Hellooooo everyone!! Sorry for the long absence for which I won’t offer any excuses, so let’s get right back into it.

Of all my blogs, I have provided my readers with insights on dealing with kids and family life, avoiding no sex for daddy etc. Yet I have never once mentioned a particular family member that bears the utmost importance of noting. Our family dog. Named after the Beatles’s song Penny Lane, it has been fascinating to watch our 6 year old German shepherd morph into a member of our family by acting in accordance with some of our human ways.

Although I’d like to think that I have grown as a person and matured as I enter my forties, I often find it difficult to let bygones be bygones. Yes, if faced with petty griefs and insignificant injustices, I am capable of letting matters pass and leave them in the past. However, if I feel greatly trespassed upon, well then the matter is not simply black and white. Perhaps this approach may be construed as childish, but so what. The same goes for our dear Penny. She seems to have  acquired my skills geared towards handling particular gripes, such as how she approaches one particular neighbor of ours, namely their canine.

This neighbor to whom I refer already possesses an odd nature to begin with and has continuously complained to us for many years in regards to missing toys that belong to his fat fuck of a dog.  He claims that our dog constantly goes into his yard and steals stuffed animal toys that he buys for his giant sized hamster. It is true that our sweet Penny has, from time to time, swiped some of the stuffed animals. We have also tried to politely reprimand her from further attempted heists. These toys come in the form of green dragons, white fluffy lambs and multi colored penguins etc. Instead of returning the toys in person (as an effort to avoid confrontation with our neighbor) we would occasionally set into motion blacks ops missions. For example, the time I packed the family in the car and we slowly drove towards the neighbor’s home. I designated 3 of my kids as lookouts and the oldest child was tasked with invoking his inner navy seal spirit. His duty was to carry a the “alleged” stolen blue stuffed snake, breach the neighbor’s perimeter by scaling the trees and prepping the toy for an undetected drop. Mission accomplished! Or at least we were led to believe all went successfully since there weren’t any further reports of missing snakes.  Still, we were not yet aware about the full circumstances of why our dog would always go back to steal these items.

One day the neighbor popped out of our woods like a creepy troll and walked over to where we sitting in our back yard. He quite rudely exclaimed that yet another hostage had been taken by our dog. The identity of this particular victim supposedly came in the form of a stuffed pink pig. The neighbor stated that it was brand new and that he was growing tired of our dog’s antics. We vehemently denied the accusation as we had not seen the pink pig. Yet, just our denials still echoed in the wind, we spotted the pink pig off in the distance, perched on a hill and just out of view from our neighbor.  My inner chuckle tried to escape as I felt satisfaction over my dog’s brilliant operation to intercept yet another farm animal from that hippo with fur. We stood fast in our denial of any wrong doing.

We always found it strange that our extremely well trained dog would leave the property to take these toys from the neighbor. Penny wouldn’t go over there on a daily basis but rather on infrequent occasions. I had to investigate her motives. After observing her more carefully over the course of several weeks I discovered what was happening. Our neighbor’s 600lb life of a dog would occasionally come onto our property and take massive shits in our yard. It wouldn’t even bother to take notice that it was on our kids basketball or the tire of one of my kid’s bikes that was laying at the edge of the grass. Only on those specific days, after the neighbor’s dog would lay horrendous horse shits on our property, would our sweet Penny go next door and steal a toy. Believe me when I tell you that her theft was convincingly not random. I suspectit was all calculated. Eye for an eye. When I finally fell upon this revelation I realized that dogs are not only man’s best friend, but also on occasion carry traits similar to that of the man they are best friends with. Sometimes you have to retaliate when shat upon….

Dogs are canny at picking up on the emotions of their owners and perpetrators alike. My dog’s Alpha, hmm hmm, is proud to know that if your dog craps on his lawn, you can kiss that stuffed bitch of a pink pig goodbye. Dog craps- Dog steals.

 

 

 

As my readers may have gathered from past blogs, time for intimacy is far a few between so to speak. Whether it be due to the stresses of day to day struggles such as finances or the like, it seems as though the opportunities for sex just don’t arise as often as they used to. Perhaps the deep seeded inner drive has also become less of a priority overall when the overwhelming pressure of our children’s needs are now prioritized over much else, and the fact that we’re often just too fucking tired is of no assistance at all. However, there are times when we do find each other with a sense of sexual hunger without even realizing the outside world exists. It’s actually surprising to be honest when considering either hankering family issues or personal anxieties that life serves with ironic blemishes.

Even though our oldest son might have just punched a hole in his wall because we’ve repossessed his computer labtop due to poor grades, or we’ve reneged  on our promise to let our middle son have a dessert because he cursed us for not providing the preferred milk type for his morning cereal, there is a moment within the day’s 24 hour period where these problems are forgotten and our minds are clear and open to intimate conquests. Yes, although my oldest daughter may have blown out both of her tonsils during a screaming episode because we threatened an early bedtime for a bedroom mess she created all on her own, or my youngest daughter refused to budge out of the door as the school bus approached only because we disallowed her from wearing her high heel sandals through the 2 feet of snow that fell overnight, my wife and I have discovered a time of day when we are oblivious to these matters and succumb to the raw senses pulling one another towards each other’s warm, yearning bodies. Whether the Taxman has been pestering us for weeks to pay the dues which we have no idea how to come up with, or as in our most recent misfortunes have found ourselves without sustainable careers, there is a juncture in time where our most organic instincts draw our arms and legs around each other to once more feel the satisfaction and gratification of carnal pleasure. I call this occasion the 2 am’er.

My wife is typically the first to retire to the  bedroom for the evenings. I usually stretch my evenings out longer, as when the children have finally fallen asleep it seems to be the lone hour to simply unwind from the turbulent day gone by. I often fall asleep on the couch in front of a running television and awake in the same uncomfortable position in which my conscious mind expired the evening before. I also frequently fall asleep in the beds of the children whose bodies were the last to surrender. In those cases I wake up pretzeled and mangled amongst my kids’ small frames along with their stuffed animals and books that forced me to bundle myself into a small enough physique that could be packaged in a UPS box. But, when I do make it to my own bed by midnight from time to time, the realm of possibility for my wife and I to get busy increases.

Occasionally in those instances where I do fall asleep in bed with my wife, we are both completely unconscious, removed from the duties of parents, detached from the parent teacher conference earlier that week from which we left grinding our teeth, dislodged of the worries of how our monthly budget cannot even stretch us through the 3rd week of March, and completely aloof to the fact that we will be receiving a hefty hospital bill from last week’s visit when we thought our daughter’s appendix burst only to discover that the insane volume of chocolate she secretly devoured caused tremendous gas. No, all cognizant and pragmatic thoughts are temporarily suspended. And in the moment where we might be drowned in deepest sleep, our feet might accidentally contact each other, or one of our hands might have shifted in a manner that stroked the other’s backside resulting in a mutual tingle, a reciprocal touch, and finally a collective reunion of lips and torsos. It is then, that without the confines of realistic burdens that we are free to retreat back to our most basic desire for each other and allow the wilder drive within ourselves to overtake each other. It is rare for parents of 4 children but always welcome….even at 2am.

When we have concluded with our affections we look at the clock and realize that the morning will soon be upon us and also that the day’s errands and struggles are imminent as cold reality sets in. In 4 hours we will awake to the children fighting over the last of the fucking maple syrup for their waffles, the sweet sounds of our 2 boys calling each other gay bitches whilst fighting over the toilet again and our 2 girls pulling each other’s hair over the last pair of non itchy socks. Wonderful? Strangely yes, I’ll take the much needed affair with my wife anytime. The 2am ‘er certainly beats no sex for Daddy, and my wife and I do grasp onto the closeness we previously shared for the remainder of  the day, making the strife of life more bearable as we tackle it together as man and wife instead of 2 adults strangers.

 

Happy New Year  everyone! I hope all of you have experienced a smooth transition into 2017. With the new year upon us, let’s get back to the root of things.

The tumultuous lives we live as parents are often due to the frenzied occurrences that derive from our children’s boisterous behaviors. The fact that my wife and I can’t visit a restaurant without one of our four children presenting inappropriate one-liners for the public to bare witness to, or that one of them might go ape shit at the convenience store or that they might all kill each other during a 5 minute car drive are just a few items that drive us, as parents, absolutely bonkers.  Yet I’ve recently discovered that these 4 children of mine, imbeciles that they may be, have the power to alter the outcome of particular situations. I will tell you about one of those very moments, and I must frankly state that as inappropriate as it may seem for a parent to exploit the worst in a child to benefit their own needs, it does achieve the desired outcome. Let me explain.

In the days leading up to Christmas I began to develop a sore throat and felt as though it might have become severely infected. In order to prevent falling further ill throughout the holidays I had made an appointment with my local doctor. It just so happened that I had to take my 3 youngest children with me, now aged 6, 8 and 10 years old. My wife had to work during the time of the appointment, hence my little followers. I allowed my children to take their iPods and kindles to keep them occupied and also as means of deterring them from acting like animals during my examination. Although their machines thwarted any intentions to misbehave they did start speaking their German code language in reference to my Doctor. I taught each of my children German from infancy stages, yet they have consciously elected to only utilize the language for the means of pure entertainment. In the case of this scenario, they spoke derogatory  phrases- such as “you may be a doctor but you’re no genius, and you look rather crappy too!” When the doctor asked me what they said, I lied and said that they complimented the Doctor. My son interrupted and said “no, that’s not what I said Papa!”, so I just hoped to still receive proper treatment after that.

Much to my dismay the children continued for some time, yet I was able to simmer them down by reminding them that their machines would be taken away if they kept up the antics. They immediately calmed down and drowned themselves in ipod games. Whilst feeling ill no parent wants the stress of having to reprimand their children as it further drains the energy one has left. After concluding with the Doctor I was ordered to pick up antibiotics at the pharmacy just down the street. Just great- another stop with these lunatics. However, I had a simple plan to avert chasing down my little baboons at the next store. I was simply going to wait in the car of the parking lot of the next stop and keep calling the pharmacy to check the status of my prescription until it was ready. That way I could just run in and out without having to take the children inside with me. But nooooo, not as simple as I had imagined. After speaking with the pharmacist 3 times on the phone, they kept telling me that the wait would be 45 minutes to an hour in order to prepare the medication. On the 4th call, still from within my car and the children repeatedly asking when we are leaving, I explained that my specific prescription is a pre-made antibiotic, already packaged and  would only entail my payment. I also explained that I was sitting in the car with my 3 young children and that I would be running late to pick up my oldest from the bus stop. After another rejection from the pharmacist, I looked at my 3 children who were becoming increasingly impatient, nodded my head and said “O.K kids, we’re going in and we’re gonna to do our thing”. My children had no idea what that meant, but I had officially decided to unleash the crazies into the pharmacy.

Typically, as soon as I enter a public place with my children I would tell them to all stay close to me and behave. Not this time. We walked inside and I didn’t say a word. Subconsciously this tell my kids that the choke collar is non existent. I walked up to the counter of the pharmacy and told the woman whom I was, yet I still received the “sorry sir, it won’t be ready for about another 40 minutes”. I simply said “ok, fine.” At that point I’d already allowed my children to scatter like Jay Birds and take over the store. I heard two of them loudly playing adventure tag close to the contraceptive department. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a huge stuffed animal flying over the candy aisle- that was surely my 8 year old son. After all, it was a stuffed bird, so why not let the little fucker soar. Moments later my 6 year old daughter came running up to me with a notepad and pen she had already unwrapped from the supply section. She loudly proclaimed “Look Papa, I wrote BOOBS!”. Over the last Halloween my daughter discovered that adding “BS” at the end of “BOO” was totally hilarious. My son must have heard the 6 year old scream “boobs” as he quickly went on a mission to find some breasts of his own. He subsequently came running back with a Women’s Health magazine and showed it to another man waiting in line for his prescription, and said “check this out- this girl is awesome”. I should mention that my children did a wonderful job of making their antics known to the entire staff of the Pharmacy. My children’s short presence must have seemed like an eternity to the employees and patrons as well. The kids kept on “doing their thing” for the next few minutes- all with my blessings.

Suffice to say that after approximately a total of 7 minutes waiting time, my prescription was MAGICALLY ready! And I was able to pick up my oldest son with time to spare. I frigging love my kids.

In the future I will always keep in mind that the very same demonic means they choose to drive me up the wall can also be used to advance my personal causes. Perhaps I should embrace their playful yet edgy traits more often.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas my wife and children are always eager to buy the family tree. Finding the perfect tree is not just about the shape and size- there’s more to it than that, yet I do question myself sometimes. My wife is typically the one who decorates our home for any of the holidays and always does a great job of creating an atmosphere enamored with the spirit of the particular holiday we are facing. In the case of Christmas she marvelously brings out the red, white and silver magic that transforms our home into the embodiment of a warm and cozy Vermont  Holiday. The only thing missing is the Christmas tree.

We always make the purchasing of the “Tree” a family outing, and we always choose to visit a tree farm where we are able to cut one down ourselves. The trees stay fresh longer and the experience of personally cutting a tree exudes the simplicity of what Christmas should  mean. The tree farms entice families from near and far  with their promises of chocolates, horse drawn sleighs and warm cider after trekking deep into the valley of trees and finding the “chosen one”. The holiday treats and hot cocoas are often the most attractive part of the adventure for my children. They also know that we traditionally stop at a nearby tavern for our annual pre-holiday dinner, only after having previously secured the tree to the roof of our car.

During the whole process there are moments when it all seems like more of a chore than a pleasure cruise. That’s the  way it is. And in this particular case I embrace the unbalanced nature of the tree hunt. It’s what Dads do………..we are the men of the family after all. There are moments that make us cringe a bit during every family process but in the end its’ all worth it. Without further ado, below is how my family finds the tree.

• Get all four kids into the car and try to make them behave for the 20 minute drive, This is often an impossible task in itself.
• After 5 minutes in the car the kids have already asked, at least 10 times, “if we will set up the tree in our living room that same evening”. I reply “no” each time, “as the tree needs to settle in its stand and defrost a bit in the garage”. None are satisfied with the verdict.
• We arrive at the tree farm and 2 of the 4 kids already state they have to use the bathroom…..”badly”.
• They see the lights and “offerings” from the Christmas cabin awaiting those who have braved the cold and conquered the quest of discovering perfect tree. We tell the kids to kindly be patient.
• We grab a saw for the cutting, and a sled to drag the kids one way and the tree on the way back.
• My wife usually follows me through the paths and tree alleys with the car, often with at least one lazy child staying warm, as I muck through the snow with the sled in tow all while my kids are  asking me to pull them faster. Of course I oblige. Time to be merry right?
• My wife will get out of the car occasionally once we’re deeper in the tree farm to give opinions on the candidates we are considering, always retreating back to the car for warmth as we continue look for the next possibility.
• As darkness grows quickly, we start losing our children in the maze of trees, constantly yelling for them to come back to us and to remind them to cover their heads with hoods so as not to catch pneumonia.
• My wife begins her proclamations of also requiring a restroom, of which there are none available on the tree farm save one porto potty that all have refused to use. I’ve told the boys to relieve themselves outside, but all of the ladies are now anxious to find more suitable arrangements of an acceptable toilet.
• Finally my wife says “just pick a tree and let’s go”. I trek back to the “first” tree we liked and should have cut at the time of the initial sighting. I get under the tree to commence sawing at the base. Of course I gave my gloves to my youngest son earlier for him to stay warm, so I can’t really feel my fingers as I pull and push the saw through the frozen base of our new fur. After 2 rigorous minutes of sawing, our new tree falls beside me, and as frozen as I am, I begin to feel like a Mongolian beast conquering the Tundra during  furious ice storms. Goony f’n goo goo!
• After loading the tree onto our borrowed sled, I look up and realize that my family has left me stranded. As I stand there in the dark solace amidst hundreds of other potential Christmas trees waiting to be chosen, I realize that this is what I’m supposed to do as “Papa”. Moms and Dads try to make moments enjoyable for our families and simultaneously take on the brunt of the shit work when we can. In this case it wasn’t even shit work, it was my part to help make Christmas special for my family- just as my wife did whilst decorating the house by herself with no assistance from the children. Yet when the children came home from school one day to find holiday tidings, they were excited and felt that Christmas had landed. They were able to embrace the magical of it all.
• And so it was with our new tree- I could have fallen and bumped my head only to freeze to death all alone while my family sat on nice warm toilets somewhere. I could have been mauled by  a bear while my wife took her first sip of an awesome draft beer at the nearby tavern.
• Later as we all sit in the tavern, my wife and I enjoy a drink or two and the kids have dinner after which they eventually hit sugar highs from heavy desserts. My middle son decides to tell a joke to the older couple seated next to us.. “What did Darth Vader say to Princess Leia? “Smell my finger….its been in the Dark side”. And now we are moving on to the check…

It was all worth it when I caught glimpses of my children’s faces after they discovered the tree standing in our living room for the first time.  I covered the tree with lights, and once plugged in, the lit tree begged the children to come hang ornaments. They kids lasted about 20 minutes while trimming the  tree, and then began arguing over whose ornament belongs to whom from 3 years ago. After the children retired for evening my wife and I adjusted the tree just so, and the plopped onto the couch tired and exhausted…..and probably no sex for daddy. .

 

I would like to begin by wishing all of those who celebrate Thanksgiving a happy and safe holiday. To my readers in other countries or those that do not observe Thanksgiving, I wish you an enjoyable upcoming weekend.

Since I’m totally stuffed and still tired from yesterday, as I’m sure many of you are as well, I’ll spare you any further pleasantries and get right to the heart of the matter.

I recently took my family on a rare 2 day trip. We don’t get away very often so my wife and I were looking forward to the change of pace, not just for ourselves but for our children as well. The destination was only a 4 hour drive from our home so we were not required to make any extraordinary travel arrangements- with 4 kids its a welcome perk.  The core of this post is not about the essence of a family trip or the destination, and the activities we undertook are also irrelevant here. The point of relevance is only that one situational moment of crap that we all, as parents of multiple children must endure. The fucking family photo.

I’m not even talking about a “full” family photo with my wife and I included- I’m talking about the once in a blue moon photo of your children all smiling simultaneously…..genuinely smiling. For one quick second, a grain of sand in time and an instant of the universe’s clock, why is is so damned difficult to get your children to look in the direction of the camera, to not argue about who stands where, to stop that one middle child  from crossing his eyes every time you say  “cheese” or to get the oldest son to stop pinching the other kids in an effort to get them riled up just when the camera has taken the snapshot. One of my daughters might still be angry at something from an hour ago, perhaps because she didn’t have the same amount of fucking sprinkles on her ice cream as the others,  and just stands there with her arms crossed and pouting with her face pointed downwards, at an inconsolable level incapable of achieving a one second smirk for the camera. My eight year old son, who can’t stand being teased by his older brother all day long, falls into distress when the two actually have to pair up and stand next to each other for a picture. The slightest contact between the boys escalates to the shouting of “don’t touch me butthole”, followed by “I’m barely touching you assmunch”, resulting in everyone walking away from the designated area for the photo shoot.

All my wife and I asked was for the children to stop and stand within a foot of each other whilst smiling at the camera for a short moment. We didn’t ask them to get naked in public and start drooling all over each other. We simply wanted a happy photo to serve as a nice memory from our trip. Whether we requested the photo in front of that big Christmas tree in a nameless city, or in front of a beautiful scenic backdrop in nature, or even just at home after they’ve dressed up for a special occasion that we’ve not yet departed for, its always a difficult task.

So what do we do? We demand an artificial sentiment to be displayed with yelling at them-  “Freaking smile! Quickly now! Smile for one damned second or you’re all grounded!”

And what happens? 2 Things.

1) That happy moment which we intended to cherish in a photograph results in my wife and I obtaining higher blood pressure.

2) Our four little shitheads turn from sourpusses, teasing mongers, complainers and schmucks into a group of lovely, smiling and sweet looking kids……..at least for a split second until the photo has snapped and the first kid calls another one stupid again. I cannot articulate the amount of joy behind the many photos in our albums. Hmm Hmm…

 

 

Hellooooo Everyone! I hope you have all enjoyed your summer. I apologize for not providing some laughs over the last 2 months, and the reasoning for my busy butt will follow in the ensuing posts, but for today let’s just get right back into shit.

Allow me to share with you the events of Sunday the 4th, 2016 and further reveal how a dumb bitch in the park ignited my family’s unity and gift of a zen-like sapience. Before I proceed, please understand it is vital to accept that I am not one to just throw out derogatory terms to describe human beings, however there are always extenuating circumstances in life, hence the Bitch in the park.

My family awoke to a marvelous morning- it was gorgeous outside with unusually warmer temps than as of late. The weather remained  equally phenomenal throughout the day and the evening as well. With such a nice day ahead, my wife and I impulsively decided to take the kids to a park no more than 25 minutes from our home. The park is equipped with practically anything for play in an effort to keep all kids active. The park is open to the public and the layout is widely spread in a fashion that eliminates the possibility for large crowds to form in any area. Our kids love the bike parks they have there- One of the bike parks consists of dirt cross tracks with jumps and so forth,  and the other one is the the ramp park. The ramp park is meant for kids on skateboards, trick scooters, bikes and roller blades etc…. There is a sign that states the rules and pretty much all devices constructed with wheels are allowed. We  arrived at the park around 10:30 with bikes and picnic gear. The boys headed straight for the dirt cross park as soon as I unloaded everything from the car. The girls were also soon in tow as my wife and I settled into  a nice spot to set up shop. It was simply all just chill. The kids were off on their bikes and my wife an I watched in a relaxed state. I even had a chance to play some one on one basketball with my oldest son. No complaints.

As I was wrapping up the game with my son – I noticed a minor commotion over at the ramp park where my other 3 children were currently zooming around. I noticed a lady raising her voice whilst constantly throwing her arms in the air as if to say “WTF”. If I’m being honest I don’t remember being sure if she actually was a woman or not. It was difficult to tell from afar as her fucked up apparel didn’t aid in revealing the sex of the human being wearing them. She wore, and this is from memory here, long ass baggy shorts of a dark gray tone that was either birthed with that color or had not been changed since 1966.. And Oh yes, forgive  me for omitting that the woman was a bit older, late 50’s or even early 60’s. She wore a backwards hat over a side headed shave and some other baggy shit not limited to a yellow top eerily resembling 200 hundred sewn together orange peels. Let me stop for a moment. For the sake of clarity, yes, I am commenting negatively about someone’s clothes, but it comes as post judgmentally. She flared her arms in disbelief that the other kids  in the park “supposedly” got in her way as she was trying to skateboard. Skateboard? I Love a granny who’ll do anything and live her life to the fullest, but this lady’s attitude became progressively worse and worse towards children while her own grandson was standing idly by with embarrassment, only wishing to get on with skating himself.  She ultimately came over to the fence where I was standing with my wife and some other parents. She uttered things in a cunty tone mixed with hippie flair, such as “hey man, why are those kids in the park with bikes?, I’m trying to skate here man”, and “man, why don’t you take  them to the  bike path or the tennis courts?”.  She continued on with interrogatively snobbish queries. When posed with questions reaping with such intelligence I generally find amusement in responding, not to mention that I wanted my kids to know that silence is not always required. Especially if you’re dealing with a classic muff-face.

I answered her with several replies, never omitting the truth. “The tennis courts don’t allow bikes, the bike path is actually a walking path with a lot of stones and very difficult for our youngest to ride with training wheels, and also that the very ramp park your “attempting ” to skate in is also allows the use of bicycles. With your skill lady, I wouldn’t worry about any damage to your Olympic skating career.” Another father, a skater in fact, also chimed in and explained to this woman that his son came with a bike as they know the park allows it. Two other families who’s children were on bikes decided to vacate the park and elude the fuss as the wanna be hippie became further void of any reason. Although she used hippie lingo her spirit was anything but free. I told all of my children, with the bitch listening,  to keep riding in the park and not be intimidated to stop and certainly not to feel uncomfortable just because as stranger tells you crazy shit. Realizing that 4 of the 15 kids in the park were mine, she condescendingly advised me “that the park was not to be  used as a daycare.” I merely informed her that her demonstrated skating experience should be better suited for her driveway at home. This was not a life altering issue, but I could see that my kids needed to see some strong guidance. The bitch could barely tic-tac her board yet  that very inexperience was invaluable to the family bonding that was about to take place.

After another 10 minutes of riding the kids grew hungry  so we commenced with the picnic in our spot which was situated about 15 yards from the ramp park. Miss beaver clicker was still quacking away even as she carried on with her mastery of the ramps. I had to excuse myself for a moment and as I returned in the direction of our picnic site it was difficult not to notice my family sitting there. They were all eating their sandwiches and in deep observation of the gastly woman we had just tangled with as she sought out her quest to become one with Tony Hawk. I approached them and asked my wife a question whilst impersonating the same voice with which the “Potato with legs” used, “hey man, gotta sandwich for me?”. They all started laughing. My 10 year old daughter said “papa, she was really stupid huh?” I agreed. Just then my 8  year old son almost spit out his food as he declared the news that the bitch just wiped out. We all giggled. My wife was angry that such a pleasant setting designed for children was being diluted by Bitch in the park. My wife stated something along the lines of “I wonder if those are her boobs or his balls”! My 14 year old added “her boobs exert dust berries”. We had no idea what he meant but we still laughed like crazy. And although I definitely don’t usually condone this type of behavior towards others,  I let them continue. My family had officially gone dark. Although we were, in that moment, perhaps not the most morally high bound human beings, we were a harmonious family and stood as one. Our jokes and one liners crossed many boundaries yet we all made sure to speak  quietly enough for no one else to hear. However our laughter reached decibels high enough to invite looks from all around. I quietly leaned over to my wife and asked if we were bad parents for enjoying a family picnic while making less than supportive comments at the expense of another human being, not to mention with our children. She replied with an affirmative, we both laughed and continued to come up with funny shit with our kids to say about the bitch in the park. We would normally not stoop so low, yet  on that day we couldn’t help ourselves.

As the afternoon sky kept our backs warm, the bitch  kept spewing her frustrations for all to hear while frequently wiping out all over the place. We simply delighted in the failures of that rolling “Apple Dumpling”. My family was united, knowing full well the difference between right and wrong, good and evil, yet ignoring the rules for a moment and playing with the gray area of life…..realizing that not all is black and white.  So my family is a bit off sometimes,  however that is a trait I wouldn’t trade for anything.

The car ride home was quiet. No one complained. There wasn’t any teasing. No special requests surfaced. Every one of my family members were looking out of the window, lost in deep thought and half a smile.  My eight year  old looked up and spoke the  following words, “I bet that lady has a huge bird’s nest in her pants”, referring to her “bushel”. Mass hysteria ensued……  Priceless.

 

 

 

My wife and I always seem to be on the quest for a better babysitter. Why the hell is it so difficult to find reliable people to watch over our children? We don’t require but a few fundamental qualities in a babysitter; human safeguard, cleanliness, and the ability to immerse themselves with the children and their activities. Of course logical qualities such as hygiene, overall responsibility, attentiveness and common sense are always expected of the people we entrust the health and safety of our children. But why do we constantly feel like the viable options for available sitters are so damned scarce?

Unfortunately our experiences with babysitters have been pretty shitty- you cannot imagine the things we’ve come home to. Picture this, you and your spouse actually have an opportunity to get out for an evening, without children for the first time in months and you want to make the most of it. So you call the best option you have for a sitter, lay down the rules or expectations you have and then escape your home as quickly as possible. With four children you never know what might come up so in order not to risk waiting around for a “night stopper”, you have to make your way to the car expediently- almost as if you’re crossing southbound over the North Korean border. Usually the children give straightforward and intensive interrogations when meeting a new sitter, so you typically have about 2-3 minutes before they realize you’re still there and catch you with 1000 questions not excluding “can you bring me something back”?

So you and your spouse step out for that rare and highly enjoyable evening, with thoughts of possibly coming home to 4 sleeping kids, a clean house and perhaps even try to get all Tarzan-like with your significant other in the bedroom….but noooooo, asking for just one smooth evening would be too damned much. Usually after returning from outside of the home when a sitter was required, something is often amiss. The kids are all awake, messes are everywhere in sight and all factors once again ultimately result in “no sex for daddy”.

Perhaps the antidepressants we found on the kitchen floor were the last straw with one of our older babysitters. How depressed do you have to be that you don’t even want to pick up your meds off of the fucking floor?? The icing on the cake with the same sitter was when she brought fake poop over to the house, placed it on my younger son’s bed and told him that he needed to clean up the “dog’s” poop. My son cried until realizing that after be forced to gather all the cleaning materials it was fake. She thought it was funny. Did I mention this sitter was over fifty years of age? In the same evening we found soda and tea stains on our new living room furniture (we’re not rich people so we try to take care of everything we have). In general things were a mess with her, so I sent an endearing  letter wrapped in sarcasm, indicating that future services were no longer required.

We once had a sitter that even dropped our baby on the wooden floor and crashed our car in the same week. The worst part was that our children were the ones to inform us of these incidents. Fired her over the phone.

Get this: On one occasion we thought we had found a great sitter. She came highly recommended (then again they all did), she was a great student and so forth. Initially I did notice that she was seemingly hooked on her phone but in any case I assumed all was under control. Soooo, one particular day we required her services during working hours as my wife was in school and I was at work. I arrived at home around 4:30pm, just before my wife, as I knew we were going to have a showing of the home around 6pm and things needed to be neat. We had been in the market trying to sell our home for over a year so any rare showing required the ability to impress potential buyers. I entered the home from the back kitchen door which gave access to the play area and I immediately felt sick. The play area resembled a fire storm, the music was blaring and there were pieces of tar-like black rubber fucking everywhere (and to this day I still don’t know where it came from), and then….oh my god….I saw my my youngest daughter! At the time she must have been only 1 or 2 years old, but you wouldn’t have been able to guess her age at that moment due to her appearance. She looked like a dwarfed version of the most fucked up Pocahontas you’ve ever seen. The makeup was caked on from the middle of her scalp down to her toes. Her whole upper torso sparkled like a freaking disco ball. The shit was so thickly applied to her skin that even wax figures would have drowned in envy. When I asked her older sister (about 6 years old at the time) where she found the makeup, the reply was simple ; “In Mama’s makeup kit”. I then noticed that my youngest daughter’s diaper was just about to touch the floor- with the waist stickies still at the waist! This poor kid had not been changed since we left the house and now bore the weight of 3 wet bathroom towels. The kitchen was a disaster- the other kids had streams of chocolate running down their bare chests and smeared it around every room. Apparently the sitter was so wrapped up in her phone that she did not notice the children entertaining themselves by making rain dances with the Hershey syrup bottle. The stove was covered in macaroni and cheese, concealing any semblance of the white factory stove we had already despised so immensely. Please note that I am well aware of what children are capable of and that shit happens. But not elephant shit. I mean, this was a Tyrannosaurus Rex diarrhea shit of a situation with people coming to view the house in less than an hour. Needless to say the sitter was fired without pay.

Then you have the dream babysitters, the ones that your kids love, go out of their way to keep a tidy home, engage the children and have overall respect for the situation. These are the types of sitters we can’t seem to find, and when we do find them they either don’t last due to other obligations or have limited availability.  Some sitters are so good that you don’t even want to bother them for smaller occasions out of fear that the children may wear them out too soon- you need to save this sitter for the overnight getaways. Come on parents, you know what I mean. And if you don’t have these troubles then let it be known I hate you right now.

Lastly, you have your parents or in-laws , both of which prefer to take only half of your children at a time. To some extent I can understand that giving care to four young children simultaneously might seem safer with a degree in zoology, but even tougher grandparents can’t stop children in their crusades to achieve anything but normalcy. In one of my previous blogs I mentioned an incident in which my youngest son was found hanging out of the 2nd floor window, totally naked with the exception of a cape and batman mask, and the family cat in one hand. Luckily my father in law was able to get a hold of him just in time but it once again proved that our kids will test anyone. But that stuff happens, right?

It’s not easy for anyone to take over your children, but it’d be marvelous to have an outsider that is willing to properly  babysit on a consistent basis. When the sitter refills your vodka bottles with water, or the 4 yr old boy plays with power tools while the sitter is texting, an open poop diaper is stuffed behind a book shelf, your kids are doped up on sugar or watching “skinemax” while the babysitter is eating her cereal with headphones on, then you’re better off taking the deal your parents offered and undertake an outing with only half of your kids – at least some relief was gifted.

I’ve grown tired just by reliving some of the horror through this blog, so perhaps we’ll have to use our precious get out of jail free pass we’ve saved for that awesome babysitter this weekend.

 

 

 

How comfortable have you become at home with your family members? I’m not referring to your parents or other relatives living outside of your home. Your spouse and children- how comfortable have you become with them? Or they with you?

When my wife and I first starting dating I would take frequent trips to the mirror to make sure I did not appear disheveled or to confirm I didn’t have a booger hanging out of my nose. I’d often have to reassure myself that I did not present an embarrassing image to the woman I was trying to impress.

Fast forward many years later, not to mention 4 kids later. I wake up in the mornings completely uninhibited in regards to my appearance and/or current state. As an example, I used to wait for the “morning wood” to calm down before I’d get out of bed, but now I don’t have time for that nonsense any more. These days  I get up and walk right into the kitchen whilst still pitching a tent, make myself a shake and in the meantime my children are bobbing and weaving to avoid getting nailed in the forehead every time they race by me with endeavors of achieving the last bowl of cereal.

Another prime example is when its time to go to the bathroom-  I don’t even bother to lock, or for that matter shut the door anymore as inevitability  ensures that at least one of my children will invade my space. They  will interrupt my sessions with the intent of conversing on the important matters of Star Wars or to inform me that we are out of milk. Often times I will be asked to critique their artwork or settle a various disputes among them. I used to beg for 5 damn minutes of privacy, but they’ve warn me down and I’m too damn tired. I’m just happy with full roll of toilet paper.

As far as my wife goes, we’ve also become complacent with impressing each other. We don’t hide our bodies from each other, we have discussions while  one of us is in the shower, and also converse over daily struggles during an occasional potty break when the bathroom actually happens to be quiet for a few minutes. We must reign from whatever peaceful space while we have the chance.

Making school lunches half naked is only part of our family’s forte- sacrifices are made and proper etiquette is often ignored, but at least the kids make to the school bus on time. Circumstances may still be hectic, like when my daughter loses her mind because her socks just don’t sit right in her sneaker, or when my son has a conniption when we force him to brush is teeth before the required departure time. But the job gets done. Our family system is constantly adapting and evolving as we become comfortable with each other. We have scenarios where one kid might be pooping while a sibling will be brushing his teeth right next to them. Funnier still is when they make the switch- the one who was on the potty is now brushing their teeth while the other is pooping. As long as they both wash their hands I can’t complain about the route of efficiency they decided to take. If a family member leaves a glass of water unmanned then go ahead hydrate yourself. No one cares. 

I love that we can be at ease with each other and not always fret the formalities of living together. It can also crack me up. When my son starts pretend pole dancing against the banister completely nude we can’t help but laugh. We’ve also loosened the reigns on the way they speak to each other. For example after my 14 year old son blew out the candles on his recent birthday, my youngest son of 8 years said to him “Hey what did ya wish for? A penis? One that’s bigger than mine?” Instead of reprimanding him we allowed ourselves to laugh after the initial shock wore off.

Being at ease with family members also helps everyone manage their day more effectively as a team and individually as well. The other day I had to rush my youngest daughter somewhere and I opted to go #1 before leaving, and my daughter decided to brush her teeth at same time, so there we stood, handling our business, back to back.