Moving Right Along

Hello Everyone,

Well, it took a bit longer than expected (although Indy was 11 days overdue, so I shouldn’t really be at all surprised), but I am happy to announce that our new site has just gone ‘live’.

You can now find us at www.40YrOldDad.com.

While our email subscribers will continue to receive email notifications of new posts as before, (no problemo, amigos), WordPress.com followers will only see new posts in the WordPress Reader.

But for our WordPress.com followers who do wish to continue to receive email updates of new posts, be sure to pop by the new site and subscribe with your email address in the ‘Subscribe’ box.

Big thanks to tech-extraordinaire, Alanna from WebBabble, for helping us launch the new site.

We sure hope you like it. See you there 🙂

Indy on the train

On the move to 40YrOldDad.com

Leave My Crotch Alone

With Mother’s Day looming just around the corner, I was reflecting on my own experiences growing up with my mother (and when you sit in the sun in a tin foil hat and mirrorball sequinned jacket, you can do nothing else but, reflect). And whilst extinguishing the dying embers of a smouldering grass fire in my backyard (should have picked a slightly less sunny day for reflection), a couple of incidents come to mind, like…remember the time I wore that mirrorball jacket and burned down the backyard…

Or…

Remember last week when I was trying on jeans in the change rooms and the sexy young sales assistant half my age, snuck in and grabbed me on the crotch?

Okay, you got me. That didn’t really happen. Well…it did, but it didn’t. I mean, it did actually happen, just not like that…exactly. Imagine the same scenario except…flip the ages around and substitute the sales assistant for…you guessed it…MY MOTHER! Probably the most embarrassing thing a mother could ever do to their son…

Take him shopping…for jeans.

Because you always know the moment is gonna come, when she bursts through the curtain which face it, is the world’s flimsiest attempt at privacy and security (see PVC shower curtain or First Class section on a plane), and not only does she usually pull back the curtain whilst your strides are still around your ankles, but why is it, the very first place they go for is…

“Have you got enough room in the crotch?”

And the reason why there is ALWAYS plenty of room in the crotch when you’re trying on jeans with your mother is because of exactly that…you’re trying on jeans WITH YOUR MOTHER!!! And everything that usually resides in your crotch has retreated so far back up inside yourself, you can hardly stand upright and you are mere inches away from completely disappearing up inside your own body cavity.

Incidentally, that’s not the only time I’ve been grabbed on the crotch in public. I was also grabbed on the crotch in the middle of a nightclub while carrying a beer in both hands…BY A MAN! I should have just punched him right in the face but…I had two beers to finish. It was the most awkward 20 minutes of my life.

And then there was the time the tables were turned and I embarrassed my mother, when I did that horribly politically incorrect, insensitive kind of thing called…being a stoopid teenager (by pretending to be mentally disabled when visiting my aunty in hospital). It’s horrible I know, but I was a teenager and you know, it’s what we did back then. Approaching the hospital I slurred my speech, added a limp and even drooled a little. And like you, right now, she was mortified. So much so, she started slapping me repeatedly to cut it out. Which, to people in the carpark coming out of the hospital, seemed like a terrible mother beating her mentally disabled son. I know, I’m a monster.

But what I reflect upon the most, is the time I got my ass whipped by a bully, a year ahead of me at school. I came home crying, my shirt all torn, my nose bloodied, wearing my underpants wedgie as a hat and before I could even blubber the words out of my mouth, she’d slam dunked me into the car and you couldn’t see us for smoke as the tyres squealed with horror underneath us. She may be small in stature, but you do anything to hurt her kids and by god…she is ready to rumbaaaaaaaaal!

The bully’s parents owned a new motel in town and when my mother kicked through the front doors, it was High Noon at the OK Corral. She tore strips off him, strips off the mother and I was so worked up, I threw up all over their new carpet in their foyer. Word to the wise, don’t mess with us, we’ll come at you with both barrels heaving. I’ve never been so proud and it’s a great secure feeling to know that someone you love so much has got your back like that.

So through it all, through all the embarrassing moments, one thing is definitely clear…I need a different mum (I kid, I kid…monster, I tells ya). No, what is clearly evident is that…you love your kids no matter what and we in turn, love you right back.

Happy Mother’s Day

changeroom

Bub Tooth Time Machine

As a kid growing up, I was obsessed with two things. Collecting bread tags…and time travel. (Uh…forget I mentioned the first thing)…

Wide-eyed and tousled hair (yes, I did have hair once and I assure you, it was quite tousled), I disappeared into TV shows like Time Tunnel, Doctor Who, Quantum Leap, Sliders, Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, Star Trek, Planet of the Apes, Ready Steady Cook (again, forget that last one). I built my own play TARDIS in the backyard and fantasised about travelling through time and space.

Then came the movies; The Time Machine, The Philidelphia Experiment, Timecop, Time Bandits, Terminator and Terminator 2, DejaVu, Austin Powers, The Time Traveller’s Wife, Hot Tub Time Machine and of course Back to the Future, just to name a few. All fuel for the Mr.Fusion that is, the Delorean of my mind, flitting backwards and forwards in time and space trying to figure out the hows and the whys.

And I have my own theories on what’s possible and what isn’t, but don’t get me started on that, I already alluded to the existence of temporal displacement in an earlier blog(Mumma’s already dropped off at the very first mention of the words, time travel).

And there’s been a myriad of vehicles, devices and methods that people have used to get there. Elegant Santa sleigh-esque Time Machines, Deloreans, trains, boats, spinning psychedelic discs, plasma balls, phone boxes, hot tubs. You name it, they’ve tried it. But…

Who’d have thought the power to travel backwards in time, is located within…

One solitary, little…baby tooth.

For, just as things were progressing quite nicely in the “sleeping through the night” department, the emergence of that little tooth has transported us all back to 1928. Back when Indy was waking up every few hours and Mumma and I would look at each other, me in my high pants zoot suit and handlebar moustache, she in her flapper fashion bodice and feathered headdress, thinking…

“Haven’t we already done this?”

But alas, it seems we’re destined to relive the past, at least until we can find a way to get back to the future. But I’m guessing, we’ll need a lot more teeth to make that journey happen.

Until then, we’ll rely on our faithful friends, Panadol and amber neck beads, to get us through the night. Mumma can take the Panadol and I’ll try the beads, they seem to help Indy sleep, maybe they’ll work for me?

“Great Scott, Doc. This is really heavy”.

Relax folks, it's all relative

Relax folks, it’s all relative…

Creepy Crawler

Well…first it was Jesus, then it was DYNAMO (the English magician, not the washing powder).

Now…it’s my son’s turn, to…

“Walk on Water!”

Okay, if you wanna get technical (and I know that you do), he can’t actually “walk”, yet.

BUT…

He can “commando crawl”.

And better yet, he CAN do it…“ON” water.

Making him, the first person in recorded history, to EVER…

“Commando Crawl…on Water!”

(There’s never a biblical scribe when you need one).

And…if you feel the need to get technical once again (and I know that you do), then…

“La-la-la-la-la-la-laaaa…I can’t hear you…la-la-la-la-la-la-laaaa!”

Enjoy this“momentous” video 😉

2012: A Year in Rear-View

2012…the year we had to have.

Well, we didn’t have to. I mean, some people didn’t want us to have it at all. (At least, not all of it…bloody Mayans). What do they know? Certainly nothing about making calendars, that’s for sure.

Imagine if things had ended on December 21…it would be like watching The Sixth Sense and turning it off with two minutes left to go and thinking…

“Yeah, it was okay but…I didn’t really get it?”

But for us, it was a phenomenal year. Not to mention, it was the best year of Indy’s life(and he only came in at the half way mark, around when Haley Joel Osment tells Bruce Willis, he sees dead people).

Adjusting my rear-view mirror as 2012 disappears over the horizon, I see we had the birth of our beautiful boy, the Swans won the Grand Final, I got Indy got…some gnarly signatures on my his Swans cap, I paid off my car and remain unofficially debt-free, the end of the world didn’t happen (always good to know it’s exactly where you left it, under your pillow, when you wake up in the morning), aliens didn’t invade us (and frankly, how could they? Haven’t you seen Border Security? You can’t even bring rice into the country, let alone some extra-terrestrial beings. Apparently it’s only one terrestrial being per passenger, “extras” will have to be declared, I’m afraid).

We had our first Christmas as a family, Indy had his photo in the Herald Sun…(and not in the Crime Stoppers section), and today…had his first “official gig” in the upcoming Winter Target Catalogue, (assuming they choose his picture above all of the “nowhere-near-as-cute-as-ours” kids photos. But we’re not judgey…we’ll leave that to the Judy’s and Reinholds of the world).

So, next year sees a brand new chapter with me and the lad going Mano-a-Mano, as I officially take up reigns as Stay-at-Home Dad. Which I foresee some potential pitfalls such as…

“Why didn’t you get any groceries?” or “Didn’t you take him in for his checkups?”

To which my reply…

“I couldn’t go out…I’m a Stay-At-Home Dad. I’m only doing what I’m told.”

May not hold up in a court of kick-your-ass-for-being-an-ass.

So, here’s to a spectacular year next year. Welcome 2013let the adventures continue!!

(Incidentally, 13 is my lucky number…and next year, has 20 of them…2013…don’t work it out)

Happy New Year!!!

Aussie Daddy Blogger Advent Calendar Challenge 2012

Well, the Aussie Daddy Blogger Kris Kringle Advent Calendar Challenge 2012 has kicked off into high gear with some surprising questions and answers that make 50 Shades of Grey look like a Greeting Card. So, rather than repost everything here, it’s easier to see it all under one roof, (just like a Daddy Expo or dare I say…Exposé?).

So, for all the weird and wacky, click on the Official Daddy Blogger Seal for the full rundown of hilarious posts by our uniquely minded, Aussie Daddy Bloggers.

With contributions from BIG FAMILY, little income, Reservoir Dad, The Melbourne Dad, Being A Dad, daddownunder, Torkona, The Illiterate Infant, TackleNappy, 3am Dad and myself (who was that masked man?), you’re guaranteed to never be short of a smile or at the very least, a curious eyebrow raise. So, jump on over and take a “look-see”, then watch out for my post on December 21st where I’ll definitely have some things to say about…stuff’n’that as I unlock the secrets to the universe…(and drive it around a bit without my parent’s knowing).

Dadblogcover

Child Revive First Aid

My lovely wife is always full of great ideas, the first being, marrying me. A while ago, she did a First Aid Course for Kids at work and because she’s always thinking of me (another thing we have in common), she thought I too, could benefit from learning such things, seeing as I will be the stay-at-home dad, next year. And being the caring, responsible, lovely person she is, she thought her whole Mother’s Group could benefit as well. So, a couple days ago, she organised a Baby/Child First Aid course for us all, conducted by Chantelle from Child Revive First Aid.

Thank you to Meghan, for hosting the event and for having a living room large enough to look like a school bus exploded.

Total Baby Carnage

The course itself was a real eye-opener. Indy, twice performing his exploding nappy trick, also an eye opener. As you can see from the pic above, we had special CPR babies and Children, to practice on. What surprised me the most, was just how hard you need to press down on the chest, in order to provide affective CPR, and how little breath you need to fill their little lungs. But I feel confident that if Indy was ever in trouble or I happened across a child with no arms and legs, I’d know exactly what to do.

I ordered off the kids menu, and this is what they bring me? Oh well, dig in…

The course covered a whole range of things from CPR, cuts, abrasions, burns, poisons, etc. Just about anything your child can get into that gives YOU a heart attack.

And there is a new acronym to help you remember all the steps of things to assess when your child is in trouble…

The Primary Assessment – DRSABCD

D – Danger
R – Response
S – Send for help
A – Airway
B – Breathing
C – CPR
D – Defibrillation

Which is way more effective than the acronym I came up with…

P – Poke with a stick
A – Ask, “Why me?”
N – Nail-bite
I – Ignore
C – Call a pizza ambulance

But hopefully, you won’t need to use the last step (D – Defibrillation), at anytime in your life. It’s crazy weird to know that shopping centres and all kinds of places now have portable defibrillators on hand that anyone can use, without any training needed. That’s okay if you need to jump start your car or administer mild electro-shock treatment to an hysterical shopaholic during a stocktake sale, but the last thing I want to hear if I’m semi-conscious on the ground, is a hillbilly accent drawling over me…

“Gorn Cleatus, crank ‘er up. Le’see what this baby can do!”

And I think we got a glimpse of Indy’s personality during the slide show presentation. “Coughing” right on cue when Chantelle mentioned the subject of Choking(That’s my boy…a regular little comedian, or make that…extra small, be some time before he’s a regular).

So, do yourself (and your kids), a favour and get with the program. It could be a real life saver.

P.S. – It’s also a good excuse for cupcakes 😉

Right On Target

While Indy was off enjoying Mother’s Group with Mumma, I was invited along by the 360 Immerse Agency, to attend a blogger event for Target Menswear. I guess, to find out exactly what my blog should be wearing this summer?

Which presented a couple questions. First of all, what’s a Blogger Event? And secondly, did I remember to empty the nappy bin this morning? Now that I’m a Dad, rarely do I have consecutive thoughts that are ever related to each other. (Who am I kidding, it’s not because I’m a Dad, it’s because I’m a man). Now, where was I? Oh yes…cheese now comes in a variety of…

Blogger Event:  a special event put on by a respective company/organisation to tout their wares and hopefully generate interest from bloggers; ie: people who write blogs…(for the cheap seats up the back), to share with their multitudes of fans (or the one or two people who don’t press ignore or delete when an update appears in their inbox)…and is NOT an arcade game showdown where you have to get across the road, avoid traffic, jump on the logs, get the fly and watch out for the alligator. That’s Frogger. (Damn…and me with all those pockets full of quarters. Anyone need change for the meter?)

So, a bunch of us mummy and daddy bloggers got together at the Como Building, which is not to be confused with the one with the really bad toupee (that’s the Combover Building), and got to meet, put faces to blogs, catch up on who’s-who-in-the-zoo, swap business cards, share stories, set fire to the joint, throw tv’s out the window and cause anarchy…all before a light morning tea.

Then, we got to meet the great folks at Target who gave us a little look-see into the upcoming fashion range changes for men, (Man, those models were skinny. About the size of a coat hanger…wait, they were coat hangers…phew), and discussed the new direction that Target is focusing toward in the future, which I believe is…umthat way?

But to be honest, they’re bringing in some pretty cool stuff. A new range of business shirts made from Egyptian cotton, coz you know, that’s what Egypt is well known for…it’s sand cotton. Some pretty cool comical Star Wars t-shirts, plus a whole range of TV inspired “BAZINGA” Big Bang Theory tees, etc. And how cool is their new range of Rolling Stones inspired t-shirts and tank-tops! Celebrating 50 years in the biz — can you believe it? I have a rule about band t-shirts. You should only buy band t-shirts for current bands who are still together and working…or alive. (They’re what?…They are?…I wonder what it took to achieve such longevity?…Steroids? Viagra?…Formaldehyde!)

At any rate, we had a great time, aired our thoughts on any changes we’d like to see, such as making t-shirt necks smaller. Bigger necks on t-shirts makes our bald-heads look smaller, which is great, if you’re looking to lose a few pounds from your cranium, but for those of us who like to wear t-shirts without looking like shrunken-headed voodoo dolls, then that would be great.

We tied things up with a few games and prizes for performing our best Zoolander “Blue Steel” impression…(who am I kidding, I’d do that WITHOUT a prize involved).

So, as far as I’m concerned, with the new direction and changes coming in. I say, Target…

You hit the Bullseye!

And thanks again to the good folks at 360 Immerse Agency for NOT doing the egg’n’spoon race 😉

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VIP Treatment

Just like the sci-fi TV-Series Sliders, each week I feel like I’m thrust through an inter-dimensional portal, right into a brand new world that I never new existed. Only, instead of having a remote control timer that thrusts me into different dimensions and circumstances at the end of every episode, I have a kid…and parenthood…that pushes me through that door, instead.

So, where did my portal take me this week?

To a place of such extraordinary VIP Treatment, the likes of which is usually reserved for royalty and/or astronauts? A luxurious world where privacy, space and convenience meet. A world where modesty, companionship and radiation all flow into one. The fascinating world I speak of, is…

The Baby Change Room

How weird, crazy and contradictory? The first thing to raise a curious eyebrow at, is the futuristic self-opening door. It’s like having the convenience of a Doorman at Crown Casino, compressed into a tiny button on the wall. Very convenient if you’re pushing a stroller and don’t have to back your way in to hold the door open. The next thing to hit you, is the SPACE. My god. This is no narrow washroom facility with troughs and cubicles lining the walls, where you sidestep around each other like Riverdancers, trying to hotfoot it to an empty cubicle without brushing up against some unfortunate coming the other way. This is Julie Andrews territory, spinning round on a hilltop singing, “The hills are alive, to the sound of music.”

There’s futuristic escape pods mounted in the wall for you to change your baby into, complete with seat belts. I guess, in case you accidentally hit the eject button or launch them into space. Either that, or you think your baby’s going to strain so hard to push something out, that he’s going to have to be strapped in for his own safety first? And how crazy is this? They have a microwave oven in there!! How long do they think it takes to change your baby? Certainly long enough to maybe heat up a kebab while you’re at it.

There’s even a discreet and private “lounge” area, where you can sit and feed your bub behind the privacy of a curtain. Now, here’s the contradictory part…

The toilet has a “his-n-hers” kind of feature, that’s really a “biguns-n-littluns” kind of deal. One big adult size toilet beside a smaller kiddy size toilet. So, it seems kind of weird and contradictory to me that if you have to pop a boob out to feed your baby, then you’d better pull a curtain across in front of you for modesty. But if you have to take a sh*t, then…modesty and privacy go out the window!! You have to do it together, no curtain, no nothing between you. Just a wink and a smile is all you can afford by way of modesty for you, my friend.

But still, I’ve never seen anything like it. There’s even a machine that dispenses “nappy kits” complete with a nappy, nappy wipe and disposable bag in case you’ve run out of your own. And some change rooms even have a play area in there for the kids! So, I think the VIP stands for Very Important Parent, if the washroom facilities are anything to go by.

What a place. What kind of world will my kid spin me into next episode? I can hardly wait to find out.

Until then…hand me that toilet roll son, spare me a square if you’re done?

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The Lone Ranger

“A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust and a hearty “Hi Ho Silver, Away!”

It’s amazing how much easier it is to sleep without all the usual gurgling, farting, snorting, cooing, squeaking, squawking that normally goes on of an evening. And now that Indy’s in his own room at the other end of the house…he shouldn’t be able to hear any of it!

That’s right, Indy has saddled up his trusty steed and headed out west to the open pastures of his Big Boy Cot on the sweeping plains (or at least, some light vacuuming), of his very own room. And although he’s still sleeping for about the same length of time (every 3-4 hours), it has improved the quality of sleep, somewhat.

Not his…ours.

And in the few minutes of actual sleep that we do get, it seems to be a much deeper sleep. Which is why my wife sounds like Barry White(and I sleep with one eye open).

But just because he’s now up the other end of the house, does not mean he’s out of sight nor out of mind (though at times, it feels like both of us are out of the latter). We still manage to keep a close eye and ear on him, as well as monitor every farty-party aspect of his behaviour, through the ever watchful eyes and ears of the Baby Monitor.

Indy’s time in the Big Brother HOUSE has begun.

And the monitor we bought way back when at the Baby And Toddler Expo (see post here), has some cool features like infra-red video, audio, temperature readout, lullaby music control and night light, all controlled from our handset. It does have another function that was probably good in theory, but not so much in practice. It’s a Push-to-Talk feature. In other words, you can push a button and talk to Indy to calm him down when he’s upset, from the warmth and comfort of our own bedroom, kind of like an intercom. HOWEVER…you can’t hear s#*t, when his air-raid siren is blaring. So, in essence, it’s just like the phone coverage we get from 3 and Vodaphone. We stand there yelling into the damn thing until we just give up and text each other or walk over and talk to each other in person.

And the other thing I discovered about having Indy in his own room, is sneaking out of the room when he’s asleep is a lot like stepping off a land-mine or diffusing a bomb. You move slowly and stealthily. You’re under the exact same pressure to leave that room quietly, as you are asking yourself, “do I cut the red wire or the green wire?”

Because all it takes, is one wrong step and…

KABLOOEY!!!

It’s back to square one for you.

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