I love my kids, I just hate parenting
I taught my son to say “smash!” like the Hulk. It’s awesome. But now everytime I show him a superhero, whether it’s Spider-Man, Superman or even Aquaman (I have a t-shirt. Don’t hate.), he does his “smash!” routine. So on the Fourth I took him to the pool to try and show him the differenceRead more about Smash! v. Splash[…]
This Fourth of July, Mom and Buried and I are faced with a bit of a dilemma. The same one we are faced with everyday, really.
We want to celebrate our country’s birth in style by getting drunk out of our minds.
But we have a kid. They should call it “Lack of Independence Day”.
There are some aspects of parenting I think I’m probably pretty good at. Of course, they are mostly the fun ones; I’m kind of like Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire before dressing in drag teaches him to be a responsible parent.
I guess that makes my wife Sally Field, which is at least a little true, because my son really really likes her. As in prefers her to everyone else.
Which is okay. It seems pretty normal at this point, and comes in handy when my son hurts himself, because playing nurse is not one of the fun things.
Large groups of toddlers make me very uncomfortable. Simply surviving the tornado that is my own (almost) two-year-old is a daily workout. When there is a group of these creatures underfoot, my blood pressure goes through the roof.
I’ve written about the struggles of keeping my son in check when visiting a friend’s home, but today’s post is not about my kid; it’s about everyone else’s.
My kid gives me enough stress. If it’s not my kid? It’s not my problem.
The title of this post is an exact quote from my wife. Thanks, honey?
It’s a borderline offensive thing to say, but she’s right. No one knew I’d be, let alone expected me to be, a great dad. Or even a good one. Not her. Not you. Least of all me.
Okay. Maybe least of all you.