DadCentric

#OccupyBabble!

So this is happening. 

Now, here's the funny part:

We're holding steady at #9, by the way. (FULL DISCLOSURE: we nominated ourselves, because hey, why not? DadaRocks did!) Now, to be fair, Babble does have 3 actual dadbloggers (along with that Single Dad Laughing guy, who we believe is some sort of celestial being/Matrix Agent, at least after reading his descriptions of himself) on the payroll. And a bunch of us did receive a blast email in June from Babble, saying that they're "doing a big feature on dad blogs* to coincide w/the launch of a Dad section...date TBD". In any case, if Babble is a true parenting site, and not just a site for moms (although...y'know, if ESPN devoted 90% of its coverage to football, wouldn't that make it a football channel, not a "sports" channel?) then they should be stoked to see the other 50% of the parenting equation represented on their contest.

*yeah, we're under no illusion that we'll get a mention in that big dad blog feature after these shenanigans.

UPDATE (10/21/11)!

 

MomCentric - Kristen Chase, "Fathers, Be Good To Your Daughters"

Hi all - Jason here. Every so often we turn the reins over to one of our favorite moms; today's special Guest Mom is Kristen Chase, the prolific scribe who can be found at Motherhood Uncensored, Cool Mom Picks, Cool Mom Tech, and at fine booksellers everywhere. Here she candidly talks about her father, and the long shadow that he cast over her life.

I've been robbed a couple of times in my life, but none of those compare to what my father took from me.

I go through phases of remembrance, most of it fading into a sad, hurtful past that I thought had been long buried with him.

But six feet wasn't deep enough for these old wounds.

I wrangle with who to blame for my own faults, most of which are a direct result of his abuse and alcoholism and my mom's apathy and ignorance, conquered by my own willpower and ability to scrape by, a good many years in therapy scrubbing off the protective layers one by one. But there is one I am only now fully grasping.

He erased an entire word from my vocabulary. Like it never even existed.

Intimacy.

Part of me wants to believe that I never actually had a fighting chance with that asshole of a father, and I often wish he had taken something, anything else.

My right fucking arm.

I've come to realize that the only true love I've ever known is what I feel for my children. It's like a punch to the gut that's magnificent even as you fall to the ground breathless. The thought of losing them impossible to bear for even a millisecond.

But men? Never.

I did what I thought was love until I was hurt, and then I pushed it aside and moved on to the next. Now I have kids and am less able or willing to do anything.

But I often wonder what might have been. Or could have been.

Before my dad died he told me I'd die a miserable person, and at the time, I laughed at him.

"No, you will" I said. "I have friends and people who love me."

But maybe he knew. Maybe he was right. The slaps on my face during the last moments I ever saw him a stinging reminder that he'd win, with my new life imitating my old life like a chapter in a psychology book.

I am strong. But not strong enough.

"In my next life," I whisper to myself. And then I put on my mascara, fold the laundry, and pray that I'm wrong.

Very very wrong.

Stranger in a Strange Land? Poppycock!

While I've never really felt out of place at any of the three BlogHers I've attended, at 2011's installment in San Diego, I felt even more at home than I have at previous ones, as I knew I'd have several fellow DadCentric writers present, along with Doug French and his uncanny ability to work, "We're launching Dad 2.0 next March!" into any conversation, panel, or rallying cry.

Plus, I knew I'd know at least 5% of the 3000 women there, including one in the Old Testament sense, as I finally talked Mrs. Muskrat into making the trek. 

Despite the above, I was stopped Saturday afternoon by a woman after the "humor blogging" session with the folowing:

Her:  Hi, I'm -- (I forgot her name).  Were you in the humor blogging session?
Me:  I was!  Wasn't I humorous?
Her:  So, I have a question.
Me:  Okay.
Her:  How did you get here?
Me:  I had over 100,000 sky miles.  Plus a bunch of Marriott points.  We--
Her:  No.  I mean, do they just LET YOU IN?
Me:  I may be from Georgia, but I know when to wear shirts and shoes.  I even remembered my lanyard!
Her:  I mean, I'd heard males were allowed to come to BlogHer; I just didn't...
Me:  When you say "males," I look for the breeding Labradors.  What the f--
Her:  No...I mean.  So...you just came to BlogHer?
Me:  Yes.  I bought a ticket.  Via THE INTERNET.  Like I did for Mom 2.0 and the last two BlogHers!
Her:  Oh.  Why?
Me:  I have their little ad tower on my personal blog, and I like these people.  Writers are fun!
Her:  Oh!  I get it.  Men are coming for the same reasons women come to this conference!
Me:  Yes!  Can I interest you in a Twitter follow?

And so began another beautiful friendship via the world wide web.

Two Rides Home: A BlogHer11 Recap, More or Less

Photo by Backpacking Dad

Back in April, a few of us DadCentricians went to New Orleans to represent the patriarchy at a little shindig called the Mom2.0 Summit.  I wrote a recap of that experience here, and if you read it, you may remember that I was very excited to have met a bunch of my imaginary friends in real life, spoken on a panel, and talked about blogging nonstop for 3 days.

While Mom2.0 Summit is no mere Tupperware party, the annual BlogHer conference is what I like to call the Mother Of All Mommyblogging Conferences, or MOAMC, and this year it drew somewhere around 3,000 attendees.

This year, BlogHer was held in San Diego, America's Finest City (fact!), where three of us DadCentricians (the boss, The Didactic Pirate, and me) happen to live.  So it was a no-brainer that I would attend.  And I did.  We three dudes from the Daygo (that's what gangsta dads call San Diego) met up with Two Busy, Whit, and TheMuskrat, and kind of did the same thing we did in New Orleans.  Except we weren't on any panels.  And some of the guys brought their wives.  (To a mommyblogging conference!  Imagine!) And instead of bunking with a bunch of grubby dadbloggers after the nightly debauchery that's standard for all mommyblogging conferences, I went home to my family.  So, as I was saying, the experience was almost nothing like Mom2.0 Summit.

I believe that The Muskrat will soon be contributing a recap that will focus on the poignant and inspirational experiences of the conference, so I would simply like to share a couple memorable interactions I had with some fellow dadbloggers while riding home after the evening's activities.

Let's Break Up This Sausage Party

Understanding that this website is called Dadcentric, the following video--featuring a girl (cooties!)-- is crazy relevant to anyone who is attempting to parent and/or work in the modern world. It's a presentation given by Sheryl Sandberg, COO at Facebook. It's long for a web video, but it's really good, and the last 5 minutes especially are aimed right at us SAHDs, WAHDs, HAHDs(Hobbyist at home dad), DAHPTDs(Divorced at home part time telecommuting dad), AHOTRDs (At home on the range Dad) etc. But really, the whole thing is worth while if you've ever had any contact with someone who happens to have a vagina. 

Happy Viewing.   

DadCentric Asks: "What Do You Want For Mother's Day?"

Sunday is Mother's Day (right?), so we thought it would be fun to ask some of our favorite moms what they hope to find under the Mother's Day Tree. What? There's no such thing as a Mother's Day Tree? Ok. Well, here's what they hope the Mother's Day Bunny brings.

Tanis, the Redneck Mommy: "I want my kids to sit by my feet and pluck my toe hairs one by one while singing "The Bitch Is Back" by Elton John. Short of that, I will accept handmade cards, cereal in bed, and for them not to roll their eyes when I ask them to clean their rooms. I'm fairly easy."

Erin Kotecki Vest (Queen of Spain): "I want the same thing I want every day...TO RULE THE WORLD...oh, wait...I mean...um...diamonds and a puppy, and to sleep in."

Jett Superior: "This year my fondest wish for Mother's Day is a month of amnesty from a common practice in our home: It is the one where I, exhausted, remove my bra at the end of an asschewer of a day, rub my tired and somewhat achy boobs and my husband becomes all lecherous and involved like I'm giving him a private show or something. Are you reading this, Maxim? What I want for birthing and not doing away with our children is one month of rubbing end-of-day boobs (much, much different than Saturday night party boobs) without drool and clever remarks."

Kristen Chase (The Mominatrix) "Time. (No bottle necessary - unless it's Dom P). There's just nothing like the gift of a few quiet hours without any appointments to wait for, soccer games to drive to, or children singing their 400th rendition of Wheels on the Bus. So grant that special mother in your life some peace and quiet this Mother's Day. Ship her out the door with a credit card in her hand or a spa gift certificate tucked into her purse (with a pre-scheduled appointment, of course) and consider your work done. And if your George Constanza wallet has gone on a diet this year, just take the kids somewhere and let her enjoy the peace and quiet of her own home. Just make her promise that she won't lift a finger, except to call for take out."

Megan (Undomestic Diva): "For Mother's Day, please skip the kitchen appliance aisle at Target and forget the mani/pedi gift certificate from the local salon. Instead, I'm longing for something hand-crafted and sloppily painted, preferrably made of dyed, uncooked pasta shells and yarn in pretty pastels and on construction paper that has been unevenly cut by chubby fingers and good intentions, wrapped clumsily in tissue paper and secured by an entire roll of Scotch tape addressed "To Mom" via a wide Ticonderoga pencil, the contents of which I'll know far before I get it open thanks to an overzealous kid who is so! excited! to give me his gift."

Sugar Jones: "Tulips in a vase. Crepes drizzled with chocolate sauce. A morning in the sun with my kids. All very lovely. But what I really want for Mother's Day is one more afternoon with Rico Suave."

Kristine (Wait In The Van): "I'd love to tell you that I am not the type of woman that hopes for jewelry, spa-treatment, or a gift card to the plastic surgeon. But that would mean that I don't have two *lovely* boys that like to build weapons of mass destruction in the backyard. So this Mother's Day, remember that a journey of a thousand miles is better when there are shiny things to distract you from all. that. love."

Marsha Takeda-Morrison (Sweatpants Mom): "What do I want for Mother's Day? I know I should say something profound like, "The unconditional and everlasting love of my children," but I've got that already. What I really want is a big, shiny, new Breville 800 espresso machine. That big hunk of stainless steel would make me really happy, and with a strong shot of espresso in my hand you can bet I'd appreciate that unconditional, everlasting love even more."

Tricia Honea (DadCentrician Whit's wife and the mother of his children): "I would love to have breakfast with the family and then the rest of the day to myself. No laundry to fold, no dishes to wash and no demands on my time."

Beth Avant (DadCentrician Jason's wife and the mother of his children): "One day - just one - of not having to deal with the crying, the whining, the pouting, the moaning, the refusing to eat veggies, and the tantrums. That's just from my husband; if the kids would do this, hey, bonus."

Jenny, the Bloggess: "I prefer homemade gifts. Like a two-hour musical based on my life. Something simple."

A Mother's Arms are Made of Tenderness and Children Sleep Soundly in Them

Heat, as an extreme, exists only in a relative sense.  It is the hottest thing they have ever known and therefore it is the hottest thing ever known.  I tell them that it is not, that my coffee is actually hotter, but that doesn't soothe them, it only makes them question my sanity as they slowly dare a second sip of their lukewarm chocolate.

********

My back hurts.  I've been carrying too much for too long.  For six weeks I've been living as a single father - a single work-at-home-dad.  It has been incredibly hard and surprisingly easy.  I am better for it and I am tired and I am badly beaten. 

My work has suffered.  My 70 hour work week has been cut to less than forty - compiled from a series of minutes torn apart from hours and tucked between goodnight kisses and the taste of warm whiskey across my lips.  The clock moves always forward.

Chores once shared have become mine alone.  All nights are long and lonely.  All mornings are early and full of songs and frustration.

I do not believe that I have achieved anything worthy of praise or pity, only reflection.  Others face obstacles greater than mine on a daily basis.  They make the most.  They do their best.  They are stronger than I ever thought I was and when I sip from my glass the toast is to them.

But this is not their life, it is mine and while I was prepared and up to the challenge, it was unexpected in both timing and time.  From the frying pan to the fire is not a lateral move.  The heat is extreme and it is all relative.

Tomorrow my wife comes home after six weeks sitting at the bedside of her ailing father.  Six weeks of tears and whispers and shouts in the night.  Six weeks of walking in the shoes of a girl much younger.  Bedside seats are lessons in love and fear and the art of turning fond old memories that weren't. That is a chapter not yet closed.  Those wounds are still open.  He will still have a beside in need of sitting and she will carry her thoughts accordingly.  Her back will hurt.

********

They do not expect her.  They have grown accustomed to the missing of their mother.  Six weeks is a long time gone and a father doing the best he can is still just one kiss goodnight no matter how much laughter fills the day or how much work is left to the forgotten.

Tomorrow will seem but another day to them, the routine of living with some parts missing.  They will be safe and loved and slightly lost.  She will be on a plane six weeks delayed and her dreams will be of little boy kisses grown wet with salt and the slightest linger of lukewarm chocolate.

____________________________________

The title of this post is a quote from Victor Hugo.

Love Thy Neighbor Peeping Tom

Since it's DadCentric's Fourth Anniversary Month, we are paying tribute to those without whom it would be somewhat difficult for men to become Dads. We're starting a regular feature - MomCentric! - in which Kool (with a kapital K) Moms will guest post. Our first MomCentrician: Kristine, who is at the helm of a very funny blog entitled Wait In The Van. The Tina Fey of Mommybloggers? We think so.

I try not to talk about my neighbors too much because it turns me into that judgey-mom type (which--let's face it--I totally am, but like to repress...it keeps me healthy). But there's also the fact that we live in a (military) development. And I'm not sure it's ever been cool to talk trash about the military (whatever VIETNAM, you hippies). 

And really, why would I shit where I, um, let my kids play? Heh.  

Well, because.  The answer is BECAUSE.  Because, in my development, women are CATTY and IDENTIFIED BY their HUSBANDS.   Which kind of sucks because it's totally perpetuating a really harsh and judgmental stereotype.  But they're so vain and gossipy that they don't even stop to consider these things.

BITCHES.