Now that a full month has passed since my wife went back to work, I can reliably report that so long as my daughter Senita cannot crawl, walk, talk, or tell on me (and continues to nap frequently), I like being a stay-at-home dad.
That may change as her powers increase but I’m hopeful the experience will only get even better. Read More
A terrible piece of advice I often hear repeated is to “live each day as if it were your last.” What a stupid thing to say.
As someone who would likely spend his last day having a panic attack and crying uncontrollably, my preferred standard is to live each day like you’ve just won a small amount of money on a scratch lotto ticket. Read More
I love a freshly cut lawn – especially when it’s mine. Many people enjoy the smell of freshly cut grass, but I’m most moved by how it looks when everything is neat and trim. Read More
Many pregnant women give their babies a nickname in the womb. They’re often food-related like Peanut or Jelly Bean or Arugula.
Our nickname was Senny, short for Senator Mortimer Gaffney, the name I’ve chosen for a future son. Read More
Mother’s Day was supposedly created to honor mothers, but its real purpose is for them to scrutinize the severity of their kids’ senses of entitlement.
That’s fine, but the tables are quickly turned on the less lovable dads who are supposed to use their children as surrogates in a non-romanticized love fest that leaves them scratching their heads. Read More
Hey pal, hope you’re doing well.
Sorry that I’ve been avoiding you since you became a parent. It seemed like a lot to handle and I didn’t want to get in the way.
Also, I had very little interest in your kids. No interest at all, to be honest.
But now I have my own kid so that’s changed. Self-interest has made me a better man. We should hang out again sometime! Read More
I’ve ordered the exact same pair of shoes at least four times in a row over the past few years.
I’m not afraid of change, I just don’t believe in forcing the issue when there isn’t a problem. Read More
On Super Bowl Sunday this year, I was live texting my take on the Puppy Bowl to a couple of old college pals, as any red-blooded American man does.
With genuine interest, I surveyed my friends to find out which ones were “Team Ruff” and which were “Team Fluff.” One of my angrier friends replied, “whichever team supports my right to bear arms under the second amendment.”
When politics has reached the Puppy Bowl, nothing is safe. Read More
After I described the astounding number of signs indicating that my baby communicates with ghosts, the doctor shrugged it off as my daughter “going to her happy place.”
I rarely disagree with a doctor on matters of medicine, but edible happy places aren’t legal in this state – and if they were, two months is far too young to try. Read More
I’ve sporadically attended the same Congregational Church for almost all of my life. I was baptized there and went through years of Sunday School as a child. In the pews, I’d see my friends, next door neighbors, and several teachers.
I went to preschool in the building (where my mother was President of the PTA), raced pinewood derby cars as a cub scout in their rec room, and participated in the Christmas play.
If there was ever a place I felt like I belonged, it was at my church – until I learned I didn’t. Read More
