June 16, 2009
June 15, 2009
June 9, 2009
For 27+ years of my life I put a low value on the importance of clean hands. What I mean by that is, well... I didn't wash my hands very often. OH COME ON! Don't sit there in your self-righteous hand-washyness as if you really follow the full FDA instructions. Oh and I'm sure that you say your full ABC's while scrubbing the soap from your ultra-hygenic appendages. I'm not saying that I didn't wash at all. I mean I'm not completely disgusting. But my confession is that, since Grady has come along, I have become acutely aware of the dirtyness of my hands. Whereas it never used to bother me to go directly from cleaning the bathroom to eating a nice juicy sub sandwich, now I am incapable of doing so. I have this unavoidable urge to wash my hands before and after every meal and even after working in the yard. I don't know from whence it hath cometh, yea but it hath cometh. I am truly a changed man with clean manos. I have even begun to enjoy something that I have missed out on all of these years: the joy of scented hand soaps. Two of my favorites are Mrs. Meyers Lavender and Bath and Body Works's's' Dancing Waters!
June 2, 2009
For quite a while now I've wanted to post about something that is near and dear to my heart, Dadhood. My knowledge on this subject pales in comparison to many other dads that have more/older/nutsier kids than I do, so I'm calling this "Confessions of a Rookie Dad". (btw I get so confused with quotational rules... period before or after the quote?) I don't claim to know a whole lot, but I figured that, before our next little one arrives and I'm up for promotion to the intermediate dad level, I should jot down a few things I've learned.
Confession #1 - I am not Mom
This may appear at first glance to be an obvious statement. That's due, in part, to the fact that it is. But for me the reality of this hit quickly after Grady came along. There is some glaring evidence which proves that I am indeed NOT mom:
I did not endure pregnancy and childbirth. - CHECK
I cannot produce milk. - CHECK
I absolutely do not have a motherly instinct. - i.e. Tossing Grady in the air while lifting him from his chair after eating - CHECK
I do not have a motherly touch. - i.e. diaper changes are strictly function over form... just remove most of the poop and slap a new one on while challenging myself to use the fewest wipes possible. None of this pamper the booty stuff - CHECK
I am not the preferred consoler - Tears instantly turn Grady into a Mama's boy - CHECK
There are so many other things I am not, but that's not to say that I am nothing. I mean come on, I'm the dad for pete's sake! Oh yeah, hooray for dads!!! But definitively, I must confess, as the evidence suggests, that I am NOT mom! And thank God for making moms the way they are. Grady has a rockin mama who has been perfectly fashioned for the job! In fact, knowing this only makes her that much more hotter! Who knows? Maybe there's some direct correlation between my extreme attraction to her "mom-ness" and her present precipitous pregnant state. Wise guys keep asking me if I know how this baby thing works. Hardy har har. Listen here.
Not the Mama!