“I don’t know who the fuck that little shit thinks he is,” charged Daniel Anderson, Chief Dad and resident anger-monger of the family as he yelled into his cell phone outside of the conference room at the office, “but he’d better get his ass into that pirate ship bed and take his fucking nap or there’s going to be hell to pay when this pirate, err, I mean this man gets home!”

“It’s not his fault – he’s just going through a phase…” pleaded Amy Anderson with a sleepless desperation in her voice as she cowered in the corner of the bathroom. “Mommy just needs him to go to sleep for a while so that she doesn’t have to ask the doctor to up her Valium again.”

While his parents spoke of his delinquencies over the phone, two year-old Gerald paused from his building blocks momentarily to take another drink from his juicy cup, then briefly debated whether to continue work on his rocket ship or perhaps re-watch one of his favorite episodes of the Octonauts on TV. Eventually throwing caution to the wind, the child finally decided that he could in fact improve his productivity by both watching the Octonauts and building his space vessel at the same time, thus posing the question of just how much he could accomplish in a given day if he were to never lay down for his parental-imposed naps again.

The post Toddler Refuses to Take His Nap Like This is Some Kind of Fucking Game appeared first on Just Laugh.

I try not to make every single one of these columns lately about my son, but then again, something tells me that fifteen years from now when our primary interactions consist mostly of “Can I borrow the car keys, Dad?” and “Can I borrow your wallet, too, because gas now costs $47 a gallon, Dad?!”, jokey thingys like this might not necessarily be the first thing that comes to mind.

Also, I’m probably going to have to get a real job if gas does make it up to $47 a gallon!

Ha ha ha – just kidding! There’s no way we’re going to have any gas left fifteen years from now to be worth $47 a gallon, anyways…

Regardless, right now my one and a half year-old son is absolutely hilarious even if it’s most definitely very much unintentional at the time. For example, just now he came running up to me as happy as can be only wearing one shoe and when I asked where his other shoe went, my wife simply called back from the other room, “I tried to put it back on but he only wanted to wear one of them…”

Or how the other night I watched him spend a solid forty-five minutes in his absolute glory just sitting on the floor in the kitchen, meticulously moving the dog’s food from one bowl to the other a single piece at a time like it was the most important job in the world.

I’ve also noticed lately how he seems to get into the biggest fits of giggles when he farts, but honestly I think it’s probably safe to say that he might’ve picked that one up from me!

More and more, though, watching my son bounce around the room like a goofy, little super ball fueled by apple juice and Teddy Grahams, it really is like looking at a little mini-me … which is kind of weird because it’s hard to picture myself ever having that much energy, but the borderline uncontrollable silliness is certainly a familiar trait that I’m sure we’re eventually going to have to go to great lengths to temper, or at the very least get used to explaining when he’s reciting entire episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse while hanging upside-down on the jungle gym at the playground, “It’s ok – he’ll come back down after he’s done doing The Hotdog Dance…”

But I guess that’s really just another one of these fun parts about having kids – seeing how they look like you and talk like you and eventually what sorts of bizarre neuroses they develop that are going to drive the people around them absolutely bonkers in the years to come! So what if you can’t go to Target anymore because he likes to chew on the shopping carts there or if his best friend is an imaginary pickle that tells him to keep trying to ride the dog around the house like the mighty stallion that she most definitely isn’t?! 

Some of us take pills for our neuroses, and some of us write humor columns, and some of us walk around the house only wearing one shoe.

Who knows – if that whole gas thing dries up, maybe all of that extra walking will persuade him to find that other shoe on his own after all…

The post Inspiration, Big and Small appeared first on Just Laugh.

…but alas, today is not that day.

Although it’s mostly true that his craziest of poops I do believe are more or less behind us, every once in a while my son catches me off-guard with a doozy that leaves me debating whether to Instagram that sucker for the world to share my pain or merely to bury it deep down inside of that Diaper Genie as quickly as possible with a clothespin over my nose as I think happy thoughts about that time so long ago when the only person’s poop I had to deal with was my own.

The thing I’m noticing about toddler poop is that apparently it changes just as much as the weather in Florida or the direction of the wild raccoon that resides on top of Donald Trump’s head, and that’s where they get you! I can be cruising along having a great day, not even stumbling when I detect a dirty diaper to be changed because “after you’ve done a couple hundred of them, they’re really not all that bad…” only to then have my otherwise delightful world turned promptly upside down with the pull of those two little velcro-like tabs to reveal the horrifying surprise that my boy has been cooking up for me while he’s innocently clapping his hands to Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and racing his toy alligator around the room.

If you stop and think about it, which clearly I have to great lengths because that’s how the mind of a humor columnist works, the things that I find in my son’s diaper are kind of like a metaphor for life…

Sometimes it’s not so bad, but when it’s bad … it’s bad!!! 

Sometimes it’s nice and neat like a normal person’s, and sometimes it’s this bizarre consistency that you’ll spend literal moments of your life staring at it, just trying to picture how in the world his little butt produced that kind of monstrosity.

A lot of times you don’t really even notice it until it starts to stink and you’d do anything to not have to deal with it, but you do so anyways because poopy diapers aren’t going to change themselves and they seem to get exponentially worse the longer you leave them.

Then again, one day in the not so distant future he actually will start to take ownership of his own poops and I’ll be freed from their burden upon my life, relocating that Diaper Genie out into the garage to randomly use as a makeshift basketball hoop because I’m not nearly the sportsman to warrant purchasing a real one. Maybe we’ll occasionally play Diaper Genie Basketball together as father and son, and when he blocks one of my shots, I’ll bestow upon him the classic tale of when I used to have to block his hands while changing his nasty diapers so that he couldn’t dip them into his own poop and fling it against the walls.

He’ll laugh and think I’m making it up, and then he’ll eventually have a child of his own and come to find that I very much was not.

And then I’ll laugh because Grandpas don’t change diapers – such is the great circle of life…

The post Life is Like a Poop appeared first on Just Laugh.

Kid: Hey Dad, check out this new thing that I found to chew on!

(mind you, he doesn’t really talk yet, but the slobber and tooth marks pretty much say it all)

Dad: No no no! Those are batteries – you can’t play with those…

Kid: WAHHHHHHH!!! HOW COULD YOU?!?!?!?! MY LIFE IS RUINED!!!!!!!

And here I thought I was doing pretty good installing those stupid safety latches on all of the cabinets and drawers that I literally forget about every single time I go to grab a spoon now, but apparently despite my mild attempts to make our home slightly less deadly for my ever-exploring toddler, it seems that I’ve still got a ways to go because he’s pretty much constantly finding new things to chew on that most definitely aren’t intended for human consumption!

I mean, sure – the latches will prevent him from playing with the Drain-O and the electric mixer, but I’ve got a funny feeling that kids aren’t supposed to play with dog food and dirty flip-flops and laptop power supplies, either, and at the end of the day they just don’t make special safety gizmos for every random thing in this house that a child under the age of 25 isn’t supposed to get his curiously grubby, little mitts on…

In a way, I can’t really blame the kid when there are literally more toys than not toys scattered throughout the rooms and hallways of this house for his recreational enjoyment – seriously, you can’t walk three feet around here without stepping on a stuffed whale shark or accidentally triggering a singing taxi cab right after you’ve finally gotten him down for his nap!

Of course, it’s really the tantrums that truly seal the deal because as excruciating as the scream of a toddler who’s just been deprived of something that could potentially kill him can be, they also offer us a hilarious opportunity to take a step back and remind us just how absolutely ridiculous humans of all ages and sizes can be. Kind of like when you’re out to lunch with somebody and the waitress apologizes for being all out of pickles and your friend proceeds to go on a tirade because “What kind of self-respecting sandwich hole would allow themselves to be out of pickles?!” and everybody’s staring at you and if your memory serves you, your friend doesn’t even like pickles, anyways…

I think those are the same types of people who absolutely lost their minds when their parents cruelly took Dad’s golf shoes away from them before they had a chance to perforate their baby brother’s spleen or something.

So I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see what happens – maybe if I litter this place with enough Fisher-Price and Playskool paraphernalia, he won’t catch on when I discretely have to inch away the saber saw that he’s been unintentionally wielding around the living room for the last twenty minutes…

I have got to start keeping that thing out in the garage like my wife said.

The post No, You Can’t Play With That!!! appeared first on Just Laugh.

Give a kid a bathtub full of water, with his only rules being don’t stand up in the bathtub and keep the water in the bathtub, and it was really only a matter of time before that arbitrary water restriction became demoted to more of a friendly suggestion in his rapidly cognizant mind.

And granted, the whole don’t stand up in the tub rule is admittedly a bit confusing because literally everywhere else in the house my one year-old son finds himself barraged with encouragement to stand and walk and leave his ever-crawling life behind him, plus at his age that whole magical spout where the water comes out does warrant a closer up investigation than one can muster merely sitting on his fanny…

Still, just once I’d love to give him a bath without personally taking one myself.

It started off with just a bit of splashing, which I’ve generally been ok with – he is a kid and splashing is fun – and so what if I get a few drops on me here and there if he’s having a good time? Towels are as plentiful as Peanut Butter M&Ms in my house, so no harm, no foul for the most part!

But recently things have escalated far beyond just a few drops to where he seems to take great amusement in throwing all of his bath toys out of the tub just as he does with the toys in his playpen or crib, except that his bath toys have this unique characteristic of being able to hold water when he throws them, and thus just a few drops has transformed into cups and buckets and little, plastic tugboats full of water…

Also, there was this one time where he nearly learned how to turn on the shower head, but thankfully I was able to revert that discovery just in the nick of time!

It seems like it was only a year ago when bathtime used to be so much simpler. You’d keep his head above water in the little plastic tub that fits over the sink, you’d try to keep him angled down for those times when he just couldn’t wait until the diaper went back on, and that was about it. There were no toys to dodge, no toweling off by the bathtime giver required – it was an easy 15-minutes of bonding time before putting him back down to resume the roughly 18 hours of sleep that he seemed to enjoy peacefully on a daily basis.

But one thing I’m learning as a still relatively new parent is that kids seem to demand more and more of you the older they get, whether it’s food or attention or a share of my chocolate chip cookie stash that I used to be able to safely hoard away all for myself. And apparently these demands now also extend to bathtime where Dad is expected to don a full scuba suit – complete with mask, fins, and dry suit – in order to survive the bubbly barrage of waterlogged fun that was formerly known merely as a quiet, nighttime event.

I suppose maybe I should just enjoy it while I can because ten years from now it’s not likely that he’ll want my snorkel-bearing presence while he’s in the tub at all – hopefully – so it could very well be that these times of dodging ducky-shaped cups full of bathwater are among those special moments to remember, as soaked and soggy as it may sound!

Still, it probably wouldn’t hurt to invest in some cups and buckets of a slightly smaller capacity until this particular phase of childhood development is well behind us…

The post Hurricane Christopher and the Bathtime Tsunami appeared first on Just Laugh.

It seemed only fitting that I would mark such an impressive occasion by sharing a wee few of the numerous nuggets of wisdom that I’ve attained thus far on my parenting journey so as to make life a little less insane for the new dads that will follow in my own courageous footsteps. That’s just the kind of guy I am. Also, I’ve been told that misery loves company.

I have little doubt that my second year is going to be much more challenging than the first because he’s nearly walking and child-proofing the house is a terrifying notion in its own right, but first thing’s first – here’s what I have to share with you so far…

• The worst poop ever is an enigma that you will forever chase because even when you find yourself staring down the most disgusting, gut-wrenching, jump-off-a-cliff to escape it combination of stench, color, and texture … there will always be a worse poop lurking just off in the distance … waiting.
• Baby shoes are stupid expensive, and it’s not uncommon for wives to insist on their purchase long before your baby ever shows any intention of actually setting foot outside.
• Much like an elephant, a baby also never forgets … something to keep in mind if you’re like me and happen to find it funny to stick your nose in your newborn baby’s mouth, for one day soon your baby will have teeth and by then he’ll have grown a taste for nose.
• There’s no worse way to wake up at four in the morning than by the sound of a screaming baby. I’m sure that even if I was awoken on account of my house being on fire, it’d still be a far gentler wake-up call.
• Trying to eat a baby’s toes is a uniquely female trait. You will never witness a man threatening to consume a young child’s toes, even if it’s completely accidental and they’ve been slathered in barbecue sauce.
• There are phrases I never imagined having to utter to another human being, much less to my own flesh and blood. “Don’t eat dog food” is one of those phrases. “That was a good poop!” is another.
• As fun as hanging your child upside-down by his ankles may be, it’s important to learn that there’s a time and a place. Right after eating is not the time, and in the middle of Target is not the place.
• Singing toys are a lot more fun at the store than they are in your living room. At the store you can simply move on to another aisle to escape them, whereas at home they become like a dozen crazy people all trying to sing their own songs about cleanliness and eating your vegetables at the same time at maximum volume.
• If you just laugh it off when your child falls headfirst off the bed, there’s a chance that he will, too, instead of screaming for his mother to call you out as the negligent father that you really are.
• It’s become painfully apparent to me that if we’re going to have any more of these things, I’m going to need a bigger car. And a Sherpa. And a whole lot more of you are going to need to start buying my books.

The post 10 Things I’ve Learned in My First Year of Parenting… appeared first on Just Laugh.

See, kids – your parents are cooler than you think.

At least they think so, anyways…

The post The Parent Rap appeared first on Just Laugh.