[ click the image to enlarge ]

Just kidding. Eggs aren’t gross. I suppose most stuff at the microscopic level looks that way.

But I can’t help see this and think that half of life’s building blocks looks like a complicated, intricate weave of molecular material. And my half of the conception equation is just a frigging torpedo with a strange propellor sprinting in a death race.

I wonder if nature built us a little metaphor there: women hold, in a sacred, semi-penetrable ball, the origin of human life and men are meant to drill into it.

I need some more sleep, don’t I? Never happen.

Love and Rockets,

Charlie

Philosopher for Hire

There’s something undeniably special about it. The kind of “special” that anyone looks at, whether they have kids or not, and says to themselves, “Ohmygod! THAT is special, right there. Wow! Right!?!” Yes. Dude time.

In this crazy world with its breakneck pace, the time you get to just sit back, relax and hang out with your kid (dude or dudette) is precious. It’s a good candidate for parents’ new year resolutions lists, to decide to take more time as a parent to “stop and smell the roses,” even if they smell like beer and baby powder. Maybe especially if they smell like that, whatever the smells are in your case.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a game, or who’s winning or losing. Or if it’s SpongeBob, and who’s winning or losing. Or a tandem-snooze on a hammock in the back yard. Or cutting ice blocks out in Norway together for a World’s Strongest Man competition. It simply doesn’t matter which form Dude Time takes, as long it takes some kind of shape. And then we’re talking about something that you and your little one are probably going to remember for the rest of your lives. And I think that qualifies as being pretty crazy rad.

Happy New Year, everyone! It’s yours. And it’s your kids’. Together. Enjoy!

-Andy

Maybe I’m interpreting it with my 2011 cynicism?

But, the more I look, the more photos of my son below further evidence the shadiness of the goings-on above. Look how sweet and platonic the Santas are with my son in the three photos. Notice the regulation glasses. The calm, if ambivalent demeanor. The legit beards.

When I look at that photo of me all is see is pedo-glasses, a fake stank-beard and a fierce desire to drink “spiked eggnog.” North Pole? More like the corner of North 20th Avenue, leaning against a pole on probation for B & E.

Good thing I had a giant can of mace in my pocket and a black belt in punching bowls full of jelly. I may have to teach my son the skill that every kid should be familiar with by the time they can walk: the testicle kicksplosion.

Happy Holidays everyone,

Charlie

We decided to take a poll in last Thursday’s post featuring Finn’s meltdown on Santa’s lap…

And now…
THIS YEAR’S SANTA PHOTO!

That’s not an icicle coming
out of my son’s mouth, people.
It’s a crycicle.

This Santa was very professional, but you can still almost see the fevered look in his eyes, silently screaming, “take the friggin’ picture and grab this kid before he unloads on my knee!”
 

Reference Materials: Thought you might need to see the evolution of the Santa photo nightmare. Year 2009 (on the left): Everyone is happy snuggles and smilinWTF IS WRONG WITH YOUR TEETH, SANTA!?! (gag) Moving on. Year 2010 (on the right): The beginning of the end. Year 2011 (above): Seems like it’s just getting worse.

Maybe Finn just hasn’t noticed the rock-chewing smile on this Santa yet. (Click to enlarge)

“Ho ho ho! You can’t ask for a contract on Santa’s life for Christmas, little boy.”

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Eww. By the way, for those who think I might have typed ‘graphic childbirth’ into Google, I haven’t. This is one of the photos entered for this year’s National Geographic Photo Contest.

I know that as a parent blogger man I should look at this photo and say ‘Ooh, just LOOK at the miracle of nature! The magic of birth! Such an evocative image!’

In reality, I’m all like:

NOPE.

This image is rather disturbing, which is probably what the photographer wanted to evoke, in which case it’s worked. I wouldn’t consider myself to be a film buff, but the first thing I thought when I saw this photo was that scene from Alien.

Although I'd rather look at this.

The woman’s face is contorted in anguish. One assumes this could be because she’s forcing a baby out of a hole that on any other day would be the diameter of a 50p, but upon closer inspection it could also be because a) she’s wearing an awful bra and b) her partner has decided not just to go down the business end, but get his face as close as he can to the action.

I mean seriously, look at him. I’m all for involved fatherhood, but that guy is inspecting his wife’s special area with the meticulous nature of a mechanic trying to work out what’s going wrong with an engine. My sources tell me that shortly after this photo was taken, he pulled out one of those trays on wheels and slid himself into that short gap between his mrs’ legs to get a good old looksee at what exactly was going on.

'Uhh, there's a baby coming out.'

One assumes there’s a midwife just out of shot getting increasingly ticked off that she can’t do her job because there’s a man’s head in the way.

Your eye travels down the mother’s body, past the trampy belly tattoo, past the baby (who looks mightily disgruntled at the whole thing) and settles on the floor. It’s then that something occurs to you – something best represented by a well-known children’s book:

Well said. Where’s the poop? Where’s all the fluids? I know every birth is different, and I’m not expecting them to be ankle-deep, but you’d expect a bit of goo. At the birth of my sons there was more gunge than a 90’s Dave Benson Phillips show.

Oh well. This photo has got us talking, which is probably what it’s all about. Anyway, thanks for watching. I’m off to scrub my eyes with a wire brush and industrial disinfectant.

I took my son to his first Santa photo op as a toddler last year…

Maybe my son is Jewish? ¡Fail-is Navidad!

His very first experience as a tiny worm-monkey-baby doesn’t count because he wasn’t big enough to fight back. But this time, just as we arrived to perch him on Santa’s lap, the photo equipment broke down and we sat there for over an hour. I think the photo speaks for itself.

So, I have a question for you…

Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post’s poll.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Thank you for being a part of our blog. We’re eternally grateful.

Horseshoes and hand grenades,
Charlie & Andy

I was rummaging through some old photo albums last night (trying to find proof that I am, in fact, human) and came across an image of my mom and baby-me taking a short break from a walk.

But maybe she was just following orders? Could that be it? Or maybe she’d been brainwashed by years of ad’s like these below….

I’m going to have 72 sodas now. Have a great weekend!

Horseshoes and hand grenades,

Charlie

For the prior two photo clues click to continue reading…

Kiss my baby-soft butt. Today is my son’s 2nd birthday. He’s 63,072,000 seconds old. Words are going to be said.

As a tribute to his radness, please leave a comment below with a birthday wish, advice, a funny story, or anything you’d like to share. I want to collect your wisdom, your well-wishes and gift him something better than a toy. I’m going to put this in a journal to give to him when he’s older.

Please also share this using the sharebar at the bottom and put the word out far and wide. He deserves it.

Happy Birthday Finnegan!

November 2010 to January 2011

 

 

 

 

February 2011 to April 2011

 

 

 

 

May 2011 to July 2011

 

 

 

 

August 2011 to Today

 

 

 

 

For last week’s photo clue click to continue reading…