Dear ice cream truck owner(s),

At least twice a week we hear your truck’s jingle travel through the hot summer air. The sound goes on for 30, 40 minutes. We wait in anticipation when the truck will make the turn down our street. Yet it never happens. Tonight as we played in the backyard, we heard the jingle get louder and louder until there it was! Through our backyard neighbor’s yard we saw the ice cream truck traveling north. We implored the truck to take the next right, but the jingle turned quieter until we could no longer hear it. Each night we hear you there is no doubt you are in the trailer court south of us. While I can’t argue with your marketing plan, (there’s lots of kids in the trailer court), I beg you to visit the kids just north of there. Even though I grew up 10 miles out of town I remember on occasion an ice cream truck stopping at the corner by our house. Now I have a family and we live in town, but my kids have never experienced the ice cream truck. They have never stood next to the truck looking at the picture menu debating between a rocket pop or a fudgecicle. Or maybe an ice cream sandwich. Then again, maybe a push-up. They have never waited patiently for the man to disappear inside his truck and reappear in the window to hand them whatever they ordered. We have a book about an ice cream truck, which is a favorite at bedtime. Yet, it’s only a story to them. They still have not experienced the delight of hearing that jingle as the ice cream truck turns down their street, the mad dash for some money and finally some cool ice cream on a hot summer day. So once again I beg you. We would love to see the ice cream truck in our neighborhood.
Sincerely,
Stacy, Rion, Torii and Cordelia

T-ball started last week and now the season is in full swing.

My six-year-old daughter Danni and I have been preparing for the season for a couple weeks.

I’m not a ball-sports kind of guy – I can fix your car or build you a new set of kitchen cabinets, but I can’t tell you all of the rules of baseball. Because of my own shortcomings, I bought a glove and a few balls and started playing catch with Danni.

We’ve had a great time playing. If it’s a nice night or weekend you can find us trying to kill the grass on our front lawn while running back and forth chasing the ball. I’m really not very good, but I guess she isn’t either. The difference is she’s six, and she’s not supposed to be good.  I’m thirty years older than her and I’m supposed to be able to catch the ball most of the time.

For me, not knowing what kind of advice to give is tough. A couple Tribune reporters coached and played a lot of ball and they have offered me some great advice for the beginning player. My father-in-law taught Danni some throwing technique too. Now only one of us throws like a girl.

Today was the first game. It might have been the most enjoyable sporting event I’ve ever been to. All of the kids hit in rotation then traded bats for gloves and headed to the field. Many of the kids ran the wrong way after hitting the ball or grabbed the ball they just hit. Only a few kids seemed to really understand the game, but everyone had fun. Coach Sam (I would guess it’s short for Samantha) was wonderfully pleasant and patient with the kids. Luckily, I didn’t see anyone cry while I was there.

Click the link below to see a video of Danni’s first at bat.

Danni’s first game.

You know what? I used to be a pretty cool guy. The guys and I used to be “Top Gun cool”, minus the fighter jets. I would take cross country trips, hang out at the river until all hours of the night, parties, living the fast life, the list goes on and on.

The story I’m about to tell you will show my fall from the graces of cool.

It all began with my oldest daughter Annalyse and the “Poopy Diaper Incident”. At the age of 25, I had never changed a diaper before. My wife Amanda notified me that I had to learn and what better timing. At that very moment, I could see the strain on my daughter’s face as she was unleashing a foulish stench that would bring a tear to a coal miner’s eye.

Amanda laid Annalyse on the floor as I stared and pondered the battle that lay ahead. It was a scene out of an Old West movie. We locked eyes as a tumbleweed slowly tumbled across the living room floor. Neither her nor I made a move for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, I made my way towards her, the stench growing stronger with every step. I sit down, not knowing how this moment will change me for the rest of my life. I hesitate slightly before opening this container of filth.

Meanwhile, my wife is saying things like, “Quit being a chicken”, “It’s not that bad”.

I amp my self up by telling myself, “I can do this, I’m gonna show her”. So, I gather my courage and wits, because I need to stay focused. I’ve heard the stories of fathers being lost at diaper if the aren’t prepared and attentive during this undertaking.

I open the diaper and at first I see a little smear. All of the sudden, the smell from before is amplified by ten fold. I begin gagging and dry heaving uncontrollably. I know I need to get this done and try to wipe her bottom only to get poop on the top and side of my hand.

At this point, I about lose it. My stomach muscles are strained from the heaving and I go blind for a moment, because my gag reflex has induced tears. I wasn’t sure if i was going to make it.

Finally, I regain my senses. Meanwhile, Amanda is laughing so hard she is crying and saying, “I’m gonna pee, I’m gonna pee!” I thank God that her poop was little. I made a few more wipes and slapped on a diaper that looked a little crooked as Amanda threw the “Diaper of Doom” away.

A little later, as I reminiced about my job well done, I realized that I wasn’t as cool as I thought I was. I was fearless in years past, until that moment. It was a humbling experience.

Since then, I’ve gone to battle against Annalyse’s and Kamdyn’s bodily fluids and solids. I’ve been peed on, dug poop out of the tub, picked boogers, wiped snot, etc.

Though I’m not as cool as I once was, as just a guy hanging out with the fellas, I know I’m a pretty cool dad.

I was inspired the other day so I wrote a couple more haikus. Enjoy!

Last week my sister and brother-in-law were home with their new baby. Cordelia loves babies and loved meeting her new cousin. That is until I held the baby. Cordelia threw a tantrum to end all tantrums. She has been extra clingy lately so a baby in mommy’s arms did not go over well. By the end of the week Cordelia was used to having baby around and I did get to hold her some more. While Cordelia still wasn’t pleased about me holding the baby, she at least didn’t throw a massive tantrum. I even let her hold baby, which she thought was so neat. She gave baby kisses and hugs and when I pulled baby away from her, Cordelia pulled baby back into her lap.

ROAR!

I would like to introduce myself. For Dakota Moms I go by Dakota Dad, though I go by many monikers. The goal of this blog is to show the lighter side of being a dad and address the everyday hurdles that we face being a dads and husbands. In addition, I want to give fathers the opportunity to interact and give their stories and advice.

A little background information about Dakota Dad:

I am 26 years old and the father of two beautiful, crazy, and tiring little girls. Annalyse is 3 and Kamdyn is 7 moths old. I currently work in Marketing in the Bis-Man area. Prior to this I was a member of the military. 

My hobbies generally involve sports, either watching them or playing them. With a household full of estogen sports, outdoor activities, and DIY work keep me sane.

I hope you enjoy my ranting/raving and feel free share your stories.

Regards,

Dakota Dad

Each night after school my wife or I try to clean out my daughter’s backpack.

We sometimes find some interesting things among the wads of folded paper. Danni likes to pick up all sorts of junk, one day there was broken bike reflector and someone else’s pony tail holder in her backpack.

A couple nights ago I was hanging up Danni’s jacket when I discovered a fresh junk repository. I was tipped off by something as long as her forearm and kind of pointy sticking out of the inside pocket. Turns out it was a stick – looked like some sort of pine, probably about eight-inches long.

That discovery led me to inspect further. In her pocket I found some cardboard, that had obviously been litter, two pebbles and a used plastic spoon. Her other pocket was stuffed with a small pair of gloves so it had no room for treasure.

I can’t be mad at Danni for it, her reasons are noble. She has a vehement hate for litter, especially at her school, so she will pick up anything and plan to take it to the trash. I said plan, but sometimes even the best laid don’t work out. Somewhere on the playground she gets sidetracked and forgets to make a pitstop at the trash.

Most times this isn’t a big deal. A couple days ago, when I was walking Danni to school, she spotted a crushed wad of candy on the ground right outside the playground. Before I could steer her away, she picked it up. Luckily I was with her so I could immediately steer her to the trash. The line for being a good citizen is drawn somewhere between picking up the used plastic spoon and the wad of candy, but I’m not sure where.

Wow, I have not posted in over a month. I would like to say I was off on some fabulous vacation having the time of my life, but in reality life has been pretty normal and ordinary. I have gone back to work fulltime so life feels a little topsy turvy right now. I’m sort of back into a groove so hopefully I don’t neglect the blog for so long again.

Torii is having the hardest time with me going back to work full-time. Every morning he asks me to stay home. My husband and I are lucky to be able to coordinate our work schedules so we don’t have to pay for daycare. I thought being home with daddy would make it easier on everyone, but Torii still wants his mommy. If everything goes as planned, in a few years, I’ll be able to cut back to part-time and once again be home with the kids more. It’s been a hard adjustment, but it definitely has it’s advantages. I only cook supper on the weekends, which is great. And to tell the truth, there are some days that I’m really happy I can leave the house and go to work.

We have five vacuums at my house – a standard upright, a canister vacuum, a shop-vac, a 1 1/2-horsepower dust collector (to suck up sawdust from big power tools) and a small, cordless vacuum. Luckily, my six-year-old daughter Danni usually uses the smallest, cordless vacuum.

Last night my daughter was in the kitchen, my wife in the laundry room and I was in the bedroom, when I heard “ouch, ouch, ouch” coming from the kitchen. It wasn’t loud and there wasn’t any crying. I assumed Danni had stubbed her toe.

After I heard a couple more “ouch, ouch” I decided to inspect the situation. I was stunned when I walked into the kitchen.

Danni had been using our small, cordless vacuum to pick up some crumbs around the table. She was kneeling on the floor holding her long hair as it was being wound onto the beater bar of the vacuum.

She was bracing he arms against the vacuum keeping her head from being pulled closer to it. I quickly shut off the vacuum and started unwinding her hair. My wife came to the rescue as well and helped get Danni’s hair out.

After we were sure she was okay the obvious question came up – “what were you doing with your head so close to the vacuum?”

Danni said that she had seen a spider and wanted to suck it up, but it ran off and she was laying on the floor looking for it. I imagine her long hair hit the floor in front of the vacuum and she was being reeled in like a fish.

When it was over she had a small red spot on her scalp, several pieces of hair wrapper around the beater bar and a lot of after-the-fact crying.

I gave her a hug, let her know that I was very happy that she didn’t get hurt and asked her if she learned anything, she nodded yes. I tried not to laugh.

The condensed version of the story could go something like this:

Little miss Danni

sat on her fanny

looking for the spider that ran away.

Along came the beater

that tried to eat her and

plucked miss Danni’s hair away.

This morning my daughter, Danni, was singing “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer.” I can’t blame her, the weather is a little confusing right now and it is a catchy tune. She was running through the classic lines naming the reindeer when she got to a reindeer I didn’t recognize – his name was “Comic” and boy did it make me laugh. I quickly realized she meant “Comet” and gently corrected her when she was done, but I like “Comic” better.