This is the collection of everything fatherhood has been and everything it will be. It’s everything “Fatherhood Is” to me–an amateur dad of twins.Fatherhood is...Tumblr (3.0; @fatherhoodis) is braving the murky depths. I’ve been on this...<img src=""/><br/> A lazy lad on the lake.<br/><br/> <img src=""/><br/> A rare family portrait.<br/><br/> <img src=""/><br/> A lady.<br/><br/> <img src=""/><br/> Look at all that drowning potential!<br/><br/> <img src=""/><br/> His trunks accentuate his eyes.<br/><br/> <h2>Fatherhood is braving the murky depths.</h2> <p>I’ve been on this lake dozens of times. I’ve swam in it, jet skied over it, kneeboarded across it, and accidently swallowed what must be gallons of it. Never once did it occur to me that I was playing in the belly of a beast, 10,000 acres of drowning potential. Sure, I'm exaggerating–a little bit. But when you slip a couple of six-month-olds into a body of water where you can neither feel nor see the bottom, you’re instantly on high alert.</p> <p>1.) Aspirate lake water.<br/>2.) Suffocated by floatie.<br/>3.) Inhale outboard motor fumes.<br/>4.) Sustain head trauma from choppy water.<br/>5.) Airway constricted by tight life vest.</p> <p>Keeping my head above water is a secondary concern. And despite wearing a life vest myself, I’m surprised by how much more effort it takes to stay afloat while making sure my babies don’t suck lake. To make matters worse, I’m pretty sure that’s all they want to do. It’s as if this massive puddle of mud, dead animals, and pee is nectar on their virgin tongues. (And yet they hate green beans, but that’s another story.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">6.) Sun poisoning.<br/>7.) Dehydration.<br/>8.) Choke on lake debris.<br/>9.) Ingest microbes.<br/>10.) Strangled by fishing line.</p> <p>I begin thinking of all the ways this day could go sour.<br/><br/>11.) Bitten by snapping turtle.<br/>12.) Bitten by water snake.<br/>13.) Capsize with pontoon.<br/>14.) Sucked into propeller blades.<br/>15.) Mauled by an errant jetski.<br/><br/>All this morbid prognostication is exhausting, but it keeps me sharp. To know thine enemy is the first step in making sure your baby doesn’t get:<br/><br/>16.) Eaten by rabid fish.<br/>17.) Thrashed against bluffs.<br/>18.) Struck by lightning.<br/>19.) Snatched by bird of prey.<br/>20.) Smote by Poseidon.</p> <p>It’s not long before I find myself back on the pontoon deck. Greyson has surrendered to the gentle rock of the lake, towels strategically hung around him to block the afternoon sun. Charlotte intermittently chews on and talks to her diaper bag; it’s a relationship she’s kindled with everything from toys to people.</p> <p>“It’s a lot different being on the lake with children,” Ashley says wistfully. It’s true. Suddenly, the lake is laced with dozens of hazards previously unseen. My children, the victims. But we’ll be back soon, and as frequently as possible, because there’s really only one danger that concerns me:</p> <p>21.) Smothered by overprotective parents. </p>, 02 Jun 2012 13:16:00 -0400lakesummerboatparentingparentsdaddaddyfatherfatherhoodparenthoodFatherhood is finally getting a little attention from a Playboy...<embed src="" width="400" height="224" frameborder="0"></embed><br/><br/><h2>Fatherhood is finally getting a little attention from a Playboy Playmate.</h2> <p>You know that nightmare where an excruciatingly attractive Playboy Playmate of the Year and a professional skate star ridicule you on national television? No? That’s cool. MTV made sure you and thousands of other viewers could live it vicariously through me.</p> <p>Back in February, a <a href="" title="FATHERHOOD IS CONFOUNDING THE BABY WITH NEW SOUNDS" target="_blank">video of my daughter</a> overreacting to a motorboat sound <a href="" title="FATHERHOOD IS LEARNING A FEW LESSONS ABOUT THE INTERNET AND WHY YOU MAY NOT WANT YOUR BABY ON IT." target="_blank">went viral</a>. Since then, I’ve been inundated with licensing requests from England to Japan and back to America.</p> <p>Aside from those that came in the first few days (The Ellen Show, Jimmy Kimmel Live, Today Show, GMA, etc.), I’ve turned down every offer. Every cent of profit that’s connected with this blog goes directly into 529 plans for Greyson and Charlotte, but I’m still cautious as to how I earn that income. So with that being said, I must admit that the folks at MTV were very kind (and persuasive). For one time only, I licensed the video–for a nominal fee–to <em>Ridiculousness</em>.<br/><br/>I had only one stipulation: “Do not ridicule my daughter.” I’m happy to say they honored that request, and instead, did this. Here’s a transcript (or just <strong>skip to 14:48</strong> in the video above).</p> <blockquote> <p><strong>Host:</strong> Oh no. Awe, whatcha doin’ little baby?</p> <p><em>Motorboat. Reaction. Uproarious laughter from the audience.</em></p> <p><strong>Playmate:</strong> Oh my god. Wait. Those, those cut-off shorts scare me more than anything on that guy. Look at that. Who, what…? Look at his shorts!</p> <p><strong>Host:</strong> OH MY GOD! We got the…look at his pasty thighs! Look at his…</p> <p><strong>Playmate:</strong> I mean, do men wear those? I don’t…</p> <p><strong>Host:</strong> Oh my god. I’ve watched this video and thought it was so cute, over and over. Until now when all I see is two man thighs. Like, I can’t even look at it.</p> <p><strong>Playmate:</strong> If his legs are that scary in his outfit, can you imagine what that baby is looking at?!</p> </blockquote> <p><img align="middle" height="308" src="" width="550"/></p> <p>Just so we’re clear, I’ve got thick skin and (as evidenced by the video) a densely woven forest of body hair. This stuff doesn’t even begin to hurt my feelings. In fact, my wife showed it to her eighth graders today…every single one of them.</p> <p>And now they all totally judge her for sleeping with me. </p>, 18 May 2012 17:00:00 -0400mtvridiculousnesviral videofatherhoodparentingparenthooddaddaddyFatherhood is…wait, holy shit. I have the top story on...<img src=""/><br/><br/><h2>Fatherhood is…wait, holy shit. I have the top story on Huffington Post Parents.</h2> <p>Hot damn. I’ve done it. I’ve officially aspired to the highest heights of the blogging world…I’m a Huffington Post Blogger. <br/><br/>Me, Alec Baldwin, and Wyclef Jean: Brothers in Bloggerhood 4eva!<br/><br/>I’m gonna have a drink over lunch, and toast to all of you–the fine folks who read me before the Huffington Post started linking the shit out of my content. Cheers!</p> <p>(Here’s a link to the actual post: <a href="" target="_blank"></a>.)</p>, 16 May 2012 12:14:00 -0400excessive back pattingget that dirt off your shoulderfatherhooddaddaddyfatherparentparenthoodstay-at-homeparentingbabybabiestwinsFatherhood is dispensing unsolicited advice.On Mother&rsquo;s Day, my good friend Greg became a father. In honor of this auspicious..., 16 May 2012 07:48:56 -0400fatherhoodparentingparenthoodadvicebabyfatherdaddaddyFatherhood is loving you differently. Every morning, some time...<img src=""/><br/><br/><h2>Fatherhood is loving you differently.</h2> <p><em>Every morning, some time around one o'clock, my wife wrestles herself free of the bed sheets and slogs her way to the living room. Half asleep and completely exhausted, she takes her position on the right side of the couch, unlatches her nursing bra, and gets to pumping. It’s a quiet time of night. Lit only by a small table lamp, my wife listens to the rhythmic motor of her pump, barking like a metronomic dog in the distant dark.</em></p> <p><em>She grabs her iPad and checks to see if I’ve updated the blog. Some times I have, many times I haven’t. Yet she checks dutifully every night, just in case there’s something–anything–to pass the time. Tonight, there is.</em></p> <p><em>Tonight, I’ve written a letter for Mother’s Day and published it with perfect timing for you, my wife.</em></p> <p>Dear Ashley,</p> <p>I love you. And I don’t mean like I loved you in high school. When I loved you in high school, I was freshly wounded by Cupid’s arrow. Lovestruck. I was a boy, in love with a girl, under a teenage spell.</p> <p>I love you. And I don’t mean like I loved you in college. When I loved you in college, I was beholden to you. You gave me everything: your time, your love, your endless understanding. I loved you for being the lover I couldn’t be, didn’t deserve, but had in spite of myself.</p> <p>I love you. And I don’t mean like I loved you when we got married. When I loved you on our wedding day, I was awestruck. We were two trees, growing side by side in a forest, branches tangled in concert. An intertwined silhouette.</p> <p>I love you. And I’m not exactly sure how to say this. One day, when we’re old and gray. When our kids are grandparents, and our great grandchildren are playing at our feet…maybe then I’ll look at you and speak the words it took me decades to find.</p> <p>Until then, just know this: I love you. Greyson loves you. Charlotte loves you. Our children couldn’t be who they are without you. And neither could I. Thank you for being our wife, our mother…our everything. </p> <p>Happy (First) Mother’s Day.</p> <p>All my love,<br/>Adam</p>, 13 May 2012 01:02:12 -0400ashleylove lettermother's daymothermotherhooddaddaddyparenthoodparentingtwintwinsbabybabiesFatherhood is being blown away by the little things. This is an...<iframe width="400" height="225" id="youtube_iframe" src="" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe><br/><br/><h2>Fatherhood is being blown away by the little things.</h2> <p>This is an Excitement Feedback Loop (EFL). Here’s how it works. I cover my eyes, reveal them, and blow a puff of air in Charlotte’s face. She responds with a gleeful note of excitement, which, in turn, encourages me to do it again. The process is repeated until one or both of us pass out.</p> <p>EFL’s are not exclusive to this type of interaction, though. For Charlotte and me, an EFL may be the result of any number of games like Upside-down Baby, Thigh Raspberries, or–my personal favorite–<strong>X-treme PeekaBOOM!</strong> (more on that later).</p> <p>It should go without saying that any EFL should be entered into with considerable caution. Side effects include pronounced and debilitating lethargy post-loop; excessive salivation  (mostly the baby’s); and the invitation for strangers to stare at you. The American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychaiatry recommend that you not engage in any intensive EFL at Wal-Mart. (Or, what the hell, do! You’re definitely not going to be the weirdest person there.)</p> <p>Unfortunately, EFL’s–like the one demonstrated in the video above–are only effective within a limited window. And the stakes will increase accordingly as the child develops a tolerance for this type of shtick. Don’t be surprised if instead of a puff of air in the face, it will take a trip to Disney World to elicit a similar response when she’s 7. </p> <p>It’s why I play this little game with Charlotte (and Greyson) several times a day. The EFL of a six-month-old doesn’t cost a thing. It’s completely priceless.<br/><br/>(See you at Disney World in 2019.)</p>, 09 May 2012 08:37:30 -0400charlottesuprisegameplayEFLdaddaddyfatherfatherhoodparentingparenthooddaughterbabyFatherhood is keeping the faith.On Easter Sunday, my five-month-old twins were baptized in the Catholic Church. This is a big deal..., 01 May 2012 12:59:58 -0400baptizechristenchristianchurchcatholicfaithdoubtfatherfatherhoodparentparentingparenthoodbabiestwinsFatherhood is throwing up the towel.It&rsquo;s 1:01 a.m. when my iPhone lights up the bedroom to let me know some asshole wants to text..., 12 Apr 2012 16:50:00 -0400sickstay-at-homematernity leavefatherfatherhooddaddaddymommommymotherhoodparenthoodparentingbabybabiestwins(Stay-at-Home) Fatherhood is Stage 5: Satisfaction. It’s...<img src=""/><br/><br/><h2>(Stay-at-Home) Fatherhood is Stage 5: Satisfaction.</h2> <p>It’s the giggle you thought you’d never get.</p> <p>The grunts and gurgles and rattles and bells they ring on the floor.</p> <p>The dance you lead as she glances excitedly around the room; the smile he flashes when he flies like an airplane.</p> <p>The sucking sound, the burping sound…and the smelly sound too.</p> <p>The whine that follows the panicked cry, and the bottom lip you get to kiss.</p> <p>The work you miss but still get done, the presentation you give over Skype to 80 attendants while entertaining the audience of 2 in your living room.</p> <p>The nap you accidentally take when they don’t wake up from theirs.</p> <p>The persistence of that itsy bitsy spider.</p> <p>The brief moment you spend outside, protecting bald spots from the sun with your shadow.</p> <p>It’s every <em>thank you</em> for every “Twins? How precious!”</p> <p>It’s every <em>sure enough</em> for every “Looks like you got your hands full.”</p> <p>It’s the heavy eyes shutting on the bedtime bottle and the endearing weight on your shoulder as they give up the fight.</p> <p>It’s the hardest job you’ve ever had, the only one you wish you did. It’s the most accomplished you’ve felt in months.</p> <p>I’d call up Mick and let him know, but I think I lost his number.</p>, 10 Apr 2012 16:59:00 -0400stay-at-homefatherhoodfatherdaddaddyparentingtwinsbabiesi can't get no satisfactionmick jaggerrolling stones(Stay-at-Home) Fatherhood is Stage 4: Endurance. When...<img src=""/><br/><br/><h2>(Stay-at-Home) Fatherhood is Stage 4: Endurance.</h2> <p>When you’re a stay-at-home parent, some days are good, and some days are bad. Regardless of which end of the spectrum you find yourself when the sun goes down, every day is exhausting. More often than not you’ll find yourself living for bedtime. But the sun, as they say, is gonna come out tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that when you see that toothless smile in the morning, you’ll forget how hard the rest of your day is going to be.</p> <p>Don’t worry. You’ll remember.</p>, 30 Mar 2012 16:24:00 -0400stay-at-homefatherhoodfatherdaddaddybabybabiestwinsparentparentingparenthood(Stay-at-Home) Fatherhood is Stage 3: Hubris There’s this...<img src=""/><br/><br/><h2>(Stay-at-Home) Fatherhood is Stage 3: Hubris</h2> <p>There’s this intriguing rumor that when women lay eyes on a man with children, they go weak in the knees. Apparently visions of doting dads stimulate the ovaries. The brutal irony, of course, is that the man is already off the market and <strike>unwilling</strike> unable to seal the deal with this resplendent bounty of T&A. So he stands idly by, ogling the women drawn to his stroller, and wonders why it wasn’t this easy in college.</p> <p>Bullshit.</p> <p>Turns out, when you’re 26 years old and sluggishly heaving two babies through the mall, the only women who seem to notice are the ones old enough to be your mother. They don’t want you; they want grandbabies. Anybody’s grandbabies. You’re merely a means to an end.</p> <p>You’d try and avoid them of course, but you just ate a foot-long Seafood Sensation from Subway and washed it down with a large Diet Coke. You’re bloated, hot, tired, and–unsurprisingly–a wee bit nauseous. It’s only now that you begin to second guess your plan to go shopping for new pants…with two four-month-olds…by yourself.</p> <h5>* * * *</h5> <p>I had my eye on a pair of Docker’s Alpha Khakis for about three weeks. They’re a pretty slim fit, which means they can’t be found in my rural hometown where any pair of pants that doesn’t billow in the wind is considered highfalutin or (let’s be honest) “totally gay." So, since I passed <a href="" title="Stage 2: Enthusiasm" target="_blank">my first day</a> of stay-at-home parenting with enough flying colors to turn a rainbow green with envy, I decided to take the show on the road–45 minutes into the big city.</p> <p>I knew the pants would be there. All I had to do was pack the babies, drive them into town, put them in strollers, wheel them through stores, pick out some sizes, try them on, buy them, get back in the car, and go home with new pants and two babies who would now appreciate the aesthetic of well fitting khakis. <em>Oh, hindsight, your crystal clarity is such a bitch.</em></p> <p>I decided to try Kohl’s first, which was just this side of the city. It would be less crowded and could save me a longer trip. Or–as it turned out–it would be an opportunity to push two strollers around the store’s perimeter a dozen times or better. The babies were having none of my shopping day and the only way to maintain the peace was to keep moving. Onlookers’ expressions ranged from sympathetic to annoyed; which is to say at first they were sympathetic, but after dodging the doublewide strollers for the fifth time, they were annoyed. We must have completed a mile long circuit before I finally grabbed some pants and ducked to a fitting room. I hadn’t found the Alpha Khakis, but I did stumble across some jeans. Why not try on something–anything–since I had been there half an hour already? I slipped into some Levi’s 511’s just in time for Charlotte to completely lose her shit. </p> <p>I scooped her up just as Greyson lent his voice to the disgruntled chorus now resonating through the fitting rooms and into the men’s department. We must have been in that tiny modular room, watching ourselves in the mirror, for ten minutes–just bouncing. I tried to explain to them the importance of trying on clothes before purchasing, that they were getting a very early and privileged lesson in fashion acquisition. But we all knew I was peddling crap. The babies, by this point, were hungry and ready to leave. I peeled the skinny jeans off my legs and put my own pants back on, which now felt baggy and loose by comparison. I may have lost the battle, but I hadn’t lost the war. It was off to the mall.</p> <p>A man with common sense would have known to retreat. The challenges were too great, but I was too persistent a shopper and too stubborn a father to turn back now. I’m not one to let babies dictate my decisions, even if they are driven by selfish, consumerist desires. A line had been drawn in the sand. Those who could shop for pants with two babies would cross it. Those who could not, would not. And I was mid-stride.</p> <h5>* * * *</h5> <p>I decided to forgo the strollers when we got to the mall. They worked well when we were moving, but you can’t shop and keep two strollers rolling in perpetuity. Try putting on a pair of pants while wheeling two strollers back and forth in a fitting room. Or better yet, don’t. I’ll save you the trouble: it’s impossible. So instead, I put Charlotte in a Moby and left Greyson in his carrier.</p> <p>That came to 14 pounds of baby strapped to my chest and another 20 or so dangling from my arm. If strollers weren’t a sustainable shopping strategy, I should have realized what a catastrophe this was going to be. I’m a thin guy (hence looking for slim fit khakis); my muscles fatigue quickly because, well, I don’t really have any. How I thought I’d be able to carry all this through the mall–with a diaper bag in tow–is beyond me. But nevertheless, I went in strapped, loaded, and encumbered by more crap than I should have considered hauling in the first place–babies included.</p> <p>We ate first. Between the two babies, Greyson was making a bigger fuss. And since I typically award the first feeding to the most grating noisemaker, Charlotte had to wait her turn. We then headed to the food court. I stood by a table making faces at Greyson between bites of a foot-long Seafood Sensation, while Charlotte remained strapped to my chest. Together we bounced and swayed in a gentle dance of pacification as I tried not to drop any crumbs on her head. Lots of neck straining and 12 inches of fake crab and mayonnaise later, we recommenced our expedition.</p> <p>I intended to hit just four stores–the big ones. Macy’s, J.C. Penny, Sears, and Dillard’s. As with most mall layouts, the big department stores are separated by vast oceans of smaller shops. Everything from the whirring gizmos of Brookstone to the fetid scent of Abercrombie and Fitch stand between shoppers and the key players. I’d have have to walk the whole mall if I wanted to see them all. But even the greatest journeys begin with a single step, so I made my first in Macy’s direction.</p> <p>It was a no-go. They had Dockers, but the Alpha Khakis weren’t coming until later in the spring. So we headed to J.C. Penny. Perhaps "headed” isn’t the right word. We slogged to J.C. Penny. About every 15 seconds I would switch Greyson to my other arm while trying to maintain an easy rock. He was tired, but couldn’t quite nod off. His carrier clipped my thigh with every other step I took.</p> <p>But we did make it to J.C. Penny. We made it just long enough for me to step in and feel the oppressing heat of a busted air conditioner. I was already beginning to glisten and knew this was no place for a man with a tummy full of mayonnaise, two armfuls of babies, and the intention of trying on pants. We left as quickly as we arrived and went on toward Sears.</p> <p>By now the futility of my endeavor was coming into focus. Greyson was whining, my arms were aching, and Charlotte had fallen asleep with a steady stream of drool cascading from her parted lips. As soon as I crossed the threshold into Sears, my son was finished. He let out a fatigued cry that let me know he had reached his limit. And the truth was, I had reached mine as well.</p> <p>I sat his carrier on the floor, looked him in his teary eyes and came clean. “This was too much,” I said. “It’s time to go. I’m sorry.”</p> <p>I rose up, grabbed the carrier by the handle and started the long march back to the car. I caught a few glimpses of the people walking passed and realized what a sight we must have been. I wasn’t the hero dad I had fancied myself, I was just a worn out guy who bit off a little more than he could chew. Maybe this was why the older women were drawn to us. Maybe their maternal instincts kicked in before I knew I needed them.</p> <h5>* * * *</h5> <p>That evening, I relayed to my wife what a terrible shopping trip I’d had. That after five hours of “shopping,” I had tried on one pair of jeans and never even caught a glimpse the pants I intended to find. But I hadn’t wasted the day. Really, this wasn’t so much about pants as it was finding my limits. I wanted to know if I could take two babies out on my own. The endeavor was equal parts determination and nerve, or–if you put the two together–stubbornness. I had succeeded in so much as daring to try in the first place, and not being afraid to fail.</p> <p>I would have liked to buy some pants that day; I never intended to walk away without them. But as my grandmother would tell me, I was a bit “too big for my britches" if I thought I could do it with two babies in hand. I guess finally get that expression. </p>, 27 Mar 2012 17:38:00 -0400stay-at-homealpha khakisdockersmallshoppingdaddaddyfatherhoodfatherparentingbabybabiestwins(Stay-at-Home) Fatherhood is Stage 2: Enthusiasm. Here’s a...<img src=""/><br/><br/><h2>(Stay-at-Home) Fatherhood is Stage 2: Enthusiasm.</h2> <p>Here’s a fun fact: the ancient definition for ‘enthusiasm’ describes inspiration or possession by a god. An enthusiast, then, is in communion with a higher power–a force greater than himself.</p> <p>Ladies and gentlemen, the <em>force</em> was strong with me that first Monday of stay-at-home fatherhood.</p> <p>By the time Ashley came home from work, I had done three loads of laundry, written a blog post, gone to Wal-Mart, had dinner on the stove and a glass of wine on the table. I was parenting with the force of a thousand Danny Tanners.</p> <p>When push comes to shove, dads get excited. I think it’s the challenge. We have this innate <em>do or die</em> mentality that drives us to succeed on the court, behind a desk, or in the nursery. Does it get harried at times? Yeah, when you’re watching two babies for ten hours you have to anticipate the inevitable. There were tears, poop, and spit-up…and then the babies had problems of their own. But we dealt with them. And <strong><em>we</em></strong> is the operative word here.</p> <p>For the first time “we” meant just Greyson, Charlotte, and Daddy. Instead of pitting myself against two temperamental infants, we banded together. Team Dad. Babies aren’t challenging; it’s all the shit you have to do for them that makes fatherhood onerous. And once I realized that, being a stay-at-home dad became a cooperative endeavor. Wet diapers: we changed 'em. Hungry tummies: we fed 'em. ABC’s: we sung 'em (slightly out of key).  </p> <p>No doubt about it, I was a <em>really</em> good dad that day. And the proof was in the kiss my wife gave me when she walked through the door. “I wish you were the nanny all the time,” she said.</p> <p>Me too.</p>, 22 Mar 2012 17:05:58 -0400stay-at-homedaddaddyfatherfatherhoodparentparentingparenthoodbabybabiestwins(Stay-at-Home) Fatherhood is Stage 1: Hesitation. When faced...<img src=""/><br/><br/><h2>(Stay-at-Home) Fatherhood is Stage 1: Hesitation.</h2> <p>When faced with the proposition of stay-at-home fatherhood, hesitation will manifest itself in one of two fashions. Either A.) the dad will feel ill-equipped to shepherd his youngin’s through a whole day sans mom, or B.) the dad would rather be doing something else entirely. I selfishly identify with the latter.</p> <p>I love my babies. I love my babies so much I know what their drool tastes like. (Not bad.) But I knew from the outset that being with them all day meant at least ten hours of unadulterated focus, and my mind is notoriously commitment-phobic. To put it in perspective, I’ve been tooling around on this post for seven minutes now and two of those were spent changing up a playlist on Spotify and another seeing if there were any new posts on The Daily What. Ooh…something about a whale. <a href="" title="Whale touching of the day." target="_blank">Hang on.</a></p> <p>Okay, I’m back.</p> <p>So, when our nanny informed us she’d be out of town for three weeks, my wife and I had to make alternative arrangements. Ashley was out. Having used all of her vacation and sick days for maternity leave, she couldn’t afford to miss any more work. That left me and her mother–who lives two hours away in an empty nest–as the next best thing. I took time off to cover the middle week and Ashley’s mom kindly agreed to drive in the weeks before and after.</p> <p>If my wife could do it, if our nanny could do it, if my mother-in-law could do it…it wasn’t a question of whether or not I could. There was no question at all; I was going to do it. I was going to stay at home with two four-month-old babies for one week because it was my duty and my delight as a father to do so.</p> <p>I was going to test my mettle as a stay-at-home dad…and I was going to get lots of work done during their naps.</p> <p>I was pretty sure that almost everything would hopefully be awesome for the most part.</p>, 21 Mar 2012 16:05:05 -0400stay-at-homeparenthoodparentingfatherfatherhooddaddaddybabytwinsbabiesFatherhood is prioritizing at the expense of your daddy blog. My...<img src=""/><br/><br/><h2>Fatherhood is prioritizing at the expense of your daddy blog.</h2> <p>My wife is a middle school teacher–the unenviable occupation of adolescent wrangling. Depending on which student you ask, he or she will tell you that Ashley is the bee’s knees or a pain in the ass. (Good teachers know both are compliments.) But sometimes, a student will tell you that my wife “has swag.” And he’ll do it at my expense.</p> <p>Last week, posts on <em>Fatherhood Is</em> ground to a sudden halt. Why? I took a week-long position as a stay-at-home dad while our nanny was out of town. To date, I’ve held only a handful of jobs, but being the solitary caregiver for two four-month-olds was officially the hardest of them all. Seriously, stay-at-home parents who do this on the regular deserve a goddamn medal, or better yet…a cape–cut from the finest cotton polyester blend and adorned with rhinestones. <em>You all would wear that, right?</em></p> <p>In any event, the joke in Ashley’s classroom was that she had swag because, when push came to shove, she went to work like a baller and left me at home with the babies. As you can see from the accompanying illustration, I apparently sucked at it. But I shouldn’t get too worked up. If I took everything in this picture literally, I’d be Mr. Fantastic and Ashley would be a stoner hippy with a goatee and six fingers.</p> <p>But more to the point, I was essentially pulling two shifts every day. 6:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.–stay-at-home dad. 9:00 p.m. to 1 a.m.–multimedia designer. It was fun work made grueling by the dual responsibilities and sleep deprivation. I survived, but my blog died. So to resuscitate it, I’d like to announce a five-part series reflecting on my experience as a stay-at-home dad. It’s called “The 5 Stages of Stay-at-Home Fatherhood.”</p> <p>The first stage is “Hesitation.” More tomorrow…</p>, 20 Mar 2012 16:47:00 -0400updatestay-at-homekids drawingannouncementdaddaddyfatherfatherhoodparentparentingparenthoodbabybabiestwinsFatherhood is ignoring your critics.When performers want to elevate themselves above their critics, they need only go on the record with..., 12 Mar 2012 12:28:00 -0400armond whitegigglecharlottebabybabiestwinsfatherfatherhoodparentparentingparenthoodFatherhood is having your croissant and eating it too.Fatherhood is having your croissant and eating it too.: I have a stack of parenting..., 08 Mar 2012 12:02:03 -0500what to expectdaddaddyfatherfatherhoodparentparentingbabybabiestwinsparenthoodFatherhood is QWERTY.The typewriter was invented in the mid-19th century, but hobbled by a design flaw that caused the..., 06 Mar 2012 17:07:00 -0500paralysisquadriplegiatypewriterloveqwertydaddaddyfatherfatherhoodparentparenthoodparentingbabybabiestwinsFatherhood is never letting the stories you tell on your babies get tainted by half-truths.When Ashley gets home from work, she usually spends a few minutes with Joan, our nanny, to swap..., 04 Mar 2012 17:31:00 -0500diapernannyticklebabybabiestwinsdaddaddyfatherfatherhoodparenthoodparentingparentmommommymothermotherhoodFatherhood is coming home for the ‘Mommy and Baby...<img src=""/><br/> Mommy's got the magic.<br/><br/> <img src=""/><br/> Mommy's little lady.<br/><br/> <img src=""/><br/> Mommy's little man.<br/><br/> <h2>Fatherhood is coming home for the ‘Mommy and Baby Show.’</h2> <p>Ashley leaves for work at 7:00 and comes home at 5:00–a long day of mutual yearning that evaporates the instant she walks through the door. After that, it’s the Mommy and Baby Show. Admission is free as long as I leave work on time to get a seat. And why wouldn’t I? It’s a daily tour de force performance of laughter, love, and the occasional toot.</p>, 29 Feb 2012 10:57:57 -0500mommymommothermotherhoodsmileparentparentingfatherfatherhooddaddaddybabybabiestwinsFatherhood is singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little...<iframe width="400" height="225" id="youtube_iframe" src="" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe><br/><br/><h2>Fatherhood is singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” so many times your brain hurts more than your voice.</h2> <p>I have a very limited musical repertoire, and it didn’t take long (READ: one time only) before I realized Buckcherry’s “<a href="" title="Crazy Bitch Music Video" target="_blank">Crazy Bitch</a>” was not age appropriate…even for nonverbal infants. So I turned to the classics. I’ve not driven “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” into the ground yet, but I’m only fifteen weeks in.  If (or more likely, when) the twins start requesting it, I’m gonna let <a href="" title="Scott's YouTube Channel" target="_blank">Scott Bradlee</a> go to work.</p>, 28 Feb 2012 11:43:00 -0500twinkle twinkle little starsongmusicbabytwinsbabiesfatherfatherhooddaddaddypianoparentparenthood