Some Trials of a Stay At Home Father

First off, I want to give a shout out to all the Stay-at-home-Moms. I know Bill Burr wants to say it's easy. He's not wrong about parenthood. That's just biology. We are hardwired to love our kids and do our best. But being at home? Twenty-four seven? With a baby? A toddler? Easy?

1.) Insanity 

This is the first struggle of a stay at home. Eventually your kid won't need to eat every thirty minutes to an hour. Eventually they won't need to nap every two hours. Eventually they will want to go outside and play and be able to do so with minimal supervision. Sadly for you, stay-at-home-parent, that day is at least four years away. During the first four, maybe three years, you will spend the vast amount of your time at home. Alone. Staring at your phone and doing mindless chores. Laundry takes a long time, sure, but most of it is loading and unloading. There's downtime you have to fill.

When your child is first born, you can watch what you want, when you want and talk to who you want to talk to. Your child will ignore all of these things or sleep and you will get sucked into this lie that this is going to be easy. That you have this. You will say things like, "no problem." And then you will brush dirt off your shoulders.

Then Mickey Mouse Clubhouse becomes a must watch. Mickey Roadster Racers follows.

There are only so many seasons of these shows.

You can finish these seasons in less than a week. Repeats become a factor quickly.

But your child never tires of them.

They never. Ever. Tire.

This is where the armchair parents tell you to turn the TV off. But they are liars or masochists. At some point you have to do something and that stupid show becomes the only solution to the problem of juggling a baby, and the baby's lunch and cleaning up the snack she threw on the floor. Or in my case, wiping down the floor that the dogs have drenched with slobber after eating the aforementioned snack.

Once this grim reality sets in, you begin to lose sense of things. Just small things at first. But then someone asks you how your Monday was and you break down and cry because you honestly believed it was Wednesday and the truth is just too difficult to accept.

But you carry on because you love your child. She or he is everything to you and they are going to be healthy, happy, productive members of society that won't ruin other people's day on Facebook.

Now that you are deprived of both sleep and adult interaction and have accepted the reality of your life...your child discovers the word "no."


2.) Toddlers don't make really good friends.

Before Emma was born my best friend was an adult. It was a coveted position of honor. People used to talk about me and say things like, "Dave, yeah he's an adult person who does things."

Now that those "friends" have abandoned me to die at the paws of a miniature she-wolf who is also my best friend. My new best friend is a toddler. A toddler who is out to destroy everything I love. Up to and including herself. She keeps climbing on our really tall kitchen chairs and then standing up and that is just destroying my skin with the worry.

We only watch what she wants to watch.

We only eat when she wants to eat.

We only do what she wants to do.

We are "ow-sigh" and "wal-keen" basically all the time. You'd think I'd be losing weight but she tends to stay in a really small area or take two hours to walk the length of a street and I eventually just give up and pull out my beach chairs. I don't care if you judge me, neighbors. I'm trying to live my best life.


3.) Did I mention your friends will abandon you? 

They will. They will go to their "jobs" and they will not answer your calls and texts no matter how on the brink of absolutely losing it you are. You will call your mother and you will be able to hear the "I told you so" in her voice.

4.) The mall is great!

The first five times you go that week. Before Wednesday. Eventually the poor Barnes and Noble staff will get tired of you. And your cute baby.

Oh and if you buy two Starbucks drinks a day for two months your bank account starts to reconsider it's relationship with you as well.

One more friend gone.

5.) Eventually you turn to social media.

This is a mistake. Facebook is a breeding ground for hatred and insanity. It does nothing but push you further down the Rabbit Hole. Sure, you can find funny videos and every now and then you see a cute baby but even then...you know the truth of that picture. You know what it took that poor mother to get her infant dressed in clean clothes and stationary on that blanket long enough to take her "6 month" progression photo. You know the movie magic and it is all a web of lies.

6.) Even ESPN is political now.

Is it naptime? Want to relax and watch some dudes talk about sports? Nope. Not gonna' happen. We have protests and Presidents and stuff affecting our country. If you didn't get enough on Facebook or Twitter, come here! Now, I'm not going to levy an opinion on the various going-ons. I hate it when people tell athletes to "stick to sports" but then turn around and post their own beliefs in a never ending cycle of nonsense. Our country has a lot of changing to do and athletes and sports analysts have the unique ability to get their opinions out to a group of people who normally don't watch the news.

But I really just want some highlights of the Bucs (or Jags this year) and to hear more "MJ vs LeBron" debates.

Also the Patriots are the worst and they get a lot of air time. If you don't like the Cowboys or the Patriots, then ESPN might not be your best source of football news.

7.) I don't care about a distressing number of typical 'stay-at-home' things and that's hard on my wife. Poor lady.

My life as the stay-at-home is admittedly charmed in some areas. My wife still does a lot of the chores. I'm not allowed near her clothes. My policy on folding clothes has always been one of "well it fit in there, I'll iron it later." But then later arrives and I need the shirt so I actually just throw a few ice cubes in the dryer and hope everything works itself out in the five minutes before I head out.

I'm not one for vacuuming or mopping until things are out of hand. It's not that I'm okay with living in a mess. It's just that I don't notice until someone shows it to me.

I do cook dinner every night but even then I have to fight the urge to order pizza almost every evening.

If there's a 50% off coupon literally anywhere I am losing that battle. Every time.

8.) Your wife doesn't understand your woes.

Your wife wants to be home with the child. She does not get it when you give her strange looks when she says things like, "how was our little angel today?"

I'm not sure how this works with husbands, but I'm willing to bet it's pretty close.

And complaining to someone that works all day that you didn't get to catch up on your four missed episodes of NCIS: LA because the baby wouldn't nap just doesn't seem to fly.

9.) That dog (probably) don't hunt. 

I realize that most of my complaints sound so inane...to someone who doesn't go through it. But once you've lived this life you know.

I've come a long way with this whole "adulthood" thing and I'm super excited (and a little sad) that my child is now getting interested in numbers and colors and puzzles and things I can actually do with her. But I'm also 100% sure that I'm messing everything up and that I'm a total and complete disaster.

I'm sure there are some of you ladies (and gents) who will read this and have all kinds of strategies and solutions to living a healthier happier life with your babies at home.

Feel free to share your secrets.

I promise I'll write about them and steal all of your fame and fortune you rightfully earned with this precious knowledge.

Disney Shows Present Some Odd Philosophical Problems

I'm trying to decide what I should let my kid watch on television. She's young enough to where really I could watch what I want and just hope she picks up some words, but old enough to where she's begun to count and I didn't teach her that outside of threatening her to come here right this instant or else.

Since she has become well practiced at ignoring me and any form of leadership I try to present, it's safe to say she's getting her "1, 2 and 3" from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, not Daddy's meaningless threats. That has to be a good thing, right?

Right?

Why it's probably Not:

Let's talk about Pluto, Mickey's lovable yellow canine companion. But before we talk about Pluto and his antics, let's point out the obvious:

Mickey and Minnie are mice.

Donald and Daisy are ducks.

Goofy is a dog.

Who is dating a cow, Clarabelle.

Pete is a cat.

They all talk. They all wear clothes. They all have homes and they seem to  have various interests and jobs they perform or pursue. They are basically humans, just as animals. In art this is called, anthropomorphism. To Disney this is called profit.

This is super cool and all except that they all own pets. You know? Other animals.

Pluto is basically some kind of weird slave companion to Mickey.

I'm willing to let this go because I didn't notice it until I began to watch a show for children as an adult. Honestly, modern day facebook probably has me too 'woke' to such things to be healthy anyway.

But then...

Mickey Mouse Roadster Racer's come along.

Now let's immediately toss out the wacky world of cartoons. You can ignore the fact that Pluto can drive but can't talk (when needed) or that car accidents rearrange cars into comical, yet functional, versions of the same car. No one dies in these races, which might set a bad precedent for your child when they come of age and get behind the wheel, but it's a safe bet that the driver's test won't have loop-de-loops and shower-powered vehicles. I think your kid will survive.

But let's get down to brass tacks. Money. No one ever uses money. In fact, the "Happy Helpers" is a clearly defined business where two unprepared, inexperienced young women go do random jobs they  are wholly unsuited for...and somehow always succeed!

And then never get paid!

I'm not sure I want to set a precedent for that. Value yourself, girl! You do the work, you collect the bill.

Lastly, Puppy Dog Pals. This is a world where dogs take themselves to the dog park, go to Egypt in the morning because their owner said something that hinted at the Pyramids, go to France to find some bread, etc. So I think we can go on a limb.

But then there's A.R.F. Now this is an robotic dog who can clean the house in a variety of ways, so long as the dogs make the mess, he can fix actual holes in the wall. He runs on some kind of black hole technology, this thing can clean up literally any mess, with no downtime, and never has to dispose of the waste afterwords.

Where A.R.F. becomes a problem is in language. Bob, the owner of the pug puppies, invented, built and programmed A.R.F. Bob does not know how to speak "dog." He speaks English. The show makes this clear when we see the dogs talking to him in "dog" which we, the audience, hear in English, but when it cuts back to Bob he just hears them barking. Meanwhile, A.R.F. can talk to the dogs just fine.

So how did Bob program "dog." It would be pretty easy for an English speaking programmer to program Spanish or French, there are already programs in those languages, not to mention massive dictionaries, etc. But the same can't be said for "dog."

A.R.F. can learn.

This is how you get Skynet people. Wait, does Disney own the Terminator series now?

None of Us Really Know how to Save the Ornaments

Today I found myself disciplining my child over hoarding Christmas ornaments.

While I was cooking us lunch she decided that she wanted Minnie, C-3PO and a few other decorations to join her collection of toys. I, being the observant father that I am, didn't find out until I was picking up her purses and putting them back on their hangers, hours after lunch. I noticed Minnie, sitting in a pile of blocks, no longer with her hook, no longer on her branch.

As I found the other 10 or so ornaments she had hidden away, my daughter came into view. I pulled her up close to me and I pointed at her stash and said, "Baby, these are for decoration only. No touching."

To which she responded with her characteristic, "No touch, no touch."

So I put all the hooks back on the ornaments and turned back around to the tree to put them back on their branch pedestals just to see her casually removing my UCF candy cane with a mischievous grin.

Now I have a conundrum facing me. Do I applaud her choice of ornament or spank her for obvious insubordination? I mean some of these things are glass and we've already lost half a dozen to my clumsiness...I decided to go halfway and placed the black and gold plastic candy cane back on the tree and told her again, "No touch. Not for Emma."

I sat down on the couch and turned on a Christmas episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse I've already seen twenty times this week but she has infinite patience for. And wouldn't you know it, she's at the tree, grabbing down Winnie the Pooh and Friends.

So I take the ornament away from her, place it back on the tree and spank her hand lightly. "Emma, no touch."

Now, I don't know if you have children. I don't know what kind of children you do, will or would want to have. But my child is going to compete for an Oscar.

She opened up that mouth as far as it could go, squinted those baby blues and let out a soundless yell before beginning to choke out a wave of tears that would break your heart if you weren't laughing at the silliness of  the situation. She's obviously not hurt, she's just so sensitive to me raising my voice or being displeased that she can't contain the tears...

But she also really wants to play with the Christmas Tree and my opinion on the subject doesn't matter.

So here I am, holding my sobbing, calculatingly manipulative little girl, thinking--not for the first time, not for the last time--about what kind of parent I want to be.

We all ask ourselves these questions of personal philosophy and morality (about parenting and life in general) and I think we all fall somewhere on the line of "disciplined, but cool." Like, I'm going to spank her when a spanking is needed, but she's going to love me for it in the end. Or maybe, I'm going to be so intimidating at my worst, and so understanding, lovable and funny at my best, that I'll never need to physically discipline her. She'll just be awesome because I'm awesome. She'll be a perfect angel because I'm willing it to be so. But we never really know what works and what doesn't. We just take our best guess and swing for the fences. I'm pretty sure I've struck out with the ornaments and I'm resigned to losing a few more over the course of this Holiday Season. (Which, if I have my way, would last sometime until mid-March.)

I think I have to come to terms with the fact that my kid is going to be who she wants to be and my job is to keep her as close to whole and happy as possible.

If I can keep my ornament collection intact that's just a really sweet bonus.