We took the boys to the playground on Sunday to meet up with some of their friends (and their parents, of course). With full attendance, we were four boys and four parents. The kids were going ape-shit, rambunctiousness in full effect. At one point, they all charged past a little girl (she was maybe two) and her mother at the top of a slide. One of the boys pushed her out of the way and the mother started barking at them.
Okay. I don’t mind another parent telling my guys to simmer down, especially in a top-of-the-slide scenario. Another dad and I saw this happening and came over to calm the boys down. Before we could stop them, however, Boone shoved the girl a little.
He was excited, but he was wrong. The mother said he punched the girl and, not wanting to split hairs on the definition of a punch vs. a shove, I made Boone go apologize to the girl and her parents. Teachable moment. Lesson learned. We now return you to our regularly scheduled pandemonium.
Except the mother of the girl spent the rest of her time at the park glaring — and I mean glaring — at my wife. (And don’t get me started on why the woman was glaring at my wife and not me.) The other father also overheard her telling her older daughter, who looked to be about 4-years-old, to “stay away from those boys, those are bad boys.” Of course, the girl immediately came over and hung out with the boys because, even at 4, she’s ready to piss off and disappoint her parents with her choice of men.
The family eventually left and we all thought it was kind-of hysterical. I understand that it sucks that her kid got thumped for no good reason, but if that mother thinks that sort of thing will never happen again, she’s going to have a very miserable life. It’s a playground. Kids get rowdy, they roughhouse, scrapes and bruises happen. Hell, if one of our kids doesn’t leave the park with some sort of injury, it means we had a shitty time.
whenrobotsreproduce:
“It’s not baby-sitting when Daddy does it. Who wouldn’t agree with that? The U.S. Census Bureau, apparently. When both parents are present in the household, the Census Bureau assumes for the purposes of its ‘Who’s Minding the Kids?’ report, that the mother is the ‘designated parent.’ And when the designated parent is working or at school, the bureau would like to know who’s providing child care. If the answer is Daddy, as it was 26 percent of the time when these numbers were last released, in 2005, and 32 percent of the time in 2010, the Census Bureau calls that ‘care.’ But if Mom is caring for a child while Dad’s at work, that’s not a ‘child care arrangement,’ but something else. Parenting, presumably.”
—The Census Bureau Counts Fathers as ‘Child Care’ - NYTimes.com
Excuse me?
I try to not be bothered by stuff like this, but c’mon. Allow me to offer this measured and respectful rebuttal…
Dear U.S. Census Bureau:
Fuck you.
Sincerely,
David Vienna, Dad
electradaddy:
So, DynaPapa, the twins, & I are loading up the RV & taking a road trip to San Luis Obispo just so we can see the musical/play that TheDaddyComplex wrote. CollegeDaughter is driving up from UCSD to babysit the twins while we’re at the show.
The San Luis Obispo gossip columns are all abuzz that TheDaddyComplex himself will be in attendance on the same night that I’ll be there. So, provided his security staff lets his fans get close enough, I may get to meet him. (I’ve never met a celebrity before, although I did meet Crystal Gayle’s husband once. Does that count?) Anyway, I’m guessing TheDaddyComplex is either the Dread Pirate Roberts or the fella who kept saying, “My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!” I’ll let you know.
You reckon he’s gonna be surprised to learn that my real name is Annie Wilkes & that I’m his “number one fan”? For his sake, let’s just hope he doesn’t kill off any of the characters in his play, especially if I like one of them. Click here for the cockadoodie car. OMG. The funniest scene of the entire movie. The look on his face is PRICELESS.
Every time I meet someone I know from the Internet in real life, my nervous system has a reaction akin to when the Ghostbusters crossed the streams. It stems from the fact that I’m socially disabled. People expect me to be like John Davidson and are often disappointed to discover that I’m actually like Jo-Jo the Idiot Circus Boy.
Still, I’m very much looking forward to meeting ElectraDaddy and DynaPapa. And just so there are no injuries, I’ll wear my helmet.
Dear British readers:
My wife and I were just pretending to be British and I said, “Shove it up your bonker.” Is that a thing over there?
