The Joker Teaches Oral Hygiene

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Thank you random pack of Batman cards. Thanks to this freaky card, Baby Rangirl is terrified of going the night without brushing her teeth. We now keep it in the bathroom next to the decorative candles.



A Tiny Huge Mistake?

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So um…


At first I was like…


Then I remembered the first go at this…

…from dinosaur-sized snack…


…to donkey-girth hogger of bed space:


Ugh. Remember tummy time to prevent the kid from getting “flathead”?



And I guess I totally wasn’t accurate in my assumption that parenting was going to entirely suck, as would my kid.


Can’t help but quickly reflect…




The new growing pain lies ahead. The thing looks ready to pounce as is….


Timely Thursdays

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Remember when things like completing a report for school before its deadline or finally getting your car oil changed would be a badge of honor? May-haps a feeling of accomplishment in an otherwise unaccomplished world? Oh glory days, where have you gone? Where’s the emoji for “crap I have a kid”? 😢😢😢

Today it was up to me to feed cats which I had no say in getting (even though the second cat was post-marriage / post-fiancé-baggage, it was the result of the first cat’s depression. A recession cat, if you will), get Baby Rangirl ready, and take out the trash all before 7:15AM.

Getting Baby Rangirl outta bed is no easy task. She does not wake easily when you’re performing an awakening. I do some loud TV-blasting, stomping of my already-heavy feet, horrible singing…which all leads to negotiation when she finally does gather her bearings.

“I want to wear a princess dress. I want to wear a Batman shirt. I want to take my Lego toy to school. I want to watch the Lego movie. Other impossible things to do over the next 20 minutes.”

When I finally get her dressed? “5 more minutes, go away!”

The kid has no concept of time, so 5 minutes = the full length of a Nickelodeon show. Or 22 minutes. Steve can’t figure out Blue’s Clues quick enough. I’d solve it in the first guess, but noooo. We need 22 minutes which I can’t spare.

So to get all this done by 7:15AM? I did it. I was relieved. I win Thursday.

Rise and shine, yah sleepy head!!


You Sound Like Your Father

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“I don’t want to go to school!” whined Baby Rangirl from the back seat of the car.

Well you don’t sound exactly like Dad, there are some expletives you’ll learn to sprinkle in that statement which will truly deem you my offspring. Maybe even some metaphors which compare school to ones poo hole.

This is your first week at daycare/preschool Baby Rangirl- and the first 2 days were a breeze for you. But like your father, you gave up on the system on day 3 before your third birthday. Heck, I didn’t even go to school by the age of 3 and knew the House of Learning and I would not be getting along.

Teachers say you talk quite a bit for your age, and I’d love to respond with “sure…do you have any best practices on keeping her shut?” rather than the obligatory “oh, ha! Look at my awkward smile Mrs. Random-stranger whom I’m expected to trust with my child without ever breaking bread together over hot tea!”

So begins another chapter in trying to spend less time with you so that you don’t grow up as dumb as your dad. You can sound like me, but apparently “back in my day” stories and examples aren’t effective teaching methods.

The image of you growing up kinda gives me “the feels” as Mommy Ranman puts it. She cried a bit when we dropped you off the first day, I had manly emotions.


Guess you’re now a part of my morning coffee route, after almost 3 years of going to the babysitter down the block.


No more fun and games. Time to grow up!



Do You Hear Santa?

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No of course not, Baby Rangirl, you’re busy entertaining another ear infection. As Mommy Ranman described our Christmas trip to visit family in New Hampshire: worst. trip. ever. Maybe not “worst”, definitely exhausting.

You started crying nonstop with about half of the drive remaining from New York to the Shire. We had already stopped twice due to our brilliant idea to potty train. Baby Rangirl held that pee in like a champ while we walked around the mean streets of the Bronx looking for a restaurant with a trustworthy toilet. But man did we miss diapers.

After 6 hours of driving a typical 4-hour trip, we finally reached the hotel by 1AM and Baby Rangirl was still inconsolable. By 3AM, Mommy Ranman made the decision to take the visibly aching kid to an ER in Massachusetts. We figured the hills of Connecticut triggered another ear infection as the kid kept tugging on her hair. Off we went, with maybe 1 hour of sleep under our belt and everyone smelling like vomit.

Oh yes. Vomit. The Rangirl doesn’t know how to chillax so she cries so much that she barfs after a while. And since she doesn’t know how to be cool, the vomit goes err’where. Which reminds me, I either need to do a load of laundry or conduct a clothes burning ceremony ASAP.

The hospitals of Massachusetts seem to hate New Yorkers, so we didn’t see a doctor until 6:15AM. Baby Rangirl was already passed out in our arms by then and we were close to leaving having paid a $75 copay just to watch Married With Children on TBS. Finally someone came in confirming the ear infection and dispensed meds which made a huge difference in the kid’s mood for the rest of your our trip.

What made the trip worse, you ask? Baby Rangirl hadn’t pooped in 2 days. So when more crying resumed, it meant one of us hugging Baby Rangirl over the toilet bowl while she tried to pass boulders through those tiny intestines. She finally erupted before we left New Hampshire- and after all this I was the one who felt like I had taken the dump of all ages.

Santa hates us, or karma felt the need to take a leak on me for all I did to the kids in high school. Well played, you red-suited fat bastard or that slutty wench we call “karma”. Sounds like a stripper name. Karma.

Here’s Baby Rangirl’s Christmas week, warming up to Santa after a few tries.

A bit shy at brunch with Santa. Yes, we were one of those parents pushing the fat guy into her life. Mommy Ranman takes full responsibility for any future issues as a result:


Sitting with her cousins, Baby Rangirl is the one with the ear infection. Oh, still can’t tell because you don’t see in black-and-white, you modern day non-discriminatory person? Well, then she’s the one with the over-priced Ugg boots.


Learning to love Santa:


As with any tried-and-tested method, you bribe kids to earn their trust.


Baby Rangirl finds a dog her size:


Baby Rangirl wearing her gifted princess dress. And monster slippers, of course. Not sure what the thing on her head is supposed to be, but given her skin tone she looks like the maid:


The Ranmans Have an Elf Problem

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Well Baby Rangirl, your mother continues to force Christmas cheer down your throat. I’m okay with that. Not a fan of lying to you re: the whole Santa thing, but a posable elf has made his (should be a female but you refer to it as a dude) way into our lives.

Allegedly he needs to be routinely on some shelf. But your mother got you so into the movie Elf that your new pal is a partner in crime this Christmas due to your affinity towards elf lore. You even ask daily for an elf costume.


Here you are watching Elf, with an elf.


It’s cute seeing you wake up every morning looking for the elf as per Elf-on-the-shelf protocol. I do worry come December 25th what you’ll do without this thing. Rules indicate that this elf is off to Santa to report his findings post-stalking you for the previous 24 days. We’ve been doing a great job setting you up for your first heartbreak.

Look it at. Not creepy at all with its beady eyes.


The Training Years

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I guess it goes without saying: every moment going forward is another opportunity to teach and ultimately train our baby girl.

Potty training is the current hurdle. We removed the side of her crib in hopes that Baby Rangirl would hop out and hit the john without our help.


I was a bit sad at the crib alteration: at 2.5 years of age this kid now runs out of the crib, closes the room door behind her, and hops into bed with us on the weekends. There’s still some baby left in her, however. She’ll cry while standing in the crib as if she were still captive in hopes we’ll rock her to sleep at 3AM.

Naturally, Baby Rangirl has yet to get up and take a leak at night. Side note: Mommy Ranman has repeatedly told our daughter to quit saying that she had to “take a leak”. Yesterday Baby Rangirl announced:

“Daddy, I gotta go potty”. She hops on and said “I take a leak. No…don’t say ‘take a leak’ daddy.”

“So…you’re taking a pee?”

“No silly, I taking a leak!”

Nighttime and outdoors are our issue. I can’t run into the ladies room with the kid if it’s just us two, and the one time I ran with her into the men’s room at a playground: gross. Baby Rangirl swore she no longer had to hit the john and I was okay with whatever accident was to come.

Don’t worry Baby Rangirl, together we will conquer the art of taking a leak. We will own that toilet.


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