alike makes them slightly less terrifying. The little one has murder in her eyes...or at the very least the desire to destroy or make a mess of something around the house.

Just a warning...

This morning I was allowed to sleep in: 7:15! Upon emerging from the bedroom I was greeted with the words: "just a warning; I gave Quinn a banana this morning and she either ate it really fast or it's somewhere hidden in one of these rooms."
I suppose I'll know for sure if we are overtaken by a fog of fruit flies. Stay tuned for updates!

UPDATE: I found the banana! It was in the refrigerator. (See photo)