As I sit at my desk, typing up this blog post for your reading enjoyment, my fingers are crossed. Yes, you read that correctly, I am typing with the fingers of my right hand crossed. So don’t be alarmed if you come across a few typos, or entire words missing from a sentence, for that matter. Just know that it is a necessary evil that I must contend with if I want to provide you guys with these super intelligent and uber entertaining and informative blog posts. What could bring on such preposterous behavior? Why are you being forced to take such precautions? Should I have my fingers crossed as well? I know that these are the burning questions of desire on your mind at this very moment and I’m going to get straight to the point. YES, CROSS YOUR FINGERS, cross them now, go ahead. It is imperative for your future well-being. No, it won’t save you from some unforeseen impending natural disaster, and no, crossing your fingers won’t protect you from the next big pandemic that threatens to wipe humanity off the face of the Earth. But I’ll tell you what it will do; it’ll protect you from contracting the God awful CHEESE TOUCH!!!

For the past month, my life has been riddled with countless hours of plotting and searching for an unsuspecting victim to pass off the cheese touch to. It has all but ruined my leisure activities, my sleep, and my productivity. Hell, look at my recent blog post production; I haven’t had time to get any posts out recently, too busy trying to get rid of the cheese touch. The cheese touch has had a negative impact on my life, and I’m attempting to save you from suffering the same fate. But in order to do that, we must go back to the beginning. Because in order to defeat the cheese touch, you must become the cheese touch! Okay, that made no sense at all, but it sounded really cool to say.

The cheese touch infected our family and we didn’t eeen (there’s one of those typos I warned you about) know it until it was too late. If you’re familiar with the Diary of a Wimpy Kid franchise, then you may already have some idea of what the cheese touch is, if not, check the vid below. Well, this year Ty has been infatuated with those books. He’s read the entire series this year and really enjoys it. Great right? Our kid is reading (without being forced) and actually enjoying it. What’s not to love about this situation? Fiction becoming reality, that’s what. At some point during his countless hours of reading, Ty thought it would be an awesome idea to bring the cheese touch to life and pass it along to one of his unsuspecting family members. That family member just so happened to be Tre. BIG MISTAKE!!! Tre, having no knowledge of what the cheese touch was had a complete freak out session. What’s the cheese touch? I don’t want the cheese touch! The cheese touch is hurting me, I think it made my tummy not feel so good, and on and on and on. Naturally, someone had to ensure this kid got rid of the cheese touch and quickly, so BOOM just like that without eeen (damn typos) knowing, I was smacked with the cheese touch due to some conniving and collaborating by Fefe and the boys. Seconds afterwards, all I heard was Daddy has the cheese touch, they just took turns saying it over and over, teasing me.

Being the competitive person that I am, I vowed to keep my cheese touch time to a minimum and immediately ran to Fefe to touch her; I was promptly stopped in my tracks by a raised hand containing crossed index and middle fingers. I was then informed that if your fingers were crossed, you would be protected from getting the cheese touch. I went to bed with the cheese touch that night, and it haunted my dreams. The next morning, I woke Ty up for school and before he could even gather his thoughts, the cheese touch was back in his court. I smiled and reveled in my cunning and superior strategy. My celebration was cut short, I forgot to cross my fingers and before his feet hit the floor, I was once again stuck with the cheese touch.

As time went on, our game evolved; I became better at dishing out the cheese touch as well as deflecting it. Alliances began to form in a Survivor-esqe fashion and things got real gritty. Tre hated having the cheese touch for more than 45 seconds, Ty would try to cheat and cross his fingers after the fact, Fefe gave me the cheese touch in my freaking sleep. Our house became a dog eat dog world and it was downright ugly. But then a miracle happened, my parents came to visit, and we had some new unsuspecting victims to take advantage of. We were seasoned cheese touch vets by this time, so it was very difficult to get rid of it, once you got it. But now with my parents in town, it’d be a breeze tossing it to them. That was the case at first; however they quickly formulated their own strategy and created a Bonnie and Clyde style partnership. They would yell out and inform each other whenever someone new had the cheese touch, they sent signals if they noticed one of us didn’t have our fingers crossed; if became all out warfare.

Fefe and I were determined to send the cheese touch to Buffalo with my parents and be rid of this silly game once and for all. The day before they left, we were very meticulous with who we gave our touches too. We didn’t want to tip them off by not giving it away enough, but giving it away too much could mean disaster as well. I ended up scoring what I thought was a winning shot when I gave my Dad the cheese touch before he headed off for bed. Fefe and I celebrated, the whole house erupted with “Grandpappi has the cheese touch”, and all was well in the world. After a long (and scary) drive to the airport due to the snow, the last thing on my mind was the damn cheese touch. We arrived at the airport in a frenzy because they only had 45 mins to catch their flight. I handed my Dad their bags, gave my Mom a hug and then gave my Dad one as well. With bags in both hands, he couldn’t hug me back, but managed to stick his chin out and tap me on the shoulder while saying CHEESE TOUCH.

I was shocked and full of disappointment. Fefe and I drove home in complete silence, baffled at the fact that we had been bested. By the time we made it home, Ty had fell asleep; I woke him up and immediately informed him of his new cheese touch status. As I sit here today, days later and the cheese touch still lives on.

And now, since I know none of you had your fingers crossed while reading this post, I say unto you….CHEESE TOUCH!!!!

{insert reader’s name} has the cheese touch
{insert reader’s name} has the cheese touch
{insert reader’s name} has the cheese touch
{insert reader’s name} has the cheese touch

When I was a kid people would ask me if I felt older on my birthday? I always responded with a resounding yes; during the teenage years you might have even gotten a HELL YEAH out of me. Obviously, it was a lie; I felt exactly the same, but was so happy to be a bit older that I had to express how great it felt. Today I’m 30 and if you ask me the same question the answer will undoubtedly be the same but for very different reasons. Now the answer is yes because that’s the freaking truth!

My issue with the age of ’30′ all stems from my good buddy Jay-Z; I admire the guy, he is one of the best rappers ever, an astounding business man, and married to the hottest chic in the game. That man is winning on an entirely different level. But as much as I appreciate him, I no longer respect him! The guy is a pathological liar!!! He repeatedly told me that 30 was the new 20, on his song that came out in when I was on the descending end of my 20′s. that song gave me hope; it taught me that although things started going downhill after 25, it was “all good” because when I hit 30 some magical reset button would be pressed and I’d become a young spring chicken again.

Well guess what Mr. Jay-Z, it didn’t happen. Now that I’m 30, I feel as old as I’ve ever felt in my life, and that’s probably because *NEWSFLASH* I’m actually as old as I’ve ever been! You lied to me pal, and I’ve got the evidence to prove it. Back when I was 20, I could go out and party until 4 in the morning and still make it to work and be fully functuonal by 8am. Now, if I stay up past midnight, I’m most likely going to be wasting a vacation day in the morning because I’m too exhausted to get out of bed. When I was 20, I travelled the nation, visiting a different city almost every week. At 30, I still visit different cities every week, however, it’s via the travel channel because with a house full of kids, traveling is neither a feasible task, nor a desirable one. I could go on and on, but at age 30, I’ve seemed to have developed carpal tunnel, and typing for long periods of time isn’t very enjoyable.

Things may sound bad so far, but they definitely get a lot worse for me as I turn 30. Not only was I lied to by one of my favorite entertainers, I was also fed a bowl of cold hard truth by my own flesh and blood. Apparently, this is the last birthday I’ll ever have. Don’t get alarmed folks, I’m not dying from some incurable disease or anything. I’m speaking to you in Tre logic now and according to him, I MUST stop having birthdays at 30, or I risk turning into a giant. Tre feels that after you turn 30, you’re so old that if you get any older you’ll be magically transformed into a giant. The life of a giant is very rough; giants can’t live in houses because they’re too big to fit inside. To make matters worse, they often get in trouble by their parents (who mysteriously aren’t giants by the way) for breaking things such as cars and trees, by simply stepping on them. To avoid this horrific lifestyle, one must simply stay 30 years old forever.

So to sum things up: my dreams of becoming young again have been crushed, I’m no longer able to do the things I once could without very dire consequences and to top it all off, I have to stay at this age forever. Man oh man, with birthdays like this, who would want another one? Maybe Tre is on to something. Okay okay, all joking and kidding aside, if this did have to be my last birthday, it’d be totally okay with me. 10 years ago I was a wild child, trying to find my place in this world, well at age 30, I’ve definitely found it. I have a beautiful wife, 3 wonderful children, and they mean the world to me. I’d be totally happy getting stuck in a Groundhog Day scenario at this point in my life. I know we are suppose to continuously strive for bigger and better, but honestly, I can’t imagine life getting any better than it already is. So Happy Birthday to me and and special thanks to all of those that make each and every day worth living.

As parents, we all stretch the truth a tad bit from time to time when dealing with our children: magical storks delivering babies, a fat guy who never gets arrested for breaking and entering on Christmas Eve, if you tell the truth you won’t get in trouble, the dog (who is dead) ran away, the list goes on and on. Well, at least at our house it does. Most of these little white lies are well intentioned, and designed to produce better more productive members of society out of our kids. Ah, who am I kidding, these lies make our lives easier; could you imagine how difficult the month of December would be if your naughty list got revoked? But what happens when parents start lying to their kids just for the fun of it? I’ll tell you what happens, if backfires!!! Don’t do it folks, reserve your lies, resist the urge to utilize these precious little tools for entertainment purposes.

During Tre’s 5yrs on this earth, he’s gathered quite the reputation as a mathematician, psychologist, general practitioner, lawyer, veterinarian, and handy man. Needless to say, Tre is your typical know it all (kinda like his Dad). Most of the times, the encyclopedia of Tre is amusing; it’s fun to see how his little brain formulates ideas and attempts to push his believes on you. However, when the little guy transforms into Mad Scientist Tre, it can become very annoying, very quickly. Scientist Tre loves performing experiments to prove his hypothesis. Experiments such as: pouring orange juice in a cup of milk because it’ll most definitely make a rainbow, which means a leprechaun and pot of gold will soon follow. Anyone wanna take a guess at what he had for breakfast that day? As you can imagine, the resulting concoction ended up in the drain, and there was no little green leprechaun there to supplement the purchase of more orange juice.

Deal with one or two of these “learning experiences” per week and anyone would be looking for a little bit of payback, there’s only but so much that a person can take. Well I reached my breaking point and decided if the opportunity ever presented itself, I would teach this kid a lesson. Earlier this week, I got my shot! During dinner, Tre the scientist took it upon himself to rudely interupt Ty’s intriguing tale about recess kickball to make a proclamation: “you know guys, popcorn comes from corn so maybe if you heat my corn up in the microwave it’ll turn into popcorn if you press the popcorn button”. My moment had arrived, I finally had a way in, a way to knock this little guy down a peg by proving him wrong. I told him that might actually work, and I would heat his food up so we could see. The boy tells me, “I know it’ll work, as long as YOU make sure you press the popcorn button. Oh man, the devilish grin was shining bright inside of me; I knew I was gonna get him good.

Without Tre knowing, I made a detour to the pantry and grabbed a bag of popcorn. After heating his food up, I took the corn off his plate, removed the corn on the Cobb holders and placed them under the bag of un popped popcorn that was now sitting on his plate. People, the popcorn was still in the plastic wrap, this was going to be the greatest prank ever! Once I brought the plate back to Tre, he was amazed, he couldn’t believe that his corn actually transformed into popcorn. Nevermind the fact that the popcorn wasn’t popped, forget about the plastic wrap enclosing the fully folded bag. To Tre, those little things known as facts didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, his plate left with an ear of corn and came back with popcorn. Who cares what form it was in, he had struck scientific gold. He went on and on all night about corn this, popcorn that. After a while, I thought he was merely playing along to strip me of my “gotcha” moment. Boy was I wrong.

Last night we had corn again for dinner and it was a disaster. I know, I know, corn twice in one week? Well hey, it’s the only vegetable that the boy will eat, so if eating corn everyday means he’ll be healthy, it’s what we’ll do. During dinner Tre informs Fefe that his food is cold and she should heat it up with the popcorn button. Fefe explains that my prank was a joke and he in fact did not have popcorn that was created from corn. Tre shoots her a glance as if her collegiate credentials don’t qualify her to challenge his authority and says “well just try it and let’s see”. After heating up his food and returning a plate still containing corn, Tre disappointedly informs us that he cannot eat his corn. When questioned why, he lets us know that this is obviously not real corn since it didn’t turn into popcorn and he doesn’t like fake corn because it doesn’t taste good. Smh, way to go Dad! My simple prank may have jeopardized Tre’s only hope at eating a balanced meal.

Can you think of a lie your parents told you that you didn’t realize until much much later?

If you’re as clueless as I was about this whole Harlem Shake thing, read about it here before watching the video.

 If you’ve participated in the madness that is the Harlem Shake craze, be sure to post a link to your vid below.  We’d love to check it out.

Today, Gup turns 1 month old. WhooHoo, Yay, Par-Tay!!! Now that all of that is out of the way, let me inform you guys that the honeymoon phase is OVER! This past week or so has been a living nightmare and it can all be attributed to Ruler Gup. Yup, I say “ruler” because she rules this household with an iron fist. She says FEED ME, we say how much? She says ROCK ME, we say how fast? She says BUY ME THE NEW PS4 IN NOV, we say sure thing. Oh wait, sorry, got my “rulers” confused. That last request came from the previous monarch , who was ousted from power one month ago to this day. Even through all of her tyranny, she’s still my little princess and her beautiful eyes brighten my day; however, on nights like last night, I do find myself searching through her diaper bag, playpen, and crib, looking for a gift receipt that reads Kayla Leigh-Ann Robertson. Sure, go ahead, furrow your brow, smack your teeth, call me every name in the book; but until you’ve lived through the bewitching hour, you have no right to judge my gift receipt search!

What is the bewitching hour you may be wondering. Well let me set the record straight, it sure as hell isn’t confined to a single hour! Whoever named it that must have been drunk, which is most likely the case because after living through the bewitching hourS, alcohol can quickly become your most trusted ally. Okay, so back to this bewitching hour, apparently, it’s a time of increased fussiness for newborns. During this time, they tend to cluster feed in an attempt to bulk up for their long stretch of sleep, which is typically a whopping 3-4 hours. Really? All this fuss over a 3-4 hour stretch of sleep? Bears hibernate for 3-4 freaking months and don’t put up as big a fight as this kid does.

So during this time which typically starts around 7pm and lasts until about midnight, our lives are miserable. Gup wants to eat like every hour, therefore, Fefe’s feeding her every hour, which means she’s taking monster craps ever hour, therefore I’m changing diapers every hour. On top of all of that the little diva princess acts like she’s too good to be put down. We can hold her until she’s about to fall asleep, try to put her down for bed and BOOM, fireworks erupt. We try to hold her until she’s fully knocked out and then lay her down, no such luck my friend. She’ll literally cry me a river once she’s detached from either of us, we’ll mainly Fefe. Things wouldn’t be so bad if this so called bewitching hour didn’t occur as the boys are starting to whine down their day and prepare for bed. During the early evening, she’s sleep and they’re going full throttle, which means, I’m doing the same in an attempt to ensure they each receive quality time as well. Just as QT with the boys draws to an end, the Gup show starts ramping up for production. This means there’s no adult time, not a kidless moment to be found until I’m fast asleep and in dreamland and do you want to know what I dream about? That damn gift receipt!!!

In doing some research about the bewitching hour, I came across a comment that read: “find comfort in knowing that this won’t last forever, most babies grow out of it in 3-4 months”. I’m sorry, but screw you mister whoever the hell you are, I find no comfort in knowing that I may potentially have 3 months left of hard labor jail sentence. Seriously though, this transition is very rough and while I laugh at my pain and joke about it, I know things could always be worse. We have a beautiful, healthy, one month old little daughter and I couldn’t be more thrilled by here presence. So if a few hours of fussiness EVERY night is what I have to put up with so that I can have this little lady in my life, I’m all in. Well worth the price of admission in my opinion.

Up until the birth of Baby Guppy aka Gup, I was under the impression that my boys were monstrosities of evil based on their dealing with each other; wait, let me clarify, I thought that Tre was a monstrosity of evil. Ty was just an unfortunate bystander, forced to protect and defend himself (usually unsuccessfully) by matching evil with evil. The levels of scheming, deceitfulness, and downright mean behavior started climbing off the charts and I began to question if we needed to move to Philadelphia in hopes of getting any brotherly love in our home. Tre reached an all-time low a few mere weeks before Gup’s birth and I was terrified that the torture treatment of his brother would be transferred to her once she arrived.

As most of you know, I regularly take the boys to participate in the Lowe’s Build and Grow clinics. They love it, as do I; it’s a real bonding experience for all of us, in addition, they get to play with the items they build. Even more, they receive badges for every creation and display them on their work aprons to show the world all that they’ve created. And there you have the source of contention and primary catalyst for the most recent brother on brother hate crime that I was forced to investigate. Ty and I started the Lowe’s tradition way before Tre was able to properly handle a hammer; therefore, he had a pretty significant jumpstart in the badges category. Ty, obviously proud of his superior badge count, would often tease Tre about his deficient apron and was always quick to point out the badges that Tre didn’t possess. Unfortunately for Ty, his reign of terror wouldn’t last long, and he would pay dearly for his tyranny. Tre was secretly formulating a savage plan of revenge that was very Emily Thorn-ish in nature.

One by one, slowly but surely, Tre began receiving badges that Ty didn’t have. As some of you may recall, last year was very tough for Ty in the school behavior department, and as a result he was forced to miss quite a few Lowe’s excursions. In addition, some of Ty’s extracurricular activities took place during the same time as Lowe’s which created a conflict resulting in Tre boosting his badge stockpile. Oh how the mighty have fallen and how quickly the tables can turn (side note: I totally had to look up the origin of that saying; because, as many tables that I’ve sat at, I have yet to have one turn for me). Not too long ago, Tre started asking Ty a lot of questions about school. Initially, I thought it was his pure innocent interest in learning since he’ll be going to Kindergarten in the fall. How naive of me, with questions like “Ty, why do you get in trouble at school?”, “Ty, sometimes when you bad in school you don’t get in THAT much trouble right?”, and my all-time favorite: “Ty, are you going to get in trouble at school this week? I think you are probably going to be bad, yeah you’re gonna get in trouble right”. Talk about subliminal reinforcement, the kid may as well recorded a “get in trouble” message on his iPhone and played it while Ty was sleeping.

Fefe and I later discovered that Tre’s recent interest in Ty’s behavior all stemmed from the fact that Ty had 24 badges and Tre had 23. Somehow his 5 yr old little brain started formulating a plan that if Ty were to get in trouble, he would be banned from the next Lowe’s trip and finally his revenge would be complete. Earlier in the post, I alluded to monstrosity of evil; now you see why right? Ty has basketball, Ty has scouts, Ty has birthday parties to attend, yet for some reason, Tre decided to hone in on the one and only negative aspect that would allow him to catch up to Ty’s elusive badge count. That’s just wrong, wishing evil on your brother for your own profit? If this is the way he treated his elder sibling, I could only imagine what he would do to Gup, a much less formidable opponent.

But alas, all hope is not lost; Gup arrived and Tre has been in super big brother mode ever since. Ty has been great as well, the gentle kisses that he gives her, the caution the he exhibits when holding her, it really is amazing and makes me wonder why he wasn’t this supportive and loving during his first tenure as big brother. Tre is like big brother on steroids! He has assumed the role of protector, teacher, mentor, serenader, play buddy and pen pal. This little girl can’t cry without Tre jumping up and running to her crib to investigate and formulate an unstoppable plan to fix whatever is causing her harm.

His first and most passionate resolution was a self composed song entitled “Keith Loves Kayla” he forgot the words the next day, but luckily (or unluckily depending who you are) we recorded the song and he’s been singing it ever since. At every cry, every whimper, every sniffle, the “Keith Loves Kayla” tribute makes an appearance. Tre’s most unrealistic, but completely heartfelt solution occurred while Gup was visibly hungry while Tre was holding her. I informed him that she needed to go back to Mommy because she needed to eat. With all the confidence in the world Tre looks me dead in my eye, while simultaneously lifting his shirt and says “that’s okay, I will feed her and make her happy”. After hearing that his idea wasn’t very practical, he demanded to know why he was being discriminated against by asking “why won’t it work, because mine are too little?”

Well at least we know that he’s willing to go to any lengths necessary to keep is baby sister safe and happy.

P.S. Tre now has 28 badges and Ty has 26, I am happy to report that punishment was not the reason that allowed Tre to overtake Ty’s badge hoarders crown.

Kayla Leigh-Ann Robertson

Baby Guppy is here, she’s been here for nearly two weeks now and it has been one of the most amazing experiences of my life.  If you recall, she wasn’t suppose to enter this world until Feb 22nd, however, as you can tell little Miss Kayla Leigh-Ann Robertson decided that it was her time to shine and that no womb would hold her back.  She was born on February 1, 2013 at 7:24PM, weighing 4lbs. 4oz. and 17in long.   Since that day I have been in complete bliss and have been enjoying every moment of her precious little life.

As some of you could probably tell from my pregnancy announcement post, I had some serious concerns about how the arrival of Baby Guppy would affect our lives.  Let me tell you folks, before her birth, those concerns were being realized and validated on a grand scale.  Mostly because our lives were thrown into a tailspin 1 week before Kayla arrived.  Imagine knowing that you have at least 4wks left to prepare to care for a newborn, imagine knowing that you had 4 weeks of freedom left to date your wife, to hang out with the guys, to be an infant-less parent.  Now imagine going into the doctors office and finding out that your 4wks had magically transformed into ONE FREAKING WEEK!!!  Okay, now imagine that after getting over the initial shock, that your frazzled mind switches gears and makes you realize that you have no crib, car seat, changing table, bassinet, etc. etc. freaking etc!!! Next, imagine that your memory banks spontaneously decide to make a withdrawal and pull up a conversation with your wife 2 months ago suggesting that we start getting the nursery ready and your response of “no way, we’ve got plenty of time”.  Lastly, imagine looking at your wife and realizing that your memory bank accounts are linked up and she’s thinking the same exact thing.  Needless to say, before Baby Guppy ever graced us with her presence, she had a profound impact on the quality of our lives.

Will we be able to send her to her room for punishment?

Fast forward 7 days and the nursery is complete, everything is assembled and we are headed to the hospital to have a baby.  Labor was a miraculous experience and unlike Fefe, I actually enjoyed every moment of it (well there was that one time when my fingers turned blue).  There was a level of closeness between the two of us that was phenomenal, as we waited for things to get going.  We bonded and just truly enjoyed some quality time together; the calm before the storm if you will.  Labor lasted 10 hours, 7 of those hours were amazing for both of us.  We watched movies, we laughed, we talked about the future; it was real storybookish.  2 of those 10 hours weren’t so good; the movies stopped, as did most conversation.  It was go time and things were getting serious; it was real “TNT we know dramaish”.  Then there was the remaining hour, the hour of hell, the hour of shut the F up and get me some damn ice chips; it was real Nightmare on Elm Streetish.  That last hour was like 0-60 in like, well, 60 minutes; okay, that doesn’t convey the true sense of urgency that I was going for. At any rate, things got real serious real fast.

They say Love is Pain...They weren't lying

There was about a 45 minute gap in between the time the doctor checked Fefe and told us that she was about 4cm dilated and when Kayla’s little head started popping out.  We had no idea it would move that quickly.  15 mins or so before Kayla was born, Fefe was really going through it.  She was downright scary to be honest, but I’m no punk, I’m from the mean streets of Ruff Buff, so I stood my ground; who cares if I kept my finger on the nurse call button for backup.  At one point, I honestly thought she went full blown excorsist on me.  Out of nowhere she started screaming JELLY BELLY, JELLY BELLY, JELLY BELLY, like 10 times in a row.  The amount of confusion running through my mind, mixed with the adrenaline running through my veins, had me ready to pass out.  I’m thinking what the hell does Jelly Belly candy have to do with anything right now? She’s totally losing it!  Then it hit me, that was the code word.  Fefe was super gun ho against using an epidural, we had a conversation about if the pain gets too unbearable, she needed a code word to signal that she really wanted the epidural and wasn’t just speaking out of pain.  While we were having this conversation, we had some Jelly Belly candles lit, so I came up with the bright idea of using that as the code word, too bad I didn’t come up with the bright idea of depositing that idea into my memory bank.

Once the light bulb went off in my head, I called for the nurse to come check Fefe’s progress so that we could make a final decision on the epidural.  The nurse asked if she could come in a few minutes and me being all not in pain happily agreed: “yeah, take your time”.  Big mistake, no more than 30 seconds later, psycho Fefe returns and she’s screaming “get this thing out of me now!”, “I’ve gotta push”, GET IN HERE NOW!!!  Once again, my ignorance to the seriousness of the situation had me sitting there thinking “man, they better hurry up with that epidural”  The nurse came in the room and luckily the doctor was behind her, because as soon as they entered Fefe said that she had to push.  The doctor took one look and said, yup, your baby is ready to come out.  Fefe replied ever so politely “well get her out of me then”.

The doc turned around to wash his hands and get gloved up, during which Fefe let out a monstrous groan and scream “I have to push now” the next thing I know, the doc was leaving the wash station and rushing towards Fefe, I look down and BOOM, there’s a freaking head in his hands.  WOW, talk about rapid fire, the man didn’t even have time to get his gloves on.  It was crazy, it all happened so quickly.  By the time it was all over, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room.  Okay, there wasn’t a dry eye on my face.  It was a truly emotionally moving experience and I’m so happy that I was able to go through it again with the person I love.  When I laid eyes on my beautiful baby girl it was love at first sight; my wife was safe, our baby was healthy, what more could a Dad ask for?

How’s that for a Valentine’s Day story???

Baby Guppy!!!!!

Picture Perfect

Name: Wild Planet Spy Gear Motion Alarm

Manufacturer: Wild Planet

Price:  $13.99

Length of Ownership: 3 weeks

Rating: 3 stars

Toy Review: WhooHoo, the first toy review of the New Year.  What better way to set off the New Year than to talk about Spy Gear?  Let’s face it, as kids, ever since we saw our first Bond flick, we ALL wanted to be Spies, Secret Agents, or just an all-around badass.  The only problem with that is that during our childhood, we had to make up gadgets and pretend to have the tools that the pros used.  Spy Gear is here to solve that issue, they have a complete line of toys devices that would make ‘Q’ blush like a giddy school girl.

Bond references aside, this toy is designed to allow kids to protect their toys, mp3 players, diaries, and basically anything else that children value in their lives these days.  How does it protect valuables?  Does it cast a net that confines the thief until the authorities arrive?  Nope, nothing that sophisticated, it basically makes a really loud and annoying sound that will make any would-be criminal want to smash this toy until it stops working. There is an on/off switch and that’s about all; my biggest gripe with this toy is that there’s no delay from the time you turn it on, to the time you set the trap.  As you’ll see in the video, the device is prone to giving itself away by going off before the person who set it walks away.  Other than that, it does function as advertised, there is a motion sensor that if fairly accurate in dectecting movement and contrast in light.  The alarm will continue to ring until it no longer dectects an object in front of it; which is pretty cool.

As with any “pretend play” toy, imagination is a requirement for the toy to be a success.  I could see children using this toy during a play session of super-secret spy, where all involved are aware of the device and its capabilities.  Criminals would run away or be captured immediately once the alarm was set off; it’d be a fun game.  Unfortunately, these toys are marketed to make children believe that they can actually work to transform them into a real spy.  When we first got this toy, Ty set it up to protect his favorite toy from his little brother, he quickly discovered that this item wouldn’t actually thwart off anyone when Tre took the toy AND the motion alarm.  There was a hint of disappointment in his face that day and since then they toy has been used as more of a prank (open the closet and a blaring alarm sounds, not fun at 7AM), than a spy device. 

In the right child’s hands, this toy can open up a world of fun imaginative play, but realistic expectations for its capabilities should be set from the beginning.

There you have it folks, another one in the books, this toy is Ty tested and Daddy undecided, buy at your own risk!!!

A Dangerous Place To Be

A LOT has happened in the past few weeks, there’s been so much going on, that my computer and I nearly got a divorce due to the fact that we’ve spent next to zero minutes together recently.  Let’s see, a quick rundown: My mom came to visit, Fefe’s Dad came to visit, we had Christmas, we had Tre’s birthday, New Year’s celebrations, plays, date nights, and the list goes on and on.  But the most memorable moment of the past few weeks by far is the day I almost died.  Could you imagine what your lives would be like had you lost your favorite Daddy blogger to a freak accident?  I know, you can’t fathom the thought, so let’s move on and discuss my experience of flirting with the Grimm Reaper.

Actually, I had two near death experiences; the one you saw above resulted in a sore body and one hell of a neck cramp.  The trampoline incident couldn’t have been avoided, there was no way to prepare for that first jump, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, so I don’t feel so bad about nearly breaking my neck and providing comic relief for the entire building.  The other event however was completely avoidable.   I was able to escape the other event  unscathed and the danger was probably more exaggerated in my mind than in actuality.  But none the less, I was scared as hell and I have no one to blame but FEFE.  She put me up to taking on this insanely outrageous task and even played the “I’m pregnant, you can’t disappoint a pregnant woman” card to get me to agree to something that was so ridiculously out of my skillset and ability.  She forced me to hang Christmas lights on the roof.  Yes people, on the freaking roof! The nerve of her right?  Now up until this point, I was completely unaware of the fact that I apparently have a fear of heights.  This was news to me as some of my bucket list activities include skydiving, hang-gliding, bungee jumping, etc.  After the Christmas lights debacle, I’ve decided to fill my bucket up with water and drown the list in it.

I think what shocked me the most about my newfound revelation is the fact that as a kid (unbeknownst to my Mom) I used to hop roofs for fun.  Yup, me and my 7^th/8^th grade buddies used to climb on top of houses, building, etc and hop from roof to roof for entertainment.  Let me tell you folks, there are few things more rewarding then making your way to the top of a McDonald’s roof!  You may be thinking that sounds like a pretty dangerous and idiotic pastime and believe me; your statement is completely accurate.  I’m sure the kind police officer who chased us once would have informed us of the same thing had he ever caught us.  I guess it’s pretty safe to rule me out as a candidate for “Smart Kid of the Year” Award, (sorry Mom).

At any rate, given my previous extensive background as a roof hopper, I gladly agreed to the request to put Christmas lights on the roof.  Unfortunately, there were several things that failed to materialize in my mind before agreeing to this job: A) I was nearly 20 years removed from the roof hopping industry. B) Climbing onto roofs is probably a hell of a lot easier at pre-teen weight vs mid-life crisis weight. C) I had no business on roofs back then and certainly had no business on them now.  My temporary lapse in judgment pacified the pregnant one and everything was golden.  It was golden until the time came for me to actually get on the ladder, at this point, golden turned to brown and brown with a really nasty smell if you know what I mean.

After doing the first string of lights around the doorway and along the gutter (approx. 10ft high), I knew good and well that the roof was not the place for me.  10 feet off the ground and I was already piecing together conspiracy theories: what if the wind blew and knocked me over, what if a cat ran under the ladder, what if an earthquake hit?  I could be seriously injured!  As I write this, I realize that the potential to be “seriously” injured 10ft off of the ground is probably minimal, but try telling that to a guy 10 feet off the ground!  As all of my “what if” scenarios played out, my eagerness to make my way onto the actual roof dwindled away.  Sharing these thoughts with Fefe didn’t go over too well.  Actually, I didn’t share these thoughts because I didn’t want to look like a punk, so I came up with some pretty weak excuses as to why the lights around the door and gutter were good enough.  Fefe had a differing opinion and to keep my ego and manliness intact, I drudgingly made my way onto the roof.

Once I was up there, I was completely terrified!  Fefe was on ground level taking pictures, getting into the holiday spirit and I was on the roof in Grinch mode clinging to the shingles for dear life.  After about 5 minutes, I mustered up enough strength and courage to actually move; and by move I mean scoot on my stomach inch by inch.  After a painfully long process to get the lights up, I was faced with a monumental problem: I had no clue of how to actually get off of the roof.  Climbing back onto the ladder just didn’t seem as easy as climbing off, so I spent the next 10 minutes trying to engineer a way to get back onto the ladder.  Eventually, I was able to make it safely back to the ground, but not before learning a valuable lesson: an ego is such a small thing when being compared to losing your ENTIRE LIFE.  Next time, I’ll let my ego take the hit instead of my blood pressure.

The Face Says It All

Did I mention that the “roof” in question was the garage roof and not the actual house roof?  Thought I’d leave that tidbit of information for last in hopes of saving some embarrassment in case some of you didn’t finish the entire post.

Womb Service

Baby Guppy is now in her 29^th week of fetal development and sadly, I have to admit that sibling rivalry is already brewing.  How can this be, the baby hasn’t even got here yet, but somehow fighting, bickering, and jealousy has started to take form?  In my best Tre impression “WHAT THA!!!” Luckily for us, Tre hasn’t attempted to utilize his superb Ninja Turtle skills and karate chop Fefe’s belly yet, but I’m unsure of how many days we have left until it comes to that.  To be fair, he isn’t totally to blame; Baby Guppy antagonizes him ALL THE TIME!!!  She’s mischievous, resentful, stubborn, and downright mean (sound like anyone you know).  If womb Baby Guppy is any indication of what earth Baby Guppy is going to be like, we are in for a world of trouble.  Most people envision their unborn children as little angels, I foresee Baby Guppy as a little angel as well; one without the halo, wings, and heavenly glow.

For the longest time, I was convinced that Baby Guppy didn’t particularly care for me very much; in fact, I was under the impression that she purposely did things just to spite me.  Since that time, we’ve actually grown a little closer, mostly due to the fact that she has turned her hateful eye away from me and towards Tre.  It all started a few months ago when Fefe started feeling the first few kicks.  I quickly dismissed them as the bubble guts and told Fefe to utilize the bathroom if she needed too.  Apparently, Baby Guppy didn’t take too kindly to me joking about her futile attempts to make contact with the outside world and decided to hold a grudge against me.  For months, Fefe would say “Hey, the baby is kicking, come feel” as soon as I would put my hand to her belly, all movement would cease.  I desperately wanted to feel the baby kick, it’s one of the few connections that us fathers have with our kids before they are born. 

But alas, Baby Guppy is a very spiteful individual and ensured vengeance would be hers by refusing to let me feel her kick.  But then she took it a step further, she started kicking me in my back.  Seriously, she would wait until Fefe and I went to bed and the moment Fefe turned to lay on my back, Baby Guppy would start putting on her best Lui Kang impression.  I’m talking roundhouse kicks, bicycle kicks, flying kicks, it was as if she had a Sega Genesis controller in there with her.  I would literally feel these little nudges in my back and at first I thought it was Fefe trying to be funny, when I realized it was actually Baby Guppy, I got excited; wow, she’s trying to make contact with me, I thought to myself.  But every freaking time that I would turn around and try to feel the kick with my hand, they’d magically stop.  The instant Fefe returned to lying on my back, the kicks would start again.  I learned that this was just another vicious plot in Baby Guppy’s revenge.

She didn’t allow me to feel a kick that wasn’t back related until our trip to Disney World; this was about 2 months after agonizing back pain.  It was also around the time that she decided to make her presence known to Tre, basically informing him that there’s a new kid in town and it’s about time he moved over to make room, literally.  Tre is very fond of cuddling up with Fefe to watch movies, laying on her lap when he’s tired, getting extra-long hugs when he doesn’t feel good; you know, typical preschooler stuff.  Apparently, Baby Guppy is already experiencing some issues in the “sharing” department, because she refuses to allow Tre to get close to “their” Mommy.  For the past month, whenever Tre lays on Fefe’s belly, he gets a stern kick to the head.  At first he thought it was cute, and was rather intrigued by getting kicked by his baby sister; but now those kicks are becoming stronger and Tre is quickly reaching his tipping point.  Yesterday he wasn’t feeling too good and laid on Fefe, 2 seconds later he got kicked.  Tre got upset and asked why she always kicks him and that he thinks she should stop because you’re not supposed to kick people.  He continued on to say that if Baby Guppy doesn’t stop kicking him, he will tell Daddy and she’s going to get in trouble and have to stay in her room and not play with any toys.  Poor Tre, he is so oblivious to what the first few months of life for a baby consists of.

So before our third child even enters this world, we have already dealt with sibling rivalry, tattle telling, spitefulness, physical violence, and jealousy.  What in the world are we going to do when she actually arrives?  I see things becoming extremely interesting when our baby gets here.  Oh and what about Ty?  He wasn’t heavily featured in this story; that’s because he’s been sitting on the sidelines feet kicked up enjoying the show.  I see the little twinkle in his eye with every WWE legdrop that connects with Tre’s head.  After years of torment at the heads of his little brother, Ty is finally on the outside looking in and truly reaping the benefits of the old saying Karma’s A B****.  If there’s any truth to that saying, Tre surely is in for a world full of hurt!