Soon, I Will Eat on the Floor With the Dogs

I used to have a pool table. It sat in my dining room and served as both a diversion to boredom and a topic of conversation. I was cool. I always had the pickup line at the bars…"You want to come back to my place for a game of pool?” Yeah, baby. It worked as often as sinking the 8-ball on the break, but at least it gave me a shot.

Now, I have a dining room table sitting where the pool table once stood, a stark symbol of my changed relationship status and loss of coolness. To make matters worse, it doesn’t even function as a dining room table. It is my wife’s scrapbooking table.

Life as a married man.

But, even with marriage, I still watched what I wanted on television (we have two different TVs), I still played cards when I wanted to play (mostly) and I got my drink on with regular gusto.

They say life changes when you get married. For me, life didn’t change much. I married a younger, independent woman who didn’t need me clinging to her 24-7 and was fine with my chosen methods of having fun.

But then came the baby.  

I heard Tiger Woods hit a hell of a shot to win the Memorial golf tournament the other day. I say “heard” because I wasn’t watching, despite the fact I was home and the TV was on.

We were tuned to Sprout, the children’s learning channel. We are pretty much tuned to Sprout whenever the TV is on. I have lost control of my house to a 9 month old.

I no longer watch what I want on television. I have played cards one time since Sydney was born, and that was couple of weeks ago. You don’t get your drink on when you 1) have a daughter to care for and 2) know you will not sleep through the night or get any naps the next day because she demands your attention.

Life as a father.

I’m not complaining. I love my little princess and I’ll sacrifice the TV or playing cards or a few beers to make sure she is happy. But life if far different from when I was single, or even married. Brooke and I used to rock and roll baby, living the nightlife on weekends. Now, we find ourselves using the word “potty” far more than “party.” With apologies to the favorite band of my grade-school years, KISS, I want to sleep all night, and potty every day.

I moved the coffee table in my living room to the basement so my daughter has room to roam around the floor. The coffee table served as my defacto dinner table during my wife’s quest to be the Martha Stewart of scrapbooking. Now, I find a spot on the floor for my glass while my plate of food teeters on my knee.

If you think it is bad for me, you should see my poor dogs. They used to be the “babies.” They were used to getting attention when I came through the door. Now, they’re second-class citizens. They don’t understand why this 18-pound scream machine whom they could knock over with their wagging tail is more important than them.

They clamor for a little scrap of love after Sydney gets her smothering. My German Shepherd is so jealous he has taken to eating the baby’s toys.

Sorry bud, we all have to make sacrifices. You don’t get enough petting. I eat dinner with my plate on my knee. Who has it worse?  

When do I get my house back? You experienced parents can answer that better than I. But I have to believe at some point I can bring back the coffee table, watch true crime on the ID Channel or catch a sporting event on weekend TV.  

Until then, I’ll stay up to date on the Wiggles and Bert and Ernie and rely on YouTube to catch all of Tiger's great tournament-clinching shots.

Forget Sesame Street; Give Me Shark Week

Sydney is going to be the most safety-conscious girl in the free world. I would say the “entire” world but those communist countries are so secretive and I have no doubt they indoctrinate their children with a “the-world-is-out-to-get-me” attitude.

I have become addicted to the ID Channel. This is a channel that runs true crime 24-7. It is like NBC’s Dateline or CBS’ 48 Hours on steroids. There are tales of wicked wives, heinous husbands, diabolical daughters and sinister sons. Rich people are killing each other behind mansion walls, cons are talking about how “they almost got away with it,” wives are wondering who the hell they married and very nice respectable people are going missing just about every day.

Watch this channel for one day and you will be convinced every other person you pass on the street is O.J. Simpson or Casey Anthony.

As soon as Sydney is old enough to understand, she and I are going to set up camp in front of the television – I know, a REAL CHALLENGE for me -- and learn about all the evil people in the world. Elmo and Grover can wait. This is important stuff.

No one will ever spike my girl’s drink, lure her into a car, slowly poison her with arsenic while convincing her it is the flu, or, god forbid, force her to a “second” location. Ladies, always take your chances at the abduction point!

Most of the people in these shows are killed by someone they trusted. And in the craziest ways. One son got bad grades and quit going to college. Rather than tell his family, he let them believe he was doing well and they even went to dinner to celebrate his graduation. Dessert was waiting at home. He had hired someone to lie in wait and kill his family while they walked in the door.

Another wife slowly poisoned her husband over many months, convincing him he had the flu. I think I saw a light bulb go off over Brooke’s head while we were watching that. If I start to get stomach pain any time soon, you can bet I’ll order a blood test pronto.

One lady’s married boyfriend – whom she’d leant $90,000 -- convinced her they were going on a getaway to remote Canada and she should not bring her phone (because it wouldn’t work) or pack any clothes because he would buy her all new ones when they go there. Furthermore, he told her not to tell anyone where they were going and she was to hide from sight in the back of his truck until they got out on the road. Of course, she was never seen again.

Psychopaths. Everywhere.

My motto has always been “Never trust anyone but your mother.” Sydney’s will be “Never trust anyone but your father.” I’m sure Brooke will be an awesome mother, but the smaller the circle of trust, the less chance for betrayal.

Little Carrie Jones from down the block wants you to come play? Well let’s punch little Carrie’s name  -- along with the names of her mom, dad and siblings -- into both Google and the County Clerk of Courts site to see if anything sinister comes up. You can never be too careful.

We won’t stop at the ID channel. Cheaters will be a regular on our DVR. I want my little girl to see every possible way her partner can cheat on her. He says he has to work late? Drop in at the office with a late-night snack. Always on the phone? Grab his phone when he is away and call every single person in his “recent calls” list to check their voice. He’s probably not above putting his latest girlfriend under the name “Frank.”

And don’t forget e-mail surveillance.

I may be the only person on earth who DVRs Cheaters, but I consider it a way of staying “real.” It keeps me in touch with my suspicious side. Nobody’s pulling anything over on me.

My wife hates this. Hmmm, I wonder why?

She also hates that I insist on locking the door as soon as I walk in, or locking the car door even if I am going to be gone for just 16 seconds. She really hates that I want the shades drawn at all times. Listen, I used to be reporter on the police beat. I can’t tell you how many times I read a police report that someone’s stereo or television or Sham Wow was “in plain sight, so the perpetrator broke in through the window and absconded with it.”

Sydney is going to get a good dose of real life in her formative years and she will be totally prepared for the evil that comes her way. She’ll never leave her drink unattended, always keep the shades drawn and run background checks on all her dates.  She’ll be the person everyone turns to for advice during a mass shooting or hostage situation.

But will it be enough? Can I cover all the bases? As I write this, a commercial for Shark Week just came on the TV. I think we’ll have to add that to our DVR list. She needs to know the bloody, gory consequence of swimming in the ocean too close to dawn or dusk.