02 Sep

Dad and Buried Posted in discipline 3 comments

Hard Knock Life

The other day, during a particularly stressful endurance test at the dinner table, Mom and Buried chided me for getting so frustrated at Detective Munch’s eating (or lack thereof) habits. She told me that I needed to step back and realize that as hard as parenting can be, it’s pretty tough to be a three-year-old too.

My inadequacy as a father notwithstanding – although I would argue that no parent should be judged by their reaction to a toddler’s dinnertime hi-jinks – that’s some bullshit right there.

Today Ask Your Dad Blog, Tomorrow the World!

Last week I posted a quick little update about the passing of my son’s afternoon nap on Facebook. Upon reading it, my archenemy at Ask Your Dad Blog, John Kinnear, told me he wished he had written it and proceeded to beg me to tell everyone he had. When I refused, he requested that IRead more about Today Ask Your Dad Blog, Tomorrow the World![…]

11 Aug

Dad and Buried Posted in Future 11 comments

Label War

For reasons that make little sense to my readers, my wife, or even myself, I often refer to my son as Detective Munch. But that’s almost exclusively online; I never call him that to his face.

No, to his face I call him all manner of things, some of which rhyme with his actual name (there aren’t a lot of options; his actual name is Pantry), some of which rhyme with grass-pole, and most of which are just nonsense words because I’m more of a child than he is.

Aside from causing some identity-confusion that could come back to haunt us both and the occasional scolding from Mom and Buried, the nonsense nicknames I give my son are harmless. They’re just a way for me to be affectionate with him when I can’t remember his real name and don’t want him to know I’ve forgotten.

But since I don’t use his real name online, I’m starting to run out of ways to refer to him, especially as he gets older.

Bet On It

Over the weekend, professional golfer Rory McIlroy won the Open Championship. In the process he netted $1.66 million.

His father, meanwhile, scored big himself, having placed a bet in 2005 that his son would win the Open Championship by 2015. Daddy McIlroy collected (approximately) $171,000 merely for having confidence in his son’s golfing ability.

Which got me thinking…

What would I bet on my own son to accomplish within the next 10 years?

Guy Anxiety

If you are one of the nearly 7000 people (dupes!) who follow my Facebook page, you probably got annoyed last week when I asked you for topic suggestions. Sue me; I had some writer’s block.

And I have bigger things to worry about than your happiness. As one of my readers reminded me with her suggested topic: Mums suffer from constant ridiculous anxieties re our kids. Like is he eating enough, has dad put his woolly hat on properly, will he get to college if he doesn’t get into the right nursery… and is he eating enough? How about you share your worst and most ludicrous dad anxieties?

Let me start by saying that a propensity for parenting anxiety can’t be so neatly divided by gender. I am often more paranoid and unnecessarily protective of my son than Mom and Buried is, and I think that just comes down to personality. But you’re right, Anonymous Reader: WOMEN BE CRAZY.

Dad and Buried

Tag: development

Hard Knock Life

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Today Ask Your Dad Blog, Tomorrow the World!

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Label War

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Bet On It

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Guy Anxiety

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