Morning Shows and Pole Dancing

by Nathan Bright

Stripper poles should not be a part of a home. If you own one and I’ve offended you I apologize (sorry mom), but I personally can’t imagine explaining it to my daughters. This new exercise fad serves as a reminder of all the stuff I’ve pushed aside as a responsible parent.

If I didn’t have kids I’d listen to more obscene radio morning show DJ’s with names like Crap Boy & Charlie (oh Crap Boy, you’re so funny and relatable). I’d pee with the door open. I could once again pick my nose anywhere in the house without a little voice nagging, “Put it in a Kleenex dad!” My computer’s music library wouldn’t have all the bad-titled songs “X’ed” out. And I would have a stripper pole. Twelve of them. Less for exercise and more for structural integrity… but yeah.

Come to think of it I’ve been style-shedding for quite some time. Getting married was the first blow. Suddenly my framed Aerosmith poster wasn’t good enough for the living room. Or the basement. Or the frame itself (Dear S. Tyler: I’m sorry*). Gone were the shot glasses above the TV. Everything I gave up was replaced in equal proportion by either a candle or another pillow.

*In a wildly unrelated side story that just crossed my mind: When I was 22 I loved Aerosmith. Borderline unhealthy admiration. Anyway, I was at a dance club trying my damndest to talk to/dance with/touch the shoulder of any girl who’d allow it. One took an interest and danced several songs with me until the DJ played a Run DMC Walk This Way remix. She yelled, “That’s awesome, I love Aerosmith.” My heart leapt. I reached into my wallet and pulled out a plastic embossed card with the wings logo on it and yelled back, “Me too, I’m in the fan club!” The remainder of the night I danced alone.

The change keeps coming in waves. My shower used to simply house soap, shampoo and a razor. Those items all multiplied and had smelly little babies that exfoliate, scrub, and silken. My shower has evolved into its current form… an explosion of rubber ducks, foam alphabet letters and Nick Jr. paraphernalia.

Everywhere I look I see things I’ve either given up or altered for the sake of my wife and kids. Why do we do it… as men, that is? Why we change for our spouses is easy – sex. A high percentage of living room Aerosmith posters directly correlate to a low percentage of boobies.

But why change for our children? They don’t care how badly we decorate. They don’t see the radio morning shows’ raunchy content as negative. They just soak it all up and shape their lives around it. Therein lays the answer.

We dads modify our behavior in hope of being better men, thus creating a better environment for our kids to be shaped. We give up or suppress the ugly in order to grow more beauty. Sure, some of the vices we enjoy as adults are fun and tough to give up, but one look at those innocent, inquisitive eyes and you’d sacrifice anything for them.

I’m a little winded by all this sappiness. I could stand to exercise. You got a pole at your place I can use? I’ll bring my own Aerosmith mix tape.

Nathan Bright is a 30-something stay-at-home dad who resides near St. Louis, MO. He is a husband to an amazing woman and father to a doubly amazing 2 year old little girl. His blessed home is scheduled to be even more blessed in March, as Nathan and his wife will welcome a second daughter to their family. When Nathan is not blogging for OurMilkMoney.com's The Daddy's Den, he writes and illustrates his own children's books. Available for purchase immediately is Maddi Patti and her Stay-at-Home-Daddy.

The Candy Bar Sermon

By Nathan Bright

I buried the Snickers on a mountain overlooking a pristine lake. The other hikers in my group ate theirs days prior...like animals, but not me. A candy bar was given to us halfway through our 150 mile hike in the Cascade Mountains back in 2003. Food being scarce, a saved treat such as a Snickers had more worth on a mountain than Lindsay Lohan driving a Marlboro truck into cell block eight. And I buried it.

Why? Sacrifice. Now I'm not so pious that I came out of those mountains with tablets, but I did feel a sacrifice of that magnitude would help scrub my soul (if it got muddy during my early 20s). History is now repeating itself.

Fast forward to present day. I'm poor. Poor is a bad descriptive word because in the grand scheme I'm a zillion times more fortunate than most of the world's population. Let's just say I'm justifiably frugal. I'm also socially extinct. Few visitors to the house, no outside associates, and maybe one RedBox rental a month keep me pretty contained. What's the reason? *Snickers* Not the candy bar, I mean that I just snickered as I was getting ready to write this: Because I'm a stay-at-home parent. Yet again, I'm sacrificing.

My wife and I have chosen to sacrifice a ton to make this happen. It's not very apparent just how much we've given up until we talk to other people. As I listen to them speak I hear my thoughts saying, "What do you mean you went out twice this week...I get to eat out once every 60 days!" But it's worth it. We believe in what we're doing so strongly that we're willing to sacrifice a lot to do it.

Antenna television - yes. Willing to be the crazy coupon person in the check-out line- yes. Toilet paper square limit three - yes (modifications to this rule arise from time to time).

Again, it's worth it. I truly believe my kids and family benefit as a whole immensely from having an at-home parent. I also feel the sacrifices in my life, such as the Snickers and self-imposed fiscal-chop, have made me stronger. When viewed in a certain light those things we give up don't really seem to big. In fact, the intrinsic gain is so great it's as if nothing has been given up at all.

Now if only I could find that Snickers coupon.

Nathan Bright is a 30-something stay-at-home dad who resides near St. Louis, MO. He is a husband to an amazing woman and father to a doubly amazing 2 year old little girl. His blessed home is scheduled to be even more blessed in March, as Nathan and his wife will welcome a second daughter to their family. When Nathan is not blogging for OurMilkMoney.com's The Daddy's Den, he writes and illustrates his own children's books. Available for purchase immediately is Maddi Patti and her Stay-at-Home-Daddy.

There's a Monster in My House

by Nathan Bright

No there’s not. Monsters don’t exist. What does exist are newborn babies. The five-week old variety in my home, to be precise. The similarities between her and a monster are staggering.

For one, she’s scary. My two-year old is freaked out by the primal screams echoing through the house at any given time. I’m scared of what she’s capable of, seeing how she already inflicted bloody pain on my wife during birth. It took a team of nurses to clean up the mess. Just horrible.

Her eating habits mirror that of a monster. My wife, bless her soul, is breastfeeding. Although I’ve never actually seen a real monster eat, I’m pretty sure it would be similar (that is, if while ingesting food parasite-style, a monster tends to fart a lot).

She was born with a lot of hair. Monsters have hair.

My baby/monster eats other things, too. She transgresses the boundaries of physical space and can actually devour my time. It literally took me 3 hours one day just to pee. This is a basic function I previously enjoyed with much frivolity. NO MORE! The monster has taken my time to pee. Just horrible. Monsters are gross. Babies are grosser. By analyzing these two statements one can conclude, with philosophically sound logic, that I have a super monster. Liquids, solids and gases of all color have made their way out of her. It’s not enough to simply change a dirty diaper, but she will literally spray venom at you like that little dinosaur from Jurassic Park. Now don’t tell anyone I told you this, but last week *I can’t believe I’m going to share this* she almost pooped in my mouth a little. I won’t offer all the details, but let’s just say I was inspecting a diaper rash with slack-jawed curiosity when the worst nearly happened. If that doesn’t convince you she’s a monster, I don’t know what will. Just horrible.

She can’t talk. Some monsters have speech problems as well.

Have you ever seen the X-Men Wolverine movie where Hugh Jackman’s love interest can persuade people to do things just by touching them? My baby/monster has that power. Now she’s here and our family is complete my wife and I have been talking about surgical options for birth control. Surgical. Options. Prior to this the closest a knife would’ve come to my “area” was, well… never. Ever. Never ever. To summarize, my baby is an X-Men mutant who has influenced us to harm ourselves.

Weak neck. The blob had no neck.

The saving grace here is the Gremlins. Gizmo was a monster. My baby doesn’t like bright light. She isn’t fond of getting wet. But she is exceptionally cute and sweet, much like that loveable mogwai. She doesn’t get carried around in a backpack the way Gizmo did, but another contraption – the Bjorn – is arguably identical. Even though she terrorizes us we love her anyway. Oh, and one last thing. Never feed her after… wait, we ALWAYS feed her after midnight. Ahh, so that’s where the ugly monster comes from!

In conclusion, if you have a cute monster at your house you need only follow one rule: don’t feed them after midnight. That, and don’t look too closely at diaper rash with your mouth open. Just horrible.

Nathan Bright is a 30-something stay-at-home dad who resides near St. Louis, MO. He is a husband to an amazing woman and father to a doubly amazing 2 year old little girl. His blessed home is scheduled to be even more blessed in March, as Nathan and his wife will welcome a second daughter to their family. When Nathan is not blogging for OurMilkMoney.com's The Daddy's Den, he writes and illustrates his own children's books. Available for purchase immediately is Maddi Patti and her Stay-at-Home-Daddy.

Inclusion Delusion

By Nathan Bright

The first egg goes in beautifully. No trace of shell in the mixture at all. With my speed being matched only by artistry, I blister through the kitchen confident of a timely meal that will lead into clean-up, followed by coats, then a punctual appearance to a friend's house.

"I help," says my two year old.

Her words resonate like a movie moment demonstrating fear and confusion. "Of course you will sweetie," I say. the Dad in me knows to include her in anything I can. It builds skill, confidence, and a bond between parent and child. However, the Me in me obsesses on the clock. She'll slow me down. Dinner will be late. We'll rush out the door and be tardy, again, to our function. Again.

I let her help. Eggs explode, raw meat almost in mouth, hair stuck to counter, falls off stool, cries, help stir, help wipe floor, help stir more, wipe floor more and dear-heaven-has-the-oven-been-preheating-for-an-hour-how-much-is-the-gas-bill-going-to-be?

This scenario plays out quite often. Patience in letting them help is par for the course. By letting them help we know it'll be more work for us, but they need the experience anyway. But how does this translate into other areas?

I'm a stay-at-home-dad (by choice). Our numbers are growing. Just like any non-traditional movement there's a stigma over which we'd like to hop. The "Mr. Mom" syndrome, if you will, such as the bumbling man guy who fashions duct tape into cereal bowls. As amazing as duct tape cereal bowls would be (and completely doable!) us stay-at-home-dads don't want to be pigeon-holed into being thought of as bumbling.

I know I'm great at cooking, cleaning, kid activities, multitasking, etc., but what do others think of me? My fear is I'm viewed as the two-year old and my wife is the adult. It's thought that she lets me help only to secretly clean up my mess afterward. These situations demonstrate what would come out of a child's mouth and what folks would presume comes out of the stay-at-home-dad's mouth:

Situation: Sweeping the Floor
Adult Figure and/or Wife Asks: "want to help?"
Two Year Old says: "let me walk through this pile of dirt first."
Bumbling Dad says: "I'll get the leaf blower."

Situation: Laundry
Adult Figure and/or Wife Asks: "want to help?"
Two Year Old says: "I can fit 4 bras on my head."
Bumbling Dad says: "I can fit 6 bras on my head."

Situation: Grocery Shopping
Adult Figure and/or Wife asks: "want to help?"
Two Year Old says: "take me to the toys or I'll cry."
Bumbling Dad says: "take me to the beer or I'll cry. Did you know I can fit 6 bras on my head?"

Point being - I'm not bumbling. I'm not merely included...I'm autonomous, much the way my two-year-old soon will be. I run an excellent home for the benefit of my family. My wife trust me to be productive and make good decisions. Now if you'll excuse me I need to look into that duct tape thing. And maybe fold bras.

Nathan Bright is a 30-something stay-at-home dad who resides near St. Louis, MO. He is a husband to an amazing woman and father to a doubly amazing 2 year old little girl. His blessed home is scheduled to be even more blessed in March, as Nathan and his wife will welcome a second daughter to their family. When Nathan is not blogging for OurMilkMoney.com's The Daddy's Den, he writes and illustrates his own children's books. Available for purchase immediately is Maddi Patti and her Stay-at-Home-Daddy.

The Housedad Interrogation

Written by Guest Blogger, Edmund Farrow

"So, are you on holiday then?"

It's the question I fear most. I never know exactly how to answer and it usually comes at an awkward moment, such as when I'm trying to break up a fight between my kids or I’m having my haircut. If I’m really unlucky, I get asked it when I'm trying to break up a fight between my kids while I'm having a haircut. This is obviously worse - difficult explanations are made so much harder when having to hiss threats at a nine-year-old as someone waves scissors around my ears. Normally, though, the question is just well-meaning small talk at the supermarket from an acquaintance or a stranger, designed to make me feel better as I extract a small child from an disastrous encounter with a cereal display.

"Actually, this is me at work," I mutter, tipping Cheerios out of my daughter's pockets. "I'm a housedad."

"Oh!?" The amiable grin on my inquisitor's face dissolves and they take an involuntary step backwards. Surprise, disbelief, pity and fear fight for control of their wildly-jiggling eyebrows as they realise they've blundered into a whole different conversation from the one they were expecting. Then they pull themselves together and remember that it's rude to stare. They try to think of something encouraging to say.

They usually fail and resort to asking, "Do you enjoy that then?"

I mean, where to begin? I get to watch my kids grow and learn. I have opportunities to play with them, teach them and delight in them that most dads can barely dream of. Do I enjoy being a housedad? Of course I do.

Then again, it can be tough going sometimes. I’ve had to watch Finding Nemo 537 times, for instance. Being a housedad is a daily parenting adventure but it's also a job.

Back in the day, when I had three children under the age of five, I was constantly busy. There wasn't time for anything much beyond looking after the kids and trying to stay sane. I regularly had to choose between sleep and time to myself. Getting enough of both was a perpetual juggling act.

The last couple of years have seen a steady improvement. Aside from the occasional nightmare, they all sleep through the night. They all know how to get dressed without assistance. Very rarely, they can even all entertain themselves at the same time and leave me in peace. It's a crazy new world of wonder I've entered. Better than that, my youngest started school this year and I have several hours to myself every day.

Unfortunately, when well-meaning acquaintances learn this, they immediately ask, "Are you thinking of going back to work then?"

Er... Did I say every day? I meant every weekday when school is on and none of my kids are sick. That's something quite different. At best, I have twenty-seven hours a week with which to pursue another vocation and that's if I leave shopping and cleaning until the weekend, don't stop for lunch and ignore any travel time. Most weeks it's more like twenty hours. Many weeks it's none.

This limits my career options.

Explaining is more trouble than it's worth, though. Everyone assumes that, as a man, I must be leaping at the chance to get out of the house and win some bread. It's only natural, after all. Personally, however, I'd rather have a lie down. I'm due several years’ worth of lunch hours as it is...

I counter by mentioning that I run a parenting website but, sadly, by this point, I'm already irredeemably marked out as 'slightly odd'.

My interrogator’s eyes narrow. "Does that make any money?"

"That's not really the point. I get to pass on what I've learnt, encourage other parents, build my self-esteem and share a few laughs."

"So, that would be a 'no' then."

"I do get free computer games."

"Really?!"

For some reason, this always impresses people enough to cover my escape. I make my excuses and leave, mumbling something about having to find my children. Then I set off in the direction of the bickering, following a trail of little old ladies who've been barged into freezer units, their rubber-soled shoes waggling out from amongst the packets of frozen peas.

Sigh...

I wonder if mums who 'only' stay home and look after their kids face the same kind of thing?

Having all three at school has brought new possibilities. That said, they still need me around an awful lot for the time being. The website (DadsDinner.com) has been going well and is hopefully the beginning of a self-employed writing career but I'm not holding my breath. I’ve got plenty to keep myself occupied – not least with ten years of chores to catch up on. Realistically, my main task for this first year of freedom is to figure out what I’m doing in the second.

Got to start back into the world of paid employment somewhere, I suppose…

Running a successful business with children around is an impressive feat. Hats off to all of you who're giving it a go.

Located in the UK, Edmund Farrow has been a housedad for nearly ten years and has three children, aged 9, 7 and 5. He vaguely remembers that he was once able to program computers. In 2007, however, he finally got fed up of being told how common housedads are these days by everyone he spoke to, despite the fact he was normally the only one they'd ever met. He decided to set up a website, DadsDinner.com, to share what being a primary carer with only one X chromosome is really like. Dadsdinner offers advice, encouragement and humour to parents, prospective parents and especially stay-at-home dads. It includes guidance on everything from potty training to surviving a zombie invasion, along with reviews of such housedad essentials as home delivery services and films with explosions. Don't tell anyone, but mums enjoy DadsDinner, too. Sometimes it gives them scary ideas about getting their men more involved in childcare. (Well, scary for the men in question, anyway...)