I Don’t Want Any Father’s Day Gifts

I Don’t Want Any Father’s Day Gifts

Father’s Day is coming up (as if you didn’t know, you sly minx!) and Mom and Buried keeps asking me what I want. I keep telling her that I don’t want any Father’s Day gifts.

Which is true, I don’t want anything. Why not? Well, it’s certainly not because “I have two beautiful kids and an amazing wife and that’s everything I need” because give me a break!

Here are some reasons I don’t want any Father’s Day gifts.

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Taking Kids to the Movies Sucks

Taking Kids to the Movies Sucks

I used to go to 100-plus movies a year. Then I became a parent.

Last week, I saw a movie in the theater for the first time in a while. An adult movie. (Well, it was a superhero movie, so “adult” may be a stretch. But it’s not exactly for five-year-olds either. A guy gets shot in the head, point-blank. I think my kid can wait a few years to see that.) It’s a rare occurrence these days.

I’m just not going to spend 100 bucks on a babysitter so I can go sit in a dark room and not talk to my wife. If I’m spending 100 bucks on a babysitter, I’m gonna go sit in a candlelit room and silently stare at my wife while we guzzle overpriced booze. So the only time I see movies is when I take my kid, and that’s not the same.

Because taking kids to the movies sucks.

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The Gift of Convenience

The Gift of Convenience

As you may know, I spent last week in Turks and Caicos.

It was gorgeous. Warm and sunny and, aside from the pristine ocean and the hotel pools, dry. Mom and Buried and Detective Munch started our last day in the warm tropical water and ended our last day in the cold, miserable rain outside Newark airport. It was quite the jarring shift, especially when the rain continued all weekend.

Further dampening (NAILED IT!) my mood was the realization that Mother’s Day is around the corner. I was exhausted (vacation with kids is no joke), and had little motivation to leave the house. Especially not in the rain.

But I had to go shopping.

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The Birthday Party Nightmare

The Birthday Party Nightmare

I guess I’m a party pooper. My son turned five in September, and as usual, my wife threw him an elaborate and expensive birthday party, complete with a theme, of course. Now that we have another kid to celebrate, the birthday party nightmare is only going to get worse.

When Detective Munch turned one, it was a circus theme. For two, it was Yo Gabba Gabba! At three, it was all about trains, and at four, he and his friends got capes and dressed as superheroes. This time around, it was a pirate-themed affair, complete with invitations that looked like—and were actually burned at the edges to look like—old treasure maps, a corresponding treasure hunt, and plastic swords and eye-patches for all the scurvy little dogs to take home and subsequently use to terrorize their parents.

It was fun. My son had fun, his friends had fun, everyone had fun. Even the adults! (We provided beer and mimosas because WE’RE NOT MONSTERS.) That doesn’t mean I want to do it again.

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Diamonds are Forever

Diamonds are Forever

My son’s first crush has reared its head.

There’s a girl in his kindergarten class that he’s constantly pretending to marry. I don’t know if his proposal involves an engagement ring, he has no money, and he may not even know about that part of the ritual yet. But I’m pretty sure he’ll learn about it soon.

Because despite an ancient screenplay I wrote that flipped the script by having girls propose to guys with an “engagement watch,” odds are the diamond ring will maintain its hegemony for at least another generation or so. So he’d better start saving now!

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