I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Hey kiddo,
You may remember I wrote a similar letter on Mother’s Day, in which I begged you to behave so that your mom could relax and enjoy her special Sunday.
This letter is a little different. For one thing, this letter is about me, not about Mommy, so I can speak a bit more freely. For another, until football starts, Sundays are pretty much meaningless to me. Even this coming one.
A few weeks back, after abandoning potty training due to the onset of trauma, Mom and Buried and I took a quick run to Target.
While there, we decided to buy some off-brand diapers to get us through the next few weeks, enough time for Detective Munch to emerge from his PTSD (Potty Traumatic Stress Disorder) and get back on the potty train.
The cheapo diapers turned out to not be the best idea, as they were cheapo for a reason: they leaked worse than Julian Assange.
Which got me thinking. Maybe I shouldn’t shortchange my son.
Yesterday, one of my blog entries – my Gender Neutral piece from December – was featured on the Huffington Post. Now that I’m a superstar, I kind wanted to burn all my bridges and let my enemies know how I really feel, until I realized that my enemies won’t even bother reading this. Then IRead more about Going National![…]
The last time March Madness rolled around, I had a full-time job. The job afforded me the flexibility to work from home one day a week, and on a day like today – the second day of the tournament – such a set-up seemed ideal. Of course, working from home wasn’t all it was crackedRead more about Zombie Post: Home Court Disadvantage[…]
Before he was even a twinkle in my eye, I had some ideas about what I wanted to teach my hypothetical son. Most of us do; without necessarily meaning to, we all take stock of what worked for us as kids, what we vow never to do as parents, what values we consider most important, etc. When you finally have children of your own, it’s a bit of a thrill to realize just how important you are to them, and how much influence you have over their development.
But my son is only two; it’s a bit early to tell him to always wear a rubber and when to double down. He needs to be able to swing off a tee before I can toss any real heat his way. But that doesn’t stop me from occasionally buzzing one by his ear.