Archives for posts with tag: sahd funny blog

I can’t even type it. Sure, I can say it. But, the word floats from my lips and up into the clouds. It’s not real. For another 3 weeks.

I can’t promise I won’t cry on his first day of school. In fact, I’m crying right now. I need to slap myself in the face and snap out of it. Hello? Hondaddy? Worm is growing up. In another 3 weeks, I may just be Dad.

I’m not going to say that the past 5+ years have been fast and furious. Some days were fast. Some days were furious. Some days…well, the trauma to my psyche has thankfully caused my mind to forget.

But I’ve been lucky enough to be the stay-at-home parent. Lucky enough to be there to witness him changing (sometimes more quickly than his underwear, but never more quickly than his socks) every day. For that, I’m grateful. (Thank you for the chance to raise our children, Steph.)

Our house doesn’t fit him anymore. He’s bigger than that now…mentally and emotionally. When he’s home, I can feel the pressure against the walls that more needs to been seen, felt, heard, experienced. He knows it. And if he’s anything like me, more means everything from here to the moon. Who the hell am I kidding? He is like me.

So, this is it. Because pretty soon, there’ll be friends and play dates  hanging out with buddies, sleepovers, study sessions, homework, alarm clocks, schedules, calendars, plans, lists, organized routineness. College.

The luxury of 3 naps a day. Puree prunes. 10000 diapers. 8000 bottles. Staring at the baby monitor wondering if he was asleep or dead. The warm blanket of Wormie hugs on my skin just after a nap. Hide and seek in the house. Holding his own bottle. Standing up in the crib. Pulling all the couch cushions down. The 6am wake up call of “Could you play with me?” before I’ve reached for my morning tea. The mid-morning cuddles on the couch. Playing cars on the playground slides. Tiny bite-sized pieces of apples, grapes, and sandwiches. Philosophical discussions about Lego cars, planets, and Play-doh. Thursday hamburger day. It would take days to write down each experience, but I’m going to miss all of it (except maybe the couch cushions part).

I’ve gone through the range of emotions with stay-at-home parenting. It’s changed me. The initial idea of it was fluffy and had the smell of freshly laundered sheets. The reality, though, contained much more grit and the sour stench of sweat. I’m different now. As much as I’d like to be who I was 5 years ago, I can’t. A big part of me longs to wake up one day and be him again. That guy was awesome. But if we go back there, I would no longer be Hondaddy. And he’s sort of awesome, too…when he’s not wiping butts.

I don’t think I was very good at being a SAHD. If I was to rate myself from 1-10, I’d probably be a 7. I probably could have put more effort into it, I don’t know. (You could always use the excuse that you could have done more, right? If you didn’t die from the effort, you probably could have done more.) Either way, I hope I was good enough. I hope that one day Worm will think that I was good enough. I kept him alive and well long enough to get upgraded to care for a second one, didn’t I? (I didn’t get a pay raise to go with the extra responsibility, though…poor negotiating on my part, I guess!)

I didn’t love every minute of it, either. I didn’t cherish every. single. second. (If anyone tells you that they did, they’re kidding you as well as themselves.) Nor, did I plan a whole lot. I never wanted to inundate the kids with too many outings. We set up playdates here and there, but commitments were few and far between. Sometimes, all we did was kick a ball around the house, or paint watercolors. Yes, there were also days when we did nothing but eat, sleep, and poop. (Ok, maybe watched some TV too.) The important thing is that we were together. And that is what I loved.

The playfulness and free flowing whimsy of youth that I presently drink in will soon be portioned…and after Mushie follows suit, will completely stop.

I’m flooded with fear. Happiness. Sadness. Anxiousness. Nervousness. Uneasiness. Confusion. Sentimentality. Nostalgia. Hope. Excitement. Ready. Yes, I think I’m ready.

Bring it.

If there’s one thing I can accept, it’s change. It’s tough for me to adapt sometimes, but resistance is different than reluctance. Change is inevitable. (Where have I heard that before?) It allows us to grow as human and become what we were meant to be. It challenges us to do more, achieve more, be more in our lifetime. It’s a gateway to opportunity. And this is ours.

Just like Worm will be taking another step in his life, so will I. We will learn and adapt to our new future together, and our new future alone. Plenty of tears, hugs and kisses will be exchanged and as we let each other’s hand go and wave goodbye one last time before the teacher finally kicks us out, I’ll watch as he floats up into the clouds and grabs that K (and the rest of the word) with both hands.


I’m proud of you, Worm.



I began reading at a very young age. My mom says that by 3, I had grasped quite a few words. My wife on the other hand, didn’t start reading until later. We both ended formal schooling with roughly the same level of education, and the only difference between us is that sometimes I have to speak slowly so Steph understands me. And in rare instances, I am forced to spell out words such as “N – O!” (That may have less to do with comprehension and more to do with stubbornness, but I don’t care…I’m just stating the facts!)

Naturally, I thought that Worm should have been reading at 3 just like his youthful, debonaire dad. I mean, if he’s MY son, he shouldn’t veer away from my clear path towards awesomeness. Over a year ago, night-time reading turned into a spelling exercise. That evolved into a word finding exercise. Then, we started moving into recognizing vowel and consonant sounds. I was eager. Worm started off in the same boat, but quickly jumped ship for the safer shore of “Ughs” and “Grunts”. (I jest, I jest…)

We both became increasingly frustrated. The bedtime story had turned into a nightmare. So, I dropped the opportunity to make a learning experience out of that part of the day and begrudgingly let it go.

Visions of Worm and I hashing out Dostoyevsky and Hemingway disappeared. My son was going to be illiterate for the rest of his life. His elementary schoolmates would render him a laughing-stock after his 1st grade teacher who’d asked him to write a certain sentence on the board, turned to find this instead:


He would be doomed.

I haven’t since pushed for Worm to focus on reading. These days, I don’t really think about it. Though, he is starting to be curious about various letter combinations found around town. If he asks me what certain words are, sometimes I just make stuff up.

“Honeydaddy, what’s that blue sign on that door? What’s M-A-N say?”

“It says ‘Monsters inside’. You want to go in?”

I’ve finally taken the steering wheel back from my ego and accepted that even though Worm may not be reading right now, he is still learning. That is my key takeaway from all the prior frustration. I must say that I was reassured when I came across an article about illiterate Finnish children and how at an early age, the teachers and kindergartener don’t focus on reading, but on playing and exploring. Yet, by the age of 15, these children are testing on the same level or higher when compared to other children around the world, many of whom have forced reading curriculums during early education. (Ahem…United States.)

Children are sponges. They are wired for learning. But that learning, especially early on, must come from play activities where they get to engage and interact with objects, people, and TVs. (just checking to see if anyone was still reading…) Having a child try to drill and memorize stuff when they’re not interested is difficult at best. Hell, it’s difficult for adults to do!

Worm is almost 5 years old. Can he read? Hell no. But, am I afraid? Not anymore. We’ll try the Finnish approach and see what happens. There will be plenty of time for academia later in life. Right now, I’m not going to force him to unwillingly spell and recite words. If he’s interested, then I’ll engage him. But otherwise, I will save the effort for a few years later. For now, I’m going to enjoy the Worm’s playful curiosity…in whatever he wants to indulge in!

There’s a lot of interesting perspective in the article I read here: The Joyful, Illiterate Kindergartners of Finland. I encourage any parent of youngsters to read it. It was eye-opening for me and helped me to reevaluate my expectations for my child!


Even though he can't read, he knows how to work the system!

Even though he can’t read, he knows how to work the system!

Gavin – 40; Honeydaddy – 24 (In this parenting experience, I’m learning just as much as you, Worm!)


…in broad daylight and we didn’t wear a disguise!  (Worm and I are brave soldiers in the constant battle for equal treatment of men in this woman’s world.)  Publicly, we scoff at the cornucopia of mommy and baby activities in San Diego.  But deep down, we yearn to participate!  And so we did just that after hearing through the grapevine that a dance class was being offered in the neighborhood.

I’m not a mommy, but I play one at home (and I’m even having sympathy pains with this pregnancy)!  And for me, that’s good enough.  I just hoped that it was good enough to sneak us into the blatantly gender-biased dance class unobserved…(Do you think my mustache would give me away as a dad?  Nah, not in crunchy California where mustachioed women are gaining broader acceptance by everyone except Republicans.)

The Mommy and me sing and dance class is one-hour long, $5 a family, and designed for toddlers.  So you’re telling me that I can give someone $5 to let my kid off-leash to run around their store like a maniac?   Where do I sign up!  I didn’t believe it.  I had to see for myself what kind of establishment would allow for such lunacy.

A Time To Dance dance studio is the place.  When we arrived and I was getting Worm out of the car, I kept saying “We’re late. We’re late.  We’ve got to hurry.  This is not a good first impression.”  And then as we walked in, I breathed a sigh of relief at a room full of screaming toddlers bouncing off the floors, mirrors and the ceiling.  (Duh.  We’re fine.  What was I thinking?  This is not a job interview.  A good first impression for toddlers is sharing one another’s boogers.)

“Worm, I don’t think anyone will notice the ‘daddy’ as long as you’re screaming at the top of your lungs and flapping your arms a bunch.  We should be incognito.  There’s too much going on for any mom here to focus on more than their own child and the object he or she is crashing towards.  Just do me a favor, for the next 60 minutes, my name is ‘Ma ma’.  Ok?”

We dropped our entrance fee into the bowl and I scouted the adult crowd.  Immediately, I gravitated towards the lone bearded man in the corner of the room and introduced myself.  We exchanged the clan handshake.

“Our group is growing!” he exclaimed.

“Once we get a foothold in this place, the other SAHDs will be called in for reinforcements.  We won’t be outnumbered for long.”  I winked in response.

Talk about nuts.  (Not him and I.  The atmosphere of the dance class!)

At first, the Worm clung to my neck like a baby lemur with sharp fingernails that need to be clipped tonight sometime after bath and dinner time.  Worm’s survey of the dizzying situation was complete within 10 minutes.  (Worm is like a pot of chili ramen noodles.  Give him some time to warm up and eventually he’ll be a spoonful of bubbly spicy awesomeness for under 25 cents.)  He was ready to be set loose.  And off he went.

It’s amazing what your child pays his mind to when thrown in a new environment.  For Worm, it was:

  • Why is that light off?
  • The music is coming out of that box on the wall.  I can hear it.
  • What the hell are all these kids screaming about?
  • This place has the “Itsy Bitsy Spider” song?  You kept telling me you made it up, Dad!
  • Why is that kid holding my new favorite plastic red cone?  Gimme that!
  • Wow!  Beach balls!
  • Why is everyone dancing in a circle?  While they’re distracted, I’m going to grab some of these finger puppets.  Dad, put these in your pocket.
  • Shit, they stopped moving.  Are they looking at us?  Run!
  • A parachute!  Let’s try to walk acr…Whoa!  This thing’s extraordinarily slippery, if I do say so myself!
  • Amazing!  There’s ten of me in the mirrors.  And we’re all handsome!  Except that one way over there…
  • I’m tired Dad.  I’m ready to go home.

“Dude, we’ve got 45 minutes left.” I whispered to Worm.  “Why don’t we try to participate with the rest of the class?  Don’t you want to learn how to dance so that you can be on SYTYCD and make your mother proud of you?  You wouldn’t want to disappoint her.  So, let’s work on the pirouette and petite allegro.  Point the toes.  Point!”

I'm All Danced Out, Dad.  Stop Taking Pictures and Let's Go Home and Nap!

I’m All Danced Out, Dad. Stop Taking Pictures and Let’s Go Home and Nap!

Ok, so maybe the dance teacher was only trying to get the kids to touch their knees and jump up.  I just thought it be impressive if my son did some ballet techniques in the middle of the room instead.  (I only want what I think is best for Worm.  Is that too much to ask?)

Sweet!  Dancing With Parachutes!  That's Brilliant!

Sweet! Dancing With Parachutes! That’s Brilliant!

We actually had quite a bit of fun at dance class.  It wasn’t as chaotic as I thought it would be.  The benefit of locking a bunch of toddlers in a room together is at some point they are forced to collide interact and that is precisely what Worm’s little life needs.  I’m pretty sure the dance studio didn’t mind that a couple dads came in through the side door and had some fun.  Did Worm dance?  Not quite.  There’s definitely room for improvement, so we’re going back for more.  The sky’s the limit!

Am I going to YouTube some breakdancing moves for us to do in class next week?  YES!  We’re going to show ’em ‘Gangnam Style’!

Related Links:

A Time to Dance Dance Studio – There’s more than just toddler dancing…

%d bloggers like this: