Weekly Conversations

Over the last several weeks I have kept a log of things that have been said in my house. My 21 year old self would have to come and kick my ass if he knew that this is what the conversations would be like. But when you have 2 kids, well, normal means something else entirely:


“She pooped in the tub again? Fuck it, I’m not cleaning it up. You do it” Let’s face it, I was just tired of doing it.



“It’s your mother calling. I’m not answering it.” I won’t even tell you which parent said that.


“Don’t you try and get into a test of wills with me little missy, you’re going to lose.” Nothing like talking smack to a toddler.


“Look, I told you to leave the cat alone and you didn’t. What did you think was going to happen?” This was my daughters first experience with true consequences of not listening to her father.


“For the love of god, quit eating the cat food, dinner is almost ready.” This is a constant battle, every day.

“Quit begging, it makes you look pathetic.” I’ll just say on this one that my wife just had another baby. Other fathers out there will understand this statement.

“Where’s Little Hoss? Did she go out the dog door again?” I will give it up for my kid though, she is a problem solver!

“Rock, paper, scissors on the count of three. One, Two, Three! Damn it!” I always lose the Rock, Paper, Scissors game when we play to see who changes Little Hoss’s diapers. I hate that fucking game. I don’t even know why we keep playing.

“Stop trying to hit the dog in his balls!” I once again admit that my dog is not castrated nor will he ever be. Call me an irresponsible pet owner, I don’t care. I call myself a Male Humanitarian.

Me: “Shit, shit, shit.”
Uncle Bricksalesman “Dude, there are kids here.”
Me: “Crap”
I’m afraid that my daughter will grow up to cuss like a sailor.

“Kids! Front and center!” I have no idea why I say this other than the fact that this is what my own father said to me when I was busted for something. I think I expect my 3 month old to get up and walk on over. One day, precious, one day.

Me: “Where’s Little Hoss?”
Hossmom: “She’s with you.”
Me: “If she was with me then I wouldn’t be asking.”
Just one of my many parenting screw-up’s. So where was Little Hoss? Halfway up the stairs. She has learned how to knock down the baby gate. She is like the toddler incredible hulk.

“Help! Help! Help! Pssshhhht!” Bubba Hoss thought it would be funny to puke on my face when we were playing. Hossmom thought it was funny to.

“Touchdown!” My daughter said this while we were watching a Nike commercial. Close enough.

Me: “What’s for dinner.”
Hossmom: “I don’t know.”
Me: “OK.”
We left it at that.

“One. One. One. One.” Little Hoss says this when she wants “one” more cinnamon tic-tac. She will never stop asking until the whole box is gone and out of sight. She will then dig in my pockets saying “One. One. One. One.”

“Mine.” Everyday about everything, everywhere. Welcome to raising a toddler. When she met her brother, this is what she said.

“When baby vomit hits my chest hair, it makes like a little paste. I bet I could market this as some new dry walling technique.” I am sad that I know this.

“I will give you five thousand dollars to feed the baby at 3 am. Seriously. I will pay it.”

“Honey, is this poop on the floor or mud? I can’t tell.”

And finally—

Me: “Bubba Hoss looks like me”
Hossmom: “No he doesn’t. He looks like me. He has my eyes.”
Me: “Nope, that’s my boy, 100%. He’s a hoss all the way.”
Hossmom: “You don’t want him to go bald by the time he is 20, do you?”
Me: “Ok, you’re right, he looks like you.”