Football and the Family Dynamic

Image: Augie Schwer‘s photostream via Creative Commons

Next weekend is the official beginning of college football, and I don’t mind telling you that I’m a bit concerned that my entire season (both college and pro) could be in danger. So this past weekend, I decided to take matters into my own hands which struck my wife as curious, indeed.

“What are you doing?”

“Watching an NFL pre-season football game, honey.”

“Why? You never watch pre-season football.”

“I’m practicing.”

“Practicing?”

“Yes. Practicing. Last year it was hard to watch football, what with the triplets constantly creating such mayhem. Now that we’ve added Grand Finale to the roster, I figure it’ll be even harder. And since the college season kicks off next weekend, I figured I’d better practice.”

[continue reading over at Babble]

10 Things Your Baby Would Tell You if He Could Talk

Dude...please tell me this chick washed her hands...

Ever wonder what your little guy might say if he could talk? I ponder that very scenario today over at Babble. And, well, let’s just say that it’s one of the edgier things I’ve written of late. It was a stream-of-consciousness rant that took like 7 minutes to write. Which means it’s probably either really good… or really bad. I’ll let you be the judge. Either way, it should be an entertaining read. Again — edgy. So beware. Check it out by visiting JCO Multiplied over at Babble by clicking HERE.

Man vs. Wife

Okay, that might be a touch dramatic. The whole “Man vs. Wife” thing. But before I get into all that, first I wanna tell y’all about an exciting new project I’m proud to be a part of over at Babble. It’s called BabbleVoices and it features 29 well-known, well-read and well-respected writers / bloggers (including Samantha Bee of The Daily Show) and, um, me. The group contains many of my favorite bloggers, like Tanis Miller (aka RedneckMommy), Mr. Lady (Whiskey in My Sippy Cup) and Doug French (Laid Off Dad) to name but a few. Another interesting note about BabbleVoices? Knoxville is well represented, my friends, as three of the 30 hail from the friendly 865 — Jennifer Doyle and Katie Allison Granju and yours truly.

The blog they set up for me is called JCO Multiplied and you can visit my homepage by clicking HERE. And, if you’re so inclined, you can get the JCO Multiplied feed by clicking HERE.

Anyhoo, why I’m part of this collection of such talented folks is beyond me. Unless, of course, they needed someone to fill the schadenfreude category, as I suspect that most of my readers follow me simply because I make them feel better about their own lives, what with my musings of toddler-train-wrecks and whatnot. Which, when you think about it, makes me a lovable loser of sorts, albeit one who married far, far above his head.

Which, incidentally, brings me full circle to title of this post. As Caroline and I have been engaged in a bit of a debate and I wrote about it as one of my first posts on BabbleVoices. This one is heavy on JCO / Lovie dialogue, and, per usual, Caroline holds up her end of the bargain just fine, thank you very much.

I hope you’ll go over and read the post and perhaps even LEAVE A COMMENT? (I’m feeling a bit insecure amongst all the rockstars and could use a comment or two to take the edge off…) The post is called The Time My Wife Called Me an MFer. Hope you enjoy.

JCO One of BlogHer’s Voices of the Year?

I Already Have a Daughter. Who Do You Think Let Me Marry My Wife?

JCO one of BlogHer‘s Voices of the Year? Sounds a bit out there, right? At least it did to me when I first realized (thanks to a random comment) that one of my Babble posts had been nominated. After doing a little digging I learned it was more than one. Turns out that nine of my Babble posts had been nominated across three different categories. So for all you people who think I’m only good for the Ha-Ha (little pet peeve of mine…), please note that not only was I nominated in the Humor category, but also in the Life and Perspective categories too.

So there.

No word  yet on the Short and Kinda Bald category, but I’ve got my fingers crossed.

[Read more…]

Drawings Which Borderline Demean Me

Coloring pencils? Or esteem-piercing daggers? Could go either way, really.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, yet the picture of me that I’ve posted after the jump left me with just two.

Holy. Shit.

Because that’s how bad it is. I mean, seriously, it’s borderline demeaning. And what’s even worse? It was friendly fire in that my beautiful stepdaughter is the one who drew it. (I’ve blogged about it before in a post called Donuts with Dads.) But I’ve decided to turn that frown upside down by increasing the exposure of the embarrassing rendering.

[Read more…]

Accidentally Pissing Off Legions of Pregnant Women

Hypnobirthing does, too, work you HUSSIE.

Usually, the only pregnant woman I piss off is my wife. Like the time I accidentally called her fat. And old. Or the time I let everyone know that the, um, bang-bang train left the station at week 24.

Yet today, I accidentally pissed off legions of pregnant women over at Babble. Or so I gathered by the comments left on Babble’s FB page, many of which referred to me as an “arrogant man.” The one I quote below? She didn’t call me an arrogant man, but she did call me a “man” (gasp) and even went so far as to pity my wife for merely being married to me. Check it out:

Obvouse that this was written by a man, kinda of insulting to say the least the way it was written. I feel bad for his wife though 4 plus one on the way yikes.

Such an enlightened and well thought out critique has left me devastated. Humiliated, even, yet not to the extent I might be were I the one rocking the third-grade grammar. (Pretty “obvouse” that someone needs a little Hooked on Phonics.)

Indeed, all this negativity because I had the audacity to write a tongue-in-cheek post that suggested that there were 5 different types of pregnant women. Boy have I learned my lesson.

Okay, that’s bullshit. I totally haven’t learned my lesson. Because I’m arrogant.

And a man. An arrogant man.

But take pity on me, I beg of you. Because I’m also a self-professed idiot. Well, not a grammatical idiot like ol’ Ms. Obvouse over there. But an idiot nonetheless. Should you wanna read this idiot’s assessment of the 5 different types of pregnant women, click here.

Image: stock.xchng

When Bad Pets Happen to Good Pregnancies

Briggs gets his snow day on with Alli, Kirby and Jack this past January.

So wow. We’ve officially reached the Honey, I hate your dog portion of the pregnancy. Don’t get me wrong, this wife versus dog thing is nothing new. See, Caroline’s allergic to dogs, so Briggs (my well-meaning chocolate Lab) has been a factor from day one. In fact, even before day one, as evidenced during my engagement to Caroline when her best friend demanded to know (somewhat insultingly) what I was “going to do about Briggs.”

“I guess I’m just gonna put him down,” I answered without missing a beat. “It’s sad, and all, but he’s had a good run.” I mean, seriously, what did she expect me to say? Briggs is part of the deal and Caroline knew that. Still does, in fact. Only now, it seems as if she wants to renegotiate that deal. At least so I gathered on Saturday.

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Does Everyone Connect Babies Names and Meanings? Or Is That Just a Mariah Carey Thing?

Caroline's name bracket.

I gotta get something off my chest. Caroline and I are making absolutely no headway when it comes to names. This is nothing new for us. On the eve of the triplets birth? Do y’all have a name yet? our favorite nurse had asked. No, I answered, but we are in the final stages of deliberation. Which was true. Essentially all we needed was a grease board and 45 effective minutes. Once we were given both, BOOM, the triplets had names.

This time? We’re really struggling. And I recently read an article about the names belonging to Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon’s twins (Monroe and Morcoccan) which has me even more concerned. Because if we have to attach a funky meaning to our names? We’re really screwed.

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Melissa Petro Deserves Sympathy, But Not Another Teaching Gig

Melissa Petro's self inflicted wound proves that the pen is, indeed, mightier than the sword.

Melissa Petro went from unknown Bronx teacher to highly controversial figure in seconds flat thanks to an Op-Ed she wrote for the Huffington Post last year. In it, she criticized Craigslist’s for censoring their adult services section while openly admitting to her former role as a sex worker. Predictably, the grade school teacher’s shocking confession became front-page news. Even more predictably, the school district yanked Petro out of the classroom and reassigned her to administrative duties.

The other day, Petro wrote a piece on Salon which updated her situation as well as explained the thought process behind attaching her name to such a candid and sure-to-be controversial piece. After reading her narrative, two things occurred to me. First, Petro is an intelligent, well-intended woman who did not deserve the hateful onslaught which her Op-Ed generated. And second, Petro also does not deserve to get her teaching gig back.

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Adult Babies Make Me Reach for My Burp Cloth

That's not weird.

Stanley Thornton’s pretty much your average guy, really. Well, except for the fact that the 29-year-old spends half his life pretending to be an infant, that is. See, when Stanley gets home from a long day of work, he likes to hop into his favorite footies, suck on a pacifier and get busy with some legos. While many of us sit in our favorite chair and read the paper, he’s more likely to sit in a custom-built highchair and eat a bowl of apple sauce.

Who serves it to him? OH. Right. A former nurse named Sandra Diaz, that’s who. And Sandra’s pretty much your average gal, really. Well, except for the fact that she spends half her life pretending to be the mom of a some 29-year-old guy who’s pretending to be an infant.

Apparently there’s a whole gaggle of such folks. You know. Adults who pretend to be babies. They’re called (get this) adult babies. And you might be surprised to learn of the extremes to which they’re willing to go to live the infant life.

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