DADWAGON

Today, we learn about parents who text too much–to the point where they tune out, disengage from, or otherwise ignore their children, frustrating both kids and spouses.

Never mind that, for generations, we’ve had exactly the same imagery surrounding dads who bury themselves in the newspaper at breakfast, or moms who gab on the phone as their kids tear the house apart. The Internet is clearly the thing to blame here, not parents who are either neglectful or overwhelmed. Yes, I spend a lot of time answering e-mails while our son bounces about the room; yes, my wife periodically has to say, with mild exasperation, “can you take him for a few minutes, please, so I can eat?” That is not new. That is called being distracted and busy. We’re all distracted and busy, and yes, our workdays now extend to time at home, slightly enabled by new technologies. End of story. (I’ll admit, though, that the guy who sat next to me on the subway this morning, writing e-mails on his phone as he ignored his kids’ charming questions about the ride, was kind of a jerk.)

Actually, my wife pointed out the most interesting fact in this story, which came in a non sequitur about language acquisition:

The book connects language use at home with socioeconomic status. According to its findings, children in higher socioeconomic homes hear an average of 2,153 words an hour, whereas those in working-class households hear only about 1,251; children in the study whose parents were on welfare heard an average of 616 words an hour.

Do we really all natter on that much? Polysyllabically? Maybe I ought to bury my nose in the paper more.

Oh, Sweden. How you taunt us! Your women, your furniture, your crime novelists, your baby carriers—how can we brännvin-deprived Americans even compete?

Especially with stories like this one floating around. I mean, I knew Swedish men got ridiculous amounts of parental leave, but I figured you dudes spent all those “generously paid” months in a state of pseudo-castration—essentially pretending to be mommies for the sake of the child. But then I read stuff like this:

Sofia Karlsson, a police officer and the wife of Mikael Karlsson, said she found her husband most attractive “when he is in the forest with his rifle over his shoulder and the baby on his back.”

Let’s not even get into the question of whether it’s a good idea to go hunting with an infant [ed. inquiry: possible Tantrum?]. Or the bizarre, unrealistic image of a godless Socialist not only carrying a firearm but blasting wildlife to death with it.

Really, all I want to ask is: Do you have to rub it in? Can’t you just go back to the “Bork bork bork” era when you had bad haircuts, wrecked the world with disco music, and had only one TV channel? Please? As a favor to me?

Obsessive Attentive readers may have noticed my absence from DadWagon over the past week or so. But, of course, this is normal—I’m always off on some ridiculous trip or another.

This time, however, I was gone for a mere six days. But in that brief span of time, I seem to have missed a lot. Sasha is, almost all of a sudden, a full-fledged toddler. She’s talking more than ever (though somewhat incomprehensibly) and has a handle on her world, a confidence, that I’ve never seen before. At daycare, I’m told, she’s now one of the three oldest kids in the class; several others having aged out (or upstairs), and Sasha refers to the younger newcomers, who cry and crawl, as “babies.”

Luckily, my usual fear—that she’ll forget who I am—was unfounded. We had a wonderful morning of reading Afar magazine, spinning around, eating apples, although she’s still especially attached to her mother. As Jean put it, “You’re like the boyfriend who sometimes comes and spends the night.”

Hrm. I’ll take what I can get.

That way no one has to go to the trouble of inventing it! (don’t look too deeply into this logic–just let it flow, baby).

Ladies and gentlemen, from the fine folks at Bullet Proof Baby USA, I give you the bullet proof stroller:

Which… a rudimentary Google search just determined is a fucking fake.

Damn you, cruel world. You have foiled me again. And no, I will not explain how I ended up searching on YouTube for a bulletproof baby. That’s personal.

Just to show that I had something to offer, I will leave you with these selections from the Harper’s Index searchable archive:
Price of a bullet-resistant mink coat from Juliana Originals in New York City: $15,000
Price that a Boston-area company charges for My Child’s Pack, a bulletproof backpack: $175
Estimated number it has sold so far this school year: 1,000