Growing Up

There comes a time in a father’s life where he has to face the truth.

His daughter will grow up.

My precious moody, smiling, devil-attitude, angle-like daughter will one day become a woman.

And yesterday I was introduced to that very fact like a slap to the face.

My wife took the boy to have his haircut. His first since he shaved his head bald last fall to raise money for cancer research.

During this little jaunt she also decided to take my daughter’s hair from three inches below her shoulders to less than a “bob” haircut.

Walking into the house our proud daughter flashed her attitude and owned the room.

Meanwhile the wife saw a light bulb go off and said, “Holy shit! I just remembered I have a picture of me at that age with the same haircut!”

And off she went to find it.

And when she returned we handed it to my daughter and the similarities of beauty, personality, confidence, and child innocence were caught on film.

  

Spank Me Baby!

Spanking… Some do it, some don’t.

But at some point in your parental lives you’ll be forced to make that decision. And even after you make that decision those little bastards will push you so far that you might just re-think it.

Now, I’m not even about to stand proud on my soap box, pound my chest and make a public stance on this issue.

Instead, I’m going to guide you on a little jaunt back-in-time to my childhood to discuss wooden spoon, hair brushes, and belts – oh my!

Why? Because my parents were huge believers of spanking.

My mother was a wooden spoon kind of lady. It was her weapon of choice.

Originally my brother and I thought she mistakenly grabbed one while reaching for a knife, but now we’re pretty confident the stealth speed of the spoon as it sliced through the air, landing effortlessly on our young butt’s just milliseconds before we dodged her thrashing arm was what sold our mother on the dreaded spoon of wood.

Regardless, she was a ninja master with it.

And no matter what room in the house we were in, there was always a wooden spoon hidden somewhere:

• Bathroom spraying water on my brother as he brushed his teeth – WHAP! a wooden spoon across the ass.
• Watching cartoons with my brother and accidentally saying “shit” loud enough for my mother to hear – WHAP! a wooden spoon across the legs and bar of Lava soap in the mouth.
• Mumbling under my breath “I hate you and wish you were dead” after my mother spanked me with a wooden spoon – (sound effect of spoon flying through the air like a throwing star) WHAP! a wooden spoon on the back.

She had skills.

Every now and then my brother (@ibeenorm on Twitter) and I would push her to the point where we’d turn and find her frazzled, raging, and holding a single wooden spoon in hand donning a “let’s dance motherfuckers!” look on her face.

Our reaction was always to put our hands behind our butts and scatter in opposite directions. It was our impulse.

And like a true lioness she always went after the weaker, slower one. But looking back, the smart move would have been to let her hit me first every time because once the initial hunt was over, she would then call the other kid who got away and he’d have to stand there and take it.

Afterward, we’d inevitably end up in the bathroom, bent over comparing black-and-blue wooden spoon marks on each other’s asses to see who would be declared the gold in Olympic Wooden Spoon Dodging.

My father? His weapon of choice was the blue hair brush or a belt. And to make matters worse, he was a lazy spanker.

He was a do-it-yourself vicious spanking machine. All that was required was a crying, shaking child and a weapon.

Many-a-time he’d come home, look at my report card, scream and yell, then say the words we always dreaded to hear: “go get the hairbrush.”

There was no need to argue, no need to negotiate…you were about to get your ass beat.

So you make the long walk up the stairs, sniffling, kicking yourself for being in this situation, and making last minute pleas with any god who will listen that he “please slam our house with a massive meteorite stat!!”

I’d slowly walk back in, hand him the brush and then wait for the second most-hated phrase to be uttered: “take down your pants and underwear.”

The humility of having to drape yourself over your father’s knee, bare-ass sticking in the air, waiting for all hell to break loose was enough to make you want to become a saint for the rest of your life.

But we never learned our lessons. Despite the knowledge of our mother hoarding at least three-dozen wooden spoons sporadically around the house, and our father’s keenness to play our bare-asses like a snare drum with his hairbrush, my brother and I continued to raise holy hell.

We continued to take lashings over the years for some of the dumbest things we had under our control to just simply not do. We were like moths to a flame.

Even today when I’m walking through a store and see a wooden spoon on display I have the sudden urge to pop my brother on the back of the head and call him a “punk.”



Birthday Cake & Boobies

Last night I laid in bed with the boy like I always do, shooting the shit, making him laugh, making up stories...

Ten minutes later the wife hopped in bed to say good night. One minute later the daughter jumped in too.

For the next 10 minutes “boobs” were focus of this unique impromptu family gathering. And here’s how it went:

Daughter: “Grayson, you remember the story about you pooping and getting a birthday cake?”

Me: “You mean when we promised brother we’d give him a whole cake if he ever pooped in the toilet instead of his diaper?”

Wife: “And he did!”

Daughter: “Why didn’t I get any of that cake daddy?!!”

Me: “You did. Trust me…you were a baby, mommy chowed down on that cake and you got it through mommy’s milk!”

Son: “Hahaha you drank birthday cake through mommy’s boobies!! Haha”

Me: “Umm soo did you chief. For 13 months you drank from mom’s boob.”

Son: “NO I DIDN’T!!!”

Daughter: “Haha Grayson drank mommy’s boobie!”

Wife: “So did you dear…for six months you drank from my boobies.”

Son: “Yeah!!!!! See Macy…haha…you drank on mommy’s boobs, too!”

Daughter: “Yeah, but I got birthday cake!”

Son: “Daddy did you get any birthday cake through mommy’s boobies?”

Despite my natural desire to want to answer the question with exaggerated stories surrounding the glories breasts of my wife, I (for once) looked at my wife and reacted accordingly to her “say one word and I’ll cut you” glare.

Me: “No son…I have never, nor will I ever have cake from mommy’s boobies.”

Wife: “That was one of the most painful things you’ve ever done wasn’t it?”

Me: “You have no idea. I need to be alone for a while.”

Wife: “Just make sure you clean-up afterwards.”

Son: “Why does daddy need to be alone mommy?”

Wife: “Your daddy really really LOVES birthday cake and talking about it really made him want some.”

Daughter: “Do you have birthday cake in your boobies right now mommy?”

Wife: “No dear, mommy’s boobies have all dried up and are purely ornamental at this point.”

Son: “Your boobs are like ornaments on a tree?”

Wife: “Ummm…yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Son: “You’ve got big ornaments mommy.”

Wife: “OK…and with that let’s go to bed kids!!”

Q & A With "Why Is Daddy Crying" II

After the first Q&A I was shocked that is was not only my most popular post, but that I was asked by so many to unload more of my stupidness on to provocative questions asked by my Twitter followers and friends. So...here goes round two. Damn I have the best Twitter dudes and dudettes ever.....

@optimom Notty Nana wants to know how you keep things "alive" in the Rumpus Room!!

I’m gonna assume you’re talking about my kid’s playroom? It’s kind of challenging to keep things alive in there cause…..oh….oh you mean….oh that’s embarrassing. Honestly? Well, I’ll admit it…I’m kind of into the role reversal thing. I’ll have the wifey come into the bedroom wearing a business suit and I’ll wear a Snuggie while knitting and watching Oxygen out of the corner of my eye. And she’ll be all: “Hey baby. I sure had one hell of a day. Whatya say we knock boots….you know, take the ole skin boat to tuna town?”

And I’ll be all: “Oooh, Fraaank. Don’t be silly, it’s not Friday and I’m just so tired from the children.”

And she’ll say, “Now damnit Fey, don’t put it on lockdown woman. I really need to let off some steam.”

“Well then take the Jergens and go ‘let off some steam’,” and I’ll throw the bottle at her.

And she’ll scream, “Damn you Fey…I’m goin’ out with the boys for beers then. To hell with ya.” And she’ll go stomping down the stairs and slam the door.

@crazysahm if you could be any person dead or alive for a day who would you be and why?

I’m gonna go with Caillou. I mean, that little shit amazes me. He’s got his own fucking TV show…and kids around the world idolize him…they’ll kill for him. Second he lives in a dream world where everything is a damn primary color the fads off into white. He’s protected from ever being murdered by the millions of parents that want him dead cause he’s a cartoon. His parents treat him like gold, he’s not a racist, he gets kick-ass meals, his mom’s not too bad looking, and if he wanted to he could get his douche dad kicked off the show cause after all…it’s called “Caillou,” so guess who’s calling the shots on that set?!

@mamabennie Who eats the cookies & drinks the milk (beer) while pretending to be Santa, you or the wifey? (My dad left beer for Santa)

That’s awfully damn brave of you to assume I celebrate Christmas. Jesus lady, in this day in age you should be just a bit more PC about your damn questions. I mean, I could…oh…oh you saw the Christmas video of my kids on my blog? My bad..just kiddin’! High fives?!!

@shelleblok Do you prefer redheads, blondes, or brunettes. You know for ring side girls? :)

Dear Shelle….my sex life is constantly hanging on the edge cause of all the stupid shit I say and do around the wifey. And here you come, tossing out one of the killer questions of all time. I can just see my wife out of the corner of my eye standing there, arms crossed, tapping her foot, and thinking “go ahead you gap-toothed fuck…answer the woman. Which is it asshole?”

Well I’m not falling for it. I’m not….it’s redheads. I can’t hide it. I’m a complete and total sucker for redheads.

@gratefulkim If you weren't working & raising nippers, what is your dream job?

Here we go….the question lady. This is the lady who drilled me with questions last Q&A. How the hell do you have friends? Do you notice everyone around you drinking mass quantities of alcohol all the time?

I’d kill to be novelist. I’d love to be a writer knockin’ out books or whatever brought in money, allowed me to write, and gave me enough time off to travel.

@gratefulkim How has BJ Brittany impacted your life thus far?

Jesus GratefulKim…what is it with you? Honestly. Come on..it’s just you and me right now. Take a seat….relax… Are you comfortable? Good….NOW TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!!!

BJ Brittany has taught me that you really can get a terrific image of a BJ if you just put the camera at the right angle. She taught me persistence and that you should never give up when hundreds and thousands of people push you away every hour of every day. BJ Brittany is the definition of inspiration.

@gratefulkim Right now I'm enjoying some oatmeal and egg whites? What is your "breakfast of champions?"

Did….uh….did I ask you what you were eating? I mean, I just re-read everything I wrote and I couldn’t find anything where I asked you a question….probably because I know if I asked you a question, you’d follow it up with 10 more. And how the hell do you eat egg whites with oatmeal? I feel I really need to spend some time understanding you.

I usually don’t eat breakfast…if I do it’s a banana. I used to steal cute little puppies out of children’s arms and eat them…but I’m a vegetarian now.

@gratefulkim What scares you?

YOU DO…you fucking scare me GreatfulKim. With the questions, and the why this and the why that..you scare me…. And Sarah Palin makes me shit myself every time I hear or see that alien woman. Great…I just lost 32 followers with that one….@gratefulkim being one of them….

@grnladybug Q: If you could be a superhero what would you be and why?

Phew…a different person asking questions. Seriously @grnladybug…did you see @gratefulkim go to work on me? I mean…I love her…she’s awesome…but fuck! I’m sorry…what did you ask? Oh…umm….I have no clue…which ever one has x-ray vision. And I think you know why……. Damn that was douchey….

@allconsoffun You mentioned the boy will someday "pretend to shit" in yesterday’s blog. How do you honestly think you'll handle that "shit talk?"

Umm…for those who didn’t read it…I mentioned how someday I’m sure I’ll be talking about how my son claims to be in the bathroom shitting when I know he’s really “salting the beef curtains.”

You know…I’m probably gonna play dumb like I don’t know what’s going on and just hope it doesn’t get out of hand. Pretty much the same way the wifey deals with the issue with me.

@mommieswhodrink 1) Who was the first girl you kissed? 2) What is your drink of choice? 3) Do you have any fetishes? 4) Do you have any friends on the train?

Are you….what happened to…oh…oh I see @gratefulkim standing over there. I thought she put on a costume and came back as you…

1) I have no idea who my first kiss was with. I just remember it was in 1^st grade – I leaned across the isle in the middle of class and kissed her. So hott….

2) Drink of choice…anything with alcohol…love gin in tonic, Newcastle’s a damn good beer, and I could shoot Jager all night long.

3) Any festishes? If you take the word “fetish” and mash it with the word “guy” you’ll see you always get a “yes.”

4) Friends on the train? You’re following me aren’t you? Seriously…you sit in my train car and notice I’m one of only a handful of people that don’t have “friends” on the train. I have a friend….you can’t see him but he’s there.

@musicsavvymom What is the airspeed velocity of the unladen swallow?

It’s really a simple question of weight ratios when considering the kinematic ratios in winged flight. Take for instance the Zebra Finch. That stupid fuck only eats tiny bits of seed because its so small and insignificant it can’t really handle anything much bigger. Therefore, when that stripped bitch takes flight…he’s bookin’. There for his airspeed velocity would be 15 meters per second.

Now…an unladen swallow by nature is of the “slut” side of the flying feathered family. You can tell by the way in which its beak tilts towards the sky, throat open, and its ability to swallow a variety of things. Given that, I would use the Strauhal equation. Based on that equation and a bit of math…I’d say 11 meters per second or 24 miles per hour…which isn’t bad for a swallower.

@drlori71 If you're watching TV drunk, which would you be most likely to buy: Snuggie, Touch n Brush, Bendaroos, or Big Top Cupcake?

I’d have to be in a coma to buy a fucking Snuggie. The Big Top Cupcake would be great if I was sooo drunk I needed something to puke in. The Bendaroos and Touch n Brush are interesting though….

The Touch n Brush I’d totally use to put lotion in. It’d be a quick way to just get a dab or two when you need it in a jiff. The only problem is the hole. Now I’m really tiny, but not that tiny. The Bendaroos could be kinky as hell in the bedroom though. Bondage….clamps….rings…..the list is long. I think given that I’d naturally be horny as hell while drunk and thinking irrationally about my wife being adventurous in bed…I’d go with the Bendaroos.

@mimiruse Would you rather be zipped into a Snuggie for a week, or take your kids to a public crapper every time they have to go for a week?

Nice…I’m gonna go with the public crapper…and since you didn’t specify which public crapper, I’m gonna go with the women’s public crapper for a week. I can’t wait!!!

@lesleehorner What's one thing you are passionate about, and lose all track of time while doing?

Well…you specified I couldn’t say tantric sex. So, I’d have to say ridding the world of chewed gum left in public places. I’ve been devoted to this cause for a number of years and have spent countless hours scrapping, documenting, and studying the evolutionary flow of gum as it moves carelessly from a chewers mouth, to the ground near a trashcan, to your shoe, to the elevator, and onto a janitor’s scraper. Provocative…I know.

@nuckingfutsmama If you got a "free pass" from your wife to use on a celebrity, which one would it be & why?

Well…there’s a lot of celebrities I’d like to grudge-fuck… I know…I’m sorry...that was crossing the line. I apologize…I’m just speaking from my heart kids…

I’m gonna have to say Jennifer Aniston. She’s a classic in my book. From the hair, to the face, to the eyes, to the breasts, back to the eyes, to the ass, to the breasts, to the legs, to the ass. She makes me wanna be a better man to my wife so that some day she gives me a free pass.

I’d take her to a nice restaurant, we’d laugh, she’d tell me about what a goofball Chandler was on the set, I’d tell her about the blog post where I wrote about the evolution of shit….then I’d open the door to my Chevrolet Lumina and wisk her off to the Palmer House Hilton where I’d have a bottle of champagne I bought at 7-11 waiting on ice in the bathtub. Then the moment would be right…we’d get closer…we’d touch hands and I’d be able to smell her and feel her presence. I’d feel her breath…and then our lips would slightly touch…then I’d need to be excused…..

After cleaning myself up I’d walk back in the room and she’d be laughing, but I’d know it was just another story about Chandler on the set of Friends she was really laughing about. Then she’d ask if we could just be friends…and I’d say “Friends…get it…Friends.” Then she’d slap me…call me a douchebag…grab the champagne and leave.  

Oh..and why would I chose her? Because she owns her sexiness in a classy, seductive as hell way…kinda like my 4^th grade teacher….but that’s a whole other story…

@kitterztoo If you could describe yourself as a color, which color would that be?

Casper white.