The Friday Five

5 things that I do that Hossmom thinks is weird or quirky yet she chooses to ignore them and love me anyway. Let's face it, everyone has thier quirks, these are just mine.

5. Sunlight makes me sneeze. It's a genetic thing. For about 25 years I thought this was normal for everyone until one day I walked outside and said to Hossmom "Hold on, I need to sneeze." She saw me look up at the sun and sneeze. At that point, she may have realized that I am not a normal human being. It took a good two hours to explain to her why I sneezed. I'm photo sensitive. It's a true thing, look it up. I could do it right now if I wanted to. You just look at the sun and turn your head a little bit. When the sun catches you in the corner of the eye, you sneeze. I thought it was true for everyone. Apparently it's not. Since then she gives me weird looks.

4. I don't sleep with any blankets in the summer. Why you may ask. Because Hossmom generates heat like a radiator. To use blankets would surely cause me to ignite into flames because of how abnormally hot she is.

3. When buying a newspaper, I never buy the one on top. I always take the second one. The reason being that everyone has already thumbed through the top paper and thus jacked it up. I do not want a jacked up paper. I want a clean paper that is nicely folded. I do not to share my newspapers either.

2. I don't use straws. I hate them, they drive me nuts. I told Hossmom it's because the soda is colder when I drink it right out of the cup. She can't seem to understand that the soda loses some of that coldness in the .2 seconds that it takes to go through a straw. I tell her that I can taste the difference. She tells me I need to see a shrink.

1. I won't eat fast food fried chicken. Not because it's unhealthy, which it is. But because I worked cooking chicken when I was 16 years old for 3 months. That's it, 3 months. For the next 15 years of my life I didn't have another piece of fast food chicken. You don't want to know why man, you just don't want to know why.


Good Morning

I had something to good to write this morning. Honest, I did. But the world does not want to cooperate. I don't know why. I don't know why I have been singled out to be punished. Whatever it is, I'm sorry. I am so sorry and I promise that I won't ever do it again. I will pay you money.

Keep in mind that what you are about to read took place in the span of less than 10 minutes.

This morning I woke up with my daughter screaming in my ear. About an inch away. I may now be deaf, I'm not sure.

"Papi! I want my papi!"It was 6 am.

She lost her pacifier. I have no idea where it is but I'm awake now. Kind of. Normally, my daughter would have woken up in her room and tried to find it herself. But she slept in my room last night because Hossmom is out of town on a business trip. No big deal really but normally I don't tire of the kids before 7 am in the morning.

I shoot my hand out everywhere looking for it. I'm trying very hard to not open my eyes. We have got to get over this pacifier thing. I make the decision at that moment to find everyone that I can and cut them up and pitch them to the depths of hell. I tell my daughter to go to her room and see if she can find it. Probably not a good idea.

She takes this to mean that she should go to her little brother's room and wake him up. I don't know this of course but only find out later when he comes running into the room to wake me up. It might be 6:01 at this time. He's a happy little guy, happy to be let out of the prison that is his room. He climbs up on the bed to give me hugs. Or that is what I assume he is doing. I've been a parent for 4 years now, I should know better than to assume anything.

I know that I am wrong when he launches himself and sits on my face. Straight up crotch to face. Normally, not a too big a deal.

Not the best way to wake up but we're still good. He's two and I understand that his love for me cannot be contained. It's then that I realize that my face is wet. Why is my face wet? Because my son has pissed through his diaper and is now sitting on my face with my open mouth. Good morning dad, have some pee. Alot of pee. He's soaked.

I roll him off me and now I am awake. Now dad has no choice but to get up at 6 am in the morning.

I'm spitting and coughing. I'm heading to the bathroom. I don't turn on the light. When will I learn?

I wash my face and put my hands on the counter to look into the mirror. I'm questioning my ability to be a parent. I put both my hands in gobs and gobs of Tinkerbell toothpaste. When did they do this? When did they empty an entire god damn tube of god damn toothpaste? And why did they do it on the counter. Ya know, I was ok before. I could handle it before. I was even in a good mood. Now I'm just pissed off for being pissed on.

I wash my hands and sit on the toilet, Dads morning routine. I get a shock when I notice that the entire toilet seat is wet. And a little bit sticky. Now I know what happened to the rest of the toothpaste. It's on my ass. But I do what a man has got to do when he's on the toilet.

I reach around to get the toilet paper. It's not there. None of the gigantic roll that I put there last night. Do you know where it is? I do and I don't even have to look.

But before I can react my daughter comes in and gives me a hug. She loves to give me hugs on the toilet. I don't know why. Then she says "Stinky Poop!" and flushes the toilet before I can stop her. At least now I am acting fast, I know what's coming.

I scramble on my hands and knees, underwear around my ankles, toothpaste on my ass and cut off the water supply before it gets to bad. Nothing overflows but it's close. I will take my one victory because some days you only get one.

Now it's time to go downstairs and get the extra rolls of TP and to start to clean myself up. I remind myself to turn on every light every where. I will not be ambushed by the monsters again.

But I am.

I step into the hallway and my foot lands with a "squelch!" I know it's not good. It's instinct and as I have shown in this blog, my parent instincts are razor sharp.

I look down to see my foot in a pale substance. It's kind of grainy and looks like little wet soggy crystals. I realize that you people that don't have kids may have no idea what this is. I know.

It's what comes out of a diaper when it busts and is full of piss and water. It's the guts of a diaper. I look up and down the hall and it's everywhere. The diaper has spewn forth it's disgusting contents everywhere. It most have gotten snagged on my tooth when I threw little Jr. off me.

The trail leads back into my bedroom and the carnage is worse. This stuff is every where and now my underwear is sticking uncomfortably to my ass. My kids are ninjas.

I head downstairs, avoiding the little piles as I go like they are punji sticks. Although it wouldn't surprise me if there was. These two are on a roll this morning.

But there are no punji sticks at the bottom of the stairs. Only my stupid fat dog squating and taking a massive piss right there in front of me. It's 6:05 now.

It's funny sometimes. You ever get so mad and frustrated that you can't actually yell or move? The point where you actually wish you were in a coma rather than to continue on? That silent guy with sticky underwear at the foot of the stairs, that's where he's at. He's so upset now that he physically can't move. He doesn't even stop the dog from finishing.

I take the dog out. I have never missed Hossmom so bad in my life and I haven't been up for ten minutes yet.

I come back inside to find my children throwing clothes over the railing. Into the puddle of piss below.

Dear God, I am sorry I offended you. Dear Buddha, please take mercy on me. Mother Earth, redeem me and grant me safe passage.

"Daddy, do you have my papi!" Little Hoss yells.

No honey. I lost it along with my sanity and toilet paper.


Daddyshome, Inc

I'm going to ask you to take one extra click today. Don't worry, you are almost there. With just one more click you will be hitting the creamy Hossman goodness that you've come to expect. C'mon, it's just one more click. Everyone is doing it.

My first post is up at Daddyshome and Hossmom tells me it's a good one. It's called "How To Cook A Hot Dog." A reasonable topic I think. So click on one of the blue links and enjoy!

Or if you are a badass, you can CLICK HERE!

All the ladies in the house, click here.

All the fellas in the house, click here.

Just the right side, click here.

Just the left side, click here.

Now all the little people, click here.


The Vote

Everyone gather 'round and take a knee. Come in tight, we are family here.

I have been asked to talk to you all today. More like ordered, but still, I've got to give a speech. I've got to give a speech because I am a motivator, and today that's what I'm going to do.

There comes a time when each of us, each and everyone of us, has to look at ourselves in the mirror. You can't avoid it. You can't let the fog from your 30 minute shower cover it forever. Eventually you have to look at that person in that mirror. And when you look at that person, and they stare back into your soul, what's going to go through your head?

Maybe you shouldn't have stolen those pens from work. Maybe you should have actually tipped your waitress more than 2 bucks on a hundred dollar dinner. Maybe you shouldn't have taken all that Halloween candy from those poor defenseless children. But you did. Yes, you did all of that.

And looking in that mirror you are reminded of all those things. You are reminded of the college roommate and the look in his eyes when he found out that you threw the last of his oranges off the balcony of your apartment. It didn't matter that you were drunk, you still did it. You are reminded that in 5th grade you leaned over to get a book under your desk and you farted so loud that the teacher actually had to stop her lecture. You are reminded that Angelina won't return your letters that you spent so much time on cutting out the words from magazines. Why won't she write you back?

You are reminded of all your failures when you look in that mirror. And it's hard to look, isn't it. It's almost gut wrenching. How? How could you fall so hard? Is there no redemption for our pitiful souls, for our past transgressions.

There is redemption my brothers and my sisters. Can I get an Amen?

Yes! There is a way back to the light. There is a way but it is not easy.

Do you know why you failed? Do you know why you fell short of that image in your head of who you should be? I'm here to tell you, I'm here to touch you with knowledge.

You failed because you walked alone my friends. Yes, you walked alone. You did not have anyone there to say to you "Hey man, let's not throw those oranges." Where was your Jiminey Cricket to tell you "Hey Pinoch, perhaps sending a lock of hair to Ms. Jolie is a bad idea?"

He wasn't there, was he?

You don't have to be alone anymore. You don't have to. You can look at that mirror and know that someone is looking with you. Possibly from the shower you just left.

Who? Who will help you kill the loneliness?

The over 4000 people that have voted for Sonic in Fast Food Bracket. Fueled on juicy burgers and tots, over 4000 patriots have voted for Sonic in the Bracket. But the fight isn't over. It's not nearly over.

Sonic is in the championship. It's a three way death match between two other fast food joints and the glory that is Sonic. But Sonic is down. They are the underdog. They are the Butler of the fast food joints.

Now look in that mirror again and ask yourself: are you going to be the person you see or are you going to be the person that you want to see. It's up to you now. Be part of the team and find your redemption or continue to avoid taking showers. You don't have much time to make up your mind, the contest ends at 12:00pm central time today.

Vote here for Sonic and may god be with you.

**disclaimer: Hossmom is in advertising and this is one of her accounts. On threat of divorce she forced me to write this blog.


Up and Down

Up and Down.......

Up and Down..........

Back and forth..........

Back and forth..........

Smack, it hits him in the face.

It's hypnotic to watch. I can't take my eyes off it. Up and down. Up and down. Back and forth. Back and forth. Smack. In the face again.

Am I getting drowsy? A little but I don't know if that has to do with watching my son being pissed off or the beer that I am now consuming. Either way, it's mesmerizing watching him throw the little pool innertube in the air.

It was a buck at Walmart and I got it last year. Against all odds it has survived the destruction of my children and is still inflated almost a year later. It has a picture of Mickey Mouse on it. And now it's flying through the air. Up almost 4 or 5 feet at which point it then becomes caught in the wind. The wind denies it any further flight and sends it back to it's thrower, my 2 year old son.

About every 3rd or 4th throw it hits him in the face.

And I cannot stop watching it. Up and down. Up and down. Back and forth. Smack

He's pissed. He's really pissed. He usually doesn't get this mad. Usually he's a great kid, one of the easiest kids ever. Loves to hang out, loves to play. There are only a few things that you have to watch out for. First, don't let him give you a hug while he's face to face with you. He is going to headbutt you in the nose. I'm just saying, risk it if you want. The kid doesn't give easy hugs. He goes full in. If you get a bloody nose (I have), it's your own damn fault. Second, never touch his cars or his trains. Those are sacred. Those are priceless. You touch them, you lose a finger. 3. His sister has a knack for pissing him off like no one else. Which is pretty normal. Family always pisses family off easier than the rest of the world.

This time, this tantrum, this one is caused by his sister, big surprise. The start of it anyway, now it's in a world of it's own.

She wanted my son to wear the little inflatable donut. He didn't want to wear it. He wanted to play with his cars on the driveway. She was insistent. Very insistent. You ever see those cheesy Scoobee Doo episodes where the villain is caught with a life preserver? That kind of insistent. Once he got it off of himself he felt the need to express his anger at the Mickey Mouse donut floaty. So he threw it into the air.

But the wind caught it and sent it back to him. That pissed him off even more. So he picked it up again. That really pissed him off. So he threw it again, same result only this time it hit him in the eyeball. Gotta squint kid, that's your daily dad advice.

Now I'm not sure if he's pissed off at his sister anymore or he is really just hacked at the floaty. He wants it away from himself and cannot seem to accomplish this.

Where am I? I'm in the lawn chair watching all of this. This is better than General Hospital. Come over and hang out, you'll know what I'm talking about. I should give him some advice but I can't seem to get out of my chair (up and down). I can't seem to raise up at all (up and down). In fact, I don't think I can actually move. (Back and Forth, smack).

Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in. (name that movie)

If I was going to give him some dad advice, assuming that I get out of this trance, I would tell him to use two hands to throw. But that would mean he would have to put down his cars. Next I would tell him to not grunt so much. To the little guys credit he's giving it his all but when you have a big grunt and a small throw it's just embarrassing. Finally, I would tell him to stop dicking around with it. Stop throwing it in the wind and place it in the driveway. Start the lawn mower and run over it. I get the anger son and as long as your mother's not here, we can let you push the mower for a little while. Hossmom is a little bit of a wet blanket at times.

I want to say these things but I don't, because I can't move my eyes away from the floaty floating in the wind and them smashing my son's face. Up and down......Up and down........smack.

He's been doing this for a good 3 or 4 minutes straight.

It could have been longer but or shorter because I think that I am now starting to lose track of time.

Up and down......

Up and down.....

Back and forth.........

Back and forth.......



Tonights Main Event

Welcome everyone to an exciting night of WW Hossman Wrestling! It promises to be a good one here in the Living Room Arena where our two challengers will battle it out for no reason what so ever. That's right, there is no belt or tittle in Hossman Wrestling. But what there is plenty of is bare knuckle toddler throw downs! Let's head down to the announcer to introduce tonight's two competitors!

Ladies and Gentlemen, kids of all ages, welcome to tonight's main event!

(applause, screaming, a couple of gold fish thrown into arena)

Our first challenger comes to us from Up Stairs. You've seen him in the grocery store pulling shit off shelves, you've seen him throw a tantrum in restaurants. He claims that "trucks are cool" and that he has Dora's personal cell phone number. At 2 feet tall and weighing at 25 pounds..............The Blue's Clues Destroyer, The Puncher and The Muncher, the one, the only.......
Mighty Mighty Bubba Hoss!

(more applause. The cat vomits on my kitchen table)

His opponent is no stranger to inflicting pain. She once got so made at Barbie that she hung her from the top of the stairs by the ankles. The cats flee when she stomps her feet and she likes to growl at bugs. She was most recently seen at the Oscars for her prize winning performance of "Mamma Said it Was OK" At 3 feet, 3 inches weighing in at 50 pounds, she's no longer even on the growth charts at the pediatricians office...................The Hangman, The Wonder Pets Express, I give you Big Guns Little Hoss!

(wild applause. The cat now runs away)

Welcome to both our athletes. Of course, let's go over the rules. The only rule is to not yell loud enough to bother dad. Let's keep it a clean fight, touch gloves and go to your corner. Our sponsor tonight is Band-aid Bandages because if you aren't bleeding, you are doing it wrong.

Ding Ding

And here we go!

Both fighters immediately come out running and go for the Tonka Truck. Interesting strategy I think as both fighters circle the truck waiting for one to make a move. And Bubba Hoss does! He darts in under the grasping arms of Little Hoss. A big whiff and a miss by Mongo there. Bubba Hoss has got his hands on the truck but big surprise here, Little Hoss wants it to!

Oh what a body check and Bubba Hoss is down! Ya know, it's going to be a quick fight if he allows her to get inside like that. But he's up on his feet and coming in for some more. He's down again! Man does this guy like the punishment. Looks like that one hurt him a little bit but he's up again. And look at this, what a move! Bubba Hoss has gone for the early deployment of the scream and cry! Wow, this fight is really taking off! He's stomping his feet and pointing at the truck causing Little Hoss to look unsure of herself. It was a powerful attack of the guilt one two combo! She's backing away, she looks a little dazed! And now Bubba Hoss has the truck. What a move.

Little Hoss has now moved onto the cheap piece of crap rubber ball that she convinced her dad to buy at the grocery store during training. What a meltdown that was. She's got it but I'm not sure what exactly she is going to do with it. She yelled catch but Bubba Hoss still isn't looking. He better look out or he's going to get one to the face! And there it is, right in the kisser! But look at this! He's actually looking up and laughing! He's taunting her!

Little Hoss has the ball again and takes aim for the second time. Smacko, another shot in the face. Bubba Hoss is still laughing but it's not quite as hysterical as it was before. Little Hoss got the rebound and it looks like she's lining up another...........wait, no! She didn't throw the ball at his face again! What a clever strategy she is playing here! She has actually thrown the ball into the other room! Bubba Hoss has no choice here but to go get it like a dog! If a ball is thrown, he has to pick it up! Man oh man what a strategic fight we are seeing! And Little Hoss has the truck once again!

Bubba Hoss has the ball and he comes back into the arena. It looks like it has taken him a moment to get his bearings and figure out what is going on. And he sees it, he sees that he no longer has possession of the truck. He's taken some shots in this fight so far but I wouldn't count him out just yet. But he's walking away? What game is he playing now?

He's got something, what is that? Ok, Bubba Hoss has Aerial, the little mermaid that we all love. He's walking over to the stair railing. I'm not liking this, nope, this isn't going to be good. And there it is! He is smashing Aerials barbie doll face right into the railing. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! What punishment! Little Hoss finally looks up and sees the destruction that is being perpetrated onto her favorite toy! She begins to go at Bubba Hoss but he's off like a flash. Into the Bathroom! Say it ain't so! Yes! He tosses Aerial into the toilet. Man what a fight!

Bubba Hoss takes the opportunity of Little Hoss's distraction and again has the Tonka Truck. What a move ladies and gentlemen, what a move!

Little Hoss comes out of the bathroom holding Aerial by her very wet pooh hair. This is a smart move, putting Aerial up on the mantle so Bubba Hoss can't go back to that one again.

Little Hoss is now back over to the truck and has taken possession of the front of it. Bubba Hoss has the back end. Both are in a power struggle to control the truck. There's a lot of screaming going on but I can't, nope, I can't make out what they are saying. Whatever it is, I'm sure it's not pretty.

Ladies and Gentlemen you are not going to believe this. Both fighters are now trying to sit on the truck. Sitting on an object, as we all know, gives you unchallenged possession of it and both fierce fighters seem intent on ending this thing. Pushing and shoving, back and forth, no one has the advantage.

Holy crap, what is this! Bubba Hoss has just pulled a Hot Wheels car out of his diaper! Where's the ref?! Is this legal?! And there it is, he has popped Little Hoss on the head with a Hot Wheels car! Little Hoss is crying but still not letting go of the Tonka Truck! What determination! Now she's out for retribution! She has picked up the hard plastic end of the vacuum cleaner and, and, and,,.................yes, she has smacked Bubba Hoss on the head with the vacuum cleaner hose! Wow!

And that's it! The fights over! It's over! It's all done!

The ref has stepped in and taken away the Tonka Truck so that no one can play with it! What an ending! The Tonka Truck has been confiscated by Dad and this one is in the history books. There is no winner here only two little kids who now have to spend 10 minutes in their rooms before coming out and apologizing to each other. What a great fight! What an ending! Who would have saw that coming!

I have seen some doozies in my time but this one may have been the best! Wow! Join us next week as we have a tag team match up set up for you. It will be the two Hoss kids VS the Two Dogs in a battle over the dog food. It should be a great one.


The Friday Five

Holy crap the Friday Five is back. Sure, they have been gone for a while but as you can see I have been working on the Daddyshome Blog and thus my time was a little sparse. But now I have most of the building of the site done, it's back to making you all have a chuckle on your Friday before you start your weekend and become "weekenders" That's my term for you working people that do all your shopping on the weekend, thus fucking up my stay at home dad life. See, a stay at home dad doesn't like to stand in lines. He gets used to no one being in the store at 8 in the morning on a Tuesday. So when the wife asks him to go to the store on a Saturday and he has to deal with you people, he gets the hives because now there are crowds everywhere. It's like I'm calling you a Mudblood. (please someone get that reference)

The truth of this blog is that there are a lot of stories that are never told, have been half written or never made it off my notepad into print. For some reason, they die a little bit. Possibly by vampire bite. I don't know. But they never see the light of day.

So in today's Friday Five I will give you the very, very short version of 5 of those stories.

5. Little Hoss was riding her bike in the park. There is a small lake next to the bike path. In her moment of showing me how cool she can turn, she actually forgot to turn. She headed right for the lake. I have been told that I am not a fast man, that perhaps my 40 time can be compared to a walrus. But in that moment, Papa Scrum said that I moved faster than a greased pig down a trough line. Ok, he didn't really say that but I still think he thought it. He grew up on a farm. He likes John Deere tractors. The point is, I moved fast while screaming at my daughter to slam on the brakes before she went head over ass into the water. But this just made her panic more and she forgot that she had breaks. So she did the only thing that she could do. She intentionally wrecked her bike. It was awesome and I am very proud Papa on how tough I think my daughter is. She cried a little bit but she was out of the lake. Then she saw a bug and ran away. We are still working on that.

4. I thought I was having a heart attack and went to the ER. It wasn't. It was acid reflux. If you want good service at the ER, mention chest pains. They moved faster than a greased pig down a trough line. I spent the next 40 minutes telling them that I'm sure it's a clogged artery. I was convinced and didn't know why they were dicking around so much. I had bacon the other day, this was my pay back. But it wasn't. I just need some gas X. I didn't know whether to be relieved or embarrassed. I got my cholesterol test back and it turns out that I no longer have high cholesterol. I kick ass. Would have been nice to know though before I stripped down for the male nurses.

3. Sometimes I wonder how Hossmom feels about being the antagonist in some of my blogs. Even when they are funny, is she secretly pissed that I mention some of the stuff that I do in this thing? Is she having an affair with a local teenager to seduce him and convince him to bump me off? Probably not. Let's face it, no pimple faced 17 year old could hurt the granite like big guns I carry around. One's got a tattoo of a gargoyle on it. Very badass. He would wet his pants faster than a greased pig down a trough line and I would be like, bam, I'm awesome.

2. I was wrestling on the floor with the kids the other day. They love to do this and I do to. I remember rough housing with my own father and how much I loved it. It's one of those childhood memories that never go away. Like how when the family got an Atari 2600 for Christmas one year. We all had to share and even my dad liked to play it. Turns out I got tired of sharing so I waited until my brother and sister went to bed and snuck downstairs quieter than a greased pig down a trough line. I played for five hours straight, by myself, all night long. I still remember that. I got in big trouble for it, but it was worth it. Anyway, back to my daughter. I was on the floor and she kicked me in the head and told me to stop reminiscing Mr. Cats in the Cradle.

1. In college I had to take three semesters of dance class. It went well with my rhythmic gymnastics class. The night before my big Polka final, I went out drinking with my future brother in law. He's an evil Hippie. We got smashed and then slept in our dorm. The dorm decided to turn the water off the next morning so I couldn't take a shower. I had to go to my Polka class stinking like alcohol as we had just stopped drinking a couple of hours before. My Polka partner wasn't to happy with me. I, um, stank. Pretty bad. In any dance class, as you would assume, you have to get very close to each other. She was not thrilled. Halfway through the dance my partner stopped in mid Polk and screamed at the teacher "He's to drunk and I smoke to much!" And proceeded to limp away. A couple of days before I had torn off her big toenail with my awesome dancing skills.
Oh, and a greased pig moves fast down a trough line.

Daddyshome, Inc

I want everyone to sit down for a sec. Sit down because if you don't you are going to fall over once you read this.

Daddyshome Inc is the national organazation for stay at home dads. They put on a convention (it's awesome) every year and try to bring together all the stay at home dads. I am part of a "movement". I prefer the term pioneer if you don't mind and on my future statue, lets see if we not sclupt the gut.

They have just launched thier new website. As part of this website they have a blog. They have asked me to be Blog Editor.

Close your mouth Micheal, we are not a cod fish.

That's right, I'm the editor so stop laughing. Ok, laugh a little. Go ahead and make the spelling and grammer jokes. I don't mind, it's part of my charm. But remember, I have power now. I am an editor and therefore can crush you. Well, maybe not crush you but I can make fun of your hairstyle in a public forum!

Click Here for the site, check it out when you have a moment. I'm actually pretty excited to be a part of something like this. I have a blog that is written but won't be posted for a couple of weeks. Hossmom has read it and stated that she "had to run to the bathroom before she peed herself." I like that kind of endorsement.

We will have 8 columnists, including myself, who will write on different aspects of the SAHD life. And once I get my ass in gear we will also have guest bloggers who will write to. Do you want to be a guest blogger? Got something to say? Let me know about, leave a comment and I'll get back to you.

Enjoy the new site and remember to support Hossman in all his endevors as your leader.


Oh Crap

I think that I will stop talking to my daughter's preschool teacher. Not because I prefer it but because I think that she might. It might be because to look at me is to look at the face of awesome. Turns out that awesome looks like a middle aged fat guy who didn't shower today. Or it might be because I look a lot like her husband. She tells me that every time I go in. So when she looks at me she is probably thinking "that fat bastard didn't flush this morning." Even though I am religious about flushing as I have 2 kids in the house that like to throw my cell phone in the toilet.

It could be any of those things of course. But chances are it's something else.

I walked into my daughters classroom and said hi to everyone. I tied up my white stallion and sauntered into class. I put my astronaut helmet down and undid my Batman utility belt. The kids think I am bad ass.

"How did she do today" I asked.

The look the teacher gave me should have been enough to tell me. If I had any sense I would have just turned around and got back up on my horse and ridden to my space shuttle while catching a football. But I didn't, because I am a concerned parent that wants to make sure that I know what is going on with my daughter's life.

"Ok, what happened."

I know what you are all thinking. That she pinned some poor boy down and made him her bitch. Perhaps that she took off her underwear and put them in a tree, because she has done that. It's not any of those things. At school she is actually a little angel. She takes her directions well, she plays well with others and has not punched anyone. Hand to God, hasn't punched a single kid. She is everything I would want her to be in school. Which is why I was a little surprised when I got the look from the teacher.

"It's probably nothing" she began. This is the story she told me.

Little Hoss was having a great day. She was skipping and laughing outside with the other kids. The sun was shining and all was good at the land we call preschool. Then Little Hoss decided to go to the bathroom.

She was in there for about a minute before the teachers heard her screaming. A loud scream, a loud scream that I think I have described before on this blog.

They run into the bathroom to see what is happening. My daughter is on the toilet.
"What's wrong?" they ask her.

This is what she said.

"It's ok. Daddy said it was an accident."

And there you go. That's why I got the look from the teacher. She thinks that I am a pedophile. Fantastic.

There is only one option here as I am not a pedophile. I can't even look at 18 year olds without feeling creepy. What I'm thinking is that she was a little backed up and the poop hurt coming out. I find this the most likely scenario. And why does this mean "Daddy says it was an accident?" Because Little Hoss is a bit of a klutz. Not so much as a bit, I mean that that little girl can stub her toe on flat carpet. It's true, I've seen it happen. So when she hurts herself and sometimes others, that's what I tell her. I tell her that it's ok because it was an accident and accidents happen. At the time, it sounded like a great fatherly thing to say to sooth my daughter. I had no idea that she would say it to a teacher while she was in the toilet. Taken in that context, it doesn't sound so good.

Look, let's throw a little honesty out here. Everyone has had the bowel movement that would make Godzilla cry. At one point even John Wayne has been on the throne covered in a cold sweat and gripping the handrail trying to work one out. He may not have cried, but I bet that's why he walked so funny. Ask a pregnant woman about the first poop after giving birth. It happens, we've all been there. And it looks like my daughter has experienced one of those herself. But how to explain all this to the teacher?

I'm a story teller. That's what I do. It does not appear that I do it so well when I'm being given the look of "Monster!" by a lady that deals with children all day. I'm stumbling. I tell her about the accident thing, I mention bugs and Little Hoss's phobia of them. I tell her about the time I dumped my own pants back at summer camp. I don't know what I'm talking about. It's not going well.

The teacher doesn't say anything but just keeps giving me that dead eyed stare. The one that you know behind those eyes she's trying to believe me or not. I guess she did because she said "ok" and that was the end of it. I quickly gathered my daughter's belongings and got out of dodge. Now I feel weird thinking that our teacher thinks I'm a creep.

Our nice little relationship has gotten awkward, at least for me. She seems to have forgotten all about it. Our school year ends in 2 weeks and I'm hoping in that time I don't have to say anything more than "bye" to her. I'm kind of wishing that Little Hoss would pop someone just so we can move on and create a distraction. But of course, this could be seen as acting out. So maybe I should just continue to not say anything.

I plan on saying a lot more when the expected call to child services goes through and they show up at my house.


The Crime Scene

Dear God, don't look. Turn away, turn your heads and forget that you have seen this. But I know, you can't. You can't unsee what you have seen. it's our morbid fascination with crime scenes. you just can't not look. I am sorry you had to be here for this. As a stay at home dad, I have chosen this life. I have chosen to witness the destruction, the carnage. you're just the poor sap that stumbled upon this blog. But you're here now, so you might as well tag along. Don't touch anything and watch where you step. Follow me, under the tape.

Alright, first things first. The mermaid is by the window. Intelligence suggests that her name was Ariel. love struck and wide eyed. Poor little thing didn't know what waited for her in the real world, the world outside the water and her daddy's protective trident. It looks like she stumbled on the wrong kid, the wrong time. She was the lucky one though. Our people found her before things got to serious. We were able to untie her from the cords of the blinds before she got too hurt. She'll be fine but she's not talking. She may never talk. Mainly because she is plastic and a toy. But we'll see what the headshrinkers downtown can come up with. Now look over here.

The other one we found wasn't so lucky. Watch your step here, don't step on the quarter. Evidence.

Over here. We call this guy Mr. Piggybank. poor bastard. Never had a chance, did he? If you are going to be sick, let me know now. I don't need you loosing your cookies all over my crime scene.

As you can see, his midsection has been ripped out and approximately 3 bucks and 24 cents have been ripped out of his guts. It's not an easy way to go. I've seen roadkill that has been treated better. Whoever did this, and we have suspects, wasn't gentle.

Look at his innards, look at the change pattern. Everywhere. Whoever did this wasn't an expert, at least not yet. The cork was ripped out quickly without any thought, any precision. I'm guessing it's because they needed this job done quick before Dad woke up. Sloppy, but it still got the job done. Once the cork was out, little fingers dug in there and started pulling out any money it could find. But the money is thrown all over the place which tells me that this person is not organized. Looks to me like whoever did this likes to play rough.

How'd it go down? I don't like to speculate but I will this time. I think what happened here is pretty simple. Our man or girl was going after the pig. Maybe it was personal, maybe the person responsible was owed money, or maybe it's because Dad told someone not to open up Mr. Piggybank, I don't know yet. Anyway, things probably started pretty easy and quiet. Some testing on how hard the cork was put in there. Maybe just pulling on it a little bit. But soon our suspect got frustrated and things started to get out of control. Our suspect pulled hard, to hard and the cork went flying out with half of Mr. Pigs innards. Now the money lust was on. One little taste and that's all it took. I think that the rest of the change was being pulled out when Ariel showed up and saw what she wasn't supposed to see. At this point our suspect was to far in it to turn back. Ariel got nabbed, tied up and was left alone to be dealt with latter. But what the perp didn't figure on was making all that racket. Our office got an anonymous bark shortly after 8 this morning. The suspect got spooked and took off. That's what I think happened. I just can't prove any of it yet. But believe me, I got a suspect.

Here, check out this file. Little Hoss, aka Gozar the Gozarian, aka Mrs. Staypuff, aka Knuckles Mcgee. A rough one to be sure. She's pulled stuff like this all over the east side of the house. Rampaging up and down the stairs and any little toy that gets in her way. Yesterday she did a dime in time out and came out with a smile on her face. This is her M.O to be sure but we can't prove a damn thing.

Our best bet is by going to her wheel man, Bubba Hoss, aka The Toadie. Loyal little cuss that has been working under Knuckles for several years now. Gets treated pretty good but things seem to have gotten rough for him. He's not getting his full share of the gold fish at snack time, gets pushed out of rooms from time to time, things like that. Word on the carpet is that he doesn't like the way things are going and is perhaps looking to trade up. Maybe get a bigger scoop of ice cream after dinner, things like that.

We made a run at them a little while ago. Didn't get squat. Tried to get Bubba Hoss out from under the boss's thumb for a little bit, maybe question him when the power wasn't around. No dice. The first sign of weakness and Little Hoss asked him if he wanted to go watch Blues Clues. Clear message: talk and you'll be getting Indian burns and purple nerples. He didn't budge.

She didn't give us anything to go on either. Just sat there smiling and shaking her head. "No Dad, I have no idea what happened to Mr. PiggyBank and why his money is all over the floor." I wasn't buying it and she knew it. But that young chick is tough and we couldn't get anything from her. She just sat there holding her juice and flipping that damn nickel of hers in the air all the time.

Feels like I'm missing something, I know. But don't worry, we'll figure this out. They always want to be caught. Sooner or later she'll make a mistake and we'll put her in time out for another 5 to 10 and see if that chills her out a little bit.

In the meantime, we keep investigating. We keep on doing the job because that's what we do. Get your head on straight, we need the best out of both of us if we are going to crack this one.

Now get down to forensics and see what they can tell you about that partial we found.


The Complaint Form

As a SAHD, my main job is to take care of the kids. It is to teach them how to behave and instill in them a sense of what's Hoss. It's a big job to teach them things that will prove useful later in life like always taking the blame for Dad when he messes up. I teach them that if they do this, they get ice cream.

But that's not all I do. I"m not just a one trick pony over here. My other jobs are to clean the house in a half assed way, forget to dust on a regular basis, completely ignore the windows and on occasion put on a cape and tights and fight Morlock of the Mole people for the souls of the world. My package looks great in spandex.

One of my most important jobs though is to support Hossmom as much as possible. Let's be honest here, she's the bread winner. Me? I'm just the nice piece of meat that goes in that bread. But Hossmom makes all this possible so we have to support her in whatever self serving way that we can. So with that in mind I'm creating something for Hossmom. You see, I'm helping her get organized, she needs it. Hossmom seems to get pissed at me from time to time. And I usually don't know about it until I hear foot stomping upstairs. I verify this by asking her what's wrong. When I'm answered by silence or a flung shoe, I know that something is bothering her and chances are, it can be traced back to me. And she holds on to grudges like Bubba Hoss holds on to his hotwheels.

It got me thinking that with all the jihads that she has going on, how on Earth does she keep track? After all, It's not easy being married to a man who gave up his career to go against the social norm of staying home with the kids. Sure, dinner is waiting for her when she gets home but couldn't it be a little more gourmet? Maybe plated in a fancy way with an artsy french sauce carefully placed in a haphazard manner? I mean, honestly, you would think I could put some effort into things. Shes' stuck with me forever and forever is a long time when your married to a guy that does the family laundry. I could do better.

To help Hossmom out I've created a form (I'm a previous government worker that loves forms) that can be used by Hossmom every time I leave the toilet seat up and she falls in. And the beauty of this form? The beauty of this form is that it can be adapted so that it can be used by my mother in law, sister in law, my own mother, my sister, the lady down the street that hates my lawn and Michelle Obama. hell, if I write a blog you don't like, use it then too! That way, everyone knows why they are pissed at me and I can work on it with the help of your constructive fucking criticism.

Name: Hossmom__________________ Date:_____________
Offender:Hossman _________________Time of Offense:_____________

The offense perpetrated by Hossman was (choose all that apply)
__Insensitive __Diabolical
__unthoughtful __idiotic
__selfish __hair brained
__shelfish __to awesome

The offesne perpetrated by Hossman made me feel (choose all that apply)
__undignified __nautilus
__not appreciated __hungry
__ignored __sweaty
__dirty __to awesome

Please tell us why you are pissed at Hossman (*only one per form please. More forms available upon request.

__can't find kids shoes, why don't you orgazine them
__Daughter/son dressed like a poor hobo. Mismatched socks, holes in underwear
__Toilet seat up/towel on floor
__family outing not go as planned because Easter Egg hunt was yesterday, not today you dumbass
__Video game related
__Chore started but never finished.
__Chore finished but wrong chore as making your own beer does not count as a chore.
__Chore finished but you could do better
__Chuck Norris jokes are no longer funny, stop saying them.
__Who was that woman talking to you
__Did you tell her you were married
__Where is your wedding ring
__You're still bald
__You've wasted 15 years of your life.
__Related to the question: "Do these pants make me look.............."
__Can't find this form.
__Wrote blog that did not portray Hossmom in a positive light.
__This post is not funny
__Standing next to my awesomeness makes you look less awesome.
__Because you are a woman and I'm a man.
__Other: Additional space provided for on back of page.

How long do you plan on being pissed?
__1 day __2 days __infinity

Can I rectify the situation by:
__buying flowers
__buying candy
__Buying a shovel and/or pick as to dig my own grave
__fancy dinner
__Start dating Lorana Bobbit.
__Begging for mercy
__Enrolling on Tool Academy
__Never, no, you will always suck

Can we bring in a 3rd party arbitrator to make a final ruling?
__Yes __I will kill you.

When you are done being pissed at me, you will notify me by:
__Divorce papers
__Not spitting at me anymore when I walk by.
__Giving me back my heart medication
__A big hug without a butcher knife in your hand.

Signed:_______________ Date:_______________

Notary:________________ File #_______________


The Intruder

It's the kind of scream that no father ever wants to hear. It's loud and brutal as I guess every scream is at 2 am. Especially the ones that come from your daughters bedroom and she's supposed to be asleep.

I am quite proud about how quickly I was up and out of bed. Quick like a cat. Or better yet: a ninja cat. A ninja cat whose slightly overweight and has a bald spot that may be mange or just genetics (thanks mom!) But the point is, I am a quick fat man with a fine tuned ear for my daughter's distress signals.

Now every father has had images in his head from the moment he became a father. What would he do if his child was in danger by some massive nutjob. In my case, I have actually come up with 2 plans for this scenario: Daughter being attacked in her room late at night.

The first one, if someone was in there trying to hurt her, I would bust through the door and immediately get into a 3 point stance from my playing days. I would do a perfect form tackle while screaming my war cry. The momentum from this uber awesome tackle would send us very Diehard-like through the second floor window in my daughters room. We would fall 2 stories and the intruder would be killed while I would roll deftly off him. Of course my weight would smush him like a bug while I would only receive a sprained ankle because that is all heroes ever get, a sprained ankle. The perp on the other hand would get a death certificate where the cause of death would be listed as "fat bastard."

The second scenario, which I feel is equally as effective, is that I would bust into the room and give the intruder a Clint Eastwood stare. Just long enough for him to realize that his days are numbered. Then I would spit because that is what you do after the Clint Eastwood stare. He would take a shot at me (in this scenario he has a gun) and I would do one of those cool Matrix dodges because like I said, quick like a ninja cat. I would then charge and he would pull out a knife having realized that a gun is useless against me. I would do a Bruce Lee Block, break his wrist so he drops the knife and then I would hoist him over my head like Drago. I would calmly and coldly walk to the top of the stairs and throw him over the railing. He would fall with a shocked look on his face as he was impaled by the many Barbies that always litter the bottom of the stairs. I would then say something witty and cool, like "Get out of my dream house" or "Elevators out of order." I don't know, I'm still working on that part.

Sure, I have a very active imagination. But I am a prepared father, covering all my bases. You don't want to know what I would do if you tried to stuff her into a van. Oh yes, there would be some van surfing going on. Teen Wolf rules.

Anyway, these scenarios were playing through my head as I ran down the hall to my daughter's room. She was still screaming. I'm coming baby doll. I bust into her room and realized immediately that something was not the same as in my scenarios. In my scenarios I was fully clothed. Sometimes I'm wearing pjs and sometimes I'm wearing camo gear with an ammunition belt drapped across my chest. However, in reality I'm not wearing any of these things. Because at night, I sleep in the buff. I love the freedom, what can I say. That's right, enjoying that mental picture are you? But when your daughter is screaming you don't have time to stop and put on your special pirate boxer shorts (because they make you feel swarthy). No, you drop what you are doing and get ready to rumble, even if it's naked.

So I didn't have any clothes on and it did pass through my head that this may be slightly embarrassing although probably more so for the intruder than with me. Hey, I'm comfortable with who I am. But I am adaptable. I would use this as a surprise attack and when he hesitates, I will be on him. Welcome to scenario number 3: Naked attack of surprised intruder.

I throw the light on and crouch ready to launch myself. Nothing. Nobody. Just my daughter sitting up in bed screaming her head off, slapping at the air. It takes me a minute to scan the room and then I nakedly walk to my daughter, grabbing a pillow on my way over to her bed.

It takes her a moment to calm down as I hug her and ask her what is wrong. Between sobs she is trying to tell me and Hossmom, who had the foresight to add a robe before coming into the room.

Bugs. There are bugs.

Where are the bugs, I ask. Everywhere, she tells me. I look and can find no bugs and I don't know how she would see them in the dark. I tell her it's ok and we put her back to bed. As soon as her eyes clothes she starts freaking out about bugs. Now I know what is going on, a nightmare.

I suppose bugs is a common phobia, Hossmom has been absolutely terrified of them since I've known her. I'm a little surprised though because until tonight Little Hoss has always helped me smash bugs. In fact, I've never known my daughter to be terrified which is why I suppose she is so good at jumping off the top of very high things.

In the end we take her into our bedroom, put on some boxers and we all go to asleep with every light on in the house to ward off any bugs. An hour later I'm still awake, the lights still blazing. I should be sleeping but I can't. Now scenario number 4 is forming in my mind. Pirate PJ's. Yup, with Pirate PJs I would whip ass.