Raising kids often feels like a contact sport. Or an endurance test. Or both. It’s actually more like 50 different sports all wrapped up in one. In short, it’s like the Olympics.
Maybe it’s not cross-country skiing, and it’s definitely not a biathlon (guns don’t kill people, terrible gun laws allow people to easily kill by other people with guns), but it’s certainly something of a a marathon. It might even be curling, but I don’t understand curling, so we’re sticking with marathon, and maybe some ice dancing (I don’t understand that either).
I’ve never participated in the Olympic games, but I have seen them on TV. A lot. They’re always on. And after years of being a spectator, I’ve come to the conclusion that watching the Olympics is not that different from having kids.
In what ways, you say? Funny you should ask.
The beginning of parenthood is boring. Not uneventful – lots of shit happens (literally) – but repetitive and monotonous.
It’s hard too, but mostly because it’s new, not because it’s particularly challenging. (Unless your baby has colic, in which case just drop him into a volcano and start over.) You’re tired all the time, you’re stressed all the time, you’re concerned about things you’d never thought about before, etc., but that stuffs mostly just inconvenient (and being an adult). Of course, when you’re a new parent, you don’t always realize that merely being inconvenienced by your kids is about the best you can hope for.
So your ignorant ass starts anticipating the more interesting stages of parenthood, when things will be fun! You stupid asshole.
I don’t know how to put this, but I’m kind of a big deal.
Not only are my tweets regularly featured in the Huffington Post’s weekly list of “Best Parenting Tweets” – follow me at @DadandBuried – but they occasionally publish my blog posts, in which I put forth my genius-level understanding of the intricacies of expert parenting.
This affiliation with such a popular, influential website gets my writing a lot more exposure, which is great, in theory. The HuffPo audience is not necessarily familiar with my blog.
And, judging by the comments they’re leaving on my posts, they hate me.
2013 was the year Dad and Buried went national. I broke through on the Huffington Post and got exposed to a much bigger audience. I’m still not famous or rich, but a lot more people think I’m an asshole who hates his son, so that’s pretty cool.
Hopefully, 2014 will bring even more eyes to my blog, and I’ll continue to be as passionate about it as I was over the past year. I had more time to devote to this site in 2013 than I’d ever had before, and that allowed me to regularly write about three posts a week. I suspect that number will go down a bit in 2014 as my schedule gets busier, but I’ll do my best!
To close out 2013, I thought I’d list the year’s most popular posts (based on views). The following list contains a good mix of son-bashing, parent-bashing, Brony-questioning (the post that just wouldn’t die), and even life-loving posts. There might even be a serious one in there. But I hope not.
Over the past week, two of my good friends had children, but neither child was born on Christmas day. The new fathers will surely know much disappointment over the course of their parenting lives, but perhaps none will be as crushing as coming oh so close to fathering the new messiah.
Congratulations to my two friends and their lovely wives, having a child is truly a miracle. Unfortunately, someone else’s kid will have to ignite the Apocalypse. Maybe even mine!
After all, he December 25th date is not meant to be Jesus’s actual birthday; it’s just a guess! So who’s to say he wasn’t actually born in September, like Detective Munch?
I’m not really the thankful type.
That’s not to say I’m not thankful for things, I’m just not the kind of guy that runs around telling people what I’m thankful for and how blessed I am. The good thing about Thanksgiving is that it reins those people in by giving them an entire holiday during which they can babble about their happy lives all day long. Of course, in the online world (i.e., Facebook), it has become the 30 Days of Thankfulness, because why be annoying for one day when you can do it for a whole month?
But if you can’t beat ‘em – like, literally BEAT THEM TO DEATH – join ‘em. So rather than get arrested this November, I’m giving some thanks. Deal with it.
I’ve been writing a lot of lists lately.
As a result, my friend at AskYourDadBlog – a far nicer, far more successful, far more irritating outfit – thought he’d be clever and insult my recent rash of list-making by suggesting a new one, called “10 Ways Having Kids is Like Writing a List About Things That Are Like Having Kids.”
Joke’s on him though, because I DID it. And it’s glorious. And it fills me with (more) self-loathing.
Mom and Buried and I only have one kid. Which makes us worse than all those parents who have more than one. Truly. We’re worse parents AND worse people.
At least we’re still better than all those people out there with NO kids! Am I right?
The fact is, having one kid is so easy it’s a joke. It’s pretty much exactly like having zero kids, except you actually have the one kid. Thankfully, one kid barely even registers in your life.
I’m a stay-at-home dad but since I only have one kid I’m really just a stay-at-home guy. I basically sit on my ass at home all day. Sometimes, I forget my son is even there! I honestly don’t know where he is right now, but I’m sure he’s fine. He’s just one person. He can handle himself.
I don’t know why only children even have parents.
Parents are the worst. Actually, politicians are probably the worst. And other people’s kids suck pretty bad too. And Nazis.
In fact, I changed my mind. I’m going to go out on a limb and say the Nazis are really the worst.
But parents still suck pretty bad. I knew it before I had a kid and it’s become even more apparent since I’ve joined their ranks.
Here are some of the reasons why.