Dad-Blogs

Welcome to Wednesday. Instead of writing something new, go over to Dad-Blogs and see the post that I have there. It's called Mancard, enjoy. Then read everyone else because they are awesome.

Wife Help

"Do you know what you're doing?" Hossmom asks me. Of course I don't, what kind of question is that? I have about as much knowledge of car engines as a monkey does about driving a golf cart. That would be funny though.

"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.

Horsey's VS. Aliens

I have a parenting conundrum. It's a tough call, no doubt. One of those gray area's where there seems to be no right and no wrong.

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.
Aliens crump.
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.

Girl Talk At The Convention

It's 2 am, what the hell am I still doing up? I'm a 34 year old man with 2 kids, I don't do 2 am unless it involves a kids nightmare or a strip club. Or maybe some Tivoed Skinimax because let's be honest, when do I have time to go to a strip club. Say night night to daddy kids, he's got to help put Crystal Chandelier through college. She's got a bright future.

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.

The SAHD Convention

"Let's take a road trip" they say.

"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.

For example:

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.

The Friday Five

5 Things I Never Thought I Would Do As A Parent.

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.

At My Door

Please don't get the impression by reading this that I am hiding from my children. I'm currently in my bedroom with the door locked and not daring to utter a single word or make a sound. I'm afraid to move in bed because the sheets might make to much of a noise.

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.