My two goals for my girls 1) Keep them off drugs and 2) Keep them off the pole.

 I’m not sure number two is as achievable as I once thought.


Recently, we went to eat at the default restaurant of choice, Cracker Barrel. I say default because our conversation always goes something like:


“Where do you want to eat?”

“I don’t care.”

“Like, you really don’t care or you mean to say not Mexican, Chinese, Pizza, or Burgers?”

“I don’t care…”

“Let’s get burgers, that sounds really good right now.”

“Ehhh I don’t really want that.”

“You just said..”

“Don’t do that right now I just don’t want burgers..”

“Fine, you pick.”

“I picked last time.”

“Well you don’t like my picks so I don’t care.”

“If you would eat something other than the same four freaking things!”

“I’m soooo sorry that I like to branch out from Cracker Barrel every now and then!”

“Oohh that sounds good.”


I pause and consider some chicken fried chicken with cheesy hash browns.

 “Yeah actually it does sound really good.”

“Why don’t we just go there first every time?”

“I guess it takes some domestic conflict to work up a taste for home cookin’”


So we go to the Cracker Barrel and as always it is delicious. We sit around basking in our carb coma and the kids start to bounce around from a Maple Syrup high. Don Threeto is feeling particularly unrestrained and she stands up in her chair. Normally I would be a good parent and say something but the Chicken-Fried-Chicken has my eyelids at half-mast and I don’t really care.

 Then she leans over and puts her hands on the table and like a cat in heat she starts twerking at an elderly couple behind her that only moments ago were smiling at the cute girls who reminded them of their own children years ago. That memory is now soiled by a three year old Miley Cyrus. I snap out of my stupor and realize that my three year old is twerking at eye level with everyone walking around the restaurant. We leave shortly thereafter.

 After sharing this story with someone who let me know that her child spontaneously twerked at traffic, I started to think maybe it is something genetic and humans simply can’t out-evolve the need to twerk.

 I have since modified my goals slightly. Number one is still to keep them off drugs and 2) If you must have a career on a brass pole, and you are not a fire fighter, at least have some dignity and business sense to make your job safe and profitable. We may look into ballet and supplemental accounting classes. 

 If you have conceded lofty goals for your children in favor of practical principles, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

 –Underdaddy to the rescue.


Kids are Creepy

Nothing is scarier than children. That is a scientific fact. Horror movies use wispy laughter of children, ghosts of children, and even children being possessed by television sets (I see this every time My Little Pony is on). That being said, sometimes my children venture into truly creepy territory.

One of the earliest memories I have of this involves child One. She had just gotten into a ‘big-girl’ bed and was newly potty trained. I would wake at odd times of the night with this feeling of someone watching. A small face, bathed in green light from a digital clock would stare and in a high and raspy voice say, “daddy…..juice” The first few times were the worst. My dream worlds would blend with the little Golem beside my bed and paralyze me with momentary fear. Eventually my subconscious figured out what was going on and these incidents became more of an annoyance.

No worries though because she kicked it up a notch. As she got older she would tell me stories about her ghost friends. I don’t know where she learned about ghosts, maybe from Scooby-Doo. I thought, perhaps, this was an imaginary friend scenario where the word ghost was inserted for imaginary. Then we had this conversation:

Me: So these friends. They are imaginary huh?
One: No daddy they are my ghost friends.
Me: Soooo, where did they come from.
One: They died.
Me: I see. What are their names?
One: I don’t know, they have a baby though.
Me: Oh like a ghost mommy and a ghost daddy had a ghost baby?
One: No the baby died and is a ghost too. They are so funny.
Me: Do you want to go watch Spongebob? I need to pick up some salt at the store and soak the carpet in holy water.

Creeped out yet? Yeah me too. So what awesome parenting thing did I do?
Nothing at all. Ignore it and hope it goes away.

It hung around for a while and I think she told me once that one of the ghost friends was an old relative of some sort, Great Granddad maybe? Some ghost dogs joined the story later and I think she has moved from child Medium to teller of interesting imaginary friends stories.
So if your kid doesnt see dead people and dogs, and doesn’t play with them in their spare time, you might be a better parent than me. You’re welcome.

Underdaddy to the rescue.