We’ve started doing a new thing around the house. We formally introduce each other with the most absurd names possible. It goes like this:
Me (standing next to Boone): “May I present to you, from the Land of Duuuuufflingplaps, the great and honorable Lord Baghlarghlargh!”
The boys do it too, introducing me. And we all think it’s super funny. However, Wyatt just topped us all, possibly forcing us to retire the bit. Last night, while I helped Boone brush his teeth, Wyatt introduced himself thusly:
"May I present to you, from the Land of Farts, the great and honorable Lord Butt!"
The other night I was playing soccer with my 5-year-old and he was in goal and I was taking some pretty tough shots on him. He’s gotten pretty good at blocking my shots. My wife came over and I told her he was getting good. Before the next shot I said, “Watch this.” Then I took a shot but the ball got away from me and went a little high and hit my son right in the face. Instant tears. You should have seen the look on my wife’s face.
"Watch this." (kicks ball directly into son’s face)
When it comes to soccer, making your kid cry is not the GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAALLL!
When it comes to expectations as a parent, I’m pretty pragmatic. I don’t need my kids to be straight-A students or invent the cure for cancer. I mean I tell them they can do anything, can be anything, but when we have trouble just bathing them regularly I find it’s best to manage my expectations.
Despite my pragmatism, however, it devastates me to know that one day I won’t be able to pick them up anymore, that a college romance will end up breaking their heart, that a job will replace Legos as the most time consuming thing in their life. And worst of all, someday they’ll realize, while the world is full of wonderful things, that real magic doesn’t exist.
They are such a pain. When a certain, fake real music TV station calls you about appearing in its Behinds in Music series, NDAs prevent you from telling your story about that summer in college you spent touring German gay bars as part of an Air Supply cover band with thedaddycomplex and a Nena cover band formed by ifjanetranit and lazydad. With a little white foundation and a perm, it’s amazing how much lazydad looks like a West German white woman.
But, alas, unless I receive permission from thedaddycomplex and ifjanetranit's husband, Scotch, the name he went by that summer for reasons I can't disclose, this tale of intrigue will have to remain locked away in the fake reality story vault.
My lawyer has advised me not to answer any questions about this spectacularly fabulous chapter of my life.