4 Days as a Single Dad

On Friday the wifey took off to N.C. to be with her cousin who’s on the losing side of a vicious battle with cancer. My heart broke as I watched her walk out the door, knowing that what she was about to experience would be something she’d never forget.

As I slowly turned around, fighting the tears, I was met with two kids standing side-by-side, the son holding a car, the daughter holding her blanket. They gave me a look that clearly said, “all right old man…we can do this one of two ways. The hard way, or the easy way…you chose.”

I chose the easy way and quickly made-up a massive batch of chocolate chip cookies….or what I like to call, a pan of bribery.

Saturday I woke up to my son sitting next to me on the bed, looking at my tattoo on my arm and saying, “I’m gonna tell your mommy you have a tattoo.”

I gave them the run of the place Saturday. And they fucking destroyed it. Paints, stuff animals, clothes, blocks, games, Legos, food, spilled milk, TV, and minor amounts of blood. I had given them a total kid day in the house and they took full advantage.

Sunday I woke up to my son sitting next to me on the bed saying, “Daddy, while I was peeing Jasper’s (our cat) tail went through my pee and now he’s laying on your bed.”

We spent Sunday handing out daddy’s hard earned cash. We saw Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, ate Baja Fresh, and spent a few hours at a park swinging, playing soccer and basketball, climbing, and looking at moms…..uh, I mean playing on the jungle gym. They came home dirty and tired.

The wifey comes back Tuesday night and I’m pretty sure by then I’ll be bound, shoved in a closet, and the house will be set on fire.

I love that my wife can bolt whenever she wants and the kids and I just roll into daddy mode. I love that they get my humor, tackle me when I least expect it, tell me secrets, and wake me up spewing awesomeness from their minds. I love that they love me. And I hate that I can’t look back and remember similar experiences from when I was growing up with my dad.

This morning I dropped my son off at school, walked across the street and dropped my daughter off at her school. As her class started walking down the hall, she jumped out of line, ran up to me, hugged my legs, then threw her face towards the sky, closed her eyes and puckered.

 That’s what it’s all about….

 

The Past Few Months in Pics

Just a few of my favorite pictures the wifey took over the past few months. Enjoy!

 

My Six-Year-Old the EMO Teenager

Seriously…what the fuck has happened to my sweet little, Opie Taylor-lookin’ six-year-old?

After school, he comes strolling out, gives his mom a quick nod of the head, like “sup” and just keeps strolling by. Doesn’t want anyone talking to him, hanging near him, or anything. He gets in the car and he’s all EMO and shit. He’s pushing his hair down in the front and looking angrily out the window.

In my mind I’m wondering what in the holy hell does he have to be all emotional about at this age? Did Suzie refuse to share a cookie with you? Did Samantha not accept your Valentine? Did Timmy get a pubic hair before you did? Did the teacher make you learn how to write the letter B when you really wanted to write D? Did I forget to put the PB in your PB&J? Did Kanye steal the stage from you?

He’s got this other thing going on that makes me want to turn a fifth of anything upside down….. He’ll kick his sister. She’ll scream. I’ll say, “Grayson!! Stop kicking your sister.”

Then he leaps up, looking shocked, both arms sticking out with palms up, eyes wide opn, and starts launching into a high-pitched, screaming explanation as to why he just kicked her and how it’s her fault.

I cut him off. “Grayson, I don’t want to hear it, just stop kicking her.”

He then says, “You never listen to me. You never wanna hear what I have to say. You don’t care!” He then goes stomping off crying and sits in his bedroom curled up. I swear, if he had a radio with headphones, he’d put them on, stare at his Clash poster on the wall, and write long prolific poems in his journal about how misunderstood he is.

I’m not ready for this shit just yet. So I write the following while on my knees:

Dear Whatever You Are That Turns Kids Into Teenagers:

Not fucking yet, please. My kids rocks and he’s too young to cross over to the dark side. Keep his voice high-pitched, his mouth smiling, and his brain uncluttered from all that testosterone.

That’d be greeeat. Thanks!

Grayson’s Dad

 

It's All About the Boobs

Yesterday I was sitting on the couch with the kids, watching some boob tube, when a commercial comes on.

Most parents know that when a commercial comes on, usually the children snap out of the TV coma and begin random acts of destruction. So I was braced for the worst. But instead, my daughter says:

“My head almost reaches mommy’s boobies.”

My son pops up from his seat – “My eyes can look right at mommy’s boobies. Come stand next to me and let’s see how far away you are from looking at mommy’s boobies.”

They then proceed to stand next to each other and begin the arduous process of calculating exactly how far my daughter has to grow before her eyeballs see eye-to-eye with my wifey’s rack.

I honestly didn’t know what to say or how do I react. Do I stand up, lift the boy off the ground by his shirt while screaming, “those bad-boys are mine damn it. You keep your dirt-crusted, goopy eyeballs off them, ya hear?!” Or do I say, “hey children, come sit next to daddy mmmkay! Listen, those are mommy’s personal body objects that are not to be discussed, touched, or looked at, mmmkay?!” Or, do I stand up and say, “Oh yeah, well my belly is even with your midget mother’s boobies which puts them in perfect range for…….” Umm…I didn’t chose that one.

Nope, instead I smiled, chuckled, and realized that those precious mounds I so often admire from a far have entered a new phase. I’ve seen many a boob phase over the past 7 years – pregnancy, birth, nursing, post nursing, etc… And now…measuring stick. I gave up the whole, “I don’t like to share” thing a long time ago.

Regardless of what phase they’re in, they’re fabulous and one of many attributes that make wifey a sexy sexy MILF. Now if I could only get her to agree to let me take pictures for my blog post….

Picking A Good One

We drove North West of the Chicagoland area today in search of some killer apples. I've never been apple picking before.... Funny enough, I was the only one in the car, my kids included, that could say that.

I pulled a chapter from the Obama presidency and gave a historic speech to the kids before they put their first ass-cheek in their seat. I was all: "If you love your country...if you love your fellow man...you'll stay buckeled...you'll respect your parents.....when daddy needs to hit the ABC store on the way, you'll offer him an extra quarter to help pay the liquor tax.....thow shalt not beat your sister!!!

Whatever mojo that speech created, sat well with kick-ass Macy:

And when we arrived...it was like a playground for my talented wifey to break out the camera and do her typical, but amazingly talented magic. Enjoy...I know I do. And I have to add...we will always love that midwestern sky...  :