The Daddy Complex

Hermetically Sealed Dad

The boys are sick again. Maybe. It could be teething. All I know is they’re both sneezing, cranky, have runny noses and Wyatt looks like Jim Carroll before he cleaned up. Wait… Did Jim Carroll ever clean up?

Wyatt has nearly a full mouth of teeth already. He may also have a few of Boone’s. Plus, their snot is clear. For you non-parents, I know that sounds like I’m just offering gross details, but snot color is important. Green or yellow snot means an illness. Or your child has been snorting lines of Kool-Aid mix again.

If it does turn out to be another bug, I’m going to do my best to avoid catching it. The last one incapacitated me for weeks. After I post this, I’m purchasing a Hazmat suit and maybe a full-body condom and possibly a trough of Lysol. It may frighten the boys, but it’s for the best. “Come here, son. Give Darth Vader a hug.”

Boone shows off his sweet dancing skills just before going ass over teakettle.

Shit They Don't Tell You About Fatherhood: 1950s Housewife Syndrome

In this forum, I’ve oft referred to the “1950s Housewife Syndrome.” Contrary to what you might think, that is not another parenting blog… But, just in case, COPYRIGHT! Ha! I smell a spin-off.

No, the 1950s Housewife Syndrome encapsulates all the ethereal stresses and mental breakdowns that naturally come with the role of stay-at-home parent, which is compounded by the fact that ethereal stresses and mental breakdowns are so hard to describe. So, those 1950s housewives had trouble explaining what exactly was stressing them out and, because of that, their husbands thought it wasn’t really true. This, of course, added further frustration and I don’t know why I’m writing in the past tense because it’s me, okay? I’m talking about me.

Actually, my wife is incredibly sympathetic, but those stresses are real for all stay-at-home parents. And they will continue until we perfect a parenting robot and, even then, it’ll probably dish up annoying sass like that cheeky Rosie from The Jetsons. Shut up and do your job! You’re a robot!… Sorry.

To give you an idea how raw this sore spot gets, check this out. A family friend came over a few weeks ago. She’s a nice old lady. My wife was telling her how long it’s been since she’s had a real vacation. The old lady turned to me and asked about my last vacation, then waved her hand, dismissing her own question by saying, “Oh, you’re home all day. Every day is a vacation.” At that moment, I came criminally close to punching a nice old lady in the throat.

Here’s the kicker: Men handle stress differently than women. I’ve written before that I honestly believe women are biologically better prepared to deal with this kind of stuff. Or maybe that’s just my excuse for spending the first three months of my sons’ life muttering to myself as I hugged my knees and rocked back in forth in the corner of our darkened bathroom.

As a stay-at-home father, you must have coping mechanisms in place to deal with stress. If you don’t, figure them out fast. Don’t expect anyone to understand the way you deal with it or why you would even need to. It will only lead to more stress. Learning to work out the inherent stress in your day will make you a better parent and, yes, make your kids better kids. Just remember there are no wrong answers. Well, except locking your baby in the garage for an hour. That’s a wrong answer.

Wyatt on Christmas morning, 2009. He’s doing his Playgirl pose. And yes, he’s killing it.

Boone on Christmas morning, 2009. Why, yes, he is stunningly beautiful.

Hitting The High Note

Many twins develop their own form of verbal communication. They speak regular old English to everyone else, but when speaking to each other, they can slip into this invented form of speech, understandable only to them. I once saw a video of teen twins conversing in a language that sounded like a Kraftwerk bootleg played through the stereo of a 1983 Dodge Aries.

My boys, though still very young, are clearly developing their own method of communication, but they won’t be conversing in a bubble. Judging from the sounds they’re using, dolphins will also understand them.

This morning as we prepped them for their morning walk, they chattered back and forth with short screeches, chirps and shrieks. One exchange was so high pitched I could not hear it. I could only see their mouths moving as I tried to explain to my dog that I wasn’t whistling for my slippers.

A Nose By Any Other Name

Me: Blow your nose.
Boone: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Me: You’ve got a runny nose, so blow into this hanky.
Boone: This what?
Wyatt: You’re talking gibberish, dude.
Me: It’s easy. Just blow air through your nose. It clears away the snot. You’ll breathe better.
Boone: Into that?
Me: Yes. It’s a hanky.
Wyatt: It looks like a sock.
Me: Well, it is a sock, but it’s a hanky for this purpose.
Boone: You can’t just go changing things up on us like that. You’re telling me a sock can also be a... a...
Wyatt: A hanky.
Boone: A hanky. How am I supposed to learn anything?
Wyatt: Yeah. It’s like when you call the dog “Mike.”
Me: His name is Mike.
Wyatt: So he’s a dog and a Mike? You’re really screwing us up here, old man. Like learning the English language from scratch wasn’t challenging enough.
Boone: And let’s not forget that he wants me to do some weird nose thing.
Wyatt: Right.
Me: Look, you can refer to things in multiple ways. For instance, you guys are twins, but you could also be called “brothers.”
Boone: Wait. What?
Me: You’re also “siblings.”
Wyatt: Dude! Stop! You’re frying my synapses here.
Boone: I need an aspirin.
Me: It’s okay. You’ll figure it out over time. For now, just blow through your nose—
Boone: Fine. Snaaaaaaghrrrr!... Wow. That’s disgusting.
Me: Next time, wait until I have the hanky in front of your face.
Wyatt: You mean the sock.

All The Cool Kids Are Doing It

The Daddy Complex now has a fan page over on Facebook. I know what you’re thinking: “In the name if merciful pirouetting Christ, how do I become a fan over there?” If you already have a Facebook account, it’s easy. Go to facebook.com/thedaddycomplex (also linked in the sidebar) and click “Become a fan.”

If you don’t have a Facebook account, let me be the first to welcome you out of your coma. A few things you should know:

While you’re hearing a lot about “We Are The World,” it’s actually not 1985;
Those little things people keep fingering are called iPhones; and
We still don’t have flying cars unless you count most Toyota models.

Wyatt and Boone at the piano. This image is a couple of months old, but clearly proves my babies are more stunning than yours.

Your Twisted Daddy Complex

I’m slowly tweaking the layout of The Daddy Complex. Those reading via the Tumblr dashboard or an RSS feed may not know that the site has been cleaned up a bit. No more empty pizza boxes and used needles.

I’ve also started re-organizing some of the tags I use for the posts. That allowed me to create a sidebar section I call “Daddy’s Stash” where I’ve provided links to the more popular things on The Daddy Complex. Namely, The Chats and the semi-regular series Shit They Don’t Tell You About Fatherhood. Of course, if you have a favorite post or series of posts, please let me know and I’ll add it to Daddy’s Stash… unless it’s stupid. Then, really, just keep it to yourself.

And don’t forget, if you have a question, go ahead and ask. As I’ve written before, it doesn’t have to be about parenting. I do, however, draw the line at marmosets. No marmoset questions.

Lastly, thanks to everyone for reading and spreading the word. Please continue to do so, not for any noble reason, but rather because I crave attention. It’s the only reason I had kids — so that there would be people who, just by sheer nature, would need me every day.

Thanks a pantload.