I'm the Meanest Father Alive!

How is it that we can drive from Chicago to North Carolina (14 hours) in one day with the kids and have it be somewhat sane, but from our house to the grocery store – maddening?

It seems to be the case these days. We can’t go anywhere without:

“Stoooooppp Macy.”

“Mooomm….she’s crossing the line”

“Daaaddd, Grayson just said I’m not his friend anymore.”

“Mooommm….Macy unbuckled from her seatbelt.”

…..and it goes on and on. I spared you the blood-curdling screams, the crying, and the death threats the wife and I impose on them.

This past weekend I hit my limit. We’d spent the entire day going fishing, getting ice cream, looking at replacement fish, playing with friends, roasting marshmallows, and riding bikes. We were on our way home and the screaming, yelling, kicking, telling on each other started and I lost it.

I finally reached the point where I would actually order, and use, a My Therapy Buddy while swaddling myself in a fucking Snuggie, sucking my thumb, rocking back and forth naked in a closet.

I’m all: “you know what – I should start treating you like my father treated me. No more bike rides, no more ice cream, no more fishing, no more playgrounds, no more anything. You mow grass, wash my car, wash windows, rake the yard – you earn your fun time.”

The daughter totally didn’t give a shit. She was all, “whatever jagoff, you know you’re not gonna do shit to us. Now fetch my sippy cup bitch!”

The son – whole different story. He started uncontrollably bawling. The whole way home this went on. Finally I pulled him aside. “Dude, why are you so upset?”

“That’s the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

And it hit me – the kid thinks I’m gonna instantly turn his life of bliss into a replicated childhood like mine.

Now don’t get me wrong – I got to go swimming, ride bikes with my brother, do some playing, etc… But, that was usually when my father was “traveling” and rarely, if ever, involved the guy. When he was around, fun times were few and far between.

“Grayson, I said I ‘should’ do those things. I didn’t say I ‘would’ do those things. When I was growing up my daddy didn’t go on bike rides with me. He didn’t take me to parks for hours at a time. He didn’t do a lot of things. I would never do that to you. I just want you to appreciate what we do do for you.”

You could see his little sponge brain soaking in words flowing from my undersized mouth. He quickly cheered up, quit the crying, gave me a hug and took off.

Ten minutes later he was kicking the shit out of his sister on the couch.

I didn’t ever expect to be telling my son about things from my childhood this early in his life. But it seemed to make sense to me. It seemed to be the right time to teach him a lesson he could relate to. It seemed the right time to strengthen our relationship a bit by letting him know how lucky he is to have a dad who loves him to pieces and makes sure their time spent together is kick-ass and not getting your ass-kicked.

Regardless, I still can’t wait till the little bastard can push a lawnmower.

End of Summer in Photos

A few recent photos of the kids. Photos by my wife, Kim Lyons.

Death, Lesson, Inspiration, Timing…..Livestrong

Anyone who read my earlier post about putting a sex magazines and blow-up dolls under my pillow could have seen it coming, right? Either I post a follow-up about how I can’t even walk to the train anymore cause I’m so freakin’ over-sexed….or….I write about death – the death of an innocent,  young, frugal, vigilant, Democratic, healthcare reform advocate, fish. A young, brilliant-colored little guy named – Swimmy.

Quick flashback for those too lazy to read older posts. Friend tells story of how her son puts shark tooth under pillow, wakes up to can of tuna. My wife tries to one-up her. Son puts shark tooth under pillow wakes up to fish in fish bowl. Daughter disappointed she didn’t do the same so puts shark tooth under her pillow that night. Wakes up to fish next morning.

There…so, we get back from a relaxing, long day at a folk music festival – friends are about to come over – wife walks up to me and says,

“Swimmy is dead.”

I say, “fuckin’ who?”

“Swimmy”

“You wanna have sex now when friends are about to come over?”

“Jackass!!! – Your daughter’s fish – Swimmy – is fucking dead!!”

Me – “oh…..shit….that sucks….”

Swimmy was a good kid. I mean – he really did nothing but make my daughter happy every morning when she thought about feeding him – and every night when she wanted to use him as fuel to delay the inevitable.

The dilemma – should I tell her now when friends are walking in and involve them in the drama. OR – wait till we’ve had too much to drink, are ready for bed, and risk her seeing the fish and have her spend the remaining hours of the night crying? We decided to tell her now - “your fish died, sister.”

She took it hard. She cried. She cried hard. And even my son cried hard. Just earlier that day I explained to him why his mom was crying – “her cousin, Brett, who she grew up with has cancer and was told by doctors there’s nothing they can do.” Death took on a whole new meaning for my son today……

It’s kind bizarre and sadistically funny how shit seems to work out in your day-to-day life. One day you’re blogging about the stupidity of bringing in fish that will inevitably die and cause drama to your life. The next day you’re putting the pieces together about how that seemingly thoughtless act turned into a life lesson for the three greatest people in your life…and yourself.

I’m posting the picture of my kids by Swimmy’s grave not as a joke…..but as fuel to spark memories in my readers of their first loss…their first pet…their first family member…their first death.

My wife’s cousin, Brett, is a fighter. Fuck that – he’s the damn Man! He’ll win this fucking battle against cancer, because the love behind his fight is undying, relentless, passionate, and one of the most moving experiences I’ve ever witnessed.

Livestrong Brett!

If I Put a Dirty Mag Under the Pillow Can I Get Sex?

Yeah – that’s the question roaming my distorted mind this week after my wife grew a wild hair, fertilized by none other than our dear friend Mom-O-Matic. My 6-year-old and her 6-year-old spent some time together this week. My boy learned that his buddy put on his Curious George hat and put a shark’s tooth under his pillow to see what would happen.

Well – Mom-O-Matic is the smartass of all smartasses. Her kid woke up the next morning with a can of tuna fish under his pillow. Fucking genius right?!

So what does my wife do? Oh – she tries to one-up that shit. My son puts a shark’s tooth under his pillow. Puts his sweet little red-headed melon on his night-time soft cushion and hits the dream world hard. Meanwhile, I slip downstairs to obsess about how incredibly slow my Twitter followers are growing, while the wife sneaks out the back to hop in the car and go buy…..fucking fish.

 

We have four humans in this house, one cat, and one bathroom. That’s 4 asses to be wiped, one litter box, and 5 mouths to feed. But we need more?!! And…and…and!!!!!!! Anyone with 2 or more kids knows – you can’t provide for one, without providing for the other.

Long story short – son wakes up – thinks he’s seen the second coming of Jesus, daughter says… “awwww – I should have put a shark’s tooth under my pillow.” And then does so that night. Wife runs out on night two – buys fish tank and fish…but this time (here’s where she can’t fucking help but one-up) – she buys a much more pimped-out fish tank than the boy has. Yeah…I know…you’re saying the same damn thing I said – “are you on crack woman? Grayson’s gonna produce a shit-storm in the morning when he sees Macy’s chromed-out fish tank!”

Our daughter woke up to a gold fish in a large flower vase filled with clean water.

I guess the moral of this whole story and why I’m bothering you with its contents is to announce I am effectively today, starting a test…..or to seem more scientific – an experiment. Tonight I will start easy and place a Playboy under my pillow. The next night – a blow-up doll. And I’ll go from there. God-willing…I will experience the same joyous, wonderful, and mind-numbing experiences my adorable children experienced. If not....well…..well I guess there’s always the interweb machine.

I Saved My Kid's Life!!

Our family has officially perfected the ability to never lose one another in public. As I write this I’m realizing how blatantly I’ve now pissed off the jinx yourself gods.

In the movie Robots, there’s a scene where the two main characters crash a party to try and talk to Big Weld. Before going in they agree to scream “Cuh Caw” is one or the other person needs help. And there our family safety words were born.

At first it was a kind of a joke. I was at the store and my wife and daughter got separated from my son and me. So I loudly screamed “Cuh Caw!!” Immediately my son copied me and started loudly calling “Cuh Caw!!” Five minutes later the entire store wanted us dead and we found the other half of the family. The wife….annoyed as shit. The daughter…..jealous she missed out on the screaming and quickly made up for it by yelling “Cuh Caw!!” for the next 20 minutes.

My wife is a huuuuuge wanderer. If I blink a split second longer than I should, she’s gone. So this extremely handy calling has come in handy many, many times. In fact, here’s a list of a few of them:

Jewel Osco                                          The Park

The Field Museum                                During Sex

Target                                                  On Bike Rides

Downtown Downers Grove                  On the Metra

Our House                                           Shedd Aquarium

Noodles & Company                           Wrigley Field

cuh caw from Why Is Daddy Crying on Vimeo.

You get the drift. But this past weekend I saw that while hearing my kids scream Cuh Caw throughout a store is annoying for everyone except me, it’s also a damn fine safety feature.

We were in Target. My wife was 20 yards ahead of me, I was keeping an eye on her while holding the boy’s hand, and glancing behind me to keep an eye on the girl who was lagging. I noticed my four-year-old daughter had lost site of us and was looking around with a worried look on her face trying to spot us.

Immediately she put her hands up to her mouth and yelled “Cuh Caw, Cuh Caw!!”

The crisis was quickly overted, but a lesson was learned. Despite my wife's constant bitching of how I'm ruining our kids lives, I actually saved one that day. Kinda like Saving Private Ryan....or...something. Whatever - all I know is....when anyone in this fam hear's "Cuh Caw".....we alll come running.

*as a side note, if you know us and see us out in public - please don't fuck with us by yelling "Cuh Caw".....we'd be up shit's creek for sure....

Thanks!