Kid Cuisine

I used to make this dish, usually around the first part of October after a successful deer hunt, where I would take a section of venison loin, season it with little sea salt, fresh ground pepper and just touch of cinnamon and nutmeg, and sear it on all sides in a hot cast iron pan until it had a nice caramelized crust. I would then take this loin and stick it in the oven to slow roast. While waiting for it to reach a medium rare I would throw a little butter and a few finely chopped shallots into the pan I seared the loin in, let the shallots soften up a bit and then deglaze the pan with a splash of good bourbon and a half bottle of one of the seasonal pumpkin beers that come out around that time of year. I’d cook that down, add a dash of pumpkin pie spice and some cream, let it thicken up a little bit and serve this sauce with the medium rare loin and a side of homemade sweet potato fries.

Before children this kind of meal wasn’t unusual in my home.

Gumbos, creoles, shrimp  and grits, seafood stews, wild game cooked any and every way I could think of; almost all the ingredients caught, grown or shot by me or someone whose name I at least knew…

Tonight for dinner I had Mickey Mouse shaped chicken nuggets, boxed mac & cheese and frozen broccoli.

This kind of meal isn’t unusual in my house now.

Yay kids.

 

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.

Apartment Sitting With Kids

We had to find a broom and mop before we even made it to the bedroom.

And it was a one bedroom apartment.

In Manhattan.

Books and trinkets were pulled off of the shelves. Closets were rummaged through. Cats were chased, caught, squeezed and tasted. Piano keys were beaten in an attempt to make what the children refered to as “music”. Also they forgot how to speak so resorted to screaming all their words. An entire box of donuts was reduced to crumbs and scattered across the floor. The baby tried to clean the wall with lox. Sand from playgrounds was dumped out of shoes directly onto the floor. The baby took daily baths in the cats’ water bowl. And he ate some of their food.

We cleaned. We left.

I laughed a lot at the text my wife got a day later: Wow! The place is so neat and tidy! Best house guests EVER!!!

Yep, that’s us. Best house guests ever…

 

 

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!

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…

Well, Ummm?… Yeah… Uh…

Sometimes children ask awkward questions. As a parent I’m use to coming up with answers to these questions though I will admit that if the question is overly embarrassing or if the child asking the question isn’t old enough to handle the truth I’ll answer with the most technical language I can muster so as to baffle the poor child’s mind, or I make something up. Mostly I make something up…

Anyway, yesterday I heard a plaintive cry for help coming from my wife who was in the bedroom with our four year-old, Demon Spawn.

“What? What is it?” I asked as I walked in. The first thing I noticed as I looked around was the panic-stricken look on my poor wife’s face.

“He wants to know what a vagina looks like,” she nodded at Demon Spawn, who was sitting quietly awaiting the answer.

“Whoa! Why did you call for me?!?! You’re the one that has one!”

“Well I’m not going to show him mine!”

“I’m not saying that, it’s just you… You know. It’s your part. You’re more… I mean, you’ve got the…” I’ve never pointed at my wife’s crotch that much in a single sitting before and I probably never will again.

“I don’t sit around looking at it! And you’ve seen more of them than I have!”

“I don’t know what you think my sex life was…”

“No! I mean porn!”

“What’s pone?”

NOTHING!” my wife and I screamed at the same time.

We both looked over at Demon Spawn who was visibly swelling from the energy produced from the chaos he caused.

I took a deep breath, calmed my nerves and tried to answer, “Well buddy, a va… a vagina…” I could feel the collective disappointment of every feminist in the world as I said “vagina” as if it was the dirtiest of all dirty words. “It looks like…,” and again the disappointment as I realized any and every description of a vagina that came to mind was from filthy jokes I’ve heard while fishing/hunting/working construction/ect.. “Sweetie?”

Nothing but a wide-eyed shake of the head from that direction.

“Well, uh… Did Momma tell you we’re going bowling tomorrow after I cut the grass? And to the park!”

“We’re going bowling?!?!?”

“Yeah! Bowling!”

“Yay!” and he ran out the room.

“So,” my wife looked at me. “We’re going bowling tomorrow?”

“Yep, that’s what it looks like.”

Weekends

There happens to be an entire world outside of my home; oceans, mountains, wide open plains, dense dark jungles and forest, deserts of rock and shifting sands… It’s all out there waiting to be seen.

Now I’ll admit that most of the things I mentioned above aren’t very close to the outside of my home, but we do have a yard with trees, grass, flowers and even a few thick brambles near the fence. There’s also sunshine and warm weather out there. And fresh air. Sweet, sweet fresh air…

So with all this just right outside the walls of my house why do I have to threaten my children to get them go out into it? It’s not like they’re enjoying themselves inside. All they do inside is fight and complain about how boring it is and ask “What are we going to do today?” in their very whiniest voices.

“What do you want to do?” I’ll ask.

I… don’t… knoooowwwww…” They’ll answer back in the type of whine that should only be used if you’re asking someone why they’re skinning a live puppy.

“Well why don’t you go outside and play and enjoy this beautiful weather?”

My oldest will always answer, “Because it’s booorrring.” And Demon Spawn will answer in his usual way (which is also the way most belligerent drunks would) “Why don’t you go outside and play?!?!”

“OK then. Start cleaning. You pick-up that stuff there. You take these to…”

Fine! We’ll go outside!”

And then they go out there and sit and complain outside the door as loudly as possible about how boring the outside is and how they wish they could come inside. After awhile of this I’ll let them in so they can complain about how boring the inside is. This last until I threaten to make them clean again which causes them to go back outside to complain.

And this is the way I spend most of my weekends…

A Much Needed Break

Some people find the idea of being alone for a long period of time with nothing but their own thoughts to keep them company a terrifying prospect.

I am not one of those people.

In fact I’m a real honest-to-goodness introvert. That’s not to say that I’m particularly shy or timid like many people think of when they think “introvert”, I just need time alone to recharge, collect my thoughts and generally remember how to feel human again.

Due to my home obviously being the stable where Pestilence has decided to board his horse until the apocalypse, I haven’t had any alone time in about six weeks. This hasn’t been great for my mental health. (Actually, as an introvert, being a stay-at-home father of three young children hasn’t been great for my mental health, but that’s a different subject for a different time.)

But tomorrow, oh sweet tomorrow, my family and I are waking before dawn and heading to Disney World for spring break where I will get all the peace and quiet I can handle…

Nah, I’m just kidding.

Well, not about the going to Disney.

We’re actually driving there tomorrow.

But I’m dropping the wife and kids off there with my sister-in-law, and my kayak, fly rods and I are driving down to the Keys where I, and only I, will have five full days of fishing on sunny tropical flats and every single one of those days will end with me sitting at a bar, alone, sipping on beer and eating fried conch fritters while I try my absolute best remain aloof.

It’s going to be freaking AWESOME!

Still Alive

In case anyone was wondering, I am still alive.

I did not succumb to the numerous illnesses that have been flooding through my home for the last month.

My computer has died though.

This leaves me with only an iPad to write on.

I have learned that if I try to write anything of any length on the iPad that my frustration level will reach a point where I may throw it a wall.

This isn’t my iPad that I’m using.

So y’all will hear from me again when I have access to something that doesn’t suck so hard.

🙂