I love my kids, I just hate parenting
My wife is pregnant. Capital-P pregnant. Like, nearly ten months, ready to burst, hating life, “why did I do this?” pregnant.
I am not pregnant. But, out of solidarity, I spent the holidays doing my best to make it seem like I was. Because I’m a good husband.
And a stupid idiot.
You love animals, right?
Of course you do, because who doesn’t love animals? (Mom and Buried!) Of course, there’s a difference between loving animals and devoting your life to them, and I wish someone had told me that before I became a parent, because what are young children but animals without fur?
That’s why I relate to this month’s 1 in 100 Million video. Being a parent and being a zookeeper aren’t all that different.
But don’t take my word for it.
My dad loves fantasy movies.
He loves them so much that it doesn’t matter how bad they are, how low-rent the production is, how terrible the cast is or how pitifully stupid they end up being. If there’s a dragon or some magic involved, he’s in. No questions asked.
My wife is the same way with movies about Christmas. And there are a LOT of them.
Teaching your kids to be kind is a big deal. I don’t much care what my son becomes, whether he’s rich or poor, athletic or musical or bookish, a ladies man or a guy’s guy, so long as he ends up being a good person. Being kind to other people is a large part of that.
I was hopeful that the new KIND Snacks #kindawesome campaign – which asks people to spread kindness by handing out actual physical (or digital) cards that contain a code for redeeming free KIND bars – would be a fun way to teach my son this major life lesson. So I decided to use the cards they sent me to reward him every time I saw him do something nice.
More than a week later, I still have all my cards. Because five-year-old.
Sometimes watching sports and being a (good) parent is a tough combination. Especially when you’re a Dolphins fan.
I don’t have much to cheer for these days, but I do have plenty to cheer against (primarily the Patriots, Jets, and Bills). Unfortunately, there’s a five-year-old around most of the time, which makes talking smack about my rivals a lot harder.
But I think I may have found a solution. Thank God Detective Munch can’t read!