A Beacon of Daddy-hood

A note before we start here: this is a cross-pollination experiment. I’m going to post another man’s post, and say what you will about cuckolding and whiptail lizards, because we don’t care. We have children.

Seriously, though, I love the opening line of this post, and I love it for this reason: when my baby was born, I expected the magic gene of Dadhood to turn on. I would, somehow, have a biochemical reaction to the birth of my baby girl, and it would open up an untapped gland in my brain, the one that would flood my bloodstream with Deepness hormones. The first night I was at home from the hospital-mom and baby were still there- I checked my skin for signs. It didn’t feel different. I looked in the mirror for new Wiseness- nothing. I was stuck with both ME and a giant task ahead.

Basically, like every new parent, I had to swallow the fact that while I had passed the practical exam, so to speak,  I had no fucking idea about the theory. I was still the same unprepared asshole, and all my treasured opinions about how the world should be run were about to explode in a mess of kid. I was still madly concerned about the “I” part of it, something that just has to get beat out of you. We no longer resist our destiny.

I think this introduction might have gone on longer than the actual post I was trying to plug. No matter, fuck it, whateva. Find it Here.


Published in: on June 9, 2011 at 7:16 PM  Comments (2)  

A Silver-ish Mucus Lining

We’ve been sick. All of us. Mom, Dad, Bean, Grandma Tutu, the whole shebang. There has been a pouring of snot from our collective orifices- and enough tears- to grease the gears of an entire Indy 500. Were going on week seven of constant sickness. Young children are just mobile disease vectors, and it’s a serious design flaw of the universe that parents have to take care of them while they are coming down with the same thing.


Still, there is always a candle to light the darkness, even if it’s cast of a sort of bemused parental irony. The Bean has, like most months, a cough. She still can’t snort in her boogers and swallow them, so they just kinda drain into her lungs- hence the cough.


When the cough comes on good and strong, it dislodges great clumps of mucus. I can’t even begin to imagine what she thinks is happening when a lump of warm mess comes up her throat and lands in her mouth, but her horrified befuddlement- coupled with the fact that she can’t wail about it, cause her mouth is full of oook- is really magic to watch.




Published in: on June 3, 2011 at 6:38 PM  Comments (1)  

Remad ( courtesy of the Missus)

Remad(ree-mahd, adj.): When, in the course of normal spousal conversation, you bring up some fucking stupid thing you did, and the reaction is such that your partner becomes mad again, i.e. “I can’t believe you even said that, I’m SO re-mad at you.”

Published in: on June 2, 2011 at 8:06 PM  Comments (1)  

The worst thing

The worst thing you find at playgrounds?  Not cigarette butts, not questionable pieces of plastic,  not even cat turds………..used band-aids. Ueehlllgh.

Published in: on June 1, 2011 at 8:29 PM  Leave a Comment