All posts tagged: diaper bag

SON, DADDY SCREWED UP

Remember when Ellison and I were “dressed from the future?” Well, on our return from that trip, standing in the security line, Ellison melted down. It was understandable. He hadn’t napped. I withered in front of the French travelers tsk-tsk’ing me with masterful condescension. No sympathy for this dad traveling alone with a kid. I’d held off giving him his pacifier until absolutely necessary. It was now absolutely necessary. Frantically I searched the diaper bag, but I found only one pacifier. I’d lost four over the trip. This one happened to be a newborn pacifier: for Ellison’s newborn brother. Uh-oh. I handed it to him. He looked at it and chucked it across three lanes of security traffic. I ducked under dividers, between people and started to sweat profusely. I offered the paci, again. He took it, looked at it, screamed and tried to throw it, but I swiped it back. He swung his hand toward mine and successfully knocked it away. Again I crawled between French people to retrieve the paci. Mercifully, we soon …

Chapter 6: Blind Pitching

I emailed our bag drawings to a friend who organizes a dads-and-kids club. He responded immediately and said, “You need to talk to my friend, Amy Meadow. She’s a fashion consultant.” “But, wait,” I texted. “What did u think of design?” “It’s awesome!” Phew. Validation is nice. I’m such an actor. I called Amy. I pitched my idea, talked about my own search for a cool diaper bag, and made self-conscious disclaimers about my own un-stylish jeans-and-t-shirt aesthetic. Over the phone I could hear her typing. “Ohmigod, this is a great idea. I can’t believe it doesn’t already exist. Ok. We can talk more, but my expertise comes in later. First you need to talk to my friend, Julia. She’s an international bag sourcer.” “Thanks so much. This is awesome. Um, also, because I’m so fashion-unconscious, do you think I should start subscribing to Vogue Men, or something, to be more fashionably aware?” “No. Your naiveté is refreshing. Hold onto that. And go call Julia.” Phew. Less tedious work for me. I’d rather remain naive, …

Poopy wedding

Ambitiously, I took 18-month-old Big E, to a friend’s wedding reception. It took place on one afternoon in NYC. I traveled with only my (unstylish) diaper bag and him in an ergo carrier. There was a beautiful and (mercifully quick) ceremony in Fort Tryon Park, followed by a reception at the nearby New Leaf. Everything was gorgeous. But about me. Everybody coo’d over Big E. I was a star daddy for having ventured, on my own, to the wedding with a baby. Then I smelled poop. This was a doozy. I mean, pungent shit that other guests “admired”. Before heading to the buffet line, I ducked into the bathroom. There was no changing table in the microscopic men’s room. I asked a waiter if there was a changing table anywhere. “Ummm…not that I know of,” he said, blankly. “Nowhere?” I asked, snidely. “Ummm…not that I know of.” I got huffy. “So is there a place to change an extremely smelly diaper besides on the restaurant floor?” “Ummm…outside?” he offered. I wanted to kick him in …

Bag Project Chapter 4: What’s a diaper bag for? Sunglasses.

During our meetings to discuss mission statements and blankets and company names, James and I of course discussed aspects of diaper bags. He’s not a father, so I told him the basic needs: “We need pockets. Lots and lots of pockets. We need to feature the pockets whether or not people use them. I mean, I don’t use pockets. I’m not that organized. I dump things into my bag. The only time I actually organized the contents was taking a flight, and even then, the contents spilled out during security screening, proving my point that there’s no point in organizing the insides of a bag. Still, pockets were a selling point for me and they will be for prospective parents.” James laughed. I went on to make a personal point, “However, I did use the pockets on the outside of the bag. There was quick access for a bottle, for pacifiers, and – I’m a little embarrassed to admit – a pocket for my sunglasses.” “The important things,” James laughed. “Happy daddy makes a happy …

Now, I’m telling stories…

What is this “george e. knox” pseudonym I’m hiding behind? A year ago I was pushing my double stroller to Washington Square Park when I stumbled upon an idea: “What does our society of plenty, culture of consumerism, attitude of ‘if-you-cant-find-it-in-New-York-it-doesn’t-exist’ lack?, what our disposable income has yet to buy so that it can later dispose of it? Diaper bags for stylish dads.” Diaper bags for dads are seen in two versions: “clearly-I’ve-borrowed-this-from-my-wife” and “I-need-to-look-as-masculine-as-possible-toting-around-this-jerky-kid-so-I’ll-dress-ia-all-up-in-camouflage-and-New-York-Giants-logso.” But what about classy gear that doesn’t look like you’re heading out for a morning of cliff repelling or going to a basketball game? What about masculine and stylish? Something to dress up or dress down and shows pride in self and in fatherhood? Something that doesn’t look like a diaper bag but, when elicits reactions of “Wow. Look at that guy and look at that bag and, wait…aaaaaaah, he’s a dad!”