Getting The Kids To Stop Asking "Why?"

You’d think once your kids reach the age of six and eight that the “why daddy’s” would stop.

Yeah, not so much.

It’s gotten so bad that now when I answer the children’s question I try to be completely honest about everything in the answer I give, in the hopes they’ll be so brain-numb afterwards they’ll just walk away.

Example

Child: “Daddy, can we buy Kool-Aid?”

Me: “No, because it’s loaded with sugar which is not good for you and will make you hyper and completely out-of-control which will then get you into trouble with your brother, friends, dog, and us and will then cause mommy and daddy to yell at you and send you to your room with you crying while mommy and daddy stay downstairs and fight ultimately getting a divorce leaving you to have to live with mommy and see daddy on the weekend where I’m living in a one room shack crying, not showering, and surrounded by phone numbers of call girls which are girls that daddy has to pay money to have dinner with him. AND…it contains red dye 40 which will make your head explode from nasty chemicals people pumped into the sugary drink just so it’s the color red in the hopes we’ll drink more of it and provide the boss of the company with more money he can spend on bigger houses and more cars.”

And it worked.

Well…not at first.

At first they laughed and thought it was the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard. Half of what came rambling out of my mouth they couldn’t understand, but for some reason it was just hilarious to them.

Then…the light bulb went off. If I give their mother a long rambling answer they’ll see her immediately get disgusted and walk away.

They’ll learn by example!

So, I waited….and waited. And then…

Wife: “Honey, let’s go to Ikea and look around for a little bit. Maybe have lunch there with the kids.”

Me: “Schnookums, I don’t think that’s really a good idea. First of all the last time we went there both kids ended-up getting the puke bug from playing in the kid’s zone, while you got mad at me for publicly confessing in a very loud manner that you were the hottest MILF within eyesight, and after we made our huge purchase we spent an hour trying to find a clear spot where we could roll the cart to the car without having a 4-foot tall curb blocking us in and eventually we couldn’t so I had to go get the car and fight half the SUVs in Chicago for a space to back in and load the stuff we…..”

I quit at that point because she was long gone.

The kids? They took every bit of it into their tiny little developing brains and slowly digested it.

Then, the magic words came out as I overheard the daughter say to the boy, “I kinda don’t ever want to go to Ikea again.”

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve enjoyed a semi-blissful existence of having the first answer I give be the only answer I have to give.

And my responses are getting shorter and shorter. Usually by the time I’m taking my first breath so I can keep my ramble going, one of the kids just yell “fine daddy!!” And walk away to something else.

Now that, my dear people, is “winning.”

For now…



I Got Tattooed....Again, Again....

Yesterday I got my half-sleeve tattoo worked on again.

This piece has been worked on for many months now. I was hoping we’d get it finished yesterday, but unfortunately my skin could only take a couple of hours worth of tattooing before I just bled like a stuck pig.

So, I’ve got one more session and then…it should be complete.

The artist behind the needle is Dawn Grace at the Tattoo Factory in Uptown Chicago.

Here’s the original outline she did and the meaning behind the tattoo.

The colors on the flowers are definitely not done…she’s still got some work to do on them, but here’s how the piece looks today.

 



Top 10 Things That Will Be Heard During Our 14-Hour Car Ride South

Tomorrow at 5 a.m. our lovely, adoring, sweet little family will sleepily pile into the over-stuffed car and head south from Chicago to North Carolina for Christmas.

Presents will be packed amongst suite cases, games, and high hopes that Santa will make this THE most bestest Christmas EVER!

Me? I’ll be in the driver seat clutching a large cup of joe looking at the open road thinking “bring it bitch! Let’s do this.” And, I’ll have full intent of making the trip in no less than 14 hours.

Come hell or high water, this car will drive into the in-laws’ driveway by 7 p.m.

Want to make a bet? No?

Well, here’s something you can bet on!

The Top 10 Things That Will Be Heard During Our 14-Hour Car Ride South

1) Grayson: “Macy, stop looking at me. Stop. STOP!!!! Mommy…Macy’s looking at me!!! Can we leave her at the next McDonalds we pass?

2) Macy: “Ewwwww….what’s that smell? Eww…skunk.”

Wife: “No dear…it’s your father.”

3) Me: “So, I says to the guy… ‘that’s what she said.’ Hahahahahahaha”

Wife: “honey, I think you’ve had enough coffee for now, mmmkay?”

4) Grayson: “Mommy can you hear this bell ring? If you can it means you ‘Believe’ in Santa.

Wife: “Yes, yes I can.”

Grayson: “Daddy, can you? Daddy? DADDY!!?”

Me: “I believe in the fact that Indiana is the worst state to ever drive the fu..”

Wife: “STOP! No cursing sweetie. No cursing.”

5) Grayson: “Daddy, is it true that Justin Bieber is a horrible singer and just a pawn of a major music corporation to sell a well packaged, innocent looking young man singing over-produced music to the mass general public in an effort to get rich quick?”

Me: “I love you Grayson. I really really love you.”

6) Wife: “HONEY!!! WATCH THE ROAD!!!  You can Tweet later!!”

7) Grayson: “Daddy I have to go boom boom!”

Five minutes after we stopped for Grayson to go boom boom:

Macy: “Daddy, I have to go boom boom.”

8) Macy: “Mommy, where do babies come from?”

Grayson: “Yeah, good question. Where do they come from?”

Me: “Wow…that IS a good question. Honey, where do babies come from?”

9) Wife: “Oh look, a town named Grayson! Let’s stop!”

Grayson: “Really?!!! Cool, yeah let’s stop!!”

Me: “Next person that speaks dies. It’s that simple. Words come out of your mouth and you stop living. Less speaky, more sleepy!!”

10) Grayson: “Daddy? Where is mommy?”

Me: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Grayson: “She’s not in the car daddy. I just woke up and she’s not in the car. Where is she?”

Me: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It should really be a fun trip! Happy Holidays readers!



It's Fantasy Father's Day Time

So Sunday’s our big day dudes!! This is it…our time to shine. Our time to throw our chests out like we’re the hardest working hooker on the block.

It’s Father’s Day!!

For some reason I always get my hopes up for this holiday - like a kid before Christmas. I imagine it being an epic holiday and find myself getting more and more jazzed as the day approaches. Then…well, the reality of fatherhood slaps me in the face.

Here. Let me illustrate for you. Take a gander at my fantasy Father’s Day versus the real Father’s Day.

Fantasy Father’s Day

Wake up to a warm, naked wife with freshly brushed teeth kissing me while her hands wander about under the sheets.

Reality Father’s Day

Son with ass-breath standing inches from my face saying, “DADDY!!! Wake-up daddy! I’m hungry. Can I have breakfast pplllleeeassse!!!?”

Fantasy Father’s Day

Wake up from post-sex morning nap to find my wife handing me a warm cup of coffee and the Sunday Times. She says, “hey, I’m gonna take the kids to the grocery store, why don’t you go for a nice long run, take a shower, then I’ll give your feet and legs a good rub-down.”

Reality Father’s Day

Walk downstairs to a destroyed kitchen with cat puke on the floor. Step on one of my daughter’s Zhu Zhu Pets, find there’s no more cream in the refrigerator, and roll my eyes as I answer the boy’s same question six times in a row.

Fantasy Father’s Day

Walk downstairs after my foot-rub and my living room is filled with all the top dudes in my life, a keg, and golf on the big screen TV!

Reality Father’s Day

I don’t get a run in, the kids refuse to eat their breakfast and start breaking down when I click off their favorite TV channel.

Fantasy Father’s Day

Golf’s over and a party van rolls up in front to the house to pick up the dudes and me. Once inside we realize all the wives got baby-sitters and we’re all gonna rip Chi-Town up for the night!

Reality Father’s Day

The girl pee’s herself, the boy’s hamster has escaped, and the wife “really wants to take advantage of that sale at Kohl’s tonight.” I open the refrigerator to find only one beer and it’s a damn Milwaukee’s Best and we’re out of wine.

While my fantasy Father’s Day would be bad-ass…I admit, I’d take the reality Father’s Day any day because without it, I wouldn’t have earned the right to stick my chest out in pride that day.

I’m just kidding…Give me the Fantasy Father’s Day!!! It’s just one day I’m asking for!!

Happy Father’s Day dudes!!!

Geeze Daddy!!

Grayson: “OK Daddy!! Geeeze!!!”

That’s the shit I’ve been hearing religiously these days.

All it takes is me telling the boy for the second time to please put his shoes on so we can take him to school.

Or to please take a bite of his cereal that’s been sitting there for the past 10 minutes.

Or to stop telling his 5-year-old sister that he knows she’s lying about the fact she dreamt about a unicorn and when she woke up it was standing in her room.

It’s contagious as hell too. Yesterday the wife happened to catch me walking naked to the bathroom so she immediately threw what she was carrying to the ground and screamed, “fine – let’s do this, let’s just knock it out – geeeeze!!!”

The life of a 7-year-old can be so hard, having to always feel entitled enough to throw-down in a split second claiming you’re owed so much more than what you’re getting.

The boy honestly believes the world is against him these days.

Grayson: “What’s for dinner tonight daddy?”

Me: “Hamburgers chief. Hamburgers, salad and corn-on-the-cob. Good eats my man!”

Grayson: “Awwww come on daddy!! You know I don’t like hamburger…geeeze”

At this point he’s walking out of the room like I told him I was going to run over his bike, kill his fish, and smash all is trophies.

Me: “Grayson…seriously? It’s hamburger. What kid doesn’t want a nice, juicy organic meat hamburger? I’ll even throw some cheese on that bad boy for ya!”

Grayson: “Can’t we have sushi?”

Me: “Seriously? Really Grayson, sushi? Are you buying? We can’t afford that Monsieur! Would you like some champagne with your meal?”

Grayson: “STOP DADDY!!! Not everyone likes the same thing!! Macy likes hamburger, I like sushi! GEEEZE!!!”

I don’t know what the solution is.

We put the smack-down on the boy from ever saying “geeeze” ever again. We’ve told him the world is not holding a major conference in downtown Chicago under the theme “How To Make Grayson’s Life Unfair, Unjust and Just Down Right Sucky.”

He’s a work in progress…like the girl…like the wife…like myself…like the blow-up doll in my basement that still wants me to take her out for dinner before we “get it on.”

A work in progress…