First Post

I’m feeling a lot of pressure here.  I mean, first blog post, I want to hit it out of the park.  But what the hell does that mean here in blog land?  

Why am I doing this?  My daughter just (september) started kindergarten.  The time to do this blog would have been right after she was born, right?  I guess I haven’t had the time until now.  Over the years people have told me to start a blog, so here goes.  Still with me?  

I am a full time dad.  I hate the term Stay-At-Home Dad.  I hate the acronym SAHD.  When people ask me what I do for a living, I usually answer “laundry.”  Which there is a load waiting to go into the dryer as I’m typing this, and another waiting to go into the washer.  Thrilling, I know.  But let me tell you, presoaking with Oxy-Clean really does work on almost any stain.  Thank you Billy What’s-His-Name-Who-Died-Not-Too-Long-Ago.  I used to know things.  My brain used to work.  Now, just imagine a row of rusty filing cabinets, two inches of dust on them, spider webs in the corner.  There’s an eighty year old janitor slumped against a chair taking hits off a fifth of Black Pony scotch.  That’s my brain trying to put a sentence together, so I might have bitten off more than I can chew here.  

I loved being a full time dad.  I used to have dreams of fame and fortune, now I dream about building a puppet theater for my daughter.  That’s not to say it hasn’t been easy, but the most credit goes to Jane (wifey).  The whole reason have been able to spend all day every day for the first three years and most of the days until now have been because I am married to the hardest working person I have ever met.  There is nothing I regret (aside from the ten thousand parenting mistakes I made while doing it, but that’s more for my daughter’s future therapist than for me) about being the mom.  

Let’s face it, that’s what I am.  My wife and I have switched rolls on every level.  She is the bread winner.  She is the strong one.  She is tough as nails, I am soft as eggs.  I’m the one who need to talk about feelings and hug, she is the one who just wants to solve the problem and move on.  But DO NOT call me “Mister Mom.”  how fucking lame is that  that people still love to bring up that title from a fair movie made twenty years ago.  Really?  Did you just really call me “mr. mom?”  Douche.

Although that’s not the worst people have said to me upon learning that I am a full time dad.  “Is she ill?”  that was a good one.  I think my most memorable response heard from a human was, “Really?  Is she retarded?”  I’m not kidding, some dude said that to me outside of Nordstrom’s.  Who says that to someone?  Right away?  I mean, maybe sit down, have some coffee with me, get to know me, talk to my kid maybe, but who just jumps right from “Full time dad”  to “retarded”?   By the way, just got Samantha’s first report card.  All fours (one through four, four being the highest), except for one three.  In the area of “Resolves Conflict Appropriately” which is really hilarious, considering I would score about a negative fifty on that.  So no, asshole from outside of Nordstrom’s.  She’s doing just fine.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have fabric softener to add.