False Advertising

I have a growing problem. Fortunately I don’t need Viagara to help it.

I also have an on-going growing problem. But I don’t take Avodart for it.

It’s funny how much advertising is directed at men these days. And it is interesting how creative advertisers have become in my lifetime.

Thirty years ago when a woman was considering bra options the only advertising on TV was a bra on a mannequin. Now they show them on hot babes. Yes sir they do. And this comment will probably get me in trouble with the Princess, but what else is new. I am a man and I have to routinely insert my foot in my mouth. At least I am being honest, the women are hot.

As for the other female necessities, they still advertise them, too. They are a little more creative about it, but men immediately start talking about something else when these ads come on the TV during the obligatory chick show that we now willingly watch because some hot TV hostess ran a segment with a less than hot doctor whose analysis suggested men and women would get along better if men were more understanding of the female mentality.

So we watch Desperate Housewives. Really eager dudes will even watch the Lifetime Channel and their myriad of real life tear jerking dramas with actresses who used to be hot and had a hot career 20 plus years ago.

Honestly, do they think we want to know about how active a woman can still be one week out of the month if they use their product? No. Quite frankly I have observed women during these ads and they don’t seem too interested either.

Then there are all of the new advertisements for men’s ailments. If your manhood is experiencing difficulty and is currently less than useful, there are at least three different pills that can help it rise to the occasion. If the same manhood is requiring too much use in the powder room during that beer infested football game, there is a pill to help with that too. Funny they are both “growing problems” and one gets you going, one stops you from going.

My problem is a little different. I currently belong to a segment that is at least 200,000 strong, if you count Sahds the way the US Census does. Meaning stay at home dads who don’t earn anything. Since I earn about half a buck a day writing, I no longer count. However, if you count dads who earn a little out of the house, then it rises to an estimated 2 million and I count. If you also count single dads who do work, then we are into another 5 million plus. None of the ads on tv caters to us when it comes to kids.

Back to school? Those ads have moms. Raising the kids. Ditto. Sick kids? Yep. You get the picture.

None of the ads considers that it could be the dad doing it. Whatever happened to equality? Now I know that they are just advertising to the majority, but if we are going to have equality then we need to have it in at least a few ads. I am not the only dad who complains about this. On the dad websites, they talk about this all the time.

Well I don’t work for an ad agency, but I did sell advertising for a year. And because I did, I accept that I am not going to change this. Why? Because national advertising is sold on a cost per point, or impression. And media buyers aren’t impressed with our numbers.

So even though we are growing, we won’t see a change in this anytime soon. And they don’t have a pill to fix it. However, you can help me with my other growing problem.

I need to increase my readership. I always email and Twitter and Facebook when I publish something new because Examiner.com tells me I should. It does work, but the only true way to get it growing more is if you, my reader, forward this or one of my other pieces on. I hear from many of you that you find these funny, so if you do, please forward to some of your friends. If they like it, they can ask to be included in my email listing.

Help me with my “growing problem” so I can fund my pill problem. Yep, I have to take cholesterol pills and the Purple Pill. Apparently they can damage my liver more than the yellow stuff carried by Clydesdales and sold by talking frogs who are tail gate tested and tail gate approved already have. But that’s another story.

Reflections

Connecting with old friends is a lot easier today than it used to be. We have Facebook, Linkedin and Twitter to thank for that.

Seeing pictures of old friends from 30 years ago has me doing a lot of reflecting. We used to call that a mid-life crisis followed by a girlfriend and a Porsche. Since the Princess won't allow me either of those, I am content to simply reflect.

The other day I told her about reconnecting with a guy I first met in the fourth grade. I mentioned that the last time I recalled seeing him was when we both skipped school and he schooled me in a game of darts in his basement.

Being the overachiever that we have all come to love, she immediately asked me how I became such a bad guy and how do we prevent Carson from the sins of the father. Naturally I was more interested in reminiscing about the dart game.

I didn't answer her. Partially because I didn't think it warranted an immediate answer (read: I disagreed on my badness)and I needed to think.

As a digression ladies, men really do need time to think about their answers. When we open our mouths we get in trouble. Thinking like a lawyer for a few minutes serves us well, even if it means we aren't as "sharing emotionally" as you would prefer.

As I said in my last blog, we get what we need. Some folks would say we only get what we can handle.

I believe that talking with your kid often and early can prevent a lot of ills. I just read (albeit in a Baldacci novel) that children form most of their psychological makeup by age 6. I don't know if that is true, and I don't care. What I do care about is happiness, love and kindness.

The old saying, people don't care how much you know until they know how much you care, applies in my world. And I want Carson to know how much I care.

As he grows up, I focus on keeping him safe physically and emotionally. And I teach him how to be considerate and think for himself. I don't want him to be an actor, a ballplayer, a lawyer or anything. I want him to find his own way.

When I was allowed to read Playboy (yes, some of us do like the articles), there used to be an advertisement on the back that I related to. It was a picture of a sax player with an open instrument case for donations. The caption read, "Do what you love. The rest comes."

As I reflected yesterday, I wonder how many of my classmates are doing what they love. Probably very few. Most people get caught up with money, debt, mortgages etc.

Of course, money makes the world go round and your kids do need financial/physical security. However, most people I have met always want their kids to be happy. They don't care whether they become financially rich, they want them to be emotionally rich.

This is in my opinion, a good departure from the past.

When I was recruiting, I noted how today's graduates from accounting schools have a more rounded background. I was in the Honors Business Program at UT. It was only offered to about a hundred or so students of over 10,000. When I met some of the kids in the program today, I found them to be smarter than we were. They also volunteered more. Had a more fuller life. Drinking and drugs may be a small part of their life, but not the focus.

The other thing I noted was they don't want to work the long hours of their parent's generation. Not because they weren't overachievers. Rather they had witnessed divorce, lost jobs and a home with parents working more than they were home. No longer did working massive hours mean success.

Now I happen to believe that the correct ground is somewhere in the middle. But if a person hedges toward time with their child instead of the corner office, how can you disagree with that?

So that is how I answer the question. Fill him with ideas, love and hope. Let the rest come.

Whatever will happen for Carson, only God and time knows. But that's Carson's story.

You can't always get what you want

I did not attend my 30th high school reunion. Not because I didn't want to. The Princess had to work that weekend and finding a sitter for Carson on an overnight is not that easy, or cheap.

I just looked at some photos from the event and I see that our valedictorian attended. Along with 45 others out of about 350 or so. Not the greatest attendance, but not bad either.

It has only been recently that my parents attend their reunions and those are from over 50 years ago, so our class has time.

I wonder out of all those people, how many ended up where they wanted to or at least where they thought they would.

When I was a senior, I took a psych class where the teacher asked us to fill out an index card with our goals and he would mail them 5, perhaps more, years later. I was surprised that mine found me, since we had moved away only a year after that. For the five year mark, I was surprisingly on target.

Clearly from my blogs, I am not on the track anymore.

The funny thing is, most people who are financially successful didn't set out to be. I have a friend who was a lawyer and now has a 25 year success story as a recruiter. My wife who does incredibly well wanted to be a mom.

I guess the one thing I always wanted was to be happily married. It only took me three times to get that right.

A current song by those of you who listen to the radio is the Miley Cyrus song, "The Climb." Regardless of what you think about her or the song, the lyrics are really true, the climb is what life is all about. It isn't whether you get there or how well off you are when you do.

I have known some very wealthy people and they aren't always very happy. I know that having money helps eliminate one issue, but it can and does create others.

I think that too many people today get so focused on making money, they forget to enjoy the climb. And those that do make a lot of money, in most cases, spend way too much time on the job instead of enjoying the people around them. And that is why there are so many divorces: not focusing on each other. Failing to remember why you said "I do."

The same goes for kids. People quit remembering why they said "I do" to wanting a kid and fail to give them the one thing they need, "time." It is truly the one thing that money can't buy. And it is a great equalizer in the end. Because when you spend so much effort toward one, you lose sight of the other.

Don't get me wrong. I wish I had a ton of money (the Princess wishes that I did too). But all I ever really wanted, I now have. The Princess and Carson.

And thus, you get what you need.

R-Rated

When we lived in St. Croix, we lived in the Hess Camp Compound. They had a club with pool and ping pong tables and tennis courts. Once a month they showed first run movies.

In 1970, they were showing the new R-rated Sam Peckinpah movie, "The Ballad of Cable Hogue." It was admittedly a controversial departure from Disney and Davey Crocket. Many of the kids were not allowed by their parents to go in and see it.

We were. Obviously, or I wouldn't write about it.

The movie was a western that took place towards the end of the wild west, as there was an automobile in it, which was ironically Cable's (Jason Robards) undoing (it ran over him). The movie had very little gunslinging, a little cursing and no skin was shown. It did have the obligatory saloon "gals" and poker. Today it wouldn't rate a PG-13 (I looked up the scale) and today's pre-teen boys wouldn't watch it even if it was R. Transformers PG-13 delivers better babes and blood.

The Princess wasn't allowed to see an R movie until she was in college.

Carson has seen a couple. (However, the Princess has decided he won’t be seeing any more anytime soon, which means I won’t either; unless, I watch them after 9 am chores completion and before she comes home. After she reads this, my chores list will undoubtedly be increasing.)

His favorite is (was) "40 Year Old Virgin" uncut and unrated. It would have been rated an X back in my day. Does this make us bad parents? I don't think so. The Princess might.

This country is so obsessed with sex and its entire spectrum. We have the horrified prudes and "the eh so what." I fall towards the latter, as most of you knew, or just figured out. So does most of Europe. And Asia. And so forth.

My brother and I watched Cable Hogue and neither of us are gun slinging, whore-loving deviants. Although, the Princess does tend to take exception to my rather liberal use of four letter words. I might point out that I didn’t learn them in movies.

The interesting thing about today's sex scenes in films, which the Princess has decided Carson shouldn't see, yet laughs at when he does, is he isn't interested in them. Every time that portion of the movie comes on, he is never paying attention. It is the other parts that he finds funny, and doesn't understand either. His favorite scene is when the boys get together to play poker (that's my boy) and talk about the size of various women's "poopahs," as Carson likes to refer to them.

He still believes that babies are placed in a mommy's tummy through her head, so we are not too concerned about him having sex anytime soon. Or ending up a deviant.

Two nights ago, while the Princess was away, Carson and I cheated on the movies. We watched Notting Hill. Yep, a chick flick. The cheating was that we watched a chick flick. It is rated PG-13 for sexual content and brief strong language. If you count the fact that Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts are naked in bed (no nudity shown), then I guess that counts. As for language it is British cursing mostly about bugger off and wanker.

In the movie, Julia is shown pregnant in the last scene. For the first time Carson asked why? Gratefully, not how. Although if he had been interested he might have figured it out from 40 Year Old Virgin’s sister film Knocked Up. Which we started to watch with him, and quickly decided not to, thus ending his run on Judd Apatow films.

Quite frankly, we get more concerned when he watches The Incredibles, a cartoon. Because there is violence in it (you didn't think it had a sex scene did you?). But, since it is rated PG acceptable for him, we let him watch it, and it doesn't seem to give him nightmares.

As I reflect, if movies do influence young children, I suppose we may have to worry about Carson playing strip poker dressed as Mr. Incredible.

We don't allow any movies with extreme PG-13 violence, because those do scare him, and they scare the Princess. So I have to watch them by myself. Love that blood and violence, especially when combined with poker, a la Sopranos.

Don't worry, I don't own a gun.

And yeah, there is a strange twist. The X rated/unrated movies, we watch(ed) as a family. The R-rated gratuitous violence flicks, I have to watch by myself. Quite the opposite of when I was younger.

But that’s, ahem, another story....

Music to My Ears

It's funny what we remember.

I just recently reconnected with an old friend from the 4th grade. Thanks to Facebook. I mentioned that he was the first person I met in my new school. We had just moved to NJ from St. Croix. It was fairly cold, but no snow or rain that day. We were living in a Holiday Inn while our house was being built. So we didn't ride the bus yet and we were too far away to walk. But my Mom made me wear my snow boots! I complained, but was "overruled." I arrived to class late and was taking off my boots and a kid nicknamed Tweety leaned over and whispered, "Do you play kickball?" I had no idea what that was, but I replied yes anyway and joined the group for my first game during lunch. Today he goes by the name, "Tweed," and he is a kickball/PE teacher to autistic kids. And he plays in a band.

Music has always been important to me. One of my earliest memories of living in Peru (before St. Croix), was of my parents playing Guantanamera on the record player. To this day, I love to hear that song. As many of you know, it is always a request in any Gringo Mexican restaurant. Apparently we only know that song, Feliz Navidad and La Cucaracha.

Carson loves that song. He and the Princess always sing, One Ton Tomato, da da da, One Ton Tomato.

Another memory I have is my Mom driving us around St. Croix playing the radio and we would always hear Simon and Garfunkel playing one of their hits from The Graduate.

It's funny, I don't remember anything my dad listened to when we were young. We always complained about country, so he put on news radio.

I like all genre's, except most rap I can do without. And Carson really is learning to appreciate all kinds as well. The Princess used to only listen to country. I may have lived in Texas and Louisiana for 30 years, but the only country I ever heard came from Urban Cowboy. My Dad used to love country, even listened to it in New Jersey. Today you can't find a country station in Connecticut. Which I find amazing considering how popular it is overall. Carrie Underwood, Taylor Swift, Brad Paisley and others are burning up the charts.

So Carson loves country. And he loves music that I like. Pink Floyd was one of his first favorites since he could giggle. The sound of the chimes from Time and the cash register from Money always made him laugh. Once he began talking, he always asked for those. In addition, he loves the Eagles, Pink, the American Idols (which was his first concert), and of course, Bruce. One day I will introduce him to Yes and Genesis. He already knows all about the Pussy Cat Dolls. Don't Cha. When I was his age I liked Josie and the Pussycats. I have to admit, I like his choice a little better. Don't you?

One day, he will pass on to his kids a love of music. I am sure One ton tomato, the chiming bells and the Boss will be in the mix. And some music that his generation creates that we aren't ready for.

I doubt he will pass on a gift of playing an instrument. I tried the guitar, but the 70 Percenter that I am, just hated to practice. So air guitar and banging on bongos like a chimpanzee will have to do. Funny, I only found out 3 months ago my Dad played drums in a band long ago. But that's another story.

Gig 'em

Before I started writing this blog and my column for Examiner.com, I really could be done with my “chores” by 9 am and opening the first beer of the day. Not that I ever have, I just liked knowing that I could. Sort of like the 2nd amendment guys who like to know they can own lots of guns. Come to think of it, they do.

Well, I don’t pop the brew at 9. I am too old. My knees pop more than the cans do. And my hands have arthritis, so I need a cheater to really open a lot of cans. And then I just have to go to the can, so I am finding it better to just lay off till 5 pm.

Besides now I have a 9 to 5 job. Yep. It takes me all day to write my column and blog. On a good day, I make $2 for the column and zip for the blog. On a bad day, I make 50C for the column. Still zip for the blog.

Before I stayed home, I made a lot more than the average worker in the US. Even in a bad year. The Princess is probably scratching her head about that and pulling out my old W-2’s. Okay, it has been awhile since I had a good year.

I never thought I would end up doing this. Except for the occasional poem and sweet card (and one rant to our local representatives), I haven’t really written a whole lot. I am sure our congressman is grateful for that. In fact, he probably celebrated we moved out of his district.

Anyway, my teachers in High School wanted me to do this. They thought I would be good at it and I would enjoy it. Aside from getting high (it was the 70’s), I figured that was a dead end route that didn’t pay anything. Turns out we were both right.

I do love it. And it doesn’t pay anything. Except an occasional reply from one of you that you enjoyed that day’s blog. And that gives me more satisfaction than I ever imagined.
Plus, I can no longer be included in the US Census as a Sahd, because I have a paying gig. That ought to make my Dad happy. Perhaps not my father-in law.

But as the Texas A&M Aggies say, Gig ‘em if they can’t take a joke.

Don’t get excited Aggies, I still don’t like you on Thanksgiving Day. And Carson can still go anywhere but there and Oklahoma. Some things never change. But that’s another story.

Legacy Pt. 2

A great friend of mine wrote me last week how he loves my blog, but wished I cared more about trees. I wrote back, I am an environmentalist, and have been since I was very young living in New Jersey.

While I was in elementary school, they ran a contest about recycling. I received a blue ribbon for my submission. Not because I could draw, you know I can’t, rather I could rhyme. “Dig this scene, help keep Bridgewater clean.” I used a real canvas, stencils (can’t write), a ruler (truly can’t draw) and paint. I painted a man only slightly more refined than a stick figure, taking his recyclable items to the center. I never got it back, because they kept the best ones. So I can’t prove it to you. Maybe my Mom can find the blue ribbon. This isn’t to brag. Rather to make a point.

Our grandfathers drilled for oil, created plastics, cars, electric generation plants, warships, rockets, etc. Our dads improved them.

The first generation didn’t know that plastics could be carcinogenic. Neither did our dads. Just like they didn’t know that cigarettes kill.

Our generation has no excuse.

Yes, I smoked. Quit. Started again. Quit again. Started again. Quit for good. I am not a hypocrite. I knew smoking was bad.

Today, we all know that all of the things our grandparents created were awesome inventions, with one serious drawback. They are serious polluters.

I didn’t vote for Gore. I only recently saw his movie “An Inconvenient Truth.” When he won the Oscar for it, I just figured it was an award given to a Democrat by Democrats.

I am not anti-business. In fact I believe in business. Responsible business.

As you know, I write for Examiner.com. They don’t editorialize our submissions, which is why my grammar and punctuation stinks. And it is why some articles get through that, in my opinion, shouldn’t. Yesterday, an older writer submitted that a physicist had predicted the cold snap in the mid-west three months ago. In fact, he nailed it within a couple of days. The prediction was based on sun activity. He further wrote that the weather patterns are not affected by greenhouse gasses or anything Man has done in the past or is doing now. He blamed Gore and others for trying to pass legislation not to protect us, rather only to create more business for “green” companies. That was the first time I ever read a negative article about Gore because he was pro-business. Bush beat him on the idea he wasn’t. Go figure.

Some people I have spoken to don’t believe Gore either. And, they say, even if he is right, they won’t be here when all of these bad things happen.

What kind of legacy is that? Don’t Carson’s grandkids deserve clean air? Do we really want a world like we see in Wall.E filled with trash?

Even if Gore is wrong and the old man is right, creating jobs isn’t such a bad thing. And if he is right? I hope that our generation does enough to ensure our children’s future. Like recycling paper, or going paperless when possible.

I recycle everything I can. I get sick about it when I don’t. So does the Princess. And we are teaching Carson. Why? Because we know better.

All the money in Bill Gates’ bank account won’t help Carson with his future, if we leave the world worse than we were given it.

I do wish I had all that money, though. But that’s another story.

Legacy

Yesterday, I wrote about the hanging myself out to dry over hanging pictures with the Princess. An old friend of mine wrote me that he wondered “What was that all about? You left out some details and it was probably a good thing.”

It made me think about arguments she and I have had and then I got to thinking about the world and all of the arguments between religions, conservatives/liberals and countries.
Some of the arguments she and I have had were unfortunately in front of Carson. He is 4 ½ now and has been speaking for over two years. A couple of years ago he witnessed one of our “debates” which became heated and he moderated it by stepping in front of us and said “Daddy don’t talk to mommy, talk to me.” Oh that it were that simple, right?

But today I was thinking, maybe it is. The debates and fights people, countries and factions have are ridiculous when you break them down. For instance, liberals hate the death penalty and guns, but believe in abortion rights. Conservatives hate abortions, but love guns and the death penalty. In the end, nobody who is relatively sane really wants to kill anyone or anything. They just want the right to do it. And if you look at religion in the Middle East, there is much commonality if you look for it.

Yesterday the Princess and I got into it, when all we really wanted to do was hang pictures. Instead of handling it from a point of commonality, we handled it poorly. She will say it was all me, but you can’t argue with yourself. Perhaps if more people looked for commonality first, they wouldn’t argue. Maybe they’d stay married. Countries would stop fighting.

What does this have to do with Carson? I don’t want him to fight over stupid things. I need to teach him to fight for what’s important. Preferably he will learn when to fight, when to walk away and find the wisdom and strength to know the difference.

I grew up with a family that argued a lot over things that in the end really don’t matter. I love them and I am pretty sure they love me. But that is one family trait I want to stop with me and not pass on to Carson.

Will it happen? Knowing me….nah. But I hope. If I do, will it change the world? Probably not. But I hope that Carson does something good in the world and leaves a lasting legacy. Even if all that means is that he is a better Dad and husband than I am. But I really hope he and all of his generation change the world. And I have all the arguments as to why they will. But that’s another story.

Hung

Hung is an interesting word. What was the first thing that came to your mind?

For some of you men out there, perhaps it is the word you use to describe your manhood to your buddies, but failing to deliver in reality to your partner.

For you less vain, perhaps you think of a jury equally failing to deliver. Or a man swinging from a rope, when the jury did deliver.

For you fun loving drinkers, perhaps the proverbial, “Man, I am hung-over” came to mind.

As for me, I am thinking about the pictures still remaining to be hung on the walls. One of those chores I wrote about in a previous column.

In this case, I hung myself last night when I told the Princess her ideas about hanging the pictures were all wrong. As I have said before, I am still a man; I just operate in a woman’s world.

I am not sure why I can’t just keep my mouth shut. It would after all be far more expedient. Women, when they get together to discuss hanging things, or anything for that matter, share their ideas and feelings. And they nod in approval when ideas are submitted, then share their opposing ideas. In doing so, they rarely create an argument. Although, they do sometimes tell their male partners later how wacked their friend’s ideas really were.

Guys on the other hand, we just can’t help ourselves. Telling a friend how stupid they are and how smart we are is just part of the process. Do we piss each other off? Of course. We grew up doing it from the time we were young. But then we go out and get “pissed,” as the British love to say, with the same buddies at the bar. We may hold a grudge for awhile, but a few brews solve the problem. Because after the drinks it is either, “I love you man,” or “I am gonna kick your butt,” either way problem solved.

This same strategy carries over with guys vs. dolls. We are programmed to prove our worthiness to our partner. Shania Twain’s song “That Don’t Impress Me Much,” is not that far off. We do want to impress you being “an original regular know it all.” Particularly, if we don’t have “a car” or look like “Brad Pitt.”

When you ladies ask our opinion, we do share it with you, and we expect you to share our point of view. And if you don’t, we can point out how brilliant we are and, conversely, how less brilliant you are. Those more skilled in arguing can point it out without actually saying it.

Which brings me back to hung. Yep, last night I hung myself. Woke up dreaming about being “hung” out to pasture by the Princess, who found someone else to share with. Realizing the errors of my ways cost me a backrub this morning. And it cost me a chance to prove how “hung” I was last night, instead hanging out with my friends, the couch pillows. One of these days I guess I should assign them names, so I can share my brilliance with them. Better yet, I may just learn to stop sharing and start caring. But that’s another story.

Daycare shopping- Connecticut

By the time we arrived in our new home state, we were sold on putting Carson back into daycare. Three days of driving a car loaded with the Princess’ clothes and Carson asking “why” for 1600 miles will do that to you. Fortunately, we had just purchased a new car with a TV and headphones, so at least he was receiving some education, if you call Grease education. As you know from my previous blog on TV vs. Daycare, I do. And the Princess doesn’t.

So upon arriving I quickly scoured the area in Stamford and came up with a great option. Which is to say, the Princess asked around at the office and made a list for me to call. As you now know, the Princess likes lists. And I like to sleep in bed instead of the couch.

The office has a Bright Horizons daycare center on site so we looked at it very closely since it met the Princess criteria of convenience. And as it so happened, we looked at two other Bright Horizons centers.

The center at the office was full at the time so we chose the center at Long Ridge. We liked the center and the teachers we met. I liked the playground. As you know from previous posts, this is important to Carson (and me).

Well it worked out because Carson is thriving. He is already learning to read, which is 2 years sooner than I did. And he can count to a hundred. Like his dad, he can’t draw, but he tries. And he has learned to sing and dance with his teachers.

More importantly, he has many girlfriends, thus proving my theory that TV also works, since he learned that secret from Grease. Fortunately, none of them wear leather and spandex. But that’s another story.

Chef Sahd

I am a great cook. If you count grilling and microwaving. If you don’t, then I am only a slightly better option than McDonald’s.

If you asked Carson, McDonald’s is better. Burger King is best. Because they have better playgrounds in Stamford (see I taught the kid well when it comes to playgrounds).

Why am I not a great cook? Well, as you know, I am not an ambitious man. Okay, I am a Seventy Percenter. What that means is, I am the lord of the grill and chill. Not so good with much else. I mean I can cook veggies. Steamed, boiled or sautéed (and of course microwaved). I do baked potatoes (who can’t). And I do brownies (strictly legal ones). And that is about it, unless you count store bought cakes and ice cream. Which Carson does. The Princess doesn’t.

Not because the Princess isn’t appreciative. It is just that she isn’t a Seventy Percenter. She is the 100 Percenter (yep, I am even too lazy to type “hundred”). She is an awesome cook and can do everything better in the kitchen.

Except the chill. She is a little too wound up for that. As you would expect a 100 Percenter to be. I have the art of chilling down to a science. All those years of “thirst” groomed me to be a 100 Percenter in that category.

So if you want to know about cooking in kitchen, rely on the food network. If you want to know about scotch, beer and fine wine, ask me. I am “loaded” with experience. But that’s another story.

Perfect Princess, Imperfect Me

It has taken me awhile to strike up the courage to write this one, because I will never live it down once I do. At least that is what I have told myself. The real truth may be that no man really wants to admit he is wrong. If you want to learn more about this particular “truth” read Men are from Mars Women are from Venus.

The world has changed a lot since I was born. Even though there are only officially 160,000 stay at home dads, there are millions more single dads. A lot of the dads who work from home and watch the kids while their wife goes into the office are not included in the sahd numbers. So in fact there are many more than you think.

Furthermore, it is now the norm that the household has two earners. We do, if you count the fifty cents I earn a day writing for this blog and the Examiners.com webpage. Yet I am not sure that we are better off (I guess you wouldn’t either with 50 cents). Fifteen years ago, Money magazine ran an article comparing a couple who were both lawyers to one of the lawyer’s parents. Her parents only had dad working as a principal in an elementary school. The article said that the 2 earners with well over $200k in earnings actually were worse off financially, than her parents had been due to taxes and general cost of living.

What does this have to do with this blog? Not sure, but it came to mind. Are we better off if I worked, or not? I would have to say we would be, but my imperfect resume lends itself to recruiting, and right now those jobs are scarce, so I am patiently looking for the right opportunity.

What is it like being married to perfection? Difficult. Leads me to drink. But she doesn’t drink and remembers everything the next day, so I can’t drink too much. And that just leaves me thirsty.

Okay, not true about the thirsty part. Those of you, who know me, know I am rarely thirsty.

The Princess was a star in high school with cheerleading and all that rah rah stuff. She was a bigger star at Trinity University, including homecoming queen, big wig in her sorority and the Pan-Hellenic which oversees all of the sororities. When she graduated she made manager at Arthur Andersen in 3 ½ years when the norm was 5 to 6 years. I didn’t quite do as well in any of the aforementioned categories.

I was content to get an A. The Princess had to get an A plus to be happy. Hell, even her brother, who is now a surgeon, was happy with just an A.

But 90 percent is not the grade for the Princess. Which is why she is so successful and I can make fifty cents a day and we can still get by. The problem in all of this, or I prefer the word “issue,” is that I am never right.

I am a man. I like to be right. Read Men are from Mars….

How imperfect am I? Well, when Carson was first born the Princess wanted me to keep track of the times of all his feedings and how much he consumed. Why you ask? Well that is what I asked too. If you have read any of my other blogs, you know that was the wrong question. So after a night on the couch, I decided to keep track.

I can’t speak for other wives, even though I have had two others, but my Princess likes to keep track of things. I can’t even keep track of where I am going with this blog. She makes a lot of lists. I am not fond of lists. If I go to the store and pick up 70% of what I was supposed to I think that is okay. I guess that is why the perfect Princess calls me a Seventy Percenter. But that’s another story

Daycare Shopping-Houston

I am used to interviewing. Both for candidates for job openings I am looking to fill and for jobs I was looking at for myself. If you bothered to look at my resume, and most employers won’t, you would know that I am used to it. But I am not used to interviewing baby sitters and daycare centers.

And although I am a man living in a woman’s world (aren’t we all?), I am not happy to just go shopping. Now I know that finding the right daycare is important, but it still isn’t easy or comfortable for me. Especially because no matter how thorough I am, I am not as thorough as the Princess. It doesn’t matter what the subject is, if it is important to the Princess, she will be thorough. Even though I do most of the home chores and errands, it isn’t as thorough as necessary.

When I first began looking for daycares, I looked for ones close to us. Naturally this makes sense, especially in Houston which is just about as big as the entire state of Connecticut. When I showed the Princess my impressive list of daycare centers within a few miles, she asked me had I researched their teaching methods. No.

After I researched their methods, I re-presented my prospective list. She asked me if I had reviewed their credentials. No.

After I researched their credentials, I resubmitted my list. She asked if I had researched their teachers. No.

After further reconsideration, I resubmitted my list. She asked if I had determined if they were certified by state and federal agencies. No.

After satisfactorily completing my revised list, I placed it on her vanity in the morning hoping to avoid any more consideration of all the things I hadn’t considered. However, she asked me if I had considered if it was convenient for her to get to these schools for teacher meetings and child activities. No.

So after much further consideration, I narrowed it down to the one of the Montessori schools, Children’s Courtyard and Crème de la Crème.

I always assumed you just picked a school and registered your child. No. You have to interview them. And as I found out on my first visit, they interview you.

I first chose to go to the Montessori school. We had heard much about their philosophy which you can find out at www.montessori.edu if you have questions. Many of Laura’s coworkers and friends had tried one. Some loved it and some hated it. The biggest complaint about them was they were not organized and they let their students do whatever they wanted. Being a renegade and avid follower of my newfound TV philosophy (refer to TV vs. Daycare blog), this sounded good to me. Well the class we sat in on was anything but. Those were the most well behaved 3 year olds I had ever seen. If Carson acted like that for an hour and I acted like it occasionally, the Princess would be smiling indeed.
Unfortunately, that was not the end of the process because I was sold! Turns out that Carson did okay in the interview, but I must have pissed the Administrator off because she certainly wasn’t kind to me. Now I know you all are thinking, “Yep he certainly can do that.” And lord knows I have pissed a few of you off. Anyway, after that I realized I needed to wear a nicer shirt and pair of pants instead of ratty shorts. And I wisely took the Princess with me after that. Partly because she dresses better, she interviews better, and just generally presents us better. But mainly because I had another interview that night with the Princess to review my interview and I realized I had asked only three of the 30 or so right questions. Like I said before, I don’t need to be taught three times.

We loved Crème de la Crème (www.cremedelacreme.com). Carson’s cousins attended their school in Dallas and it is phenomenal. It is school in Disney Land all the time. They have fabulous facilities and teachers. They were the most expensive option and not everyone can afford them. And they were the most convenient to the Princess’s office. This was very important, even though it was 20 miles and one hour out of my way. Because I like making the Princess happy. And that keeps me off the couch. However, they were booked a year in advance. Another one of those learning experiences for a SAHD. If you want your kid in the right schools, you need to book early. Like before they are born.

After a few more visits, with at least what seemed like 10, but was probably like five schools, the Princess and I agreed to go with the Children’s Courtyard (www.childrenscourtyard.com). Okay, I agreed to go with the Princess who had decided to go with Children’s Courtyard. I had seen them in one of my other school drivebys. What immediately attracted me to them was they had an awesome playground that I wanted to swing at…with Carson. What attracted the Princess was their facilities, which in my opinion included the playground, and their administrators and teachers. They have a philosophy that children learn through playing that is constructively focused by their teachers.

Carson’s first teacher was Miss Sue. She changed Carson’s life and diapers. And she changed mine. Just my life, I don’t wear diapers, for now. But that’s another story.

OUCH!

I just hung up with Carson’s pediatrician. I scheduled his next physical and that entails ouch for him followed by reward and ouch for our pocketbook.

Every parent reading this may not remember the last shot they received or the last one they subjected their child to. But most remember the kid’s first.

When Carson was a little over a week old, I took both him and the Princess into see the OBGYN for their respective follow up visits. I don’t remember much about her visit. But I sure as hell remember his.

It was Circ day. And I don’t mean Ringling Bros. There is nothing worse for a man to see his or his son’s jewels pricked with a needle. Perhaps that is where the vulgar reference to our manhood came from for all I know. What I do know is I had to hold him down while the Princess was administered to in the other room. There was nothing worse than watching my one week old trustingly look at me with playful eyes knowing what was about to happen.

At first he had no reaction to the anesthetic poke until he felt the medicine two seconds later. Talk about a future in acting. Those trusting eyes quickly went to disbelief to outright hurt. He went through the seven stages of grief in 5 seconds. Fortunately he doesn’t remember anything. I can’t forget it.

So now after 4 years of pricks, “boo boo dandaids,” and going out for pizza after a big cry, we arrive at the crossroads. We believe in immunization. Just like a hunter believes in his second amendment rights. Shoot ‘em for God sake. But remember it comes at a price.

Trust. Trust of doctors. Actually nurses because doctors wimp out and force the nurse to deliver the goods. Trust of daddy. Because I take him for those visits.

The other price is pizza. I now have to promise that we will go out for a treat after the dirty deed. So last month I brought up the subject of another doctor visit and ensuing shots. As I mentioned in my Match the Curves post about logic, I find that honesty and talking about it with Carson makes the whole process go better. Not that he is excited about this visit next month. But at least he now trusts me that I am telling him the truth. Yep. It’s gonna hurt. And it’s gonna hurt me as much as him. But that’s another story.

A Day in the Life

I am sure by now all of you want my gig. Who wouldn’t? I get to spend time writing, reading and generally goofing off.

It helps when your spouse makes a lot of money. But if you think it is all TV and internet games, you are mistaken. I know I was.

One of my near daily duties is shopping.

Women like shopping. Most men don’t. We like to buy. Shopping for me consists of finding a store that carries what I need. In our small Connecticut town, most stores are 20 minutes away in Norwalk. In Houston that amount of time meant a mile away in traffic. Here it means 15 miles. So I don’t take it lightly when I have to go shopping for the necessities of the house.
The Princess can make a whole day of shopping when precious time allows. She comes home with either a whole lot or very little. For her, and I assume most women, it is a fun day out. For me it is just another chore out during the day.

My other duties are getting Carson ready for daycare which means making him a nutritious lunch. For him, Crabby Patty Cheese Burgers is a food group. He has been eating the same thing for over a year. I don’t get it, but it makes him happy. White Castle has a customer for life. Perhaps a Harold and Kumar remake is in our son’s future!

My other 6 am duties include making the Princess’ coffee, breakfast and lunch. If you have been reading my other posts, you will know that her requirements are a little more particular than Carson’s.

By 11 am, I am usually home and ready to tackle other chores like lawn maintenance and laundry. Fortunately we really do have a killer stereo system and wireless router to keep me entertained. But after all of the chores are done, there is usually more chores.

Every now and then, I do get to play a game on the computer. And even less often, I catch up on a movie. Mostly it is simply chores. And after that, it is time to cook dinner and clean up after. Finally around 9 pm the day is done and we sit down as a family to watch a TV show like George Lopez.

Yes, we let our son stay up way too late. But that’s another story.

Marriage CPR: Dating the Babysitter

Role reversal is strange indeed. The Princess comes home tired from work, while I am bored from household chores. She wants to just sit down, be bored and have a good home cooked meal. And I want to go out.

If it wasn’t so expensive, and if it were up to me, we would go out every night. Not because my wishes win out, but because “good home cooked meal” means grill and microwave. I have tried to become a better cook, but most cookbooks are written for experienced cooks, not the typical SAHD. Well, at least not for this SAHD. Perhaps some of you can open up a cookbook and immediately understand the difference between a dash and a pinch and boiling and simmer.

Well, if you want to put a little simmer in your relationship, you sometimes have to convince the “boss,” I mean Princess that you would like to dash out for a bite or a movie because your libido is boiling. Let’s face it; we all need a break from the kid(s). It is just as important for the marriage as it is for the soul.

Since we are older parents, we long ago had our bar hopping fun and going out to eat all the time is not nearly as fun as watching Carson throw a tantrum (and his food) all over the house. But even we get the urge for a date night. Many of our friends have date night once a week or at least once a month. We are more like once a year. Every time we manage to find a sitter, we do go out and realize we enjoy each other’s company and have something to talk about besides Carson.

Dating your wife may sound strange, but it is better than just acting like an old married couple who never go out. My parents probably don't think of it as such, but they have at least one movie date a week. They are 48 years strong, so movie dates must really work, since
Mom is a golf widow the rest of the time.

Dating the babysitter is a little tougher to pull off. At least I have found it that way in Connecticut. We have not found any who are reliable and getting an open date for them to watch Carson is nearly impossible. You didn't think I meant what you thought did you?

The best sitters are relatives (free) of course. But we have also found that neighbors (hopefully free) and maids (not free) make for good sitters. Teenagers are another good source, although they aren’t free and they require a lot of pizza. In Texas, teens and maids were reasonable. In Connecticut, they start at $15 per hour for ones you barely trust on up to $18+ for those you hope you can trust.

Another suggestion we were given, is to share with one of your child’s school friend’s parents. One time you take their terrors, and the next time they take yours. This way the kids entertain each other (and the fools watching them), while you get a free night out on the town.

It is important to keep the flame alive. Not just for the SAHD’s sanity and libido, but for the Princess’ sanity and libido as well. And once the kid realizes you really are coming back, they relax and have a good time. Plus, they really do want you and your Princess to get along. After all, one day we will be empty nesters. We want to make sure we know what to do with each other once Carson is grown. But that’s another story.

Infant CPR

When Carson was 5 months old, the Princess stayed home to take an important business call. I passed by her while carrying Carson to change his diaper. Suddenly, he started shaking uncontrollably, while looking up at me from the changing table. I didn’t know what was wrong and screamed to the Princess. She immediately hung up and came in to see what was wrong. She instantly knew that he was choking, because he was turning blue, and began to perform infant CPR. Meanwhile, I was simply freaking out and helpless.

Fortunately for us, the Princess had just been to a company sponsored class on infant CPR. Carson had apparently burped, as babies do, and the spittle had lodged in his windpipe. The Princess turned him upside down and hit him hard on his back. She did this several times while firmly telling me to call 911. I called 911 and they sent an ambulance before I had even hung up with them. The Princess continued infant CPR, which included blowing into his nose and mouth when she was convinced he still wasn’t breathing. Fortunately that worked, but it is truly a last resort for an infant as it could just as easily kill them.

The emergency crew told us that he would have died before they arrived, which was only 10 minutes after I called, were it not for the Princess’s actions. Needless to say, I took the same class from the same instructor a few weeks later. Since that day, I have had to perform adult CPR/Heimlich on the Princess twice and infant CPR on Carson once. (Please note that you should not consider this article comprehensive on either procedure and that performing either procedure incorrectly may cause further harm to the victim. Please refer to professional pamphlets, articles or classes for the proper procedures for both types of CPR.)

The helpless look in Carson’s eyes, as he was literally choking to death in front of me, haunts me to this day. He has had to have stitches twice, while I watched him scream in fear and pain, but those moments, while brutally hard for a parent, pale in comparison to his (and our) near death experience.

I can’t stress enough how important it is for any stay at home parent to learn infant CPR, which is quite different than adult CPR. Parents should require it of their sitters for the occasional time that they go out and perform CPR on their marriage. But that’s another story.

TV vs. Daycare

(Both Worked for Me, Only One Did for the Princess)

When Carson was first born until he was 2 ½, he stayed home all day with me. Our day was filled with dirty diapers, lots of feedings, burping and changes of clothes … for me. I discovered that using a burp cloth is a good idea. It also requires more skill than accounting and recruiting. I only had to change clothes once a day in those gigs. I must have changed shirts at least twice on really bad days. You never realize just how bad food smells coming out of the human body until you have a baby. And it does nothing for Ralph Lauren. I ruined many good shirts with reused mommy milk and Gerber’s sweet potatoes baby food.

Anyway, I digress. As Carson was taking naps, I discovered the Game Channel with reruns of all my favorite shows from the 70’s like Match Game and Family Feud. And I discovered every poker show known to man. Carson knew what a royal flush was long before he learned how to flush his own potty. He actually loved watching those shows until he grew old enough to communicate. Then I became well versed in Diego and Blues Clues. I didn’t mind watching his shows because he didn’t mind watching mine.

All was happy in SAHD land until the Princess realized Carson could use the remote control better than she could. One day she wanted to switch the TV from DVD to cable. Although I had patiently explained how to do this many times in the past, she still couldn’t. When Carson did it before he was 12 months old, which was a few months before he could walk, and still 12 months away before the Princess could do it, we had the proverbial “Come to Princess” talk. Yes the talk about our son watching too much TV was held.

She reminded me of the theory that too much TV was potentially causing autism. I suggested it might be something else. Another “man mistake.” I just can’t help it. I am a man. I just operate in a woman’s world.

After a night on the couch, I agreed it was possible that too much TV causes autism, and we resumed our conversation. She and I discussed the merits of TV compared to quality time teaching our son things like how to walk, reading him books, teaching him how to color and how to go to the potty. When I suggested that Blue’s Clues and Diego were educational, I earned another night on the couch to rethink my position.

Well you may have to teach me twice, but never three times. I readily agreed that we needed to do something. So I asked her what her plan was. Now I suppose I should have acted like the executive I had been and presented her with the plan, but I just assumed that parenthood was the mommy’s domain and she is the executive, so I was all ears.

After another night on the couch, I had a brilliant idea to use her idea and talk about daycare. It was something she had discussed before because Carson’s cousins Eric and Andrew were in it part time and they were thriving. I had never been open to it because I liked having him home with me. Okay, perhaps I also liked my gig of changing a few diapers in exchange for the Game Show Network. Unlike me, I know you, my reader (and probably friend or family member), are not an idiot and already had it figured out, so why not come clean.

The other reason I just assumed it meant I was a failure at this gig. And in many ways, I was/am. But I had to admit that Carson needed a true teacher in order to keep up. When I went to kindergarten twenty, okay forty, years ago you learned the basics like ABC’s and how to count to five. Nowadays they better be reading books that I didn’t read until first or second grade. Carson can count to 100 in English and twenty in Spanish. Not sure when I learned that, but it wasn’t at age four.

So just like the 12 Steps Program for AA, I came to admit that I needed help. And I began to look at my failures and how a daycare program, for Carson, could help. But that’s another story.

Match the Curves, Pt. 2

In addition to life’s curves, I have noticed that I have a few more curves to my body. All in my mid-section. Now that Carson is in pre-school, I have plenty of time to get back to the gym. But after four years, I find that not going is okay by me and okay with the Princess. So that leaves me plenty of time to watch TV, play on-line games and write this column.

The curve that I am really interested in talking about is the ones on our feet. That is how I taught Carson to put on his shoes. I suppose that using the words left and right would make more sense, but it was the first thing that came to mind…Match the curves. I pointed out to him that each shoe has a curve and it needs to match up to his foot. He bought it and now he always asks me if his shoes match the curve. I always have to say yes or no. I also now point out to him that his toes point at each other and so must his shoes. I think he is starting to get the point.

Okay a cheesy pun. But the real point is that he is starting to see things logically. I may be a stay at home Dad (SAHD), but I am still a man foremost. Yes I can be touchy feely, but logic mostly prevails. And that is what I always fall back on when Carson asks me a question. This is always followed up with a “why” and then another “why?” I have found that answering him with a logical response worded in the way that a four year old can understand works best for him. And my sanity.

It is my way of teaching him some simple things like matching the curves. And I hope that I am building a foundation for him to come up with answers on his own. Answers that make sense for him. And more importantly, teach him how to think for himself. Because we all know that life throws us curves. And like me and you, life will throw him a few doozies.

And when it does, I hope that he can solve them for himself. If not, I hope that he will pick up the phone and call me. Since I am an older parent, I know I won’t be around for all of them and one day that phone call won’t be an option. But that’s another story.

Match the Curves

I can’t speak for everyone, but I have found that life really does throw us a bunch of curves. Some of mine were self induced, but others just amazingly unforeseen and unimaginable. For instance, I never thought I would be married and divorced. Twice. And after the second disaster, which shouldn’t even count, but the judge didn’t see it that way, I was certain that I would never get remarried again. And by the time I met the Princess, I was 39 years old and definitely never going to have kids. My first two wives didn’t want them which suited me fine. So there were several curves right there.

But then I met the Princess, another curve, and I knew that if I wanted to be married to her I would have to want to be a Dad. Big curve. I remember the moment like it was yesterday when I called her out of the blue on my way to work and said I realized that I wanted to have a kid with her. After the shocked silence I could only hear the joy in her heart that I felt in mine. And thus we matched our curves.

Well, a couple of years went by and we decided to give it a go, if you know what I mean. And to our surprise, my super sperm turned out to be well … super. We were shockingly pregnant in only a couple of months and I can proudly say that I handled it better than the Princess. She was in shock for four days. I was out of it in 3 ½.

Anyway, within a few weeks I had come up with the name Carson for either a boy or girl. The Princess was sure it was going to be a girl, but I knew it was a boy. The reason I knew is my Dad wanted to carry on the family name and there would hell to pay if it wasn’t a boy. Talk about pressure to perform. X’s and Y’s are just as complicated in sex as X’s and O’s in football.

When he was born, I had just left my job, another self induced curve, and decided to spend a few months home with the Princess and Carson. When it was time for her to return to work, we went to the daycare center. There was a baby that needed so much attention all the time that the workers had little time for the other children. It was there that the SAHD curve was thrown and I became a SAHD.

I guess that screaming baby helped me find the baby in me because it turns out that being a SAHD was a curve in my path filled with unending curves. Who knows what the next curve will be or when it will come.

It will probably come tonight when the Princess comes home with Carson, one of them expecting a gourmet meal instead of the frozen pizza. But that’s another story.

Relationship Maintenance

So I am sitting here in our sitting room. What else would one do in such a room? I am listening to killer tunes on our stereo system that the Princess paid a fortune for, thanks to me, and wondering “What am I going to do today?” I have been doing chores like laundry and I have forwarded my resume to a company that requested it. Hell I even made the beds.

Making the beds used to be something I always prided myself in doing first thing in the morning. But then I only had one bed to make and it only had a few of those annoying pillows that cost a fortune just to make the bedroom look finished. And then I married a Princess with a lot of pillows, as one would expect a Princess to have. In the beginning, I gladly helped her or took it upon myself to make the bed all by myself. But that was still the “wooing stage” in our relationship as she likes to call it.

Straightening sheets is easy. The problem is all the pillows. Because by the time I am finished making the Princess’ bed I still have to arrange all of the Princess’ pillows. I think there are about 20 of them. Now I will readily admit it looks great when it is done. But I can never remember how to arrange them. Sometimes I find a really good look with all of them. I even get accolades from the Princess when one of my arrangements reaches spectacular. Unfortunately, I am a lazy man (which is why my current gig works for me) and I never draw a sketch of my best arrangements. Not that I can draw anyway, but I am fairly certain I wouldn’t draw one even if I could.

I hate arranging all of those darn pillows. Worse, I hate “un-arranging” them at night. By the time we get to bed, I am too tired to want to do it. Heck, even the Princess hates it. However, she isn’t about to get rid of all of them, so the pillows stay. And if I want to stay, I better make the bed. So I do ….sometimes.

I have to admit, I am overwhelmed by the all of the chores that need to be done to run a house. Thank goodness we have maids. But there are so many other things that need to be accomplished like, grocery shopping, laundry, light cleaning/straightening up the house after a 4 year old and general maintenance. Just all of the phone calls that are needed to arrange for the maids, gardeners and maintenance takes so much time. After those few phone calls I am ready to pop open a beer and call it a day. I am sure that the Princess works a little harder at her Global gig. I know I used to when I was the CFO. But then I had a secretary to screen calls, and employees to return most of them.

In this gig, I have to delegate my authority to myself. I am still good at delegating, but my employee still resists getting the work done. It makes it even harder when the Princess delegates chores to me. You know, the ones where she tells me what to do, how to do it and when to do it by. I have to admit that my maleness still makes regular appearances when she does. That combined with my laziness, means that I accomplish very little. However, if I want to keep this gig, I know I need to do what the Princess delegates. And if I want any brownie points, I feel I need to do some of the things on my personal list as well.

I read most of the Men are from Mars Women are from Venus Book (laziness prevented me from reading it all). It was fascinating that the author mentioned that we men think we earn brownie points for doing chores. Turns out we don’t. Makes it a little hard when a man is also a SAHD. Who is supposed to give me the brownie points? My high earning Princess who is out doing a “man’s job?” Am I supposed to give them to myself, even though I am a man in a woman’s role? I think I secretly expect it to be both. Which is why I like to get a few things done early (like updating my IPod to play more killer music on our expensive stereo system) so I can revel in my success and call it a day by 9 am. That works until the Princess comes home and she is tired from a long hard day and asks me, “What did you do today?” Man how I hate that question (it ranks right up there with “What’s on your agenda today?”)! Not that they aren’t fair questions, and she is after all interested in me and my life. It just gets hard to answer the question to justify my existence when I stop working by 9, which happens to be the time she is usually getting started.

And then there is the whole gardener and maintenance man thing. Most of our yard is woods, but there are beds to weed, a little grass to mow and plants to take care of. I had gardeners in Texas, but our yard under maintenance was bigger, it was hotter and the labor was cheaper. So here in Connecticut, I have that responsibility. Now it only takes about 20 minutes to cut the grass and I never pull the weeds so it really isn’t that big of a deal, but the yard looks, well … just a bit untidy. Okay, it looks like crap, but it does have potential. Before Carson (“BC”) was born, I took great pride in the yard and worked on it all the time. I even won Yard of the Month! BC I only had to worry about the yard and light maintenance. Now I have to run the house. Since I have only me to delegate to, it takes longer and even less brownie points get bestowed. You know Ladies, the brownie points really are important!

Not that I am a good maintenance man. Until I met the Princess, I never really fixed anything. But she was used to her father and ex-husband being around. Turns out the eager beaver overachievers could fix anything. Before the Princess, I was happy and self-fulfilled when I replaced a light bulb. Now I have to be able to fix cars, plumbing and pool equipment. So I have learned what I could, cursed a lot at instructions written by engineers from a foreign land and tried to earn those coveted brownie points. Turns out they actually do get awarded for maintenance stuff.

Maybe that is why my ex-wife left me for the maintenance man. But that’s another story.

Sacked Sahd

Thanks

I would like to thank NC for her comments on my first two posts. If any of you have an experience in parenting you would like to discuss, please do. All you have to do is click on comments underneath a posting.
More posts from me next week.
SackedSahd

What do you do? Part 2

After writing my first piece, which the Princess laughed at hysterically, she pointed out that I hadn’t offered any advice on how to actually handle the question of "what do you do". I actually thought that I had, but again she is perfect and I am, well…. not. Yes perfect ladies, we imperfect guys know we aren't perfect. We know you know it. And we know you know we know. But don't expect us, or at least me, to ever admit it again.

So I am hoping that some of the readers out there, if there are any, will help me on how they have handled it.

I have always just been very upfront about it. In other words, I don’t bring it up unless someone asks. Am I embarrassed to be a stay at home Dad? Yes and no. The other day Carson asked me when I was going to get a job. I guess the four year old needs more toys. After I explained to him that I was trying he didn’t bring it up again until a week later. Then he said, “Daddy, I don’t want you to get a job. I want you to stay home and wait for me to come home from day care. I like you at home.” Since that day, he has held steadfast on his decision.

Unfortunately, the Princess has too. Thus, I am still looking for a job. I guess that surfing the net and occasionally doing laundry and cooking isn’t enough. Who knew?

I was really happy that Carson loves having me home. My Dad was hardly ever home when I was young. Or even a teenager for that matter. I have fond Sunday memories of going bowling, shooting hoops and watching football with him, but in general, he was always working Monday thru Saturday. Not surprisingly, my Dad admits I am a much better dad with Carson than he was with my brother and me, but Dad still worries that what I am doing isn’t going to be enough. He remembers all too well how my mother finally had had enough being at home and returned to get her PHD in Psychology. I think the man works tradition also bothers him, but he hasn’t ever admitted it to me.

The Princess has been a tremendous support in my role and she has been a huge help in Carson’s development. But I was the one who saw him walk for the first time. I was the one who potty trained him (although it took me four years). I have been there for most of his major first time experiences, both positive and negative. So am I proud? You bet! Is it still awkward, you bet.

I suppose the best advice I can give new SAHDs is to be open and honest about it, and don’t hedge like I have. We are raising our kids while our wives work. If someone asks why, tell them that you wanted to shape your kids lives more than your dad shaped yours, or for whatever reason is the truth.

The truth for us is the Princess makes a heck of a lot more money than I ever did. My best year economically would be a disaster for her. So economically it made sense to me, although, perhaps not to the Princess, and certainly not to my father-in-law or Dad…..yeah, they have told me, but that’s another story.

Sacked SAHD

What do you do?

“What do you do?”
“I am the Global Head of Commodities.”
“And what about you?”
“I am a stay at home Dad,” I respond with a perceptible hesitation and wince waiting for their reaction.
That answer always brings about several now predictable responses, from a simple nod and painful silence to the occasional “You’re my hero, I wish my wife would let me do that!” Generally it is the former and the conversation redirects to my wife and her global job.
If it is one on one with a guy, then I usually add, “But I used to be a Chief Financial Officer of a company I took public and most recently I have been a financial recruiter.” Surprisingly, unless they need a new job, silence follows this too. And generally, they don’t ask questions of whether I like staying home with my son or what it is like being a man in a woman’s world.
On the other hand, some women, like my wife, think it is great and do ask a bunch of questions. The one I hate is, “would you like to have a play date with our kids?” I always politely respond with a non-committal “sure.” Hey, I may be new fashioned when it comes to staying home with Carson, but I am still old fashioned that I don’t hang out with wives and their kids (without my wife ... and their husband). I distinctly remember in my twenties that I would never want a stay at home wife who took tennis lessons with some young hunk while I slaved, and now I am stuck in that nether world of guilt reconciling my previous position on stay at home parents and being one myself.
In fact, until I met my current wife (yes, there have been others), I never even wanted to be a Dad. Now I am a stay at home Dad in Wilton, Connecticut. A very liberal voting state. We just moved here from Texas last summer. Just a tad more conservative state. I have met one other stay at home Dad since we arrived, which is one more than I met in Texas. However, Texans seemed to admire my station in life far better than they do up here. Go figure.
Unlike women, men don’t have the same networks, especially us SAHDs (Stay at Home Dads). There aren’t SAHD groups, we don’t hang together and parenting magazines barely refer to us. For four years my wife tried to get me to write a column about my “job.” Partly because she wants me to do something besides play computer games and watch Nickelodeon all day and we could always use the money. But mainly because no one is doing it and that makes her mad. Makes the other SAHD’s wife mad too.
Sure most of the tips in magazine and newspaper articles apply equally, but they don’t deal with Daddy issues, like how to network with other SAHDs, how to reenter the workforce or even change a diaper. Heck, I had never babysat or changed a diaper until Carson was born. I hadn’t even held a baby for fear I might decide I wanted one. And now after four years, I find it hard to get an interview, much less a job. And soon my son will attend kindergarten and I will officially become a sacked SAHD. So I am going to give this a go. It can’t earn any less and my perfect global head of commodities wife likes it. Then again it was her idea. From now on I will call her Princess.
Some of the topics I will cover include:
TV vs. day care- They both worked for me, but only one worked for Princess.
Perfect Mom/ Imperfect Dad-Don’t get me started.
Maintenance Man/Gardener and the SAHD-We still have to be those too.
Get a job-It’s harder than you think.
CPR for your kid and your marriage
Single Dad’s and SAHDs
Cooking vs. Take Out
House cleaning-Only if the Princess says I have to.

I would hope that other SAHDs would write in and we can begin a dialogue on issues that face us.

Dave Crays aka “Sacked SAHD”
Professional SAHD
(Okay I made that up)