Bobbing for Game Boys

Every once in awhile a parent experiences a moment of true bliss. One happened the other day while I’m pushing the stroller with my two kids. The sun’s shining, I'm running, the stroller’s zooming and the kids are cackling with glee.

Other days aren’t so great. Like the one I had last week. I’m getting a bath ready for my kids when I hear a splash in the toilet. Every parent dreads that sound.

I turn around and realize that my one-year-old son, Johnny, thought it would be fun to dunk his cousin’s Game Boy in the toilet. All I hear in my head is the sound of Pac-man meeting his demise.

Johnny’s big cousin was about as pleased to see his Game Boy submerged as my daughter Belle when she got a splinter. My brother-in-law, a pediatrician, volunteers to pull the splinter with a tweezers. Belle, who's almost 3, isn’t convinced her uncle is qualified for the procedure. Let’s face it, he’s not a surgeon.

“Don’t cut me, I’m a big person!” Belle’s sweating pickles until her uncle pulls it out.

Irritable Bedtime Syndrome
Belle was almost as sweaty as I was at bedtime the other night. My wife is working while I’m putting the kids to bed. Problem is, I suddenly have an attack of Irritable Bowel Syndrome, similar to Ben Stiller’s in the movie Along Came Polly.

Except, instead of Jennifer Aniston waiting for me on a date, I’m holding Baby Johnny as he falls asleep. The next two minutes, which seem like two hours, go like this:

• Johnny finishes his bottle… my stomach churns.
• His eyes droop… I start sweating.
• His eyes shut… I lay him down and sprint to the bathroom.
• Belle walks by. “Is Daddy making a stinky?”

Not as stinky as Belle’s socks. I purchase a brand new pair, pull them on her feet and they’re too small. I return them, pull the correct size on her feet. Not 30 seconds later, she walks up to me, holding her sock like an archaeologist with a career find. “I stepped in hamster poop, Daddy.”

I’ve learned to roll with such sock incidents. I have more trouble when she comes running up in her underpants, sits in my lap with a book and says, “Daddy, I’m going potty.”

Time for Johnny to dunk my shorts in the toilet.