Like some pajama-wearing graffiti artist, I've left my mark all over the wide world of Internet. I dabble mostly in the realms of parenting, travel, entertainment, and humor (some of it intentional), although I've been known to drop knowledge on men's fashion, tech, sports, and food. By food I mean beer and whiskey. Also, coffee.
I have two young boys, one youngish wife, and four pets of varying ages. We live in the hills outside of Los Angeles.
Imagine you are a coach in the National Football League and your blood is pumping, your emotions are high, and some idiot in the crowd is taunting you and your life's work. You'd probably tell said idiot to "shut the f**k up," which is exactly what New York Jets head coach Rex Ryan did.And now he is paying for it.
My wife and I have a different outlook on holidays and the role they play in childhood. I believe they are crucial for forging bonds and memories. She thinks they are unnecessary and misguided. Funny thing is, she's a person of faith and I am a person that thinks "Faith" was a catchy George Michael song.The religion that she was raised in does not observe holidays, and while I was raised in one that did, I was only going through the motions. But the motions were a lot of fun and I recall the holidays as some of my most cherished moments.
This is a little bit personal, so I apologize if I'm over-sharing. Also, stop reading right here, Mom. I haven't had a vasectomy and it's wrecking havoc on my sex life. Basically, any moment of love and lust that my wife and I manage to make time for is immediately thwarted by the fear factor. No, that's not another name for the rhythm method. We don't want any more children. The mere possibility of it leaves us terrified and, frankly, not feeling very sexy.
Date night never had a name when you were actually dating. It was coffee on a Tuesday. It was a show on a Wednesday. It was too many drinks and too much fun at any given time. It was anything but "date night" and it was good. Even after dating gave way to being in a relationship, it was still pretty easy to get out the door on a weeknight. In fact, it was actually better because you didn't have to spend three hours trying to talk your way into strange hearts and stranger bedrooms -- you knew who you were going home with and you could start spooning your way to slumberland while others were still standing awkwardly in doorways wondering what a nightcap really means. The excuses started with the kids.
I've prided myself on a few things during my tenure as a father, most involving impressive feats of strength and intellect, but some are much simpler than that. It's as easy as being there. I've never missed a school function, meeting or event that my children were involved in, which may not sound like much to some of you, and may sound unimaginable to others. It's all relative.
This week I faced a situation that I could not work around. There were two things at my kids' school that required my presence and I could not attend both. I had to make a decision, and as a result I had to miss one. I didn't like it.