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!


Birth of a Salesman

"These aren't just any old blocks - they were previously owned by Emilio Estevez."

“These aren’t just any old blocks – they were previously owned by Emilio Estevez.”

Sell me this block. Right here. Right now. Sell it to me. What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Oh, well don’t worry about it – Cat got my achilles tendon last night as I was climbing into bed. He’s a jerk. Anyway, if you’re not going to sell me this block, I’ll do it for you. See, I get up with Kid in the morning so Wife can try to pay off some of the massive Mommy Sleep Loans she took out right around the time Kid was born (And judging by the size of the veins in her eyeballs, she’s still about 500,000 minutes in the hole. Thanks, Obama.) Everything seemed to be going fine with The Morning Shift, until a few days ago, when I noticed Kid was no longer interested in playing with her toys. She was, however, very interested in playing with the soil in the potted plant on the other side of the living room, and since babies and soil go together like babies and soil, I’ve had to try to “rebrand” her old toys as exciting and novel alternatives to putting dirt in her mouth. For example, this morning I did a full sales demonstration of all the amazing things you can do with blocks. From holding them in your hand, to holding them in your other hand – the possibilities are virtually endless. BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE! Did you know that you can also put blocks in your mouth? They taste like…like…soil! And that, my friends, is how you sell a block to a baby.


Two Cats and a Baby

"Studies have shown that cats make excellent horror movie monsters."

“Studies have shown that cats make excellent horror movie monsters.”

How do you tell a cat you still love them, despite the fact that, lately, all your time and energy has been devoted to their new baby sister? You give them treats, right? Well, what if you’ve given your cat so many treats they’re starting to resemble Orson Welles (The Later Years)? What then? You rub them under their chin, right? Well, what if every time you try to rub them under their chin they bite you, like a drunk Orson Welles? What then? You play Chase the Laser Pointer, right? Well, what if instead of chasing the laser pointer, they just give you a thousand-yard stare from the room at the end of the hallway, which is really creepy because it’s basically the farthest you can possibly be from somebody in this house while still looking them in the eye. What then? You give up and tell the other cat that you still love them, right?  Well, what if the other cat hasn’t been home in days, and goes out all night partying with owls and a raccoon that bears an uncanny resemblance to Orson Welles? What then? You blog about it, right? Well, what if every sentence you write is in the form of a question, because you’re sleep deprived and creatively paralyzed by the infinite responsibilities of parenthood? You tweet jokes about topical subjects, right? WELL, WHAT IF YOU HATE TWITTER BECAUSE IT’S BEEN, LIKE, FIVE YEARS AND YOU’VE TWEETED LITERALLY THOUSANDS OF JOKES WITH LITTLE TO NO RETURN WHICH MAKES YOU FEEL LIKE THE WORLD’S WORST JOKE FARMER – YOU JUST PLANT JOKE SEEDS AND WATER THEM AND WAIT FOR THEM TO GROW UP AND BE FEATURED ON ELLEN AND WHAT DO YOU GET? WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDS! What then? Eh, I guess I’ll make a breakfast burrito.