Theme Thursday: A Day Late And A Mouthful Later

Yeah, I missed the day of Thursday for Theme Thursday but before you get all up in my shiznit, I have been trying to prepare a Pack Meeting for my Cub Scout Pack...whaaaat?  Who Woulda Thought? is a Cubmaster?  Damn skippy, hippie!  So I am a day late, sue me.  Plus it also gave me a little extra time to read what the Mommies wrote.  Did I mention I'm like the only Dad floating in a sea of Mommies over HERE at Theme Thursday?  If you're a Dad or even just a Dude...help me get some testosterone into the sea of estrogen.

So after reading some (not all) of the Theme Thursday posts, what I can see is they all followed the same theme (duh) which was Things That I Have Put In My Mouth Since Becoming A Parent and they also had the same type of answers...

1.  Breast Milk - Seriously?  That's just gross, I don't care what you earthy, crunchy, granola farting people say, breast milk is fine for the baby but why, WHY would you even think about trying it?  I stayed away from the Trophy's boobs like the plague when she was nursing.



2.  Pee and Poop - Child's play.  I have three Minions of the male gender and that happens to this day.  They get their pee everywhere in the bathroom as they haven't figured out how to aim yet.

3.  Binkies - Seriously?  What parent hasn't done that? I quick stick in the mouth to change the diaper and you're good to go.

4.  Nipples - Now we're talking!  Oh, wait, bottle nipples?  Yup been there done that.  When you're thirsty you just take a swig of the Minion's juice.

5.  Fingernails and Toenails - Grow a set and cut the kid's nails.  They make nail clippers with magnifying glasses built in.  It's just weird to see someone eating a baby's finger or toe, you look like a zombie or something.

And I'm not even going to mention spit-up, that just goes without saying.  As a Dad, I have put something some Mom's have never put in their mouths.  Leftovers.  Since becoming a Dad nine years ago, I have turned into a scavenger.  Without fail the Minions always have food left on their plates, with the exception of #1, he has been eating us out of food.

When we go out to dinner, I don't have to order a huge meal, I can do an appetizer because I will be able to finish of 1/2 a cheeseburger, a bunch of french fries and whatever else that comes with their meals.  Why not take it home with you?, you might be asking.  Simple, I despise taking food home because it sits in our fridge until we throw it out, which defeats the purpose of leftovers.

With meals at home, the same thing occurs, I can take my helping and cut it in half because I will the one standing over the sink eating the mash up of meat, veggies and rice off of a Veggie Tales plate and with a Cars baby fork.  It's gonna get tossed so why not eat it, after all there are starving people in Minnesota or something like that.

This may not be too odd, but it's something us Dads have been trained to do from the beginning of time, we are the vultures of the parenting world.

Post Childhood Parenting IS a Reality

Can we talk honestly? I feel like we’ve known each other a few seconds and that maybe we’ve grown in our relationship and we can take it to the friend level. Not just any friend level either. I think we’re at the point where we tell each other things and ask the other person not to tell anyone that they heard it from us, but will tell other people anyway.

In the spirit of our new friendship I want to tell you that I’m guest blogging today because Kevin needed to have a little time with new people over at my blog.  I’m your new Mommy. Shhh it’s alright. Stop crying. No, really. Stop. Please. Mommy has a headache.

So parents (or those of you thinking of trying this shit at home), let’s talk. I know you were thinking this was going to get easier, this parenting gig. Maybe you’re going through the terrible twos, the trying threes, or the formidable fours... and you just keep telling yourself, “It will be so much easier when I can reason with them!”

Let’s cut the crap right now, okay? First of all, you can’t reason with them, and secondly, it isn’t getting easier until they move out. Go ahead, count the years. We all do it. You’re not a bad parent for doing it. It’s called being a realist. I’m going to pause for a moment and take off my heels and stockings and put on sweats because this is about to get real. Be right back.

Alright, I’m here. You can stop counting years now because you don’t really know when they are going to find a legitimate residence that requires them to sign a lease that doesn’t have your name and social attached to it. Welcome to the long haul, babe.

I love my kids like a middle aged man loves Caddy Shack, but I’m a realist. I don’t know when they’re leaving, but I’m counting the days like I do. I’m picturing a small studio apartment where the only dirty dishes in the sink are the ones I just put there. It’s a world where the laundry no longer wears the shame of an ink pen or 99 cent lipstick left to go through the wash and dry cycles. In my new reality, there won’t be “Mom, can I…?” conversations that result in me running a mental tally of what has yet to be paid and how much lunch money is left to be spent. It’s a simple world and if I could pin it on Pinterest I would. If it were a Facebook page there would be a big old thumbs up with my name right next to it.

Maybe you’re asking yourself, “What’s got her so bitter and jaded?” Well kids, it’s not a single thing. Its 19 years of things that have made me who I am today. Okay, it’s almost 39, but we’re just talking about how the kids have made me a bitch, right? I thought so. Here are a few examples:

•  Kids don’t realize that you’re giving you real life, straight from the tap, honest to goodness sound advice. They think you’re full of shit… just like you probably did about your own parents.

Me- You really have to think about what you’re doing with your life, hon. You are following in my footsteps and you’re capable of so much more!

Daughter- Don’t worry. I’m not going to ruin my life like YOU did!

      Me- Honey, you are my life.

• Kids don’t understand your sarcasm. You will be shocked when they don’t immediately deny the drunk and high comments, but that’s how you know they aren’t drunk or high. What kids fail to realize is that you are being logical. When the kid works at the grocery store, it’s only logical that they save you gas by bringing home the things you need… which will just make you wonder if they are drunk and high.

Me- I assume you’re out getting drunk and high. Pick up garbage bags on the way home.

Son- I’m not your grocery getter!

• Kids don’t always grasp financials. If you give them an inch they will take a mile. If you give them a car they will take a down payment.

Daughter- So if you are giving me the car for graduation can I trade it off on another car?

Me- It’s your car. You can do what you want.

Daughter- Will you still match my down payment?

Me- The car’s trade in will be your down payment. Why would I give you a car and then give you money for a car?

Daughter- You said if I had a down payment you would match it!

Me- That was before I gave you a car!

Please feel free to use the above examples whenever you feel the slightest bit guilty for putting those big red X’s on your calendar, marking each day you’ve knocked out until they graduate college or finally move out of the house. Each time you gaze longingly at those pictures your childless friends send back from their week-long vacation in the south of France (or wherever your cool friends go that doesn’t allow kids) remember,  post childhood parenting is a reality and it can be yours… in a few years or decades. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. 

Theme Thursday: How Things Change

There are two types of married people out there, the ones who do not have kids and the ones who do have kids, we will call them happy and mush for brains, respectfully.  If you are reading this and you don't have kids (again singular kids don't count, that's easy handling right there) then what you are about to read is probably the second best birth control known to the modern world.

Obviously not a parent, you don't have sex.

When you get married and it's B.K. (Before Kids) there are lots of things you can do when it strikes your fancy.  You can do things like:

Call your significant other Friday at noontime and tell them to pack a suitcase when they get home because you guys are taking a spur of the moment trip out of town, just for the hell of it.

Go out to dinner where you want and not worry about ordering a beer for fear of people judging you drinking in front of your children.

Drop a stink pickle in peace.

Drive your vehicle without the smell of stale Goldfish, spilled juice and the sound of VeggieTales coming out of your speakers.

Can have coitus.

Yes, that's right, one of the biggest things, if not the biggest thing that changes when you decide to bring a human being into the world is your sex life.  It's funny how one of the best feelings in the world can produce an outcome that will render you and your spouse with the overwhelming inability to do the deed.  Once that small *ahem* bundle of joy makes the trek down the sperm slide and rears it's cone shaped head at you, your life has changed for-fucking-ever.

On a side note though, guys, if you haven't had the experience of seeing your wife in labor, my best advice to give to you is, when the doctor asks if you want to witness the birth, you say no.  Stay at the head of the bed and don't look in the mirror.  Don't believe the people who say that it is the most magical thing they have witnessed, there's nothing magical about it...it's just plain gross.  You want magic?  Go see David Copperfield.

Now, don't get me wrong, you still participate in the act of coitus with your spouse, it's the frequency, length, time of day and location that changes.

Frequency - On the scale of how often you do it, the needle points to the lower end once you have kids.  The truth hurts, I'm sorry.  Instead of doing it twice a day everyday three times a week when you get married it drops down a level each time you are blessed decided were fooled into believing you could have multiple children.  With one kid, you can still do it on a regular basis and even keep up on your three times a week schedule.  With two kids, once a week can be a stretch.  You need to plan a schedule around naps, play dates and bed times.  If you are caring brave deranged enough to have three or more kids, forget it, get used to celibacy for the next eighteen years.

Length - Now most women complain about how long a guy can last to begin with but I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news...it gets worse with kids.  You need to cram what sould take an hour into five, maybe ten minutes tops.  Foreplay is not an option soldier, you get in and get out before the enemy catches on to what is happening behind closed doors.  When you find a moment of solitude with your spouse, you better be ready to go.  Another thing that can greatly reduce the length of service is the rhythmic knock, knock, knocking on the door, nothing puts you into hurry mode quicker than the possibility of innocent eyes seeing your hairy ass.  Don't worry, I've been told that once they hit those magical teenage years, the time frame will increase, for now though, enjoy the time you do get, Flash.

Time of Day - Night time coitus becomes elusive, especially the more kids you have.  By the time you wrangle the Minions up, bathe them, brush their teeth, make them pee, get them into their jammies, have them pick out a story (each choosing a different story), read the story, tuck them in, say their prayers, let them get up to go to the bathroom again, tuck them back in, say their prayers one more time and then shut off the light....you're fucking beat.  They procrastinate and in turn, you have just exerted more energy in the hour of bedtime than you did all day long.  You will try to attempt morning sex but there is a problem, you start fooling around and then realize that this ain't the movies, you both have breath that smells like a monkey took a shit in your mouths and one of you has to take a leak or drop a deuce.  At this point you've made enough noise brushing your teeth and flushing the toilet to wake up the Minions.  In a nutshell, don't get comfortable with one particular time of day, you could very well find yourselves locking the bedroom door at 2:17 PM on a Sunday afternoon while the Minions are watching Star Wars.

Location - Don't get all excited about this part, it may sound thrilling and daring but this doesn't mean you get to move it, move it in the movies, get down in the dressing room of Sears or bang in the bathroom of Subway.  All this means is you may not always get the chance to do it in your own bed.  You may have that kid who crawls into bed with you guys and takes up 3/4 of the queen size bed and well, I don't know about you but I would consider it highly wrong to participate in the act of coitus with a three year old in the way.  Fortunately for me, our Minions don't crawl into bed with us, each have tried once, but they found out that it was like snuggling with a Wookie, a very flatulent Wookie.  You can find other locations throughout the domicile like the toy room, garage or even the shed but with the first three things that change, this is the last thing you have to worry about.

One last thing with how coitus changes after having kids is the technique of birth control you may use and the reason for that is simple, we have three Minions because we don't want four.

This is my Theme Thursday post, go and click on the Theme Thursday picture on the right side of my blog and go read the other really funny people.  Just remember, I am in fact a Dad trapped in a Mommy blogging world.