This week...I'm in charge of the household and no one is going to question my authority!!!!...
Mainly because my wife is in on a business trip and I'm a single parent for the week.
What's odd are the words and looks of concern that I get when I tell people that I'm alone with the kids this week. It's as though I was announcing the death of a close relative. People want to bake hotdishes and shit and bring them over for dinner. I would never turn down a nice hotdish, of course. I mean, I'm not nuts. But I'm shocked that people think that a dad can't parent alone for a week. I may struggle to keep them occupied all the time, but it's not like I'm going to sit them down in front of a B-minus gore flick with a box of jawbreakers and sippy cups filled with cherry coke. We'll figure it out.
What's going to be most trying is the fact that my daughter is in a hard core "mommy only" stage right now. When she wakes up in the morning, it's "mawwwwmmmmeeee...where ahhhhh yooooooo?" on the monitor. When she's ready for bed, she has to have mommy do it. And when something goes tragically, civilization-ending awry...like getting applesauce on her shirt or having to wear footed pajamas...it's only her mother that can sooth her.
I'm good at some stuff, though. For instance, I do voices when I read. And no, I don't mean faux excitement and shrill exclamation. I mean real accents and whatnot. For instance, "Max" from "Max the Minnow" is Australian. Don't ask me why his seahorse Sam or other members of the book are NOT. But "Max" is. Likewise, the old mother rabbit, in the story about the baby rabbit threatening to run away, is a Paula-Dean-esque southern woman, only slightly less-annoying. And when I read the freakishly long "Duck Dodgers" books that some evil, hell-bound person gave to us, I do all the Loony Tunes characters I do quite an impressive "Marvin the Martian" if I do say so myself.
In addition, I have a PHD in fort-building. It is, albeit, from an as-of-yet-unaccredited school. But what do kids know? They just know that I make a wicked fort. They don't really care about my credentials...or whether I got my degree online and overseas. Ask my sisters, who's fort-building talents were equally impressive, about my prowess. It is quite stunning. I won't wire any electrical appliances into my children's play areas due to the obvious social services implications, but my sisters can vouch for my ability to do so if called upon.
Finally, I've been known to stage a veritable indoor Olympiad. Only my recent knee troubles and the numerous sharp corners cause me any pause. These can be minimized with sufficient bracing and lots of pillows. And after mitigating those concerns, we'll get our track meet on right in the living room. This does two things. First, it endears my children to me for at least 15 minutes. They see me as quite athletic. We all know this couldn't be further from the truth. After all, I've got one pathetically atrophied leg hanging next to what I refer to as my "good leg", which is actually just another pathetically atrophied leg...just less so. But if I can fool them into thinking I'm some sort of living area-sporting event God, then my work has been done. Second, it makes them tired, insuring that after 8 bells, they'll be sawing logs.
I've also been thinking about pulling the moratorium on Backyardigans, which has been fairly loosely enforced since we saw them live not to long ago. We'll feel that out one. It's quite a hefty cost-benefits analysis. "Do I want the kids to be quiet and controlled?" v. "Do I want to bleed out of my eyes?"
I'm actually looking forward to this. Maybe it's a macho "I can do this myself, dammit" thing. I want to prove to all those naysayers that men can take care of the kids. It could, of course, just be that I want to parent, and provide a safe, healthy environment for my children too.
Let's not get nuts...this is about winning. Bring it on.
What's odd are the words and looks of concern that I get when I tell people that I'm alone with the kids this week. It's as though I was announcing the death of a close relative. People want to bake hotdishes and shit and bring them over for dinner. I would never turn down a nice hotdish, of course. I mean, I'm not nuts. But I'm shocked that people think that a dad can't parent alone for a week. I may struggle to keep them occupied all the time, but it's not like I'm going to sit them down in front of a B-minus gore flick with a box of jawbreakers and sippy cups filled with cherry coke. We'll figure it out.
What's going to be most trying is the fact that my daughter is in a hard core "mommy only" stage right now. When she wakes up in the morning, it's "mawwwwmmmmeeee...where ahhhhh yooooooo?" on the monitor. When she's ready for bed, she has to have mommy do it. And when something goes tragically, civilization-ending awry...like getting applesauce on her shirt or having to wear footed pajamas...it's only her mother that can sooth her.
I'm good at some stuff, though. For instance, I do voices when I read. And no, I don't mean faux excitement and shrill exclamation. I mean real accents and whatnot. For instance, "Max" from "Max the Minnow" is Australian. Don't ask me why his seahorse Sam or other members of the book are NOT. But "Max" is. Likewise, the old mother rabbit, in the story about the baby rabbit threatening to run away, is a Paula-Dean-esque southern woman, only slightly less-annoying. And when I read the freakishly long "Duck Dodgers" books that some evil, hell-bound person gave to us, I do all the Loony Tunes characters I do quite an impressive "Marvin the Martian" if I do say so myself.
In addition, I have a PHD in fort-building. It is, albeit, from an as-of-yet-unaccredited school. But what do kids know? They just know that I make a wicked fort. They don't really care about my credentials...or whether I got my degree online and overseas. Ask my sisters, who's fort-building talents were equally impressive, about my prowess. It is quite stunning. I won't wire any electrical appliances into my children's play areas due to the obvious social services implications, but my sisters can vouch for my ability to do so if called upon.
Finally, I've been known to stage a veritable indoor Olympiad. Only my recent knee troubles and the numerous sharp corners cause me any pause. These can be minimized with sufficient bracing and lots of pillows. And after mitigating those concerns, we'll get our track meet on right in the living room. This does two things. First, it endears my children to me for at least 15 minutes. They see me as quite athletic. We all know this couldn't be further from the truth. After all, I've got one pathetically atrophied leg hanging next to what I refer to as my "good leg", which is actually just another pathetically atrophied leg...just less so. But if I can fool them into thinking I'm some sort of living area-sporting event God, then my work has been done. Second, it makes them tired, insuring that after 8 bells, they'll be sawing logs.
I've also been thinking about pulling the moratorium on Backyardigans, which has been fairly loosely enforced since we saw them live not to long ago. We'll feel that out one. It's quite a hefty cost-benefits analysis. "Do I want the kids to be quiet and controlled?" v. "Do I want to bleed out of my eyes?"
I'm actually looking forward to this. Maybe it's a macho "I can do this myself, dammit" thing. I want to prove to all those naysayers that men can take care of the kids. It could, of course, just be that I want to parent, and provide a safe, healthy environment for my children too.
Let's not get nuts...this is about winning. Bring it on.
Labels: General Shenanigans
posted by Jay at Monday, May 05, 2008 PERMALINK
9 Comments:
I've got all the faith in the world in you JB. I get what you're referring to about staying home with the kids. Sometimes I get the "aw, that's so cute that John is home along with Hadley". What the hell is that all about? Granted, a week would be much more difficult than an evening, but still. Do women think men can't do it?
Regarding your accents, I can vouch for you. They're impeccable. I've never heard your Marvin the Martian or Max the Minnow, though I can't wait until that day comes, but I have heard your brilliant Scottish accent. It's like I'm back in my home country talking to my half drunken cousin Duncan.
And your dead on Schwarzenegger impression is pure perfection. I'm not talking recent Governator stuff either, I'm talking the early years - Commando era.
How does one perfect fort building? Did you learn that as a scout? If you could post a picture of your fort, I'd really appreciate it. Do you stick to merely pillows and blankets, or are you talking couch cushions & comforters too? Do you build tunnels? I'm intrigued, can you tell? I'll need to learn the art of fort making soon. Teach me Yoda.
Ahh. Johh-O. You're too kind. However, we all know you're being modest about Schwarzenegger. Your "Quick...get to the choppah" is one of my all time favorites.
Do you really have a drunked cousin Duncan? Don't answer that. I'll just assume that you do, and be jealous.
As for the fort...tunnels, windows (tricky), tables, pillows, comforters (although they tend to be too heavy), blankets. I hear we'll be seeing you guys in MPLS in July...we'll have a 100 class and destroy the grandparents' living room.
Ah! I remember fort building at family functions. Our basement was long enough to have several forts - blankets, tables, cushions, blocks, chairs, etc...
Have fun with your fort building class!
Dawn
My fav is the Swedish Chef.paige
True, my Swedish Chef is quite good. Max loved that one when he was little.
OK my daughter has "Max The Minnow" and maybe I am completely crazy but take a GOOD look at Max's nose on the ?second? page where there is a close up. Tell me it does not look like a certain anatomy part. Because it has plagued me ever since we got the book and I often wonder if maybe it is just my own skewed view of things.
Sorry, I meant Seahorse Sam's nose.
Anonymous, you've now ruined "Max the Minnow". It's not a bad thing so I don't mean to sound like I'm angry but SEAHORSE SAM'S NOSE IS A GIANT PENIS. Holy crap. I can't believe it!!!!!!
Um, yeah, it's a dicknose.
Max the minnow was obviously done by the creators of the little mermaid.
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