If I Were A Parental Crack Dealer

“Daddy!!! I can’t go to sleep!!”

Holy mother of all things that make me want to slam my head in the door…that one ranks up there near the top.

Every time the wifey and I hear that, our first response is to pound the pause button on the remote of whatever mindless insanity we’re watching, look at each other and drop our heads in that position that screams “are you fucking kidding me?”

We quickly draw straws (or actually the wife gives me that look like “you better take your ass up there chump!”) and  I make my way upstairs to explain to the children that “daddy has no magical pixy dust to toss in the air allowing my sweet SWEET children to fall patiently and quietly into slumber land.”

This is often met by, “aaawwww come on daddy…my eyes don’t want to shut!!!”

Or, “But it’s not night time yet!!!”

Or my favorite, “can’t I just have dinner?”

As if I didn’t just spend the past hour fighting them to chow their nighttime morsels.

Wouldn’t it be fantasticly awesome if we, as parents, had nighttime flakes allowing anyone we sprinkle them on to experience an eight-hour blissful sleep?

It would be the parental crack we’ve all been searching for.

No longer would Friday nights be filled with fathers surrounding grills, wives sipping wine and laughing in a corner while the kids destroy house and home.

Instead wives would be sipping wine and glaring at their watches like hawks as husbands flocked to their favorite dealer in the hopes of scoring even a dime-bag of the “I Cant’ Sleep Daddy” dust.

Parental mobs would storm the streets burning down businesses and taking over governmental positions to make sure “I Can’t Sleep Daddy” dust was considered “medicinal.”

Then “clicks” would form along the school playground as parents divide themselves amongst “those who have kids addicted to the ‘Sleepy Daddy’ dust,” and those who simply kiss their parents on the forehead, thank them for providing them with the greatest life ever, and nod quietly off to sleep.

Eventually all hell would break loose on the football field as the favorite quarterback, who according to Susan is a “Daddy Dust” user, throws the game-losing touchdown and suddenly it becomes a city-wide school board issue.

Actually, now that I think about it…it’s not worth it. I guess I’ll just stick to the old fashioned parental rhetoric of explaining to the children that daddy’s only magical power is to piss off their mother in 2.1 seconds flat.

And, I’ll save the magical sleeping dust for myself.

Gimmie Back My Sweater Woman!!!

Hi, my name is WhyIsDaddyCrying and I’m addicted to wearing the same green-striped sweater every day. It’s been six days since I wore my sweater.

How am I able to make such a comment? Because my former really good family friend @momomatics (now a person I know and might give an occasional glance to) stole my damn sweater last weekend. Here’s a quick back story.

For the past three months since I became unemployed I’ve slowly become a piece of shit. Reasons to shower first thing in the morning become few and far between. The desire to slide a razor along your face to keep that “clean-cut look” dies completely. And, the wearing the same outfit every day seems to become the only comforting regularity you can latch to.

My green sweater became my security blanky.

One day the wifey said, “honey, you seriously need to wash that thing.” So I did, and found myself naked and camped out in front of the washer and dryer rocking back and forth for two hours till all was said and done.

A few weeks later our friends started to notice. “Hey man, ummmm….how many of those sweaters do you have?” And my head snapped immediately towards them in disgust. How could I ever betray my sweater with a second, or third sweater. I’m faithful damn it!

I mean…it was there with me at the top of the Sears Tower.

During family moments like decorating the Christmas Tree!

Volunteering at my kid’s class and playing games!

Then I woke up last weekend after hosting a family get-together with @momomatics family and it was gone. GONE!!!!

After I finally got over the shakes and sweats, it became all too clear…an intervention had begun. My three-month stint of time with my sweater had come to a forceful end.

And to make matters even worse I discovered it wasn’t an intervention…worse—it’s aversion therapy! @momomatics is chronicling this “aversion therapy” on her blog. She’s not only taken my sweater, but she’s making it experience all of my worst nightmares. Chucky-Cheese….the fucking BUTCHER!!!!

While I continue to wallow, drink too much, and cry….go check out the crux of my pain at @momomatics blog.

Part 1 of the Sweater Chronicles: The Abduction – Also Called – The Night We Made WhyIsDaddyCrying Cry

Part 2 of the Sweater Chronicles: Aversion Therapy

She claims part 3 is coming any day…hopefully my sweater is coming home soon after. Although after that sweaty meat-holding bastard wore it….