Daddy? What's My Penis For?

You know those Saturday’s when you’re just kinda hanging out?

The kids are doing their own thing. You’re zoned out plowing through the newspaper while the wife is obsessively drilling through Facebook and for a brief moment that’s when you realize “no one wants anything.”

No one’s screaming “nu-uh!!! I’m gonna tell!!!”

And the dog isn’t at the backdoor slamming his hellish paw against the annoying as shit bell we taught him to ring every time he wants to go out.

Bliss!!!

And that’s when the boy rolled up and muttered to me, “daddy what’s my penis for?”

Working hard not to spit my coffee all over the cute little redheaded bastard, I took a hard swallow and responded, “ummm, to pee with dude!”

The Dude: “Really, that’s it? Just to pee with?”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “Well, I mean, there’s other stuff but you’ll learn about that later.”

The Dude: “Like what daddy?”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “Seriously dude, we’ll talk about it later, it’s complicated and daddy’s tired.”

The Dude: “Is is where babies come from?”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “Holy mother of ….. I mean…man, what are they teaching you at school? Who are you hanging out with!!?!”

The Dude: “No I’ve just been wondering.”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “No, baby’s do not technically come out of your penis.”

The Dude: “What if something happens to it.”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “Well then you put that thing on ice IMMEDIATELY and find yourself a damn good attorney .”

The Dude: “I don’t understand.”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “I’m jumping ahead. You remember when daddy said to make sure and talk to me before you get married?”

The Dude: “Yes daddy.”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “That’s all you need to know right now my man. Now go ride your bike or blow bubbles or something.”

The Dude: “You’ve made me scared to have a penis daddy.”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “It’s a big damn responsibility my son. You shouldn’t take it lightly. Many important people have died or ruined their lives cause they couldn’t handle their penis. It’s a lifetime battle dude…just know that I’ll do all I can to guide you along this bumpy road.”

The Dude: “Daddy, why would my penis go down a bumpy road?”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “Hey – is that the ice cream man?”

The Dude: “No…I don’t hear anything.”

Dumbass Dad (ME): “Who wants to go for ice cream?!!!”

Later that night I cried myself to sleep….

The Daughter's Solution To Death

It’s been a few months since my daughter’s had to deal with death.

A few months ago my son’s hamster “Teddy” took a dirty-nap a mere two months after this ordeal. We honestly didn’t think he’d live two days after that.

But then, this past Monday, she found a tiny little caterpillar. She immediately sprung into action and located a small cup to put it in. She then frantically searched for the perfect leaf for it to munch on.

Next, a toy! It needed a toy. Carefully placing an oversized piece of mulch into the cup she was satisfied until she realized she had nothing to call it!

“Ted! I’m gonna name him Ted,” she declared suddenly.

And “Ted” he became.

For the next 90 minutes Ted and my dear sweet innocent daughter were inseparable. She sat with Ted. She talked to Ted.

She gleefully encouraged Ted to make his first heroic climb up the Mt. Everest of bark mulch.

She even laughed hysterically when she finally found Ted hiding under a leaf, camouflaged and clearly playing a trick on her.

Then, it came time for school and she had to leave Ted behind. After kissing his habitat goodbye she skipped off to get her learnin’ on.

I went about my regular working from home day.

Three hours later, the kids burst into the door with the daughter leading the pack eager to show off her new friend.

And that’s when it happened.

Upon throwing open the back sliding door she screamed, “TED!!!!”

The cup had been blown over and rolled off the deck into the grass. The leaf and mulch piece were there.

Ted……was not.

She was absolutely crushed. After the entire family searched for what seemed like hours we declared Ted alive and well but back with nature again.

Secretly we knew damn well when he landed in the grass, he bumped his chest two times to the lord above and crawled his ass far far away from here.

“Ted always knew how to make me laugh mommy,” the daughter recalled shortly after through her steady flow of tears.

Three days later (yesterday) the neighborhood was alive with the sounds of joyful children when all of a sudden one yells, “a dead bird!”

My daughter’s ears perk-up and she immediately hauls-ass to the spot where a tiny, baby bird had fallen from his perch and landed head-first onto the sidewalk.

Only, it wasn’t dead. It was barely breathing as it laid there slowly dying.

The daughter immediately starts searching for a box to place it in. Crying hysterically asking for help because “I want to save it!!”

If only life were simple enough to where a box, small sample of nourishment and oversized play thing would make everything spring back to a joyous life filled with double rainbows all the way!

The wife stepped-up, hugged the little darling tightly and helped her unwillingly understand the bird was doomed.

The bird would die.

Seeing my innocent little angel learn one of life’s hardest lessons yet again was painfully difficult.

I was humbled at the way the wife made the parenting side of it look so damn easy. I was a complete waste of space during the entire thing just watching as if I were a moth on a wall.

Forty-five minutes later she was eating pizza and riding her bike up and down the block.

Ted nor the dying hairless baby bird that never had a chance were even a blip on her radar anymore.

I long for the days where the only things that concerned me could fit inside a small little container. And, once they fell out of that container, they just weren’t important anymore.

When did life get so complicated?



The Teaching Of The 5-Second Rule

It’s one of the top 5 most epic rules of all time. And, I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to teach it to my boy.

I spent the first 6 years of my fatherhood watching the kids crumble into tears and tantrums after fumbling a delicious goodie from their hands.

“Quick! Pick it up, pick the dirt off and eat it!”

“NNNNNOOOOOOO!!!!!!” was always the tearful response. And there it laid.

To make it worse, my obsessive cleaning of my hands in their classrooms as a volunteer has taught them that the outside world is nothing but a smoking germ factory. This only fueled their desire to consider their popsicle kaput.

We tried it all, “What? Dirt on it? Awesome!!!! Eat it quick, that stuff’s like a magical crispy awesomeness or something!!!”

“You’re not gonna eat that?” Then I’d reach down, snatch the popsicle up and cram it down my throat to show it was OK. I only did that once. It was like throwing gasoline on a match next to a paper factory.

Then, a few weeks ago, a light bulb went off. I remembered that I have the short-lived “my daddy knows everything and walks on water” powers.

So, in my most confident, happenstance voice I said to my son, “dude, you don’t know about the coveted 5-second rule?”

“The what?”

“Son!!!? Seriously? After all this time? Oh my…oh my.”

“Daddy, what!!?! Tell me!! What about the five…ummm”

“The 5-second rule Grayson!! It’s vitally important. Are you sure you’re ready? Are you sure you can handle this?”

“Daddy tell me!!! Please!”

“OK my son. If you should happen to accidentally drop a piece of food on the ground for a length of less than 5 seconds that doesn’t touch pee, poop, dead animals, your sister, or anything else that may cause death, you can simply blow it off, and eat it. That is all.”

“What do you mean that is all?”

“I mean, that is all. Drop an ice cream cone, quickly grab it, blow it off and keep chowing.”

“Really? That’s a rule?”

“I won’t lie, it’s saved me from being hungry many a-time. But keep in mind! It doesn’t work for gum, candy, etc… that’s been laying around for days. It has to have fallen within the 5-second time period.”

Immediately the boy dropped his pretzel stick on the ground and looked up at me.

I started counting, “One-one thousand, two-one thousand…”

The boy quickly snatched the pretzel stick back up, blew on it, then looked up at me again. I smiled at him and waited.

He took a bite, slowly chewing it to make sure it didn’t explode his jaw or cause him to clutch his chest and fall to the ground riddled with impending death. Then a huge smile came across his face and he mumbled, “so awesome.”

My job here is done.

Hey Honey, While You're Up...

“Hey honey…can you get me some water while you’re up, and some chips, and the artichoke dip, and a napkin and my phone?”

When the movie “Up” first came out I thought I was confident I was going watch a documentary of three different fathers, sitting in the dark to hide their identity, voices muffled from any recognition, talking about how they’re wives were obsessed with sandbagging various needs until their spouse’s ass left the couch…

What am I talking about?

Our first child was born in 2002. During that pregnancy my wife learned an incredible lesson she has yet to let go of:

“If I sit here long enough, eventually that big-eared, gap-toothed bastard will arise from his place on the couch creating the perfect opportunity for me to request items that are sure to meet my every need.”

That skill-set is firmly embedded into her psyche and has become a finely tuned art. It’s actually poetry in motion when it happens…either that or I’m so damn stupid that even seven years later it still hasn’t sunk in that when I stand up, I better grab a note pad, pen, and use my stuck-up waiter voice to say, “mmmm…will that be all Madame or shall you require anything else this evening?”

The other day I was watching “Weeds” with the wifey (our new obsession). We’d been there for literally over an hour. I finally stood up to go pee and I the wife dropped an Atom bomb of requests:

“Honey, can you take this plate and throw it in the sink, get me more wine, and I’m pretty sure there’s another brownie in there. Oh, and can you hand me the computer and another blanket? Love you!!!”

I felt like a prize fighter who couldn’t even lift his hands to block punches anymore and was just taking left and right hooks to the head. Bloodied, tired, and put in my place, I just said, “can I at least go pee first?”

“Oh sure…definitely. But wash your hands afterwards.”

“Yes dear.”

I admit it, I fight back on occasion. I’ll bitch and whine and throw mini temper-tantrums…I swing my limp arms around and say, “I don’t wanna.” It works for the kids.

A couple years ago the wifey decided it was too hard to get me to do stuff for her so she migrated over to asking the boy. Being that little kids are the most selfish little bastards on the planet, she gave up quick realizing that was one battle she wasn’t ever going to win. And like an idiot I stood there watching the whole thing go down. It was like watching molten lava slowly slide towards you. The whole time you think all the things in its path are going to stop the flow, but they don’t…no, they just get burned to shit as the lava keeps on flowing right towards you.

Now that last analogy may seem like I’m comparing my lovely and talented wifey to a flow of death-dealing burning lava…yeah, I guess I kinda am…but it’s the kind of lava you grow to love and want to snuggle with on a regular basis.

I’ve gotten used to it for the most part. I mean, it still stings a bit, but at the end of the day, you and I both know I justify being an in-house butler by slowly sliding another coin in the nookie-jar.

It’s amazing how many of those coins it takes before the jar gets filled…