The Defeat of Hossman

Before you read my little post here and laugh or cry or punch someone in the face, take a minute to once again go to Circle of Moms and vote for Hossman one more time. The contest ends today. And unless a miracle happens, I can't make the top 25. But I can make the top 50 which is still something that would be cool. Sure, it's like dating the ugly sister. But the ugly sister always puts out. I don't know what that has to do with anything, but I just like the saying. Now enjoy a special edition Tuesday blog as we were back in Texas all week visiting family and creating awkward moments.

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I should start this by saying that I did not mean any harm to come to Uncle Bricksalesman. It was not my intention to humiliate him in anyway or to destroy his ego. He's a good man, a great uncle to my kids and to all his nieces and nephews. He's funny, personable and no longer talks about what degree Celsius bricks are baked at. He's the type of guy that would actually listen to you as you tell your story about how you made a funny HTML mistake so your banner ad ran at 10 pixels instead of 100. The rest of us would be cutting ourselves under the table like a jacked up teen girl who had just finished Twilight. The pain means he loves me.

He's a likable guy, a very likable guy. And that is the problem.

So it was with somewhat of a heavy heart that I set out to destroy him. It was intentional and it was premeditated. It was not by accident. It was not by chance. However, it was necessary.

You see, he's too likable. All the nieces and nephews think that he's just the greatest thing in the world. He's the reason that the sun comes up in the morning. He's the reason that Santa Claus can get down chimneys (they are made of brick). He's the Alpha and the Omega to them. And thus, even to my own children, I am not. This is a problem.

I want to be the cool, badass uncle. I can't be though because I have to be the responsible parent. I am Dad and even though dad still kicks ass, he is still Dad. That means that he has to lay down the law, he has to do timeouts, he has to say no. What does Super Great Uncle Fantastic Bricksalesman have to do? Eat a sandwich and be awesome.

But I still want to be the cool uncle, the ones that all the nieces and nephews (including my own children) think is just super awesome. Right now, I'm just big fat uncle Hoss. I think I should be more. Whenever something great happens, even in my own house, my children give Uncle Bricksalesman the credit. That new toy that Dad just bought for them. Uncle Bricksalesman must have told me to do that. The cartoons that I'm turning on? They are Uncle Bricksalesman's favorite so I have to turn them on. And so on, and on and on. After 5 years, I got tired of it.

So I became the Goldfinger to Uncle Bricksalesman's Bond. Except my evil cat was killed by my wife because she got pooped on while sleeping. Different blog, very funny, go find it.

This weekend was a family get together. All the nieces and nephews would be there. And so would Uncle Bricksalesman who would probably come sliding down a god damn rainbow while riding a unicorn. But this time I had his number.

Several weekends ago I visited my niece and nephew whose parents are hippies. They have strict rules in the house. Organic is better, the compost goes in the back and absolutely no T.V. Ever. When they left the kids alone with me for 3 hours, I introduced them to a great thing called the Iphone and Netflix. Ponyo seems to be our favorite. And after that, we enjoyed a nice rousing game of Angry Birds. Top that Uncle Assheel! I am laying seeds of his destruction.

I knew I would get reamed out about it and I did. Within 10 minutes of the family reunion my sister in law tore into me about respecting their parenting choices and claims of being passive aggressive were thrown at my head. It was a bit brutal. But I smiled and I laughed because I also knew that the kids REMEMBERED how cool Uncle Hoss is now! He let us watch cartoons AND he's taking all the heat for it.

Top that motherfucker.

But I wasn't done. No, that was just planting the seed with the children. It was time to play the endgame. Super Uncle Awesome over there can't top this.

We stayed by a river while on our little Texas family reunion. A river that contained fish. Kids love fish. They love the slimyness of fish. They love screaming "ewe" and "gross" and yet they all have to touch them. But how to get the fish? What magic do we use? What matter of tools do we employ?

Hmmmm. How about the 4 brand new sweet ass awesome fishing poles that Uncle Hoss bought! Suck. On. That.

2 Barbie poles for the two girls. A Star Wars pole for my nephew and a Disney Cars pole for my own son. And I made sure that they knew that these were from Uncle Hoss. Boom goes the dynamite.

We take the kids out by the lake. We get some slimy worms. We put them on hooks. We talk about safety. We put our lines in the water and we wait with anticipation. And wait. And wait. Nothing. We change spots. Nothing. I rebait hooks. Nothing.

Until Uncle Bricksalesman shows up.

"Hey kids!" he bellows. Come over here and fish! He's sitting on the dock and of course all four children head his way like the little cult members that they are.

"Why don't we put our hooks right here." Then he shows them how to cast and how to watch. He jokes with them. He plays with them. And within 5 minutes my niece pulls out the first fish. Everyone goes crazy. Everyone is screaming how great Uncle Bricksalesman is. 5 minutes more go by. My daughter pulls up her first one ever. Uncle Bricksalesman gets the hug.

At times Uncle Bricksalesman takes the pole from them while the kids go and play. I see the game he's playing. He is actually catching the fish and then calling them over so that they can pull it up. As soon as they grab the pole he says "look, you might have a fish on there." ever so innocent. And of course they do because he caught it. But they don't know that.

At one point I thought my son had called him on this. He had my son reel up yet another fish but it wasn't' on his pole. So my son refused to accept that this was a fish he had caught himself. What does Uncle Bricksaleman do? He grabs the right pole, grabs my son, sits down, and catches yet another fish. And another . And another. I have been out maneuvered.

And with so little effort I have been vanquished. It is over. During the weekend the kids caught 26 perch and 3 bass. All by fishing where Uncle Bricksalesman told them to, doing it how he told them to do it.

And I see the smiles on their faces. I see the absolute screaming joy of my son when he caught his first fish. I see how my niece cannot contain her excitement or how my nephew lights up each time he holds up a new fish.

Uncle Bricksalesman gives them a hug then picks up the Barbie fishing pole. He sits back down and puts the hook in the water. He has defeated me and my plots by just being who he is.

He is Uncle Bricksalesman. And I sir, am not.

Kitchen Redo

Never watch a home renovation show with a child that likes to destroy stuff. Sage advice.

"Dad! They are tearing up that wall!" Little Hoss says as we watch a kitchen renovation show. I'm actually surprised she noticed as it has nothing to do with Princess's or candy. But then again, she's my daughter, raised by me, taught by me, mentored by me. Things that go boom seem to go over well in this house.

Hossmom and I are watching the DIY network. It's our weekend crap that we watch from time to time. Something that's on in the background other than a cartoon or one of the wonderful Oscar type classics that Hossmom makes me watch from time to time. Like Cutting Edge or Center Stage. Yup, top notch films. Shunned by the academy, I"m sure.

Hossmom and I like to both watch these renovation shows on the weekend together. I like to learn new techniques that perhaps I don't know yet and Hossmom likes to pretend that we'll ever have a "spare" 15K to actually do a remodel of the kitchen. She's so sweet in her delusions.

"Dad! Look! They are punching that wall!" She's getting excited now. It's kind of catching.

"Yes they are honey."

"Dad! Look!" She says again. She is now at the age when she knows that I am answering her without looking at her. She physically grabs my face and lifts it out of my book. I am now looking at someone using a sledgehammer to take down a wall. My daughter is watching this. Probably not a good idea. But she's already running with it.

"Dad! I know something!" She says, more excited than ever.

"Maybe we can hit a wall! And then, and then, and then (she repeats herself when she gets excited) we can build a new wall!" She says.

Hell yeah, I like where this is going. Her excitement is catching.

"And then, and then, and then, maybe you can build us a new great big wall!" She's practically jumping up and down by this time and her arms are spread out wide to show how big of a wall we have to build. "A big new pink wall!"

Shit yeah, I love pink. Pink is an awesome color.

"And Bubba Hoss can help! He can hit the wall!"

Damn right, he can hit the wall too!

"And we can go like this---Smash, smash, smash!" Now she is jumping up and down. I'm close myself.

Keep preaching darling!

"Can we build a window in the new wall daddy!" She's yelling now.

"Damn straight we can!"

"Can mom help!" She says, still yelling.

"Hell no!"

"Ok!" She says.

"Ok!" I say

"And then, and then, and then we can cover it all in................................GLITTER!"

"HELLS YES!" Now I'm standing up to doing a fist pump.

"Let's go get the hammer dad!"

"Ok!"

And Hossmom is on her feet, blocking the door to the garage. Thus ends our kitchen renovation and the watching of any show on DIY while the kids are up.

A Vote For Hossman Is a Vote for Freedom

Alright Cult, it's time to see if we can mobilize. Maybe we can, maybe we can't. I'm not really sure.

It appears that I have been nominated for one of the top 25 dad blogs. But it's a competition. Your blog receives votes, you move up the list. The current leader has about 2000 votes. I'm ambitious but I'm also realistic. We may not be able to reach 2000 votes. But I would bet dollars to donuts (thanks for that one grampa) that we can crack the top 25 and be named one of the top 25 dad blogs.

You see, I write this thing for free. And it's not easy. There's a lot of work that goes into writing this stuff, it takes a lot of time. It's not all that easy to throw donuts at your children every other morning so you can have ten minutes to write about how you throw donuts at them every morning.

Everyone seems to enjoy it. One fan actually gave me a 5 dollar gift card a while ago thus ruining my amatuer status with the NCAA.

From time to time though, I need to be re-energized. This is the kind of thing that does that.

So if you enjoy the blog and like reading it, help a fella out.

Go to Circle of Mom Top 25 Dad Blogs, click here, and find the Hossman Chronicles. You can vote more than once so if you get a chance, find the NYC Dad's Blog and Daddyshome and give them a vote to.

Then tell your spouse to go to their work computer and ask them to vote to. Stand over their shoulder until they do it. You've got parents? Call them and tell them to vote. Got a friend that owe's you a favor? Time to call it in.

Tweet it, that would be helpful. Put it up on your facebook, that would rock.

Show me the love, give me a little payback for all the stories you've read over the years. If we can just make the top 25, I will feel vindicated that perhaps this thing can go somewhere.

But if you don't, and I know some of you will not, then you automatically get nominated to baby sit Little Hoss. I'll drop her off with a bag of permanent markers and a hammer. If you value your home, I would go vote if I were you. Like, right now. Circle Of Moms Top 25 Dad Blogs

I'm A Liar

"I want that toy!" Little Hoss says. She is pointing at the T.V. screen where previously was a delightful little episode of Jake and the Neverland Pirates. After the kids go to sleep it will be showing a very awful alien type movie but it's ok because there will be boobs. That makes it worthwhile.

The toy she is asking for is some sort of tinker bell thing. I'm not sure which one. As a father of a 5 year old girl, I am very well versed in the Tinker Bell line of take my money. I could write of at least 3,999 different tinker bell products that constantly battle to get into my wallet. It turns out that Tinker Bell is a capitalist pig.

"Sure baby." I tell my daughter. I have no intention of buying this for her.

The next commercial comes on. It's a racetrack. The kids already have a racetrack. They got it for Christmas. I am proud to say that it last a whole month before Little Hoss took a pair of scissors to the power cord. I keep debating to myself if I should rewire it or not. To do so would show how awesome dad is that he can fix anything. To not do so would show that you can't destroy your things and have them magically replaced. This is the debate I am having with myself before I realize that Little Hoss will probably take a sledge hammer to it next.

"Dad, can I have that toy!" my son asks. He has fallen right in line with his big sister.

"No problem son." I tell him. Again, I have no intention of buying this for them.

Again another Tinker Bell toy commercial comes in. But this time it's Tink AND her friends. They seem a joyous lot, full of piss and vinegar as my father would say.

"Dad.............." I tune out the rest and just give the automatic response. I've got a championship level game of Angry Birds going on my phone.

"Yup." She'll never get it.

This pattern will continue until the commercials are over and the pre-requested show comes on. I believe it is Bubble Guppies. I am beginning to hate them.

Here are a couple of truths for you. My kids watch way to much T.V. I will not deny it and I will not be one of those people that says "I'm so embarrassed" or try and distort the truth of the situation. They watch a good 23 hours of T.V. a day. The last hour is spent pooping and eating. In between there, I try to teach the children valuable life lessons.

Lesson 1: Always cave before a beat down of a fight that you will never, ever win. I learned this technique with Hossmom over many, many arguments about things that don't matter. Should I disagree with her about politics, what comes next is a 2 hour beatdown of a debate where I'm left shattered and crying in the corner sucking my thumb. Should I suggest perhaps a different parenting strategy I usually end up in a time-out myself. Hossmom loves to debate and I have found that my life is way easier if I just don't engage her. And this of course, just pisses her off more.

The next lesson I'm teaching my children of course is that materialism is good. You should covet everything that you see. And not only that, you should expect other people to give it to you rather than actually work for it yourself. Besides, what else are you going to sell when you have to declare bankruptcy because of your never ending spending? A Tinker Bell doll might get you five bucks. Restraint doesn't give you a pot to piss in. I think my children will be great adults.

I know though that there are a lot of parents out there that are screaming now "But you are lying to your children!" Gasp, shock, Gasp.

Get off your high horse my fellow parents. First off, my children already suspect that I am a baby bunny killer. This is about the worst thing a father can be. Being a liar would probably be a step up for me, a move in the right direction. At least this way I'm not cutting the heads off Snow White's dwarfs and woodland friends.

We all lie to our children, just as our parents did to us. There is a Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy exists, Mommy and Daddy were just wrestling. Should I go on? Ok, answer this question then: How much T.V do your children watch each day? Be honest, just try it.

The Bunny Funeral

I was doing the right thing. I was doing what you are supposed to do even though the act of doing it was very distasteful and unpleasant. Not that is any consolation to the baby rabbit at my feet but I just want him to know that I did feel bad.

I had to end it for the little guy, he was suffering. I found him on our back porch while I was cleaning up. Some animal had been at him, probably my cat, and his gut was torn open pretty fierce. I felt really bad for the little guy as it couldn't have been more than just a few weeks old. There was no way he was going to make it though, he was to far gone. So I got my shovel out and did what I had to do, the thing that we are supposed to do when we see an animal suffering. It was not pleasant.

Then Little Hoss and Bubba Hoss came up the deck stairs. They stopped and looked at me, the shovel still in my hand and a headless baby rabbit at my feet.

Shit.

I would have given anything at this moment for a distraction or a time warp. When have my kids ever been quiet anyway? What kind of mad sorcery is this? But I couldn't. There is a headless rabbit at my feet and a shovel with a bloodstain in my hands. OJ's lawyers couldn't have gotten me out of this one.

If they would have just turned around at this moment I would have given them anything. Pony, no problem. All you can eat ice cream bar every night the week? Done. A real princess shackled in our basement making her available for tea parties on the whim of a 5 year old girl? I considered it. It's funny, after you find yourself a killer the rest of it gets a little easier.

"Daddy!" Little Hoss said. "What Happened!" She and her brother ran up to me and bent down looking at the headless baby rabbit.

I was about to lie to my daughter. I was going to tell a flat out lie, I admit it. I didn't have many options here. I was thinking about telling her that an evil race of aliens, hell bent on destroying the baby bunny population of Missouri, had come down and destroyed this little precious baby bunny. Damn the evil aliens, damn them to hell.

"Daddy, did a hawk get it?" Little Hoss asked. We decided to go with that.

"Yes honey." I said.

I am raising my daughter to love nature and the outdoors. I don't have anything against hawks at all. I think they are very majestic creatures that deserve our respect. But if the choices are A: Daddy is a killer that chops the heads off defenseless baby bunnies or B: Hawks tear out bunnies entrails and decapitates them for sport. I choose option B, hawks can suck it. And don't tell me I can blame the cat. Little Hoss is known for vengeance and I don't want to see my cat walking with a brand new limp and no tail.

"Is it dead daddy?" She asked me.

"Yes honey." Let's be honest here. As the bunny is without a head, it makes it really difficult to give the old dad line of "it's just sleeping" that I have used on many lifeless squirrel bodies that always seem to pop up on the road ways.

"Daddy, what is dead?" Bubba Hoss asked me. And there it is. The father question that we all put off for as long as we can but one that we can't avoid forever. The next one will be the sex talk where all parities involved will be scarred for a lifetime. My dad gave me the sex talk while we were slaughtering a hog. We were a bit redneck.

I had thought about this question but have not yet come up with a good way to answer it. It's hard to define death anyway but to make it so a 5 year old and a 3 year old can understand it is damn near impossible. But I'm dad and dad has got to give it a shot. Once the question has been asked, it cannot be unasked.

"Dead is when the body isn't alive anymore, guys." I start. "The little baby bunny does not live in that body anymore, he's gone." I know it's crap but it's the best I got.

"He's gone, daddy?" my daughter asks me.

"Yes honey."

She starts to cry. She asked me why but I didn't have an answer for that. I'm not afraid to admit that I choked up a little bit myself. I ask my kids if they would like to bury the baby bunny and say goodbye. They say yes.

I get a shoe box because that is what the cliche says you do. I pick up the bunny, and it's head, and place it in there. We go out to the backyard, near a tree, and I dig a hole. Little Hoss is still crying. She has her umbrella because she says she needs the shade. Bubba Hoss is trying to figure out what happened as we do our funereal march.

"Maybe he was out looking for his mamma and the hawk got it." He says. Great. Now I know that they are going to have issues with mom leaving for work everyday.

"Yeah." says Little Hoss, picking up the narrative. "He was looking for his mother and food and a mean hawk came and deaded it." I find that it's not really a good idea at this moment to correct their grammar. But the story seems to be giving them some context to understand what has happened here so I let them roll with it.

Once the hole is dug we put the baby bunny inside and I cover it up. Little Hoss is sniffling now, Bubba Hoss is continuing with his story to help him understand what has happened.

I kneel down and give them both a hug. I tell them that it's time to say goodbye to the baby bunny. They do. Bubba Hoss suggests that the Hawk that killed the bunny is friends with the bad witch and she made him do it. I like that one so we roll with it.

I find that life is easier to understand when you can blame the bad witch.

Chicken Fried Steak and Taxes

It's a funny thing. When I lived in Texas I didn't eat many chicken fried steaks. I suppose I took them for granted the same way that you take for granted that a stripper will talk to you if you have a dollar bill in your teeth. It's one of those things that just always seems to be. I could have had chicken fried steak any numerous times but I passed it up for some sweet, sweet Mexican food. Mmmm, heartburn.

But since I have left Texas, I am kind of missing good Southern cooking. That down home stuff that you could always get. Now everything is fancy. Most places here require you to keep your belt on and top button buttoned.

So Hossmom said we needed something special tonight. Some comfort food because we have a big job to do tonight like every other patriotic American. Taxes. I hate doing taxes but I do love chicken fried steak.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't mind paying my taxes. That's fine. I just hate doing them. Because even though my wife and I both have college degree's, have held management positions, and I have actually made some life and death decisions: We have no idea what the hell we are doing when it comes to taxes.

The smart money would be to just find a CPA and let him do it. We did that for many years before we had kids and I became a SAHD. We paid 300 bucks to have someone else do them. But we can't do that anymore because any single income parent knows that you take every opportunity to save money. Besides, our CPA fucked up the last year he did them and we had to pay 1000 bucks in late fees. But don't worry, he did give us the filing fee back for screwing up our taxes. Jerkoff.

Now we do them ourselves to save money. It can kind of be a rough night, which is why we need the comfort food. The deeper we get into doing the taxes the more of a glare I get from Hossmom. Income: all her. Savings: all her. IRA: yup, it's hers. The glare says "You sir, are a drag on the economy."

She doesn't really glare at me but it's the way I feel. I offer nothing. Wait, that's not right. This year I did offer something! I did jury duty for 5 days and got paid 30 bucks for 40 hours worth of work. I was happy at the time. Now I find out that we actually get TAXED on that. So now that just makes me feel a little worse.

But every bit of money counts, right? We all make sacrifices to save money, to keep the families goals. I do my part. I am now officially down to two pair of jeans. One I had to cut 3 inches off of the hem because I ripped them and they make me look like some sort of begger. The other pair has a rip on the thigh that is slowing crawling up to the crotch. I find my self very alluring with my suggestive clothing.

But that's it. The other jeans haven't made it through winter as they were all 4 years old. But I haven't bought any new pairs this year because I was trying to save money.

Now I'm getting taxed on 30 bucks and a ticket for indecent exposure.

We filled out the form. Under the part of my occupation I asked Hossmom to put "Homemaker that makes a fucking great chicken fried steak". She tried but the box was to small. Figures.

But I do make a kick ass chicken friend steak. I will sell it to you for 30 bucks.

Under the table of course.

DaddysHome Blog

I have a new post over at Daddyshome today. It's about March Madness so I will understand if a lot of you don't want to read it. However, I do some pretty good trash talking and that's always fun to read. Check it out, leave a comment, kiss an Irish person today.