DadCentric

Croutonboy, A Real Man of Genius

Part 2 in our multi-episode story arc, "The Women Behind the Men of DadCentric (Electric Bugaloo)" features Mrs. CroutonBoy profiling her lover, CroutonBoy (Mr. July in the DadCentric wall calendar, for you ladies at home). Unedited, unscripted, and refreshingly free of her husbands mixed metaphors.

A little more than 7 years ago, the following conversation took place:

Me:  Um, there are crumbs in your bed.

Crouton: Oh, yeah.

Me: Why are there crumbs in your bed?

Crouton: I was snacking on some croutons.

Me: Croutons? Why?

Crouton: I was hungry.

Me: In bed?

Crouton: I was tired.

If you had asked me at that very instant, is this the man I want to sire my children, the man whose gene pool I desperately long to tap into, the man who would play a crucial role in shaping the mind of a young, innocent being, would I have said yes? Not likely. His thinking, though perfectly logical in some respects didn’t reek of fatherly conduct.  But then again, you never know what kind of parent someone will become until they actually become one.

Over the past four years, Crouton has been there for me and for Cheeky in every possible way. He shared the night feedings, he changed diapers without the benefit of a hazmat suit, he suited her up in a Seahawks jersey to watch game after disappointing game, he trained her to say “that’s a space station” to his “that’s no moon…” and he tickled her to the point of incontinence. Lately, partially due to the current state of under-employment in our household, I’ve watched him become Alpha Parent, edging ahead of me (in certain moments, at least) in the order of preference. I’ve taken particular, albeit selfish joy in seeing Cheeky make the trek every morning not to my side of the bed, but to his, demanding playtime, a snack, or TV depending on her mood. He’s taken it all in stride (though some might speculate on a causational relationship between this and his hastened return to the ranks of the employed).

And while I might cringe at the way Cheeky’s hair looks when he does it or the lingering scent of French fries when they return from a lunch date, I always know she’s in good hands. I know that she adores him, that even when he catapults her out of the stroller into a puddle he’ll get her to laugh it off, and that ultimately playing video games will be a useful skill for her to have (despite my apparently unreasonable distaste for said video game playing). 

So I salute you, Crouton. You are a real man of genius, Mr. Double T-Shirt-Wearing, X-Box-playing, Crouton-loving - but most of all - Cheeky-daddying dude.

My Wife On Me (But Not That Way)

As I've been suffering from a sweet, sweet hangover as a result of the overdose of dad love I received this Father's Day, I asked my wife (you know and worship her as My Love on my personal blog Always Home and Uncool) if she could do me a solid and write this week's DadCentric post for me.

My only instruction to her was that it had to be about me as a father.

Her only response to me was "Mix me a martini and I'll think it over."

Yeah. She is the best.

* * *

You know you are an Always Home and Uncool father when …
Submitted by My Love

You find yourself up at 3 in the morning all hot and stiff … only because you were walking the halls all night trying to put your newborn baby back to sleep.

You hear your kid make that awful regurgitation sound and, rather than run away, you rush forward with hands cupped trying in vain to catch the projectile before it hits the carpet or bed sheets.

You own a green-striped Steve rugby shirt and aren't ashamed to admit it.

You take your minivan instead of your wife's convertible to run an errand because otherwise you'd "have to shower, shave and put on better clothes."

You walk into the elementary school and all your son's classmates hug your pant leg and say excitedly “Hey, Mr. Uncool” … before asking you why you are never at work.

You spend several weeks trying to keep everything together in your sick child's hospital room then go cry your heart out in the parking lot.

A good weekend is defined as rain outs for all the youth sports teams you coach, relaxing with a few uninterrupted pints of fine beer and getting busy with the wife more than once -- but one out of three isn't too shabby.

More Condescending Advice For Dads, Courtesy of CNN/Careerbuilder

Me like read Internet because me like movies of skatebored skateborde skatebord skateboard crashes. But sometime me as dad learn stuff from Internet, like when me read story from CNN about how me should be good daddy while me work job. 

http://www.cnn.com/2009/LIVING/worklife/06/22/cb.stay.at.home.dads/index.html

This good article! Me never think of use words to communicate, like article says to do. Me usually jump up and hit self on head or throw poop to make point. Me also think use calendar good idea; me use when need to remember trips on giant shiny metal bird, so me think good use calendar to make time to throw football with boy-child; me pencil him in for two weeks from now, unless WWE Smackdown on TV. Me can also bring family to work; boy-child and girl-child might like watch me lift heavy things. Thank you CNN for make me better dad. Now me go to refrigerator, try to see if me can catch ghost who turn on light when me open door. 

The True Meaning of Father's Day

We've been talking a lot about Father's Day this week. To recap: 

Mr. Big Dubya, on the loss of a father and a friend.

Me, on a day in the life.

Kevin, with Special Guest Dad Dead Michael Landon, on dads as second-class citizens.

Whit heads up a contest for dads (WHICH YOU NEED TO ENTER)

The Holmes gives props to all you m*therf*ckers.

I get all artsy. Literally.

TwoBusy makes you verklempt.

To the dads out there - have a great Father's Day, and remember: this is what it's all about...

Remembering Those Who Fathered the Dads of DadCentric

Sunday is of course the Best Holiday In The Galaxy when Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny converge to shower Dads everywhere with shiny electronic wonders and the weather calls for a storm of raining beer. We can't be bothered to mow the grass because it's raining beer and Dads everywhere just look into the sky with open mouths until our wives call us in the house to fuck us all kinds of limber ways like slutty porno girls.

In honor of this Wondrous Day, the DadCentric guys all pondered memories of their own Dads to make a single post that speaks about the Dads of the Dadliest Dads on the internet. 

Something I like to do

My son is now three days away from finishing Kindergarten, and each afternoon as he arrives home he carries with him a new onslaught of artwork stuffed into his red backpack. Every evening, we leaf through the newest additions to the pile, often laughing and sometimes surprised by what we see. Most startling are the projects where his teachers had him draw something at the beginning of the school year - a self-portrait, for example - and then repeat the exercise now, placing in bold relief the sum of all he's learned, how he's grown, how his perception of the world around him has evolved and how his fine motor skills have developed and sharpened.

It's often kind of remarkable.

Commissioned Art, In Time for Father's Day

The decision was made, I think, just after she was born. Or perhaps it was during that last trimester. Zoe would be our last. Two and out. And we've never regretted not having another: our family exhibits a perfect symmetry, mother, father, brother, sister. Father's Day seems like one of the stupider Hallmark holidays, because the gifts are there every day; still, it seemed like it might be time to do something special, for me and for the kids. Earlier this year I got to thinking that I'd like to find someone to create some art, something that would incorporate the three of us, me, Lucas, Zoe. A friend recommended a local artist, I talked to him and told him what I was looking for, and he came up with a rough version:

Ocean waves, and if you look closely...I dug it, circumstances led to its completion during this Father's Day week, and it the only thing left was to find a place to hang it. (Seriously, if you don't click on the hyperlink, you'll miss the best part.)

Motherlovers

This originally appeared on my personal blog a few years ago, but I thought I'd share it once more with the DadCentric crowd. Happy Father's Day, everybody.

Give It Away, Give It Away, Give It Away, Give It Away Now Including Canada!

Father's Day is nigh and if dads love anything besides their children, spouse/significant other, sports, beer, porn and quoting movies from the 80s, it's books.  Am I right?  Of course I am.  I'm a dad, I get the newsletter (which is awesome, but it's no book).

Here's how you can make dad feel special 2-3 weeks after his "holiday."  Win him some books!  Yes, the same books I was talking about in the previous paragraph!

This contest is open to residents of the USA and Canada, respectively, but only those that own a mailbox.  P.O. Boxes are not allowed!  Also, the rest of the world, learn to read.

The Afterthought That Counts

The invitations for the Mother's Day ceremonies at my children's school starting flooding their backpacks about mid-November.

Can you come? Please come. Please Please PLEASE?!?

How many mothers will attend? How many grandmothers? Any great-grandmothers? Any females of child-bearing age who are in your domestic employment?

Then came the deluge of reminders. Don't forget, each said. Don't Forget! DON'T FORGET!

Oh, and there was this:

 

When the days (yes, plural) of celebration finally arrived, much tea and cake were consumed. Handwritten cards and letters were passed about. Sonnets and odes performed. Bette Midler popped in to perform "Wind Beneath My Wings" with a 42-piece orchestra. This, of course, followed the F-14 flyover but came before the trained killer whale that rocketed up through a cafeteria sink of greasy suds to create a spray that stretched 20 yards through the air and spelled out "Bless Your Wondrous Wombs" in kaleidoscope colors.

In all, the children celebrated motherhood for three solid hours, a Tony-worthy product of many, many months of heartfelt thought and detailed preparation. "It was amazing and beautiful. Much better than 'Cats'," said My Love, who came home misty from the second day's ceremony, clutching an 18-page souvenir program in her hand that deftly hide, upon her finger, a shiny new secret decoder ring.

A month later, here we are -- the Tuesday before Father's Day.

All is calm; all is trite.

See, I found this buried in my son's backpack: