Time of Your Life

In case you haven’t been keeping up lately with the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductions, just wanted to let you know that the punk rockers from Oakland known as Green Day were inducted in April. I’ll go ahead and say what we’re all thinking: Yes, they are the greatest band of all time. I mean, for anyone between the ages of say 30 and 45 listening to the Dookie andAmerican Idiot albums from front to back for the first time were life-changing experiences. That’s an incontrovertible fact. And that’s two life-changing experiences produced by a single band: Top that, The Beatles! 

I’ve been racking my brain for months trying to come up with a way to pay homage to Billie Joe and the gang here at Explorations without deviating too much from our very rigid content guidelines. I finally came up with something that is pretty stupid, but probably not the most stupid thing you’ve ever read on the internet. Hope I’m not overselling it. 

How Green Day song titles describe my experience as a parent (or something)! I declare I don’t care no more…let’s do this. 

Welcome to Paradise

We are driving home from the park, I’ve just picked up a hot coffee from the drive-thru, all kids fall asleep at the same time in the back seat, Welcome to Paradise comes on the radio, and I turn up the car stereo loud, but not so loud that it might wake the kids up (maybe 4 volume bars on the stereo display…nah, let’s live a little…roll the dice and turn it up to 5). 

No Pride

There is a list of about 127 character traits I need to get through each day as a parent: Pride is definitely not on that list. 

Basket Case


Boulevard of Broken Dreams

The street on which my 3-year-old permanently resides because I’m always doing unforgivable stuff like throwing away his hardened PB&J sandwich crust 7 hours after he started eating it, but 2 minutes before he was planning to finish it. 

Road to Acceptance

The street on which my 3-year-old never resides. Ever. 


Umm, stay-at-home dads, of course: The forgotten minority. Holla! It's very difficult for white men these days to paint themselves as minorities, but I've managed to do it, perhaps with the help of some creative definitions.

Wild One

This one’s too easy: My head-banging, stunt-climbing, non-sleeping 1-year-old. 

I Want to Be Alone


No One Knows

Why, out of all the rules we’ve attempted to ingrain in our 3-year-old, does he consistently, vehemently, and without prompting follow only one: No shoes on the couch? No one knows.


The cornerstone of my parenting philosophy: as in, taking the long view. For example, some days at around 5 p.m. my 1-year-old is beyond cranky. I’m talking about crying while walking around, banging his head against the cabinets on purpose cranky. The easy way out would be to do nap time. Well, not easy, but easy comparatively speaking. Usually though, I try to work through it by entering fully-engaged Dad mode to distract him in hopes of getting him to bed for good (LOL) at 7:30. What’s that you say: Two-and-a-half hours isn’t that long? Sure, feel free to come on over and test out that theory. 

The Grouch

3-year-old, about 4 mornings per week on mornings that coincidentally (but always) fall on days that daddy comes to get him out of bed. 


The number of times I say, “It’s just about bed time,” every night between the hours of 7 and 9. 

All By Myself

I wish.

Missing You

How is it possible that all I think I want most of the time is to have alone time, but when I do, this is how I ultimately feel? 

One of My Lies

“Sorry dude, Starbucks is out of cookies again!” That’s one of my lies, there are about a thousand others. 

Drama Queen

This one’s too easy: Me. See this entire post as a reference. 

Walking Contradiction

Walking: It seems like such a straightforward and healthy activity free of contradiction…except when you attempt to do it with a 1- and 3-year-old. First of all, can you really call it walking when you sometimes traverse about 50 feet in 15 minutes? And once you do get going, is it really worth the effort when genius dad always (and I do mean always), for reasons that cannot be understood, plans a circular route around the neighborhood even though the 3-year-old invariably (and I do mean invariably) decides you’re going the wrong way and must turn back four-fifths of the way around the loop? It’s such a walking contradiction and one that underscores a larger point: No matter how much it might seem like leaving the house with your kids to expose them to some horizon-expanding activity is a good idea, staying home and watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is always the wiser choice. 


The relationship between the pieces of every jigsaw puzzle we own (and several I’m not even sure we own, but seem to have taken up permanent residence in our house) and the floor.

Lazy Bones

Describes me and my level of attention to the aforementioned puzzle pieces. 

King for a Day

Describes how my kids view my level of authority on no day ever. 

See the Light

My 3-year-old’s go-to explanation for why it’s not time to go to bed yet or why it’s time to get out of bed in the morning.

Walking Alone

I wish. 

Words I Might Have Ate

Any words by which I communicate to my 3-year-old anything (positive or negative) that is going to happen in the future (be it 5 minutes or 5 days).

Disappearing Boy

Hold on a second, I’ll be right back. Have to look for something real quick. 

Brain Stew

You know that moment when your baby is crying at 2:42 a.m.; at first you think it’s a dream and you’re like, “Why doesn’t someone get that baby?!?”; then you rouse yourself enough to notice you’re sleeping in an upright position on the couch with a Chihuahua draped around your neck and an infomercial for the Pocket Hose blaring on the TV; and finally, when you get up to get the baby you have conceded is actually yours, it takes you a couple minutes to remember where he is? Brain Stew is that moment. 

Wow! That’s Loud

Every children’s toy ever created, particularly when stepped on in the middle of the night. 

Are We The Waiting

If a child is sleeping, the answer is always yes we are. 


Holiday: The British word for vacation. In my household, a holiday is the time when both kids are asleep simultaneously, which is more or less 9 p.m. to 11 p.m. every night (give or take 38 minutes on each end: for when the 3-year-old extends his booty-shaking couch dance party on the front end and the 1-year-old gets thirsty early on the back end). Bliss. 


I wish. 


If you ever sing “Let It Go” in the presence of my 3-year-old, do not under any circumstances change the words to “Let It Snow” in an attempt to be hilarious. Consider yourself warned. 


Bed time.

Pulling Teeth

Bed time.

Good Riddance

Changing dirty diapers in public, particularly on uneven surfaces like the back seat of the car where someone or something always rolls off. I can get nostalgic about pretty much anything, but when I am no longer required to perform this task, I think I will make an exception (but we’ll see).

Brutal Love

The love of a parent for his child: the most heart-breaking, rewarding, sometimes frustrating, all-encompassing, frighteningly visceral, in a word, brutal, love of all. 

OK, I know you guys might have been skeptical at first, but you're into it now. How could you not be? Let me know if I missed any good ones.