This is a song we sing to the boys at bedtime. When Paige requested that they sing a song recently with the video camera running, we got this very affectionate rendition. It's from Veggie Tales. The words are:
Think of me every day, Hold tight to what I say Then I'll be close to you, even from far away. Know that wherever you are, it is never too far. If you think of me, I'll be with you.
We need to talk, dear readers. Well, not talk exactly. Talking actually been happening, and it's wonderful, but there's another way you can communicate with me. I know from my google analytics that people read this blog. I also know that from the blog comments I've gotten from a handful of you. Finally, I've gotten emails and facebook messages and had conversations IRL (as the kids say; the kids say that, right?) about the blog.
Of all the ways to say you like my blog or respond to something I've written, the best is a blog comment. That keeps my post and your response together. It also shows other people that you're reading my blog. Blogspot allows you to comment without creating an account.
The next time something you read here sparks a thought, gives you a laugh, makes you incredibly angry or leaves you questioning my sources, just take that step: leave a comment.
The other day at dinner, Charlie (7) was getting jealous of all of the wonderful things that Teddy (3) had gotten to do that day with me. He was bummed because he'd had to be at school and couldn't, for instance, go to the grocery store. Teddy loves our grocery store because it has cookie cards - buy the card for a dollar for charity at the beginning of the year and present it at the bakery and kids get a free cookie each visit.
With that context, this was Teddy's prayer during family devotions after dinner:
"Thank you that I could ride in the race car cart and get provolone cheese and have a cookie...and Charlie didn't...Ha ha!"
The name of this blog is a political statement about fatherhood. Regardless of the progress toward gender equality that has occurred over the last several decades, one stereotype persists and may be getting worse: moms are good parents and dads are incompetent boobs who sometimes babysit. Poppycock, I say. Or an excuse for dads who would like to be viewed as numskulls so that they don't have to parent their kids. Dads are parents too, and I know some who are very good at it.
I'm neither a stay-at-home dad nor do I work full time. I work part time, and I'm the primary parent for the foreseeable future. The primary competent parent, I hope it is not presumptuous to say.