Hello, Dad and Buried followers! Chances are you’ve been reading D&B for some time now, and I know what you’ve been thinking: who is the woman lucky enough to have snagged the “amazing” man behind this “amazing” blog?
That would be me. Eat your hearts out, ladies.
That’s right, I am Mom and Buried. After much pathetic begging on his part, I’ve finally decided to oblige my dear husband and write a guest post. I figured you’ve been wondering for a while now about the better half of this parenting operation and it’s high time I ended the suspense.
Besides, it is Father’s Day, after all.
So, I present to you the following list, the aptly named:
The Five Most Annoying Things About Dad and Buried
(Editor’s Note: This may not have been the best idea.)
- His Never-ending Supply of Sarcasm
Do you know who doesn’t get sarcasm? Three year olds. Do you know who doesn’t appreciate sarcasm? Exhausted moms at the end of a 15-hour day. At least until they’ve had a couple glasses of wine. Luckily, he does keep me pretty well stocked in wine, so we get through.
- This Thinly-veiled Ruse
The way he constantly bitches about parenting, all while clearly loving his son more than anything on earth. (Well, maybe not more than beer, but it’s close.) Of course, judging by the comments on the Huffington Post, a solid 70% of his readers don’t seem to get that (see “sarcasm” above). Why doesn’t he just show the people who he truly is? A stuffed-animal-loving, child-adoring dad, with a strange soft spot for Garfield collectibles.
- His Sense of Humor
The way he manages to make parenting seem funny, take himself a little less seriously, and actually LAUGH at some of the ridiculous stresses that happen every day with parenting. His ability to lighten a situation and make a tough moment pass painlessly. Sure, it may SOUND like a good thing, but parenting is serious business. No one here is supposed to be having any damn fun. Just ask those HuffPo commenters.
- His Pretty Damn Awesome Parenting
He may try to convince you otherwise, but this guy is a great dad. He’s the first to oblige when his son asks us to run in circles with him for no apparent reason. He’ll dance with him and lose all inhibitions (trust me, you don’t want to see him dance. We nearly had to ban dancing at our wedding.) And after all that, he’ll horseplay around and toss the kid into the air, even on Detective Munch’s 39th request. Frankly, it’s all downright exhausting. Can’t we all just go back to mediocre parenting, and sit back and have a damn cocktail?
- This Blog
Sure, it’s entertaining. Sure, he’s pretty talented, I guess. And sure, it documents our son’s childhood in a way I was too damn lazy to do despite all those stupid baby books we got at the shower. But, sometimes, I just need him to stop writing and do the damn dishes. Or put together the bookshelf he’ll do completely wrong the first time and will need to redo six more times to get right, all while cursing the universe, commercialism and – mostly – Ikea. On second thought, maybe he should stick to the writing. Never mind.
This could go on for hours, but I’ll stop there. It’s Father’s Day, which means I have to make eggs and bacon and herald all things Dad for the day, pretending the whole time that they are somehow more important than Mom when we could totally get by without them, right, ladies?*
As long as we still have vodka.
Until next time,
Mom and Buried
*See item #1