A Terrible Poem About My Last Fishing Trip

Awake

More night than morning

All was ready the day before

Long hours on dark abandoned roads

Body on automatic as thoughts flow like the river they are about

Arrive before the glow of the morning sun

Black rocky trails and the roar of unseen water my only companion

Dim light finally filters through the trees

The gorge illuminated

A chill is felt through the waders as I slowly slide in

Buttery golden browns and silvery pink rainbows occupy the mind as I make the first cast of the day

Beautiful drift in complicated currents through likely lie but no takers

Next cast the fly carefully crafted the day before alights on a downed limb

A sharp flick of the wrist and a roll of the line should set it free

SNAP

The rod tip breaks

My favorite rod

My

Favorite

Rod

On my second cast

On

My

Second

Cast

My head hangs low

I stomp back down the rocky path

At the car I realize my backup was left

Long drive home with the sun in my eyes to screaming children and a grumpy wife

Entire bottle of cheap red wine to dull it all

Don’t think it worked

Second cast

Second

Mother

Fucking

Cast

Maybe I should take up golf

Maybe

I

Should

Take up

Golf

…

…

…

No

Golf’s dumb

 

 

At Least I Know Where I Stand

I was helping my oldest child study for a test recently when I casually mentioned that I never had to learn the particular lesson he was studying. He looked at me and, in a tone that I believe can only be produced by incredibly pretentious nine years old snots, said, “Only the kids in the gifted and talented program learn this, so…”

“Well,” I said. “I used to be in the gifted and talented program when I was in school and we didn’t go over this then.”

“What? You were in the GT program when you were in school?”

“Yup.”

“Huh? I didn’t know you were smart.” I think it was the complete sincerity in this comment that made me wish I was fabulously rich so I had a will that was worth writing him out of.

“Believe it or not some people still think I’m pretty intelligent.”

“Really?” More sincerity. “You don’t even have a job. What’s the point of being smart if you don’t use it for anything?”

That was the moment I decided that my oldest son would never be my favorite.

Never.

6 Awful Things I Do (or have done) To My Children

1. Any time I’m in the car with them and they start talking to me, I slowly turn up the radio until I can’t hear them and shout “WHAT?!? I CAN’T HEAR YOU! THE RADIO IS UP TOO LOUD! WAIT, I’LL TURN IT DOWN!”. I then turn it down, wait for them to start talking and slowly begin to turn it up again.
2. I put hot sauce on most of my food just to keep them from asking for bites.
3. I tell them that the baddest of the “bad words” is the X-word. I also tell them anytime we pass a person pulled over by the police that the person the cop is talking to probably got caught saying the X-word and will most likely be going to jail for it.
4. When I see them in a situation where they’ll most likely get hurt, I judge how bad the accident will be and if it doesn’t seem like it’ll be too bad I just sit back and see how it goes.
5. Anytime I hear “Where’s Mama?” I tell them that she left for Hawaii (or some other far off location) and I that can’t believe that she forgot to say anything about it.
6. I sometimes explain the most mundane of natural phenomenons in the most terrifyingly Lovecraftian way I can come up with at the moment, wait for the horror to really sink in and then tell them the truth.

No Baby!

That title? That has been the most commonly used phrase in my home in the last month or so. Also, “No baby don’t…!”, “No! Put that down!” and my personal favorite, “That’s not yours! It doesn’t belong to you! Just stop! Stop! For the love of god why can’t you just… Just…! No, no, NO!”.

So what I’m saying is that the baby’s going through a stage. A “if I can reach it, I will take it” stage.

And he seems to be able to reach everything. I guess he’s tall for his age. He also has figured out how to drag chairs around and use them to climb on counter tops and tables.

Oh, and he also has decided that clothes and diapers were made to come off. That’s another fun stage he’s going through right now.

That’s how, just the other day, I had to quickly run into the bathroom for a few minutes due to an unfortunate encounter with some “Mexican” food, to come out and find a baby, who was previously completely dressed, naked, standing in his own bodily waste holding a large kitchen knife.

I was in there for maybe, maybe, two minutes. But it was enough time for him to strip naked, pull a chair to the counter, climb up onto that counter, pull a knife out of the block, climb back down and then poop in front of the bathroom door.

I’m not sure if either of us will survive this stage.

Fear

I’m writing this from the only secure place I can find.

It won’t stay secure for long though.

They’ll find me.

They always do.

I can sense that they’re close even now. I can hear their otherworldly screeching. I can feel the earth trembling footfalls that betray their size and number. I can even smell the odd mix of cookie and human waste that the littlest of the bunch seems to always exude.

I am larger and faster but they outnumber me and their stamina is almost supernatural.

I once had a partner to help fend them off but she went for supplies awhile back and, well, I fear she will never return.

They’re close now. And they’re calling to me in their mocking tone.

“Dad-deeeeeee… Dad-deeee… We know you’re here Daddy… We know where you are…”

I’m so frightened.

And there’s no escape.

Rites of Manhood

One of the many problems the modern westernized man suffers from in this day and age is a prolonged adolescence brought about by the lack of any kind of discernible switch from boyhood to manhood. There are a few things here and there, especially here in the south where I live, that are close to rites of passage; first deer killed, first beer drank, losing your virginity, first time you eat way more hallucinogens that you can possibly handle and find yourself lost in the woods draped in moss, mud and nothing else… These things help but really don’t give you the clear-cut “now you’re a man my son” kind of jolt into manhood that a ritualized ceremony can produce.

These ceremonies are usually based around physical, mental and emotional stress and how well the individual at the center of the ritual can handle them, i.e. if the boy can take the test and remain courageous and calm throughout he will walk away a man.

I believe that I may have discovered, quite by accident, the perfect manhood right for the modern man.

First: go on a prolonged “vacation” with your family.

Second: at the end of this “vacation” pack three young children ranging from one to eight years of age and their mother into a crowded vehicle. Make sure every person in this vehicle has some sort of electronic device and that all devices have their volume turned all the way up to eleven at all times.

Third: drive for at least thirteen straight hours. Make sure that at least four of those hours are spent driving an average of 10mph through major metropolitain areas. It should also be raining the entire time.

Fourth: try to pull into your destination around 1am or so. Make sure all children are wide awake after the very short naps they took in the vehicle.

Final step: walk into destination (note: this step only really works if your destination is your own home) and find that someone has broken in and stolen your kids videogame system and all of your guns.

If you can follow these steps while remaining calm, collected and strong throughout you will walk away a man.

Or it might be easier to put your hand in a glove full of bullet ants…

Rent-a-Baby

Today I noticed that the little baby has an infatuation with women he doesn’t know.

And not just any women.

No, he tries to pick out the most attractive stranger in a crowd.

He’ll find said random female, walk in front of her, look up and smile at her until he gets a reaction.

If I pull him away he’ll go right back.

If she has her back turned he’ll pull on her skirt/pants/shirt until she turns around so he can stare up at her and smile.

If this person decides to leave the area he will then look for and find another attractive woman to do this to.

I am a very happily married man and find this behavior to be awkward and annoying at best.

I do have single friends though.

And could use some extra cash…

Team Work

I really should be proud that they’ve started working together as opposed to fighting all the time.

And I should be impressed with how clever the plan was.

Because it was clever.

Oh so, so clever.

But the end result, well… I wasn’t pleased.

Everyone else; kids, wife, friends, visiting Nana, they thought it was hysterical.

They thought it was so damn funny…

But when one of your children, your own flesh and blood, the fruit of your battered loins nut punches you just so you’ll double over in pain long enough for another of your despicable brood to shove a spit wetted finger in your ear and shout “wet willy!” at you as you try not to throw-up from the pain…

That’s just…

That…

I mean…

Man…

Just…

Fuck that kind of team work!

And It’s Official

We knew it was coming.

We just didn’t know when.

And to be honest it’s almost completely our fault. We’ve set a terrible example by how we act and what we talk about in front of our children.

Well, that and genetics.

See, my wife and I, we… Well… We found out that my oldest son is a full fledge geekling.

We were hoping it would stay at the level where he was just a little spazzy and really, really enthusiastic about math and video games… and some comics… and Star Wars…  and sometimes he quotes Doctor Who…, but we got the results of a school administered eye exam this week and it appears he’s getting glasses for his eighth birthday. Possibly thick ones.

He also recently started needing an inhaler because of allergy induced asthma.

And he seems to be really bad at sports. But that’s not a big surprise because he’s very small for his age and kind of uncoordinated…

Man am I glad geek culture is cool now.

 

 

Mother’s Day And The Stay-at-home Father

First, I want to begin by saying that I feel that all “holidays” like Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and Valentine’s are nothing but elaborate ruses created by card companies to separate suckers from their money.

Second, I’m the only person in my marriage that feels this way so my opinion on the subject means nothing.

Third, as a stay-at-home father, I get the short end of the stick when it comes to these type of made-up holidays.

The average working father can get away with cooking a nice meal for the mother of his children or maybe letting her lounge around the house while he takes care of the everyday domestic duties.

“No honey, you sit and relax today. I’ll take care of all the things you take care of every other day. Here’s a cup of tea.”

Stay-at-home fathers can’t get away with this. We cook most of the meals and do most of the house work anyway. If we tried the “sit back and take it easy today” approach it’d be even more of a cheat of a present than it is when the working father tries to pull it off.

“No honey, you sit back while I have an average day. Here’s a cup of tea.”

It just doesn’t have the same amount of oomph to it. And we’re not British so I don’t know why I keep offering tea…

All of this means that the stay-at-home father has to try twice as hard on Mother’s Day to make it special and having to try hard on a pretend holiday sucks.

Luckily for me though I do have one cheat: this blog. See, I have a way of publicly expressing the love and appreciation I feel for my wife which will seem sweet, thoughtful and like it took some sort of effort. So here it goes:

To my wife,

You are the most wonderful mother our children could have asked for. Every day I wake up thankful that you’re my partner and that I had the honor of knocking you up so many times. Life would suck without you and I love you more than you could know.

…

Yep. That should work…