Single Dad Day 3: In-laws are cool

There is starting to be no point to these blog updates. The "single dad" ones, anyway.

The thing is, I'm usually only strapped with solo parent duty for a day or two on those occasions when Jenny goes out of town for a few days. One of the blessings of living in lovely Upper Mexico Texas is that we are always close to relatives. Grandparents, more specifically.

Whenever Jenny leaves town I can count on a call or email from Mama Mia -- usually before Jenny's even boarded the plane -- volunteering for Tate duty for anywhere from an afternoon to as long as Jenny's gone. This is the very definition of a win-win scenario. This week Tate is celebrating the birthday of his great grandmother, Mama June, my favorite Republican.

So as it stands today, I'm going to be able to watch all the playoff football I want without worrying about having to shoehorn Dora the Explorer into the second and third quarters.

I had Tate by myself on Thursday night and only saw about half of the BCS National Championship game. I spent the other half watching Dora fend off Swiper, which, as it turns out, was probably a more competitive contest anyway.

Sorry, Longhorn fans. I was pulling for you guys.

Anyway, since I don't have much in the way of Tater shenanigans to report on, and since I still don't feel like getting all political 'n shit -- all things considered, Obama's doing a remarkably average job -- I thought I'd leave you with a silly video.

Sometimes it's just fun to yell.

Single Dad 3.0

My wife has left me. Again.

She's on her way right now to Mexico, leaving the Tot and I and the Dallas Winterpocalypse behind.

She'll be in Cabo San Lucas for the next five days, scouting the local scene in advance of another wild executive party that she will leave me for -- again -- in the spring or summer.

Unless I get her knocked up...BWAHAHAAHAHAHAAAA...



Stay tuned. More blog posts to follow.

Style review

Tate is in another classic Jenny outfit today.

She continues to insist on dressing Tate like a fop whenever possible. So I have always tried to counter these extremes when I can. Let's take a look at what my wife thinks a little girl boy should look like and what I think a little boy should look like.

Jenny:

Rob:

Jenny:

Rob:

Jenny:

Rob:

Jenny:

Rob:

(the red shoes were Jenny's idea)

Jenny:

Rob:

Jenny:

Rob:

(BTW, this is one of my top 10 favorites of me and Tate.)

Jenny:

Okay, I'm including this one because, in the spirit of fairness, if I'm going to include one of my all-time favorite photos of Tate and me, I should include one of my all-time faves of Jenny and Tate, which this is. It looks like I dressed him that day, but Jenny may have had a hand in the selection of the critter pants.

Rob:

Anyway, I think you get the idea. I occasionally worry about the wrath we will no doubt incur from our son when he is 13 and these photos wind up in the hands of his fellow 13-year-olds. I suppose he could just wind up liking the dandy look.

If that happens, at least we'll all know where he gets his influences. Thank goodness my mother never dressed me like that; I shudder to think think of how I could've turned out.

Jenny didn't get the memo

Editor's note: I started this last week and never finished it.

Last night week has to rank as one of the great tragedies of my wife’s short career as a parent.

No, Tate wasn’t sick or injured in any way. Nothing was lost or stolen. We’re all just fine today, except for the regret that Jenny will likely carry with her for years, I’m guessing.

Last night week Castle Mound Montessori School had their Fall Festival. Jenny told me about it a couple of days beforehand and even showed me the flyer, which described a night of games, prizes, refreshments and fellowship with the other kids and parents at the school. Pretty standard festival fare, if you ask me. Buried somewhere in the middle of the information: “Non-scary costumes optional.”

This is where I’m going to detour for a moment into a very short rant about the political correctness or racial sensitivity or religious tolerance or whatever socio-political anxiety it is that leads decision-makers at community institutions to change the names of otherwise well-known events, holidays and celebrations to generic or seasonal approximations of their former titles so as to avoid hurting as many feelings as possible. It irritates me. As a card-carrying liberal I get it, but I still roll my eyes whenever I see it happening.

My point is, this “Fall Festival” was actually a freakin’ Halloween Party. We just missed the code words embedded in the flyer that should have tipped us off – especially the part about costumes.

As we all know by now, my wife doesn't need a holiday (a real one, at least) to put Tate in a costume. The poor kid has looked like a contestant on Let's Make a Deal most of his life (by the way, did you know they were bringing that show back?). So you can imagine Jenny's shock and utter disappointment when we arrived at the Fall Festival and every kid in the building was wearing a costume.

Except Tate, that is. Tate had on his Boo shirt, which was more coincidental than anything. But in light of the occasion, it could have been mistaken for a rather pathetic attempt at costume. Jenny knew this, and her mortification was palpable.

Not that Tate noticed, of course. After being a little freaked out at first by the crowd and noise and oddly-dressed people, Tate got right into party mode and began leading us around the facility, playing games with the other kids and generally being his social self. It's funny how preschoolers just don't care about the way a person looks (or how they look themselves). Social stigmas don't exist at that age – it's only later that kids learn to be judgmental – so Tate thought nothing of playing ring toss with Boba Fett and a bottle of ketchup.

Meanwhile, Jenny begged me to let her drive home and get Tate's seal costume. I refused to let her go, mainly because I didn't want to be left alone at the party chasing after the Tot, and because by the time she made it home, found the costume, drove back, found a place to park and hiked from there to the party, It'd probably be time to leave anyway.

So we stayed for about an hour – Tate had a great time – and headed home around 7 p.m. It didn't help matters that Jenny had signed up beforehand to help clean up after the party, which meant that she had to go back to Castle Mound later and face the teachers – teachers who now thought she was terrible parent, no doubt.

So it was a missed opportunity. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but still – this was like Albert Pujols whiffing on an underhanded pitch. Get 'em next year, sweetheart.

Bad start to the weekend

Well the Cardinals lost in seriously awful fashion tonight.

I watched every pitch because I was keeping score at home (one of my favorite home-alone activites). Matt Holliday dropped a pretty routine fly ball that would have been the final out. Instead, the Dodgers deliver a 2-out rally and win. Three happy hours of my life turns into a soul-crushing waste of time.

SOOO...to get my mind off the Cardinals, I start to pack for the Ole Miss-Alabama game. I need to know what the weather will be like.

Just checked and it looks like I'll be driving in the rain for about 8-9 hours tomorrow, including my leg from Dallas to Jackson, and Joel's leg from Jackson to Oxford.

Gameday forecast? Thunderstorms. Followed by more rain. High in the upper 50s. Basically just cold, wet, and generally shitty. I'm packing waders. And some Jim Beam.

Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. I've been looking forward to attending this game for about 10 months, and it's going to be a freaking monsoon. Awesome. Just awesome.

And I miss my kid.

I suppose if Ole Miss wins it'll be worth it. I hope so.

Home Inspection

Sitting here at the computer upstairs while a half-dozen people downstairs are looking my home up one side and down the other for flaws, problems and potential problems. They've been at it now for two hours.

It is an awkward and invasive feeling; like getting a physical from a team of strangers.
I don't like any of it.

The only positive is that when it is over, like a physical, we will know exactly what our house's condition is: What needs fixing now, what can wait, and what it's going to take to sell it, if we can.

Oh, have I mentioned before that we're trying to sell our house? Yep. With luck, I'll be updating the blog from some new digs in a few weeks, even though I HATE HATE HATE moving.

Single Dad - Day 5

Not much to report today. All I did was take the Tot to school this morning. He was in his usual great mood. Many thanks to Mama Mia and Big Guy for taking Tate duty this weekend while I play in the DFW Ole Miss Club's Fall Golf Classic watch football on my couch as it rains cats and dogs outside.



So let's hear it for the Dodsons! They're a little old school, but they really love Tate and patiently put up with their daughter's crazy liberal husband. They're good people.