100 Pushup Challenge Week 2

The 100 Pushup Challenge App has been awesome. I'm up to 81 pushups (in 5 sets) and actually seeing a slight difference in my physique (ooh la la). It takes less than 10 minutes every other day and while I know push ups won't get me all the way to healthy, it is a great first step. The game like interaction created by the app is keeping me challenged and engaged. I'm having fun with it and can't wait until Tuesday when I do my first stress challenge. On Tuesday I will do as may push ups as I can in a single set and see how far from 100 I am. Pin It Now!

Got My Rock On!

This past weekend, I found myself inside with the boys looking for something to do. The puzzles, balls, movies, and even the almighty iPad were not holding their attention. I found myself sitting in a room with an 8 month old and 3 year old staring at me. I could see the thought balloons over their cute little heads, "Dance, monkey, dance." My old acoustic guitar, usually stuffed in a closet corner, was out—probably from some closet organizing project or search for the matching sock. Quickly, I grabbed my opportunity to re-aquant myself with my old six-string friend and the spot light. "Arrrrr Yooooou Riddy ta ROCK!" I screamed as I beat through the 3 chords that make up 80% of all rock and roll. BAM! I had their full attention. For ten minutes I windmilled, thrashed, and bit the guitar strings. It was my greatest performance and my audience hinged on my every move. The same rock star imitation that made my wife cringe in embarrassment was now filling my spawn with laughter. When I ran through all the parts of songs I knew I just started making stuff up. "Clean your room with a broom, don't give mom any guff, don't play with your brother too rough!, La Di Da Di Da." Ya, I'm no Dylan, Nelson, or Drake, but the boys loved it. Even better, Monkey started to make up his own lyrics to my riffs. I was the Slash to his Axl Rose, the Keith Richards to his Mick Jagger, the Angus Young to his Bon Scott... we were rock. And the 8-month-old son, Buddha, danced, laughed, and clapped. "Poopey, Poopey, Poopey, trains are cool, ya ya ya." For almost an hour we jammed, making more laughter than music, and loving every minute of it. And then came the payoff. Knowing that mommy would be home soon, I ended the concert to prep for nap time. "No daddy!", Monkey yelled. "Again! Again! Again!" What? Encore? They want me to play another song? After all those years of practice, nights in empty bars, heaving amps into a van, I have finally found MY AUDIENCE. And they love me. They really, really love me... and the little one needs his diaper changed.

- Not a parenting blog, not a daddy blog, not a mommy blog — it's a Stunt Dad blog.

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Dear Health Club, It's not you, it's me

Dear Health Club,

Over the years, we have had some pretty special times together. Remember when someone broke into my locker and stole my credit cards and bought a hundred dollars worth of beer at the gas station around the corner? Or that other time someone broke the lock off my locker and we found my car keys in the garbage can outside your door? How about that fungus you gave me after walking in the shower without sandals? Hysterical! Oh man, we had great times. Whooo!

But look, as great as we were, I think we are growing apart. You are all, "new singles spin class at 1pm, and members social Friday night", but I'm all like, "the kids nap at 1pm and Friday's are pizza night". You smell like eucalyptus and I smell like peanut butter and jelly. You want to train me to run a marathon, and I'm living a marathon. Don't get me wrong, your 10 x 10 kids room was convenient, even if a little over priced for just putting in a DVD of Finding Nemo.

Anyway, I'm seeing another health club. Yes, they are a little more expensive, but we see each other more regularly and they love the kids. They have 3 play rooms, climbing walls, tennis lessons, a playground, swimming lessons, baseball and basketball camp, and the kids get their own swimming pool. They have a restaurant (you know how I like to eat) with beer and a kids menu. They even have a kids dinning room with Nick on flat screens. See, I can't just think about me anymore. I'm a dad now and I want the kids to have fun too! This new health club understands that and embraces it. I can work out while the kids play and take lessons. Then we can play in the pool together, or shoot some hoops, and finish the morning eating lunch together. You never really liked the mess the kids made in your organic juice bar and your protein bars aren't peanut free.

I know you will find someone else. Your "no initiation" sign up is sure to get you another pre-dad. Someone that shows up to all your social events... someone who can afford a personal trainer... someone who buys those tight stretchy shirts from the pro shop.... someone who actually likes wheat grass smoothies. I'm just not that person anymore—I wonder if I ever was.

So look. I need you to stop sending me emails and calling me. I know you think you want me back. I just don't think you have the space for me and my family. So please, take me off your list. It's not about the initiation fee or the free health assessment or the half off Pilates. My needs are different now. I'm different now. It's just time we go our separate ways. 

Sincerely,
Stunt Ben

- Not a parenting blog, not a daddy blog, not a mommy blog — it's a Stunt Dad blog. Pin It Now!

I took my 3 1/2 year old drinking...is that bad?

Before you call the Department of Children and Family Services at 800 25-ABUSE, first realize that we didn't go on an empty stomach. We ate pizza before going to the bar, cus it was pizza friday and that's sacred. We're not heathens. Also note I am no Shawn Weimer, neither my 3 year old nor I drove...we took a cab. So put that in your beer bong and smoke it. Finally, it wasn't a pre-meditated night of binging, it just happened.

So that's probably enough of an explanation for our non-Amish readers, but for our uppity readers I will reveal a few more details that may turn your fingers and upward pointed noses elsewhere.

Some ex-coworkers were planning a get together so we could all see one another and catch up. I thought that I was not going to be able to make it, until a last minute change in plans gave me a few precious hours to have a couple of drinks and catch up. My plan was to pick up Monkey from school, have pizza friday, then slip away early from dinner to be fashionably late for the drinks. Everything was going nicely until it was time to slip away. As I put on my shoes Monkey's eyes welled up. "I go too", he sobbed through a waterfall of tears and snot. We tried to explain it was for adults and that I would be back soon, but he had his heart set on spending the night with daddy. I had 3 choices, leave my son sobbing with my exhausted and over burdened wife, stay home and miss yet another get together (perhaps 2 years worth) or be a Stunt Dad and reject the traditional options. I chose to grow a pair and go against the grain. But there was some thought that went behind the decision, I just wasn't going daddy rougue. First it was early, 6pm and the bar would be full of 30 and 40 something's wearing v-neck sweaters and designer jeans. The "bar" has an executive chef, and a director of culinary operations with a menu boasting warm tomato-goat cheese, white balsamic-capper brown butter and gluten free rice flour pasta. The drink menu is sprinkled with words like grapefruit, pomegranate and raspberry. It's the kind of trendy place where the fights are about the best agile project management methodology and where the weapon of choice to shove in someone face is an iPhone 4. The rule about not bringing children to a bar is about shielding them from dangerous characters, gamblers and prostitues. This crowd is the same people he sees at Starbucks every morning ordering similarly fruffy drinks. So I said, "lets go". Monkey's face lit up, we kissed mommy goodbye, put a twenty in our shoes so we would have cab fair home and told her not to wait up for us.

As soon as we got outside Monkey's hand shot straight up into the air and he screemed a mighty "TAXI!". The yellow Crown Vic screeched to a halt. We snapped the car seat in and where off for a night of debauchery.

When we arrived, the place was starting to fill up. We saw old friends and many took turns holding my wing man and giving him their iPhones to him to show him their kids, or nieces or nephews favorite app. I refrained from having a drink, while it was perfectly safe, Monkey is tough enough to catch sober, so I wasn't gonna take any chances. We had many new experiences. He peed while I held him up in front of the toilet. He flirted with more than one older woman, giving equal attention to both. And we listened to stories from @JamesArdito, one of the most creative and nicest guys in town.

We left after about an hour to make it home for bedtime. It was not enough time to catch up with the good people that miss. But it was better than not seeing them at all. And it was worth the dirty looks from accountants and media salespeople and the comment from the little girl who said "look he brought a 2 year old to the bar". To her I would like to say, "Actually, he is 3 1/2! He's just small for his age.".

So you tell me. Is it totally wrong to bring a kid into a bar? Is there any gray area? Pin It Now!