Daddyshome

I have another post up on Daddyshome and you are welcome to it. That means I have written three days this week and you are gorging yourself on Hossman. Careful though, I may give you the runs. Click here to check out the new post called iSahd.

Heat Wave

I opened the door wearing my boxer shorts and a wife beater. You would think that I was preparing for my role on Cops. But there were no cameras or policemen there. I stood there in all my glory, the sweat running into my eyes and dripping off my nose. The kids ran to the door with me because they never listen to me. Ever. Who are we kidding, they do what they want and I should feel privileged to be a part of their candyland world.

Little Hoss was in her underwear and Tshirt. No shoes of course because that would just be to classy. Bubba Hoss did one better. He just had on a diaper. That's it. It was one of those photos that will probably show up during divorce proceedings.

I spread my arms letting the repairman take in the scene. Drink it up baby, take it all in. Gander up and down and see the sweat stains. The one on the back looks like a baby horse if you squint. Yes, Mr. Repairman, take a good look. Do anything you want as long as you promise to fix my A/C.

It broke last night. Around 2 am I found myself sweating in bed, not in a good way. At that time, it was 84 degrees. I spent the rest of the night sleeping on the couch with an industrial grade fan blowing over my nether regions.

I called the repairman first thing in the morning. He said he could get there between 11 and 1. He also asked me to stick around in the morning because he might have a cancellation and could get there sooner. I am a trusting fool, a very trusting fool. I would buy a bridge from you.

At 1pm and at 90 degrees, he finally showed up.

He asked me what the problem was. I thought it was pretty fucking obvious. Hell had relocated from the underworld and was currently residing in my house. I was due to play a game of Risk with Hitler at 2. I calmly explained that the AC had broken and that was the reason that I called him. If I knew anymore than that I wouldn't have to call him. The heat was making me cranky.

"Man, it's roasting in here" he said. Thanks big guy, that's one hell of a diagnosis. However, if he could actually fix this thing I would gladly have his baby. Seriously, I would have a womb surgically inserted and I would have his love child. We would name it Felix. He said he was going to take a look.

20 minutes later he came in with the news. The motor that runs the condenser fan had burned out. He shook his head and spoke slowly like he was telling me a relative died. The temperature, both inside and outside my house, was 92.

He said that I had a speciality job and that he didn't have a spare motor. But I was in luck, he just located one right here in town and he was going to go get it. And the price wasn't to bad either, he explained. Only 429 bucks for a new speciality motor. I had no idea if he was telling the truth or not. At that point, I would have agreed to anything. Sure, take the motor out of my car, do whatever you have to, just get the AC working.

We shook hands and I signed some paper. After that he said he was going to get the motor and it should only take him an hour or so. The heat wasn't making me think right, did I hear him right. An hour to get a motor when the place was right here in town? My town isn't that big buddy. I could drive to Iowa in an hour, what the hell? But at that point, what are you going to say? Sure, go have a cheeseburger and a beer and then pick up the motor. We'll be fine as we run experiments on ice melting.

That may have been the longest 45 minutes of my life. Things started to get weird. The kids, in their heat delirium, decided that the only thing that they wanted to do was snuggle with daddy. I pushed them away. They pushed back. I pushed harder. They picked up weapons.

A full on invasion started. The poor dogs were used as pawns as strategic decisions were made concerning acceptable losses. I tied candy to the cat and threw the poor thing at them. I had to remind Little Hoss not to use her brother as a human shield. It was a 45 minute onslaught that ended with us roasting in the sun. The temp was 96 inside and outside the house.

The repairman finally came back and whipped the mustard from his cheek. Burger perhaps? It took him only 20 minutes to fix the AC. I gladly signed and paid the 550 dollar bill, again not knowing if I got ripped off. I didn't care, the AC was working. The kids and I huddled around the floor vents like winos huddle around a fire barrel. Old animosities forgotten, new alliances were made.

Eventually we all put on pants. If there was ever a time to get ice cream, this was it.

The Bug Killer

Dad’s night out. When I was single and in college, we just called this Tuesday. There was no reason to schedule anything at anytime. Get this, we would just decide that hey, I need a beer. And then we would go and have a beer. I know, sounds impossible and yet, that is what we did.

However, with kids and a wife that can’t get enough of watching her husband do yard work in sandals and socks, I find it tough to get out of the house. Every time I attempt to leave the house without the appropriate diaper bag or chore list, a thousand hands pull me back in. It’s kind of like being in the mob although the only racket I run is shooting odds on what Swiper will Swipe next. Seriously, Dora should just contact a hunter and shoot that freaking fox. How many second chances should he get? Send him a fish in a newspaper, that should get the message across.

So when Dad’s night comes once a month, I usually look forward to it. I look forward to having a drink without someone’s hands reaching into my glass in order to snatch an ice cube. I look forward to conversation that focuses on sports and not next week’s schedule and important things I have to do. I look forward to not having to explain why we can’t throw pudding on the floor although I do admit it looks pretty cool. And I enjoy just sitting back and not talking at all if I want to. Just sitting there and people watching.

An hour into Dad’s Night Out my phone rings. It’s my wife.

“Yes dear?” I say.

“We have a problem.” She tells me. We are not allowed to have a problem on Dad’s Night Out, that’s the rule.

“Um, ok?” I reply. Usually when I get these phone calls my mind goes to one of two areas: 1. Is everyone ok 2: Did I do something that made her mad enough to call me.
“What’s the problem honey?” I tell her. The bar is getting kind of loud so I almost have to scream it. Already the other guys are giving me looks and making hand motions because they all know that it’s my wife who’s on the phone. It’s a guy ritual, like high fiving. If your significant other calls you must rip on the guy. I don’t know why this is but I don’t know the meaning of life either. It’s just one of those things.

“You need to come home” She says. “There’s a spider.”

She is completely serious.

This is yet another reason of why I know my wife will never leave me. She is terrified of bugs. Of all shapes and sizes, of all distinctions, of all makes and models. She hates them and she’s afraid of them. And when I’m not there, she is equally terrified that the bug will get some bug buddies and rob her at knife point.

“Come home now” she demands.

But this is Dad’s night out. This is my night. This is my night of sitting there and not getting pawed at for just one more cookie, please daddy can we have just one more cookie.

But I’m also a stay at home dad. I am a dad that is the primary caregiver of my two children. And even though neither of my children look like me particularly, they both act like me. I have taught them, for they are my minions. And my minions kill bugs.

“Wake up Little Hoss” I tell her. “Tell her that Daddy told her to kill the bug.” I am also completely serious. I have taught my 4 year old to kill bugs. To act in my place for when I am not there. It’s time for her to earn her keep.

“I’m not waking the kids” my wife tells me.

“But you must. Little Hoss will kill the bug. Get her a broom or a big shoe. Give her a power drill. Put her in the same room as the bug and just shut the door. Give her 10 minutes and don’t ask her any questions.”

We hang up the phone and I enjoy the rest of my Dad’s night out.

I come home late at night and find a rolled up magazine stuffed in the cushions of the couch. It appears that my wife did not wake the children and tried to kill the bug herself. I lift up the magazine and find no bug. I don’t tell my wife that the bug is possibly alive. Because tomorrow, when Little Hoss wakes up, the hunt begins. And we love the hunt.

Daddyshome

I've got a new post on the Daddyshome blog. Rather than write two for one day, why don't you just head over there so that I can go grocery shopping and mow the yard.

The Friday Five

5 Things that Bubba Hoss has walked into this week because he never, ever pays attention to where he is going. He gets distracted by bright lights and lint.

5. A pole. A pole that was in the middle of the sidewalk. A pole that was in the middle of the sidewalk and has always been there. He ran right into it, fell down and looked shocked that someone would dare put a poll where he was walking. This time he was distracted by the sound of a train somewhere in the distance.

4. A grocery cart being pushed by an elderly lady. Walked right into the thing. Turned around at the last moment and smashed his face right into it. Fell down and kind of just sat there for a moment. The sweet old lady felt so bad and began to apologize. For a moment I thought that she was going to give us some butterscotch candy. Bubba Hoss was distracted by a balloon in the shape of a lobster.

3. The kitchen counter. He didn't so much as walk into this as he ran into it, full on. He ended up whacking his head on the counter. To the untrained eye, you would think he did this on purpose as he appeared to be looking right at it. But to the qualified parent of destructive children, I know better. He was actually focused on Little Hoss who was across the room. He was running at her to tackle her. He corked himself pretty good too, thought for a moment he actually might have knocked himself out.

2. The monkey enclosure at the zoo. You would think all of his attention would have been on the lemur monkeys behind the glass. They are cool and they throw poop, everything that you would need to keep the attention of a two year old boy. But apparently the sight of his sister pushing the stroller was way more interested. Smacked the back of his head like a melon. I need to get him checked for a concussion.

1. Platform nine and three quarters. A muggle had to find it sooner or later.

Swim Lesson Dreams

It’s not tough to spot Little Hoss in a crowd, especially a crowd of children. Maybe it’s because she is a bit taller than most her age. Or maybe it’s because she exudes a certain aura of fucking awesome. But more likely it’s because she is being raised by a SAHD who himself oozes fucking awesome. If I could translate that into oozing hair on my head, I would be in the movies. Or a freak show.

Over there, see that crowd of kids? The one on the steps of the pool. Obviously it’s swim lessons as you can tell by the superhot swim teacher. She said hi to me. I think she’s in love with me but I told her that it’s only the myth of Hossman that she is in love with, not the man. Then I ride away on my warhorse Unicorn down the rainbow bridge to meet many other hot lifeguards. Swim lessons are extremely boring for parents so it helps if you can make little narratives in your head. Yesterday the superhot lifeguard told me that her uncle was a horrible man that makes her sleep in a closet under the stairs and what she wanted more than anything else was a middle aged fat guy to come rescue her. Before I could though, swim lessons ended and we had to go home.

Anyway, take a look at the crowd of kids. As you can see, they are working on the backstroke. Why they are trying to teach this to 4 year olds is beyond me but as long as they are in the water and I have my fantasies, I don’t ask too many questions, I have an evil uncle to deal with. They are working on the actual arm movements right now and making very little progress, but it’s a good show.

Anyone that has taken swim lessons knows that to begin the backstroke, you must first extend your thumb on each hand and then place it in the water behind your head to begin your stroke. For kids that can barely put their faces in the water, I find that this may be a little to advanced, but I do appreciate the effort and can do attitude of the hot lifeguards.

Let’s see how the kids are doing. We have the blond kid that is flapping like a bird, but not in the water because it also appears that she is afraid of the water. She is being helped by the kid that is running around her whacking his hands on the side of her legs while he is screaming at the top of his lungs “Quack!”. Not quite the backstroke but there is potential there.

Next to them is the kid that has just put his thumbs in his ears. But at least the thumbs are extended. The lifeguard has actually herded one of the kids and has them on their back and I guess he is doing something of a stroke, although it looks more like the busted artery in the brain kind of stroke rather than an actual backstroke. Get that kid 50CCs of bacon, stat!

And then there is the kid that, instead of extending her thumbs, has made the rock and roll sign of the devil and has both hands above her head. The arms are pumping and her head is swinging wildly. She is only missing an 80’s hair-band light show and some thigh high boots.


Now, of all these kids described, which one is my precious Little Hoss. Which one is being raised by her father as her primary caregiver?

If you said the rocker, then yes, you are correct. Your prize for being so astute is to join me in our next lifeguard fantasy. This is going to be a good one because the hot lifeguard has a hot lifeguard friend that just showed up. It looks like there is trouble in the homeland and what they need is a minivan to help rescue the villagers.

Little Hoss does not seem to be undaunted that she is not actually doing the backstroke right. She is continuing to do the rock out maneuver that I taught her at the age of 2. I’m hoping she goes pro one day. On the pool loudspeaker is the BeeGee’s classic, Staying Alive. Not the best song to rock out to but not a bad one either.

At the end of swim lessons all the kids get to stand on top of the wall next to the pool. This is the big finale of swim lessons and a sign to me that I have to come back from LaLa land of swimsuit ass. The lifeguards gather around the kids and sing a monkey song that ends with each kid jumping into the lifeguards arms. They do splashy splashy for a while and then deposit the kid on the steps. Class is over, please pack up your towels and dreams and head on home.

The bird girl is still flapping her arms and is smacking the kid next to her. Her thumbs are extended at this point though. We call that progress. At the end of the first chorus of the song bird girl holds out her arms and refuses to jump anywhere. The superhottie grabs her and bird girls feet barely skim the top of the water.

Again the monkey song is sung and the kid with his thumbs in his ear is singing right along. He has removed them from his ears and now is putting them up his nose right at the big end of the song. He does a little jump to the lifeguard and makes it safelty, thumbs and all, to the side.

Little Hoss continues to rock out during her portion of the song but the head banging has stopped. You are probably thinking that this is a good thing, that maybe she is starting to understand what they are doing. You would be mistaken. She stopped shaking her head so hard so that she can aim.

The song ends and the lifeguard extends her hands to catch Little Hoss.

Little Hoss jumps the opposite way.

I do love that my little girl has no fear, something that I lightly attribute to my parenting style of “Adventure!” but more than likely, it’s just who she is. She doesn’t want to be caught, she doesn’t want to be helped. She was freedom, as all rocker chicks do. So instead of jumping into the lifeguards arms she jumps away from them, goes under for a minute and then pops back up dog paddeling.

As a SAHD we spend a lot of time at the pool in the summer. We missed only one day in the first 3 weeks of July. As a result, Little Hoss is a pretty decent swimmer for her age and she shows it by swimming to the side of the pool by herself. That’s my little girl, oozing awesome.

I go get Little Hoss and she gives me a wet hug. The teacher tells me how good Little Hoss is doing in her lessons but I only hear “look at my boobs”. Christ she is hot.

We gather Bubba Hoss from his game of “throw rocks in the other end of the pool” and head for home. As we chant “The Roof, The Roof, The Roof is on fire” we pass by the lifeguard. “Good News” she says. “Tomorrow is Thong Thursday!”

I’ll be there.

SSSS AAAAA FFFF EEEE TTTT YYYYY

"Daddy, I want to dance."

"Honey, we can dance if we want to."

"But Daddy, my friends won't dance with me."

"We can leave your friends behind. Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance, well, they're no friends of mine."

"Where can we go Daddy?"

"We can go where we want to, a place they'll never find. And we can act like we're out of this world and leave the real one far behind."

"We can dance Daddy?"

"We can dance sweetpea! We can go where we want to, the night is young and so am I, sort of. And we can dress real neat from our hats to our feet and surprise them with a victory cry!"

"Daddy, you're silly!"

"Honey, we can act silly if we want to, if we don't nobody will."

"Really Daddy?"

"Yes honey! And you can act real rude and totally removed and I can act like an imbecile!"

"Daddy."

"Yes honey?"

"You're weird."

"I know honey."