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26
Mar
Tag: children
20
Mar
The Happiness Problem
My son turned three and half the other day. My wife threw him a little party.
Few things seem so obviously tailor-made for a Dad and Buried rant as the absurdity of half-birthdays. Unfortunately, when my wife got excited about Detective Munch’s mini-milestone, I found myself swept up in half-birthday fever myself, against my better judgment.
Despite my reservations – about spoiling the kid; about rewarding him for nothing; about the fact that his terrible threes haven’t exactly been his behavioral high-point so why the fuck should he get an extra made-up holiday right smack in the middle of it? – I helped celebrate it. Enthusiastically. We gave him a toy truck and a cupcake!
I think I’m part of the problem. I sang “Happy half-birthday” to him, for Christ’s sake.
14
Mar
Dad of No Trades
This morning Detective Munch handed me an old iPod he’d been playing with and asked me to fix it. I told him I couldn’t, and he wanted to know why.
“You fix my trains!”
“Sometimes.”
“Why can’t you fix this?”
This doesn’t offend me; he’s only three. Plus, iPods aren’t exactly the easiest devices to dissect and MacGyver back to life. But “fixing” his trains mostly involves replacing the batteries, and the truth is he could ask me to fix almost anything and I’d be at a loss. I’m not a handy man.
A common male stereotype is that men can fix things. Kids expect dads to fix things. But – unless you count breakfast, which, don’t, because I can’t even make decent pancakes – I can’t fix shit.
Am I failing my son?
12
Mar
The Truth About Toddlers
You may have noticed that I occasionally post some “e-card” type images here, or on my Facebook page.
Until now, I’ve been creating my own “user cards” over on the hilarious Someecards site. But I wanted to get away from using their template, and their logo, so I decided to make my own.
Today I’m unveiling the first one, which reveals the truth about toddlers.
11
Mar
Threenage Wasteland
By now, everyone knows the “terrible twos” are a myth.
Okay, maybe not a myth, because I’m sure they suck for many parents, but for many other parents, like Yours Truly, it’s year number three that proves to be far more harrowing.
Mom and Buried and I are now halfway through this “threenage wasteland” and we can’t wait for it to end.
Which, presumably, will be when he turns four, right? Unless there’s already some clever phrase for our son to live up to for that year, like the FOUR-ror Show.
Or maybe something better. Shut up.