Stay At Home Dads can’t survive. Unless, they find a way to cope with not bringing home bread of any kind for the time being. Some dad will ask me. “So, what do you do?” I say. “Dishes but I make Focaccia Bread to.” I cope with jokes.
I wasn’t always a stay at home dad. Still, reality is I’m used to working for almost nothing as either a non-union TV writer, waiter or as an IT recruiter on draw. So being looked down as an indentured servant isn’t a new reality at 42 for me either.
Meanwhile, my saintly wife works as a nurse for newborns checking vital signs on blue faced babies. Which makes me feel like a self-absorbed narcissist in comparison because I all check for is for retweets.
In Oklahoma the state motto is “labor conquers all.” Which is true if the labor involved produces pesticide free fruit you can buy at Whole Foods for your labors. Daughter says. “Dada, tell Alexa to add Avocados to your shopping list.” I reply. “You do know Avocados don’t grow on trees back east?” My daughter replies. “Then, start bringing home some bacon already. And I’m not talking about the veggie bacon either.” Meanwhile, I’m thinking great, retweets are all I got. My daughter makes sure I’ll won’t blank on that.
Trump says he never changed his kid diapers. I wish I can make this claim. It would mean I had my shit together for a change. Who isn’t a Stay at Home Comedian Dad/Father of 3 whose been fired more than a Palestinian Sling Shot.
Wilderness bound, I used to wreck my Everlast Punching Bag to Hole’s “Miss World” before busting the chains more than twice from such rageful rocketed propelled upward motion. Screaming with unmatched, she male rocker rage, “I’ve made my bed, I’ll die in it. I’ve made my bed, I’ll die in it.” Courtney Love is a super-charismatic bad ass. She’s like Mia Farrow with better husband selection.
Behind every good man is a better woman. Alright, not so much in Kurt Cobain’s case. That is until he blew his brains out knowing Courtney was going to be mothering his only child during her prime smack years.
Apparently, everyone called her daughter a Crack Baby because she still couldn’t read at 9. How much fun was Courtney Love having without ever reading Allen Ginsburg’s Howl to scare her daughter to sleep at night? I don’t know anything about Eddie Veeder’s wife from Pearl Jam besides her being a smoking hot, rock star mama babe. I think it’s safe to say, Eddie Vedder didn’t hit on her at coffee shop in Seattle. Sean Penn just wrote a book about a presidential assination. I bet he celebrated with Bill Maher in Maui at the Four Seasons, as Eddie Vedder played Alive naked on the Ukulele.
Def Leppard just got into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Def Leppard having to wait this long to be inducted in the Rock and Hall of Fame, lumped in with the Cure bites. It’s like learning Elvira slept with Kurt Loder during his moody goth phase in college before you did.
For the past 5 years, I’ve haven’t missed adult interaction too much. Mom asks. “Don’t you miss cooler talk?” I say “Mom, I’ve got Twitter and WordPress for that.” But seriously, adult interaction is overrated, especially when your 3 super sweet, hilarious kids are superior company than most. Who let daddy get his write on because God give kids to only the lonely.
Stay At Home Dads are treated like Welfare Moms. For example, my dad would never use the term Stay At Home Dad in my honor. In his eyes, I’m a sheltered bum. Whose entire life is a learning disability.
Fulltime dad wanderers have to deal with huffs of looked down disgust at the playground, whenever you infringe on Stay At Home Mom’s turf. But I was an IT recruiter for Robert Half in Manhattan, so I’m used to being frowned on like a fellow IT recruiter who insists on wearing his Penn State tie to work for casual Friday. The weekend after the Joe Paterno movie is released on HBO. Let me summarize the movie for you. Joe Paterno dropped the ball, never called pass interference, fucking butter fingers, the end.
My manhood under siege at the Deli is nothing new since birth of this pescatarian comedian/father of 3. “No bacon?” I reply. “Is my egg and cheese on a roll sandwich, not a manly enough order for you, Dominick I ain’t no fag, Scholanti?”
Baby Treatment at 42 from my parents is old hat. But I don’t care because I’m not the one still throwing a 2 year long hissy fit because Hillary Hammer Time Cankles struck out at bat again. Last, I just got word about my blog, Wishing My Son’s Birthday Never Blows, being published on the Good Men Project today. 19 previous posts of mine will be on the Good Men Project soon after. Hard work does pay off kids. I’m living proof of it. Couldn’t have done it without you and mama’s support. Behind this do it all dad, is superior, sweeter seed. Who make this do it dad, feel more blessed than the rest.