Six Reasons To Lose My Mind

Time for a frustrated dad rant. Where the hell are these things? Any of them?

I am forever looking for something which is beyond amazing because at the same time I am stepping on everything. Have I eaten a moldy breakfast cake with hallucinogenic chemicals? This is a strange trip and I am laughing and talking to myself while I type. Inspired by insanity. 

I understand that keeping up with laundry, dishes, and toys is a numbers game. Six total people. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, baths, bedtime. Six spoons, twelve forks, six rags, six towels, six outfits, six pajamas. Every day. I have ranted about this before I’m sure but the landslide of frustration gets to be humorous.


Where are everyone’s pants? No one seems to want to wear pants. No one can find pants for school. The pants we do find don’t fit or have stains. We are always washing pants. Loads of pants. I’ve checked inside the dryer, no pants. Now I have trouble finding my own pants. What do pants look like? Are you my pants?

Inside of the dryer. No pants. That was my last guess.

Inside of the dryer. No pants. That was my last guess.


We need additional silverware sets. Our forks are numerous enough for two meals. We need to do a load and a half of dishes per day. The forks never have a chance to get fully clean. I stop the dishwasher and pull out the half washed forks and finish rinsing them in the sink so we have something to eat with at dinner. Then after dinner we put up the dishwasher of clean things and surprise our only dishes are dirty forks. You might wonder about plates but we went to paper plates a long time ago. Unless we don’t have paper plates. Then we might eat dinner in large bowls or on paper towels. I would feel worse about this if the kids actually ate anything I prepared. Ever.


I trip over shoes constantly. They are everywhere yet finding a pair for anyone to wear out of the house is impossible. My heart breaks for ancient sailors who died crossing the sea for lack of fresh water. As I float around in this sea of boots, flip flops, and tennis shoes I suddenly feel like I have scurvy. I am not above grabbing two shoes of the same size and forcing them to wear a mismatch to Wal-Mart. I have been doing it with socks for years. I think it is a trend now actually and I think we started it. My disorganized laziness has propagated into a tween fad.

The shoe phenomenon is even more confusing to me because all math and statistics break down. For example, at any one time there are 7,689 individual shoes floating around my house. That is obviously an odd number so at the best one is a loner and we have 3,690-ish pairs of shoes. Worst case is that we have a full 15,371 pairs of shoes that have lost a mate. I think the second option feels more correct. But the damn light up shoes never get lost. They are always at the ready and begging to throw me into an epileptic seizure if the yelling and high blood pressure don’t beat them to it.

4) Baby Wipes

Before I begin I need to issue a warning. Specifically to my Grandma, there is nothing proud about the text that will follow here. I love you and I want you to continue to respect me so let’s make a deal. You skip the next paragraph and I will put a picture below with a thumbs up. Start back after the picture. Okay?


Thank you.

*Deep Breath* Where are the fucking wipes! I saw them thirty seconds ago! Which one of you handsy bastards did it this time?!?

We have emergency rations stashed all over the house for emergencies. Since the youngest one has taken to grabbing handfuls of self-made Play-Doh (poop) if we turn our eyes for five seconds we have to be ready. (Sidenote: Playing the cooties game in elementary school has real-world application later in life.) It never fails that someone has played pretend and wasted 63 wipes on a naked Barbie or lined the piano with wipe wallpaper. Naked Barbie doesn’t even need wipes, the five layers of Chapstick that you stole out of your mother’s purse and crushed into Barbie’s face will protect her from dry rot and UV rays for the next hundred years. Quit losing the wipes or I am going to lose my mind.


All Clear - No More F*Bombs

All Clear – No More F*Bombs

Welcome back.

5) DVD’s

Honestly, why do we even take them home anymore. We should open the package in the parking lot of the store and just fling the disc across the parking lot, take the insert out of the front cover for the baby to chew, and then jump up and down on what’s left of the case. We will pick everything up, tape it together and place it on the shelf with the other unwatchable mirrored coasters that we call movies.

Yeah that should play just past the intro-scene so we can spend thirty minutes waiting to see if it will keep going.

Yeah that should play just past the intro-scene so we can spend thirty minutes waiting to see if it will keep going.


Similar to socks and shoes, these items appear abundant but it is a mirage. Pacifiers are everywhere about five minutes before bedtime. The girls wear them like rings and hang them around their necks. They look like a bunch of white, midget groupies for Run DMC or Flavor Flav. Then bedtime rolls around and we can’t find one that isn’t riddled with teeth holes. Juice cups are lost, milk bombs, or the little plastic insert fell into the heater of the dishwasher and melted making the entire cup useless. Nobody comment that juice cups should be hand washed because honestly who has time for that crap.

Wow. Thank you guys. I feel much better. Feel free to comment your mystery items below and share this with your friends. Together we can solve the mystery.

To everyone who feels worthless at finding things. My life is one giant “Where’s Waldo”. The answer is “Not Here.” You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Are You “Normal Parents”

Parenting personality is something that is interesting to me. Maybe I am wrong but I think that there are basically three parents within each of us.

1) The parent that we want others to think we are.

2) The parent we wish we could be.

3) The parent we are.

This isn’t to say we can’t be the same thing for each or some combination of the three. The problem comes when we try to be something we aren’t and our wish is above what is even possible. That makes the parent we are progressively worse.

Most likely we are all painfully average. I don’t think I am average but that is probably an average thought.

I put together a quick ten question survey on some kid related parenting issues and we can see how everyone falls in the range of normal parenting. As always it is anonymous so feel free to be yourself.

Are you a normal parent? < 

Hopefully the survey is more fun that informative. I will give it about a week and post the results. And for everyone who participated in the other Inappropriate Questions Survey I had several that were entered and didn’t make it in the first round, I am considering the wave of unfollows I might have for posting some of the questions but I promised not to censor so maybe a disclaimer would help. We’ll see.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Pick Of The Litter

So in the world of good intentions and parental backfires I think I have a new one.

Trying to sway popular opinion requires social cooperation. The parental magic of reverse psychology and using siblings to apply peer pressure is well known. Tell a toddler that you are going to eat their food and they might start eating eat. Tell them that you will give it to another sibling and they will eat the gravel in the driveway just to keep it away from the others. Sometimes the younger ones look up to the older ones and you can use the trick of getting the older one to tell the younger ones how awesome a new food tastes. Sometimes peer pressure is effective.

Every now and then the kids learn a trick and attempt to use it against you.

We were all gathered around a storybook and as I was finishing I realized that Lady Bug had a booger that needed extraction. One of her sisters handed me a wipe from nearby and Lady Bug put two and two together. She reached a nubby index finger up and snagged the booger instantly out of her nose. It was impressive because when I try to wipe her nose she sucks it up just far enough that I can’t quite get it out. Now I know why. She starts towards her mouth with the freshly picked treat and I chase her hand with the wipe saying, “No! We don’t eat boogers. They are gross.” Lady Bug giggles and Don Threeto chimes in, “They aren’t gross. They taste good!”


Underdaddy: They do not taste good.

Prima: Actually they do dad.

Underdaddy: Not you too? Jane tell them that it is gross.

Jane: *shrugs shoulders*

Underdaddy: Oh My God. Am I surrounded by booger eaters?

Jane: Have you ever tasted them?

Underdaddy: Yes, No, I don’t know…. I … hmmm. Well played.


Smart little bastards. They talked me into a no-win answer about eating boogers. I questioned my own reality. Do I remember boogers? Are they terrible? Should I eat them? They are made of glucose I think. No. No. What is wrong with me? Blah.

I just got peer pressured and out-thought by a gang of booger eating bullies.

We clarified that boogers are not a tasty treat and are about the worst thing you can eat. I don’t know that they will believe me because I didn’t have anyone nearby to back me up. The dog was there but she licks her butt so that isn’t helpful.

So if you have given you children social weapons by accident, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Threeto Wisdom

No matter how many times my children remind me, I am always in awe of just how fundamentally different each child can be. I am also somewhat frightened by some of the personality traits that I don’t have control over. I asked the girls a few questions just to see what types of responses I would get from a seven, five, and four year old.

First question is “What makes you happy?”

Jane answers, “Horses. Oh oh! Riding Horses! My happiest was sitting on Prince (a horse that has since died) when I was a baby.”

Prima answers, “Unicorns! Dancing in ballet class makes me happy. My happiest day was signing up for ballet class. I like funny jokes!”

Don Threeto still has a tendency towards baby talk but she answers with enthusiasm, “Wombat!” I ask her, “Did you really say Wombat? Do you know what a wombat is?” Her reply, “No no no, Combat!”

Even better.

I thought it made sense for a kid who may lead a crime syndicate one day.

She wasn’t done with the question and then told me, “Long Necks!” Which I hope is a dinosaur and not glass bottles of beer.

Second question is “What makes you sad?”

Jane gives a heartfelt response, “When Mamaw’s old horse named Magic died. Then a boy in my class said he was happy magic died. I hate him.”

I told her that “hate” is a strong word but anyone who delights in someone losing a pet may qualify for a strong word. I assured her that he may be trying to pick at her because he likes her and doesn’t understand how much she loves animals. I also told her that he might actually be an asshole and that one day she may have no choice but to kick his ass and to use her discretion. Jane isn’t an aggressor but one of her sisters make take up that slack.

Prima may not be much help because her answer to the sad question was, “If I don’t get to play music or if someone beats me up.” She is about two grade levels above her size so I think the getting beat up has to be empathy and not actual experience. She is a gentle giant type of personality and wants everyone to be happy.

Don Threeto tackled the question with the same aggressive randomness that I have started to expect.

“What makes you sad Threeto?”


“Reindeer make you sad?”

“Yeah and dead ones too.”

“So pretty much all Reindeer are just depressing for you?”

“Yeah. And puppies.”

“Good to know.”

So just some side notes. Two of the children are loving and compassionate. One is not yet forming sentences and the family gangster is pleased by combat and beer bottles while being depressed by puppies and reindeer. I love that kid, we honestly broke the mold when she popped out.

These question and answer sessions are always interesting. Over the weekend Prima came running into the kitchen laughing and trying to tell me what Threeto said. Once she calmed down and I could pick out the words inside the laughter I figured out two things:

1) Don Threeto says she named two of her turds (Larry and Bob).

2) These magical turds are alive and Don Threeto can text them with an iPad.

I wonder if the app is named iPood.

Lady Bug has a full understanding of what is said to her but her responses are limited to words that only a few people understand. She is the baby of the family and in true cute-as-a-button fashion she tugged at my heart strings.

“What makes you happy Lady Bug?”

“Da Da.”

“Daddy makes you happy?”

She grins and then gives a coy sideways glance, “No. Hahahaha”

Little rat.

Some families form pop bands like Hanson or the Partridge Family. Mine can’t sing or perform but they will be the perfect team. Focus, compassion, enforcement, and deceptive cuteness. A deadly wolf pack.

So if you expected to shape and mold your children into caring citizens of the world only to find out that your attempts are useless, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Rare Frogs by Jane

Learning to be creative and writing stories are things that our oldest daughter Jane has expressed interest in for some time. We are encouraging her to make up her own stories and books to help her with reading, spelling, and handwriting. So far so good, we are setting aside time each day that will be for Daily Journal entries but she can write a story as an alternative. Today she asked if she could write stories like Daddy does and let people read them. Seeing this as yet another way to let my kids mis-represent my parenting, I said sure.

Protective parents of the world can relax because my approval came with some conditions. First, I will be reviewing posts and interacting with the interwebs. She will write the stories the old fashion way and I will post them through my site. Any creepo’s can move along.

She immediately went to work writing her first story which must have been at the forefront of her mind. What deep and insightful thoughts could she be having that were burning her mind and begging to be shared with the world? After about fifteen minutes of writing she came back with a rough draft. I gave her a little feedback and she went back to work with the second half of the post. I have included below her complete works below with only edits for proper spelling. Enjoy.

One day we were going to sleep and Daddy made up the Mexican Farting Frog and that is what he called my sister and I was laughing all night. In the morning I was still laughing. It was so funny! The next day I was still laughing. Then I quit. It was all good.

The End

A Mexican Farting Frog makes a sound like a pooting noise. It is funny. It smells good too. It is very big. It is big as a Dad.

The End

I didn’t want to color any opinions of the story before you read it but I think it may be award winning one day. Sure it needs a little structure but wow, powerful. Better than where I started for sure. She had someone laughing with her very first work. I enjoyed “It was all good” but I am worried that “It smells good too.”

The actual source of this story (I feel I need to defend myself somewhat) is once again at the magical twilight of bedtime where everyone is tired and careless with words. Now occasionally I will accidentally on purpose let out something like a toot or a fluff. Some might say a fart.

I may accidentally do it a little too often because the eighteen month old knows to giggle. In fact sometimes when she bends over to pick up a toy I provide sound effect with my mouth and she giggles so hard she falls over. Supermom is totally opposed to this, though she has to try not to smile. Who can help it? Farts are hilarious.

So one night while putting the girls to bed I rip one and they all laugh.

Don Threeto: “Daddy was that you?”

Underdaddy: “No.”

Prima: Who was it then?

Underdaddy: Must have been the rare Mexican Farting Frog. They are sneaky.

All: Hahahahaha, Daddy is so funny!

Once again I thought that would be the last I heard of that moment and somehow it takes precedence over useful memories like where they last saw their coats/shoes/juice cup/sister.

So if you teach your kids that farts are funny and to blame them on animals, this post is for you. And for the start of Jane’s story telling career. It is the one thing I would do if I were wealthy and I hope to support that dream if my girls ever have it. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.