My week — in headlines

I've been writing headlines for so long that I am loathe to stop now.

After years of penning scads of these short yet hopefully punchy blurbs, I see headlines in my day-to-day life sort of how Neo sees the Matrix, John Nash saw numbers and Jay Cutler finds surliness in any situation.

From my family to the sports world, here are some of this week's Father Knows (Travis) Best headlines:
Toddler counts to six, fends off MIT
(Quote from story: "It's too soon," Crazy Toddler said during a tense after-bath press conference. "I gotta figure out why Elmo only has eight fingers before I can even BEGIN to think about college.")

Yankees, Phillies take pity on 'little ones'
How else can you explain these powerhouse teams trailing 3-2 to the Rangers and Giants, respectively, in the baseball playoffs. I think they felt bad for these beleaguered fan bases and decided to throw them temporary bones.

Two-year old: 'Bye-bye moon'
I'm not sure why Crazy Toddler (CT) says farewell to the moon every time he sees it. Perhaps he truly disdains it and is simply hoping it will go away forever. It's exactly how I feel about ESPN football analyst Marcellus Wiley.

Cowboys give away ball, Super Bowl aspirations
Dallas still has a chance to make the playoffs, but does anyone think this underdisciplined, overhyped team has any chance to play in the biggest game of the season, which will be held in their own stadium? If you do, I have a slew of Brett Favre "Back in 2012" T-shirts I'd love to sell you.

Big-headed boy wrestles away living-room championship
I was convinced I would win tonight's "King of the Hill" battle between me and CT this evening. I was proved wrong when the lithe youth slammed a wall of plastic blocks into/through my face. This little dude knows how to maximize his talents. Or, as a TV sports talking head undoubtedly would say, "From a testerone standpoint, CT has a lot of testerone." Thanks for that enlightened commentary, Marcellus.

Duke ranked No. 1 in preseason poll
For those of us who enjoy rooting against Coach K, having the Blue Devils basketball team put on such a pedestal before the season starts is delightful. It will make the fall from the top that much more sweet.
(NOTE: I will face a stern talking to from my wife for that last comment, but I'll gladly take my lumps.)

Here's hoping my next headline reads: "Young dad sleeps through alarm during son's world sleeping record." 

The one in the cartoon socks? He wins.

My kid could elicit laughs and comments like "He's so cute!" while wearing a Member's Only jacket over a "I Heart Kim Jong Il" T-shirt.

That's not a statement about my son being so amazing. That's simply the way it is with children; they can pull off almost any look. And I'm seriously jealous about that.

Case in point: I'd most certainly be ostracized for wearing that same (hypothetical) Kim Jong Il T-shirt. (NOTE: Luckily, my Jong Il fanhood went south a few years ago. All Jong Il apparel has long resided in the giveaway clothes box in the spare room, next to my five-sizes-too-big Fila ski jacket from junior high and my MC Hammer pants.)

In fact, I'd be laughed out of most rooms if tried to sport almost any of my son's ensembles. You name it, he has the confidence and dimples to make it work. Overalls on top of pastel polos. T-shirts featuring super-cheesy sayings. Cartoon-emblazoned socks. Black pants with tan shoes. Sweatpants to church on Sunday.

My envy has convinced me to sabotage his outfits time and time again (after all, I help control what he wears), but I've come to realize he's immune to such shenanigans. You win, Crazy Toddler. You win.

Add this to the long list of reasons Peter Pan was a smart dude.

Can a 2-year-old wax my car?

Should a barely 2-year-old be expected to wash and wax the car?

OK, that's my bad. I probably shouldn't have asked my Crazy Toddler (CT) to do that. But seriously, how am I supposed to know what he can and cannot handle at this age?

Here's my best guess, based on my limited experience thus far — along with what I've gleaned from dozens of TV sitcoms:

Realistic Expectation: CT will refrain from throwing food all over the floor, wall and me.
Unrealistic Expectation: He will clean up the aforementioned mess with a Swiffer mop.

Realistic Expectation: CT won't smack me in the face with a sippy cup when he's upset.
Unrealistic Expectation: He will calmly utilize time-tested nonviolent conflict management tactics to diffuse tense situations.

Realistic Expectation: CT will allow my wife and I an hour or so a day of quiet time as he plays with some blocks or something to that effect.
Unrealistic Expectation: He will drive himself down to the mall with a fistful of quarters and play video games for five hours at a time while his mother and I watch movies, take naps and talk about CT behind his back.

At least I'm learning.

Checking it twice: Volume I

Check out this list of the top five throughts going through NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell's brain as the first quarter of the 2010 season comes to a close:
5) "Remember when Ben Roethlisberger's biggest problem was that he didn't wear a motorcycle helmet?
      Those were the days."
4) "If we drop Brett Favre off at a nursing home, will he even know the difference?"
3) "Michael Vick? A starting quarterback again — and with good statistics? Man, I owe Tony Dungy $10."
2) "If I promise Kurt Warner a year's worth of free dancing lessons from Emmit Smith and Jerry Rice, do you think he will come back to the Cardinals?"
1) "Man, my fantasy football team sucks. I can't believe I drafted myself in the second round. Stupid, stupid, stupid! You never should draft an administrator until the end of the draft."

Athletes inside the TV haven't appreciated me

As my friend at Life of a New Dad said recently, "I need to be rid of things that take too much time from my family."

His recent blog post about time management for dads detailed why, now that he's a father, he watches far fewer baseball games than ever before. Replace "baseball" with "football and basketball," and you've got my situation down pat.

The amount of time I used to spend viewing football and basketball games is legendary. In fact, I was so over the top with this stuff that now I have a difficult time convincing anyone who knows me that I have turned over a new leaf.

The truth is, these days I usually only watch the two or three teams that I have been ardently following since I was a young child. (NOTE: Listening to sports radio shows via podcasts and streaming are excluded from this conversation. Now back to my regularly scheduled blog.) Between being a first-time homeowner since late last year and a first-time dad for a little more than two years, my weekend TV sports binges have given way to prolonged train track planning with my Crazy Toddler and arduous yard work at length.

I'm not going to lie and say I always yearn to play with my son instead of watching that key late-season football matchup on a Saturday afternoon. Sometimes it feels like work, especially compared to the sweet, sweet laziness that drips from a jam-packed Sunday schedule. Regardless, CT needs that interaction. And I can actually have a significant effect on him, whereas the teams I root for don't seem to benefit from my devotion all that much.

How dare they? Don't they know how angry I get when they lose?

Evidently not. It's all good, though. I've got a burgeoning family that cares about me more than any of those uniformed guys inside the TV ever have.

I won't be wrapped

I'm drawing a masculine yet gentle, stern yet supportive line in the sand.

I'm taking a stand against the "little girl wrapped around daddy's pinky finger" stereotype. I'm sick of hearing about it all the time, which is why it's going to come to a screeching halt with the birth of my daughter about 4 1/2 months from now.

Look, I'm not naive (at least, not about this). I'm sure thousands of men have promised to refrain from the money-draining, inconvenience-fostering practice of never saying "no" to their daughters. But I'll be the first to actually do it. I have the resolve of Lance Armstrong (does resolve = unnaturally high quantity of red blood cells?), the stubbornness of Jerry Jones, the penchant for discipline of Tom Coughlin and the checking account of Maurice Clarett. This should make for a successful combination, don't you think?

No, I'm not a monster. I will love and take care of my daughter. I will show her affection at every turn, and I'll bend over backward to improve her life. But this finger won't be wrapped. No way.

Part of why I'm adamant against being wrapped is that I've seen how this often plays out. The majority of the ridiculous women I know were first ridiculous little girls molded by ridiculous(ly) spineless dads.

I'm putting an end the ridiculousness. Who's with me?

The great toy aisle debate

I made the classic inexperienced father mistake today: the toy-aisle oversell.

It's allowable — while not ideal — to take a young child into a big-box store's toy section. However, one should only proceed into the aforementioned area if he is highly familiar with the acceptable balance of excitement and boredom.

That's where I made my mistake.

Look, I was in charge of my son — by myself — for a few hours this morning/early afternoon while my wife hosted an autumn-themed tea party. (NOTE: Autumn and tea are the two most overhyped things in the female culture. Very weird.). After lunch, I figured Crazy Toddler (CT) would have fun being carted around a big store, amid a sea of shiny products. I was correct — in fact, a little too correct.

CT was pretty stimulated from the get-go once we entered the children's zone. The "Toy Story" aisle alone was ridiculous. Since when do second- and third-tier animated characters get their own action figures and sound-creating dolls? When I was a kid, I don't remember seeing 1-foot-high Green Lantern figures that spout catch phrases when squeezed. Maybe I just wasn't paying attention.

CT was excited enough without any help from me. So why did I start pushing every button and "Try Me" spot I could find? Beats me. Soon it was time to leave, and CT acted like I had dragged him away from a play date with Elmo himself.

Obviously, this one's on me. Lesson learned. Toy aisles don't need any help being excited. They've got that covered.

Luckily I had a trick up my sleeve today. Parks were invented solely for this type of situation.