If You Blog And Start To Meet People

So today’s post will be based off the ever popular, “If you give a mouse a cookie.”

If you don’t know it, my bad…you’ll catch on pretty quick to the flow. If you do know it…I feel your pain, although, it is a damn good story.

So…here we go:

If You Blog And Start To Meet People

If you blog and start to meet people in your town,

They might learn you’re a complete douchebag.

And if they learn you’re a complete douchebag,

They might look at your wife kind of funny.

If they look at your wife kind of funny,

She might say, “I try but just look at the way he drools!”

And if they look at the way you drool,

They might say, “Awwww….I bet he’s really cute when he’s asleep!?”

And if they think you’re kind of cute when you’re sleeping,

They might also think you don’t pass gas and kick your left leg uncontrollably.

And if they think you have self control they might also think you’re dad of the year,

And if they think you’re dad of the year,

They might nominate you for some fancy award and a ticker-tape parade,

And if shards of paper are falling all around you while people say “dad of the year,”

You might check your medication,

And if you check your medication you’ll notice you’ve over medicated yourself,

And if you’ve over medicated yourself you’ll realize you’ve actually fallen asleep with the paper shredder over your head again,

And if you’re fallen asleep with the paper shredder over your head again,

You might use the scraps to invite people over for drinks,

And if you invite people over for drinks you might start talking too damn much,

And if you start talking too damn much you might spill the beans about your blog,

And if you start to spill the beans about your blog well…

People might start to learn you’re a real douche!!

Yeah…We Got A Dog

The day started like any other day. We woke up late and a tad hung-over from the previous night’s party with friends.

We ate breakfast and broke-up 13.6 fights between the kids.

I wrote a love note to the wife.

Then we decided to go to my wife’s second home, Ikea, to look at lofts for the boy’s room since he needs desk space.

After a couple hours of crying and listening to the boy say, “Oh, I want that bed, and that desk, and can I get a chair that wheels around, and I could put my trophies on my desk and move them when it’s time to do homework, and please daddy, please mommy?!”

But unfortunately we left without the purchase.

Then I made the mistake of a lifetime. Feeling bad that we got the kid all hyped-up and let him down, I whipped into the pet store right next to Ikea so we could let him pet hamsters and look at fish.

Twenty minutes later I find myself in a small “petting room” waiting for a dude that works there to bring us a puppy to play with.

Twenty more minutes later my wife, son, and daughter are literally clasping their hands together as if in group prayer and begging me to let them take the doggie home forever.

I gave it a good fight, I really did. But I lost and I lost hard.

When we first moved to Chicago three years ago we got a damn cat. Jasper.

Almost two years ago we got each of the kids a fish. Then one died. So we got another.

Then a few months ago the boy “had to have” a hamster. When I wasn’t looking the wife bought the little bastard a hamster.

Now...a Cavalier King Charles dog named Marty.

But, I’m going to look at the positive side of this. I’m going to focus on the many things young Marty and I have in common.

• If he’s not bathed regularly he stinks and leaves his musky scent all over the furniture. I do too…
• Currently the cat’s scared out of his mind, so one could say he scares pussy away. I do too…
• He was bred and we have his thorough pedigree chart. I guess in a way I was too…
• This furry bastard loves to have his belly rubbed nonstop. The dog does too…
• I’m going out on a limb and saying I’m pretty sure the dog doesn’t like to wear pants. We all know my feelings on those devil leg covers.
• And, I’m not going to lie, if you throw a ball near me I’m definitely going to go for it and bring it right back to you.

Now, if only I could figure out how to make my ass wag like a dog’s tail and have my wife whistle at me and talk to me like I’m 8 months old.



One Year And Counting!

I’m still blown away by the fact that today is my blog’s first birthday.

To you…well, you’re probably twirling your finger in the air and rolling your eyes. At least my wife is.

Regardless, for me it’s a big deal.

I started this space of my ramblings in an effort to get my fingers pounding on the keyboard some more and to tap back into one of my absolute loves…..writing.

Pairing that up with my other devoted love – my family – seemed a win/win.

The only thing left was a good name. So, I did what any natural artist does and sucked back a few too many beers and chased them down with glasses of wine and walla!!!! The name Why Is Daddy Crying? was born.

Then I just sat back, lived my life and let the rest flow through the finger tips in the hopes just maybe a few of you kids would care enough to read.

The response I’ve gotten has been overwhelming at best. My readership is unreal to me. The comments I get make my day. The emails I randomly get from strangers humbles me. And the explosion of my Twitter and Facebook followers is daunting.

THANKS! Thanks for reading, making me laugh, sharing your stories, and for revealing the fact that it truly does take a village to raise a child. Even if that child is me.

But an anniversary wouldn’t be a true anniversary if I didn’t reflect. So…here are my top 10 favorite blog posts of mine over the past year. I really hope you’ll take a couple minutes and read and pass along to others who might enjoy them.

My top 10 favorite blog posts over the past year:

1) Because of this post alone, I’m notorious for hating the damn Snuggie. And I followed it up with this lovely post about a Snuggie family gone wrong.

2) The BP oil spill got me angry, but also had me wondering if I could offer any help. So, I lent a hand by creating this list of the top 10 things BP should shove up its leaky oil pipe.

3) Sometimes I like to give some handy advice. So, I created a commercial much like the drug commercials on TV so that I could inform parents how they know they’re experiencing children.

4) I would totally and utterly suck as a terrorist and here are the reasons why. This one’s complete with a horrifying picture.

5) I have had many discussions with wife over the past year. On this particular day we discuss pointy bras.

6) I’ve gotten to meet, interact with, and fight with some of the greatest people. Take in this epic online one-liner battle with Twitter's @ieatmykidzsnack:

7) One of the most humbling moments of my writing days was when JC Little of Little Animation reached out and did this animated short based on my blog. Check it out!

8) Here’s a quick jaunt down memory lane as I remember the days I’ve spent with my weiner.

9) And then for a little bit I got serious. This post marks the beginnings of one of the lowest points in my life where I lost my job.

10) And last, here’s a post where I show some family love to my brother by revealing how much I love that he affectionately calls his children “fuck trophies.”

I’m missing oh so much more, but these are some of my favorites.

Thanks for the ride so far. I hope everyone keeps reading and sharing the love!



The Panicked Cry Of Our Children

“Daddy!!!!!?!!!?!”

“Mommy!!!!?!!!?!”

At least five, six, eighteen times a day we hear this.

It’s the panicked call from our children freaked out over the fact they currently cannot hear or see us.

So, naturally in their minds, the wife and I have grabbed the car keys, robbed a bank of a few C-notes and headed to the bar to suck-back a few ice-cold-coke-colas whilst leaving our beloved-children to wallow in an empty house.

Meanwhile, in reality, we’re no less than 30 feet away cooking their dinner, washing their clothes, or cleaning up their mess.

Just last night I walked upstairs to pee and noticed the hallway light, both their room lights, and our room light was on.

It was enticing enough to walk outside and give a wave to the Space Station to at least give me comfort enough that the $500 electric bill coming up was spent in becoming an astronaut’s BFF.

We have no idea what created this panic in our children to make them freak the hell out if they don’t hear us creak the wood floors every four minutes. But it’s out of control.

Again, last night I stood in the hallway and proclaimed, “children of my seed listen to my words!!! I shall never leave you alone in the house. The Wife and I shall never depart you un-attended, fending on your own and proclaiming you fit to handle the world.”

Ten minutes later as I was busy explaining to my wife that the “Man vs. Wild” dude was a total fucking wuss, the kids screamed, “Mommy!!!!!?!!!! Daddy???!!!!!!!” while a cricket landed two feet from me and caused me to jump on a table top and throw pillows.

The solution? I have no clue. Maybe do what my mom did back in the early 80s when she accidentally left my brother in a shopping cart at the grocery? Some sort of shock therapy like that?

Now that I think of it, that won’t work. To this date whenever my brother sees or touches a shopping card he pees himself and screams for his mommy.

No, we’ll just continue to hope they outgrow it and in the meantime chalk it up to another insanity I can hold over their heads until they’re parents.

Then, I’ll just laugh and say, “I’ll take some more wine please!”

Oh How I Dread "The Talk"

This past weekend I’ve been doing the pool hardcore-style.

School starts Wednesday for the little bastards so I figured I’d try to get into the wet-stuff as much as I possibly could. The pool that is...

As I slide my white-assed self into the pool waters and started tossing the little nippers around I quickly noticed…holy shit, there’s a lot of teenagers around here. And like being thrown into a warp-speed, throw-your-head-back kinda light-year geeky TV-effect I was projected to 2020 - my daughter’s 15, wearing a bikini, at the pool and I’m in the corner clutching a beer crying while thinking, “I really really need to have ‘The Talk’ with her.”

I’m scared shitless of “The Talk.”

I’ll never forget my dad giving us “The Talk.” I was 12 (I think), which would have made my brother 14.

My dad was all liquored-up and probably felt it was time for my brother to hear about the birds and the bees so shit, why not the younger brother too?!

Long story short, for the next year or so, I was confident sex was when a man lays next to his wife, places his penis inside her, then they both go to sleep. That’s right…with the penis still inside her.

And I remember I had two HUGE questions.

1) What happens if the dude has to go pee in the middle of the night?

2) What the hell does a jack-o-lantern have anything to do with sex?

To this day when someone says jack-o-lantern I suddenly become 12 again and hear my dad say, “and then the man jack-o-lanterns into her.”

A part of me feels like when it’s time for “The Talk” I should just find a picture of a penis, hold it up in front of the kids and wait two minutes till everything in the room feels really awkward.

Then I’ll turn to the girl and say, “this is a penis. Boys have the penis. If a boy shows you his penis, I’ll kill him. If a boy talks about his penis to you, I’ll kill him. If you touch a penis, I’ll kill you and him. There is no need for you to see, touch, talk about, experience, or go near the penis until you graduate college.”

Then I’ll turn to the boy and say, “if your sister sees, touches or comes near a penis, I’ll kill you. If you see or hear-of anyone coming near your sister, thinking of your sister, or dreaming of your sister with their penis, tell me and I’ll kill them.”

Then, I’ll buy them both some new music, hug them, and send them on their way.

OK, I’m exaggerating…but I’m also kind of not.

I’m thankful to have plenty of time to plot my war-plan to protect my kids’ innocence as best I can, while making sure I arm them with enough knowledge so that when they do fuck up, it’s not life altering.

In the meantime, I’m just going to enjoy tossing them around in the pool and watch them fight with all their might to come right back to my open arms.