5. Your teenage daughter goes to school and meets a boy named Edward. You think he is a douchebag but hey, love is love. But then you find out that he is a vampire and you're not sure how to deal with that. Apparently there is such a thing as a Vampire Douche. You learn to accept it because after all, she is your daughter. Until you get to the third freaking book and it has THE WORST ENDING EVER. There, I said it. I don't care if I get hate mail, the ending of that series sucked massive donkey balls.
4. Those photographs you took with your ex find thier way onto the internet. Not good man, she promised she would burn them. But then you discover that your sexiest pose is being used as the "Before" picture in a home gym advertisement. Oh don't kid yourself, that's your gut buddy.
3. You have high cholesterol. You can never eat bacon again! Muhahahahahahahaha.
2. Your 2 year old son likes to eat cat food more than the dinner it took you two hours to cook. For Christ's sake, it's stew, it's not going to kill you to eat it! Or is it?
1. You are at the bananas, checking for the best bunch. You look over to find your two kids in the apple section. They are taking either a single bite or just licking them like some monkey. And then putting them back with the rest of the apples! Dear God no! They've been there for like, 10 minutes, how many apples could they have possibly gone through? You don't really know! So you try to get as many of the tainted apples as you can, ya know--because they have cat food germs on them now. You have to have at least a bushel but you keep finding more with little teeth marks. Eventually you just give up knowing that there are a lot more licked on apples in there. Did that old lady see you walk away? Is she a gypsy? Is she going to curse you? Because I could use a little "Thinner" curse action if she has got some to give away.
This is the way this is going to work. If you are Hossman Cult follower, I put your blog on my blog list. I've made the start as I read a lot of my followers blogs but if I have some how overlooked yours, please let me know as I will immediately correct the mistake and then beat myself as penance for your support.
Second, take a chance in the comment section of this post to advertise your blog to others here. You don't have to be a follower to do this, it's open to every blogger who wants a little free exposure. I'll check them out as well as I am always looking for good things to read. Let's face it, reading the princess book every single night of every single day leaves me with a desire for the more adult reading. Hell, I'll even start this out by pointing out two other blogs that I contribute to.
Dad-Blogs: This is a site dedicated to dad bloggers. With over 1000 members you get a pretty wide range of stuff, from the political to the funny to the culinary. I've pimped it a little here before but let's give it it's due. It's good stuff. My column is under the heading "Full Time Dad" and you'll see mostly new posts from me there. Check it out, you won't be disappointed.
KC At Home Dads: This is another blog that I write for the group of stay at home dads that I hang with. It's pretty pedestrian stuff but may have interest to the stay at home parent in general. It's a newer blog and other members of my dad's group do post from time to time and I'm trying to encourage that. It's meant to keep the group more connected with each other and leave a little something behind when we leave the groups. I blog every activity that I am a part of, giving it the thumbs up or thumbs down so that other dads can one day go there and figure out what to do with their kid when they don't have anything. On occasion I post something a little funny or off beat.
So there you go, my other two blogs. I also write something weekly for my Fantasy Football League but let's be honest, no one really wants to read that.
Take a look at what I got. Then post a comment about what you read or what you write so other people can check it out as well. And while you are at it, become a follower and then go to your own blog and pimp me out as well. I'm toying with the idea of posting something each week from someones blog on Thursdays as I usually don't write on those days. At the very least, it should give you guys some more traffic and who knows, maybe a book deal which I frankly would like see dedicated to me.
"Yes honey, I know exactly what I'm doing. I've done this a million times." I have done this exactly 1 other time. But I tell her this because I'm a man and it's required by man law that I say this. I have two jobs to do today. I have to change the car battery and then change a headlight that went out. Both of which I have very little experience doing. The other time I changed a car battery it was on a 1980 Ford POS that I'm pretty sure still had a boiler and a midget shoveling coal.
"I'm just saying, if you just took it down to the auto store they would do it for you." she says.
Sure, they would do it for me and then I would ask if they would mind installing a vagina while I'm there with my skirt up. The man's mind, it makes no sense. I do not defend this but only acknowledge it.
"What are you doing now? Are you supposed to be loosening that thingy?" She continues to ask me.
Now I'm frustrated. I hate it when she helps me. I hate it when she calls bolts "thingys". I mean, come on, cut me some slack here. How dare she give advice to a guy that has absolutely no idea what he's doing? In reality I don't know if I should be loosening this thingy that keeps fucking stripping on me, but it looks right so I am going to loosen this thingy. God dammit, now I'm calling it a thingy. Doesn't she know who this all works?
First, I am going to break something that looks important. then I'm going to possibly unplug something that looks even more important. After that I am going to loose several important screws and thingys and cuss a whole lot. I'll possibly throw a tool and bang my head against the hood for a little bit. Then I'll put it all back together with duct tape and pray to my personal God that this hunk of junk doesn't come apart while she's doing 80 down the freeway next to a bus load of nuns. And in the end, I'll play it off like I completely knew what I was doing.
And as I have just dropped my wrench into the heart of the engine, I would say that I'm right on track.
Our whole marriage is based on this. It's getting harder and harder to impress her. I used to be able to lift something heavy and she would ooh and aah over it. But let's face it, I'm not a spring chicken anymore and it's getting hard to find reasons why to lift the couch up again. And even then I've got to deal with back pain for 3 days while maintaining that I'm fine and don't need to see a doctor about it. So unless I can do these simple car tasks, I might be out of a wife soon. And if that happens, I don't like my chances. I'll end up in black socks and boxer shorts on the front porch yelling at teenagers to get off my lawn while I'm scratching my belly. And in truth, I'm not that far away from that already.
This is why I like my daughter to help. She's easily impressed and believes anything that I tell her. So if I tell her that this bolt needs to come out because that "looks about right" then she says ok. She doesn't ask me if "I'm' sure" or suggest that I get a professional to help me. Help me take my money and my wife, no thank you.
"My hands are smaller, do you want me to reach in there and get it?" Hossmom asks one more time.
Seriously, I'm pretty sure Hossmom is trying to divorce me.
Little Hoss wants to watch the Horsey movie for the umpteenth time and I don't want to. I want to destroy alien invaders and the tweens that control them on Xbox Live.
I know you agree, it's a tough call.
On one hand, to much T.V. is not good for kids. It rots their brains, makes them stupid and convinces them to chew on power cords. It's true, I've seen the research.
However, having them stumble upon the gruesome carnage that I'm unleashing upon the online gaming world can't be good either. One sight of my guy chain sawing some poor schmucks spine in half could have some psychological consequences, even if the Aliens did start it first. Don't start nothing, there won't be nothing.
But I got to tell you, I can't take the stupid Horsey movie again. I'm starting to dream about them and all their Horsey friends. Look, we get it, sharing and teamwork is good.
And it's not like you can't learn teamwork from my fighting alien invaders. In fact, that's the first thing you learn in the invasion. Either stick together and take cover or they'll pick you off one by one.
The Horsey movie does have some good qualities though. It has bright colors and in my parenting handbook that translates into encouraging creativity. Bright colors good, repetitive story line repeated in 30 minute episodes, not good.
And battling alien invaders on line also has some good things. Most of the guys that I'm playing against are actually college stoners. I can point to them and say to Little Hoss "See honey, don't do drugs. If you do drugs Daddy is going to have to find your dealer and curb stomp him." And you know these guys will never graduate. They'll just eat Funions and drink Mountain Dew.
But in the Horsey movie they run around fields of flowers and talk about friendship. In the alien destroying game they drop the f-bomb and rip off limbs. I've read about the connection between video game violence and real world behavior. That's not good and we should probably put the cat out for a little while just to be safe.
The Horseys hug each other.
The Aliens hug huge limb tearing guns
The Horseys make me want to jamb both thumbs in my eyes.
The Alien game will probably encourage Little Hoss to jamb both of her thumbs in my eyes.
The Horsey's do ballet.
The Horseys work toward a common goal, setting good examples along the way.
The Alien game allows me to be the hero thus confirming my kickass awesomeness in my daughter's eyes.
So what kind of King Solomen wisdom can I use to rectify this situation? What logic or reasoning prevails? Is there a workable solution?
Of course there is. Turn it all off and go snuggle on the couch while falling asleep watching football.
But I am up at 2 am. I am at the convention in my room and I am jibber jabbering with my convention roommate like a high school girl whose parents don't understand how cool and sensitive her 21 year old musical boyfriend is. By the way, his name is Chester and it's my life's mission to destroy him. Little punk, you're not sensitive, you're lazy. There's a difference jackass, now go pick up some litter.
Chester is completely made up and only resides in my head. It is my overwhelming fear that this is the the type of d-bag my 3 year old daughter will date when she gets older just because she knows how much this would bug me and I would hate him. Ok, try this one on then: I hate clean cut kids who are morally responsible, want to go to college and keep their hands to themselves. Reverse psychology--please work.
And these are the exact type of things that I'm telling Mr Rogers at 2 am. I call him Mr. Rogers because he's very crafty. I've seen him make things that you wouldn't believe. When we played with Lego's with the kids, I made the dad standard which is a plain multicolored box. It can withstand a 9.2 earthquake and makes an excellent object for your son to bean you in the head with. Mr. Rogers made a dinosaur. It ate my box.
We're friends and part of the same dad's group but we've never talked like this before. Why? Because we're guys and we NEVER talk like this unless it involves sports or very possibly whether or not that girl has a boob job.
We're not drunk, we're not lonely, we are just talking. You got to understand how weird and unusual this is for me. I don't talk, to anyone. My phone calls to my own mother are less than 5 minutes. My wife's #1 complaint is that I don't want to talk. She wants to talk about this but I refuse to talk about it. But what about the blog? Isn't this talking? This isn't talking, there is no give or take. You just get a piece of the chaos that's in my head.
But for some reason the convention has encouraged us to open up and share. Hossmom may be a little pissed that she wasn't here for this. This could have been her Christmas present. We are sitting in our PJ's, snuggled up to pillows, talking about everything. If I had hair, he would be braiding it.
Every subject comes up, gets fully analyzed, turned around and then put to bed unlike us two yahoo's. There's only 2 other people in my life I've shared this much with. One was with a girlfriend who had problems with fidelity and the other is my wife. But Mr. Rogers isn't either of these and as a good guy I'm sure he would never attempt to gang bang my entire dorm. (I've been asked to clarify that it wasn't Hossmom that tried to do this.)
This is one of the unusual things about the SAHD convention that I wasn't expecting. We go to learn and to meet new people. To network and get different opinions. But it also looks like a great opportunity to get to know the guys you are already friends with a little bit better and that's pretty cool.
And at 2 in the morning and several hours of soul sharing, I feel I know Mr. Rogers pretty well. Not in a carnal way, but pretty good for two guys. It's a very Kombayah moment all we are missing is some guitars and some dirty hippies.
But I've made a better friend who promises to bail me out of jail once I beat the shit out of Chester the Boyfriend 12 years from now, and you really can't ask for more than that. Unless it's to hide a body, which is a possibility if Chester pushes it.
"Great!" I said. "Where to?"
"The Stay At Home Dad Convention."
"Will my family be OK without me for a couple of days? I don't know if you've heard, but my daughter has a thing for power tools and destruction. She's one step away from dawning some shoulder pads and doing a re-imagination of the "Road Warrior" in my living room. She would totally kick Mel Gibson's ass."
"How can they complain?" they responded. "You're going to learn how to be a better parent!"
Rock Freaking On.
So 10 SAHDs loaded up and went to Omaha to participate in the annual Stay at Home Dad convention. It was just like college road trips except the 1982 Ford pickup with the rusted through floor has been replaced with a fully loaded mini-van with DVD player and headphones. OK, so we're still dads with multiple kids. BUT we hooked up an Xbox to the DVD player--and there's our mancard back. Little side note: video game playing in the car makes me a little sick. However, giving the controller to the worst gamer ever equals 3 hours of hilarity.
You may think that it is a little weird that SAHDs have their own convention. But why not I ask you? There's actually a convention for Xena the Warrior Princess (yes, that's true) so why shouldn't there be one for SAHDs? Besides, us primary care giving dudes need a place to ask questions where it won't result in a strange look and a possible restraining order.
Ponytails, they scare me. My daughter tried to cut her own hair rather than have me comb it.
Convention's Answer: Hairstyling for Toddlers (that will be a totally different blog, calm down)
My nutrition experience is limited to non-fat cheese on super chili nachos. Can you help?
Convention's Answer: Absolutely--Kids Nutrition, Room 102
What about toddler issues and dudes. Would a mom understand a child who has a obsession for nail guns and the walls that love them?
Convention's Answer: Breakout sessions with guys whose kids like power tools just as much as yours do!
I like to blog, can you offer me any advice and possibly some refreshments?
Convention's Answer: Meet Rebeldad, swoon. Beer and Pizza is served at 5.
Why wouldn't we do this? Throw in a legitimate college professor talking about parenting trends and the author of the Daddy Shift reading excerpts and we've taken it to the next step. Now we have credibility! Look at me weird on the playground now, will you?!
50 dads gathered together to support one another, to learn from each other and to talk to 2 in the morning about our feelings. And by feelings I mean how hard it is to cope with a fantasy team that is in dead last and breaking your heart every time they fumble at the goal line. I'm sorry, I just can't talk about it to much right now, a little to close to the heart.
The classes were great, the speakers were great, the town was great and the hotel didn't seem to get upset at the few that perhaps drank to much. But more than any of that, it was hanging with a lot of the other dads that made this road trip so worth it. From all over the country we came like a flock of geese going south for the winter except no one shot at us but I did hear some bird calls because we look good in tight jeans. Dads from the east coast, from the west coast, from down south and from up north. All together in one space to confirm one thing: we may do this a little different than mom at times but dammit if we aren't going to eat a lot of beer and pizza. We are still men, after all.
But truthfully it was really cool to be around a bunch of guys that was as committed to this as I was. We are already planning our road trip for next year. Maybe this time we can replace the small DVD player with a Plasma. That would be cool.
5. Allow my kid to run around in just his diaper. Before kids I thought it was white trash. Guess what, it turns out I'm a little white trash. Who knew a 2 year old could go through 4 pairs of jeans in one day?
4. Explain right and wrong to my 3 year old using Star Wars analogies.
3. Parent from the toilet. Nothing says parental supervision like a voice screaming through an open bathroom door.
2. Eat whatever my kids left on thier plate because I'm just to tired to cook my own meal. Nothing says well rounded nutrition like a slimy chicken nugget.
1. Have a serious conversation with my cat explaining to him that since I have easily spent 2000 bucks on vet bills for him, he owes me big time. And if that means that my daughter wants to put a bonnet on his head and throw him in a stroller, jump up and get comfy. It will give me 20 minutes of peace and that's all I'm asking for 2 grand.
But I'm not hiding because they are outside the door right now banging on it to be let in. They even have some of their creepy stuffed animals that make noises. I can hear a horse galloping every so gallantly until the batteries start to crap out and it sounds like a muffled gunshot, which it could very well be. I feel that I have written enough about Little Hoss to show that she is a very destructive daughter. I love her but she's not happy until something is smashed.
My only option at this point is to trick them. They know I'm in here but my plan is to make them forget, to question themselves. Sure, they may have seen daddy go in here but nobody is answering the door. Maybe he went out the window. Let's go bug mom and find out. God willing.
It's not that I don't love my kids and enjoy spending time with them, I very much do. But I've been sick for the last day and a half and they don't seem to understand that dad is sick. So they continue with their normal routine which half the time is jumping on me. I'm either going to puke or poop the next time someone jumps on my stomach. Either way, I wouldn't want to be anywhere near me.
That's the one thing about this stay at home dad gig, no benefits. Sure, you get no pay but you are prepared to deal with that. You understand that going in. But what you don't seem to realize is that you never get a day off. With one income, you have to protect that income. And if that means I still parent when I'm sick because Hossmom has meetings and work, then that's what it means.
In times like these, I turn to my good friend Diego the Animal Rescuer. I pop that on the TV and let the kids zone out until pigs fly while I sit on the couch cursing every runny nose that I cleaned up this week. When you are around kids all day ever day, you catch more germs than you used to. This is mainly due to the fact that they think that the toilet is a toy and I have to clean everyone up when I discover the carnage that has taken place.
My only refuge is when Hossmom gets home and I can try and hide and sneak away. They love their mom very much, but let's face it, Dad's the bomb. He throws, he wrestles, he let's them eat potato chips for breakfast on occasion. If you were 3 years old, how could you not love that guy. The downside is that when Hossmom comes home and they get their loving from her, they want to again play with dad.
I don't mind this usually but when I'm sick I don't want to be repeatedly punched in the balls. Now that I think about it, I never want to be punched in the balls.
Now they are crying outside my door. My instinct is to open it and see what's wrong but that would imply that I care right now, which I most certainly don't. I figure that as long as they got both eyes and all ten fingers, they can work out what's wrong between the two of them.
Until then I'm going to surf the net for tribal remedies for the Niagara Falls of snot.
Well, I have another one up for any that would like to jump over there and check it out. Click Here to see my article called "Mom Groupies." After you luagh your ass off and post a comment about how funny and great the article was, stick around and enjoy many of the other fine bloggers that have contributed their material.
Now, here is a picture of my son because he's cool.
The real reason for this blog though is to introduce a little something new. I can do this because it is my blog and here I am God. Let's face it, this is the only power I have in the whole world as it is obvious that my own children don't listen to me.
After you read this, I invite you all to follow along with us.
Several Christmas's ago Uncle Bricksalesman gave my wife and I a book called 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die.
We said ok. Hossmom and I have taken up the challenge and plan to read all 1001 books mentioned in this list. Why this particular list? Because it is the list that we have. We started our quest by going through the book and marking off each one we had read to get a beginning tally.
Hossmom's Books read: 56 out of 1001
Hossman's Books read: 39 out of 1001
Of course our goal is all 1001 books. But what kind of books are on this list. Well, a little bit of everything. From pre-1700 books such as Metamorphoses, written in 2-8 ad by Ovid?, to more mordern books such as The Life of Pi, written by Yann Martel and published in 2001, to everything in between.
You may notice that Hossmom appears to be kicking my ass. That is only because the list does not include comic books or erotic literature by Penthouse. As such, I have some catching up to do and I am on it. Let's update the tally, shall we?
Hossmom's Books read: 56 our of 1001
Hossman's Books read: 42 out of 1001
Suck on that, Hossmom! That's right, I have read 3 books to her none! Book dominance, that is what I am striving for although I have no idea why but things are more fun when they are a competition and there is a touchdown dance. (insert booty shaking here)
I started with the very first book on the list: Aesop's Fables. I read this to my daughter for her night time book. There's no reason not to make this fun. And even though it was the children's version, it still counts! From there I moved on to a book called Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee and published in 1999. After reading that I wanted to kill myself but soon got over it. I have just finished 1001 Arabian Nights, which I thought was way cool, and am moving on to my next book: Veronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho, published in 1998. Then I am sure I will want to kill myself as well and will head back to a good old Sherlock Holmes, which is also on the list and I have never read. Then I will be one step closer to catching up with the speed reading freak that is my wife.
But there are rules, there has to be. Let's be honest, I'm not going like every book and it may be a beat down. Have you ever tried reading War and Peace? I got about 20 pages in and never looked back. So here are the rules so you can follow along:
1. You have to try and read every book.
2. If it is a children's book, that still counts. No need getting picky with 1001.
3. If you can't make it through, you get the credit if you gave it a good college try. It goes down as a score with an Astrix. Like steroids in baseball, everyone needs a legal way to cheat.
4. If you can't make it through, you have to read the cliff notes.
5. Watching the movie DOES NOT COUNT! We are purists, sort of, if you don't count the cliff notes thing. So if you have seen the movie "The Great Gatsby", it doesn't count but to be honest if you have made it through all your education and haven't been forced to read this book I'll give you credit just for your dodging abilities.
That's it, those are the rules.
Now to further help you follow along I've added something to the blog. Look to all that stuff on the right of the blog. Scroll all the way down and you will see the box where we are currently keeping track and the cover art (if I can find it) of the book I am working on. See, now we are all one big book club. On occasion I may blog about the book on a Friday if I think I have some funny in me and it's a good break from the Friday Five when I don't have squat to talk about.
But hopefully I will be inspired by some of what I read for my own stories. For example, yesterdays blog was written as a fable in the vein of 1001 Arabian Nights. I'll be honest, that one makes me laugh hard.
You will also notice that I am not keeping Hossmom's stats. That's because I want to have the ability to lie when necessary for when she is kicking my ass.
Other than that, check back often and read with us if you want to. If you want to know if a book is on the list, post a comment and I'll get back to you. Or you could just buy the book but let's face it, we are all cheap.
There once was a little boy that lived in a nice house with his sister and his parents. All this little boy wanted in life was his trains. You see, he loved trains more than he loved anything. He loved trains more than he loved his dogs, especially the fat one that would often step on his feet. He loved trains more than he loved peanut butter and jelly which was really easy considering that he didn’t like peanut butter and jelly that much but his sister did so they had to eat it a lot.
The problem was that he couldn’t play with his trains as much as he wanted to because his father had told him that he had to share with his sister. But he didn’t want to share. After all, they were his trains, why should he have to share? They weren’t her trains, they weren’t our trains, they were his trains. So why did he have to share anything?
But he couldn’t seem to make his father understand this. Mainly because his vocabulary was limited to words like “mine” and “poop”. And although he thought that when he screamed “mine” over and over again that they would understand, they didn’t appear to because he still had to share his trains.
One day he discovered a way to get out of sharing with his sister. All he had to do was to make her think that there was something better somewhere else and she would leave and then he could have his trains all to himself. So when his father wasn’t looking, he talked to his sister. Since they were both toddlers they could understand each other just fine as all toddlers speak and understand broken English and grunts.
“Oh exalted sister” he said. “I love playing with the trains, don’t you?”
“Yes, oh so very much my dear brother. But I love playing with you so much more.” She said.
“They are very fun” he said, leading her along.
“Yes, they are the most fun thing in the world.” She said.
“Well not, in the whole world. But they are very fun.” He said.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“There is something in father’s room that is much more fun. It’s so fun that father keeps it locked away in his closet.” He said.
“Really?” his sister asked. “Is there really something more fun than trains in father’s closet?”
“Yes there is, but I’m not sure what it is exactly as I am just a young 2 year old boy. But you are a wise 3 year old and I bet you would know what it is. It looks ever so much fun, way more fun than these silly trains.” He said.
“Well, as I am a 3 year old girl maybe I should go see what it is.”
“But only if you are brave. That shouldn’t be a problem for you because no one is as brave as you are.” He said.
Quickly his sister left and headed upstairs to their father’s room. He followed far enough behind so that she wouldn’t see him. When she went into the closet he would close it up and leave her in the dark. Then he wouldn’t have to share his trains anymore.
But his sister was much faster than he was and it was all he could do just to keep up. When he reached to top of the stairs he heard his sister scream with delight.
“Come quick!” She beckoned. “It’s so wonderful!”
What did she mean it was wonderful? There wasn’t anything in there, was there? Maybe there was. Maybe she did find something in Father’s closet that was much better than trains! Maybe it was a big train! But if it was a big train he wanted to get to it first because he didn’t want to share that with her! It was bad enough that he had to share his little trains with her and he couldn’t bear it if he had to share a big one to.
In his greed he rushed into fathers room and barreled head first into the closet. He looked quickly around for any big trains but he didn’t see any. He didn’t see any choo-choo’s, he didn’t see any train track, he didn’t even see any cool trucks. And he also didn’t see his sister.
Before he could turn around, the closet door shut behind him and he could hear his sister on the other side of the door.
“You are right” she said through the door. “There is something so much more fun than trains in father’s closet. A little brother locked in the closet IS so much better than any train!” Then she calmly turned around and left father’s room to go back and play with the trains by herself. In the end, the little boy was right. He wouldn’t have to play trains with his sister anymore.
The moral of the story is this: Please stay out of my closet because regardless of what you may think, there is actually nothing in there but my clothes and perhaps a sock or two. And no matter how many of those clothes you throw onto my bedroom floor, you will still not find a big train. That’s under the bed. Oh, and don’t screw with your sister, she will jack your shit up.
Deer in headlights, that is my best description. At first I was just hoping that Hossmom wouldn't recognize the swear word, mark it up to a 3 year olds ramblings. After the fifth time she said it I was hoping that Hossmom would at least be proud that our daughter used it in the correct context. But after that I was hoping that I would just be allowed to build a defense as allowed by the constitution. I will be representing myself.
Several weeks ago the dumb dog went underneath the deck and wrapped it's leash around a post AND got into the mud. I was mad, as I feel anyone would be, and went to untangle her. This is an ongoing battle with me and the dog where the dog is winning and I am France. I bent over, rather quickly in my anger, to undo the leash. I did not realize that I was head level with the support beam. I nearly knocked myself unconscious and was bleeding from the head wound I suffered. I left the dog there. The kids saw me do this. I may have said "dammit" and a few other cusswords as I mopped up the blood but I really don't remember much. But if I did, I do think it is understandable given the situation.
A few days after that I was again on the deck walking up the stairs. I had just cleaned the inside of the garbage can. And to do a good job, as I am want to do as a great SAHD, I used the strongest cleaner I had, Oxyclean. It was a 5lb box of the stuff. I carried the box up the stairs, perhaps not using the proper caution, without really realizing that the stairs were wet. Without warning, my flip flops slipped, my shin came down hard and the entire 5lb opened box of Oxyclean flew into the air. The kids thought it was snow and began to try and play in it. Again, I feel that it was an appropriate use of language given the situation. Incidentally, that much Oxyclean does a fabulous job of killing grass.
I accidentally went into the women's restroom (as previously blogged)--dammit
My QB of my Alma mater threw an interception at a critical moment in the game--crap, shit, dammit dammit
My cat behead a mouse and left it on the porch where I stepped in it barefooted--gross dammit.
The kids decided to wake up at 5:30am and wanted peanut butter and jelly for breakfast--yawn, dammit, yeah ok peanut butter and jelly it is.
I bit my tongue, drawing blood, while eating salsa--thammit.
So my point is, and my defense against my wife's look, is that it could have been much, much worse. Hossmom wasn't buying this argument and as the sole member of the jury pool, I'm not liking my chances. I then begin to explain that this is a side effect of a daughter being raised by a stay at home dad. Men cuss a lot more and that this is not an issue of improper language but more of a issue of gender equality and role reversal. There should be some gender norming, that's all I'm saying. It should be considered. This argument may have worked if Little Hoss hadn't chosen that moment to start teaching her 2 year old brother the same word, which he now also likes to use.
It's called "Let's Piss Off Dad" and it's very easy to play. The 1st one that can get me to the breaking point earns an early bedtime! Ok, On your mark! Get set! GO!
"No! Get away from me! Don't touch me!" Oh, early points for Little Hoss by throwing a fit in a public place therefore making me look like either an incompetent parent or a kidnapper. Wow, starting off with the big guns. Good try but this only gets you a time-out by the chicken coop.
Ok, what's next? Rock throwing by Bubba Hoss. A little predictable I feel but still a good effort. Come on guys, you have to do better than that. I am a seasoned veteran. It's going to take more than that.
Now that's more like it. The double walk away combined with the not listening to me. You know that this is one of my pet peeves but again, an old trick that is easily dealt with. Those things around your neck, those are called shirt collars. God put them there so that I could control you. Try to keep that in mind when you start running and don't get very far.
Let's take this show on the road. And if one of you is going to win this game then you really need to step it up. I'm only at threat level orange here.
Now this one is pretty good. Constantly interrupting me when I"m trying to talk to your mother. You know I like to talk to her in the car and your constantly asking me where we are going is great. But I especially liked the "I want Baby Asher" mantra for the last 15 minutes combined with kicking my chair. Truly well done. But you didn't think this one out that well. Your mother's in the car with me and she always steps in when I'm getting too upset. But still a good try, I like your style.
Ok, let's see where we are at. Looks like it's a pretty even game here. So a good 1st half. Go in to the locker room and have a good halftime speech and let's go have dinner. We are having chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese. I'm up for a challenge, are you?
And now we have a tongue stuck out at me by Little Hoss. She appears to have taken her game up a notch. Can you match that Bubba Hoss? Oh, refusal to eat. But wait, there's more? Throwing the plate across the table. Nice combo little guy, that's the way to go. I'm getting close to the breaking point but not just yet. Let's do some bath time.
4th quarter you two, do you have anything left in the tank? Apparently so because I like the splashing and standing up in the tub. But ignoring me when I tell you to sit down, that's just dedication! I'm getting close, so very close.
But wait! Wow, did you see that! Bubba Hoss just threw a bath time plastic bucket right across the tub and smacked Littl Hoss right in the face! And look at that screaming my Little Hoss is doing! Man, she is wanting some vengeance. Wow, what a shot. She's screaming her head off, man that had to hurt. I think we have a winner! Wait, we have to do a booth review, let's just check it out. Yup, Dad's now pissed off at everyone and has reached his breaking point! (applaud now)
I'd like to thank our two contestants for an excellent game played! Now get your two little butts out of the tub and get in the bed.
5. You're worried about that deadline aren't you? And if it's not the deadline that's got you all stressed out then it's that bitch Becky in accounting. Believe it, she's out to get you. Meanwhile, we had imagination time for an hour. the kids imagined that they were having a tea party and I'm pretty sure that look the hottie gave me at the grocery store was my imagination.
4. Played patty-cake, patty-cake, let's get a beer man. Then we converted the living room into a working replica of Vegas. It's a family town you know, so this was ok. I spent 3 hours teaching my son the odds on craps and my daughter how to say "hit me". But the most important lesson of all? Tip the waitress so she doesn't water down your drinks and comes by more often. These are the lessons that will stay with them forever. On the downside, Bubba Hoss now owns the house. Turns out he's one hell of a poker player. He's now asking for the rent money.
3. the children and I had a wonderful debate about the ins and outs of the rescission and what possible implications the stimulus plan may have on the world at large. We followed that up with a lively discussion on universal health care, is it good for the country. But mostly what we did was watch the dog try and poop for a good 30 minutes with no success. I guess it's time to feed him some prunes. Maybe if he would stay out of the trashcan he wouldn't have this problem.
2. We discovered the answer to The Ultimate Question of Life and Everything. It's 42.
1. We made a Single Ladies dance video and posted it on Youtube. Unfortunately it was flagged as obscene and removed because of repeated wardrobe malfunctions. If anyone knows where they make a hefty gentleman's leotard, we would much appreciate it.