The Kept Dad Decaffeinated

Huh...Wuh...What time is it? What day is it?? What Month is it???

Wow, that was some post-Thanksgiving turkey coma I just came out of. I'll have to remember to go easier on the stuffing next year.

Shortly before Thanksgiving, my coffee maker went out. Okay, it didn't exactly go out, rather I forgot to shut it off after I poured the last cup, and left the carafe on the heating element for a few hours while I went out. I returned to what smelled like an electrical fire being doused by a triple espresso, and discovered my coffee maker had burned itself out. That doesn't mean it no longer works at all, mind you. It has a built in grinder that still operates, but it no longer pumps water from the reservoir to the filter basket, and the heating plate doesn't warm up. So it can grind the coffee, but not brew the coffee or keep it warm. Time for a new coffeepot, you might think, and the timing couldn't have been better, what with the Black Friday sales coming up and all. Not so fast. I did look over a few coffee makers when I was out the day after Thanksgiving, but I couldn't find one I liked well enough at a price I was comfortable with, which is next to nothing. Besides, I really like my current coffeepot, and I couldn't find that same model anywhere.

I decided I should try to open up my coffee maker and see if I could figure out the problem, and if I could fix it. I turned it over to unscrew it, but of course, instead of having standard Phillips head screws, or even hex-head screws, it was secured with odd little star shaped screws that I couldn't loosen with any tools I had. There's probably just a burned out fuse inside the case, but the manufacturer wants to ensure I buy a whole new coffee maker by assembling it with the same screws used in nuclear containment vessels, that probably require a special twenty dollar screwdriver to remove. But I didn't fall for their little game.

So like a cheapskate MacGyver, I have been continuing to brew coffee with my broken-down pot, first grinding the beans with the built-in grinder, the only part that still works, then boiling water in the microwave, pouring the water a little at a time into the filter basket, letting it drip into the pot, repeating the process and pouring more water in until I have made a whole pot, then reheating the coffee later in the microwave when it gets cold. I feel like Kept Dad on the Prairie, making coffee the same way they did on the frontier...assuming they had microwaves on the frontier, that is.

My wife is a little annoyed with me for this. For my birthday, she gave me money she received as a bonus from work so I could buy myself a nice coffee maker, but It's still sitting in my wallet. I'm just not ready to give up on my old coffeepot yet. I'm sure someday soon I'll give in and buy a new coffee maker, or else my wife will just buy me one and forbid me to return it, but for the moment I'll keep doing what I'm doing for my morning java fix. After all, why throw out a perfectly good, well halfway decent, okay practically worthless coffee maker, when I can still find a way to make it work? I'll drink to that.

Checking up on the Kept Dad

My birthday is coming up in a few days, so my wife gave me the gift of making me an appointment for a prostate exam. I know, I'm a lucky man to have such a thoughtful wife. I can't wait for Christmas, when she'll probably schedule me for a root canal. Of course, I'm already a couple of years delinquent in getting my exhaust system checked out, so if she hadn't made the appointment, I probably would have put it off for another year or twelve, but can you blame me? It's a prostate exam!

My former doctor closed her practice, so this was the first time I had seen my new doctor. It was like an awkward first date as we exchanged pleasantries and made small talk, all the while skirting the reason for my visit. There just isn't an elegant way to segue from "so how's your wife doing" to "drop 'em and spread 'em." As we spoke, I surreptitiously glanced at his hands, trying to evaluate the size of his fingers. Sensing my nervousness, he said that I could get the exam on my next visit, but that would mean I had made a $20.00 co-pay just to chat up my doctor. As my wife would tell you, I am notoriously frugal (actually she would probably say I am an incredible cheapskate). The sanctity of my prostate wasn't worth twenty bucks. Might as well get it over with. As he snapped on the gloves and I bent over the exam table, I began to have second thoughts. Be gentle, Doc!

I'll spare you the details. Ladies, you have your annual, we over-40 guys have our anal-ual. I'm not sure which is more embarrassing and uncomfortable. We won't ask you about yours if you don't ask us about ours. It was pretty quick and not exactly painful, so much as discomforting, like pooping in reverse, if you can imagine such a thing. Afterwards I quickly made the walk of shame out of the office to my car. In case you were wondering, everything checked out fine. I have to get going now. My wife is turning 40 next month, so I need to get her the perfect gift...a mammogram.

The Prodigal Dad

Did you miss me, all (both?) of my readers? Sorry I haven't posted in a while but I was on a secret mission for the KDB (Kept Dad Bureau). I could tell you what I was doing but then I'd have to kill you...by boring you to death with the details.

My long-time readers (i.e. my immediate family and close friends) will notice that I have changed the title of my blog from The Kept Dad Blog-Ject to the Kept Dad Chronicles. I think the old title was a little too dry and pedantic. It sounded like the name of a thesis project for my Masters Degree in Slacker Studies. The Kept Dad Chronicles, on the other hand, sounds like the title of an adventure story, or at least a Lifetime Channel mini-series...Hmm...Who would play the my role of the Kept Dad? My salt-and-pepper hair and dark eyes suggest George Clooney, but my spindly arms, sunken chest, bulbous nose, beetle brows and clump of unruly hair cries out for the guy who played Screech on Saved by the Bell.

Well, autumn is in full swing. It's one of my favorite times of the year. Thanksgiving is approaching, and Halloween has passed, although I must confess I really don't get the point of running around pretending to be something you're not, and expecting to be rewarded for it. But enough about the election, let's get back to Halloween. This was the first Halloween that my oldest son didn't go trick-or-treating. He's fourteen, so he's at that age where even the lure of free candy isn't enough of an incentive to wear a silly costume and canvass the neighborhood with kids half his age. Besides, he isn't a candy addict. He could easily make his Halloween haul last until the next Halloween if it wasn't being constantly poached by his parents, unlike his 9 year old brother, who would still be in a diabetic coma if we didn't take his candy from him and ration it out. While it may be a rite of passage for my oldest boy, it's a little traumatic for me, because now that's one less kid I can sneak candy from. How am I supposed to get my recommended daily allowance of nougat and caramel, with only two candy stashes to steal from? My 4 year old is so young he didn't go to many houses, and only came back with half a bag of treats, and my 9 year old is so possessive of his candy trove, he'll probably notice any missing peanut butter cups. He tried to hide his candy under his bed, but we discovered his hoard and poured it in the family candy bowl. Yes, we're Candy Socialists, redistributing the fruits of our kids' Halloween labors to be enjoyed by the entire family (particularly their sweet-toothed father). 

That's all for now. Today is Veterans Day, so thank you to all the veterans out there. While I myself have never served in the armed forces, I do have some war stories to tell. Stay tuned, and I'll share some more of them with you.

When the Wife's Away, the Kept Dad Will...Blog

 My Wife is out of town for work right now. She Left Wednesday the 24th, and doesn't return until Halloween, Wednesday the 31st. That's seven nights! She travels fairly frequently for work, every couple months or so, but usually she's only gone for 2 or 3 nights at a time, 4 tops. She's gone for an entire week this time. It's almost like we're having a trial separation. It's not that I can't hold down the fort at home while she's away, I am the Kept Dad after all, and I've had plenty of practice from all of her other trips, but I'm outnumbered 3 to 1 now, and I don't have any backup for an entire week. Every whine and complaint is directed toward me, and I can't redirect any to my wife, or tell two squabbling siblings to let their mom arbitrate their argument. It's all on me. So don't think that because the boss is gone all week that I'm slacking off, watching ESPN and tweaking my fantasy football roster all day...Okay, I am spending a little extra time on fantasy football, but I need to. have you seen my running backs? They're awful. On paper, my team should be medicore. Of course fantasy football isn't played on paper, it's played on...um, tiny circuits flowing with electrons.

Of course, I miss my wife, but notwithstanding my aforementioned complaints, in some ways things are a little easier when she's gone. There's one less mouth to feed, one less mess-maker to clean up after. I get to watch my shows like The Colbert Report and History Channel, instead of Real World Housewife Teen Dance Moms of Jersey Shore 90210. I can make a batch of taco meat and get four meals out of the leftovers without her complaining she wants something different (tacos, nachos, taco burgers, taco pizza, heck why not taco-roni and cheese? I just made that dish up, but it sure sounds promising). Our bathroom counter isn't cluttered with makeup and hair products. Diet Coke cans aren't stacked up on her nightstand and desk. She does leave piles of clothes scattered across our bedroom floor that looks like the aftermath of a tornado sweeping through a Ross Dress for Less as she tries every possible permutation of garments in her closet, complaining she doesn't like any of them and dropping them on the floor, before packing the ones she hates the least. I usually spend all morning the day she flies out, picking up her clothes that didn't make the cut and putting them back in the closet and dresser.

Today is the fourth day she's been gone, so her trip is about half over. Four more nights of flying solo, then she'll be back. Until then, watch out! My keeper is gone, so the Kept Dad is unleashed...which come to think of it, isn't much different from the Kept Dad leashed. I'm kind of boring that way.



California Mis-Adventure: The Toddler in Terror

Sunday the 14th was our final day in Disneyland, before we were to fly home that evening, but it was not exactly the capstone to our family vacation that we had hoped for. We arrived about 15 minutes before the park opened to find a lines that stretched all the way back to the shuttle bus drop off area. Apparently everyone else had the same bright idea we did to arrive early and beat the rush. When we finally made it inside the park we were amazed to find that Big Thunder Mountain, which we had yet to ride, had only a 5 minute wait. As we sauntered through the switchbacks of the near empty line, our 4 year old became more apprehensive as we approached the ride loading area. We told him it would be a fun train ride, but he was skeptical when he saw one of the trains roar past him on the tracks. We reassured him, cajoled him, and finally bribed him with the promise of ice cream and churros in order to get him into one of the cars, only to listen to his screaming and crying throughout the ride. On our last trip to Disneyland, 5 years ago, our middle child was only 4 years old, and he happily went on every ride, even the Tower of Terror. On this trip, our youngest was exactly the opposite. His favorite part of the rides was fastening his seat belt, and he was somewhat perturbed to find the teacups lacked any safety restraints.

Our two older boys wanted to go on Splash Mountain one more time, so I offered to sit with our youngest, while they went on the ride with their mom. My wife, however, was sure our 4 year old would like Splash Mountain once he got on it, so she dragged him with us through the line, as he complained and worried the entire time. He was almost crying by the time we reached the front, but she was adamant that he should go on the ride. We were so sure that if we just made him go, he would overcome his fear and be fine, like parents who take off their kids' training wheels, assure them they won't let go of the bicycle seat, and then give them a good push so they can start riding on their own and realize they had nothing to be scared of, or else they list over like a torpedoed freighter and crash to the pavement never to trust their parents again. When my wife tried to get him into the seat, he screamed and went limp. Worried that Disney Child Protective Services might take him from us and put him in a foster home to be raised by Donald and Daisy Duck, I took him out of line and waited for the rest of my family to finish the ride. I'm not sure if this is related, but every time he went to the bathroom the rest of the day, he had to poop. I think we may have literally scared the crap out of him by trying to make him go on the ride.

After Splash Mountain, we took our 4 year old on Peter Pan, sure he would like that, but it was also a little too intense for him. He did enjoy a caterpillar ride where you slowly roll through giant plastic models of fruit, cupcakes and candy. I went on that with him a couple of times while my wife went on the big roller coaster with our older boys. Sometimes being a kept dad means you take one for the team. Just before we left the park, he found his ideal ride in Mickey's Toon Town, molded plastic cartoonish cars that didn't do anything. They didn't move, didn't fly, didn't spin, didn't splash, just sat there in beautiful boring safeness. He probably would have stayed on them all evening if we didn't have to catch our return flight.

Speaking of our return flight, our 4 year old did get to go on one more ride--the moving walkway at the San Francisco airport as I dragged him behind me with one hand, pulled a suitcase in the other hand, carried three bags slung over my shoulder, racing from one end of the terminal to the other while the rest of my family straggled behind me in order to catch our connecting flight, because our plane out of Los Angeles was delayed for an hour. It was a thrill ride of a conclusion to our California adventure.



All Quiet on the Whiner Front A Kept Dad Dispatch from the Vacation Trenches

Our So-Cal vacation campaign is a little past the halfway point, so I thought this would be a good time to report in. We flew in to San Diego on Tuesday the 9th, spent the night and went to Sea World the next day. I would like to say that we had a Shamu-velous time, but that story would be a little fishy. The whining and complaining started even before we had flown out of town, with my nine and four year olds arguing over a seat at the airport gate they  both wanted to sit in. Wanting to deter a trip filled with low-level sniping, I went with the nuclear option immediately, threatening to keep them both with me at the hotel while their older brother and mom went to Sea World. They probably knew I was more full of hot air than Khrushchev, but didn't dare call my bluff.

At Sea World, we tried to go on some rides, but our four year old didn't want to go on anything that went up too high, dropped down too quickly, spun around too fast, got you wet, in short, any ride that was somewhat fun. Even when we rode the gondolas on a leisurely spin over the bay, he looked at me and asked, "what's so good about this ride?" I hate to say it, but I think my four year old son is sort of a curmudgeon. I used to think that only cranky old men could be curmudgeons, but my youngest might be some kind of  Benjamin Button  curmudgeon who's already an old grouch as a preschooler. Maybe when he's 85, he'll act like a happy-go-lucky toddler.

My youngest wasn't alone when it came to whining about our lunch at Sea World, however. We paid 60 dollars for the privilege of choking down soggy flatbread pizzas, "grilled" cheese that was more like chilled cheese, as it wasn't even melted in the middle, and a prepackaged pb&j sandwich with no crust that my 4 year old nibbled suspiciously. Even my wife joined in the chorus of complainers. Et tu Mommy? I thought as I glumly chewed on my sandwhich.

We drove to Anaheim that afternoon after leaving Sea World and went to Disneyland Thursday morning. Like magic, the happiest place on earth seemed to dispel all the whining and complaining. The walking around was less tiring, the lines were less unbearable, our lunch, while still $60, was more palatable. Our youngest went on some rides the older kids wanted to go on, and the older boys happily rode the teacups with our youngest. 

Today we went to Universal Studios, which has something called "Child Switch" for some of their rides. It allows one parent to stay with their child while the other parent goes on a ride the kid is too little or too scared to go on. Then the first parent retrieves the child and the other parent gets to go to the front of the line and go on the ride without waiting back in line. Needless to say, we utilized "Child Switch" with our youngest son who was back to his anti-ride ways. It's a pretty neat idea, and it got me thinking of how to improve upon that concept. I came up with "Toddler Tranq" where you could tranquilize your recalcitrant youngsters for say 4-8 hours, leaving them in a comfy, secure, monitored pod, and leaving you free to enjoy the amusement park without whining about tired feet, bad food, being too hot, needing to go potty for the 9th time. Of course, I still need to work out some of the details, and the legal release forms, but I could be on to something. 

Well, I need to sign off. We get to enter Disneyland an hour earlier than the general public tomorrow, which means we need to be ready to board the shuttle at 6:30 AM, and the park stays open until midnight, so I'm in for a very long day. 

Kept Dad Takes a Holiday

Who knew blogging was so strenuous? After spending so much time writing all of those, make that both of these posts, it's time to take a break, so I'm going to Disneyland tomorrow. I'm like that annoying guy at the office who gets hired for the position you applied for and immediately goes on vacation, leaving you to cover for him while he lounges on a beach somewhere and collects a paycheck he has yet to earn. In my defense, we have been planning this trip to Disneyland for over a year now, having postponed it a couple of times already, and would like to go while the kids are still young enough to willingly be seen with their parents in public, and will (grudgingly) submit to the humiliation of being photographed with Mickey and Goofy without harboring eternal resentment because of it.

I am exciting but nervous about this trip. While I'm sure it will be a wonderful time filled with plenty of family fun, it will also certainly have its equal share of stress. In some sort of Newtonian law of family physics, it seems that for every enjoyable family action, there is an equal and opposite unpleasant reaction. Your kids laughing and playing outside in the afternoon is balanced by them squabbling over what T.V. show they want to watch that evening. A pleasant family dinner is countered by whining about there not being anything they like for dessert. I'm sure when we're in Disneyland that one minute we'll be relaxing on the Jungle Cruise taking pictures of the animatronic elephants , and the next minute we'll be listening to complaints about how they don't want to go on It's a Small World because it's too babyish. As a kept dad, I feel a certain responsibility for keeping these reactions to minimum. I plan to work overtime on this trip so my wife can relax and enjoy her vacation. She's been working overtime all weekend, just so she can get caught up on all her projects and take a few days off without coming back swamped in work. This vacation is only possible because of all the airline and hotel points she has earned through her many business trips, so I feel like I need to contribute by doing whatever I can to make it as relaxing and stress-free as possible.

I must admit, I also feel some trepidation at the expense of this trip. Not to say that I am a cheapskate but...well okay, my wife is saying I am a cheapskate. While our flights and rooms are taken care of by airline and hotel points, the park passes, rental car, food, souvenirs, etc. are sure to cost well over a thousand dollars, depleting our savings and hastening the day of reckoning when my time as a kept dad will come to an end.
 

So don't fear all of my...er, both of my...um, my sole reader. I will be taking a break, but I will return next week. I suppose if I had a cellphone that had been made sometime in the past decade I could probably blog on the go, but I stubbornly cling to my cheap, no-contract flip phone like a family heirloom I can't bear to part with. I've had the same rate plan since 1997, which may as well be from the paleolithic era in technology terms. That would also explain why there is no Kept Dad Twitter feed. I'm sure this trip will provide plenty of fodder for future blogging when I get back. I'm off to the happiest place on earth, but soon will return to the happiest blog on earth.

        

The Kept Dad Cometh

Hello. My name is Scott, and I am a kept dad. I was considering calling this blog "The Kept Man Blog-ject", hoping to entice some female readers drawn in by the possibility of steamy Fifty Shades of Grey-esque escapades such a title hints at, but that would be deceptive, because I am a kept dad, not a kept man. Quelle difference? you might ask (sorry, but I can't help throwing in gratuitous French phrases whenever possible in honor of my Quebec heritage-if you don't like it, excusez moi...oops! did it again). While, like a kept man, I am dependent upon a woman to support me, the difference is I have a purpose beyond working out, tanning, lounging by the pool, and being a tiger in the boudoir...oh, sorry for drifting off. I was just imagining being an actual kept man, in which case my pecs would be bulging and my abs would be flat, rather than the converse. A kept man's entire raison d'etre (sorry) is being a kept man. A kept dad, on the other hand, has a higher purpose: changing diapers, wiping noses, settling squabbles, making meals someone is guaranteed to complain about, and being spurned in the bedroom because a Real Housewives Reunion special is on TV. I know, I'm making the life of a kept dad sound so glamorous.

Why am I writing a blog? I have been a stay-at-home father for going on 10 years, but I fear that my days as a kept dad are numbered. The youngest of my three sons will be 5 years old in January, so when he enters full-time kindergarten next fall, I won't have any kids around during the day to justify my staying at home and will need to look for gainful employment. In this economy? With my atrophied job skills? Are you kidding? My wife has been hinting at that for a little while now, like an exasperated parent trying to get their college-dropout son to put away the video games, change out of his pajamas, get out of the basement and find his own place. I have been a kept dad for almost 4 years more than my longest tenured job. If there were a kept dad pension fund, I could be almost a third of the way to retirement. I earn a little income from watching my wife's sister's two sons after school and during the summer, but soon I will be expected to contribute much more to the family coffers, and with the types of jobs for which I am qualified, I would need to need to work double shifts all week, build a time machine to return to the beginning of the week, then work another week of double shifts just to come close to making what my wife does...wait, if I had a time machine I could go back to when Microsoft had their IPO, buy 100 shares and be a millionaire...but then I wouldn't be a kept dad, so I wouldn't have needed to build the time machine in the first place-this is getting confusing.  So The Kept Dad Blog-ject is the coda to my time as a stay-at-home father, a paean to the life of a kept dad. I'll share stories, tips, gripes, and perhaps the occasional recipe with you, my as yet nonexistent readers.

If I dare to dream, then perhaps my readership will grow to the point where this blog will come up 134,692'nd on Google searches for stay-at-home dad's, I'll be invited to appear as a guest on local cable access shows, I'll be able to convince most of my family and friends to like my blog on Facebook, and I will be able to show my wife that this blog is too popular for me to stop being a kept dad, that it is the seed which could sprout into a garden of Kept Dad cross-promotional opportunities...cookbooks, cocktails, t-shirts, man-purses, the possibilities are limited only by my complete lack of capital and market presence. Not likely, I know, but then a kept dad's reach should exceed his grasp, and I'm reduced to grasping at straws now. Whatever happens, hopefully the journey will be enjoyable, or at least blog-able. Thanks for following me, or maybe just stumbling upon this blog by accident. I'll take whatever I can get.

P.S. Sorry if this blog is sort of generic-looking, but I've never done this before and haven't figured out all the tricks and tools yet. Hopefully I'll be able to put up some virtual curtains, and digital tchotchkes to liven the place up a bit. If you have any tips, feel free to let me know and help me pimp my blog. And if any of you happen to also be stay-at-home father's, let me know. We kept dads need to stick together. Thanks.