I've been writing on and off for this great website and blog. You can find them at www.rockerbyebaby.com

This is my newest offering. Hopefully rockerbyebaby wont be pissed at me jumping the gun and posting it here first.

Mentoring Mondays

Teaching you to be a Lady while you teach me to be a Dad.

By-the-minute journal entry of Maddie and I earlier this week.

12:17 AM: I’m on whiskey-number 4 and whiskey-number 5 is looking pretty good right about now. Sure it’s late and I need to be up around 6:30 AM but what the hell?! Taking care of a baby isn’t too hard. She sleeps mostly anyway. Might as well enjoy the night.

12:42 AM: Whiskey-number 5 was just great. Here’s to whiskey-number 6 and getting all nostalgic over old music videos on Youtube.

01:29 AM: Bryan Adams is the most underrated songwriter of all time. I’m sure of it. Hang on, I’m going to call my ex-girlfriend, scream “bitch,” and then hang up.

01:31 AM: Alcohol made me forget about cell phones and their built-in caller id. This will be embarrassing tomorrow.

02:17 AM: ….must…sleep….room…spinning….thank…god….I…don’t….have…to…work…until…five..tomorrow…kid?.. what…kid?

06:57 AM: Baby crying. Head splitting. Momentarily try to think of child abuse statutes in my home state but my head hurts too much. Baby still crying. Must do something…

06:58 AM: Pacifiers RULE!

06:59 AM: Pacifiers SUCK! They only work for a minute when she’s hungry.

07:04 AM: Holding Maddie while feeding her. She’s so damn cute, I momentarily forget about my mental-threat of child abuse. Being a Dad ROCKS!

07:14 AM: Maddie just threw up all over me. Being a Dad BLOWS!

07:15 AM: After cleaning up myself and Maddie, she smiles at me and coos. Decide that Maddie can live a bit longer.

09:23 AM: Maddie falls asleep in my arms while we are chilling on the couch. She’s so beautiful and precious. I feel lucky to be alive and am grateful for her and all that I have.

11:35 AM: Maddie cuts a fart that would put the Blazing Saddles campfire scene to shame. I momentarily marvel at the awesomeness of my daughter.

11:36 AM: I check her diaper after the above mentioned fart. Oh. My. God. Screw that, there IS no god. Nothing that foul can come out of something so small and cute.

11:38 AM: Diaper changed and I am forever changed. I now understand battle-hardened Marines and their thousand-yard-stares. They saw it all and came back from the brinks. So did I.

12:04 PM: I get hungry and decide to make a sandwich.

12:05 PM: Every time I walk away Maddie starts crying. As soon as I walk in to where she can see me, she stops crying and smiles. Too cute. But I am hungry. Back to sandwich.

12:08 PM: After four minutes of back and forth from the kitchen to the living room and still unable to construct a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I slowly come to the realization that I’m being schooled by a three-month old. I am shamed. Maddie keeps smiling.

01:17 PM: Maddie goes down for her nap and I hop on the internet to check my chances of spontaneous combustion.

01:18 PM: Outlook not good for spontaneous combustion.

02:19 PM: The wife calls and says we need more diapers. I tell her that she’d better go and get them. She asks me “what?!” I say “nothing, dear. What size?” The wife then reminds me that this is Minnesota and that it’s cold out and that I need to put Maddie in her bunting. I tell her that that is not an appropriate verb to use about our daughter. She says “I said ‘bunting’ you idiot! With a ‘b’ and not a ‘c!’” A quick check from Google confirms this. Again, I am shamed. And apparently a pervert.

02:24 PM: I finally get Maddie into her bunting. Spend a moment marveling at how ridiculous she looks. She looks like Ralphie from A Christmas Story. She looks like something Lewis Carroll would’ve dreamt of while on copious amounts of acid.

03:30 PM: In the past half-hour I’ve managed to feed Maddie, change her, take a shower and get dressed for work. Spend the next seven minutes making sure Maddie doesn’t throw up on my pants or shirt.

03:34 PM: Epic FAIL. Must find clean shirt. Hmm. The one on floor next to the laundry basket doesn’t smell too bad…

03:37 PM: The wife comes home and I leave thirty seconds later.

03:44 PM: Creeping onto the highway at twenty miles per hour, I try to remember what my wife looks like. But in my mind all I can see is Maddie.

04:46 PM: Pull into the parking lot of Best Buy to start my shift. I am beyond tired.

06:32 PM: A customer seems upset that we don’t carry the type of guitar strings he wants. I resist the urge to grab him by the shirt and scream “Hey man! It’s no big deal! They’re just guitar strings! You wanna know what happened to me today?! I got shit on, pissed on and puked on and I’m here smiling. You, you’re all bent out of shape over guitar strings!” But I say none of this.

07:11 PM: Even after all the above-mentioned events of the day, I find that I miss Maddie. I sneak out to call the wife to inquire about the baby. All is fine.

10:36 PM: Done with work. My whole body hurts. I’m so tired that even my hair hurts. I stagger to my Mazda and drive home.

11:11 PM: Home. The wife is asleep on the couch with Maddie resting belly-down on her chest. It is easily the most beautiful scene I will witness all year.

11:22 PM: I make a light dinner, careful to not make too much noise and sit down to eat. As I sit down the wife stirs and opens her eyes, sees me and smiles. Now I remember what my wife looks like. She looks like love and joy. I remind myself that I am very lucky.

12:17 AM: We put Maddie into her crib gently as to not disturb her slumber. She’s a sleeping angel with light red hair, big blue eyes and a mouth that can’t help but smile. The wife gives me a hug and a kiss and thanks me for taking such good care of our baby. Shucks Ma’am. T’was nothing.

I'm no Superman

The other day at work, I dealt with this horrible customer. You know the type; thinks every store he walks into is full of people who’s sole mission in life is to kiss his ass and jerk him off at the same time. Now I deal with this particular brand of asshole everyday, and have been doing it everyday for fifteen of my thirty years. I’m used to it but have never grown comfortable with it. But I’m not complaining nor am I thinking that things will change for me. Assholes will always exist and as long as I decide I’m only good enough for customer service jobs, I will always have to deal with them.

After dealing with Sir Jerkoff, I went outside for a smoke. The sun was setting and the summer heat was finally dissipating and I swear I could almost see the heat bleed off of the cars in the parking lot. The sky was a typically gorgeous Minnesota blue and full of huge pillows of cumulonimbus clouds that were stationary in the sky. I smoked my smoke and stared at the clouds and was suddenly reminded of a recurring childhood memory of wanting to be able to fly like Superman. I would dream I could fly and I would soar straight up into the clouds. Lose myself and lose the world in (what I imagined would be) silky, soft whiteness. I would fantasize that I could nap on top of the clouds as if they were the world’s largest and most exclusive pillows.

I hadn’t thought about that in at least twenty years but there I was, a grown man, married with a child, staring at the clouds and dreaming. The last time I had had my cloud fantasy, I likely had a toy in one hand and the world in the other (for all children hold the world in their hands, even if it’s only their world). I wasn’t regressing into a childhood fantasy of being able to fly. No sir, just merely believing in myself again. Let me tell you; it’s been awhile.

After work I went home and made more room in our tiny apartment for our newly arrived daughter. I grabbed my toolbox from the hall closet and proceeded to take apart a long neglected exercise bike that had been slowly decaying in our living room. Like most exercise equipment owned by a fat American, I got more exercise moving the thing around than actually using it for its intended purpose. Rather than letting it continue to become a glorified hat rack, I decided to get rid of it. Nobody on Craigslist wanted the damn thing either so I took it apart and carried it three floors down to our dumpster outside. Then, against my better judgment, I dead-lifted the heavy fucker and threw it into the rusty green dumpster outside our apartment building. My semi-healed hand that I had surgery on last month bitched a little but not too badly. After that I trucked back inside and headed to the storage room in the basement of the building. Once there I furthered my manhood/idiocy by carrying a leather Lazy boy up three flights of stairs and deposited it where the exercise bike had previously called home. More room in our tiny apartment: Check. Comfy place to hold and rock the baby: Check.

Feeling like a better husband and father, feeling like a provider (“See honey, I provided a chair!”) I went outside our apartment for a smoke. In stark contrast to the afternoon, the sun had set and it was dark outside. The day’s heat went with the sun and it was a typically cool Minnesota fall evening. The sun was set but there was a full moon hidden beneath the clouds, backlighting the entire sky. Contrary to the afternoon‘s stationary Cumulonimbus clouds, the ones in the evening moved quickly and were thin and wispy like a stretched cotton ball. They seemed to be flying by while breaking all known speed limits to the sky.

Seeing the clouds moving that quickly made me think of the story-telling device used in many movies. You’ve seen it. The one where you see a city skyline sped up really fast with the clouds whipping past the screen and the sun rapidly sets as the sky darkens. It’s a way of showing the viewer that the day has ended. That night, watching the clouds speed away, I realized that I wasn’t Superman and would never be. Not even Batman, who had no super powers to speak of. I realized I would likely never be any of the grand things I used to picture myself being when I was a wee lad. I would likely never do any of the grand things I used to picture myself doing. It made me a little sad. It made me feel old.

When I walked back into the apartment I saw my wife sitting in the chair I had just hauled upstairs and put together. She was holding our newborn baby and rocking her slowly in the chair. She looked up at me and smiled contently, silently thanking me for bringing up the chair, for providing the chair. A nice place to sit with the baby. A good spot to rock her to sleep. Madeline, my new daughter, looked at me and smiled one of these early-baby smiles that melts away all hardness that exists in the hardest of men.

I am not Superman, nor even Batman. But all of us have daily opportunities to be heroes to our loved ones and, let’s face it, they’re the ones who deserve it most from us. I realized that night that I’ll never fly (under my own power anyway) but I could always be Superman to my daughter because that’s my job. That is my life now and it’s a good life. One definitely worth living.

Dirty story

FYI The latest Mentoring Mondays post is up. Go to http://punkrockerbyebaby.blogspot.com/2010/03/mentoring-mondays-who-i-am.html

As far as most people that know me are concerned, I was born with facial hair. While being nearly true, I decided to shave 10 days ago. Mainly just to see what I'd look like and whether or not I'd look any younger.

The very next day I got nailed with a nasty sinus infection. I cannot recall the last time I've felt this bad or been in this much physical pain. Being the tough guy (dumbass) that I am, I waited a week before going to the doctor and getting some much needed meds. Here's me after 9 days of being REALLY sick.

Do I look more like I'm in pain or mad? Frankly I'm feeling both. If this is karma for shaving the beard, I'm sorry! See, it's back! It doesn't take long! Sheesh.

Anyhoo, there's this great website. Check out http://nerve.com/ for some excellent writing on sex, dating, and general pop culture madness. They take submissions so I sent one off the other day. No idea if they'll publish it but I figured I'd better run it here just to take up some more bandwidth. Cuz I'm that guy.

I originally was going to post this here during the "Countdown to my 30's" bit that I was writing last year. I quit mainly because I found out that we were having a baby and my focus quit being on the past and more on the future. But this was a crazy encounter that was, in retrospect, pretty funny so I thought I'd share. I submitted this for Nerve's "My weirdest time" bit. To those following me in response to the rockerbyebaby blog, just a warning; this is a bit more hardcore. But I'm a pretty open guy and usually don't hold anything back. Be it my opinions, experiences, etc. So you've been warned.

I was 21 and had had my heart shattered by a singer/actress recently so I did what any self-respecting male pseudo-rockstar does to get over such shatterings: get laid often by multiple people to convince myself and all within earshot that I was not alone, if only to recertify to myself I was, in fact, the most alone person on the planet.

This lifestyle, while looking great on a notched bedpost, had caused its fair share of headaches. There was Abby. I met her at work. She was the customer. I was the handsome, rejected, jilted lover. And I was a musician! Poor Abby never had a chance. After two nights of so-so sex, I was happy to never see her again. And I never did though her mother found my number and called me at eleven one night to say Abby had run away to “live with some musician” that understood her better. Abby never showed up but her mom kept calling for a few weeks.

Then there was the time I slept with my coworker’s sister. To date, I remember neither of their names but the next morning was my first “walk of shame.” My head splitting from PBR’s and Amaretto sours, wondering what Work would say if they knew I’d slept with such an unattractive person. A few weeks later the owner, after hearing jokes and rumors, came to me and asked if it was true. I admitted it. He said he didn’t care. Just wanted to make sure I didn’t go down her (I did). He said it would’ve been nasty (it was).

Which takes us to (arguably) the weirdest encounter of those dark days. Sheila was the friend of my band mate’s girlfriend. Through talking with my band mate and his girlfriend, I came to discover that Sheila can’t. Can’t come, that is. They tell me she’s tried everything; sex with men, sex with women, vibrators, etc. “No worries,” I exclaim! “I’ll make her come!” I’d yet to bed a woman that I couldn’t bring to climax. So it was with zero trepidation or anxiety that I appeared at her parent-less abode a week later with a big bag of assorted liquor products. We swapped a guitar and a bottle back and forth. One of us playing/singing about an ex while the other accompanied on the bottle. After an hour of singing/boozing, we retired to the bedroom for some post-singing/boozing frolicking.

And. I. Couldn’t. Make. Her. Come. I tried every trick I knew. Fingers? Fugetaboudit! Oral? Only in your dreams! Undeterred, we switched to sex. Thirty minutes in and there were no orgasms to be had anywhere. We tried all manner of positions. Missionary? Mission unaccomplished. Doggy style? That dog didn’t hunt. Reverse cowgirl? Apparently even cowgirls get the blues. After a few feeble attempts at other positions, we started what wound up being the final position of the night; plain ole’ cowgirl.

The paradigm shift was cataclysmic. She started moaning and going faster and faster. After a few minutes I found myself clamping onto her hips to keep her from flying off. Her moans, sexy and womanly, changed to growls. The growls changed to snarls. She was baring her teeth like an animal and had a predatory glare in her eyes. She was obviously, although oddly, enjoying herself and although I badly wanted to give her her first orgasm, I found myself struggling to stay erect. The straw-breaking moment, or erection-ending if you prefer, came when she raked her fingernails down my chest and roared. Now don’t get me wrong. I like a little pain. I’m down with fingernails and biting and what not. But this was a nails-dug-in gashing that went from neck to navel. Followed by roar that would make a lion’s nuts shrivel and ascend back into his body. It sounded like one of those dog-things from Ghostbusters. Before I could protest, she did it again. Another disemboweling chest-rake and another erection-busting roar later and I couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped her and stammered through some excuse about the timing not being right filled with a dash of not being over my ex and topped with a dollop of just wanting to be friends. I pulled on my clothes and got out of there like my pants were on fire and my ass was catching. A few months later, she left for school and I haven’t seen her since. I do hope she’s since cashed in her “O” card. An orgasm is a wonderful thing to give and receive and no one should be without regular ones. I hope she’s having hers and I hope her lover is wearing a bullet-proof vest.

(all names changed to protect the innocent and guilty alike)

Great Parenting Blog

Mine and Aymee's friend, Amber Zrust runs a great store out of etsy and she's got a killer daily (remember those Blaine!) blog about the ins and outs and ups and downs of being a parent. On Saturday she asked me to do a weekly guest blog. I was drunk so of course I said "yes." So every Monday I'll be writing Mentoring Mondays: Teaching you to be a lady while you teach me to be a dad.

Check out her whole blog by clicking the title or go here.

http://www.punkrockerbyebaby.blogspot.com/

If you're REALLY lazy, here's my post.

Mentoring Mondays

Teaching you to be a lady while you teach me to be a dad.

I’m your dad.

Hi Madeline. You don’t know me. Hell, you don’t even know your own name. (BTW it’s Madeline.) But I’m your dad and by rights, in four and a half months I’ll be one of the two biggest influences in your life. While I may just be “daddy” to you, that title means I’ll be engaged in a 24/7 job of raising you and somehow having to make it look seamless and effortless. Don’t get me wrong; I welcome the challenge and the most rewarding part will be watching you grow from a helpless baby into an intelligent and confident woman.

There’s so many things I want to show you and tell you. I suppose I have all of your life and the rest of mine to show and tell but let’s get two biggies up front. These aren't rules for you. Those will come plenty soon enough. Rather, these are constant variables. Just like a science experiment. I know you don’t know what science is yet but just bear with your old man for a sec.

Constant One: I’ll always love you.

The unconditional love between a parent and their child is the most pure emotion in the world. The reason why is that both parent and child start with clean slates towards each other. I haven’t wronged you and, until your first loaded diaper, you haven’t wronged me. And even the whole diaper thing isn't really your fault. I, along with your mother…and I suppose by proxy, the doctor, will be the first people you meet. And essentially for your early years, I and your mother will be the only people you’ll know. I’ll feed you and read you books and make funny faces just to make you laugh. I’ll rock you to sleep and sing you songs. As you get bigger I’ll buy you a bike and teach you to ride it. When you get even older I’ll teach you to drive. As these events unfold, you’re bound to make mistakes. And that’s okay, Maddie. Everyone makes mistakes. My job as a parent is to help you learn from them. You’ll leave your bike out and I’ll tell you to bring it in. And if you take after your mother’s driving habits, you’re probably going to get in a car accident or three and I’ll tell you to pay more attention. And you’re likely to think ill of me during these moments but they only exist because I love you and know that you can learn from what happened. Through it all, I’ll always love you and I’ll always be your dad.

Constant Two: You can come to me for anything.

And when I say “anything,” I mean ANYTHING. I will always listen to you. While you’re a baby I’ll happily listen to you babble. When you get older, feel free to come to me so we can converse about Big Bird or Yo Gabba Gabba or anything at all that your beautiful mind wants to talk about. I’m always your ear. Full disclosure: the secondary reasoning for this whole “come talk to me” stuff is for when you’re a teenager. Things can get pretty hairy in your teens, and I’m not just talking about your body. (Any excess body hair you might experience is all my fault. Sorry kiddo.) You and your friends/boyfriends/girlfriends are going to be turning into adults. Your hormones and emotions will be going bat-shit and you’re going to often feel like a pinball bouncing around all corners of a pinball machine. Sucky as it is, it’s all normal. “What,” you ask? “This is normal?! This sucks!” Yeah Maddie I know it sucks. That’s why I’m here. To help keep BS to a minimum and to help you stay your course. And I’ll never ever tell you “Because I said so.”

Constant Three: I’ll never ever say “Because I told you so!”

I mean, let’s face it. It’s a weak come-back. It says “I don’t have a good reason for saying ‘no.’ I just don’t want you to do whatever it is you‘re about to do.” If I do or don’t want you to do something, I will always give you a valid reason why or why not. This is so I can always treat you as someone who has the ability to make their own decision about something. Now I may not always agree with your decision and may try to direct you to more harmonious endeavors, as I stated above, part of parenting is helping you learn from mistakes. That said, I’m not going to let you play a game of Russian Roulette. Why? Not because I told you so. Because I would’ve already told you that Russian Roulette is a very dangerous game where the best you can hope for is to still be alive afterwards and the worst that can happen is that you’ll share a death amongst all Arkansas rednecks; one that starts with the sentence “Hey y’all! Watch this!” Bottom line is: I’ll always give you a reason for my decision.

Well Madeline, that about does it for your dad. We have plenty of time to go over this stuff again and this isn't a test. This is your life. I’m committed to seeing it be a great one. I’ll always be here for you. I haven’t even met you yet and you’re the love of my life. I love you Maddie.

-Your Dad

Wha...?

I can't believe I'm going to be 30 in two weeks.

I can't believe I'm going to be a daddy in 6 and a half months.