Tolerance Is Not A Virtue

Tolerance Is Not A Virtue

Over the weekend, while I was giving my son a bath, we started talking about Disney’s Robin Hood. My son said he liked it — except for the ending, when the main characters kiss and get married.

“Ya know, you might want to get married someday…”
“I might want to marry a boy.”
“You can do that.”
“Boys can marry boys, and girls can marry girls.”
“That’s right. The important thing is that you marry someone you love.”

(I’ll stop quoting our conversation there, before he expressed his desire to marry Mommy and also to marry multiple friends from his kindergarten class.)

The conversation got me thinking…

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I Don’t Like My Son Right Now

I Don’t Like My Son Right Now

Despite appearances, I love my kids.

Two months ago, Detective Munch turned six, and to mark the occasion I shared (on FB) one of the sappiest things I’ve ever written, a top ten list of reasons I love him. The reasons included his face, his laugh, his voice, and his love of music. I wrote the post when he was two, and I still love my son, and always will.

But right now, I don’t like my son.

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Kids Are Brats Sometimes

Kids Are Brats Sometimes

I’m not one to mince words or make excuses. I never have been, and that didn’t change when I became a parent.

This is why I often find it irritating to hear all the ways parents try to avoid blaming their kids for bad behavior. This is aside from the fact that most other parents, and other parents’ children, are irritating to begin with! (No offense, fellow parents. I barely like myself when I’m parenting. It’s not really a good look on anyone.)

Sure, we all make excuses for our kids from time to time, and some of them are warranted – even necessary. Kids are kids. I’m 40, and not only do I struggle to contain my emotions half the time (especially while watching football or when my 5-year-old wakes me up at 2 a.m. by jumping onto my crotch), I also barely know what I’m doing half the time. I certainly don’t expect my children to have a handle on themselves.

But that doesn’t mean they get a pass. That doesn’t mean that every time they misbehave it needs to be rationalized.

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Scarier Than Halloween

Scarier Than Halloween

Halloween stops being scary once you hit a certain age. Unless you’re a woman, then it never stops being scary. For multiple reasons.

As a parent, there are countless things to be afraid of. But monsters and zombies and expensive vinyl outfits that rip as you take them out of their packaging are pretty far down the list. (They didn’t even make my list.)

I made a new list of things that I, as the parent of a six-year-old and a baby, find much scarier than Halloween.
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Can’t Stay-At-Home Moms Get A Little Love?

Can’t Stay-At-Home Moms Get A Little Love?

I was a stay-at-home dad once, for almost two years. I wasn’t a fan. But that wasn’t my wife’s fault.

It was boring. It was isolating. It was exhausting. That wasn’t my wife’s fault either. (It was my son’s.)

Yes, I bonded with Detective Munch and we had plenty of good times, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t prefer going to work to being home all day. And it’s partly because I remember those days that now that my wife is home with a new baby, I’m determined to help her out as much as I can.

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