I love my kids, I just hate parenting
For the past week or so, ever since the baseball incident, Detective Munch has been at the top of his game.
He’s been on his best behavior, in a good mood, helpful with The Hammer, cooperative with us. There’s been nary a fit or whine-fest, and we only almost missed the school bus once. It’s kind of scary. He’s been so good it’s almost like our parenting is paying off!
This is when I need to remind myself not to get cocky, kid. Stay woke!
Father’s Day is next weekend, apparently.
That’s right, I don’t pay much attention to the date, because I don’t care too much about Father’s Day! Don’t get me wrong, Mom and Buried is an amazing gift-giver, so it’s always exciting to see what she comes up with, but I’d trade every gift she’s ever given me for never having to get her anything because my gift-giving abilities pale in comparison to hers and the stress is KILLING ME.
It doesn’t have to kill you, though, because I’m going to help! This year, I have some gift ideas for the dad in your life, with the First Annual Dad and Buried Father’s Day Gift Guide!
My son got hit in the face with a baseball the other day.
This would have been terrible on its own, but the fact that it happened right in the middle of me scolding him for being a pain in the ass made it even worse.
It’s not easy being a disciplinarian when your kid is crying in pain.
When I get home from work, I’m pretty spent.
My days are usually filled with meetings and deadlines and fire drills and brainstorming and phone calls — capped off by a long commute on a crowded subway. So, by the time I get home, the last thing I want to do is something mentally taxing. I want a drink, a seat and some television.
But, alas, I have kids, so before I get to do those things, I have to deal with the fruit of my loins first. And that means common core.
Disclosure: This post is in collaboration with DIYZ. All opinions of apps and companies that help me complete DIY projects are my own.
When we moved to Raleigh in 2012, we bought a dining room table which came with a bench. But, the only bench the store had available was the display model. It wasn’t without some wear and tear, but we needed it. Obviously, a mere year and a half later, when we got back to Brooklyn, it broke.
The wood splintered on one of the legs and it was no longer stable enough to use. It seemed fixable, at least for someone who can fix things (read: not me), so we kept it in storage for when Mom and Buried got remarried.
To her chagrin, we’re still together, and the bench is still broken.