Tag Archives: parent

More Dad Haikus

MYSTERIES

There must be answers.

Yet, daughter, I can’t explain

why you won’t eat lunch.

 

BATH

The screams of pure rage.

You thrash as if set aflame.

It’s only shampoo.

 

CAT

The toddler hugs you.

Feline eyes call out to me,

“What fresh hell is this?”

 

SILENCE

The talking has stopped.

Perhaps the kids are asleep.

No. They plot my doom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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More years to come

My eldest daughter, Phoebe, will turn 5 in less than a week. In July, her sister Zoe will turn 3. I’m of mixed feelings about this whole growing up thing my kids are doing. It’s also really weird to think that it has been about 5 years since I’ve become someone’s parent.

How did that happen? Well, of course I know how it happened. I was there. Also, I’ve been to the zoo.

It’s just bizarre to me. I have these two little girls that call me “daddy” who I love more than I thought possible. There are also days they make me want to dig a hole in the yard and hide for the rest of my life. My wife and I constantly talk about which one is going to give us more trouble in the years ahead. They are both so different, yet both so stubborn! And they are both so cute and they make me laugh and smile. I look at them and get so scared thinking about the horrible shit they may go through. I constantly worry about how the world will treat them because they are girls, and how they will treat them when they are women. When it comes to them, I question almost everything I do for fear that I will screw them up. That being said, I think all parents screw up at some point. So chances are I probably have and will do so again, no matter how hard I try.

Phoebe is a talker and silly. She wants to say hello to everyone and is easily distracted. Zoe is sweet and sensitive. She gets so excited by animals and has a little temper.

My kids are getting older. I am getting older. Nothing is going to stop this and, unless something horrible occurs, I am in for many more years of this stuff. I will be tired and grumpy. I will be heartbroken. I will be proud and amused and terrified. And in the future, I will almost certainly embarrass some teenagers.

Cool.

Before the coffee kicks in — the “I drink too much caffeine” edition

I am consuming yet another coffee this morning. My kids are distracted because “Wallykazam!” is on. He’s a little magic troll who teaches words. Get with the times, people. Ah, screw it. Here’s some things rolling around in my cranium.

Apparently, my cat will actually chase a mouse if she sees one. Can’t catch it, but she’ll chase it. We always thought she’d be afraid of one.

Phoebe started preschool. Beware, society. She’s loose.

Zoe likes to run around with her giraffe blanket on her head. I know how she feels.

I’ve barely started The Shepherd’s Crown. I’m afraid I’ll cry. I hate that we lost Terry Pratchett.

If someone has a wedding at an aquarium, do the penguins serve as the catering staff for the reception?

Pumpkin donuts have returned. This bodes poorly for my fat ass.

Bananas are not nature’s boomerang. I know this from experience.

Why won’t birds do my bidding? I figured at least ducks would have my back about now.

I have a hard time keeping in touch with people. I try, but I get wrapped up in dumb stuff. That doesn’t mean there aren’t people I miss.

Why are so many people worried about the zombie apocalypse but not the robot apocalypse?

I need to control at least one of the classic four elements. Someone make this so.

Can we all stop pretending that we’re smarter than we actually are? Can that just be a thing now?

Pudding makes lots of things better.

This is all I’ve got. I also need to try to get Zoe to take a nap. So I must re-engage daddy mode. Enjoy your day, world, and try not to trip.

Nightmares

Some people sleep ¬†easily. I don’t. I’ve fought insomnia for years. In the last six, I learned that it’s likely connected to the depression. That actually helped me manage it a bit better, but a good, restful sleep is still a challenge. I have to take an over the counter sleep aid most nights, otherwise it takes me a few hours just to drift off.

I don’t usually remember dreams. I know they are pretty much my brain trying to work through stuff while I’m asleep. I’m just not one of those people who consistently remembers what they were dreaming. I do believe that whatever your mood is on any given day can connect to what you were dreaming the night before.

Today feels like it will suck. I spent most of last night having nightmares. My wife had to wake me up twice because I was yelling out in my sleep. I know in at least one of them, something terrible happened to my kids. I remember that they disappeared. I think something inhuman took them. There was nothing I could do. I can’t recall anymore than that. So I’m very tired. I’m irritable. I’m worried what triggered those dreams is something I saw and my brain is trying to warn me about.

Why don’t I remember good dreams? The closest I get is the random really weird dream. The ones I can never forget. I had a dream in high school where I was toasting bagels at Burger King for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, which they kept ordering with no stop in sight. Years later, I dreamed that I had been cast in a new musical and every other member of this cast was made of Play-doh. Again, weird stuff.

Otherwise, it’s nightmares that throw my whole day off. And why pick on my kids, brain? It was bad enough when you gave me that dream where our cat was stomped on and thrown in a trash can, sadly mewing the whole time. Then I had the one where my wife sent ghosts after me. So now we’re picking on the girls? Seriously? Is it because I’m not giving you as much sugar as I used to?

Today is definitely going to be a long day. That’s not even counting the large amount of pooping I’ve already had to do.

Before the coffee kicks in—the iced coffee edition

I have one child down for a nap. I have the other one playing with toys and enjoying some Nick Jr. And, importantly, I have a glass of iced coffee. We keep a pitcher of coffee in the fridge for this purpose, and we enter the time of year when my consumption of the stuff increases. Now I will let the cold caffeine molecules slither about my brain and work their magic. Meanwhile, my figures will type out the mental speed bumps they hit.

The cat is staring at me. I just cleaned her litter box. She’s probably wondering what I do with all the poop I take out.

Medical bills suck.

Phoebe had her first dance recital. It was one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

Zoe has tried peanut butter and jelly. She seems more interested in the jelly.

Have you ever pooped so much your tail bone is sore?

I realized I now have favorite Disney princesses. When the hell did that happen?

I will never feel guilty about buying books.

My wife is very smart. In most ways, smarter than I am. But sometimes she forgets words exist and doesn’t complete a sentence. Sometimes I have to guess what comes next. I often guess it involves monkeys. I’m often wrong.

It’s probably better for the world that I can never do in real life what my D&D characters can do in a game.

Can the cat see ghosts? I’m pretty sure she can see the spectre of Death. I bet they make fun of me.

Choosing the right flavor of ice cream is important and should be taken seriously.

Two of the kid shows the girls really like are math-based shows. I can only hope this keeps them from inheriting my numerical ineptitude.

At least once a day, I want to punch myself in the face. I never do it, but it’s there.

I very much like animals and think we should be good to them. But I’ll probably never be a vegan and I’ve killed as many bugs as the average person. Not sure what that makes me other than just another human.

Never underestimate the power of guacamole.

My iced coffee has been consumed. I have nothing else to mutter about. Hope everyone has a nice day. Maybe get yourself a cookie. Or whatever your preferred treat might be. Don’t let me force a snack choice upon you.

Another year

2014 is done for. 2015 has arrived. So far, it doesn’t feel any different.

It has been a few weeks since I last posted, primarily due to holiday insanity. This has left my brain in a state which resembles some form of pudding. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure when it will fully recover. Perhaps I should eat more bran?

I am not one of those people who makes New Year’s Resolutions, mainly because I know I will not keep them. So I will not pretend that I’ve miraculously changed just because I have to remember it’s 2015 when I sign my time sheet at work.

What I will do is share a few things that I hope I can accomplish this year. I will call these my New Year’s “I Think I Cans”.

1 – I will actually make an effort to eat better because I’ll be damned if I’m buying bigger pants.

2 – I will make sure that my wife, as “crazypants” as she can be, never questions that I love her.

3 – I will finally convince the cat that the world is not trying to eat her.

4 – I will make sure my girls continue to grow into beautiful people and not smelly jerks.

5 – I will play as many games, both video and table top, as possible.

6 – I will not let work stress me out as much as I can help it. I am, of course, human and prone to bitching.

7 РI will come up  with more interesting blog posts than this one.

I, Daddy

I am approaching 36 years on this planet. I’ve talked about wearing many hats before, depending on where I am and who I’m with. Lately, it seems that my existence, my very being, can be summed up in a single word.

Daddy. I am daddy. According to my wife, this is something I always am no matter the situation. At home with the girls? Obviously daddy. Scooping the cat’s litter box? Still daddy. Spending time with our friends? Apparently, still daddy. Sleeping on the couch? Definitely daddy.

I never thought I could simplify myself that easily. Sure, I can add words to it. Nerdy daddy, silly daddy, grumpy daddy, sleepy daddy, and basically anything that could also qualify me to hang out with Snow White.

The thing is, I’m kind of okay with it. I have tried to think of myself as something else but in my head I am daddy, non-stop. My wife teases me about it. I honestly wonder if I have just been daddy my whole life and actually having kids was a mere formality.

So what happens when my girls are all grown up? Do I just get advanced to grandpa? What if they don’t have kids? Am I destined to be an unneeded daddy to grown women who have their own lives to live?

I’ve talked to people and there seems to be no real answer. I like to take care of the people I love. My wife and two little girls are on the top of that list. So if that means I am daddy, than I shall be daddy with every fiber I am composed of. Onward to the bad puns!

The quest for cool

I am a few months shy of my 36th birthday. For better or for worse, I am considered an adult. A grown up. A somewhat productive member of society. I like to think that I’ve had some success in my life to go along with some of the failure. For instance, I have never left the house without remembering to put on pants. Hey, I didn’t say I always set the bar high! You try walking around town with no pants and see how far you get. I dare you.

Anyway, one thing I don’t think I ever quite reached was that point where a person becomes cool. That’s right. One of the holy artifacts of high school. The mantle of cool. That point when you look in the mirror and not only think it yourself, but you KNOW that everyone else thinks the same thing. You are deemed to be cool. It’s a quest everyone starts in their youth, whether we realize it or not, and it never seems to go away.

So why am I not cool? For starters, this is not a word I’ve heard others use to describe me. That’s not to say I don’t ever get compliments, all of which I appreciate. Of course I’ve heard some less flattering things. Self-described beta male, remember? We kind of invite a certain level of mockery. But even that isn’t necessarily bad. Sometimes just teasing from friends (or a loving yet snarky wife) that is meant in fun. But the point is, I can’t say I get told that I am cool.

I’m pretty sure I don’t dress cool. When I’m not dressed for work, I wear jeans and a T-shirt I likely purchased from ThinkGeek . Maybe a flannel shirt or sweatshirt over that. My style hasn’t changed much since the 90’s. I just like to be comfortable.

The things I like tend to lean towards nerdy. I enjoy fantasy novels and I play Dungeons and Dragons. If you haven’t yet read it, my last post was dedicated to superheroes. I have an undying love of all things Muppet. Seriously, you don’t know how excited I am that I get to watch Sesame Street with my kids. I own an R2-D2 bottle opener. I make up songs about our cat. Now, I realize some of these things are more acceptable to love now than they once were. Saying you like comics or the Lord of the Rings won’t make you quite the bully target that they used to. Neither will playing board games. But are they considered cool. I doubt it. I’m pretty sure making up a song about the cat to the tune of Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man” will always be very far from cool.

The funny thing is, I’m not quite sure what would make me cool. What is the current standard? I’m pretty sure that by the time I caught up to it, the definition will have changed again. Is it about confidence? If that’s the case, I think there are fewer cool people in the world than we realize. I don’t know many people who are void of insecurities. The ones who are may very well think they are cool. Those few people also happen to be totally oblivious to their flaws or the consequences of their actions. If that is what it takes to be cool, I don’t know that it’s worth the trade. I like that I am capable of introspection. Sure, I sometimes do this to a fault, but I think it proves that I’m still able to learn.

One last thing. I am the father of two little girls. One day, they will be two teenage girls. There is no way in Hell that they will think I am cool. What teenager really thinks that their parents are cool? So I like to think that I have one up on any parents who, unlike myself, are of the opinion that they are cool. I have the benefit of saying to my kids, “You don’t think I’m cool? That’s fine. I’m used to it. Now help Daddy find his dragon coffee mug.”

Before the coffee kicks in – Round 2

Let’s return to a previous experiment. I’ve been up for a few hours and my brain is still in a state of pudding. My level of crankiness is on par with a surly marmot. I am on my second cup of coffee. Time to see what I can fart out of my head before caffeine starts to work its magic. I will write as things appear.

My life involves sweeping Play-doh off the floor.

I think the cat is trying Jedi mind tricks on my kids.

Penguins are smarter than some of the people I have to talk interact with.

I wish I had more pumpkin fudge.

Sometimes I wonder if being a daddy is like herding monkeys.

My wife is cute. She may also be the Horseman of War. Go me.

I wish I could play D & D every weekend.

My little girls are beautiful.

Sometimes I wish “Hulk Smash” was an acceptable reaction to things.

Do I give enough hugs?

Do I have enough patience?

I should have an army of skunks. Or at least ducks.

Well, I think I should stop. My thoughts are becoming more coherent. Also, my kids keep trying to escape the play room and run wild. Time to herd monkeys.

 

 

Fluffy judgement

I am being stared at intently. The look says, “You are being judged. I have found you guilty.” I hear this in the form of an inner monologue that sounds like the daughter of Ralph Wiggum and Eric Cartman.

This is what I think goes through the fluffy little mind of Pepper, our neurotic cat. That, and “I get more food now?”

Despite the fact that I’m clearly her favorite human, I find myself often the subject of her judgmental stares. Realistically, I know she’s just being a cat and they just stare at things sometimes. However, it really does make me wonder if I’m not living up to some feline standard. I can’t be the only cat parent who has experienced this.

I will be sitting having coffee. I look over and see Pepper, and I can almost hear a sigh of disgust.

She’ll be watching the kids from atop the safety of a couch and stare at them. She is clearly thinking, “Lousy, scary baby things. Always trying to touch me. You’ve ruined my life.”

I’ll be laying on the couch and she will leap on top of me and settle herself down, staring at me. “I’ve decided we’re having forced snuggles. Don’t fight it. This is your purpose.”

And yes, my wife and I have experienced the awkwardness that is having sex and realizing that the cat is in the room. This is probably the harshest of all Pepper criticisms.

“Ugh, you’re doing that stupid rubbing thing again. I hate it. Also, pretty sure you’re doing it wrong.”

Pepper, you’re lucky I love you.