In quarantine, I am my kids’ teacher. I have begun growing a long beard and wearing a pointed hat.
I’m quite proud of the broken lawn chair that I’ve turned into my filing cabinet.
Take the advice of a long time at-home parent, you got this.
Cross-referenced with my extensive dad knowledge about toilet paper, here is what I can assume about the current situation.
You have to expect the unexpected.
Sometimes, they have to take one to the face.
I am debating fashion with a five-year-old. I have lost and it’s not even 8:04 yet.
(Although as an FYI, you shouldn’t encourage your son to pee in a flower pot.)
“I know that this isn’t your favorite thing,” my wife’s Big Boss said at her work office party. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
If you’re not getting dirty, you’re not doing it right.
All along the way, I told myself that it would get easier. That one day they wouldn’t need me as involved with them as much. It came true.
Our children are born with a primal instinct to smash our privates. I think it’s an evolutionary thing to prevent further competition from being conceived.
I used to know what Hawking’s Radiation is. Now I forget to zip up my pants.
So, okay, I’m not a fan of current pop culture. But I am a fan of spending time with my daughter.
A henge is a more than just stones, it’s an adventure.
Hugs given to dad as Christmas presents. Let’s be honest, that’s really the only thing he wants and is the perfect fit every time.