So of course it's Father's Day, which means a bunch of fluff pieces about Dads and even stay-at-home-dads. Of course, thanks to Michael Frikking Keaton, 86.7% of these will roughly contain the phrase "Mr. Mom."
I am not a Mr. Mom. I am not a manny. I am not some schmuck in an apron who doesn't know how to vacuum and feeds the kids chili. I am not going to blow up the house, or any of that crap.
The phrase intimates that I am TRYING to be mom. I am doing nothing of the sort and anyone who is needs a talking to.
I tell my kids to walk it off. I laugh at a little blood. I do not panic unless stitches or a cast will be necessary.
A face full of dirt is fine until you are done playing football. Even if you are a girl. My mouth is sufficient to sanitize a pacifier (well maybe not, but in a pinch what are you going to do?).
If my child shoves your child because your child was nasty to her, I will tell you she deserved it, even while I scold my child for getting physical. If our children are rolling around on the grass (or mud, or asphalt, or dog poo) rough-housing and they are laughing, I will not intervene, unless one is on the brink of bone-damage. If one cries, I will help them up, and get them to laugh it off.
I am a Dad and proud of it. I am not a mom. And if you call me one, I'm liable to punch you in the face.
Thank you.
