<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747</id><updated>2011-08-02T17:28:55.524-04:00</updated><category term='contemplative'/><category term='firsts'/><category term='comical'/><category term='musical'/><category term='conventional'/><category term='poetic'/><title type='text'>Dawn of the Dad</title><subtitle type='html'>Vignettes from the life of a stay-at-home dad updated daily.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>365</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-5840583476101749682</id><published>2010-08-31T07:00:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-31T07:00:06.307-04:00</updated><title type='text'>***The Final Post***</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;It's the end of the line for Dawn of the Dad.  I've done 365 posts (one a day for a year) and my time as a stay at home dad is almost up.  Tomorrow, I return to work as a teacher.  The kids come in and the school year begins in earnest.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This last blog entry will sit atop all the other for all eternity.  So to put a little cap on experience of blogging about my daily life there are a few things I want to do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;Explanation of this Blog&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you are perhaps a first-time visitor, here's a little backstory...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I took the last year off from working as a middle school teacher to stay at home with my daughter (referred to in this blog as Baby J).  I began this blog so that family members who live far away could keep tabs on us and so I could keep a running record of my experience.  I figured it would be cool to look back on it someday, to offer it to Baby J when she's old enough.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dawn of the Dad also became a place where I could think out loud (or type out my thoughts out loud...whatever, you know what I mean).  This process of reflecting and ranting and posting has given me valuable insights into the nature of family, fatherhood, and child-rearing.  Over the course of the year, there have been some "valuable insights" which have developed into what you might call Super Mega Reflections, big ideas or perhaps major themes that involve parenting.  Here they are...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Super Mega Reflections&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;Public libraries are the greatest thing on Earth&lt;/span&gt;.  There is no doubt about it, libraries were what got us through this year.  They have space, programs, and toys designed for little kids.  They have a limitless supply of information and entertainment right there for you and your family.  They want nothing more than for you to take from them all you can carry.  And it's all for free.  When you really sit and think about it, libraries are just amazing.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;The parent who parents less parents best&lt;/span&gt;.  I'm not advocating lassiez faire, total hands-off parenting.  Keep your kids safe, of course.  But, let them learn to fall and get up on their own.  Let them learn to make decisions, screw things up, and then set them right again.  Let them figure things out on their own.  Someday you won't be around anymore and your kids will have to get along without you.  Help prepare them for independence right from the very start.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;When you care for a child, you must also care for yourself&lt;/span&gt;.  Otherwise you will both suffer.  Do what it takes to keep yourself healthy and sane.  Sleep, eat, exercise, socialize with other adults.  Whatever it takes.  If you aren't a whole person, you cannot give of yourself in the way that children need you to. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;Comparing children to one another is an ugly affair&lt;/span&gt;.  Parents who measure their child against someone else's are really just exposing their insecurities and anxieties.  I give you my solemn promise - your child will grow up to be big and strong and smart and happy.  If not, your pediatrician will point out the red flags way ahead of time.  So relax and find something else to talk about with other parents.  I really don't care how many teeth your kid has.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;b&gt;Comment Policy&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;People seemed to enjoy making the occasional comment on my blog.  And as much I appreciated the interaction, I'm afraid I will have to shut all that down now.  The problem is that spammers love to post links to pornographic websites in the comments section.  And for some weird reason, it's always in Chinese.  So because of these Chinese spammers, as of September 1st, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;comments will no longer be a feature available on this blog&lt;/span&gt;.  One feature that will be available, however, is a tidy, little table of contents.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Table of Contents&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/search/label/firsts"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;Firsts&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; - This here is a list of all the milestones Baby J reached.  First steps, first words, etc. Very useful if you are a Baby J historian.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/search/label/comical"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;Comics&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; - When Dawn of the Dad first got started, I did a comic pretty much every other day. Though I couldn't keep up that pace, all told, I posted about 50.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/search/label/musical"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;Music&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; - To celebrate milestones and to add a bit of variety to the blog,  I posted about ten songs I'd written over the course of the year.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So there you have it.  It's been a hoot.  I hope you enjoy my musings. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-5840583476101749682?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/5840583476101749682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/final-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5840583476101749682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5840583476101749682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/final-post.html' title='***The Final Post***'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-5343724194587620291</id><published>2010-08-30T07:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-30T19:27:44.408-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Frustration</title><content type='html'>Baby J seems to have a low frustration threshold these days.  If she can't complete some task quickly enough or make herself understood, she moans and growls and does this strange, fake cry.  I think it's because she's at the point where she can communicate a bit verbally and knows how to get her message across.  But when words fail her, she goes straight to angry grunts for almost anything.  She sounds like a little cave-baby.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-5343724194587620291?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/5343724194587620291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/frustration.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5343724194587620291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5343724194587620291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/frustration.html' title='Frustration'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-5343462930597236351</id><published>2010-08-29T07:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-29T07:29:00.464-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Biting</title><content type='html'>Baby J is going through a biting phase.  At least I hope it's a phase.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At school she's been chomping down on her friends left and right.  My wife is scared she's going to get kicked out of school but they don't seem too worried about it there.  Especially since Baby J only seems to bite in an affectionate way.  It's only when her friends are giving her a hug or she's playing nicely with someone.  Never out of frustration or anger.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Either way, I'll be happy when this phase is over.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-5343462930597236351?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/5343462930597236351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/biting.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5343462930597236351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5343462930597236351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/biting.html' title='Biting'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-5061166335111833538</id><published>2010-08-28T07:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-28T07:01:00.376-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Got Poo</title><content type='html'>Today, Baby J reached another milestone - an awareness of poopy.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She was playing with some toys when suddenly she stopped and came over to me.  She was babbling on about something but I didn't quite understand.  But then, quite clearly, she said, "got poo."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A quick sniff confirmed it and I whisked her off to be changed.  I really didn't think much of it.  But when I told my wife, she got really excited - giddy even!  After that, I thought about it a bit and realized that this is the first step towards potty training, towards doo doo independence, and, most importantly, the end of me having to change poopy diapers.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That is certainly something to be giddy about.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;p.s.  The spell-checker on my computer put a little, wavy, red line under every reference to poop in this post.  Apparently, the folks who programmed my computer did not feel it is important to put potty talk in the computer, they consider it all to be misspelled.  Why is that?  The more graphic, four-letter word for it passes muster but not "doo doo."  Strange.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-5061166335111833538?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/5061166335111833538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/got-poo.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5061166335111833538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5061166335111833538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/got-poo.html' title='Got Poo'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8894797037683620493</id><published>2010-08-27T07:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-26T22:11:14.723-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Paycheck</title><content type='html'>I got my first paycheck today.  I'm making money again!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We've officially made landfall on this stay-at-home voyage.  Even though we'd planned everything out well in advance, it's still hard to believe that we survived financially for almost two years with a single wage-earner.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I look back at my time as a stay-at-home dad, I don't much think of the lean living.  I don't think about the student loans I've amassed.  I don't think about the wage earning potential I gave up.  At this moment, now that I fully realize my stint as a stay-at-home dad is ending, I feel only a tremendous sense of accomplishment, I feel really proud that my family and I made a goal, stuck to our plan, and made it out the other side.  In these tough economic times and in a way that most families don't operate, we followed made a decision, stuck to our guns, and it's really something to be proud of.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8894797037683620493?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8894797037683620493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/paycheck.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8894797037683620493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8894797037683620493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/paycheck.html' title='Paycheck'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-1112784759186618472</id><published>2010-08-26T07:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-26T07:52:00.760-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Listening To</title><content type='html'>Over the course of the year, I kept a running record of the music I was listening to while I wrote.  Part of the reason I did this was to make recommendations to anyone who happened to be visiting Dawn of the Dad.  But I've been keeping track of my musical meanderings for my own benefit too.  For some reason, I feel like this will be important to me someday.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, for your benefit and mine, here's &lt;a href="http://www.jasondeeble.com/images/albums.xls" target="blank"&gt;an excel spreadsheet of all the Dawn of the Dad albums&lt;/a&gt; complete with comments from yours truly. Yes, it took me a long to do but I think you're worth it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And if you want some more musical recommendations, here's an online&lt;a href="http://www.listology.com/list/1001-albums-you-must-hear-you-die" target="blank"&gt; list of 1001 albums you must hear before you die&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  color: rgb(204, 204, 204); line-height: 20px; font-family:'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-1112784759186618472?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/1112784759186618472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/listening-to.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1112784759186618472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1112784759186618472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/listening-to.html' title='Listening To'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8426174913910901330</id><published>2010-08-25T07:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-25T07:43:00.066-04:00</updated><title type='text'>We Only Accept the Love We Think We Deserve</title><content type='html'>A thought has been bouncing around my brain recently:  &lt;i&gt;we only accept the love we think we deserve.  &lt;/i&gt;I think I read that somewhere.  Maybe a fortune cookie.  Maybe on a bathroom wall.  I can't remember.  Either way, I think it's a pretty profound statement.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm not going to comment too much on this little snippet of wisdom.  It's probably better if it infects your brain the way it did mine.  I just wanted to ruminate a bit on where our concept of self-worth comes from.  Is there a preset, innate sense of self-esteem for each person?  Is it something taught to us by our friends and family?  Is it both?  How is it that we decide how much we're worth?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Psychologists have probably written scores of books on this subject.  I should probably check a few of them out of the library.  After all, I want to make sure that Baby J grows up feeling good about herself and worthy of love.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8426174913910901330?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8426174913910901330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/we-only-accept-love-we-think-we-deserve.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8426174913910901330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8426174913910901330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/we-only-accept-love-we-think-we-deserve.html' title='We Only Accept the Love We Think We Deserve'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-853980789598006763</id><published>2010-08-24T07:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-24T07:53:00.238-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Accumulation</title><content type='html'>Baby J acquires things over the course of a day so that, when it comes time for bed, we have to disinter her from her collection.  For example...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yesterday, my wife bought her a toy stroller.  She, of course, needed a passenger - her teddy bear, Timmy.  Then, she decided she wanted to put on a pair of my wife's shorts but they were a bit too big to stay up around her waist.  I improvised and used a tutu to hold them up like a belt.  Then she found my wife's cardigan and demanded that she wear that too.  She spent the final part of the evening walking around like some bag lady, pushing her cart and ambling around in cast off clothing.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At the end of the day, when I went to give her a bath, I had to take all this away from her and more!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wonder if, when she grows up, she'll be a hoarder.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-853980789598006763?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/853980789598006763/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/accumulation.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/853980789598006763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/853980789598006763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/accumulation.html' title='Accumulation'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8595867666150679252</id><published>2010-08-23T07:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-23T07:37:00.160-04:00</updated><title type='text'>BBQ</title><content type='html'>I'm not on Facebook or any other social networking site so I don't really keep track of old friends via the internet.  I try to keep up correspondence through emails and phone calls instead but it's a sad fact that some folks slip away as the years go by.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So when one of my friends said she wanted to get all our old pals together and do a BBQ, I thought it was a great idea.  The date was set, the location picked, and all old friends tracked down.  My family and I are driving out to see everyone over Labor Day and I'm really looking forward to it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One of the coolest things about this BBQ is that everyone is bringing their kids with them.  In the past few years, we've all been busy siring offspring and now they're all at the age where they can interact and meet each other.  For some reason, I just think that's the cat's pajamas.  I can't wait for Baby J to meet the other babies.  I doubt she'll see anything really significant about it but for me it'll really be something special.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8595867666150679252?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8595867666150679252/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/bbq.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8595867666150679252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8595867666150679252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/bbq.html' title='BBQ'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7176210913879503972</id><published>2010-08-22T07:48:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-23T08:15:26.331-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='firsts'/><title type='text'>FIRSTS:  Sentence</title><content type='html'>Baby J's first complete sentence is:&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;"Where did it go?"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;She said it the other day in the tub when the water drained out.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As far as first sentences go, this one is quite a doozy.  I mean, how do you answer that?  How do you explain that water is made of individual molecules that, by going down the drain, eventually rejoin the water cycle?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's probably enough to just say it went down the drain but I try to give Baby J accurate information.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7176210913879503972?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7176210913879503972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/firsts-sentence.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7176210913879503972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7176210913879503972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/firsts-sentence.html' title='FIRSTS:  Sentence'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7873261375383359079</id><published>2010-08-21T07:03:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-21T07:03:00.404-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Daycare Update</title><content type='html'>In case you were wondering, Baby J has been adjusting well to daycare.  She can nap there.  She eats there.  She has fun.  She makes friends (she attacks some of them from time to time - we're still working on "nice touch").  She has no problem acclimating when we drop her off in the morning and comes home at the end of the day happy.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So far so good.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;P.S.  Only ten posts left until 365!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7873261375383359079?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7873261375383359079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/daycare-update.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7873261375383359079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7873261375383359079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/daycare-update.html' title='Daycare Update'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-6466469695216246040</id><published>2010-08-20T07:23:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-20T07:23:01.002-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Bard and Descendant Duties</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;My &lt;a href="http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/bard-and-universality-of-young-love.html"&gt;recent explorations into the works of Shakespeare&lt;/a&gt; has led me to take another look at Hamlet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGx_Ygooi0I/AAAAAAAAAwM/GmSJHvc65zs/s1600/6a00d834515b2069e2010534c1b496970b-800wi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGx_Ygooi0I/AAAAAAAAAwM/GmSJHvc65zs/s200/6a00d834515b2069e2010534c1b496970b-800wi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506916503421225794" style="cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hamlet has been fenced in by centuries of scholarly analysis so everything I say in this post is probably already out there somewhere.  I doubt there's really anything new that can be said about Hamlet.  But here's my take on it anyway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now that I'm dad, I see everything in a new way.  The interactions of Hamlet and his family now makes me wonder how much we owe our families?  Do we as parents ask too much of our children?  Are we in some way bound to honor each others requests just because we are family?  Is it our duty to oblige those we are descended from?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All of Hamlet's problems come to him because his family members make demands of him.  He's basically just a solipsistic college kid who has grim responsibilities heaped on him until he buckles up the strain.  I see that as the tragedy of the play.  This young guy never gets a chance to live his life, never gets to fall in love because of his father's angry spirit, his uncle's murderous intrigues, and his mother's weird Oedipal thingamajiggy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course, it's just a play, an expressionistic rendering of reality.  But still, the plot of Hamlet could read as a cautionary tale for parents.  It says don't place your burdens on your children no matter how pissed off you are.  It says don't make unreasonable requests of your kids.  Otherwise, you and your whole family end up stabbed and/or poisoned!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&amp;amp;source=web&amp;amp;cd=3&amp;amp;ved=0CCMQFjAC&amp;amp;url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FPacer-Amps%2Fdp%2FB000002HJJ&amp;amp;ei=gYBsTLfcD4aKlweX2-n4AQ&amp;amp;usg=AFQjCNHkvBSdEk6R44bz7_BfjtIAb5U7Ug"&gt;Pacer&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.noaloha.com/amps/"&gt;The Amps&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGx_YVKyXfI/AAAAAAAAAwE/ox6Eqxy8qp4/s1600/thumbnail.aspx.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGx_YVKyXfI/AAAAAAAAAwE/ox6Eqxy8qp4/s200/thumbnail.aspx.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506916500343250418" style="cursor: pointer; width: 110px; height: 109px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-6466469695216246040?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/6466469695216246040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/bard-and-descendant-duties.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6466469695216246040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6466469695216246040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/bard-and-descendant-duties.html' title='The Bard and Descendant Duties'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGx_Ygooi0I/AAAAAAAAAwM/GmSJHvc65zs/s72-c/6a00d834515b2069e2010534c1b496970b-800wi.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-2946236903189985456</id><published>2010-08-19T07:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-19T07:31:00.676-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to Work</title><content type='html'>Today is the first day that I return to work in an official capacity.  I thought I would have some grand realizations or insightful reflections about my time off and my return to work but I don't.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, maybe this one:  Getting up really early sucks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-2946236903189985456?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/2946236903189985456/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/back-to-work.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2946236903189985456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2946236903189985456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/back-to-work.html' title='Back to Work'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3818965389916440341</id><published>2010-08-18T07:28:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-18T07:28:00.639-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sick in Six Hours</title><content type='html'>I knew Baby J would get sick more frequently when she entered daycare - the doctor said an average of once every three weeks! - but our little lady was in daycare all of six hours when she came home with a runny nose and some crazy stuff going on in her diaper.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But we have to build up that immunity before she enters Kindergarten, right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3818965389916440341?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3818965389916440341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/sick-in-six-hours.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3818965389916440341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3818965389916440341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/sick-in-six-hours.html' title='Sick in Six Hours'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-1811318477461472144</id><published>2010-08-17T07:55:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-17T07:55:00.504-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Napocolypse</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Yesterday, Baby J went down for her nap after coming home from daycare.  Usually, she falls right to sleep for her nap but on this day she had a dirty diaper which kept her up.  Apparently, she didn't much like sitting there in this dirty diaper and took matters into her own hands.  Baby J unzipped her sleepsack, stripped off her poopy diaper, threw it across the room, and then fell asleep.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When she woke up she was cranky, uncomfortable, and flecked with poop from her less than surgical removal of the offending diaper.  She went straight into the bath.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Usually cheery in the tub, Baby J was most upset this time, crying profusely.  Afterwards, she looked so pathetic, teary eyed, dripping wet, and shivering.  My wife offered her a hug which she gladly accepted.  And to show just how appreciative she was of this hug, Baby J then peed all over the bathroom floor.  She went straight back into the tub for scrub down.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I cleaned the floor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All in all, this nap and the bath immediately after was a fiasco.  But the worst part of it all was that, just as everything was reaching a fever pitch, our friends dropped by fir a visit.  These young lovers are soon to be wed and don't have any kids yet.  And I'm sure this napocolypse made an impression on them.  We may have just changed their mind about having kids altogether.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Golden-Beds-Ep-Octopus-Project/dp/B002C68WQY"&gt;Golden Beds&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.theoctopusproject.com/"&gt;The Octopus Project&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGk86z9roOI/AAAAAAAAAv8/KKtr7LUD22w/s1600/cbd3a3e46053dcd6.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGk86z9roOI/AAAAAAAAAv8/KKtr7LUD22w/s200/cbd3a3e46053dcd6.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505999000516141282" style="cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 130px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-1811318477461472144?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/1811318477461472144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/napocolypse.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1811318477461472144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1811318477461472144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/napocolypse.html' title='Napocolypse'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGk86z9roOI/AAAAAAAAAv8/KKtr7LUD22w/s72-c/cbd3a3e46053dcd6.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-1938614925179341871</id><published>2010-08-16T07:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-16T07:52:00.081-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Dori</title><content type='html'>If you've ever seen Finding Nemo, then you're familiar with the bubbly, blue fish Dori played by Ellen Degeneress.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGbdMqfun7I/AAAAAAAAAv0/FMX74DaJS_g/s1600/FindingNemo101.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGbdMqfun7I/AAAAAAAAAv0/FMX74DaJS_g/s200/FindingNemo101.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505330804142546866" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 112px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dori has some sort of fishie, short-term memory loss which leads to all sort of comical interactions.  Over the course of the movie, she manages to overcome her disability and memorizes a single, vital piece of information, the address where the eponymous character Nemo is being held captive.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;P. Sherman&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;42 Wallaby Way&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sydney&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dori is so delighted that she can memorize this address that she says it again and again and again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The other day, on the way to daycare, Baby J began reciting the list of words she knew in a loop and my wife remarked how much she sounded like Dori from Finding Nemo.  I thought it was very funny and pretty accurate and I told her I would post it on my blog.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Then-Nothing-Turned-Itself-Inside-Out/dp/B00004C4OA"&gt;And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.yolatengo.com/"&gt;Yo La Tengo&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGbdMecQRKI/AAAAAAAAAvs/BmPpafn8EcM/s1600/8368f8b1c7cf8ce8.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGbdMecQRKI/AAAAAAAAAvs/BmPpafn8EcM/s200/8368f8b1c7cf8ce8.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505330800906749090" style="cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 116px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-1938614925179341871?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/1938614925179341871/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/dori.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1938614925179341871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1938614925179341871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/dori.html' title='Dori'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGbdMqfun7I/AAAAAAAAAv0/FMX74DaJS_g/s72-c/FindingNemo101.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-5726526551177207144</id><published>2010-08-15T07:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-15T07:22:00.254-04:00</updated><title type='text'>End of the Poo Poo Palace</title><content type='html'>We've moved some things around our house.  Bookshelves, tables, etc.  As a result, Baby J's &lt;a href="http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/03/poo-poo-palace.html"&gt;Poo Poo Palace&lt;/a&gt;, the place where she once went to play and produce a full diaper, has been dismantled. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; I'm sad to see it go for a number of reasons.  First of all, it was the only enclosed, self-contained area in the house where we could safely leave the baby and steal a few moments to sneak off to the bathroom.  But even more than that, I'm sad to see the Poo Poo Palace gone because Baby J no longer has her own quiet corner in our home.  The Poo Poo Palace was her own private property where there was no chance of injury, no one bothered her, she had all she needed, and got a little space to herself.  We all need a little place to go and chill out by ourselves.  Baby J probably doesn't care one way or the other but, for some reason, I do.  Probably because I wouldn't mind having a little Poo Poo Palace of my own.  Oh, wait a second...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGF8DMWJaCI/AAAAAAAAAvk/5UjRHgVDHhw/s1600/kohler_bathroom.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGF8DMWJaCI/AAAAAAAAAvk/5UjRHgVDHhw/s200/kohler_bathroom.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503816613919025186" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 157px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-5726526551177207144?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/5726526551177207144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/end-of-poo-poo-palace.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5726526551177207144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5726526551177207144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/end-of-poo-poo-palace.html' title='End of the Poo Poo Palace'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TGF8DMWJaCI/AAAAAAAAAvk/5UjRHgVDHhw/s72-c/kohler_bathroom.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7473598619430230781</id><published>2010-08-14T07:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T07:00:04.007-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Gray Area</title><content type='html'>I write a lot about Baby J's firsts but really there usually isn't a single first instance of anything.  Not for walking, not for words, not for the first day of school.  Everything involved with a child's growth and development seems to be a gradual transition.  There is no sudden walking, no sudden words, etc.  No stark black and white.  At least not for Baby J.  For her, everything blends from one stage to another in a large swath of gray.   I'm guessing it's like this at every moment in a child's life.  Even in utero.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7473598619430230781?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7473598619430230781/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/gray-area.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7473598619430230781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7473598619430230781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/gray-area.html' title='Gray Area'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8596246376215949672</id><published>2010-08-13T07:48:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-13T07:48:00.663-04:00</updated><title type='text'>School Daze</title><content type='html'>Today we began a process that probably won't finish up for another two decades.  Today is the day Baby J went off to school all by herself.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We dropped her off with the staff and the other kids and then walked back up the hill thinking wistfully of our little love in the care of strangers.  It was sad and sweet but we didn't really have much time to dwell on it.  Our neighbor almost ran us over in her SUV and the whole fight or flight reflex kicked in.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8596246376215949672?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8596246376215949672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/school-daze.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8596246376215949672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8596246376215949672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/school-daze.html' title='School Daze'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3594219246322516410</id><published>2010-08-12T07:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-12T07:09:00.171-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Personality Study</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Today's post is a link to a recent study that suggests people develop their personalities in childhood and that they do not change much at all through adulthood.  That's good new for Baby J since she's got such a delightful disposition.  I just hope she gets over the whole violent streak she's got.  Check it out &lt;a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/livescience/20100806/sc_livescience/personalitysetforlifeby1stgradestudysuggests"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3594219246322516410?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3594219246322516410/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/personality-study.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3594219246322516410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3594219246322516410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/personality-study.html' title='Personality Study'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-1551193835199301677</id><published>2010-08-11T07:57:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-11T07:57:00.521-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Bard and the Universality of Young Love</title><content type='html'>I have strange and sporadic areas of interest.  Sometimes it's science, sometimes it's history.  Some times it's science, sometimes it's mathematics.  Right now, its Shakespeare.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TF2jw67XZFI/AAAAAAAAAvc/RR0zKJEAzKw/s1600/shakespeare.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TF2jw67XZFI/AAAAAAAAAvc/RR0zKJEAzKw/s200/shakespeare.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502734380563915858" style="cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've been listening to recorded lectures on him, watching productions of his plays, reading his sonnets.  One of the goals of my exploration is to find out why Romeo and Juliet has such universal appeal and why it has endured as one of his most popular plays despite being written some 400 years ago.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm not academic so I can't give any sort of elaborate dissertation on the subject but I think it has something to do with young love and the universality of that deliriously dizzying feeling.  Everyone falls in love when they are young and, sadly, pretty much every one of those small, sweet romances is doomed from the very start.  Folks remember these early affairs fondly and somewhere (in the back of the back of the back of their minds) can still feel the smart of the breakup.  I think it is these memories of young love and love lost which give Romeo and Juliet it's universal appeal.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, what's all this have to do with Baby J and being a father?  Well, Baby J is not going to be a baby forever.  She will become Teenager J and then Adult J and then Senior Citizen J at some point.  And somewhere during those transitions she is likely to encounter young love and her first heartbreak.  From my vantage point as an adult, I romanticize the past.  I see all that as being very sweet and charming.  But she might not feel the same way as she's going through it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Who knows?  It may be  sweet and charming for her or it may be bruising and bewildering.  Either way, I'm pretty much certain that it is a universal occurrence and when she comes out on the other end she will, at the very least, be able to appreciate Shakespeare a bit more.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-1551193835199301677?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/1551193835199301677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/bard-and-universality-of-young-love.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1551193835199301677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1551193835199301677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/bard-and-universality-of-young-love.html' title='The Bard and the Universality of Young Love'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TF2jw67XZFI/AAAAAAAAAvc/RR0zKJEAzKw/s72-c/shakespeare.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7485679889933307776</id><published>2010-08-10T07:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-10T07:54:00.472-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Nice to Meet You or I Will Destroy Your Face</title><content type='html'>I don't know what it is but for some reason, whenever Baby J meets another child, she tries to scratch out their eyes.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today at the mall.  Yesterday at the library.  At playgroup.  At birthday parties.  At the pool.  She runs up to other kids and goes straight for the face.  Needless to say, I'm a little concerned about this sort of anti-social behavior.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However, I'm beginning to suspect that this is just the way she introduces herself to other children.  Like adults shake hands, Baby J shakes faces.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Or maybe I'm just making up excuses for my child's homicidal mania.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Led-Zeppelin-1/dp/B000002J01"&gt;Led Zeppelin 1&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.ledzeppelin.com/"&gt;Led Zeppelin&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TF2DNX6q8lI/AAAAAAAAAu0/4hZPvuGmN4c/s1600/b3009bf38b9da1c4.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TF2DNX6q8lI/AAAAAAAAAu0/4hZPvuGmN4c/s200/b3009bf38b9da1c4.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502698585498251858" style="cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 140px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7485679889933307776?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7485679889933307776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/nice-to-meet-you-or-i-will-destroy-your.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7485679889933307776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7485679889933307776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/nice-to-meet-you-or-i-will-destroy-your.html' title='Nice to Meet You or I Will Destroy Your Face'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TF2DNX6q8lI/AAAAAAAAAu0/4hZPvuGmN4c/s72-c/b3009bf38b9da1c4.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3452209295672340848</id><published>2010-08-09T07:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-09T07:50:00.489-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Moonlight Serenade</title><content type='html'>Last night, around 2:00 a.m., I awoke to hear Baby J singing from her room down the hall.  &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Keeyah, keeyah,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Uh dah dah de uh dah dah&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Translation:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Clean up, clean up&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Everybody, Everywhere...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You might know this little ditty.  We sing it to the baby whenever we're helping her to put her toys away.  Why she was singing it at two in the morning, I'll never know.  But if something's going to wake me in the middle of the night, I guess I'd prefer a singing baby over something else.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3452209295672340848?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3452209295672340848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/moonlight-serenade.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3452209295672340848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3452209295672340848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/moonlight-serenade.html' title='Moonlight Serenade'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-5411838948369864316</id><published>2010-08-08T07:11:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-08T07:11:00.219-04:00</updated><title type='text'>McDonald's</title><content type='html'>The other day I saw a young mother feeding her toddler a cheeseburger from McDonald's.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I was a kid, I used to love McDonald's.  Going there was a real treat for me.  But the older I got, the less appealing McDonald's was to me until finally I came to find it repulsive.  But I'll always remember how cool it was as a kid.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Since I'm making the decisions about food for Baby J, she's never had McDonald's.  And as long as I'm making the decisions about food, she probably never will.  It's not that Im trying to shield her from gross, unhealthy food.  It's just that I find it unappetizing so I why would I take my kid there. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I know from being a kid once myself, raising a kid of my own, and teaching kids as part of my job, such behaviors of avoidance can create a sort of desirable forbidden fruit for kids.  The more I shy away from McDonald's, the more Baby J will be interested in it.  I guess at some point I'll have to take her there and give let her order what she wants.  Otherwise, she'll probably grow up and go binge on Big Macs.    Besides, McDonald's is just cool to kids.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I have to admit, they make a good shamrock shake.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/One-Ten-Hundred-Thousand-Million/dp/B0006ZOVGI"&gt;One Ten Hundred Thousand Million&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.theoctopusproject.com/"&gt;The Octopus Project&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFwREuk8eyI/AAAAAAAAAus/SGKXb07N3JE/s1600/854b97a20e33197c.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFwREuk8eyI/AAAAAAAAAus/SGKXb07N3JE/s200/854b97a20e33197c.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502291617660042018" style="cursor: pointer; width: 145px; height: 145px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-5411838948369864316?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/5411838948369864316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/mcdonalds.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5411838948369864316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5411838948369864316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/mcdonalds.html' title='McDonald&apos;s'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFwREuk8eyI/AAAAAAAAAus/SGKXb07N3JE/s72-c/854b97a20e33197c.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3038572962817175128</id><published>2010-08-07T07:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-07T07:30:01.200-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Accessorize!</title><content type='html'>Baby J frequently goes into our closet and puts on one of my wife's shoes.  Just one.  Never two.  If we try to take this one shoe away from her, she cries and moans and throws a fit.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFltoaIc3JI/AAAAAAAAAuE/g42BwBT5RUM/s1600/93dca0639a13759e.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFltoaIc3JI/AAAAAAAAAuE/g42BwBT5RUM/s200/93dca0639a13759e.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501548960786734226" style="cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 110px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Recently, she's discovered a pair of white gloves that she loves too.  She needs help putting them on but once they're on, she hates to take them off.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFltpMqprfI/AAAAAAAAAuU/C_kM6lP9FqQ/s1600/f65fcd7157503c24.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFltpMqprfI/AAAAAAAAAuU/C_kM6lP9FqQ/s200/f65fcd7157503c24.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501548974351953394" style="cursor: pointer; width: 145px; height: 118px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Also, she's taken a shine to an old purse my wife doesn't use anymore.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFltpVu8f5I/AAAAAAAAAuc/RQmsAGU8J5A/s1600/a7f9a01d21fb5dd4.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFltpVu8f5I/AAAAAAAAAuc/RQmsAGU8J5A/s200/a7f9a01d21fb5dd4.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501548976785883026" style="cursor: pointer; width: 114px; height: 145px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And she's always had a thing for wearing my watch.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFltovNZFII/AAAAAAAAAuM/Annqy9XsKeE/s1600/115b045209cc4e7c.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFltovNZFII/AAAAAAAAAuM/Annqy9XsKeE/s200/115b045209cc4e7c.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501548966444602498" style="cursor: pointer; width: 123px; height: 145px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And two Livestrong bracelets we have.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFltoASk9aI/AAAAAAAAAt8/jzdXjBTIYO8/s1600/4da54db106fbf6f8.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFltoASk9aI/AAAAAAAAAt8/jzdXjBTIYO8/s200/4da54db106fbf6f8.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501548953849886114" style="cursor: pointer; width: 145px; height: 96px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes she puts them all on at once and stumbles around the house.  She has zero fashion sense but she loves to accessorize.  Maybe someday she'll be a trend-setting designer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Writers-Block-Peter-Bjorn-John/dp/B000NJL4TY"&gt;Writer's Block&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.peterbjornandjohn.com/"&gt;Peter, Bjorn, and John&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFluZla0Q5I/AAAAAAAAAuk/gSi33djbQi8/s1600/342584b2c82c8d96.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFluZla0Q5I/AAAAAAAAAuk/gSi33djbQi8/s200/342584b2c82c8d96.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501549805630145426" style="cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 133px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3038572962817175128?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3038572962817175128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/accessorize.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3038572962817175128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3038572962817175128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/accessorize.html' title='Accessorize!'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFltoaIc3JI/AAAAAAAAAuE/g42BwBT5RUM/s72-c/93dca0639a13759e.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8156033398174134044</id><published>2010-08-06T07:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-06T07:57:00.368-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sing, Sing, Sing, Sing</title><content type='html'>Baby J has been doing very well with learning how to communicate verbally.  She has a large and diverse vocabulary at this point and is continually adding to it.  But even more exciting than these new words are the new songs she's singing.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After months and months and months and months of singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star to her, she's finally figuring out how to sing it on her own.  Same with Are You Sleeping? and The Wheels on the Bus.  She hasn't quite got them down yet - for example, the honk on the bus goes beep, beep, beep a little bit longer than it should - but she is definitely progressing with her repertoire and I couldn't be happier about it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8156033398174134044?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8156033398174134044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/sing-sing-sing-sing.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8156033398174134044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8156033398174134044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/sing-sing-sing-sing.html' title='Sing, Sing, Sing, Sing'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7810272164252640067</id><published>2010-08-05T07:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-05T07:23:00.372-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Kiss</title><content type='html'>Baby J is learning how to kiss and today I think she made her first official kiss.  A proud mommy was the recipient.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You may be asking what constitutes an official kiss.  Well, there are three parts.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;The kisser must first lean towards the kissee.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The kisser must place his or her lips on the kissee.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The kisser must make the appropriate kissy noise to ensure the transaction is complete.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I'm proud to say that Baby J has mastered all three criteria.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7810272164252640067?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7810272164252640067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/kiss.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7810272164252640067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7810272164252640067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/kiss.html' title='Kiss'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7653260431840815235</id><published>2010-08-04T07:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-04T07:57:00.058-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Bully Babe</title><content type='html'>There have been several instances where Baby J was the victim of other aggressive children.  I've blogged about it several times in the past.  However, the tables have been turning and my beloved little angel has now become the perpetrator of violent acts on others.  She has become a Bully Babe!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today at playgroup, she ran over to one of her friends and clawed her face in a grisly attack.  She whacked another kid in the head.  She scratched my arm quite deliberately when I was getting her out of the car seat this morning.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm pretty sure this is just a developmental thing and that my job her is to discourage these violent tendencies as best I can.  For a long time, she's been beating up on the cat and we've been practicing "nice touch."  And I think we've started to see some progress with "nice touch" and the kitties.  Now we just have to get it to generalize to all other living things.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7653260431840815235?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7653260431840815235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/bully-babe.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7653260431840815235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7653260431840815235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/bully-babe.html' title='Bully Babe'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8264850406841208805</id><published>2010-08-03T07:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-03T12:10:29.442-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Home Stretch</title><content type='html'>Alright!  I'll admit it.  I'm running out of gas with this blog.  It's August now and my stint as a stay-at-home dad is in its final few weeks.  I've been blogging for a year about the profound and the mundane.  My world has been babies and bottles and binkies and boo boos and, now that I'm starting to return to the world of adults, it's hard to keep my focus on documenting the lives and times of a toddler.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So my posts have been less than stellar, the regularity with which I post diminished somewhat.  But I committed to a year as a stay-at-home dad and I committed to a year of blogging and I will complete them both.  There will be no Heartbreak Hill for Dawn of the Dad.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8264850406841208805?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8264850406841208805/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/home-stretch.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8264850406841208805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8264850406841208805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/home-stretch.html' title='Home Stretch'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-6904327174617065727</id><published>2010-08-02T07:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-02T15:23:19.325-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wedding</title><content type='html'>As mentioned in a previous post, Baby J was the flower girl in a wedding over the weekend.  It was cute.  We drove back this weekend.  That's why I didn't post yesterday.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have nothing further at this time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-6904327174617065727?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/6904327174617065727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/wedding.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6904327174617065727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6904327174617065727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/08/wedding.html' title='Wedding'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-6462013444504724172</id><published>2010-07-31T07:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-31T07:15:00.368-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Flower Girl</title><content type='html'>My wife's brother is getting married today and he's asked for Baby J to be the flower girl in the service.  We have a fancy dress for her and some nice shoes but no flowers.  My wife assures me that we don't need flowers for her.  But, to me, a flower girl without flowers is just a regular girl.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The three of us will walk down the aisle together holding hands.  This doesn't sit right with me  either.  I think a flower girl should have at least one hand free to hold flowers.  Again my wife assures me that this is not really an issue and she's probably right.  I'm being too literal.  A flower girl is just there for "cuteness relief" in the same way funny scenes are stitched into films for comic relief.  Really, having a toddler around is like having cuteness on tap.  All we have to do is give her a poofy dress and let the cuteness flow from that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-6462013444504724172?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/6462013444504724172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/flower-girl.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6462013444504724172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6462013444504724172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/flower-girl.html' title='Flower Girl'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-5385889265220577636</id><published>2010-07-30T07:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-30T07:48:00.065-04:00</updated><title type='text'>American Teen</title><content type='html'>American Teen is a documentary which chronicles the senior year of five high school students in small town Indiana.  And it is intense!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFGMaBuoMJI/AAAAAAAAAts/fmA4tEEyfaM/s1600/AmericanTeenPosterFinal_000.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFGMaBuoMJI/AAAAAAAAAts/fmA4tEEyfaM/s200/AmericanTeenPosterFinal_000.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499330998764581010" style="cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There is so much tension and confusion and drama and solipsism ad betrayal, I can't believe kids regularly make it through high school without sever emotional scarring.  I can't believe that I did it.  And, more than anything else, I can't believe Baby J will one day have to run this gauntlet of teenage tempestuousness.  As a father, it's a scary thought.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A major theme in the film that I picked up on was how the cruel and misdirected anger of teens is often the direct result of the kids' parents, their attitudes and behaviors.  When Baby J is a teenager, she'll have to negotiate the troubled waters of high school but I like to think that my wife and I, our attitudes and behaviors set the stage for effective problem solving.  But who knows.  As Kahlil Gibran puts it in The Prophet:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;i&gt;You may house [you children's] bodies but not their souls,&lt;br /&gt;For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,&lt;br /&gt;which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;i&gt;Liste&lt;/i&gt;ning To:  &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&amp;amp;source=web&amp;amp;cd=2&amp;amp;ved=0CCYQFjAB&amp;amp;url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FJimmy-Eat-World-Bleed-American%2Fdp%2FB00005MHQO&amp;amp;ei=D4xRTKbzAoWclgfzqMHdBA&amp;amp;usg=AFQjCNF4BZ9qd6DXmp11DAO9tdw1VMAZyw"&gt;Bleed American&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&amp;amp;source=web&amp;amp;cd=2&amp;amp;ved=0CCkQFjAB&amp;amp;url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.jimmyeatworld.com%2F&amp;amp;ei=PYxRTIr0GcWBlAe-k6nfBQ&amp;amp;usg=AFQjCNFpP91RByXcl4bqlo7U3dAji0VorA"&gt;Jimmy Eat World&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFGM1sy6-1I/AAAAAAAAAt0/GJ4m85DjFfk/s1600/653d863a7fc8ef12.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFGM1sy6-1I/AAAAAAAAAt0/GJ4m85DjFfk/s200/653d863a7fc8ef12.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499331474181782354" style="cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 120px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-5385889265220577636?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/5385889265220577636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/american-teen.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5385889265220577636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5385889265220577636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/american-teen.html' title='American Teen'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TFGMaBuoMJI/AAAAAAAAAts/fmA4tEEyfaM/s72-c/AmericanTeenPosterFinal_000.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-1384292860123046884</id><published>2010-07-29T07:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-29T07:50:00.086-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Venn Diagram</title><content type='html'>The other day, my little family was out at a coffee shop when we ran into two former students of mine.  We all sat together talking for a while and one of them remarked that Baby J is a perfect mix of both her mother and father.  Baby J at the moment was seated directly between us and it was even said that the three of us looked like a perfect Venn diagram.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I thought that was very clever.  Also, I was glad that some of my former students are still using the proper graphic organizers for comparing and contrasting.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-1384292860123046884?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/1384292860123046884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/venn-diagram.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1384292860123046884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1384292860123046884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/venn-diagram.html' title='Venn Diagram'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7312634434300270336</id><published>2010-07-28T07:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-28T07:44:00.181-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Big Tub</title><content type='html'>There are many milestones in a person's life, some full of importance and some utterly insignificant.  I'm not sure where Baby J's graduation to the big tub fits in on this spectrum.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For as long as humanly possible, we washed our baby in a small plastic tub intended for newborns.  But Baby J has outgrown it and we had to move her into the real tub.  She has been more or less fine with the transition but we're still trying to come to grips with it.  It's usually a mess with crying, spilled water, and soap in the eyes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I guess this is a pretty unremarkable change in our daughter's life and will get easier the more we give her a bath.  But it's a milestone nonetheless.  A wet, soapy, slippery, tear-filled milestone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7312634434300270336?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7312634434300270336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/big-tub.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7312634434300270336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7312634434300270336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/big-tub.html' title='The Big Tub'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-6211742539728413656</id><published>2010-07-27T07:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-27T07:07:00.768-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pickin' Fights with a Baby</title><content type='html'>At the library, a little boy about 5 years old walked over to Baby J and started shaking a cool, red, plastic toy car back and forth to get her attention.  Once she took notice of the car, he lifted it high over his head so she couldn't reach and then smiled as she stretched her hands upward and moaned.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was a cruel gesture but not all that uncommon in young kids.  I interceded to cut off any sort of meltdown that might ensue.  The little boy looked at me and told me my baby was sad.  I said she was and moved her away.  A few moments later, the boy with the red car came back and did his little routine again.  Baby J once again was left reaching and moaning.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This kid was clearly out to pick a fight with my baby and eventually she did hit him.  To this he said, "she can't knock me down because I'm too big."  I agreed and took Baby J up into my arms.  We found another part of the library where there were no bullies to tease my baby but I was left to ponder why this little boy was trying to piss off Baby J.  I guess it's some sort of developmental thing where he was just trying to exercise power over someone else.  I'm sure Baby J will do it when she's older.  I'm pretty sure I did it when I was a wee tot as well.  Perhaps it's just human nature to pick fights.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got into a lot of fights when I was a kid.  Unlike the boy with the red car, however, I didn't have enough sense to pick these fights with babies.  I would have won a lot more fights that way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-6211742539728413656?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/6211742539728413656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/pickin-fights-with-baby.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6211742539728413656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6211742539728413656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/pickin-fights-with-baby.html' title='Pickin&apos; Fights with a Baby'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8522235054425434395</id><published>2010-07-26T07:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-26T07:56:00.681-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I Love Moo</title><content type='html'>Baby J is picking up new words like crazy.  It seems she parrots back everything and anything you might say throughout the course of the day.  But not always appropriately.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today on a visit to a local farm she learned "chicken" and "cow" and "moo."  On the ride home, my wife twisted in her seat to look back at the baby and said, "I love you."  Baby J gave it some thought, ran through the list of new words in her head and replied:  "Cow?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8522235054425434395?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8522235054425434395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/i-love-moo.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8522235054425434395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8522235054425434395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/i-love-moo.html' title='I Love Moo'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-9088862694793096822</id><published>2010-07-25T07:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-25T07:21:00.109-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Play Hut</title><content type='html'>A long time ago, we took some stuff to a Goodwill donation station.  While we were there a kindly man offered us a folded up contraption that he assured us was a plaything for children.  It sat in our basement for I don't even know how long.  But my wife finally brought it up and opened it and unfolded it and put it all together and, as it turns out, it is a Play Hut.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TEoWwP0qkqI/AAAAAAAAAtM/ZyrBf7eokQM/s1600/6056717116345a-resized200.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TEoWwP0qkqI/AAAAAAAAAtM/ZyrBf7eokQM/s200/6056717116345a-resized200.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497231313296069282" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We filled our new/old Play Hut with two bags of plastic balls like you find at the McDonald's playland so it's even cooler than before.  The whole package is almost too much for Baby J to bear.  When she plays in it she is unhinged, delirious with delight, crazed with glee.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Get-Behind-Satan-White-Stripes/dp/B00097A5H2"&gt;Get Behind Me, Satan&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.whitestripes.com/"&gt;The White Stripes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TEoX98F8ahI/AAAAAAAAAtc/fu8aCLYJ3p0/s1600/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TEoX98F8ahI/AAAAAAAAAtc/fu8aCLYJ3p0/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497232648029628946" style="cursor: pointer; width: 108px; height: 108px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-9088862694793096822?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/9088862694793096822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/play-hut.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/9088862694793096822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/9088862694793096822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/play-hut.html' title='The Play Hut'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TEoWwP0qkqI/AAAAAAAAAtM/ZyrBf7eokQM/s72-c/6056717116345a-resized200.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-713816340730234445</id><published>2010-07-24T07:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-24T07:13:00.598-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Budgeting</title><content type='html'>When we first decided that I should take this year off to stay home with Baby J, we sat down to look at our finances to see if we could make it happen.  We found a way to do it but only if we used several cost-cutting measures along the way.  Well, we are nearing the end of this year long adventure in austere living and I'm happy to say that we're coming out on the other end okay.  In just about one month, I'll start work again and start getting steady paychecks again.  I don't want to count my chickens before they hatch but I feel a real sense of accomplishment now that we've nearly finished this year.   &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course, pretty soon Baby J will be in daycare and that will eat up a lot of money.  Also, I'll have to start paying my student loans in the near future and that's going to be a sizable sum each month.  And then I'll need new clothes for work.  And my car needs work.  And my cat is a diabetic so he gets expensive food and medicine.  And there's college savings, retirement, and future babies to consider.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dang!  I guess I'll have to wait a little while more before I buy myself a hovercraft.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-713816340730234445?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/713816340730234445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/budgeting.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/713816340730234445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/713816340730234445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/budgeting.html' title='Budgeting'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-2264597621581382803</id><published>2010-07-23T07:56:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-23T08:15:52.236-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='firsts'/><title type='text'>FIRSTS:  School</title><content type='html'>Baby J spent the morning at her new daycare facility on Wednesday morning.  I'm calling this her first day in school though she didn't really spend the whole day there and it might be a stretch to call it school.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We're going to start transitioning her into the daycare environment throughout the month of August with half days and half weeks leading into full days and full weeks.  I'm sure she'll be fine with it since she's a pretty easy-going baby.  The new arrangement will probably be harder on us, her parents.  I bet I'll suffer longer than she will.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-2264597621581382803?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/2264597621581382803/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/firsts-school.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2264597621581382803'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2264597621581382803'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/firsts-school.html' title='FIRSTS:  School'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-369527082338345466</id><published>2010-07-22T07:49:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-22T07:49:00.159-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mr. Mom v. Little Children</title><content type='html'>Occasionally, when people find out that I am a stay-at-home dad, they ask if my life is anything like the 1983 film Mr. Mom starring  Michael Keaton.  I had never seen the film before so I couldn't really say one way or the other.  But so many people have been asking me about it and for so long that I figured maybe it was time to watch Mr. Mom.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TEXmTyh5WbI/AAAAAAAAAs8/LEswG4QNG-E/s1600/Mr_mom_poster.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TEXmTyh5WbI/AAAAAAAAAs8/LEswG4QNG-E/s200/Mr_mom_poster.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496052147931404722" style="cursor: pointer; width: 131px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I finally got around to watching it this weekend and now I can say for certain that my experience as a stay at home dad is nothing like the way it is portrayed on film.  There are some scenes in Mr. Mom I could identify with but really the film had very little to do with being a stay-at-home dad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The film that most closely resembles my experiences as a stay-at-home dad is Little Children from 2006.  There are some difference between me and the stay-at-home character in the film (i.e. no adultery, no child molesters, no crazed ex-cops, etc.) but, all in all, I would say Little Children is a more accurate and honest portrayal than Mr. Mom.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TEXmUfLf-dI/AAAAAAAAAtE/yeAfZWwhBGI/s1600/Little_children_post.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TEXmUfLf-dI/AAAAAAAAAtE/yeAfZWwhBGI/s200/Little_children_post.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496052159917062610" style="cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-369527082338345466?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/369527082338345466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/mr-mom-v-little-children.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/369527082338345466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/369527082338345466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/mr-mom-v-little-children.html' title='Mr. Mom v. Little Children'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TEXmTyh5WbI/AAAAAAAAAs8/LEswG4QNG-E/s72-c/Mr_mom_poster.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-6149979303849141997</id><published>2010-07-21T07:31:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-23T08:16:09.961-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='firsts'/><title type='text'>FIRSTS: Shoplifting</title><content type='html'>At the mall today, Baby J ran into a CVS and grabbed a pair of sunglasses off a rack near the entrance.  She quickly slid them on and then left the store so casually it looked as if the whole operation had been premeditated.  Of course, I snatched her up before she could get too far and returned the stolen sunglasses to the rack.  But still I consider this act to be Baby J's first criminal offense.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-6149979303849141997?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/6149979303849141997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/firsts-shoplifting.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6149979303849141997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6149979303849141997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/firsts-shoplifting.html' title='FIRSTS: Shoplifting'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3178570240068173717</id><published>2010-07-20T07:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-20T07:43:00.440-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Wisdom of Chris Rock</title><content type='html'>Chris Rock has long been one of my favorite entertainers.  But I'm learning to appreciate him even more now that I'm a dad.  I'm realizing that he has a lot of funny and insightful things to say about fatherhood and raising daughters.  Take this for example:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; "&gt;"Sometimes I am walking with my daughter, I'm talking to my daughter, I'm looking at her, I'm pushing her in the stroller. And sometimes I pick her up and I just stare at her and I realize my only job in life is to keep her off the [stripper] pole...I mean they don't grade fathers but if your daughter is a stripper you f*&amp;amp;$#@ up."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;If this is the only measure of a father you use, I guess I'm doing okay so far.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3178570240068173717?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3178570240068173717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/wisdom-of-chris-rock.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3178570240068173717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3178570240068173717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/wisdom-of-chris-rock.html' title='The Wisdom of Chris Rock'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7696991432956490753</id><published>2010-07-19T07:17:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-19T09:41:10.386-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Return to Man World</title><content type='html'>I spent this last weekend in Montreal at an extended 2 day bachelor party extravaganza.  Naturally, I didn't have time to post while I was in the thick of things but even amongst the thrum of club music and the money-sucking debauchery of the bars, I was able to reflect my role as a stay-at-home dad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I took this year off to stay at home with the baby, I've spent a lot of time with mothers.  At playgroups, playgrounds, etc.  They are there when I let Baby J wander the mall.  They have been my only conversation at the libraries.  Basically, my year off has been a year bereft of men.  The bachelor party was a sudden plunge back into man world.  I haven't been there for a long time but not much has changed since I've been gone.  It's still the same.  There was a lot of talk about baseball.  Moms don't usually care about that stuff.  I found it refreshing to talk with other adults who care more about RBI's and ERA's than about how many teeth my kid has or how much she poops during any given day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon I will return to work and soon I will have a few more guys to talk with on a regular basis.  Someday soon I will return to man world once more.  For right now though, I'm just happy to be home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7696991432956490753?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7696991432956490753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/return-to-man-world.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7696991432956490753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7696991432956490753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/return-to-man-world.html' title='Return to Man World'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3764858862640624322</id><published>2010-07-17T07:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-17T11:03:56.261-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Away</title><content type='html'>I've gone away for a little trip this weekend and won't really be able to post much.  I will just double up when I return home.  I hope you aren't too disappointed.  Here's a joke to make you feel better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q.  What can hummingbirds do that no other animal in the world can do?&lt;br /&gt;A.  Make baby hummingbirds.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3764858862640624322?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3764858862640624322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/away.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3764858862640624322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3764858862640624322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/away.html' title='Away'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3125905618690701618</id><published>2010-07-16T07:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-16T07:01:00.525-04:00</updated><title type='text'>This</title><content type='html'>Baby J knows lots of words and asks for things by name.  Apple, glasses, bear, etc.  However, when she doesn't know the word for something, she will point with her finger and say "this."&lt;div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;i&gt;This? This? This? This? This?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Everything is "this."  I think it comes from the way we offer things to her.  Generally speaking, we'll holding something up and ask if she wants "this."  I think she's taken "this" to be the word used for just about everything.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3125905618690701618?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3125905618690701618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/this.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3125905618690701618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3125905618690701618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/this.html' title='This'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8218519866034801183</id><published>2010-07-15T07:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-15T07:00:06.238-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Perpetual Motion</title><content type='html'>Baby J never stops moving.  Unless she is asleep, she is always doing something, running somewhere, wriggling, dancing, swaying, or stumbling.  I've really never seen anything like it.  It's like she is physically incapable of staying still for even a moment.  Maybe she has baby ADHD.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8218519866034801183?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8218519866034801183/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/perpetual-motion.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8218519866034801183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8218519866034801183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/perpetual-motion.html' title='Perpetual Motion'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-6739569900245011945</id><published>2010-07-14T07:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-14T07:55:00.288-04:00</updated><title type='text'>And Eyes and Ears and Mouth and Nose...</title><content type='html'>Thanks to the delightful little tune &lt;i&gt;Head, Shoulders, Knees, &amp;amp; Toes&lt;/i&gt;, Baby J can now name several of her body parts.  What's more, she can name your body parts too.  Every now and then, she'll walk up to you, point to your feet, and announces that you have toes.  Or something along those lines.  It's all very cute.  However, it's not so cute when she points your eyes out to you.  Or your ears or your mouth.  When this happens, she invariably jams her little fingers into whatever orifice she wants to name for you.  The worst is the eye gouge.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Call-Me-Dragon-These-Monsters/dp/B0036VO09W/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;s=music&amp;amp;qid=1278976081&amp;amp;sr=8-2"&gt;Call Me Dragon&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://thesemonsters.com/"&gt;These Monsters...&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TDugaYp-urI/AAAAAAAAAsk/izhCjgkWhK8/s1600/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TDugaYp-urI/AAAAAAAAAsk/izhCjgkWhK8/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493160545664023218" style="cursor: pointer; width: 118px; height: 118px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-6739569900245011945?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/6739569900245011945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/and-eyes-and-ears-and-mouth-and-nose.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6739569900245011945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6739569900245011945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/and-eyes-and-ears-and-mouth-and-nose.html' title='And Eyes and Ears and Mouth and Nose...'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TDugaYp-urI/AAAAAAAAAsk/izhCjgkWhK8/s72-c/images.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-173645436669770626</id><published>2010-07-13T07:27:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-13T12:45:24.484-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Disappointment</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Last week, during a big family get together, I sat down with my parents to record a sort of family history for Baby J.  My wife and I did the same thing with her parents a while ago and it came out being really nice.  With my family, however, it wasn't so nice.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;I didn't find out too much about my family history but I learned a lot about my family's dynamics.  Mainly, I found that there is tension, disappointment, and resentment all over the place.  I probably won't show any of the video recording to Baby J but it was kind of interesting to me.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;After giving this new family video some thought, I think I stumbled onto a big idea or a universal theme, a common thread, an epiphany of sorts.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;When you're a kid, your parents are infallible, omnipotent, and altogether perfect.  They are the biggest, smartest, fastest, strongest people in the world.  But, as you get older, you start to realize that they're just ordinary people like everybody else.  They have virtues and vices, strengths and weaknesses, prejudices and biases.  And I think when children realize this, they can't help but feel disappointed.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;And, this disappointment isn't necessarily limited to the child/parent relationship.  I think brothers get disappointed with uncles.  Mothers get disappointed with cousins.  Fathers get disappointed with grandmothers.  It goes every which way on the family tree.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Everyone wants to have a perfect family but, at the end of the day, families are made up of people, flawed, imperfect, average, everyday, ordinary people.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Now, this all may sound rather dark but I don't see it that way.  It's only dark if you focus on that disappointment forever.  If you can move beyond it, find a way to accept the flaws of your family members, perhaps even learn to see their shortcomings as endearing quirks, it leads to positive relationships, it leads to empathy, and, above all, it leads to understanding.  Learning acceptance is not an easy endeavor by any stretch of the imagination but I think it's worth the effort.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;I know someday Baby J will realize that I'm not the strongest, tallest, smartest, or fastest dad out there.  When she's older perhaps she'll even pick up on my many neuroses and pathologies.  But, hopefully, we'll be able to teach her to be empathic, not judgmental, to focus on the good things in life.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;I love my family, warts and all, and, hopefully, Baby J will too someday.  You get lots of acquaintances in your lifetime, lots of well-wishers, and a handful of really good, close friends.  But you only get one family and they have to last you your whole life.  You can't spend that time wishing they were different people.  Time has a habit of getting away from you.  People get older and you only get a short while to enjoy the people close to you.  Life's too short and time spent with family too valuable to be spent disappointed or angry.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Listening To:  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Night-Soul-Danger-Mouse/dp/B003O6M3NO/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;s=music&amp;amp;qid=1278879698&amp;amp;sr=1-1"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Dark Night of the Soul&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt; by &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.dnots.com/"&gt;Danger Mouse and Sparklehorse&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-size:15.8333px;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TDooS64643I/AAAAAAAAAsc/1Rue2jEDyVY/s1600/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TDooS64643I/AAAAAAAAAsc/1Rue2jEDyVY/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492747001042494322" style="cursor: pointer; width: 112px; height: 115px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-173645436669770626?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/173645436669770626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/disappointment.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/173645436669770626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/173645436669770626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/disappointment.html' title='Disappointment'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TDooS64643I/AAAAAAAAAsc/1Rue2jEDyVY/s72-c/images.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-6946980309035462255</id><published>2010-07-12T07:13:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-12T07:13:00.338-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mama</title><content type='html'>Once upon a time, Baby J was unable to utter the word "mama."  Everything and everyone was "dada" and it drove my wife crazy.  "I wish you'd say 'mama,'" she bemoaned to our baby.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think we chalked it up to the fact that I spend so much time with Baby J as a stay-at-home dad.  But that was then.  Now that Baby J has learned to say "mama," she hardly says anything else.  When she's hurt, she calls for mama.  When she's unhappy, only mama will do.  It's like she forgot all about dada.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So to all you mamas out there, be careful what you wish for.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-6946980309035462255?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/6946980309035462255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/mama.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6946980309035462255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6946980309035462255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/mama.html' title='Mama'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-1961813889119182394</id><published>2010-07-11T07:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-11T10:22:14.778-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Flight Home</title><content type='html'>The two flights back from Florida were much better than the two flights there.  All told, my family flew on four different airplanes and by flight number four, the last leg of our airborne sojourn, we finally figured out how to keep baby happy.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Avoid using car seats on the plane - Baby J was much happier when she could flop around between mom and dad.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Get a big package of bite-sized crackers - Baby J took comfort in sticking her arm into our bag of snacks and eating them one by one.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Sing songs - I sang "Skin-A-Merinky-Dinky-Dink" hundred times on the flight and, every time, Baby J smiled and tried to sing along.  The other folks on the flight probably wanted to kill me but they can Skin-A-Merinky-Kiss-My-Butt for all I care.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-1961813889119182394?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/1961813889119182394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/flight-home.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1961813889119182394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1961813889119182394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/flight-home.html' title='Flight Home'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-4501713419327348254</id><published>2010-07-10T07:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-11T10:13:03.134-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Aquababy</title><content type='html'>Baby J has had a lot of time to splash around in the pool recently.&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Usually, if you're holding her and she wants to move around on her own, she'll say "walk" and do this crazy nose-dive thing to get out of your arms.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, in the pool, she does the same thing totally missing the fact that if I let her walk in the pool she would be underwater.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Good thing we had a special, floating, inflatable duck to buoy her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TDj259eU5SI/AAAAAAAAAsE/7cdHzhaQsIc/s1600/yellow-inflatable-safety-duck-tub1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TDj259eU5SI/AAAAAAAAAsE/7cdHzhaQsIc/s200/yellow-inflatable-safety-duck-tub1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492411221193057570" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-4501713419327348254?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/4501713419327348254/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/aquababy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/4501713419327348254'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/4501713419327348254'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/aquababy.html' title='Aquababy'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TDj259eU5SI/AAAAAAAAAsE/7cdHzhaQsIc/s72-c/yellow-inflatable-safety-duck-tub1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-2127291060455666412</id><published>2010-07-09T07:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-09T07:08:00.639-04:00</updated><title type='text'>New Teeth</title><content type='html'>Just for the record, Baby J has a whole bunch of new teeth coming in.  Pretty soon, she'll be ready for steak.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-2127291060455666412?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/2127291060455666412/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/new-teeth.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2127291060455666412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2127291060455666412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/new-teeth.html' title='New Teeth'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-2909854264126321516</id><published>2010-07-08T07:01:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-08T12:25:19.994-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Flightmare</title><content type='html'>A word of advice to all of you out there who are thinking about flying with your toddler to visit grandma and grandpa: Don't do it. Stay home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our recent flight down to Florida was terrible. The baby cried constantly. When she had a dirty diaper, there was no decent changing area for her. It was cramped and uncomfortable for her. And she was not shy about letting us know it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess, at the end of the day, things weren't too too bad. We got to where we were going with all our luggage intact and now we're living it up in the Sunshine State. But it the back of my mind, something is nagging at me, gnawing at my peace of mind:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;We have to fly home this weekend!&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-2909854264126321516?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/2909854264126321516/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/flightmare.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2909854264126321516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2909854264126321516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/flightmare.html' title='Flightmare'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-281564082458731995</id><published>2010-07-07T07:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-08T09:12:52.310-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Music Appreciation</title><content type='html'>My wife likes to ask what my favorite part of Baby J's developmental has been so far. I'm very pleased that she enjoys books. I also like how she runs around squealing and snorting with delight sometimes. But I think more than anything else, I like the way Baby J is developing an appreciation for music. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She dances to music. She sings songs. She does hand motions. She'll scamper over to our piano, pull herself up, and start pressing the keys as if she really has a tune to play. She'll pluck at my guitar. She'll bang on a drum.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When you're a kid, everything is magical and new and full of fun. As you get older, things become less magical and the novelty of life kind of wears off. The only thing that has really retained its &lt;i&gt;magicalness&lt;/i&gt;(?) for me as I've gotten older has been music. Playing it. Listening to it. Thinking about it. Talking about it. It's been a constant source of awe and inspiration for me throughout my life and I hope that it's the same with Baby J. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-281564082458731995?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/281564082458731995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/music-appreciation_07.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/281564082458731995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/281564082458731995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/music-appreciation_07.html' title='Music Appreciation'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8810467542759123834</id><published>2010-07-06T07:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-06T07:25:00.482-04:00</updated><title type='text'>No!  Part Two</title><content type='html'>I think we've been overusing the word "no" with Baby J.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Occasionally, while she's running around the house, she'll stop by one of the things she knows she's not allowed to touch:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;The smelly diaper champ&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;An electric socket&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The shelves holding my artwork&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She'll point to the forbidden object and shout an emphatic "no" at us.  I'm not sure if she's letting us know that she knows what's off-limits or if she's trying to tell us that we're not allowed to touch certain things in the house either.  Maybe she's just mimicking us.  Either way, despite the fact that it's cute as all get out, I think I want to stop using the word "no" so much around her.  I don't want her to grow up and think adults just shout "no" at each other all day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Come to think of it, we do shout "no" at each other a lot.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCyMg8mS8UI/AAAAAAAAArk/6BC-eRbHSV8/s1600/party-of-no-jsh021809dAPC.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCyMg8mS8UI/AAAAAAAAArk/6BC-eRbHSV8/s200/party-of-no-jsh021809dAPC.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488916543508246850" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 155px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8810467542759123834?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8810467542759123834/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/no-part-two.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8810467542759123834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8810467542759123834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/no-part-two.html' title='No!  Part Two'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCyMg8mS8UI/AAAAAAAAArk/6BC-eRbHSV8/s72-c/party-of-no-jsh021809dAPC.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7651409396107732292</id><published>2010-07-05T07:20:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-05T07:20:00.208-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Moral Life of Babies</title><content type='html'>Today's post is an article from The New York Times Magazine entitled The Moral Life of Babies.  Click the link below to see the original article.&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/09/magazine/09babies-t.html"&gt;http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/09/magazine/09babies-t.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's all about how human beings are preprogrammed with rudimentary morality.  Pretty cool, eh?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Time-Capsule-Best-Matthew-Sweet/dp/B00004XR6H"&gt;Time Capsule&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.matthewsweet.com/"&gt;Matthew Sweet&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TC4SmFwjLOI/AAAAAAAAArs/WwxFolEEB_U/s1600/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TC4SmFwjLOI/AAAAAAAAArs/WwxFolEEB_U/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489345441401351394" style="cursor: pointer; width: 104px; height: 104px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7651409396107732292?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7651409396107732292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/moral-life-of-babies.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7651409396107732292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7651409396107732292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/moral-life-of-babies.html' title='The Moral Life of Babies'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TC4SmFwjLOI/AAAAAAAAArs/WwxFolEEB_U/s72-c/images.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3382237812626159660</id><published>2010-07-04T07:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-04T07:25:00.405-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Independence Day</title><content type='html'>I'm not sure why but I've been getting a lot of books out of the library on American history recently.  I always thought history was dull when I had to learn it in school.  But now that I'm learning about it on my own, it's amazing!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Specifically, I'm interested in the Revolutionary War and the subsequent birth of America.  What my studies have impressed upon me more than anything else is how important our leaders were in those early days of independence.  If it weren't for them and their devotion to democratic principles, our nation would be totally different.  We might have had a military dictator like France's Napoleon or a merciless autocrat like Russia's Stalin.  But, thanks to the progressive, forward-thinking creators of the US Constitution, we have enjoyed a robust representative democracy since the very start.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TC4WZ42OVRI/AAAAAAAAAr8/ePvHNP5Y6es/s1600/ss_PatrioticBaby14.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TC4WZ42OVRI/AAAAAAAAAr8/ePvHNP5Y6es/s200/ss_PatrioticBaby14.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489349629823571218" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course, this all goes back to parenting for me.  How much independence do we grant our children?  Are we despots or representatives for our families?  Napoleons and Stalins or Adams and Jeffersons?  Are we looking forward to the future where they will live or the future we'd like to create for them?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/You-Are-Conductor-Caspian/dp/B000BO8840"&gt;You Are The Conductor&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.myspace.com/caspiantheband"&gt;Caspian&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TC4WSp_joSI/AAAAAAAAAr0/pVcl5qDzHCM/s1600/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TC4WSp_joSI/AAAAAAAAAr0/pVcl5qDzHCM/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489349505577099554" style="cursor: pointer; width: 104px; height: 104px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3382237812626159660?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3382237812626159660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/independence-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3382237812626159660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3382237812626159660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/independence-day.html' title='Independence Day'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TC4WZ42OVRI/AAAAAAAAAr8/ePvHNP5Y6es/s72-c/ss_PatrioticBaby14.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7946895725291224951</id><published>2010-07-03T07:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-03T07:45:00.742-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Table Tot</title><content type='html'>Baby J has figured out how to climb things.  She's known how to do stairs and chairs for a while now.  But the other day, my wife went to the bathroom came back to find our intrepid daughter standing triumphantly on the kitchen table.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCyKf82m8BI/AAAAAAAAArc/kj6jLu70xgk/s1600/spiderman-comic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCyKf82m8BI/AAAAAAAAArc/kj6jLu70xgk/s200/spiderman-comic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488914327373541394" style="cursor: pointer; width: 139px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Baby J, Baby J&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Climbed onto of a table today&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7946895725291224951?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7946895725291224951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/table-tot.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7946895725291224951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7946895725291224951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/table-tot.html' title='Table Tot'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCyKf82m8BI/AAAAAAAAArc/kj6jLu70xgk/s72-c/spiderman-comic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3621653577191576502</id><published>2010-07-02T07:25:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-02T07:25:00.541-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Book?</title><content type='html'>We can tell Baby J is up for the morning when we hear small hooting and peeping noises coming from her room.  One of us rolls out of bed and goes into her room to get her.  When you open the door she looks up at you, smiles, rubs her eyes, and says, "book?"&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Baby J loves books and it cracks me up that the first thing she thinks about each morning is reading.  Not, "good morning," or "change my diaper."  Just, "book?"  The only thing I think about when I wake up in the morning is going back to sleep.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you don't give Baby J a book right away she gets a little feisty on the changing table.  But, if you give her one, it makes changing her a real challenge.  Oh well.  Just another quandary of child rearing.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3621653577191576502?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3621653577191576502/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/book.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3621653577191576502'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3621653577191576502'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/book.html' title='Book?'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7491699726138352998</id><published>2010-07-01T07:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-01T07:55:00.592-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Flying with Baby</title><content type='html'>In just a few days, we're flying to Florida to visit my family.  Aunts, uncles, cousin, moms, dads, brothers, sisters, etc.  It will be the first time we've taken the baby on a plane and we're all a flutter over how to do it.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One of my friends told me she brought a portable DVD player with her, put headphones on her little girl, and just kept her going with a steady stream of videos.  I'm pretty sure this would not work for Baby J though.  She has a habit of removing anything that is not tightly affixed to her body (i.e. headphones) and she does not handle personal electronics with the tender care they require.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm thinking we'll just mix a little bourbon into her juice and see what happens.  I just hope she's not an angry drunk.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/How-I-Got-Over-Roots/dp/B0029LX2LC"&gt;How I Got Over&lt;/a&gt; by&lt;a href="http://www.theroots.com/"&gt; The Roots&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCidP_YGYZI/AAAAAAAAArU/KPc1YvPtj3k/s1600/41icYALEa9L._SY98_CR0,0,98,98_.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCidP_YGYZI/AAAAAAAAArU/KPc1YvPtj3k/s200/41icYALEa9L._SY98_CR0,0,98,98_.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487809043987063186" style="cursor: pointer; width: 98px; height: 98px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;p.s.  I'm not really going to give my baby hard liquor.  That was just a joke.  Geez!  You're so uptight!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7491699726138352998?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7491699726138352998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/flying-with-baby.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7491699726138352998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7491699726138352998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/07/flying-with-baby.html' title='Flying with Baby'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCidP_YGYZI/AAAAAAAAArU/KPc1YvPtj3k/s72-c/41icYALEa9L._SY98_CR0,0,98,98_.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-1272819680707134061</id><published>2010-06-30T07:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-30T07:30:01.323-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Climbing Chairs</title><content type='html'>Baby J has mastered climbing onto chairs.  She hasn't quite got the idea of getting herself down yet.  And she doesn't quite get that chairs are for sitting, not standing. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The most impressive thing about the whole production is how she hoists herself up with her little arms.  She's going to have huge biceps if she keeps at it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-1272819680707134061?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/1272819680707134061/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/climbing-chairs.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1272819680707134061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1272819680707134061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/climbing-chairs.html' title='Climbing Chairs'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-2953340491096283840</id><published>2010-06-29T07:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-29T07:56:00.085-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mealtime Mayhem</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Once upon a time, Baby J would obligingly eat whatever you gave to her during mealtime.  But now, she's developed so many weird quirks and preferences, meals have become an elaborate affair.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;First of all, Baby J needs her own spoon. If she doesn't have her own spoon, she won't eat.  It's not that she uses the spoon to feed herself.  She just wants to hold it and play with it while you use your spoon and feed her.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Once she has possession of her very own spoon, she then proceeds to paint herself with food.  Hands, face, arms, hair.  It all gets a carefully applied coating of yogurt or applesauce.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then, if she tires of the spoon, she requires Cheerios or some other finger food.  She doesn't want to eat them, mind you.  She just wants to dip them in her food and have you feed them to her on a spoon.  I think she just wants a little more texture to her food.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lastly, mealtime is not complete without heaving the milk onto the floor or pitching a spoon across the room.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When it's all said and done, the table looks like a crime scene rather.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-2953340491096283840?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/2953340491096283840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/mealtime-mayhem.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2953340491096283840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2953340491096283840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/mealtime-mayhem.html' title='Mealtime Mayhem'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3565677219972405290</id><published>2010-06-28T07:57:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-28T07:57:00.458-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Storage</title><content type='html'>Baby J has a play area we sectioned off with baby gates.  To make it a bit more stimulating for her, we stuck a mirror in there between the gate a wall.  There's a small gap between the mirror and the baby gate and Baby J loves to stuff things into this gap.  I f you leave her a lone long enough, she'll stick book, toys, stuffed animals, clothes, and shoes in there until it's totally full.  It's kind of like baby storage space or a baby bank.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3565677219972405290?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3565677219972405290/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/storage.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3565677219972405290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3565677219972405290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/storage.html' title='Storage'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8093919500472887168</id><published>2010-06-27T07:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-27T07:29:00.887-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Waiting for You</title><content type='html'>Whenever Baby J hears somebody pull up in front of our house or sees someone she knows through the window, she runs to the front door to wait for them.  Usually, she stands right behind the door so you have to be careful when you come in.  But when you come in she greets you and then wanders off.  It's a cool little habit she's developed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8093919500472887168?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8093919500472887168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/waiting-for-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8093919500472887168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8093919500472887168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/waiting-for-you.html' title='Waiting for You'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-195921417820034323</id><published>2010-06-26T07:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-26T07:25:00.855-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Multitasking</title><content type='html'>Just the other day, I posted &lt;a href="http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/one-thing-at-time.html"&gt;an entry about how Baby J can only concentrate on one thing at a time&lt;/a&gt;.  Well, as usual, whenever I think I know my daughter, she proves me wrong.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This morning, she came up to me demanding I hand over my cell phone.  "Hone, hone, hone."  After she had it, she got onto a little scooter my parents bought for her, wheeled over to the piano, and started pressing down the keys.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, not only can she talk on the phone and drive at the same time, she can play piano as well.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-195921417820034323?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/195921417820034323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/multitasking.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/195921417820034323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/195921417820034323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/multitasking.html' title='Multitasking'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-6024131798150875418</id><published>2010-06-25T07:50:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-01T08:28:24.984-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='musical'/><title type='text'>300th Post</title><content type='html'>Today's post is number 300!  That means I have only 65 days left until I return to work. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The tradition here at Dawn of the Dad has been that I make a montage of comics set to a song I recorded. However, since I don't any new comics to post I'm just going to post a song.  Hope you like it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-45e24e972d91dd04" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v19.nonxt6.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D45e24e972d91dd04%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331164878%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D5B757DE80130F21AF4CDA44E537777F8758BCBED.167198DA14C02442706879AA34FD560E093D416%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D45e24e972d91dd04%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DmriWyw27RHe__2Kl-H0aWrrAE8g&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v19.nonxt6.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D45e24e972d91dd04%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331164878%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D5B757DE80130F21AF4CDA44E537777F8758BCBED.167198DA14C02442706879AA34FD560E093D416%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D45e24e972d91dd04%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DmriWyw27RHe__2Kl-H0aWrrAE8g&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-6024131798150875418?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/6024131798150875418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/300th-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6024131798150875418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6024131798150875418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/300th-post.html' title='300th Post'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3537813536234550610</id><published>2010-06-24T07:12:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T07:12:00.719-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I Like the Little Mermaid</title><content type='html'>I'm really excited about today.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just got Disney's The Princess and the Frog and I'm going to watch it this evening.  As I've said before, I love Disney movies including all the ones about princesses (except Pocahontas - that movies is just pure schlock).  This affinity for princess movies is something I've never really cared to admit in public because I think it makes me look like a sissy.  But, truth be told, I like The Little Mermaid.  In fact, I like it a lot.  I would rather watch The Little Mermaid than the Super Bowl.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCIY3xeRifI/AAAAAAAAArE/BL0KLxf0VNY/s1600/kzkfuwurkkeo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCIY3xeRifI/AAAAAAAAArE/BL0KLxf0VNY/s200/kzkfuwurkkeo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485974642542873074" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Under da sea!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCIY3xeRifI/AAAAAAAAArE/BL0KLxf0VNY/s1600/kzkfuwurkkeo.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCIY4IqloKI/AAAAAAAAArM/VWv8kXs-2ZU/s1600/superbowl2007.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCIY4IqloKI/AAAAAAAAArM/VWv8kXs-2ZU/s200/superbowl2007.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485974648768536738" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 162px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Grrr...Me run fast!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel I can admit this freely now because I have a daughter and her presence in my life allows me to watch movies like The Little Mermaid without fear of being called a sissy.  Now I can admit that I'm really excited to watch The Princess and the Frog.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In actuality, there are larger issues at work here, issues surrounding rigid culturally-defined gender stereotypes which warrant further discussion.  But, for the time being, I'm going to forget about all that and enjoy my princess movie.  Thanks, Baby J.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3537813536234550610?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3537813536234550610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/i-like-little-mermaid.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3537813536234550610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3537813536234550610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/i-like-little-mermaid.html' title='I Like the Little Mermaid'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TCIY3xeRifI/AAAAAAAAArE/BL0KLxf0VNY/s72-c/kzkfuwurkkeo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-703291558443470881</id><published>2010-06-23T07:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-23T07:15:00.788-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Shoes</title><content type='html'>When I was a kid my father was adamant that my shoes be in my room when they weren't on my feet.  They were not go be anywhere else in the house unless I was wearing them.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I thought this was just some strange eccentricity when I was growing up.  Now that I'm a dad too, I see the light.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are shoes all over my house.  My shoes, my wife's shoes, the baby's shoes.  I'm constantly slipping on slippers and flopping down over flip flops.  It drives me crazy.  I try to kick them into a pile or organize them on the stairs or even put them in the bedroom but it is a futile pursuit.  My house is home to three shoe slobs.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It only seems to bother me.  The wife and baby couldn't care less and I'm not sure why.  I think maybe the whole shoes-in-your-room thing is just a dad quirk.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Or maybe I'm just turning into my dad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-703291558443470881?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/703291558443470881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/shoes.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/703291558443470881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/703291558443470881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/shoes.html' title='Shoes'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-492378533516706957</id><published>2010-06-22T07:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-22T07:34:00.656-04:00</updated><title type='text'>One Thing at a Time</title><content type='html'>Baby J cannot deal with more than one thing at a time.  I think it's developmental.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If she is holding my keys and I hand her my phone, she will either,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;A.)  Throw the keys, pick up the phone, and run around saying, "hone, hone, hone."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;B.)  Keep the keys, push away the phone, and say, "no, no, no."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; or&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C.)  Drop the keys, push away the phone, go terrorize the cat.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She doesn't quite get that she can hold both the phone and the keys and harass the cat all at once.  I'm not complaining or anything.  I'm glad that she can only cause mischief in one modality at any given moment.  I just thought it was an interesting observation and, by blogging about it, I preserve it for all posterity.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You're welcome, future generations.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-492378533516706957?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/492378533516706957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/one-thing-at-time.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/492378533516706957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/492378533516706957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/one-thing-at-time.html' title='One Thing at a Time'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3881928331827245423</id><published>2010-06-21T07:22:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T07:22:00.644-04:00</updated><title type='text'>What to do with Shredded Books</title><content type='html'>Baby J is not kind to her books.  She loves them but I think perhaps a bit too much.  She shows her affection with raging claws of fury and bouts of destruction.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As a result, we've accumulated a pile of half shredded, completely ripped, and utterly demolished books and I'm not sure what to do with them.  They can't just litter the play area and I'd feel strange throwing them out.  In 1812, German poet Heinrich Heine prophetically said, "where they burn books they will eventually burn people."  It seems like a sin to dispose of a book.  Maybe I should just put them out to pasture somewhere but that seems like littering.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Who would have thought that The Very Hungry Caterpillar could one day cause such a vexing moral dilemma?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3881928331827245423?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3881928331827245423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/what-to-do-with-shredded-books.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3881928331827245423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3881928331827245423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/what-to-do-with-shredded-books.html' title='What to do with Shredded Books'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7581855159880419171</id><published>2010-06-20T07:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-20T07:32:00.463-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Father's Day</title><content type='html'>Today is Father's Day and I'm taking the day off.  I deserve a break.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7581855159880419171?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7581855159880419171/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/fathers-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7581855159880419171'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7581855159880419171'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/fathers-day.html' title='Father&apos;s Day'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-7695745957350765164</id><published>2010-06-19T07:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-18T11:48:53.568-04:00</updated><title type='text'>What is a Blog Anyway?</title><content type='html'>I've been thinking about blogs in general recently.  Specifically, I've been wondering why people keep blogs.  My wife, who keeps an ol' school secret journal, thinks there an element of exhibitionism in blogging.  Maybe she's right.  I'm not sure whether I keep this blog for myself or for other people.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In part, I keep this blog going to inform family members on Baby J's growth and development.  Also, I like to think that maybe, Baby J will read it one day - perhaps when she's Teenager J or Adult J.  So I guess I am blogging for other people, an audience.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On the other hand, maybe I just keep Dawn of the Dad going because I said I would and I &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;hate&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt; when people don't finish what they've started.  I also use these posts as a way to keep things straight in my memory.  Furthermore, writing a post once a day helps me sharpen my writing.  It's a way of limbering up linguistically.  So I guess I am blogging for myself too.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All in all, I guess the act of blogging requires both exhibitionist and "inhibitionist" tendencies. It's a strange sort of self-centered sharing.  Or a paradoxical, simultaneous give and take.  Either way, I enjoy posting here and I hope you enjoy reading it, dear reader.  In the end, I guess we're both making out okay in this arrangement.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Good work, team!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-7695745957350765164?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/7695745957350765164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/what-is-blog-anyway.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7695745957350765164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/7695745957350765164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/what-is-blog-anyway.html' title='What is a Blog Anyway?'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-5457195126078124759</id><published>2010-06-18T07:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-18T07:16:00.183-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Meaning of Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;This has very little to do with parenting but...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've never been one for philosophy and all the big questions that face humanity.  But I'm reading an interesting book now called Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl and I found a passage I thought was pretty cool.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Life ultimately means taking responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.  These tasks, and therefore the meaning of life, differ from man to man, and from moment to moment...'Life' does not mean something vague, but something very real and concrete, just as life's tasks are also very real and concrete.&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;So for me, right now, the meaning of life has to do with raising a baby.  When she takes a nap, my life takes on meaning when I draw or write or exercise.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Frankl's book is part memoir about his time in a concentration camp and part psychological treatise about humanity's need to find meaning in life even when their lives are reduced to an unbearable existence.  My description sounds grim but the book offers a lot of hope and valuable insights.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-5457195126078124759?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/5457195126078124759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/meaning-of-life.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5457195126078124759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5457195126078124759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/meaning-of-life.html' title='The Meaning of Life'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-2505994959048461055</id><published>2010-06-17T07:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-17T07:29:00.502-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Camel Belly</title><content type='html'>Baby J has a few memorable features.  One is her unwieldy hair.  The other is her big belly.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We feed Baby J pretty much whatever she wants - which is everything.  She eats and eats and eats until we simply run out of food.  I think she uses her belly like a camel's hump.  It's a storage facility.  At mealtime, I think she eats enough to fill herself up and then locks up the surplus in the food bank of her belly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Maybe someday when she has to cross the Sahara this little belly will come in handy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TBUQ4aKySfI/AAAAAAAAAq8/Nw1T31kkq74/s1600/camel-info0.gif"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TBUQ4aKySfI/AAAAAAAAAq8/Nw1T31kkq74/s200/camel-info0.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482306682676726258" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 175px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-2505994959048461055?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/2505994959048461055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/camel-belly.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2505994959048461055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2505994959048461055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/camel-belly.html' title='Camel Belly'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TBUQ4aKySfI/AAAAAAAAAq8/Nw1T31kkq74/s72-c/camel-info0.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8168550045710405771</id><published>2010-06-16T07:29:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-25T20:16:09.678-04:00</updated><title type='text'>World Cup Dad</title><content type='html'>At the end of the day, our house is a complete mess, strewn with books, stuffed animals, shoes, toys, and other assorted bric-a-brac.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Usually, I don't have much energy to clean up so I just start kicking everything into place.  Sometimes, it's just a gentle nudge with my toe.  Other times its a full-on penalty kick.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I usually make big piles of stuff in the corners and in front of the television but sometimes I shoot for a little bit more.  You see, there's something satisfying about kicking Winnie the Pooh.  He flies through the air in a graceful arc and does so with that peaceful, jolly smirk on his face.  Sometimes, I take aim at a container of toys, a smallish tupperware bin, and send Pooh flying.  Usually, I miss but, sometimes, Pooh hits his mark and it's strangely gratifying.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;GOOOOAAAAAAAL!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8168550045710405771?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8168550045710405771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/world-cup-dad.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8168550045710405771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8168550045710405771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/world-cup-dad.html' title='World Cup Dad'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-2090202173809795749</id><published>2010-06-15T07:03:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-15T07:03:00.115-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Last Day</title><content type='html'>Today is my last day as a solo stay-at-home dad.  What thoughts and reflections do I have about this momentous occasion?  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;None.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-2090202173809795749?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/2090202173809795749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/last-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2090202173809795749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2090202173809795749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/last-day.html' title='Last Day'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3650326864615744501</id><published>2010-06-14T07:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T07:00:06.929-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pants</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, Baby J discovered that she can pull down her pants.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Quite out of nowhere, she squatted down and pull her pants down around her ankles right there in the kitchen.  After pausing to look at her bare thighs, she looked up at me searching my face for explanation.  I didn't know quite what to tell her.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She pulled them back up and then wandered off.  I found her in the living room a short while pulling her pants down again.  When mom came home for the day, Baby J greeted her at the door and then promptly showed off her new trick.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm waiting to see if she does it in public any time soon.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3650326864615744501?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3650326864615744501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/pants.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3650326864615744501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3650326864615744501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/pants.html' title='Pants'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-5798750302443148072</id><published>2010-06-13T07:00:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-13T07:00:05.722-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Lay-Z-Babe</title><content type='html'>Baby J's car seat is like a miniature Lay-Z-Boy for babies.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA4-xEbrS-I/AAAAAAAAAq0/leDA_Bsw1k0/s1600/evenflo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA4-xEbrS-I/AAAAAAAAAq0/leDA_Bsw1k0/s200/evenflo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480386809280809954" style="cursor: pointer; width: 152px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's padded.  It's plush.  It's soft and cushy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All that sound very nice doesn't it?  Well, imagine if this padded, plush, soft, cushy, seat was left to bake in the car all day.  Then imagine you were strapped into it for a half hour or so unable to wriggle or readjust yourself.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now that the weather is warmer, I find that whenever I take Baby J out of her car seat she's soaked in sweat and her hair is done up all wolfman-style.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA4-w8us_BI/AAAAAAAAAqs/lQnBf_6juV8/s1600/wolf_man.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA4-w8us_BI/AAAAAAAAAqs/lQnBf_6juV8/s200/wolf_man.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480386807213128722" style="cursor: pointer; width: 162px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Grrr...What's wrong with&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt; wolfman-style hair?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm really not sure how to fix this.  Maybe she'll just have to suffer through it and then appreciate how warm and plush her seat is in the winter.  Maybe this balance will help her find some sort of equilibrium.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-5798750302443148072?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/5798750302443148072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/lay-z-babe.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5798750302443148072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/5798750302443148072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/lay-z-babe.html' title='Lay-Z-Babe'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA4-xEbrS-I/AAAAAAAAAq0/leDA_Bsw1k0/s72-c/evenflo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-1039698141764800206</id><published>2010-06-12T07:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-12T07:28:00.183-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Nappus Interuptus</title><content type='html'>Once upon a time, Baby J could sleep through anything.  She was once like the princess Sleeping Beauty, able to sleep with a diaper full of doo doo.  But now, it seems our princess cannot even stand the presence of a little pee.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Baby J's naps and bedtime have been all chopped up recently because she keeps pooping when she's lying in the crib.  She doesn't cry or anything.  She just sits in there and talks to herself in her own blend of baby language and hoots.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It may not seem like that big a deal but when you mess with sleep, you make babies cranky.  And when babies are cranky, parents are irritable.  When parents are irritable, they can't do their job as well as they should.  When people can't do their jobs as well as they should, the stock market takes a tumble, oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico explode, the economy as a whole suffers.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A diaper full of dookie doesn't seem so funny now, does it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-1039698141764800206?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/1039698141764800206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/nappus-interuptus.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1039698141764800206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1039698141764800206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/nappus-interuptus.html' title='Nappus Interuptus'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-6692050480855571855</id><published>2010-06-11T07:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T07:28:00.377-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Printer Dance</title><content type='html'>The other day, I was using our old, junky, ink-jet printer to print out some stuff for one of the classes I'm taking.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA48AqozaaI/AAAAAAAAAqk/ugYKiUYIgZs/s1600/h473c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA48AqozaaI/AAAAAAAAAqk/ugYKiUYIgZs/s200/h473c.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480383778699569570" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 183px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In case you've forgotten, these printers whir and sing and dance and crank out a strange rhythm whenever you use them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Baby J heard this strange rhythm and started dancing to it like she dances to the songs we sing in playgroup.  I thought it was the coolest thing I'd ever seen.  Baby J's got so much sauce, she can get down to the sound of an ink-jet printer.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-6692050480855571855?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/6692050480855571855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/printer-dance.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6692050480855571855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6692050480855571855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/printer-dance.html' title='Printer Dance'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA48AqozaaI/AAAAAAAAAqk/ugYKiUYIgZs/s72-c/h473c.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-1804111509250020925</id><published>2010-06-10T07:00:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T07:00:06.802-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Gran Torino</title><content type='html'>As part of the Dawn of the Dad's continuing review of "&lt;a href="http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/search?q=film"&gt;Father Films&lt;/a&gt;," I'd like to submit for you consideration Clint Eastwood's Gran Torino.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA45fYX4KyI/AAAAAAAAAqM/ZVq2ReM6De4/s1600/gran-torino-1-1024.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA45fYX4KyI/AAAAAAAAAqM/ZVq2ReM6De4/s200/gran-torino-1-1024.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480381007837801250" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you haven't already seen this movie, I highly recommend it.  The acting is not the best ever but the subject matter is universal.  Fatherhood and family.  And Clint Eastwood does a great job as the enraged codger, Walt Kowalski.  This old man scowl alone should have earned him an Oscar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA45fsx0ucI/AAAAAAAAAqU/fyljRU6hHYE/s1600/gran-torino-clint-eastwood.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA45fsx0ucI/AAAAAAAAAqU/fyljRU6hHYE/s200/gran-torino-clint-eastwood.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480381013315336642" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 98px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Other "Father Film" Recommendations So Far:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/search?q=fiddler"&gt;Fiddler on the Roof&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/search?q=documentary"&gt;Good Hair&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/search?q=monkees"&gt;Head&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/search?q=hunchback"&gt;Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/search?q=tarzan+adopt"&gt;Disney's Tarzan&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-1804111509250020925?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/1804111509250020925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/gran-torino.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1804111509250020925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/1804111509250020925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/gran-torino.html' title='Gran Torino'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TA45fYX4KyI/AAAAAAAAAqM/ZVq2ReM6De4/s72-c/gran-torino-1-1024.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3492031153563577108</id><published>2010-06-09T07:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-09T07:42:00.591-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Home Stretch</title><content type='html'>This week is a sort of home stretch for me.  My wife will be all finished with teaching  and school will let out for the summer by this time next week.  Once she's off, my role as sole care-giver for Baby J during the work week is over.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course, I will still be a stay-at-home dad but I'll have a stay-at-home mom to help me out. And once that happens, I can concentrate on some of the other home stretches I have coming up, my grad school classes' home stretch and my current author/illustrator project's homestretch.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Disconnection-Notice-Goldfinger/dp/B000765I1I"&gt;Disconnection Notice&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.myspace.com/goldfinger"&gt;Goldfinger&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TAzqZln8dYI/AAAAAAAAAqE/-0oKefD3lA8/s1600/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TAzqZln8dYI/AAAAAAAAAqE/-0oKefD3lA8/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480012571920332162" style="cursor: pointer; width: 90px; height: 90px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3492031153563577108?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3492031153563577108/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/home-stretch.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3492031153563577108'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3492031153563577108'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/home-stretch.html' title='Home Stretch'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TAzqZln8dYI/AAAAAAAAAqE/-0oKefD3lA8/s72-c/images.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-2306938846307173009</id><published>2010-06-08T07:59:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-08T07:59:00.529-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Low Battery</title><content type='html'>Baby J has a few toys that make music and sing.  They are all battery powered and they tear through double AA's hungrily.  Just before they run out of juice though, there is a sort of death rattle they go through, a sort of last gasp.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For example, Baby J has one toy that say, "you're a star," every time you turn it on.  But, when it's about to die, it just shouts out, "you're a star," randomly.  She has another one that sings about driving pretty much out of nowhere.  And despite the fact that toys operating on reduced power are generally slower and quieter than usual, these two toys defy all conventions and blare their parting words every half hour or so like some kind of air raid siren.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TApMHPo71oI/AAAAAAAAAp0/TAjqbVZFS9U/s1600/80511907.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TApMHPo71oI/AAAAAAAAAp0/TAjqbVZFS9U/s200/80511907.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479275583990650498" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TApMGzp8kUI/AAAAAAAAAps/izeZqAVsRFI/s1600/33846.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TApMGzp8kUI/AAAAAAAAAps/izeZqAVsRFI/s200/33846.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479275576478699842" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've seen enough Chucky and Puppet Master movies to be genuinely freaked out when toys start doing things on their own.  It's not cute like Toy Story.  It's unnerving.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-2306938846307173009?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/2306938846307173009/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/low-battery.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2306938846307173009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2306938846307173009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/low-battery.html' title='Low Battery'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TApMHPo71oI/AAAAAAAAAp0/TAjqbVZFS9U/s72-c/80511907.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8254049195891781311</id><published>2010-06-07T07:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-07T07:29:00.896-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Scrape</title><content type='html'>Baby J fell down the other day and scraped her knee.  It was a grisly little gash and resulted in a goodly sized trickle of blood.  She didn't seem to be bothered by this wound though and she isn't too concerned about the big scab that's formed in its place either.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So not only is Baby J a bruiser, she's not scared of getting cut up.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think one day she'll make a fine Ultimate Fighting contender.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8254049195891781311?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8254049195891781311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/scrape.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8254049195891781311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8254049195891781311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/scrape.html' title='Scrape'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3835451160730335603</id><published>2010-06-06T07:43:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-06T07:43:00.770-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Rules</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TAkdcNMNBcI/AAAAAAAAApc/pAQZc62dKFQ/s1600/200px-The_rules.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 123px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TAkdcNMNBcI/AAAAAAAAApc/pAQZc62dKFQ/s200/200px-The_rules.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478942792087307714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I recently became aware of a book called &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rules"&gt;The Rules&lt;/a&gt;.  It's basically an instruction manual for a woman who wants to attract the man of her dreams.  Apparently, when it was first published in the 90's, it was both very popular and very controversial.  I imagine it was popular because everyone wants an easy-to-follow guide to finding an ideal mate.  I imagine it was controversial because there is no such thing as an easy-to-follow guide to anything in life and anyone proporting to have written one is obviously a fake.  Also, many of the "rules" were real headscratchers.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;Rule #5: Don't Call Him &amp;amp; Rarely Return His Calls&lt;/div&gt;Rule #12: Stop Dating Him if He Doesn't Buy You a Romantic Gift for Your Birthday or Valentine's Day&lt;br /&gt;Rule #31: Don't Discuss The Rules with Your Therapist.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Incidentally, one of the book's authors separated from her husband after 16 years if marriage. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Now, why am I posting all this on a blog about parenting? Because there's no shortage of parenting self-help books out there and most of them make it seem like they've got the answer.  But, like I said before, there is no easy-to-follow guide to life.  It would be nice if there was but things just doesn't work that way.  There's no quick fix to finding a soulmate, raising a child, losing weight, etc.  All that stuff takes takes utter commitment, generous support, and plain, dumb luck.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;At least that's my expert opinion.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3835451160730335603?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3835451160730335603/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/rules.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3835451160730335603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3835451160730335603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/rules.html' title='The Rules'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/TAkdcNMNBcI/AAAAAAAAApc/pAQZc62dKFQ/s72-c/200px-The_rules.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8605111889095873146</id><published>2010-06-05T07:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-05T07:26:00.441-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Nice Touch</title><content type='html'>Baby J and I have been working on her "&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;nice touch&lt;/span&gt;."  That's the touch she's supposed to use whenever she pets the cat or touches another baby.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So far, it hasn't been going well.  She beats on the poor cat.  She face-palms unsuspecting babies and knocks them to the floor.  Today at playgroup, she put the smack down on a little boy totally out of the blue.  She squealed with delight as she shoved him down.  It's all in the name of fun and I don't think she's ever lashed out in anger.  But fact remains:  Baby J is a bruiser.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm not sure how to encourage "nice touch" other than to take her hand and gently pet the cat or nicely pat the baby.  I guess she'll get it sooner or later, but, between now and then, I predict a wake of baby destruction.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8605111889095873146?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8605111889095873146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/nice-touch.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8605111889095873146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8605111889095873146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/nice-touch.html' title='Nice Touch'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8271161964122474136</id><published>2010-06-04T07:44:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-04T08:31:15.152-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Day Without Doze</title><content type='html'>Yesterdeay was very hectic for me and my little family.  We spent a lot of time in the car.  We attended a funeral.  Then, we sat in a restaurant for a while.  Then, we got back in the car and sat in traffic for a few hours.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All in all, Baby J did not get any sort of nap.  It's the first time I can remember that she went the whole day without any down time.  I thought she would be psychotic, but, as it turns out, even when sleep deprivd, Baby J is a delightful little person.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This bodes well for the plane trip we have to Florida coming up in about a month.  Not only will she not get a nap, she'll have to sit the whole flight.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Jeffery?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Fs0cYJUqJys&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Fs0cYJUqJys&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8271161964122474136?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8271161964122474136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/day-without-doze.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8271161964122474136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8271161964122474136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/day-without-doze.html' title='A Day Without Doze'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-2489282733868637546</id><published>2010-06-03T07:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-03T07:10:01.025-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Clark Kent/Superman</title><content type='html'>I hang out with Baby J all day.  Then my wife comes home and I go off to my grad school classes or up to my studio.  On the weekends, we switch off too.  My wife will take the baby to the beach while I run errands or get some work done.  I'll take Baby J to the library and let me wife have some time to herself.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, with mommy and daddy never to be seen in the same place at the same time, we've started wondering if Baby J is going to get a Clark Kent/Superman thing going on in her head.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__f76PGSmI/AAAAAAAAAo0/CuJq6jjGTuQ/s1600/clark-kent-superman.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__f76PGSmI/AAAAAAAAAo0/CuJq6jjGTuQ/s200/clark-kent-superman.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476341892243671650" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 110px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wonder which one I am.  My wife wears glasses so I think she should be Clark Kent.  Also, I have been known to wear a cape on occasion so Superman would be a natural fit.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Survival-Fattest-Various-Artists/dp/B0000007QS"&gt;Survival of the Fattest&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.fatwreck.com/"&gt;Various Artists&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__hI7RKW3I/AAAAAAAAAo8/bBCV0PgtPvQ/s1600/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__hI7RKW3I/AAAAAAAAAo8/bBCV0PgtPvQ/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476343215370689394" style="cursor: pointer; width: 91px; height: 91px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-2489282733868637546?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/2489282733868637546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/clark-kentsuperman.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2489282733868637546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2489282733868637546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/clark-kentsuperman.html' title='Clark Kent/Superman'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__f76PGSmI/AAAAAAAAAo0/CuJq6jjGTuQ/s72-c/clark-kent-superman.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-6788232530974087930</id><published>2010-06-02T07:28:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-02T08:53:04.742-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Fiddler on the Roof</title><content type='html'>I just saw the 1971 film version of Fiddler on the Roof for the fifty bajillionth time.  I always forget how much I enjoy it until I have occasion to sit down and watch it again.  Every time, it just totally sucks me in even though I know exactly what's going to happen, who it's going to happen to, and what song is going to be sung while it's happening.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__lHebSXTI/AAAAAAAAApU/cqdxPsUTXGg/s1600/chagall.fiddler.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__lHebSXTI/AAAAAAAAApU/cqdxPsUTXGg/s200/chagall.fiddler.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476347588495170866" style="cursor: pointer; width: 168px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This was the first time I watched it since becoming a father, however.  Now, it's like watching a totally different movie.  It's metaphors inside metaphors all about the father/child relationship.  And some cool, bottle-headed dancing action.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__kwDwcjyI/AAAAAAAAApM/rx0RdzUS5WQ/s1600/FIDDLER_ON_THE_ROOf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__kwDwcjyI/AAAAAAAAApM/rx0RdzUS5WQ/s200/FIDDLER_ON_THE_ROOf.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476347186199170850" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Interesting viewing for new fathers whether they are rich men (deega deega deega deega dum) or paupers.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-6788232530974087930?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/6788232530974087930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/fiddler-on-roof.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6788232530974087930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6788232530974087930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/fiddler-on-roof.html' title='Fiddler on the Roof'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__lHebSXTI/AAAAAAAAApU/cqdxPsUTXGg/s72-c/chagall.fiddler.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-979737656324796172</id><published>2010-06-01T07:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T07:09:00.430-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Whole New Mind</title><content type='html'>I just finished a book by economist Daniel Pink called A Whole New Mind.  It was all about the next evolution in American jobs and I thought it was a very interesting book.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One theme that kept coming up again and again was the idea that, in this age of abundance, where people have what they need to survive, they start looking for reasons to survive.  They start looking for meaning effectively making meaning the new money.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm not sure I totally agree with everything Daniel Pink has to say, but I know giving up some of wage earning potential to be a stay-at-home dad has been a meaningful experience for me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__jKlON26I/AAAAAAAAApE/emmvT6RzFSw/s1600/baby-money.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__jKlON26I/AAAAAAAAApE/emmvT6RzFSw/s200/baby-money.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476345442835749794" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 188px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-979737656324796172?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/979737656324796172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/whole-new-mind.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/979737656324796172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/979737656324796172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/06/whole-new-mind.html' title='A Whole New Mind'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S__jKlON26I/AAAAAAAAApE/emmvT6RzFSw/s72-c/baby-money.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-4952071757842090434</id><published>2010-05-31T07:59:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-31T07:59:00.346-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Great Grandmother</title><content type='html'>I don't remember my great-grandmother.  She died when I was super little.  There's an old, black-and-white photograph of the two of us together somewhere.  Me, a wee, pudgy thing in a diaper, and her, wrinkled and world-weary - probably also in a diaper.  I'm sure it was a nice moment for my parents to see these two separate generations together for that split second in human history.  Maybe it was nice for her too.  I don't know.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last night, my grandmother died.  Her health and her mental capacity had been waning for quite some time now, but, last night, over the course of about a half-hour, she gave up the ghost and slipped away into an empty oblivion.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My grandmother was going to turn 90 this year.  I was all pumped up to have Baby J meet her at her 90th birthday.  I even had plans of taking a black-and-white photograph.  I doubt either of them would have really known what was going on but I think it would have been nice for everyone else.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wonder how much of my grandmother now lives on in Baby J or how much any of the distant relatives we never knew live on in us.  Maybe when Baby J can handle it, I'll teach her some of my grandmother's Yiddish so the tradition can live on.  Maybe she'll even use it someday without realizing how or why she knows it.  Maybe all our ancestors affect us in just that way.  My great-grandmother had a somewhat artistic inclination.  I grew up playing with my G.I. Joe and He-Man figurines on tables decorated with her tile mosaics.  Maybe that's why I picked up art as an avocation/vocation.  Maybe it seeped in sideways while I defeated Skeletor and Cobra Commander.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Who knows what Baby J will get from her great-grandmother.  Whatever it is, I'm sure it will be great.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-4952071757842090434?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/4952071757842090434/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/great-grandmother.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/4952071757842090434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/4952071757842090434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/great-grandmother.html' title='Great Grandmother'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-679478703658789145</id><published>2010-05-30T07:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-30T07:25:00.251-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Rapid Fire Questions</title><content type='html'>My wife has a tendency to ask me questions in quick succession.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;How was your day?  How is the baby?  Did she eat a lot today?  What's for dinner?  Did you water the plants?  Did you get the mail?  &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When she does this, I usually wait for a lull in the flow and then ask her which question she wants answered first.  Or I'll say she can ask three questions before she hits a limit.  Something to make the queries more manageable.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, like mother, like daughter.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Baby J has a habit of asking for everything all at once.  Running through her entire lexicon in one rapid fire sequence.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;i&gt;Keys?  Apple?  Papa (grandpa)?  Dada?  Cracker?  Ball?  Up?  Down?  Shoes?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I never really know what she's getting at when she does this but usually I just give her a cracker and send her on her way. It satisfies her most of the time.  Maybe I should try that with my wife.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-679478703658789145?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/679478703658789145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/rapid-fire-questions.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/679478703658789145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/679478703658789145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/rapid-fire-questions.html' title='Rapid Fire Questions'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3606365954450393785</id><published>2010-05-29T07:45:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-29T07:45:00.698-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Broke Dad's Broke Down Merry-Go-Round</title><content type='html'>Today at the mall, Baby J wanted to ride the coin-operated, kiddie merry-go-round.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_rZkx7cTXI/AAAAAAAAAos/dPpARMd-sis/s1600/4331610216_314378c6cd.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_rZkx7cTXI/AAAAAAAAAos/dPpARMd-sis/s200/4331610216_314378c6cd.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474927522923433330" style="cursor: pointer; width: 138px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;What fun!  Yippee!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A few quarters, the ride started up and Baby J was delighted.  But soon, the music stopped and dad was all out of quarters.  Using her toddler logic, Baby J decided the best way to remedy the situation was to freak out, scream, and cry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Luckily, babies aren't the only ones with creative logic.  After some quick thinking and cajoling, the two of us spent the rest of our time at the mall riding up one escalator and down the other.  Up and down.  Up and down.  She was totally fine with it.  So long as she was on some kind of ride.  And though I probably looked very foolish, I was fine with it too.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_rZkkNLCQI/AAAAAAAAAok/XUvmNX2Oq1A/s1600/6a00d4144623da6a47011016652da2860d-500pi.gif"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_rZkkNLCQI/AAAAAAAAAok/XUvmNX2Oq1A/s200/6a00d4144623da6a47011016652da2860d-500pi.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474927519239702786" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 199px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3606365954450393785?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3606365954450393785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/broke-dads-broke-down-merry-go-round.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3606365954450393785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3606365954450393785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/broke-dads-broke-down-merry-go-round.html' title='Broke Dad&apos;s Broke Down Merry-Go-Round'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_rZkx7cTXI/AAAAAAAAAos/dPpARMd-sis/s72-c/4331610216_314378c6cd.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-672978449203535095</id><published>2010-05-28T07:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-28T07:36:00.120-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ms. Baby Goes to Washington</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Hey, look!  Congress is just as pissed about all the crib recalls as I am.  Check out &lt;a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100523/ap_on_bi_ge/us_crib_deaths_congress"&gt;this article.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Venus-Envy-Diesel-Boy/dp/B0000059KG"&gt;Venus Envy&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diesel_Boy"&gt;Diesel Boy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_nVwMk3eWI/AAAAAAAAAoc/Xf6pd-9sOFQ/s1600/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_nVwMk3eWI/AAAAAAAAAoc/Xf6pd-9sOFQ/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474641846031841634" style="cursor: pointer; width: 91px; height: 91px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-672978449203535095?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/672978449203535095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/ms-baby-goes-to-washington.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/672978449203535095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/672978449203535095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/ms-baby-goes-to-washington.html' title='Ms. Baby Goes to Washington'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_nVwMk3eWI/AAAAAAAAAoc/Xf6pd-9sOFQ/s72-c/images.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-3247351199147618851</id><published>2010-05-27T07:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T07:22:00.408-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Hair</title><content type='html'>I recently saw a documentary by Chris Rock called &lt;a href="http://www.goodhairdvd.com/"&gt;Good Hair&lt;/a&gt;.  It's about the culture, economics, and social implications of the African-American beauty business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_lKYdCfjKI/AAAAAAAAAoM/waxlaJbr0b4/s1600/goodhair.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_lKYdCfjKI/AAAAAAAAAoM/waxlaJbr0b4/s200/goodhair.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474488606017948834" style="cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was side-splitting, eye-opening, and jaw-dropping.  I hardly think I am the person and I hardly think this is the place to analyze any sort of African-American self-image zeitgeist, but I can say that this movie helped me to see just how crushing the pressure people put on themselves to be beautiful can be, regardless of skin color.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As the father of a little girl who will one day feel the societal pressure to fit a certain beauty archetype, I worry about what it will be like for Baby J when she's older.  She will be faced with a whole separate set of issues than the women in Good Hair but they are certain to be vexing nonetheless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is the stuff that keeps me up at night.  What's a dad to do?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To: &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dirt-Track-Southern-Culture-Skids/dp/B000003TBN"&gt;Dirt Track Date&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.scots.com/home/default.asp"&gt;Southern Culture on the Skids&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_lKYpy6L9I/AAAAAAAAAoU/yQ8OgDs-4dE/s1600/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_lKYpy6L9I/AAAAAAAAAoU/yQ8OgDs-4dE/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474488609442246610" style="cursor: pointer; width: 99px; height: 99px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-3247351199147618851?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/3247351199147618851/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/good-hair.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3247351199147618851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/3247351199147618851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/good-hair.html' title='Good Hair'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_lKYdCfjKI/AAAAAAAAAoM/waxlaJbr0b4/s72-c/goodhair.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8770133586692370373</id><published>2010-05-26T07:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-26T07:03:00.555-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Dog</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Baby J and I went to play ball at the park today.  A lady showed up with a German shepherd and started playing frisbee with him.  Fearless Baby J saw the dog and thought it prudent to charge screaming and flailing her arms.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f8jDwsCUI/AAAAAAAAAn0/cyGra62x6Mw/s1600/germanshepherd.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f8jDwsCUI/AAAAAAAAAn0/cyGra62x6Mw/s200/germanshepherd.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474121551327267138" style="cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;woof&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Naturally, this made me a little apprehensive.  After all, German shepherds are what they use for police dogs.  They tear down coked up criminals on the run.  Who knows what they'd do to a wee screaming wild child.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The lady tried to reassure me that her dog would not eat Baby J but I was still anxious.  I ended up just putting Baby J in the car and driving home for lunch.  But I was left wondering if it was a bit of an overreaction on my part?  Was I being overprotective?  For the record, let it be known that I love dogs.  I just don't like the way that they maul people from time to time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f8jeQlmpI/AAAAAAAAAn8/fNJnDdWbHQ4/s1600/4077184414_86e9719699.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f8jeQlmpI/AAAAAAAAAn8/fNJnDdWbHQ4/s200/4077184414_86e9719699.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474121558440385170" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 147px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Did someone say lunch?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To: &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Beelzebubba-Dead-Milkmen/dp/B000003BHO"&gt;Beelzebubba&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.deadmilkmen.com/"&gt;The Dead Milkmen&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f8j-7T7eI/AAAAAAAAAoE/kxo_IUWsYG0/s1600/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f8j-7T7eI/AAAAAAAAAoE/kxo_IUWsYG0/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474121567209516514" style="cursor: pointer; width: 110px; height: 110px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8770133586692370373?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8770133586692370373/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/dog.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8770133586692370373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8770133586692370373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/dog.html' title='Dog'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f8jDwsCUI/AAAAAAAAAn0/cyGra62x6Mw/s72-c/germanshepherd.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-2634092923991878638</id><published>2010-05-25T07:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-25T07:21:00.258-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Key Ring</title><content type='html'>There are many ways to measure a man.  Height, wealth, athletic prowess. All the traditional ways men are compared to one another in our society.  But men everywhere know that these things don't really matter.  There's only one thing that truly shows how important you are as a man.  Your key ring.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f6FvUAxGI/AAAAAAAAAnk/RY9JEFAsU1Y/s1600/key1-719299.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f6FvUAxGI/AAAAAAAAAnk/RY9JEFAsU1Y/s200/key1-719299.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474118848598819938" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;   &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's right.  You judge a man not by the color of his skin but the contents of his key ring.  Men with lots of keys are important.   Men with a few keys don't have as much status.  Men with lots of keys clip them to a belt loop and let them noisily jangle against one another so that everyone in earshot knows how important they are.  Men with a few keys slip them in their pocket and try to hide their inferiority.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today, I'm not sure if I took a step forward or a step backward in the world of the man key ring status but my key ring is forever changed.  My wife joined the rewards club at Babies R Us and clipped a little barcode to my key ring.  Whenever I go to Babies R Us now and buy some stuff, I give them my keys and they keep track of my spending, offer me discounts here and there.  Like they do at the grocery store.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f6RydEl5I/AAAAAAAAAns/Y7jTOCgzBUk/s1600/BabiesRUs.gif"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f6RydEl5I/AAAAAAAAAns/Y7jTOCgzBUk/s200/BabiesRUs.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474119055600555922" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 69px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So now my key ring has grown and my status increased.  But, at the same time, it's not a terribly manly addition and I'm feeling conflicted.  Perhaps a even a little keyed up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening To: &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cock-Rock-Diesel-Boy/dp/B0000059JU"&gt;Cock Rock&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diesel_Boy"&gt;Diesel Boy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f5gaqBgaI/AAAAAAAAAnc/1b2ktrQ6xJc/s1600/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f5gaqBgaI/AAAAAAAAAnc/1b2ktrQ6xJc/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474118207398838690" style="cursor: pointer; width: 104px; height: 104px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-2634092923991878638?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/2634092923991878638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/key-ring.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2634092923991878638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/2634092923991878638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/key-ring.html' title='Key Ring'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_f6FvUAxGI/AAAAAAAAAnk/RY9JEFAsU1Y/s72-c/key1-719299.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-6435803487048998845</id><published>2010-05-24T07:13:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-24T13:08:56.986-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Article &amp; Rant</title><content type='html'>Today's post starts with an article on stay-at-home dads and their struggle to rejoin the workforce when it's time.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Read it &lt;a href="http://finance.yahoo.com/career-work/article/109593/daunting-task-for-mr-mom-get-a-job?mod=career-worklife_balance"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After I first read this article, I thought myself pretty lucky to have a career which allows ample time off for family.  But then I realized, I'm not lucky.  Part of the reason I chose teaching was so I could spend time with my family.  Luck had nothing to do with it.  It was totally intentional.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But now, federal and state government are trying to dismantle teachers' unions and change the way teachers are hired so that's it's more like a business model.  No more tenure.  No more time off for family leave.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So if there are any state or federal government officials reading this blog, quit screwing around with the underpinnings of educational system that attract new, talented teachers.  Focus on changing the parts that base funding on standardized test scores and punish impoverished schools.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-6435803487048998845?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/6435803487048998845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/article-rant.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6435803487048998845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/6435803487048998845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/article-rant.html' title='Article &amp; Rant'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-8417488443386617647</id><published>2010-05-23T07:17:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-23T08:53:55.570-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mix and Match</title><content type='html'>I took Baby J to a playgroup at a nearby library this morning.  I've been going there for months but today there was a bigger crowd than I'd ever seen there before.  Moms just kept on coming, bringing their babies with them.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After a while, all the babies were playing with each other and all the moms were talking with each other and I couldn't remember which baby went to which mom.  So I sat and tried to mix and match them based on their physical features.  I think I got all but one or two in the end.  I wonder if I were on the other end of this little game would folks match me up with Baby J?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Speaking of which, here's a little mix and match game I made of myself.  Click the image below to play.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="#" onclick="window.open('http://www.jasondeeble.com/dressup.html','Dress','height=525,width=480');"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_VViCB_9CI/AAAAAAAAAnU/93kZBP-bkVQ/s200/DressUpJason.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473374965287875618" style="cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-8417488443386617647?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/8417488443386617647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/mix-and-match.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8417488443386617647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/8417488443386617647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/mix-and-match.html' title='Mix and Match'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_VViCB_9CI/AAAAAAAAAnU/93kZBP-bkVQ/s72-c/DressUpJason.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4852156281658894747.post-4904431135844368644</id><published>2010-05-22T07:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-22T07:24:00.939-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Beginning of the End of the Sleepsack</title><content type='html'>A sleepsack is like a baby snuggie...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_KJWOBdR_I/AAAAAAAAAnE/4g4I7J1SQBo/s1600/Sleepsack-300x300.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_KJWOBdR_I/AAAAAAAAAnE/4g4I7J1SQBo/s200/Sleepsack-300x300.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472587512022910962" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's what we put Baby J in when it's time for sleep.  It's like a baby blanket they can't take off.  But Baby J has now found a way to get out of her sleepsack.  The other day I went in to get her up for the day only to find that she'd removed it entirely and was laying on top of it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm guessing that this is the beginning of the end of Baby J's sleepsacks.  From here on out, we'll probably have to find a new way to keep her snug at night.  Good thing warmer weather is on the way.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4852156281658894747-4904431135844368644?l=dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/feeds/4904431135844368644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/beginning-of-end-of-sleepsack.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/4904431135844368644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4852156281658894747/posts/default/4904431135844368644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dawn-of-the-dad.blogspot.com/2010/05/beginning-of-end-of-sleepsack.html' title='Beginning of the End of the Sleepsack'/><author><name>Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09081637796883606385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/Spvlq0I-2eI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WqfBKkXs6Dg/S220/DSCN3052a.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IKkIdKVneDg/S_KJWOBdR_I/AAAAAAAAAnE/4g4I7J1SQBo/s72-c/Sleepsack-300x300.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
