TV Dads

Other than the sexual stuff (obviously), I'm the husband and J's the wife.

For example. It's Friday night. We ain't got nowhere to be (although next Friday we do have plans which is like unprecedented. And, to our defense, we're going to a hipster bbq tomorrow afternoon. Oh, and we drink a lot of wine, which must earn us a few extra points on the "cool parents" scale). J asks what I want for dinner (he cooks every night while I hold Monkey). I had just eaten a sandwich bc I couldn't wait. J tells me he'll wait to eat until I'm hungry again. He has this thing about eating dinner together at the table (which is totally adorable, I admit, but after a long day, there's just something about zoning out in front of the TV (usually That 70's Show, Seinfeld, or The Office reruns) while eating your dinner on the coffee table. It's what we did every night until we moved here (bc we had no table)).

ANYWAY, 2 hours later, I was hungry. J asked what I wanted. I told him guacamole and ice cream. He says exactly what my Mr. Cleaver or Bill Cosby or some other TV dad would say, "That's not dinner." I'm like, "We're adults. We can eat what we want." When my parents divorced I was 3. My dad lived in an apartment in the same town. We'd go over there and eat large pieces of chocolate layer cake with a glass of milk for breakfast. Or Swiss Cake Rolls. Or donuts. How Adam Sandler is that?

But J clearly isn't as free-spirited as my crazy self (note my sarcasm). He made us sausage and peppers. We ate at the table. Without the TV. On Williams-Sonoma dishes we got from our wedding. We used to be 2 frat guys living together, but we've found our way into pseudo-domestication.

But other than adding living things to our family, the domestication stuff really is all J. The dogs were my idea and while J gave the baby thing the go-ahead, I was the one w the balls to just not think about the consequences of actually procreating and stopped taking my pill. For the record- the consequences of having a baby are that you (a) think eating ice cream for dinner is crazy; (b) sympathize with other parents and like all children more than you used to; and (c) are crazy-obsessed with a little person.

Speaking of little person, Happy 4 month Bday Monkey!! Mama will never let you read this blog. Just say no to drugs. You're not getting a car when you're 16. And if I catch you underage drinking even 1 time, you're grounded forever. Oh, and you're not going to Aruba for your senior trip. In fact, you're not going anywhere. But I want to thank you for making the lowest parts of my life worth it. Broken hearts, pre-teen acne.... and everything about puberty & awkwardness, that b*tchy whore I got stuck sitting across from in 10th grade lunch, that fight in 7th grade where I lost all my friends for a summer and then had to deal w prank phone calls for months, having to live with my step-dad, my grandpa dying, losing that job at Ryan's Pub and then being physically sick with worry about how I was going to afford my NY apt during my last semester of undergrad, the illness and subsequent death of childhood pets, girl-fights in elementary school, depressing dates after which I never thought I'd find the one, that horrible grade in law school, being so pathetically and unhappily broke after graduating from undergrad, every hurtful thing that anyone has ever said to me. You made every moment of that suffering worth it. Every moment.