Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Report: Dads Suck.

Dads Suck. Its documented. "Nearly half (48%) of working moms say they spend more time each day parenting than on their careers, more than double that of working dads (19%)," according to the “Moms Who Do More” National Report, commissioned by VTech.

Did I need a poll to affirm what I already knew?

Is the “Moms Who Do More” National Report a little biased?

What if the “Moms Who Do More” National Report came back with a result indicating that Dads do a lot more than Moms? Wouldn’t that invalidate its cause and debunk its existence and ruin their “Moms Do More” tee shirt and bake sales?

I told my wife about this report and she said to that she does 94% more than I do, both while working and at home. Period.

I’ll take 3%.

I think that is just below the national average based on the report, “Dads- Don’t-Give-a-Hogsass-about-a-Stupid-Poll-about-Something-as-Obvious-as Not-Putting-Enough-Effort-into-Parenting-as-Superior-Moms- everywhere.”

This report doesn't further suppress Dads. It embroiders a badge of honor and marginality.

We don't need validation. We just need to do enough so we can have the space and time to do things like smoke a cigar in the backyard or watch TV and play with our balls.

Should a 4-year-old cheat on his Mom?

Conquistadora sat me down as a slight grin rose on her face.

Our son has a crush on ChunChun’s doctor, she said.

The grin grew wider. It’s cute, right? Our little four-year old. 

I processed this information for a nanosecond, proud yet formalizing my necessary involvement in this situation. This guy situation.

My son was eyeballing an older woman. I had questions.

Is she hot, I asked my wife?

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Incite Communism

I walked into the living room. G Frenzy asked if we could go to China.

We sure can. Why? I asked.

Because they have dinosaurs over there and we can look for them.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Dad/Child Bonding 101

G Frenzy and I  were in the basement. I had suggested we go there to play. It's cold outside.

G prefers to stay away from the unfinished, creepy dark hole. Recently, however, Conquistadora and I gave it a face lift by throwing down rows of used carpet and bringing in a dirt stained plastic slide in from outside. And she painted the walls in Light Ugly. A real Disneyland.


Dad, I am hungry.


Can I have a snack?


Can I have raisins?


I can only have 3, not like 10.

Oh, okay.

Because 10 will make me poop alot.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Mon fils, l'artiste

Gauguin. Matisse. G Frenzy.

Messy, scattered, uneven, G Frenzy’s art is his, it belongs to him, his mind, as little as it is; it is beautiful, sometimes tragic, sometimes sweet. Zombie killers one day. Doggies at the schoolyard the next.

My son draws pictures, scenes, even stories in the form of books bound by staples. He can’t spell so there are no captions or text.

Sometimes I am a little unclear as to why a cute puppy does math at home in one chapter and then a monster comes down from a spaceship and eats the head off his little brother in the next.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Shout at the Devil, a Lullaby

ChunChun is very needy when it comes to lullabys.

He has high demands and won’t let me skimp on this portion of his bedtime routine.

Curled up in my arms, his life in my hands, his body conveniently pressed against my chest and arms and causing my back further damage due to his heavy weight.

“Tonight, I would like to present to you, from Chicago, Illinois, the one and only....Singing Dad!”

I open my set with the Christmas song “Silent Night.” Its easy. At least the way I sing it. I sing only four verses. I don’t sing the part about Jesus or shepards because I can’t remember the lyrics.

I can’t remember the words to any songs. Lullabys? Forget it. I have tried.