The Snow Day Child

There is no kinder child than the child who has just found out that school is cancelled because of snow.

It's true. My 12 year old is the greatest proof of this statement. Once the news gets out that it's a snow day, this is how it goes.

First huge, elaborate declarations are made. Outrageous things are said like "I've never loved you as much as I love you now. You're the best father in the world."

Past mistakes are suddenly rectified: "Hey Dad, you remember that thing I did back when I was 5? I'm really sorry about that."

He hugs his 7 year old sister. IT'S TRUE. He kisses her gently on the forehead, then he hugs her. There is no pinching involved. No shoving. No verbal jabs. It's peaceful, loving and semi-genuine.

Imagine what could happen within this window of complete and utter joy? Huge cities could be erected. World peace could be achieved. The possibilities are limitless.

Yes, the Snow Day Child is a wonderful child. For about 10 minutes. Then everything falls back in to place and moves forward as it should. But damn, those 10 minutes are a great 10 minutes.

Rubwristhere

My seven year old is amazing. She really is. And it's not just me who says that. My different personalities say it as well. No really, other people say she's amazing too. She's amazing because of the things she does for her age. For example, she files things. She has a recipe box in which she keeps recipes and other things, like little booklets she makes and postcards she has received from her teachers while on Christmas break.

Anyway, she was going through her recipe box last night and she pulled out an envelope. Inside were four round cut-outs from magazines. We asked her what they were and she explained that they were rubwristheres. What, we asked? Rubwristheres, she said again while she continued to shuffle through her recipe box. We still didn't understand, so we asked her to show us what they were. She pulled one of them out and she rubbed it on her wrist. "See" she said "they're perfume and you rub them on your wrists." My wife and I looked at one of the circles and in the middle were the words Rub Wrist Here. They were perfume samples cut out of magazines. And on the envelope that contained these well-cut-out perfume samples were the words Rub Wrist Here. See what I mean? Amazing.

Shower Instructions

These are the instructions I give my son old every time he enters the bathroom to take a shower. Please note that he's 12 years old. 12. Years. Old.

1. Turn on the water.

2. Stand under the water.

3. Get your body wet.

4. Step out of the water to soap yourself. If you soap yourself under the water, the soap never really stays on your body.

5. Use a washcloth. Wash your face. Make sure soap is on it.

6. Wash your hair. With shampoo. Step out of the water to wash your hair with shampoo. If you shampoo your hair under the water, the shampoo never really cleans your hair.

7. Turn off the water.

8. Use a towel to dry yourself off.


I'm physically and emotionally drained every time he takes a shower.

You Smell Like Axxxxxxxxxeeeeeeeeeee

That's what we say in our household. My son buys Axe. Correction, I buy Axe for my son. Totally against my will and with great remorse.

In the morning, he sprays the Axe. In the evening, he sprays the Axe. Before errands. After chores. After brushing his teeth. In lieu of a shower. In addition to a shower. And everywhere in-between. "Hey son, get ready for that memorial service. Okay Dad, just let me apply some Axe." That's a true story.

And I say "some" Axe, but really I mean he empties the whole damn can on himself. The commercials suggest that women are attracted to it, but I don't think you want the women who are attracted to Axe attracted to you. Have you smelled the stuff? There's a reason that the name Axe sounds a lot like a body party that doesn't smell good either.

If you're son is approaching Tween age, consider this your warning. Say you're allergic to the stuff and keep it out of your house.

No More Mr. Mom Guy

This post is part of Fatherhood Friday over at Dad's Blogs.

My wife left town yesterday morning to visit some friends in Michigan. The entire week I've been telling clients and co-workers that I will be home on Thursday and Friday being Mr. Mom. I thought it was cute that I was saying that, until I thought about it some more. I mean, it seems innocent enough right? But when you think about it some more, it's really kind of insulting. There's something more to it. Like when you ask a couple if they plan on having kids. The real question you're asking is if they plan on having unprotected sex anytime soon.

So when I said that on the surface cute little saying but really deep down is terribly insulting, this is really what I was saying. First, I'm saying that a Dad can't really watch the kids because he's a Dad and Dad's aren't really built to watch kids. He can't be Mr. Dad. He's got to be Mr. Mom in order to do that. That's stupid, really. Second, what I'm also saying is that it's a Mom's job to be at home with the kids, while the Dad goes out and earns a buck. I've got to be Mr. Mom because it's the Mom whose job it is to watch the kids. That's really stupid, too.

So from this day forward, if I find myself staying at home to watch the kids while the wife is away, I will be playing Mr. Dad. Or maybe I'll skip the whole so cute it's kind of stupid little saying and I'll just say that I'm staying home with the kids while my wife is away on vacation.

11 Year Old Boy + Skulls = Awesome

This link is part of Fatherhood Friday over at Dad Blogs.

I love my son's age. It's an interesting age for a lot of reasons. But the biggest of these is that I know exactly what he's into. It may go down in the books that I will always know what he deems "cool", but I doubt it. Eventually the gap will spread and he and I will be on different pages. But for now, I'm on it. 11 year-olds like death. Yep. Death and destruction. On the surface that sounds dark, but really it's not. Anything with a skull on it is golden to my son. I could put a skull and crossbones on a pink Care Bear and my son would sleep with it every night. That's how it goes.

The other day, I was purchasing a pair of shoes for myself on-line and I thought that I might pick up a pair for my son while I'm at it. I mean, not that I don't love his old shoes that smell like some has been living in his shoes, and that someone died about 100 years ago, and that while that person died, they shat themselves about a dozen or so times. That really has nothing to do with it because I think the senses in my body that would be offended by that foul smell, died a long time ago. So anyway, I'm looking for shoes for my son and within about 10 seconds I find them. There they are. A bright and shiny death beacon on a web page filled with shoes.



Needless to say, I was a hero. And for that day, I was the cool Dad.

Fatherhood

There's been a lot of talk recently about Steve McNair and his untimely death. Of course it's been surrounded with controversy due to how he died and why he died. There's also been a lot of talk about his legacy. There are some who want to only remember what he did on the field, and there are others who say "but wait a minute here, what about his off the field performance?"

I'm an avid follower of all things football, due mostly to my deep religious love of Fantasy Football. So not only do I know what's going on with my Chiefs, I also know how many touchdowns Peyton Manning threw last year because I may want to draft him this Fall, even though I hate his guts. No doubt Steve McNair has done some pretty incredible things on the field. And he did a lot of them with hurt legs, cracked ribs and whatnot. But I would be an irresponsible idiot if that's all I chose to focus on. And I would be a bad Dad if I told my son to do the same (he too is a football fan).

I guess what's really rubbing me wrong in all these arguments is how everyone talks about what kind of Father he was to his kids. Was he there for them? How could he do this to his kids? Maybe he was a really good Father? I think what we've lost sight of is the definition of being a good Father. Or at least the definition I live by. To me, being a good Father is also being a good husband. In all these arguments about Steve McNair, there is no talk about his wife. Just about his kids. I guess it's obvious that he was a bad husband due to the circumstances of how he was killed, but I don't think you can be a good Father and a bad husband. It just doesn't work that way. Of course, this argument doesn't include single parents, who are single parents for one reason or another. And by no means am I saying that a single parent can't be a good Mother or Father. I just think that the whole idea of being a good spouse has been lost somewhere. I'm married and I know that being a good Father means not only being good to my children, but being good to my wife as well. To me that's Fatherhood.

There, I've said my peace.