This is Ridiculous, This is Amazing

by Jason Good

  JASON: Yes, I gathered that. Thanks, buddy. We have to leave for school in five minutes.

  ARLO: No Silas! Dat Arlo puzzle.

  LINDSAY: Silas, can you stop doing Arlo’s puzzle and get your shoes on?

  SILAS: OH FINE!

  JASON: Do you still want your egg?

  CUT TO SUNROOM: Arlo paces, holding three puzzle pieces while chanting, “Gween socks, gween socks.”

  CUT TO DOORWAY: Silas and Jason are ready to go. Jason holds a plate with an egg on it as Silas scoops it into his mouth with a spoon.

  LINDSAY: You’re going to be late!

  15 MINUTES LATER: Jason returns from dropping off Silas at school to find that everything is calm and Arlo is wearing his green socks.

  BLACK SCREEN: It’s only 8:30 A.M.

  END

  How to Threaten Your Children Effectively

  The important thing to know here is that any sort of punishment you drop on your kids involves taking away something they love—be it free time, coloring, drawing on their sibling, or television-watching—which is really a punishment for you because when they’re engaged in the activities they enjoy, you get some peace and quiet. Here are some of the mistakes I’ve made in this regard and some ways I could have handled them better.

  THREAT #1: “If you ask to watch TV one more time, I’m tossing it out the window.”

  PROBLEM: There are many. For starters, what the hell am I going to do without a television? Also, I live in a nice community, and throwing things out the window would result in extreme ostracism by my neighbors.

  REVISION: “If you ask to watch TV one more time, I’ll wander into the kitchen and stand there eating all the brownies until I figure out if I’m willing to distract you from the television by enthusiastically suggesting that we play a nice round of Zingo!”

  THREAT #2: “Brush your teeth, or they’ll turn green.”

  PROBLEM: Kids really don’t care at all about what happens in the future unless by “the future” you mean the next eight seconds.

  REVISION: “If you don’t brush your teeth, they’ll get this weird orange film on them. Look at your little brother’s teeth. See that stuff on them? He has that because he’s three years old and screams if we try to put a toothbrush in his mouth. Also, if you don’t brush, you’ll have to go to the dentist, and even though I’ve said his office is awesome and super fun and a place that gives you stickers, it actually sucks, and you want to avoid it at all costs.”

  THREAT #3: “Either you get dressed right now, or you’re never getting dressed again.”

  PROBLEM: Not letting your child wear clothes is a red flag to child services. It also breaks your heart when after ten days they start begging you to let them get dressed.

  REVISION: “If you don’t get dressed, I’m going to become very still and stare out at the window until you ask me if I’m okay.”

  THREAT #4: “If you don’t let me cut your fingernails, they’re going to slice your face open.”

  PROBLEM: Now my three-year-old thinks his hands are weapons and is destined to develop some kind of Edward Scissorhands complex.

  REVISION: “I want to cut your fingernails because I bite mine incessantly—to the point where there’s nothing left to bite—and every time I see your beautiful, young, creamy, long fingernails, I fantasize about waiting until you’re asleep and chewing them off. I’m not proud of that, and I know it’s not okay, but luckily there’s an easy fix.”

  THREAT #5: “If you don’t stop crying, I’m going to cry too.”

  PROBLEM: I can’t cry on cue, so in the unlikely event that he calls my bluff, I’ll be stuck staring at him, mired in the quicksand of my lie or, even worse, trying to fake-cry. The only thing more disconcerting to a child than seeing his father weep is realizing what a terrible actor his father is. “Daddy, is that really how you cry? You look silly.” Me: “This is totally how I cry. Does it look unnatural?”

  REVISION: “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll ask you over and over again why you’re crying, even though you can’t catch your breath long enough to answer me. I’ll hold you in my arms and say things like, ‘It’s going to be okay, sweet boy,’ but I’ll be rolling my eyes, since it’s completely ridiculous to cry for fifteen minutes because the cat stepped on your foot.”

  THREAT #6: “If you go to bed with dirty feet, mushrooms will grow on them overnight.”

  PROBLEM: Silas is only five and, like most other kids his age, finds mushrooms to be the most disgusting thing in the universe. Now I fear that he’ll obsessively start washing his feet like he’s at the Ganges river cleansing for an afternoon prayer.

  REVISION: “Going to bed with dirty feet will . . . actually, you know what? It doesn’t matter at all. Fact is, I just feel like I’m not very helpful around here sometimes, and one of the only things I can do to contribute is to keep you clean. So, when you go to bed, I don’t feel like I’ve been a good father if your feet . . . wait, are you still awake?”

  Parenting the Firstborn vs. the Second-Born*

  After our first child, we still had energy and hope. We were committed to providing him with the best upbringing imaginable. But then the second one came along and everything fell apart. We also realized that all that amazing parenting we were doing was as unnecessary as rotating the tires on our car.

  Food

  FIRST KID: All homemade in special baby food-processor. Quinoa! Spinach! Sweet potatoes!

  SECOND KID: Crackers.

  Bed

  FIRST KID: Crib that Daddy put together himself while Mommy yelled at him.

  SECOND KID: Mommy’s bed. Daddy now has his own room with a mattress on the floor surrounded by dirty socks.

  Clothes

  FIRST KID: One hundred percent organic cotton. Some even made of bamboo?

  SECOND KID: His brother’s old clothes.

  Parties

  FIRST KID: In our backyard with a piñata hanging from the Japanese maple.

  SECOND KID: Pizza on the floor.

  Bathing

  FIRST KID: Every night in a special bathtub that’s just the right size. Hand washed with a soft cloth or silky sponge.

  SECOND KID: Twice a week. Swimming pools count.

  Nighttime Routine

  FIRST KID: Swaddled in a Miracle Blanket. “Baby Beluga” sung to him. Asleep by 7:30 P.M.

  SECOND KID: Falls asleep on the sofa with mom’s boob in his mouth at 10:30 P.M.

  Friends

  FIRST KID: Play groups, mommy and baby get-togethers in the park!

  SECOND KID: His brother’s friends.

  Toys

  FIRST KID: All handmade out of wood. Mostly Swedish.

  SECOND KID: Paper, crayons, the boxes his older brother’s toys came in.

  TV Rules

  FIRST KID: Baby Einstein and Sesame Street only.

  Two 23-minute shows per day.

  SECOND KID: Has his own Netflix account.

  Babysitter

  FIRST KID: A wonderful woman named Sarah, whom he loves and will cherish for the rest of his life.

  SECOND KID: Doesn’t have one. We never go out.

  Shoes

  FIRST KID: Something European with an umlaut in its name.

  SECOND KID: Old muddy shoes with faded umlaut and missing sole insert.

  Potty Training

  FIRST KID: Diapers, then pull-ups, then some kind of training underwear, then underwear.

  SECOND KID: Might crap in a diaper until college.

  And you know what’s interesting? They’re both equally awesome.

  * or third, or fourth, or . . . you have five? What the hell’s the matter with you?

  What Annoying Parents Say . . . and the Truth

  I can’t help but be impossibly annoyed by competitive parenting. I would much rather hear about your daughter barfing on her gerbil than how well she can roll her R’s when speaking Spanish. Here are some of the more grotesquely braggy statements I’ve overheard, followed by what I think (or at least hope)
is the reality of situation.

  “My son just loves to eat raw chard.”

  REALITY: He accidentally ate it once because he thought it was some kind of lime-flavored candy. Kid cried himself to sleep while parent updated Facebook status to “BAXTER LOVES CHARD.”

  “Our kids don’t like TV. In fact, we don’t even have one in the house!”

  REALITY: Their kids watch videos on the computer and iPad incessantly. Probably more than they would if there was a TV in the house.

  “Our son’s favorite country is Liberia.”

  REALITY: He said “Liberia” once, but what he meant was Siberia because he’d just watched (on the iPad) the episode of Super Friends where Lex Luthor traps Superman in a Siberian ice block. The kid’s favorite country is actually “I don’t know. Is a country the same thing as a mountain? Because my favorite mountain is Canada.”

  “Well, we recently discovered that gluten . . . blah . . . gas . . . IQ score . . .”

  (sorry, I tend to lose focus after hearing the word “gluten”)

  REALITY: The parents are gluten-intolerant, or think they are, and don’t want it in the house because they don’t trust themselves not to eat it. Full disclosure: I might be allergic to gluten, but will never find out because my love of bread far exceeds the discomfort and hassle of farting and being tired all the time. Of course, my karmic fate for this joke will be that my kids are gluten-intolerant and I become that which I mock.

  “You should switch to cloth diapers.”

  REALITY: They bought two hundred dollars-worth of cloth diapers and regret it horribly, but they’re stuck because they told everyone they cared about the environment. Now they want everyone else to ruin their washing machines, just like they did.

  “My child slept through the night at four months old!”

  REALITY: Their child sleeps through the night because a) they have a night nurse who’s nice enough not to tell them when their child awakens at night or b) they put on noise-canceling earphones and “sleep trained” him. There’s nothing wrong with either of those, but stop telling half-truths and making the rest of us feel inadequate because a three-year-old sleeps in between us.

  Taking a Bath with Your Child

  Sometimes the only way you can get your kid to take a bath is by saying, “Do you want Daddy to get in too?” Now, unless you have a hot tub inside your house, which is actually against the law north of the Mason–Dixon Line, normal bathtubs are generally too small for an adult and a child. I’m also extremely tall, so there’s some added difficulty there. It might be slightly easier for you, but these are the things I’ve learned.

  1. USE LESS WATER. You are a giant creature (no offense) and you displace a great deal of water.

  2. GET IN FIRST. Your child needs to see the one square foot of space between your legs where he will have to sit. Comfy!

  3. THIS BATH IS NOT FOR YOU. You will not get clean from this experience. In fact, you will likely have to take a shower later to wash off all the bubble scum, toothpaste, glue, glitter, candle wax, temporary tattoos . . . look, my kid likes to bring stuff in the bath, including his father.

  4. USE A SPACE HEATER. You’re going to be freezing. The kid thinks all water is too hot, plus you won’t be able to get more than 20 percent of your body submerged, so you’ll be sitting in eight inches of tepid water shivering to death. It’s like ice fishing except you’re naked and accompanied by a naked child, and you don’t have fishing gear—never mind.

  5. HAVE TOWELS READY. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can say that will prevent you from making this mistake every single time. If your house is like mine, there is never a towel hanging on the rack. You won’t remember that, though. So, like me, you’ll get out and you’ll get your child out, only to realize you haven’t got a drying device. No, you cannot use the space heater. With your child standing in place dripping wet, you’ll walk to the hall closet BUTT NAKED, probably slipping on the wood floor and pulling a neck muscle. When you come back, the child is gone—off streaking through the house, diaperless and cackling, and making everything damp.

  Safe Places to Eat Cookies

  Parents need to indulge in cookie-eating binges. Usually we’re able to hold off until the kids are asleep, but sometimes, the urge hits us when they’re awake and totally aware that there are cookies in the house. Just because they’ve had their recommended daily allowance doesn’t mean Mom or Dad can’t pound the rest of the bag. The trick is to make sure you don’t let them see you do it. I know it’s embarrassing—infantilizing even—but the best thing you can do is hide. Choose your place wisely. I recommend the following.

  1. In the garage

  2. Behind the shed

  3. Inside the shed

  4. In the shower

  5. In the shower with the water on (slightly more effective)

  6. In the boiler room

  7. On the toilet

  8. Under the covers in a dark room with the door locked

  9. Inside your car parked in the driveway

  10. Right in front of your child, while chanting “COOKIE ONLY FOR DADDY. COOKIE ONLY FOR DADDY.” (This never works.)

  11. Really anywhere, as long as you’re crying while eating them

  12. From the inside of a ski mask. Instructions: Fill ski mask with cookies, put on ski mask, open mouth, chew furiously, hope for the best.

  13. You’re probably thinking, “Hey, Jason, what about the closet?” Rookie mistake. They always find you there because that’s their secret place for eating cookies (and sometimes for peeing).

  What We’ve Googled

  After being a parent for over five years, here are some phrases my family may or may not have searched for on Google.

  1. Dried puke in slipper contagious?

  2. 55kaw0jADHSASŚ*BOB*THE*BUILDER*iPAD* MOMMY*;;,,,,,nb

  3. Babies in African villages happier?

  4. New parents + frequency of sex + normal

  5. Toddler won’t wear coat

  6. Lack of REM sleep and IQ related?

  7. Younger sibling bites older sibling normal?

  8. Canadian pharmacy untraceable P.O. box felony?

  9. Is 40 too old to wear jeggings?

  10. Angry Birds Rio level 8-15 cheat

  11. Images: “kids having fun at dentist”

  12. “Nipple confusion” myth?

  13. Dad poker night New Jersey over by 9 P.M.

  The Arithmetic of Parenting

  FULL DISCLOSURE: I misspelled “arithmetic” five times before finally getting it right. But that’s spelling, not math. I’m very skilled at “math things.” I believe that there’s an equation all parents use while watching their children play (albeit subconsciously) to determine whether they’re needed. Think of it as a Pythagorean theorem for caregivers.

  LI stands for “likelihood of injury” scale from 1 to 100.

  SI is “severity of injury” scale from 1 to 20.

  CSC is the parent’s “current state of comfort” scale from 1 to 100.

  KC stands for “kinetic concern,” which is a variable I’ve created to measure the degree to which a parent is willing to expend energy in order to help his or her children. Anything above 1.0 should cause the caregiver to go into motion.

  Let’s use an example. Imagine you’re lying in the hammock watching your young child play on the monkey bars. Because he’s accustomed to these monkey bars, there is a very low likelihood of injury (LI). But, since the bars are so high off the ground, there’s an elevated severity of injury (SI). And, obviously, since you’re in the hammock, the current state of comfort (CSC) is quite high. The equation would look like this:

  With a kinetic concern (KC) score of less than 1.0, it’s perfectly reasonable for you to remain sedentary. But what if the monkey bars had been even higher off the ground, and you were sitting on a chair instead of lying in a hammock? The likelihood of injury (LI) would remain the same, but with an increased severity of injury (SI) coupled with a decreased current stat
e of comfort (CSC), the kinetic concern (KC) value would be much higher.

  This is a clear call to action, and everyone knows it.

  There is one frightening and common situation in which this equation fails us: when our children are out of our sight and very quiet. If LI and SI are both unknown, and only CSC is observable, can we still solve for KC? Let’s try.

  Don’t panic. According to Dr. Spock, VC is an acronym for “verbal confirmation.” In this case, the course of action is still relatively simple: Yell, “It’s awfully quiet down there. Is everything okay?” If you don’t receive a VC after three attempts, assume LI is over 80 and SI is at least 18. This means that even with a CSC of 100, the KC will be over 1.0, so you should leap off the toilet and make sure the kids aren’t in the gross part of the basement playing with a crossbow.

  Operation Roommate

  Here’s the psychologically complex eight-step process my son used to trick me into sleeping in his bed with him. I encourage you to watch for the warning signs that your kid might be attempting something similar.

  STEP 1. ESTABLISH NEED. Wake frequently, causing your father to go from a dead sleep to a full-on sprint at least fifteen times a night. You’re the firstborn, so your parents still freak out anytime you cry. Use this to your advantage.

  STEP 2. CONVERGENCE. After twelve consecutive nights, your parents will start putting you to sleep in their bed where you’ll stay all night. This is only the first rest stop on a long road. Remember, the idea is to get your father in your bed. So pay attention; the following steps require patience and cunning.