The Mommy Mjorn

"The rubber chicken short sheet surprise is my signature maid prank."

“The rubber chicken short sheet surprise is my signature maid prank.”

Our prayers have been answered. The product that billions of parents have been waiting for since the dawn of time is finally here. I’m talking, of course, about The Mommy Mjorn. Ever since I started wearing The Mommy Mjorn, day-to-day life has just been easier, you know? Not only can I fix myself lunch, pay bills, and run a load of laundry, but I can do all of these things WHILE watching Wife, who – let’s face it – is not at a time in her life where she should be left unsupervised. Between the nonstop childcare, housework, and sleepless nights, Wife’s energy levels and motor skills have been reduced to that of a 15-month-old baby, which, coincidentally, is the same age of our daughter, Kid. Sure, I could leave Wife in the living room with a couple of stuffed animals and her favorite show (I think it’s called Mischievous Cleaning Ladies), but what if the WiFi cuts out right as a mischievous cleaning lady is filling the cookie jar with sneezing powder and I’m not there to fix it? I would never forgive myself. Luckily, The Mommy Mjorn has a built-in iPad mount and ice cream cone holder, so Wife can relax even as I’m loading up the shopping cart! The only downside is that we get a lot of glares at restaurants—especially fast food restaurants. Apparently, McDonalds employees don’t see a lot of guys hitting the drive-thru, on foot, wearing their wife like a baby. It has also made jogging difficult, but the vibrations seem to help Wife nap, so wuddya gonna do? Speaking of naps, where is Kid? What’s that? Wife has been wearing Kid the whole time I’ve been wearing Wife? Wow. The Mommy Mjorn really is a miracle product!

The Panda Trap

"Would you like to hear our specials? Or perhaps I can show you how to eat with a fork."

“Would you like to hear our specials? Or perhaps I can show you how to eat with a fork.”

Are we human? Or are we parents? According to Brandon Flowers of the Killers fame, we might even be dancer. But before I can even begin to entertain the notion that we may in fact be dancer, there’s the human question. See, Wife and I are out on the town for my birthday, and, for the first time in over 13 months, we have absolutely no responsibilities. That’s because my parents, NailsMom & NailsDad, generously agreed to come for an overnight to watch Kid while we are reintroduced into the wild by a professional endangered parent handler named Joseph. Joseph is a card-carrying member of two noble organizations, PITA (People for the Independence of Tired Adults), and UBER (Uber). Since liberating us from our enclosure, Joseph has gently coaxed us into his endangered parent transport, or, as he calls it, “The Shev-RO-lay Kroos.” He has assured us that there are others just like us at the endangered parent reservation, or, as he says, “Beer-GARD-en.” And he has patiently explained to us that we don’t need to pay him with cash once we have reached our destination, or, as he carefully annunciates, “Your CRED-it CARD will BE CHARG-ed.”  Of course, now we are sitting on the outdoor patio of the endangered parent reservation, sans-Joseph and utterly defenseless, struggling to interpret a menu that was clearly designed for a more highly evolved species. They don’t even offer microwaved chicken fingers – everything is freshly prepared! Can we go back to the enclosure now?

Forbidden Fruits

"I can stop using it any time I want."

“I can stop using it any time I want.”

Let’s make a deal. You stop fussing, and I’ll let you hold The Precious. But only for a few seconds. We both know that, when put into the wrong hands, especially grubby saliva-covered baby hands, The Precious is capable of terrible things. Things like: accidentally overnighting an inflatable hot tub to our house, or sending cryptic messages to my boss, or secretly recording me, in my bathrobe, trying to choke down black coffee because we ran out of sweetener. Of course, you don’t care about all that. You just like The Precious because it is shiny and beautiful and makes little buzzing noises that have been training you like a pavlovian dog since you were an infant. You’ve also had plenty of time to observe me with The Precious. You’ve seen the way my eyes glow with the reflection of The Precious’ artificial luminance. You’ve seen me lovingly pet The Precious by swiping my finger up and down, left and right, over its smooth, flat belly. You see, I’m a lost cause. Once upon a time, I was taking a stroll through an Enchanted Big Box Store, when a horrible little Sales Nymph used a Discount Hex to force me to fall in love with the first thing I saw: The Precious. Ever since then, I’ve been powerless to resist The Precious’ call to waste hours reading internet comments written by sociopaths and playing Free-to-Play games that would make Sisyphus want to get back to rolling his ball. Where once sat a boy with ambition and purpose, now slumps a man crippled by instant and artificial gratification. But there is still hope for you, my darling child. That is why you must never stare into the crystal abyss of The Precious’ Great Eye for more than a few seconds. Ooo, it buzzed! Give us back The Precious! Give it back to us neeeeeooooooow!


The Expediter

"I am Barzaff The Great. Look into my mullet and you shall see the true meaning of magic."

“I am Barzaff The Great. Look into my mullet and you shall see the true meaning of magic.”

Are you ready? Before you answer that question, you should know that I’m not asking if you are ready for some football. Or a good time. Or a weevil pestilence. But, just so we cover all the bases, if you are ready for some football, you may sit quietly on that couch for seven months until the next season begins. And if you are ready for a good time, please see Brian Johnson, lead vocalist of AC/DC – he will take you bowling. And if you are ready for a weevil pestilence, don’t forget to double-check the chimney. They always come through the chimney. [eyes cloud over, swats back of neck involuntarily] Sorry. I…it’s a long story. Well, it’s actually a short story: weevils came through my chimney and attacked me. Or did I dream the whole thing? Anyway, I was asking if you are ready to leave the house. I ask this because no one is ready to leave our house, ever. So if you are ready, you are a liar. And I like liars about as much as I like weevils: not much. In fact, ever since Kid came on the scene, getting out the door has become a freaking magic trick. I’m not talking about finding a quarter behind your nephew’s ear, neither. I’m talking main-stage, dry-ice, laser-show, two-guys-with-mullets-and-a-tiger (also with a mullet), magic trick. It’s such a production that sometimes I wish we had one of those individuals who works in restaurants and yells at the chef to do stuff faster. “Expediters,” I think they’re called. Sounds kinda like “Expert Biters,” one of the many known aliases of–you guessed it–weevils. I think I need to stop eating peanut butter before bed. It’s giving me weird dreams.

The Crawling Game

"Do not, under any circumstances, ask these guys for help when you are lost."

“Do not, under any circumstances, ask these guys for help when you are lost.”

I’ve been tricked. No, I’m not talking about the new street magic show for Millennials, Tricked, which is hosted by that really popular boy band – Multiple Instructions I think they’re called. I’m talking about the fact that my daughter, Kid, deliberately misled me into believing she was nothing more than an oversized paperweight. Granted, I would never let her near important documents, for fear of them being drooled on, (because baby drool is apparently more acidic than the blood of the Xenomorph in Alien) but this is a humor blog, not an important document care and safekeeping lifestyle blog. Incidentally, if that’s what you’re looking for, has everything you need to get started. It’s a cute little document care and safekeeping lifestyle blog run by two middle-aged, former businessmen who decided to quit their jobs in finance and blog about all things document. From filing cabinet reviews, to tips on how to buy laminators factory-direct for substantial savings, is the blogosphere’s best-filed secret (PUN ABSOLUTELY INTENDED). Back to how kid pulled a fast one. For seven whole months, she just kinda lay around the house, not lifting a finger to help with the dishes or shovel the driveway or take the car to AutoZone for new windshield wipers. Then, one day, she started crawling. She didn’t even have the decency to send me a notarized memorandum 45 days in advance, you know, like the law says. I’m still waiting for Multiple Instructions to pop out of the closet and say, “You’ve been Tricked.” Except instead of saying it they would sing it. And confetti made from various instruction manuals would rain down from the ceiling. I don’t know, it’s a Millennial thing.