Once upon a time, there was a dad who failed at blogging. He was supposed to be writing stories for random people on the internet about the trials and tribulations of being an adult, parental human being. This dad lived across from a magical creek, near The Enchanted Internet Cafe, filled with grande drinks, water slides, sports balls, and free wifi connection. But whenever The Dad Who Failed At Blogging attempted to slip between the brush and reach The Enchanted Internet Cafe, something pulled him back to The World of Real Life; an evil wizard called Laziness. Whenever The Dad Who Failed At Blogging thought he had enough mental fortitude to sit down and write about the chaos in The World of Real Life, Laziness would cast a spell, forcing The Dad Who Failed At Blogging to watch TV, or drink a beer, or even sleep. This happened day after day, week after week, month after month; until one day, The Dad Who Failed At Blogging figured out a plan to trick Laziness. The Dad Who Failed At Blogging put on his finest pair of corduroy pants, he threw on a shirt made from shrink-resistant cotton, and he sat down on his porch. When the evil wizard appeared, The Dad Who Failed At Blogging jumped up out of his chair, reached into his pocket, pulled out a vile, and drank a mysterious 5-hour energy potion that gave him the strength of 27 dewdrops from the mountain. His vitality increased about as much as his heart rate; and, The Dad Who Failed At Blogging began running in circles around Laziness. The wizard looked left, then right, but on this day The Dad Who Failed At Blogging was too fast to capture. With a slow-motion jump straight into a pair of rocket-powered rollerblades, The Dad Who Failed At Blogging shot like a cannon through the thicket and into The Enchanted Internet Cafe. Unfortunately, The Dad Who Failed At Blogging was unprepared for the power of free wifi.
In case anyone is still reading, and has trouble with satire, I’m the dad who failed at blogging. I’ve been putting off a post for quite some time now because…well…you read the story, right? But, after being threatened by someone who shall remain nameless, here I am.
Though I will start off by saying that shear laziness is not the only reason I haven’t done any blogging. For the last three months I’ve been what some experts might consider “the only sane person in the house.” From being at the beck and call of a toddler who can’t seem to make up his mind when you ask him something as simple as if he wants milk or water (he alternates back and forth for 30secs before rationalizing how he should have both), to the joys of talking a third-trimester-pregnant wife off of the ledge from life-altering decisions like, “should we make the nursery curtains white” or “why can’t we make eggs not taste like eggs?” So yeah, I’ve been busy. Regardless, let’s try and recap the last nine months shall we?
There was that time when I thought I was being proactive taking our car into the shop when it was making a noise (usually I wait until it stops working to the point that placing a rock under the hood seems like a good idea), only to be told by the repair shop, “I don’t feel comfortable letting you drive this out of here because there’s a good chance the engine might fall out.” … … Apparently, there were some undercarriage problems unrelated to the noise I took it in to fix, though in true Stein fashion, I drove it out of the repair shop. For once, the car follies end there…because I took it across the street to a dealership and traded it straight up for a Vespa. (Got room for one more if you still want to go to Aspen.)
Then there was that time I took my son “real sledding” for the first time; and, while speeding down a rather larger hill on our first attempt, in an effort to slow us down, I stuck my feet out and white-washed us both to the point where I looked like Santa Claus and the only parts of Q’s face I could see were his eyes and open mouth (because those are the parts of the body that are used for crying uncontrollably).
Or there was the time that I spent literally 20 minutes in the bathroom with my aforementioned pregnant wife, who was attempting to give herself a shot of insulin for the first time. Granted, gestational diabetes is no joke, but the needles are legitimately only half an inch long.
And then there was that one time when I decided to handsaw a largely dead portion of our front yard tree.
All very blog-worthy events. All placed on the back burner because our family is immersed in the spaghetti brain portion of pregnancy and dealing with the bi-polarness of a two-year-old who wants it all. I feel like George Michael Bluth following around his Aunt Lindsey to make sure she doesn’t burn down the house while trying to make soup. #ArrestedDevelopmentJokes