Daddyblogging

One of those DAD posts

You know what is really really hard?

Come on, get it out of your system… I can hear you say “that’s what she said” from here. 

What is really really hard is parenting other people’s kids. In fact, it’s not “really really hard”, it’s damn near impossible. Okay, it’s impossible. Parenting your own kid is hard enough as it is – I could give you a thousand examples of the situations that are making me lose my mind as a dad and even as a human being in general. I already wrote about how my son got shot in the park, I already asked you for advice about letting CutieDaughter get a Facebook account, I already told you about ripping the wings of butterflies, and of course I already told you that when it comes to my kids I’m a complete emotional mess.

As a dad, I get through those moments by thinking about the eventual benefits we’ll get as a family once we go through the crap. That is what keeps me going, and often a healthy dose of Whisky.

But when it comes to other people’s kids, there’s no real incentive to go through the crap with/for them because quite frankly the rewards would not be mine to enjoy anyways. I’m not saying that always prevents me from trying. I am a real softie at heart you know, and can’t stand the thought of giving up on anyone. Even kids that are mean to my kids.

In that spirit of not giving up on anyone, I spent about an hour chatting on Facebook with a friend of CutieDaughter.

A friend who basically spent an hour writing that my daughter was the biggest liar who ever lived, and also that she really missed her on Facebook since they were BFF. A friend who calls my house at 2am and hangs up when I pick up. A friend who made my daughter cry more times than I care to recall.

I give up.

Goodbye, friend.

Joys of Fatherhood

Yesterday was Father’s Day.

I made out like a bandit. Both the kids have done personalized picture frames for me, and they’re both horrendous in that this is so awful that it’s cute kinda way.

frames

My AudaciousSon’s frame, on the left, displays this poem:

Six years old: My daddy can do anything
10 years old: My dad knows a lot of stuff.
15 years old: I know as much as my dad.
20 years old: Dad doesn’t know.
30 years old: I wonder what dad thinks about it.
40 years old: Dad is not that dumb.
50 years old: Dad is right
60 years old: If only dad was still here.

Skipping the fact that according to this, I have about 7 years before my AudaciousSon thinks of me as an idiot and let’s not mention that I will not reach 90. Moving right along. On the plus side, the frame itself is full of hearts, and a lion represents my manliness. The backwards e in my name is actually an upside down G because they ran out of e.

My CutieDaughter frame, on the right as an acrostic with my name:

Michel
Intelligent
Clown
Humoristique (Humorist)
Et (And)
Loyal.

She glued little circles on the frame, shaped like a sun, some bugs and a flower.

Any art critique would give these frames a 3/10 or worst. I give those full marks, because that’s what being a dad is all about. The wobbly ashtrays, the pen cups too small to hold pens, the cracked valet trays, the painted rocks. I love them all more than anything else I own.

Of course, I’m convinced that one day, the Zadorables are going to look back on these gifts and think of them as dumb, weird or plain ugly.

Me? I’m just trying to keep that day from happening any time soon.