The following is an account of one of the worst evenings in memory through the eyes of my wife Heather.
The names and locations have not been changed to protect us, as we are not worthy of such protections.
I had great plans for this week. Had Monday and Tuesday off, leaving a blissfully short week at work. A working dinner Wednesday night, paid for by my manager (with Booze), off site meeting on Thursday with free breakfast and lunch (I like food and free is my favorite) leaving only Friday as a boring normal work day. Unfortunately, The girls and Jimmy's stomach had other plans. I start getting text messages as soon as I arrive at dinner. They go as follows, J's are Jimmy and H's are me:
J 5:00 - Can you pick up some powdered Miralax on your way home? I'm getting sick of Sloane constantly smelling like shit.
J 5:01 - Oh, when you get the Miralax, get a Powerball ticket too
H - OK
J 5:05 - Still nauseous
J 5:15 - I'm actually sick
H - Want me to bring home some soup or something, or leave the meal now?
J 5:17 - No
J 6:02 - How far are you from home?
H - Maybe 45 min to an hour
J 6:03 - Forget the laxative and the Powerball, just get home as soon as you can!
H - Food hasn't come but I will leave as soon as I get it.
J 6:04 - Seriously?
H - Yes, I'm sorry, I'll leave really soon, the girls OK?
J 6:05 - Quinn is crabby, Sloane is being obnoxious, smells like shit and refuses to clean herself and I'm throwing up.
H - So sorry, be home as soon as I can.
J 6:42 - Your daughter wiped her shit all over the side of the bed. I'm not referring to Quinn.
J 6:50 - I'm done. Fucking done. The girls are no longer in my care for the night. And they are no longer allowed in our room. Period.
Made excuses to my Boss and coworkers. I grabbed the steak I ordered and ate it in the car (with my hands) on the way home, leaving a barely touched glass of wine and dreams of a nice dessert. I got home around 7:20 (after driving the fastest I've ever driven on windy dark back roads) and actually stopped outside the front door. I really didn't want to walk into what was sure to be a war zone, but I sucked it up and opened the door. Surprisingly, it was quiet. That scared me more than noise and yelling would have. Don't turn around and run away, Don't turn around and run away, Please let them be alive ...
Living room - no people, Play-doh everywhere
Kitchen - no people, pickles everywhere
Hallway - finally see Jimmy, white as a ghost. He looks like he is either going to kill me or pass out from exhaustion.
Bedroom - Quinn, in her usual way, comes running up chipper and happy, yelling Mommy and gives me a hug as if nothing happened. I note that she is not clothed.
Bathroom - Sloane, I find out, has locked herself in to avoid Daddy.
What followed is a blur. Keep children away from Daddy, Clean up poop with kid's help (must teach lesson), clean up child, talk to child about why poop should only be in the potty, start load of laundry with child to clean sheets, feed children, keep children away from Daddy, clean children again, dress in PJ's, have children apologize to Daddy, attempt to put them down to bed, run out to buy Miralax, ginger ale and a Powerball ticket, console Daddy with a cold glass of ginger ale with a straw, get ready for bed, have child wake me up at midnight because of nightmare, put them back to bed, Child up again at 2:30, screw bed and put child on recliner in bedroom with blanket to sleep, other child wakes up at 4:00 calling for her sister, change diaper, convince both kids it's still night time, put them back in bed. Alarm goes off at 6:00, try to wake up Jimmy, 6:30, try to wake up Jimmy, have to leave by 7 am at the latest to make 9AM meeting south of Boston, 6:50, try to wake up Jimmy, Give up and call in sick for work.
I honestly have no idea what I did with my time before I had children.
The previous story is true, to the best of my recollection, I couldn't make that up.
Thank God I get to go to work every day!!!
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Fatherly Pride
My friend Zach has a 4 year old daughter, and like myself, isn't afraid to expose her to topics that some would see as inappropriate for children. Below is a recent conversation between the two while on a drive.
Irie: "daddy we have to prepare for the zombies."
Zach: "ok how do we do that?"
Irie: "I know how to kill them."
Zach: "really?"
Irie: "you have to destroy the brain"
Knowing Zach, this was the equivalent to the level of pride one would take in their children if they were to ask to give away their toys to the poor. I can picture his eyes welling up and a single tear rolling down his cheek, because if my oldest had said this, that's exactly how I would react.
Irie: "daddy we have to prepare for the zombies."
Zach: "ok how do we do that?"
Irie: "I know how to kill them."
Zach: "really?"
Irie: "you have to destroy the brain"
 |
| Thank heaven for little girls, for little girls kill walkers every day! |
Knowing Zach, this was the equivalent to the level of pride one would take in their children if they were to ask to give away their toys to the poor. I can picture his eyes welling up and a single tear rolling down his cheek, because if my oldest had said this, that's exactly how I would react.
 |
| This has nothing to do with a 4 year old, but boy oh boy what a zombie hunter! JINKIES! |
Aspirations
I blame the Toys-r-us catalog and their McDonalds kitchen play-set for the outcome of this conversation.
"Daddy, when I grow up, I want to be a doctor who saves babies from cancer."
"Wow Sloane, a pediactric oncologist is a noble profession."
"Yeah, I know. Maybe i'll work at McDonalds instead."
"Gee Sloane, you really know how to knock a guy's pride down a peg."
On the plus side, at least she's keeping her options WIDE open
 |
| Dah, dah, dah, dah, dah... oncology! |
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Guy Fieri Sucks
Anyone who knows me well, or even casually, probably has heard me voice my disdain for the Food Network's experiment in douchebaggery that is Guy Fiery. I call him an experiment because that clearly the only explanation for this man. One day, a focus group comprised of 40+ year old southern and Midwestern housewives was locked in a room with sacks of body parts, assorted foodstuffs and a deep fryer, then told to create a man and a menu that "the kids would go crazy for". After 34 excruciating hours, their mission was complete: They gave him attitude, but the right kind of homogenized family-friendly attitude that stood up to the status quo, but only within reason... Leather studded bracelets, lots of rings and a gold chain. They wanted him to be "in your face" like the kid's say, but approachable and harmless. His original hair style was to be a Billy Ray Cyrus mullet, but a phone call to Phyllis' 8 year old granddaughter shifted their mindset towards "frosted tips" because she had a crush on an older boy at school with that haircut. His personal style came next, but unfortunately, the focus group was only supplied with a few boxes of left over clothing from Chess King, the now defunct Times Square WWF store and a bunch of Jeff Gordon merchandise from his DuPont years.
Finally, there is his "food". I cannot do any better than New York Times restaurant critic Pete Wells, so I'll simply provide a link to his recent review of Guy's great big times square sparkling turd. http://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/14/dining/reviews/restaurant-review-guys-American-kitchen-bar-in-times-square.html?pagewanted=1
If Guy Fieri were a headlining rock band, his openers would be Nickel back and Smash mouth.
Finally, there is his "food". I cannot do any better than New York Times restaurant critic Pete Wells, so I'll simply provide a link to his recent review of Guy's great big times square sparkling turd. http://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/14/dining/reviews/restaurant-review-guys-American-kitchen-bar-in-times-square.html?pagewanted=1
 |
| EXTREME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! |
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Those days
Every now and again, I experience days where I feel like I have no business raising my kids. Sometimes, those occasions are so demoralizing that I just throw my hands up in surrender like a Frenchman, turn my kids over to someone who knows what they are doing, and spend the rest of my life living under a bridge under the assumed name of Javier the Tramp, whose days consist of shouting matches with rats and perfecting my recipe for hobo chili, and avoiding getting shanked for my shoes at night... A relatively stress-free life when compared to raising two girls.
I often think to myself, "how do the 'perfect' parents do it?" (More realistically, 'perfect' moms... We stay at home dads are still a very small minority) what is the secret to living a life that would appear to have been plucked directly from the pages of Pinterest. How does one keep a child entertained while using television as a 'rare treat' reserved for milestone occasions, and only then for a half hour at a time? How do these moms get anything done around their houses? If it weren't for the Busytown Mysteries and the various programs on Disney Jr., my house would look like it belonged in an episode of hoarders.
Aside from TV related questions, I often wonder how they, not only get their kids to eat their vegetables, but also have time to do creative and fun things with their meals to get their kids to eat them?
I've gotten so off track that I had to go back and re-read the beginning of this post to remember what the hell I was writing about! Looks my Adderall has worn off! To my original point, raising kids is a really f##king difficult job. Anyone who tells you otherwise has never really had to do it. There is no time off, even if you are out and the kids are with a sitter, your mind is still with them more than 50% of the time. You're always on call, and there is always a part of your brain that is thinking about a worst case scenario and how to deal with it if such an event arises. The worst part of the deal is what seems like a complete lack of respect from your societal peers and even your family.
Wow, I feel like I have just wasted your time! Sorry for the incoherent ramble session. It's been a long day and as I stated earlier, my Adderall has worn off.
I often think to myself, "how do the 'perfect' parents do it?" (More realistically, 'perfect' moms... We stay at home dads are still a very small minority) what is the secret to living a life that would appear to have been plucked directly from the pages of Pinterest. How does one keep a child entertained while using television as a 'rare treat' reserved for milestone occasions, and only then for a half hour at a time? How do these moms get anything done around their houses? If it weren't for the Busytown Mysteries and the various programs on Disney Jr., my house would look like it belonged in an episode of hoarders.
Aside from TV related questions, I often wonder how they, not only get their kids to eat their vegetables, but also have time to do creative and fun things with their meals to get their kids to eat them?
I've gotten so off track that I had to go back and re-read the beginning of this post to remember what the hell I was writing about! Looks my Adderall has worn off! To my original point, raising kids is a really f##king difficult job. Anyone who tells you otherwise has never really had to do it. There is no time off, even if you are out and the kids are with a sitter, your mind is still with them more than 50% of the time. You're always on call, and there is always a part of your brain that is thinking about a worst case scenario and how to deal with it if such an event arises. The worst part of the deal is what seems like a complete lack of respect from your societal peers and even your family.
Wow, I feel like I have just wasted your time! Sorry for the incoherent ramble session. It's been a long day and as I stated earlier, my Adderall has worn off.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Guest Entry
Today I am offering up a nugget of funny from an equally twisted and funny woman-daddy (some people know this species as a "mommy") I first met Cassy and her husband Chris, long before they had their adorable daughter Charlotte, when they tapped me to photograph their wedding and engagement. We often ask ourselves "why do we not hang out with these awesome people?" because they are very similar to us in many respects. Well, we have formed a long-term facebook-exclusive friendship with them because Cassy doesn't drive (she grew up in the city where a car is just an unnecessary expense) and when Chris is around, they have a life. (damn show-offs) Oh we also live almost two hours from them, and even our closest friends will only make the trek 2 times a year! OK, that's enough of the storied history of the Paquette-Morin connection, time to get to the point. This morning she posted something on facebook that hit home:
Since Charlotte watches very little TV, it proves to be a great distraction when I take a shower because she is always so engrossed in it. However, the past few days she has had the need to come into the bathroom every few minutes to let me know what's going on. Here's what she said today:
- Oh no mommy, water fell off the couch!
- Mommy, watch me go potty!
- Abby Cadabby's on!
- Mommy, look, an eyelash!
I am taking the time to write this to reply to her with a sad reality: This may be a new thing for Charlie, but know that it is only the beginning! Soon she will discover the art of flushing the toilet while you are in the shower, sneaking up on you and scaring the hell out of you, and of course, announcing that she is doing something destructive, thus forcing you to do a nude 40 yard dash through the house to avoid the repercussions of whatever it is she decided to destroy!.
Good Luck!
Since Charlotte watches very little TV, it proves to be a great distraction when I take a shower because she is always so engrossed in it. However, the past few days she has had the need to come into the bathroom every few minutes to let me know what's going on. Here's what she said today:
- Oh no mommy, water fell off the couch!
- Mommy, watch me go potty!
- Abby Cadabby's on!
- Mommy, look, an eyelash!
- You okay, Mommy?
- I'm watching Sesame Street!
- All clean, mommy?
- Tissue please!
- Mommy, watch me go potty again!- I'm watching Sesame Street!
- All clean, mommy?
- Tissue please!
I am taking the time to write this to reply to her with a sad reality: This may be a new thing for Charlie, but know that it is only the beginning! Soon she will discover the art of flushing the toilet while you are in the shower, sneaking up on you and scaring the hell out of you, and of course, announcing that she is doing something destructive, thus forcing you to do a nude 40 yard dash through the house to avoid the repercussions of whatever it is she decided to destroy!.
Good Luck!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)