First there was a Man. Then a Woman. Then in quick succession, two cats, a confused dog beast, and two kids. I stay at home with them. I'm the Man

Tuesday, December 28, 2010


I am the Lord Of Chaos. Fear me. Or be entertained by me. Little kids are drawn to it like white guys to indie-pop. Some adults, too. It's made me fun and laid back and pretty non-judgmental.

I try hard to control it's effects. Mitigation is the watch word. I do pretty ok most times. I can make up for it with a lack of laziness, compassion and love for my family, and a coping mechanism I've developed. When things seem out of control and unmanageable to most, I calmly glide through the situation, blithely unaware that that thing over there is about to explode. And who knew you could bathe a baby in a crock pot set to low?

The negative side of my superpowers tends to manifest itself around times like now. The holidays. On the one hand, I am relatively unaffected by the stress that settles over most people's lives. I'm in good spirits, unworried about getting the shopping done, pretty sure that everything is going to work out. And it does, most times.

However, now the house is in a state that can best be described as I can't find the cat. For 2 days. I thought I heard her mewling under a pile of ornament boxes, but that was the Pumpkin Man.

So, I will be spending my time cleaning, organizing, tossing things out, and finding domesticated animals. How will you guys enter the New Year?


Speaking of Chaos, I've got a post up at dadcentric concerning the big northeast snow storm.

Here's an excerpt:  snow

Give it a read, if you get the chance, won't you?

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Post Christmas Post

I'm sitting here trying to decide which horrible basic cable movie I'm going to watch. It came down to Crocodile Dundee 2 and The Grudge 3. I settled on The Grudge 3 but my wife is in bed and the music is too scary, so you get a post. 

I did almost watch the Little Ceasar's Bowl on ESPN, but it turns out it's NOT an all little people re-enactment of the gladiatorial battles of Ancient Rome, so eff that.

Christmas was fun fun fun this year. Both kids were old enough to appreciate it. The Pumpkin man doesn't get the whole Santa thing, but about 2 days after his bday he was apparently suffering some serious withdrawal as he went into the play room, looked at the Christmas tree, threw back his head and bellowed "I WANT PRESEEENTS!"

So he enjoyed himself.

The Peanut is totally into the whole Santa scene. On Christmas eve she made sure I called him to tell him how nice she was being. I did. We talked. I was lucky to get through.


For parents with both tv's and young kids, DVR's are the way to go to combat Christmas commerce and commercialism. I have completely convinced the kids that commercials are "yucky, stupid, and disgusting." They beg me to fast forward them.

Hence, when we asked the Peanut what she wanted Santa to bring her for Christmas, she replied, "A teddy bear."  That's it. That's all.

Love that kid.

I made homemade cookies for Santa this year. We put three of them out for him. He ate those and then proceeded to go into our kitchen and decimate half a platter of them. Fucker.

Ok. I just found All The Right Moves on the tv. Now I'm busy. Tom Cruise pre-Scientology (and Lea Thompson pre-whatever happened to Lea Thompson). He looks so sane. My spell check only recognizes Scientology if it's capitalized. Stupid brainwashed spell check.

Goodnight, happy holidays, and thank you thank you all for reading and commenting and whatnot.

That is my sentiment for the year.

Homemaker Man

P.S. Microwave Popcorn goes surprisingly well with a 6$ Trader Joe's Sauvignon Blanc. A little wine/food pairing tip for ya,

Monday, December 20, 2010

Danger: Pumpkin Man Approaching

The Pumpkin Man is trouble.

The Pumpkin man is a rolling, tumbling, rock slide of bruises and consequences.

The Pumpkin Man is a screaming, crying, pulsing head wound

The Pumpkin Man is a sentient avalanche, the Bulls when they Run, an imploding building.

The Pumpkin Man is the word "No" screeched into the Grand Canyon a thousand times.

The Pumpkin Man is an insidious whine that often implicates his sister in a crime she didn't commit.

The Pumpkin man is an armful of dark, rich, forest earth. The kind you can taste on the air.

The Pumpkin Man is a little stinky.

The Pumpkin Man is a drum beat you can feel in your gut.

The Pumpkin man is a bear cub with no knowledge of the winter.

The Pumpkin Man is a grinning Eric Carle sunrise.

The Pumpkin man is some of the hardest laughs I've ever had.

The Pumpkin Man loves the ladies. And it is so reciprocal.

The Pumpkin man has the charisma of joy.

The Pumpkin Man is a surprisingly strong hug from the universe that says "You are loved."

The Pumpkin Man is 2 years old today.

Happy Birthday, my loving, crazy, hilarious, sweet, intelligent, clumsy, moon headed boy. We love you.

Homemaker Man
Mrs Homemaker Man
The Peanut

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Catcher In The Rye 2: The Movie

Here’s the pitch:

Holden gets out of the sanitarium, convinces everyone he’s fine, moves out to the country. But he’s not fine. He’s pissed off and he’s not gonna take it anymore. Meanwhile, we see a montage of him chopping wood and running in the snow and shooting guns and doing karate on tree trunks.
Finally, he’s ready. We know that because he shoots a bug on a leaf at 500 yards and karate chops a tree in half.

He goes back into the city to get his revenge on the pimp that punched him in the stomach and all the pimps and drug dealers and scum in the city are next. Think Rocky 4 meets Taxi driver meets Commando.

At some point we find out Stradlater is a successful CEO and humanitarian who just happens to be up to his handsome neck in organized crime.

Now the movie really takes off.

Holden’s going to put that phony bastard and his entire organization on ice.

Catch phrase scene:

Just as Holden’s about to blow away an unsuspecting mid-level scumbag he turns and puts something on his head. The scumbag--trying to buy time--asks, “What the fuck is that?” 

“This is a people shooting hat."  Holden replies. "I shoot people in this hat. Motherfucker. (Kaplow Kaplow. Zap. Ping.)”

That’s totally from the original book.  Except the “Mother Fucker” which I added. It’s more cinematic.

Watch for Catcher In The Rye 3: The Phonies’ Revenge in 2013 and Catcher In The Rye 4: The Phoebe Effect in 2015.

Any of the movie studio execs that regularly read this blog and want to option this idea, please email me. We’ll talk.


Cute naked story alert:

Bath time. Undressing the kids. The Pman is facing the Peanut as I take off his diaper.

The Peanut pipes, "There's his penis! Penis penis bo-benis bananafan fo fenis me my mo menis, penis."

I am a lucky dad.


Tuesday, December 7, 2010

99 luft balloons would be a massacre

Why are balloons always so tragic?  They always leave or die.

We got a couple free mylar balloons about 4 days ago. Usually, I have a strict no balloon policy. Balloons are like the West Bank of our household. It doesn't matter whose it is, there is going to be fighting.

And crying. And screaming and wailing and fit throwing and temper tantruming and one time I got shivved in the calf with a sharpened plastic chicken.

But we were Chanukah shopping and were feeling the holiday spirit and they were free so we altered our policy.

Tonight, a balloon died. As they always do.  The Peanut's mourning process was less than dignified.

Coming off her sickness and a nice day back at school, she threw a record breaking tantrum. Had to have been at least 45 minutes. A lot of it in her room.

I'm pretty sure she called me the c word.

I shouldn't keep letting her watch Train Spotting.

Due to the fabulous festivities of the evening, I am finishing the bottle of sauvignon blanc that I used on tonight's haddock. It's a vintage 2009 Robert Mondavi Private Selection. I believe it's named this because it tastes like Robert Mondavi's privates.

 That is of course conjecture on my part. His privates may very well taste better than this wine.

H to the M.

Monday, December 6, 2010

The 4 Horsemen of the Chanukahppocalypse: The Conclusion

When we last left our hero, he had his hands full. Of puke.

Will our hero's daughter ever have a normal human digestion process ever again?

Will our hero's son please stop climbing that right now? And don't spill water. Don't spill water!

Ahh fuck it. Spill water.

Will someone come and take the aforementioned son off of our hero's hands for just like, an hour or 2 weeks?

The Chanukah miracle lasted eight days and was declared a holiday.  It seems as though this stomach bug the Peanut has wants it's own holiday too.

Until today.

Today, it broke.

Judah Macabee himself came down from Mount Olympus and put the kibosh on the virus.

Tomorrow, she goes back to school.

Today, as I predicted, I wailed on both kids in a dreidel session. I spun gimel, after gimel, after gimel.
Raked in I don't know how many Cherrios.

It got so bad the Peanut started cheating. Instead of spinning the dreidel by its stem, she'd pick it up in her fist, fix it so the gimel was showing, and drop it on the floor.

Her first attempt to cheat at gambling. I'm very proud. My little grifter.


The Four Horsemen of the Chanukahppocalypse

We're doing all the good Hanukkah customs. We've been lighting the menorah candles and dancing to Hava Nagila and giving presents and eating human flesh and hoarding gold and being the world's greatest entertainers. The usual.

In the midst of all this, we've been receiving our own nightly Chanukah present from the peanut in the form of multiple orifice spewage.

I caught some vomit in my hand last night. L'Chaim!

(In the Jewish tradition, that predicts much wealth and a happy marriage. Or a mass exodus. 6 of one . . .)

This morning we kept her home from school.

There I was, trapped like a Catholic in a bad marriage*. One sick 3 year-old girl.

Another toddler that has the basic speed and impulse control of a howler monkey. The business acumen, too.

No car.

I have to post 2 posts today, so this is to be continued . . .


*Fun Fact: Jewish law gives a number of reasons why Jews can get divorced. Including when someone won't put out. Go figure.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Oh Chanukah Oh Chanukah . . . What's that smell?

So I mentioned something about 8 posts in 8 days. I'll get there. The start of our Chanukah has been a little meshuga. The Peanut has contracted an intestinal illness that has left the entire house in a stinky fog. A fetid fecal haze that clouds the nostrils and feeds the soul. Fecal Haze, all in my brain, as the song should never, ever go.

Tonight, you'll be getting my traditional Chanukah posting. It's my best traditional Chanukah post, if I do say so myself.
And we will be doing exactly as the post says we're doing. Except the Peanut. She's feeling better, but you don't give a sick toddler Thai food unless you're doing an experiment on fecal velocity. Or viscosity. 

Ok, Let's get all Jewish up in here, Chosen peoples:  A Chomemaker Chanukah

Tonight, on Chanukah eve, we celebrated with our Chanukah tradition.  We watched Fiddler on The Roof and ate Thai food.  That shit is straight from the Torah.  Chapter 11 page 436:

And G_D said, " Thai Food?  Sure, why not?"

Maybe that is not exactly what it says in the Torah.  I don't know.  As I've said before , I didn't get a whole lot of formal religious book learnin'.  I got my Judaism from the streets.  Back alley games of high stakes dreidel and red yarmulkes proudly displaying my gang colors.  I was a Bloodberg.

Love that movie, Fiddler On the Roof.  My family knows that if there is ever a community theatre within driving distance of our house auditioning for the part of Tevye, I'm there.  And I'm getting that part.  The theatre calls.

And for those who know the movie, you might wonder; did I get all misty-eyed at the part where Tevye denies his daughter Chava because she has decided to take up with a Polish gentile (Lord knows we've all been there.  The ol' Polish gentile trick.)?  Well, crying is for women and babies.  And I am a baby woman.

In closing, I am excited for Chanukah to start tomorrow.  I will light the candles and read the prayers from the Chanukah book I have which was written for 1st graders.  Then, the gambling will begin.  I am gonna spin that dreidel so good.  My wife and kids won't know what hit'em.  My pockets will be filled with chocolatey gelt by 4 pm tomorrow.  Don't cry, my little babies.  You come to spin the dreidel with me,biatches, you best come correct.


Chomemaker Mensch

The gentile could be Russian.  I just know they went to Krakow.  That is all.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Education Is For Losers

Here's something interesting:* Arne Duncan, the Sec'y of Education, doesn't hold any degree higher than a bachelor's. In sociology.  It's true.

He's only got a bachelor's. In sociology.  Which means there are a lot of jobs for which he is not qualified.

Like sociologist.

Another one? Teacher. They have to get their master's*

I don't mean to demean his education. Lord knows he made it further through school that I did. A little. I'm just saying that you'd think the Sec'y of Education would have an advanced degree. Or at least a bachelor's in education.  

I don't mean to debase a bachelor's in sociology, either. It's just that a bachelor's in sociology is the educational equivalent of a bachelor's in sociology.  

I was going to list all the things you would not be able to do for a living with a bachelor's in soc. but I ran out of internet.

Instead here's a list of jobs you can do with that degree:

Social worker. I think.
Research assistant.

I googled "bachelor's in sociology jobs" and was told to "get an advanced degree."

Just to be fair, I know Duncan is not completely without experience in the education field. There are two instances:
 1.) When he was a young teenager he tutored underprivileged kids. 
2.) After college, he played pro-basketball in Australia.  

I guess that's technically one instance, although I'm sure he schooled some Aussie suckas on the basketball court, y'all.  Of course, half the time he would've been playing them "at home."  Which would've been home schooling. 

It's one of the great American beliefs that someone without a proper education can "make it." Dave Thomas and Wendy's, Bill Gates and Microsoft, me and Homemaking.  

But this is different. He's never taught. He was never a principal or headmaster. His time as the CEO (blech) of the Chicago public schools was not what you could call wildly successful.* And yet not only was he handpicked by the President, he's been called one of the most powerful Secretaries of Education in history.

Inventor, entertainer, entrepeneur, artist. These are jobs that don't necessarily require an advanced degree.

Person in charge of the education of everyone; some sort of education related degree would be nice. I'd take an associates in daycare, at this point. 

I'm posting because people don't seem to mind this, and I don't understand. No one would be cool with it if the Surgeon General had a degree in Film Studies. Though at least that person would be fun on trivia night.

In the end, what do I know? I'm just a guy with young kids who are just entering a public school system that does not seem healthy.

On the bright side, at least Duncan wasn't an art history major. He'd make a horrible Sec'y of Defense. 

*In the interest of full disclosure, my wife is a high school English teacher.

*They have to obtain it within a certain number of years from when they start teaching. Some states have relaxed that requirement due to teacher shortages.

*support materials, here, here , and here. And Arne's wikipedia page.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

8 Days of Posting.

The first night of Chanukah was very successful.  Wholesome family fun. Presents, candles, singing dancing, latkes. I absolutely destroyed the kids with the dreidel. Won all of this year's candy and they took out advances on the next 4 Chanukahs.  Fools.

All very, very normal. Until we found Shalom Sesame. It's kind of like Russian heavy metal is to American Heavy metal. Almost, but then again, totally not. Also, it's educational. Here's a preview.

"Menorah Shmenorah, I want my Latke!"
"Latke Shmatke, I want my Menorah!"


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