My Homage To Stay-At-Home Moms

I’ve said it before, but not quite so bluntly.

Stay at home moms watching children full-time should win Emmy’s, free groceries and not have to pay taxes.

I have every Monday off from work.

Yesterday was the little nippers’ last day of school. They went in for one hour, then came home by 10 a.m. just as the wifey was hopping in the car to head for work.

I swear I heard uncontrollable laughter as she drove off leaving me with a yipping dog, a daughter screaming “I want cereal PLEASE daddy!!!,” and a boy behind me saying “can I have a play date? Daddy? Play date? Can I have one, Please!!!” just as the doorbell was ringing with the neighborhood kid standing next to it.

An hour later I had two kids in the basement playing, my son was riding his bike down the street screaming “I’ll be back dad,” just as my phone rang and the dog hit his “I need to go outside” bell.

It wasn’t even 11 a.m. and I was looking around the kitchen for a bottle with a lose top.

11:30 a.m. and I’m out front sweating my ass off watching my daughter fly down the sidewalk on her bike, barely missing hitting the two-year-old neighbor kid, just as another neighbor-kid climbs a tree in our yard 6 feet above concrete. Another neighbor kid opens the door to my house to go “wee wee” leaving it open long enough for my dog to fly out and run for his life down the street.

As I’m running down the street my son yells, “DAD!!! I’M GOING OVER TO #%@&^ HOUSE! I’LL BE BACK LATER!! Only problem was I had no clue in hell who this kid was or where he lived.

About 20 minutes later the boy’s pissed at me, the girl is changing into her 3^rd outfit for the day and I’m in the kitchen making lunch for four kids, each with their own dietary requests.

One minute later and I’m pondering how in the hell I can make it to the local liquor store without having child services called on me.

The chaos continued. But, thankfully I have the support from a neighborhood stay-at-home mom who calmly came over and took control from my rookie ass.

And I was in awe….

I immediately fell to her feet, skinning my knees, but not caring a single bit because I knew I had just met a true “stay-at-home mom.”

With the wave of her hand children were coloring on the sidewalk. Songs were being sung by many. Smiles were on faces that just seconds ago were covered by tears. And I believe I heard a “thank you mamma” trickle off into the air leaving me humbled, numb, and thankful.

I crawled to her feet like a man left for death in the blistering heat of the hot desert sun finding a spring of water. Clasping her ankles I looked up and said, “teach……me….for….I…..fear…them…..and….they…smell…..my…blood!!!”

She simply reached down, patted my head, laughed, and walked back to her house. As she grew smaller as she walked further away I noticed the children slowly focusing their gaze on me, one-by-one.

It wasn’t until the door slowly closed behind the coveted stay-at-home mom that the death children dropped their tasks and began bringing the rapture back to me.

Dear Stay-At-Home Moms:

We love you. Adore you. And you are irreplaceable.

Love,

Me

Girly Girl is Taking Over My Life

My daughter's birthday is Saturday and it's she reminds me of me as a kid….couldn’t sleep, dreams of new Transformers running through my head. Maybe a new Atari game or…OR!!! a new bike?!!! Then the day came and I got a soccer ball and three pairs of homemade Jams shorts where the front was so poofy it looked like I had a BIF (butt in front).

Every day the daughter’s all "is my birthday tomorrow?"

"Not yet baby...2 more days, then you'll be...."

And her face lights up and she holds up her fingers as she says, "fiiiivve!!!!"

Then I usually give her a quick tickle, smack on the butt, and rub her head.

The wifey is planning a total girly girl party for her. The playroom is decked out for a tea party, complete with dresses, hats, a table for the little ladies to pop-a-squat in pure princess decadence, and a blackboard that says "Macy's tea party."

So yesterday I had the day from hell and I'm walking to the train in a virtual sea of business men and women on their way to Union Station. I call the wifey to tell her what train I'm on and she tells me about her decorations for the party:

"I'm just gonna let them pieeck what dress they wanna waaar and let them juss have fun. But I need yuuu to be the phoootograaapher," she says. (Keep in mind the wifey has a very southern accent)

"Honey, they'll run ramped. You need activities."

"Jesus...don't complicate this…aaaahhhriiight?!"

I remain calm, "Shnookums, they're fucking 5...they need activities."

"Hoooney Buuunches…if you wanna play all Mr. Fucking Rogers than have at it!"

"I got your Mr….” and then I had an idea! A real idea! “I know, get beads and string…let them make necklaces. Then let them pick a dress to try on. Maybe get some little cheapy clips and a mirror or two and let them do their hair all up. Then we can put some good music on and let them do like a fashion show and we'll give them all little prizes and stuff"

Silence.....then..."That's a pretty good idea."

Now those words are never...I mean NEVER uttered to me by my loving wife. My chest puffs all out, I'm proud, and my first instinct is to look around like "did you hear that?! Huh?! I'm the shit!!! Did you hear it?!!"

But as I look around I quickly realize, all the business folk, suit-clad money-makin', business folk had looks of complete and total "what the fuck is wrong with this dude?" looks on their faces.

I hunkered back down into my little world and said, “Thanks…I thunk it all up myself.”

It’s definitely getting girly at our house. The wifey rocked out one killer tea party room. Dresses are hanging everywhere. There’s fucking pink all over the damn house….but I love it. I’m soaking it in. Cause pretty soon…there’s gonna be blood all over the front lawn, from the douches that try to roll up to my front door asking the daughter out on a date. Oh..and it won’t be me causing the blood. It’ll be the big brother, and all his kick-ass, over-protective friends. I’ll be behind them, holding the camera…all giddy for new material to throw on my blog…..

 

Time on the Bike

My six-year-old is turning into a biking fanatic—which I’m absolutely loving. After my long commute every day, I walk in the door, usually sweating, dying for a beer, and hoping to smell a waft of freshly cooked dinner filling the air. Instead I usually see my daughter watching SpongeBob, no beer in the fridge, the smell of cat, and my son screaming “can we go for a bike-ride dad?!!! Can we pleeeeeease??!!”

                  

The longest ride I’ve taken the little bastard on is about 18 miles. Now keep in mind he’s on a little kids dirt-bike. Nothing fancy, no bike shorts to protect his precious hiny, no gloves for better grip, no bike shoes to help provide efficient pedaling…..just a helmet and a bike. And he loves it—begging for more when we’re done.

Along the rides I have the best fucking talks and the shit that comes out of his mouth is so cool and unexpected sometimes.

Along the Salt Creek trail he’ll say – “OOOHHH! This is my favorite part – look at the cool trees and how green everything is. Over here is where we usually see deer. I love the woods.”

And I’m all, “Yeah – it’s pretty awesome Grayson,” while I’m choking back tears and trying to keep a manly appearance.

On a ride the other day I said – “Hey, you could be Lance Armstrong for Halloween.”

He said – “Or, I could be that blonde headed woman who dropped my favorite toy the other day and busted it all over the floor.” He was talking about my wife dropping his favorite toy, breaking it and all his hopes and dreams along with it. Totally fucking random, out of the blue, and cool as shit. I love minds that work randomly and even more when he can work it into shit.

So I’m going to keep taking the bike rides. My struggle is giving him choices that allow him to take it up a notch without seeming like I’m pushing him. I’m trying to be the opposite of how my dad was. If it was my dad – he’d buy him a 10-speed with all the gear then yell at him to train harder, do better, and if I didn’t, he’s stop coming to my races cause it’s “a waste of his time.”

Regardless if he takes it to the next step or not, I’ll continue to soak in every damn word that random kid says and keep riding his back wheel through the woods.