My older son shed a tear last night when I told him I was going to shave my Movember mustache. I asked him why and he said, “Because it’s awesome.” There is no doubt in the moments you know you’ve succeeded as a parent.
I told him his mother disagreed with his mustache stance and he would have to talk to her about it. “Call her,” he said. I was shocked at his decisiveness and that in his 5 years of life he had picked this particular topic to take a stand on. Who am I to judge? So I dialed and he pleaded to my wife’s voice-mail to retain his father’s facial hair. It was seven minutes of tears, made up facts, a diagram, and a promise that would never fly away. It was the best argument I have ever heard.
I told him that we would take a final picture so he would have a remembrance of my mustache. I also assured him that I would frame it and put it by his bed. It seems silly to promise something like that and not go through the simple actions of taking care of myself. My health doesn’t just affect me, it affects everyone who loves and cares about me. That’s a hard truth to hear because it forces me to ask more of myself. To me, Movember is about raising that awareness so we can keep some great dads in their children’s lives.
The mustache is gone and I need to look for a frame.
Every year, men are challenged to grow moustaches during Movember (the month formerly known as November) to spark conversation and raise funds for prostate cancer, testicular cancer and mental health problems. This year, Pat and Kepley are proud to join the online dad community in raising awareness and growing mustaches to change the face of men’s health. It all starts on November 1st with men everywhere taking part in Shave the Date.
Pat hasn’t been clean shaven in 13 years and Kepley might take a while, but it’s been told that he can grow one creepy mo. We really hope you will help us support this amazing cause.
Only thing as good as having a child of your own is when someone close to you has one. All of the snuggles with none of the teething diapers. I call that a Win/Win.
Pat is about to have a new baby girl grace his life. I can’t decide whether to envy or pity him. I think, “Who wouldn’t want a wonderful little girl that melts your heart like a Snickers in an Easy Bake Oven?” Then I ask myself, “Do I want to ask my wonderful little girl why the hem of her shorts is residing in Antarctica?” Like having Pat for a friend, it’s a blessing and a curse. Continue reading →
Any day now, I will be the father of a baby girl and I’ll be honest, I’m terrified. As a stay-at-home dad, it has become soberingly clear that the responsibility of raising this little girl is resting on my overweight shoulders. I’m a boy. I have a boy. I’ve been raising my boy to be like a boy. But a girl is not a boy!
Raising a boy is easy. My boy thinks that atomic elbow drops are hysterical. When either of us makes a fart noise, we’re the funniest two boys on the planet. Is this all going to change when a little girl comes into our daily routine? Can I give a girl an atomic elbow drop? Is it alright to teach her how to make fart sounds? Or actual farting. Can I fart around a baby girl?!
These are legitimate parenting concerns for a boy that has been raising a boy and any day will be raising a girl. Continue reading →
My wife and I got a Roomba. We call her Iggy because she’s so fancy.
Sure, I could just sweep the floor in a tenth of the time. Sure, I have to clean everything off, just so my robo-hoover can clean. And sure, it could be possible that I go out of my way not to put it back on it’s charging station, just so I can watch stumble around and find it’s way home.
In my life, I have never felt as lazy as when I cheered for a robotized hockey puck. I’m questioning if I should feel accomplished or ashamed that my wife and I bet on which dust pile would meet it’s demise next. I’m leaning towards accomplished.
We quickly realized we had precious few hours of Roomba excellence before our children discovered it and the large green button on top. At 6:30 the next morning I felt two presences attempting silence outside my door. I carefully donned my glasses and watched them creep to the glowing monolith with a sense of awe. They whispered and pushed their way to the decision that it must have been put there for them. Continue reading →
As our American holidays continue the slow decline into commercial bliss, I try to take the time to consider the message I am conveying to my children. The 4th of July is a celebration of a free nation, a place where ideas can be challenged freely and change can be implemented. Does it work perfectly? Of course not, it’s something I constantly take for granted and I want to remind myself why it’s important, so I can pass it along to my children. Here are 5 things every kid should know this 4th of July.
Be thankful for what you have
Kids don’t know how good they’ve got it. When I was growing up I had to beg to get call waiting and chose poorly in my BETA/VHS gamble. It can always be worse, ask the people who lived through the Great Depression. Be thankful.
A nice walk outside has never failed to teach me something about life. Sometimes I learn a new little nuance of the world. Other times I learn that if you let your guard down, your two year old will choke you for fun while your hands are occupied tying their shoes.
Everyone needs to go for a “walk” sometimes and get away from the responsibilities that nag at us in the daily grind. Pat and I go on a yearly vacation with the four guys we lived with in college. We bicker and we moan and we love every moment of it. Why else would we keep doing it?
For a couple of days, the Dad Brothers are a plane ride away from their children and pretending they’re the same age as when they met. Meanwhile, Pat is wheezing up stairs and I am complaining about the restaurant booth hurting my back. Needless to say, we were the life of the party.
In college, we strove to be the life of the party. No one wanted to be the first one to go to sleep. Now, I want to take a nap and tell my pride to get back with me when I wake up. Having never been to Denver, CO., we were warned to wear sunscreen and drink plenty of water. I knew Pat would do neither of these things, so I nagged him relentlessly because he sweats like a shower and listens like my two year old.
I tease because I care.
Pat did great the first two days. On the third day, we got roasted in the bleachers of a baseball game. Our buddy Miller noticed Pat slumping. Since fake fainting resides in Pat’s comedy arsenal, we told him it wasn’t believable and to stop messing around. He did not answer. Pat was never that good of an actor.
When the paramedic told us how low his blood pressure was, I feared for my friend’s life. I didn’t care that my friend had not listened to me, I cared only that he was alright. Continue reading →