Short one today. Still having a tough time getting back in to the swing of it. Tougher than I thought, actually. Plus Duke hates it when I'm not paying attention to him. Still typing on the cell phone, too, and it is just pissing me off at this point. There are a lot of things I want to do, shows I want to talk about, but it's just too much tiny touch screen editing and small print to do those on this thing. And I cant load pictures and videos, either. Your multimedia experience will continue to suffer until I get this figured out.
Like many if you I've also spent most of my free time over the past two weeks endlessly shoveling snow. It's like Groundhog Day. Shovel, pile, snow again, shovel, pile, snow again, repeat. Speaking of Groundhog Day, what a friggin racket they have going on with that, huh? Did they honestly think this bullshit story about a fat rodent predicting the weather would have legs for this long? Fucking America sometimes, man.
Onward.
For the most part, at least in public, Av is a pretty polite kid. At home she's a nightmare wrapped in a horror story, but to others she's usually fairly soft spoken and polite. Lately, though, I'm afraid she's beginning to lose her filter. Yesterday, for example, we were walking home from school when a random lady attempting to carry in groceries popped out if a 9 foot snowbank and almost bumped in to her. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she said. "Did you have a nice day at school?"
Av quietly said that she did and scurried away. Nice. Until, within earshot, she said "Why would that lady ask me that?"
"She is just being nice," I said.
"She looks like a weirdo. What is she even doing out here?"
"She lives there, Av. Come on, you can't say things like that. She doesn't look like a weirdo, you could barely see her face and that's not polite."
"I don't even care about her," said with kindergarten/high school attitude.
Also yesterday, a mother of one of her friends gave her a thank you note for gifts she gave at a birthday party. Av opens it up, throws the envelope in the snow and says "What is this?"
"It's a thank you note for going to your friend's birthday party and for getting her a gift."
"What the heck ? Why would her mom give me this, that party already happened."
"I know, she's saying thank you for going, that was very nice of her."
"Whatever. My brother is just gonna steal it now. He's stupid."
I chalk a lot of this kind of stuff up to a kids being kids sort of thing, but when you're in public other people always look at it as an indictment on the parent. I see a kid acting like a piece of shit at Shaw's and I say to myself "man, that mom is having a rough one" but I feel like I'm in the minority there. I get the impression that most people see Av act up, or me give her my patented arm squeeze/gritted teeth pull your shit together move, and they just shake their heads and ask why people like me are even allowed to have kids. I often ask myself the same thing. I can just hear that snooty mom voice or that stock broker perfect dad soccer coach saying "My goodness, what terrible parenting. Someone should teach thag child to behave."
For the record, no one has ever actually said anything like that, at least not to me. I know this because I have never gone to jail for smashing a MILF's orbital bone.
To her credit, the girl's mom laughed at the thank you note thing, but that's still pretty embarrassing. It left me stuck in that weird public discipline spot where I have to scold her at her school, in front of other parents, so I have to avoid being too harsh and somehow convey that she usually doesn't act that way. I ended up going with the trusted "You'd better get your act together and lose that attitude" and "We're going to have a talk when we get home." A whole lot of good that did. By the time we were home she was about 14 infractions past the schoolyard rudeness. The talk didn't go well, obviously, but I did get a pretty hilarious visual of her trying to whip a feather light loose leaf piece of paper at me.
I hate that kind of parenting stuff. I suck at discipline. I'm the guy who gives you an extra treat. I let you play ball in the living room and eat your snack in front of the TV. I'm the dad that Facebook parents and pediatricians hate. I'm the dad that frumpy mall moms wish they could be. But when it comes time to discipline I can't do it. I just get frustrated because no one listens to me and it ends up making me extremely angry, which everyone thinks is funny, which makes me even more angry and nothing gets accomplished.
In any event, this whole side bar comments thing has been happening for a while and I don't know how to stop it. She has never been that kid that makes fun of others, which is nice, but she has to stop calling people weirdos within ear shot. Especially people who are just trying to be nice.
I'm not a bad parent in the sense that I don't pay late child support, get drunk and beat them, spend all day at the office screwing my secretary, walking around the house with a blue tooth ignoring them or forcing them to live in some super strict environment where my approval is all they ever want from me. But I don't think I do the best job of teaching them the right way to do things. My interactions are awkward and I have social anxiety, but I don't think I'm rude. Maybe I am. All I know is I am not very good at using the "talking to children" voice and getting my kids to do the right thing. Or listen to me at all, really.
So I guess that makes me like a 60 percent good dad. No drunken abuse, adultery or scarring habits, but a severe lack of teachable ability. Cheerios won't be calling me any time soon to base a commercial on my life.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Friday, January 23, 2015
On doctors appointments and suburban school drop off
Day two of writing on a cell phone. Maybe I should blog about blogging with only my index finger. Surprisingly I'm quite proficient at this. Who says old men are no good at technology? Was it Buzz Feed? WHAT'S A BUZZ FEED, SONNY? In any event, the usual eye bending multi-media experience you're all expecting is on hold for now. Until then, words.
I'm already at about a level 9 today. Between trying to drop Av off at school on a freezing cold Friday and this whole "deflategate" bullshit I'm about ready to eviscerate the planet. Seriously, if I hear the term "deflated football" one more time I'm going to freak out. I mean FREAK OUT. Like, tear my shirt off, run down the street waiving my hands over my head and screaming like a maniac. I would share my opinion on what is the most irrelevant, overblown thing in history -- or at least since that skinny bitch in England had that baby-- but I think you all know what I'm going to say. Instead, just picture me giving two angry middle fingers to 85 percent of America. Thanks for ruining the Super Bowl, news media.
Dropping Av off at school can be frustrating. We live close enough to walk but during the winter everyone takes advantage of the "rolling dropoff" system the school has set up, because walking in the cold sucks and, quite frankly, we're all too damn grouchy and tired to bundle everyone up and take a nice morning stroll this time of year anyhow.
This is the part where I point out that when I was in kindergarten I had to wait outside every day, no matter how cold, to get on a frozen ice box of a bus and bounce around with no seatbelt until I got to school. And it wasn't a short ride. Kids these days have it easy.
The issue with the rolling drop off is not convenience, in theory it's a great idea. Drive up, open the door, kick your kid out and some teacher brings them inside. The problem is that there is room for only five cars at a time and you have about 200 people coming from three different directions all pulling up at once. Add in the fact that 190 of those 200 cars are driven by soccer moms, nannies and trophy wives and you end up with a massive clusterfuck of clueless, selfish, bitchy women just muffing up the whole operation. Thanks Obama. I usually have to compose myself three or four times per morning, mostly as a reminder that getting out of the car and losing my mind on some PTO mom in ill fitting work out gear will just make things awkward at afternoon pick up.
Interestingly enough, rolling pick up is not an option, so I have to stand outside in the cold and fight the same grumpy, frumpy bunch for a parking space in a thickly settled neighborhood of side streets at the end of the day. As you can imagine I don't talk to any of them. I just listen to them squawk from afar and silently hate them. About once a week me and one equally anti social mom share a grumble, usually to the effect of 'ugh, their class is always the last one out and I swear the teacher makes us wait longer when it rains.' I like that lady. I don't know her name. I like that too.
As an added bonus if I park too far away Av yells at me the whole way to the car because her legs hurt. You know, because she spent her day doing rotational squats and lifting heavy freight at kindergarten.
Ugh, rotational squats. Single handedly ruined my new fitness regimine after about 14 minutes. Fourteen minutes of rotational squats and I couldn't bend over for a week. Scam.
I canceled a doctor's appointment yesterday for no good reason other than I flat out didn't have it in me to go through that charade. You know how it goes. First you have to drive there, which is a whole thing. Then after you wait forever a nurse puts you on a scale, takes your blood pressure and pretends not to judge you. There is always some smelly, sick old person in the waiting room. Wheezing. With flaky skin and a big diabetes foot. Slumped over, not hearing whichever child drove him there trying to explain when their next appointment is. That appointment is in about one day, by the way, because when you're old the maintenance never stops. Yep, they're just sitting there reminding you of your own mortality. You can do all the rotational squats you want, but some day the skin on your face is going to start sliding off and you're going to need one of your kids to drive you around so you don't stuff your Oldsmobile in to the store front of a crowded laundromat on Easter Sunday.
All this before the damn doctor even comes in.
I like my doctor. He isn't over bearing and he actually has a personality. He has five kids and has been married twice so there are a lot of "ehhh, women... Am i right??" type jokes. The problem is that the advice he gives you is just so damn unrealistic. Last time I was there, and this is 100 percent the truth, he told me that during the day if he gets a craving for a sweet or unhealthy snack he-- wait for it-- sucks on a few almonds until his craving is gone. Sucks. On. A. Few. ALMONDS. You see, the salt from the almonds kills your craving and then, once you've sucked it, you eat the almond and it hits you with a blast of protein so you aren't hungry anymore. Guess what I'm never doing.
During one of our inevitable conversations about physical fitness I was telling him that it's tough for me to get exercise because I hate the gym and I don't have time with my kids and work to do the things I used to do like play basketball or generally dick around all day. He told me what he did. You see, when Doc gets home from work, after he tucks in his 5 kids and no doubt shoots a passive "thanks for spending all of my money" look at his post-5 kids looking wife, he sucks down an almond and pops in a P90X dvd. He spreads out some room in his basement and works out for ABOUT AN HOUR. Oooookaaay pal. Sure thing. I'll just spread out some mats in my apartment and hop around like an elephant for an hour or so when I get home from work. Sounds delightful.
Then he looks at my blood work, tells me I'm perfectly healthy but I should work out more and I probably drink too much. Of course, to him, drinking one beer a day is too much. Not because it's unhealthy, mind you, but because what if you have a beer and one of your kids has an emergency and you need to drive them to the hospital? Well Dr. Worst Case Scenario, maybe if you weren't sucking on almonds all day instead of eating actual food your tolerance would be a little bit higher.
Still, going to the doctor as an adult is way better than taking a child to a doctor. I severely dislike Av and Lucas' doctor. Talk about preachy. My word. Don't do this, he shouldn't have that, don't feed them this. This bitch thinks kids need to be in rear facing car seats until they're in like the 8th grade. People like her are the reason kids have crazy allergies. Oh no! Don't give them anything! Don't expose them to anything! Make sure they grow up to be sickly and intollerable so they can drink gluten free beer and ruin life for everyone who loves PB&J for lunch! Ahhhhhh your two year old STILL HAS A PACIFIER WHEN HE TAKES A NAP!!?? AND HE EATS REAL PEOPLE FOOD??!! AHHHHHHH. Actually it's way more passive aggressive than that. Then she leaves and sticks some poor med school nurse with the dirty work, giving shots and making kids cry.
Anyway, the conversation I had when I canceled the appointment with my doctor went like this:
"Hi, I have an appointment with Dr. So and So today, I, uh, got called in to wo-- ah, I'm just not gonna be there."
"Ok, sir. Do you want to reschedule?"
"Eh, doesn't matter. Up to you."
"Um. Ok? Uh. Wellll, I actually have a cancellation tomorrow at 3, does that work?"
"Nah. I'm not gonna come tomorrow either. Maybe in the summer we'll give it a shot."
"Ummm. Oookkay... Ah, how about Aug. 3 at 1?"
"Yeah. Sure. Why not? We'll jot that one down and see what happens."
Weird, I think I just remembered something I have to do on August 3.
I'm already at about a level 9 today. Between trying to drop Av off at school on a freezing cold Friday and this whole "deflategate" bullshit I'm about ready to eviscerate the planet. Seriously, if I hear the term "deflated football" one more time I'm going to freak out. I mean FREAK OUT. Like, tear my shirt off, run down the street waiving my hands over my head and screaming like a maniac. I would share my opinion on what is the most irrelevant, overblown thing in history -- or at least since that skinny bitch in England had that baby-- but I think you all know what I'm going to say. Instead, just picture me giving two angry middle fingers to 85 percent of America. Thanks for ruining the Super Bowl, news media.
Dropping Av off at school can be frustrating. We live close enough to walk but during the winter everyone takes advantage of the "rolling dropoff" system the school has set up, because walking in the cold sucks and, quite frankly, we're all too damn grouchy and tired to bundle everyone up and take a nice morning stroll this time of year anyhow.
This is the part where I point out that when I was in kindergarten I had to wait outside every day, no matter how cold, to get on a frozen ice box of a bus and bounce around with no seatbelt until I got to school. And it wasn't a short ride. Kids these days have it easy.
The issue with the rolling drop off is not convenience, in theory it's a great idea. Drive up, open the door, kick your kid out and some teacher brings them inside. The problem is that there is room for only five cars at a time and you have about 200 people coming from three different directions all pulling up at once. Add in the fact that 190 of those 200 cars are driven by soccer moms, nannies and trophy wives and you end up with a massive clusterfuck of clueless, selfish, bitchy women just muffing up the whole operation. Thanks Obama. I usually have to compose myself three or four times per morning, mostly as a reminder that getting out of the car and losing my mind on some PTO mom in ill fitting work out gear will just make things awkward at afternoon pick up.
Interestingly enough, rolling pick up is not an option, so I have to stand outside in the cold and fight the same grumpy, frumpy bunch for a parking space in a thickly settled neighborhood of side streets at the end of the day. As you can imagine I don't talk to any of them. I just listen to them squawk from afar and silently hate them. About once a week me and one equally anti social mom share a grumble, usually to the effect of 'ugh, their class is always the last one out and I swear the teacher makes us wait longer when it rains.' I like that lady. I don't know her name. I like that too.
As an added bonus if I park too far away Av yells at me the whole way to the car because her legs hurt. You know, because she spent her day doing rotational squats and lifting heavy freight at kindergarten.
Ugh, rotational squats. Single handedly ruined my new fitness regimine after about 14 minutes. Fourteen minutes of rotational squats and I couldn't bend over for a week. Scam.
I canceled a doctor's appointment yesterday for no good reason other than I flat out didn't have it in me to go through that charade. You know how it goes. First you have to drive there, which is a whole thing. Then after you wait forever a nurse puts you on a scale, takes your blood pressure and pretends not to judge you. There is always some smelly, sick old person in the waiting room. Wheezing. With flaky skin and a big diabetes foot. Slumped over, not hearing whichever child drove him there trying to explain when their next appointment is. That appointment is in about one day, by the way, because when you're old the maintenance never stops. Yep, they're just sitting there reminding you of your own mortality. You can do all the rotational squats you want, but some day the skin on your face is going to start sliding off and you're going to need one of your kids to drive you around so you don't stuff your Oldsmobile in to the store front of a crowded laundromat on Easter Sunday.
All this before the damn doctor even comes in.
I like my doctor. He isn't over bearing and he actually has a personality. He has five kids and has been married twice so there are a lot of "ehhh, women... Am i right??" type jokes. The problem is that the advice he gives you is just so damn unrealistic. Last time I was there, and this is 100 percent the truth, he told me that during the day if he gets a craving for a sweet or unhealthy snack he-- wait for it-- sucks on a few almonds until his craving is gone. Sucks. On. A. Few. ALMONDS. You see, the salt from the almonds kills your craving and then, once you've sucked it, you eat the almond and it hits you with a blast of protein so you aren't hungry anymore. Guess what I'm never doing.
During one of our inevitable conversations about physical fitness I was telling him that it's tough for me to get exercise because I hate the gym and I don't have time with my kids and work to do the things I used to do like play basketball or generally dick around all day. He told me what he did. You see, when Doc gets home from work, after he tucks in his 5 kids and no doubt shoots a passive "thanks for spending all of my money" look at his post-5 kids looking wife, he sucks down an almond and pops in a P90X dvd. He spreads out some room in his basement and works out for ABOUT AN HOUR. Oooookaaay pal. Sure thing. I'll just spread out some mats in my apartment and hop around like an elephant for an hour or so when I get home from work. Sounds delightful.
Then he looks at my blood work, tells me I'm perfectly healthy but I should work out more and I probably drink too much. Of course, to him, drinking one beer a day is too much. Not because it's unhealthy, mind you, but because what if you have a beer and one of your kids has an emergency and you need to drive them to the hospital? Well Dr. Worst Case Scenario, maybe if you weren't sucking on almonds all day instead of eating actual food your tolerance would be a little bit higher.
Still, going to the doctor as an adult is way better than taking a child to a doctor. I severely dislike Av and Lucas' doctor. Talk about preachy. My word. Don't do this, he shouldn't have that, don't feed them this. This bitch thinks kids need to be in rear facing car seats until they're in like the 8th grade. People like her are the reason kids have crazy allergies. Oh no! Don't give them anything! Don't expose them to anything! Make sure they grow up to be sickly and intollerable so they can drink gluten free beer and ruin life for everyone who loves PB&J for lunch! Ahhhhhh your two year old STILL HAS A PACIFIER WHEN HE TAKES A NAP!!?? AND HE EATS REAL PEOPLE FOOD??!! AHHHHHHH. Actually it's way more passive aggressive than that. Then she leaves and sticks some poor med school nurse with the dirty work, giving shots and making kids cry.
Anyway, the conversation I had when I canceled the appointment with my doctor went like this:
"Hi, I have an appointment with Dr. So and So today, I, uh, got called in to wo-- ah, I'm just not gonna be there."
"Ok, sir. Do you want to reschedule?"
"Eh, doesn't matter. Up to you."
"Um. Ok? Uh. Wellll, I actually have a cancellation tomorrow at 3, does that work?"
"Nah. I'm not gonna come tomorrow either. Maybe in the summer we'll give it a shot."
"Ummm. Oookkay... Ah, how about Aug. 3 at 1?"
"Yeah. Sure. Why not? We'll jot that one down and see what happens."
Weird, I think I just remembered something I have to do on August 3.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
The blog is back for a new season
After taking a year and a half off for no apparent reason, other than laziness and self hatred, I've decided to come out of retirement and once again grace you all with my irrational anger, misguided opinions and stories from my ongoing struggle with the reality that I have somehow become responsible for raising two tiny humans. Bad example: It's like if NETFLIX bought my rights and brought me back for a new season. Only NETFLIX didn't give me any money. And this is printed word, not video.
I can explain away the break with a thousand excuses. I have less time since Lucas was born, I havent had a reliable computer in years (My tablet isn't charged so I'm currently typing this on my phone, which is more frustrating than you can imagine), I haven't had much inspiration and on and on. But if I'm being perfectly honest with all of you, I stopped writing simply out of laziness. I have two kids now so time to myself is much more limited than it was before. I started using the time I once dedicated to writing to do things like take naps, catch up on TV shows that I missed or simply sit down on my couch and enjoy the silence. All of this spiraled out of control and somehow we reached 2015, at which point I woke up and realized that I have essentially become a fat house plant who has nightmares about fictional characters in psychological crime dramas and sometimes wakes up at night not knowing which room of his tiny apartment he fell asleep in. I need to regain some semblance of purpose or every day is going to become Suicide Tuesday.
A lot of people find this difficult to comprehend, probably because you all have "real" jobs, but staying home all day with your kids can be absolutely soul crushing. You feel useless, tired, strangely lonely yet you're never alone.
You see people rushing to work, putting on suits and slacks and you envy their purpose. It is easy to forget that I am home because I'm keeping someone alive. I didn't get fired from Family Dollar for snorting Oxycodone in the stock room. I'm not on unemployment or welfare and I don't buy cigarettes from Eastern Market wearing a pair of Tazmanian Devil sweat pants, work boots and a wife beater. But sometimes, especially in the winter, it's easy to look out the window at all the commuters going to the train station and feel like I'm one bad day away from robbing a guy for lottery tickets.
Truth is when I had a 9-5 I hated that too. Of course, most of that was because it was a soull-sucking, 30k/year newspaper gig, but the point is it's easy to forget that raising kids is a job, and an important one at that. If only someone would pay me for it.
I'm not a social person, I don't do mom groups or playdates. I feel awkward around other people's children and even more awkward around the parents. So for someone like me, having a day where my kids are animals, the house is a disaster and I'm exhausted and broke can be really hard to deal with rationally. So my tendency is just to give up and let it all slide off. Wait til the kids go to sleep, make a stiff one and escape in to whatever is available On Demand (hey, XFINITY, I promise to talk about how great On Demand is in every post if you pay my cable bill). Don't judge me.
That's another thing. I have friends and acquaintances who are visible online, usually posting endlessly about how wonderful children are and how fulfilling their days have become. Smiling pictures of loving hugs and wonderful impromptu lunches at the corner cafe, musing about how truly life changing having a child is and how having their specific child has become a significant moment in the grand plan of the universe. I read these posts and some days I just say to myself "that's really nice, guy, but don't you ever want to just stuff those damn kids in a trash can and have a drink?"
Same thing with the God Squad upstairs. I never even hear their kids let alone hear them getting in trouble. My kids are always yelling, running, banging, breaking. Does this make me a horrible parent? Is Jesus the answer?
Let's not misconstrue what I'm saying here, either. I've got good kids, they're awesome and I love them. But sometimes I don't like them very much and sometimes- ok, a lot of the time- I lack the drive and creativity to have a super awesome dad adventure or a nice quiet creative Bible-based craft project and, honestly, that kind of bothers me. I just don't know how to not be tired all the time.
Anyway, We'll learn more about our 2015 selves as we move forward, but for now a brief catch up. Avelyn is almost six and Lucas is almost two. We call him Duke. He is significantly more well behaved and probably a lot smarter than Av and nearly as well spoken. He can count to eight and says almost full sentences already. He is an 85-year-old man in a baby's body.
Av is in kindergarten and we fight like she is 16. She is very curious and talkative. I can imagine she must drive her teacher insane. I do not feel bad for her teacher.
I am still responaible for these children during the day, which typically involves Av yelling at me before and after school, Duke pooping frequently and politely asking me for treats and me battling random bouts of anxiety, narcolepsy and childhood flashbacks. Every day is a roller coaster. Hop on, there's no height requirement. Having Duke all day can be a blast. We play trains and cars, we wrestle, run errands and snack. A lot. So. Many. Snacks. Also, Duke never wears pants. Like Murray Goldberg.
Monica still hasn't left me yet, which is good, because she's the one holding down the whole operation. I'm still a bartender at the same place, which has somehow gotten even more impossible to handle. But it turns out finding a new job isn't as easy as Step Brothers made it look so here I am. We have the same apartment but I DID buy a new car. I don't want to get too braggy, but I live the Mazda lifestyle now.
As always, I vow to be completely honest here. I'll try to swear less at the request of my father, but I am still a pretty big asshole so no promises.
As I mentioned, I've been catching up on a lot of crime drama lately, so I'll share my thoughts on some of those as well as my plans to finagle my way in to some sort of career as a brilliantly troubled mystery solving bad ass. Stay tuned.
P.S. I successfully typed this entire thing with an Android cell phone. There should be some sort of award for that. Or at least a nomination.
I can explain away the break with a thousand excuses. I have less time since Lucas was born, I havent had a reliable computer in years (My tablet isn't charged so I'm currently typing this on my phone, which is more frustrating than you can imagine), I haven't had much inspiration and on and on. But if I'm being perfectly honest with all of you, I stopped writing simply out of laziness. I have two kids now so time to myself is much more limited than it was before. I started using the time I once dedicated to writing to do things like take naps, catch up on TV shows that I missed or simply sit down on my couch and enjoy the silence. All of this spiraled out of control and somehow we reached 2015, at which point I woke up and realized that I have essentially become a fat house plant who has nightmares about fictional characters in psychological crime dramas and sometimes wakes up at night not knowing which room of his tiny apartment he fell asleep in. I need to regain some semblance of purpose or every day is going to become Suicide Tuesday.
A lot of people find this difficult to comprehend, probably because you all have "real" jobs, but staying home all day with your kids can be absolutely soul crushing. You feel useless, tired, strangely lonely yet you're never alone.
You see people rushing to work, putting on suits and slacks and you envy their purpose. It is easy to forget that I am home because I'm keeping someone alive. I didn't get fired from Family Dollar for snorting Oxycodone in the stock room. I'm not on unemployment or welfare and I don't buy cigarettes from Eastern Market wearing a pair of Tazmanian Devil sweat pants, work boots and a wife beater. But sometimes, especially in the winter, it's easy to look out the window at all the commuters going to the train station and feel like I'm one bad day away from robbing a guy for lottery tickets.
Truth is when I had a 9-5 I hated that too. Of course, most of that was because it was a soull-sucking, 30k/year newspaper gig, but the point is it's easy to forget that raising kids is a job, and an important one at that. If only someone would pay me for it.
I'm not a social person, I don't do mom groups or playdates. I feel awkward around other people's children and even more awkward around the parents. So for someone like me, having a day where my kids are animals, the house is a disaster and I'm exhausted and broke can be really hard to deal with rationally. So my tendency is just to give up and let it all slide off. Wait til the kids go to sleep, make a stiff one and escape in to whatever is available On Demand (hey, XFINITY, I promise to talk about how great On Demand is in every post if you pay my cable bill). Don't judge me.
That's another thing. I have friends and acquaintances who are visible online, usually posting endlessly about how wonderful children are and how fulfilling their days have become. Smiling pictures of loving hugs and wonderful impromptu lunches at the corner cafe, musing about how truly life changing having a child is and how having their specific child has become a significant moment in the grand plan of the universe. I read these posts and some days I just say to myself "that's really nice, guy, but don't you ever want to just stuff those damn kids in a trash can and have a drink?"
Same thing with the God Squad upstairs. I never even hear their kids let alone hear them getting in trouble. My kids are always yelling, running, banging, breaking. Does this make me a horrible parent? Is Jesus the answer?
Let's not misconstrue what I'm saying here, either. I've got good kids, they're awesome and I love them. But sometimes I don't like them very much and sometimes- ok, a lot of the time- I lack the drive and creativity to have a super awesome dad adventure or a nice quiet creative Bible-based craft project and, honestly, that kind of bothers me. I just don't know how to not be tired all the time.
Anyway, We'll learn more about our 2015 selves as we move forward, but for now a brief catch up. Avelyn is almost six and Lucas is almost two. We call him Duke. He is significantly more well behaved and probably a lot smarter than Av and nearly as well spoken. He can count to eight and says almost full sentences already. He is an 85-year-old man in a baby's body.
Av is in kindergarten and we fight like she is 16. She is very curious and talkative. I can imagine she must drive her teacher insane. I do not feel bad for her teacher.
I am still responaible for these children during the day, which typically involves Av yelling at me before and after school, Duke pooping frequently and politely asking me for treats and me battling random bouts of anxiety, narcolepsy and childhood flashbacks. Every day is a roller coaster. Hop on, there's no height requirement. Having Duke all day can be a blast. We play trains and cars, we wrestle, run errands and snack. A lot. So. Many. Snacks. Also, Duke never wears pants. Like Murray Goldberg.
Monica still hasn't left me yet, which is good, because she's the one holding down the whole operation. I'm still a bartender at the same place, which has somehow gotten even more impossible to handle. But it turns out finding a new job isn't as easy as Step Brothers made it look so here I am. We have the same apartment but I DID buy a new car. I don't want to get too braggy, but I live the Mazda lifestyle now.
As always, I vow to be completely honest here. I'll try to swear less at the request of my father, but I am still a pretty big asshole so no promises.
As I mentioned, I've been catching up on a lot of crime drama lately, so I'll share my thoughts on some of those as well as my plans to finagle my way in to some sort of career as a brilliantly troubled mystery solving bad ass. Stay tuned.
P.S. I successfully typed this entire thing with an Android cell phone. There should be some sort of award for that. Or at least a nomination.
...
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