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My six-year-old got hold of my phone
My apologies, Reverend.
of my phone
and sent you
that this in no way
reflects my opinion of you
or the Church.
(Although it does make me wonder if there is a god.)
To my father-in-law, Lou.
No grandparent should ever receive
a GIF of Fabio not wearing pants
with the words
Let's get it on!
I was sure I had deleted that.
To my boss, Gary.
Did you happen to receive a photo
of a baboon's ass
with a note reading
Found this picture of you?
I sent that one.
If there were a job interview to have children
The interviewer might say
I see here that you want children.
And you might say, Yes! I'm ready.
Great. Are you happy in your marriage?
Very. My wife is amazing.
Good for you. Just a couple of questions. When's the last time you went to hear live music?
Two weeks ago. Last-minute thing. Saw a jazz band.
Last time on a plane?
Paris, I think. Yes. We went to Paris for four days.
Did you sleep on the plane?
Yes. It was an overnight flight.
Did anyone throw up on you at any time?
No. Of course not. Why?
Did anyone on the plane wake you suddenly by screaming in your face?
May I ask about the frequency of your sex life?
Average, I guess. Five or six times a week.
How wonderful. I'd like you to take this paper from me. Do you feel anything?
What the hell . . . what is this? It's sticky and it smells.
Do you like that feeling?
Don't be alarmed but I am now going to pour this large glass of orange juice on your pant leg.
Jesus Christ! I can't believe you just did that.
I'm going to make a very loud, annoying noise in your ear. Tell me if you enjoy it. Ahhhhhhh!!!!
What the hell is wrong with you, man?!!
Mister Simpson, I have some bad news for you.
Who will be the first to get up?
3:42 a.m. and the baby is crying.
Who will get up first?
I know that you
know that I
am not asleep.
I'm just faking.
But I also know
that you know
that I know
that you are faking.
Because like me
you have developed the qualities
of an Academy Award-nominated
Who will break?
And then you say
If you get up, I'll show you my boobs.
Late now and light low.
Stories read, time for bed.
Dad, you whisper, why do sumo wrestlers wear diapers?
No one knows, buddy. Shhh.
Why does the emperor stand behind the catcher?
Umpire, pal. Not emperor. Shhh.
What happened to the boy who cried wolf?
He grew up and works in real estate. Go to sleep.
Sleep finally comes.
I wake with a start
move like a cat
head to the door.
(Shit! Dammit! Little bastard!)
In "Rock-a-bye Baby," why is the baby on top of a tree?
Because he wouldn't go to sleep.
The baby fell out of the tree?
He did, yes.
And the cradle fell, too?
The whole thing. Crashed to the ground. I won't lie, it was bad.
Why do we sing that?
Because it teaches us an important lesson.
What's the lesson?
Be quiet or we put you in a tree. Shhh.
My breast-feeding breasts
I know that to you
it might seem like it
would be fun for me
to have my
as I unpack the groceries.
It's not, though.
I'm not feeling sexy.
And they're sore
and full of milk
for our baby.
Look at those jugs
is not what I want to hear
from you right now. (Ever?)
And may I add
that there is a time
and a place to touch them.
And that time was not
at your uncle's wake last week.
What if I
just walked up to you
and squeezed your penis?
Oh. That was not the answer I was expecting.
There isn't a chance in hell we're having sex now, is there?
You have a look on your face
as you get into bed.
Well, I assume you have a look on your face
as I can't quite see your face
because you haven't looked at me for a while.
Ever since we argued.
There were two sides, of course.
Fine. Maybe just the one side.
And maybe I wasn't on it.
And maybe I haven't apologized yet
because I have the emotional intelligence
of a can of gravy.
(Your words, but not wrong.)
But now you are in your
underwear and a T-shirt.
And while I can't see your face
I can see your butt
which looks very nice to me.
I assume that my ability to see your butt
is a signal from you to me
that all is forgiven
and that you want to have sex.
But it turns out it's not a signal at all.
It's just my ability to see.
Did I mention I'm sorry? I say
attempting to touch your non-signaling butt.
Don't even, you say
swatting my hand away.
Very good then.
After the epidural
you managed to nap
in the delivery room.
And I watched you
my lovely wife
smiling at the thought of our child
but also a little hungry.
Did you pack a sandwich or anything?
I whispered to you
shaking your arm a bit
when you didn't respond.
So what I did was-
because I didn't want to bother you anymore-
I went across the street
to grab a quick burger and a beer.
I decided to sit at the bar
because I was kind of tired too.
Maybe I was just hungry
but it was a really good burger.
So then I had a second beer
and got to chatting with the bartender.
He was the one who suggested
that maybe I should get back to the hospital
when he found out what was going on.
And while I wasn't technically in the room with you
when our son was born
I was certainly there in spirit.
We should all go back to that bar sometime.
I am going to count to three
I mean it, young lady.
You do NOT want me to count to three.
1 . . .
2 . . .
She's not budging.
What does one do after three?
Go to four?
Has anyone ever gone to four?
What is the protocol on four?
Is it possible to go to five?
What happens at 100?
What's the punishment there?
A supermax prison in Colorado?
I'm going to give you a second chance.
Do what I asked and put your things away.
Put your backpack away.
Clean up your crayons?
What are you willing to do?
Watch Doc McStuffins?
As I sit on the toilet
the door opens.
There you stand
almost two years old.
Are you going to the bathroom?
Sure am, I say.
But I need some privacy.
Close the door please.
And you do.
From the inside.
So, Dad, you ask.
What should we talk about?
I am fully aware that the wheels on the bus go round and round
I get it.
I know about the wheels and the horn and the babies.
Everyone knows that.
Here's something you might not know.
The daddy on this bus is thinking
This is not what I signed up for.
And maybe the driver on the bus
is thinking the exact same thing.
Maybe he looks over at the daddy
and he doesn't go Move on back.
Maybe instead he nods and smiles.
And the daddy nods and smiles.
And the driver hits the gas
and goes zoom, zoom, zoom
so fast that the mommies on the bus say
Jesus Christ almighty, slow down!
And the driver screeches to a halt at the corner
because he sees a sign for a bar called "Open at 9 a.m."
and he and the daddy get off the bus and go into the bar.
Call an Uber
because this bus is out of service.
Sing that verse, why don't you.
Here we are
in the car
driving to Costco
for a fifty-pack of paper towels.
You're ten years old now.
I'm eleven, Dad, you say.
Why are we going the long way?
And why are you smoking?
But here's a question for you.
You know your penis, right?
you ask, staring at me.
Son, let's say a man has a penis and that penis . . .
Dad. Is this a math problem?
Like: if a train leaves Chicago at nine a.m. . . .
Nope. Not a math problem.
It's a penis problem.
Well, not a problem per se.
You see, a woman has a vagina.
And the penis and vagina say hello.
Ha! A talking penis!
Glen at school does a talking penis thing with his lunch box.
Forget Glen for a minute.
When a man and a woman love each other . . .
Are you and Mom getting a divorce?!
No no. God no. Your mother likes me very much.
No, I'm talking here about . . . well . . .
Intercourse . . .
Oh. Glen says you need a boner first.
Well, Glen is spot-on there.
Come to think of it
maybe just talk to Glen.
Barney died, sweetheart
It's sad, I know.
How did he die?
Well, Barney was old.
And you know how dinosaurs are extinct?
Extinct means you no longer deserve to live.
That's just a rough definition
Anyway he was the last dinosaur.
And now he's gone.
And here's a funny story about Caillou.
He went on vacation.
You know how we go on vacation
to your grandmother's
for one agonizing week?
I mean wonderful week?
Well, it's like that.
Only the food is probably better.
Oh. And I saw on the news recently that
Paw Patrol went on their last mission.
Apparently they retired.
And the Bubble Guppies moved to Phoenix.
And Dora . . . poor Dora went a little too far exploring.
Look, sweetheart. The Bourne Identity is on.
You'll like this.
What you call sex I call a wonderful time to make a mental list
Is this good? you ask.
It's very pleasant, I respond, distracted,
immediately regretting the word "pleasant."
Pleasant? you say, confused and hurt.
Sorry, I meant amazing.
What are you thinking about? you ask, trying to be sexy.
You, I lie.
Of course you. And . . . lots of . . . sexy things . . .
Like the fact that we need milk.
And paper towels.
And glancing over at the windows
I notice that they need to be washed.
And I forgot to call my sister back.
Oh, and my shoes at the cobbler.
"Cobbler" is a funny word.
Except I say cobbler out loud.
And you say
Oh yeah. You're my dirty little peach cobbler, aren't you?
But thank you for reminding me
that I need to go to the farmer's market.
If you had told me
in my twenties
that I would do this,
I wouldn't believe you.
But this morning,
the baby's poop
shot out like a cannonball
and some of it landed in my hair.
Well, I was pretty tired
and I guess too lazy
And I was late for work.
So what I did
was take a baby wipe
and clean it out of my hair.
Most of it, anyway.
Then I went on with my day.
This is relaxing
I think to myself
on the first day
of our vacation
as I hide
in the men's room
of a Roy Rogers
at a rest stop
just off bumper-to-bumper I-95
while the kids
with tennis racquets
in the back seat.
And only five more hours to go.
I don't want to leave this place
I whisper aloud.
Neither do I
says the man in the next stall.
Interpreting your preschool artwork
I made this for you, Mommy!
Honey. It . . . is . . . a-MAZ-ing.
But you're not looking. You're looking at your phone.
Sorry, honey. I see it now.
Guess what it is!
Oh my! Well I think it's pretty obvious . . .
It's a duck on a plane!
No it isn't!
Oh. Well . . . is it a farmer . . . and a little round pig who might also be a beach ball?
Ahhh . . . a dog holding a lottery ticket?
This part looks like a prison yard . . . Is it a prison . . . in the moonlight?
It's a stick eating a grape!
Good job, sweetie.
Let's put it in the big pile
by the fireplace
where all of Mommy's
special papers go.
Weekend breakfast with the family
I was up early on Sunday
and did two loads of laundry
and made a shopping list
for the week
and then made eggs and pancakes
My children hugged me.
You're Mrs. Squishy Butt
my daughter said
squeezing my butt
My son and husband laughed too.
You are, Mom!
Your butt is so squishy!
You have the squishiest butt in the whole house!
Everyone kept laughing
and saying I had
a squishy butt.
Except I guess I was a bit tired.
The weekends can be long.
And maybe I don't go to the gym
as much as I should.
You all stopped laughing though
when I threw the bowl
of pancake batter
into the sink
You can all go straight to hell!
I may have overreacted.
The heat between us
In the kitchen
after the babies are down
we are finally alone.
You in your baggy sweatpants
and old socks.
I sense your sexuality.
If I squint.
I am so turned on
I hear you say
through a mouthful
of cold mac and cheese
spooned directly from a saucepan.
You said I am so tired.
I lean in to kiss your neck
and am hit with a powerful scent
that forces me back.
New shampoo? I ask.
No. I think that's spit-up.
I feel the heat between us.
And that heat is the front burner
which I left on by mistake.
3:32 a.m. and I am sure the infant is taunting me
The Navy SEALs do a thing
so I have heard.
Days and nights
with almost no sleep.
Pushed to their limit.
Except it only lasts five days.