The Man Cold

I haven’t been feeling well the last few days. I had been blaming this on what I thought was the longest, most horrific hangover of all time, which incidentally almost had me swearing off alcohol all together rendering the idea of all future social functions completely unbearable, which in turn was just another step toward my inevitable shunning of all civilization and an eventual case of extreme agoraphobia. But I woke up this morning with a stuffy nose so I figured I’ve just been trying to fight off a cold.

This has left me a touch unpleasant to be around though. I’ve been snappy and much quicker to dole out punishments to the children over minor things. And some of the punishments or at least threats of punishments have been a little over the top, like when I threatened to burn down Disney World and cancel their birthdays.

My wife reminded me to take a few deep breaths and to remember that I shouldn’t take my not feeling well out on the children.

I told her she was stupid and should shut-up. Then I crossed my arms in front of my chest, stamped my foot and then maybe whimpered a little bit.

“Aww,” she said. “My poor husband has a man cold.”

I’m not exactly sure what she meant by that but I’m thinking she means that I have a super cold with an unsually high viral load to deal with a manliness that’s so extreme it’s evident even on the cellular level.

Why I Can’t Have Nice Things

Children, they’re the reason I can’t have nice things.

We bought brand new furniture a few years ago; a couch, a loveseat, a couple of chairs. All destroyed.

Most of our DVDs and game disks are scratched beyond repair.

Our printer has dried play-dough in most of its various ports.

We don’t own a single board game that has all it’s pieces.

Books have been drawn on. So have walls. And tables. And anything else reachable by little hands holding writing implements.

Lamps have been broken.

Phones have been dropped in glasses of water.

We rent and have never gotten back a safety deposit.

And the prompt for this particular post; computers, oh dear God the computers that have been reduced to paper weights. I’m not going to go into details about the two Macbooks that were destroyed or the netbook that I’m currently typing on that is literally held together by duct tape and was once set on fire. No, I want to talk about the brand new laptop I got for Christmas. This Christmas, December 25th 2012. Yep, the nice, fast, big bright screened, sharp image having laptop that got knocked up in the air before it went crashing to the floor rendering it useless. That was the latest victim in onslaught of destruction that is my children…

I think I’m going to go stomp some toys now.

Preschooler Workout

In an effort to get in shape, or at least get into a shape that no longer resembles a pear, I have started exercising. This is a new situation for me. It’s not that I never got any exercise before, it’s just all of my former exercise was a result of physical labor jobs and my ongoing quest for fish and game. These two things never left me traditionally “fit” so to say but I was never the weakest or most out of shape person in a room.

Not so much anymore. My recent way of life has left me in a condition where walking to the door to pay the pizza guy winds me.

So I decided to strap the little baby on my back and start going for daily walks with my three year-old Demon Spawn. Just make it easy on myself I decided to let Demon Spawn set the pace.

This was a mistake.

Three year-old’s can go on forever.

That is until they can’t and they collapse in the middle of the trail/sidewalk/street screaming that they can’t go on and you have to carry them.

And then you carry them until your arms turn to jelly, put them down and they decide a game of tag is the next logical thing that should happen. And you’re it.

So now you have to chase a small child at a full run up a hill with another small child strapped to your back, not to tag him back because you don’t want to be it, but because you don’t want him falling in the lake/running into the street/attacking a stranger trying to have a pleasant non-being-attacked-by-a-rabid-three-year-old kind of day.

Then when you catch them they cry because they are tired and you’re mean and don’t love them and won’t carry them.

So you pick them up again.


And then back to the running uphill.

I should be in great shape soon.


I don’t like video games…  in the same way hardcore addicts don’t like heroin.

This is because once I start playing I obsess over it until the game is beaten.

I know this about myself. It’s a major flaw. And I accept it.

This is why I’ve avoided playing World of  Warcraft  or any other of those never-ending always evolving mega games.

Or at least I avoided them until this weekend.

See, in an ill-advised attempt to bond with my oldest child, and to figure out what the hell he was talking about all the time, I started playing Minecraft with him.

This is exactly the kind of game I’ve been trying to avoid.

He is at school, I’m still playing.

There’s no forseeable end to this game.

It’s hopeless.

I’m doomed.

I will accomplish nothing real in my life from this point on.

You may never hear from me again.

A Letter to the Meanest Daddy in the World From Your Little Baby

Dear Daddy,

WTF bro?

Seriously, what’s been up your ass lately?

We had a real good thing going on while I was trying to get on my feet but now that I got my shit together and am mobile your like all up in my business.

Like the other day when I wanted to carry around that big glass baking dish I found in the back of that cabinet, you know the cabinet you so uncoolly try to keep me out of all the time but I keep going back in because I know that must be where you keep most of the awesomeness in the house, and you totally ganked it from me and you were all like “No baby you blah, blah, blah, break, blah, cut and hurt, blah”. Man, what’s the point of walking upright if I’m not allowed to use my hands to carry stuff.

Oh, and what about the time the other day when you found me splashing in that big white bowl of water in the room where I take baths. I was having a good time all by myself seeing what could fit in and what would soak up more water, a sock or that roll of paper you leave in there, and then you bust in there all freaking the fuck out about germs and yelling about my brothers not closing the door or the lid to the bowl.

Honestly I think the only people in the house that care are my brothers. They leave the good stuff laying around; the little colorful plastic squares that I like to put in my mouth, the two piece metal thingy with the bright red round handles that make that “shicka-shicka” sound when I open and close them, balls just big enough for me to shove all the way back in my mouth to where I make that weird gagging sound…

All those things you say no to are the things that bring me joy dude and you just want to take all that joy away…  Joy killer.

You suck,

The Little Baby

My Little Oedipus

Directly after my wife left the house today my three year-old started bawling.

“What’s wrong?”


“Oh buddy,” I said as I picked him to comfort him. “Momma will be back. And I’m here.”

“I,I… I don’t LIKE YOU! I love MOMMA!”

“Aww, do you want to kill Daddy and marry Momma you love her so much?” I joked.

Suddenly all the tears stopped and he looked up at me with the most serious expression that’s ever crossed his angelic face. “Yes. Yes I do.”

I’m sleeping with the bedroom door locked from here on out.

It’s Finally Over

The end didn’t come easily.

My oldest cried from the time he woke-up to right before getting on the bus.

Demon Spawn cried because he didn’t want his momma to go back to work.

And my wife, in a lateness induced rage, kicked the baby in the face for getting in her way as she was trying to get out the door. (Okay, she didn’t actually kick him in the face as much as trip over him as he toddled in front of her while she had her hands full, but I am going to use the “kicked the baby in the face” later in a “Oh yeah? Well do you remember that time you …” moment.)

Like I said, it wasn’t easy, but Christmas “vacation” officially ended this morning.

The house is mine again.

No more people in my way… Well, there’s fewer people in my way.

No more horrible cacophony of multiple electronic toys and entertainment devices going off all at once.

No more weekday mornings filled with the screams of the two oldest children as they fight like a couple of coked-up honey badgers over who had what first.

No more “Daddy can I use the computer?” or “Sweetie, I need to use laptop when you get a minute.”

No more “help” when I try to do things.

Oh no, no more of any of that…

Or at least until the weekend gets here.