Triple The Dad

Everybody wants their kids to hit that important milestone of speaking.  Right up until they do. We were the same.  One of my concerns is that I sometimes have a dirty mouth.  Not the “doesn’t brush his teeth” kind.  My teeth are fairly immaculate.  I’m talking the “swears more than he sometimes should” type.  I never swore on what you would term a regular basis, but I’m a true believer that certain occasions call for a good curse word.  Car accidents; for instance.  If you are ever in one, even a minor one, having the F word be the first thing out of your mouth is a perfectly acceptable situation, in my opinion. But at times in my life the definition of “acceptable situation” slide a bit; sometimes more than a bit.  During those times, I would find things like not getting a letter in the mail sufficient reason to let go with a chosen word.  As in: “S***, the mail came and I didn’t get this letter to the mailbox yet.”  ...

If you are a Dad blogger, you probably haven’t failed to notice there are quite a few of us. There are so many of us that the Year of the Dad has arrived.  Supposedly.  I hear tell that we are leaving the workforce. We are staying home to raise our kids; by choice.  Gone are the days when weary Dads returned home from work, patted their kid on the head and buried their heads in the newspaper, looking up only long enough to maybe admire a Lego creation.  We are now taking active roles in raising our kids.  Supposedly. I keep hammering you with “supposedly” because two recent expeditions out with my triplets suggest a different narrative. The first was a Gymboree class that, while pretty evenly populated, was still mostly Mom dominated as far as caring and playing went.  Dads are there, sure.  Some are even engaging with their kids.  But you know who I talk to because they are holding the hand of the child behind mine?  Moms. ...