Stay At Home Dad’s Get Less Sex Because Their Wives Work

          Stay At Home Dad’s Get Less Sex Because Their Wives Work

Tonight I asked Lilly to go upstairs and get naked, not exactly in that order, or with those precise words. She responded with, “I have too much on my mind,” of which she was referring to her job. Her work can be, and currently is stressful. That’s when it struck me. My wife has sex with me less often because she is the working parent in our household. Which leads me to believe that we stay at home dads get laid less often than working dads whose wives stay at home.

Before you get all worked up, allow me elaborate. Lilly has not wanted, or rather I should say, she has not given in to my grabbing hands for a while now. This happens on occasions when she is more stressed from work. Sure, in recent weeks she has been pissed off at me because I didn’t want it on her most fertile day of the month, but that’s beside the point, and we’ll get to that topic in another post. But she has been more recently stressed out because of work, and rightfully so. Work is stress. But that stress induces a mindset in women most unfamiliar to a man. A state of mind that seems to render them unable to get naked with man. I am not disputing the authenticity of their claim that stress disallows them to get in the mood for sex. And I am not trying to figure out why anything, especially something as trivial as stress, could possibly get in the way of wanting to have sex. I am simply saying that because guys who stay at home to raise their kids that have wives who work, have less sex because of the fact that their wives do work.

The reason is because when it comes to guys, sex is exactly what they need to relieve that same stress caused by work. If I were to walk in the door after a long days work, and I was exhausted and stressed out from making ever so important work related decisions, I would still want to have sex. In fact, sex would be just the thing I need to sleep soundly after that long day. So my theory is that if I were the one working, and Lilly was at home raising the boy, then there would be more sex around here. So it seems that working men get laid more. So SAHD’s are getting the short end of the stick, or just a short, limp, stick. What say you working moms and sahd dads?

Lick Your Plate

          Lick Your Plate

My passion for good food has led me to eat it. Oh, and to write and shoot it. So I got hired on to do a column at Dad-blogs.com, all about food. So if you ‘re a foodie like me and like fancy foods with lots of herbs and spices and foreign food and chocolate and homemade bread and purging yourself until it hurts, then you should follow my new column. See you there!

Perilous Predicaments

          Perilous Predicaments

Our children are our most precious assets. As a new parent I often worry about his well being. Fear often tugs at my heart. Fear of the unknown, of what could happen. There are so many harmful things around a helpless baby. With this new collection of photos I am expressing what I am fearful of, of the dangers my son currently faces. Yes, I want them to shock you, I want you to curl your lip in fear when you see them, but mostly I want you to laugh. I need to laugh at my fears, if I don’t they tend to get the best of me. So laugh with me. And know that no animals were harmed during the shooting of these photos.


I haven't come up with a name for either photo yet. So, I am going to reshoot this one. I don't like all the green, too much green in photos drives me nuts. And the morning glorys in the background are too cluttered looking. They almost camouflage the boy and the clothes. I want them to stand out more. So I need to find a more solid background to shoot it with. But I do like it. We'll see if I ever get around to actually doing it again. Yeah right.



I get scared every time I go back to this slide now.


These are the newest images in an ongoing series of photos I am working on. The other photos I shot in the series was posted right over yonder-> Perilous Predicaments, and yonderer Perilous Predicaments, and yondererer Perilous Predicaments

Play Me The Blues Baby

          Play Me The Blues Baby

After two days my boy has mastered his harmonica skills. Okay so indulge me here for a bit as I gush over my boy and his mad skills. I've never, ever been around babies untill my own little guy here, so I don't know what they are capable of. So when I stuck this harmonica in his mouth and he figured out he can make noise with it, well it was exciting stuff. You may be thinking; hah, my kid was busting out some Canon In D Major by twelve months, big whoop, yea for you mr harmonica player, it's about freekin time. Okay, okay, we got a late bloomer around these parts, so shut it. But if you were thinking; oh snap, your kid is a musical genious, you should sign him up for classical training before he gets too old, then I would commend you for recognizing genious when you see it. So here's one more profession to put on my list of 'what I have planned for my boy'. This one goes between pro surfer and an intellectual genius. I know, I know, having those on the same list is an oxymoron. Hey, he could be the first! Well, as long as I can keep jah rasta from having his way with him, we'll be golden.

Occupation: n/a

          Occupation: n/a

“What’s your occupation”, the bank teller asked me. Occupation? Why does she need to know my occupation just so I can get this check cashed? I’ve been a member here for a while now anyway. Didn’t they already collect all my info when Lilly first gave me access to her money? And I’ve been in here a dozen times, and this time they ask for my occupation? What gives. All these thoughts passed through my mind in the moment I stood there in bewilderment while searching for what to say.

“I stay at home to take care of him.” I said proudly as I nodded to my boy sitting impatiently in my arm. I almost said I’m a stay-at-home-dad, but I just couldn’t do it. Why couldn’t I? Do I hate pasting a label to this, my profession of choice? And yes, I am a pro at it, don’t you think otherwise.

“You uhh….okay, well.” She was obviously confused as to what to put down in the computer blinking in front of her. Of course, she was also thinking, because I read minds, that what I said wasn’t actually a job and no one back at corporate gives a rat’s ass if this guy is SAHD, especially when it comes to keeping records of our customers and their loot.

So I relented and gave her my proper title, just for the record of course, “I’m a stay-at-home-dad.”

“Okay,” she nodded. As she started typing I looked at her monitor and saw what she had put down. As my official occupation she listed me as, ‘n/a’. N mother fucking A! I’m going to tell my son that when he’s older. ‘Son’, I will say, ‘ Son I raised you, but I was not your parent or guardian, I was not your dedicated stay at home father, I was an official n/a. Big shoes to fill I know, but I have faith in you to go out into the world and be all you can possibly aspire to be. And if you want to be an n/a too, you get our full support.

“Just put unemployed.” I want to tell you that I refuted her denouncement of my job, but I didn’t. I want to tell you that I told her that what I do is considered by many to be just as much a job as any other, that what I do is more difficult than dropping checks in a cash register and smiling for old grannies cashing in on my future social security all day. But I didn’t really care. And of course I realized that for the sake of keeping bank records, all they are interested in is the occupation where you earn money from, not the occupation that pays in pride and honor and a close knit families and free room and board and hugs and mini-me’s.

I think perhaps if I were in a social setting and an acquaintance were to ask me what I do, and they responded by telling me that that job title is not applicable, I would have constructively and efficiently drilled them a new one. But I let it go in the bank. And I didn’t care while thinking about it all day until I started writing it down. Now I want to go back there and let her change his dirty diaper and try and feed him and chase him around all day and drop him off at her doorstep tonight when he wakes up at twelve and two-thirty in the morning, then ask her tomorrow if she would still have put , Occupation: n/a.

Birthday Cake Bragging

          Birthday Cake Bragging

I don’t usually write a post unless I’m trying to make something funny that’s not, or I’m crying because I have to change diapers every day, or someone in this house picked a fight with me, or Lilly tricked me into having sex only to tell me later that she stopped taking her ankle-bighters control. But I just have to brag about my boys B-Day cake. I made it, and it was sweet!

I’ve never made a birthday cake before, or any cake that needed decorating for that matter, but I pulled it off. The week before his biday I picked three recipes to taste test. Me, Lilly, and her brother did the official tasting, and three whole cakes and belly aching later, we all chose the same one. I quadrupled the batch for the final cake. It was one massive treasure chest!



I also made several frosting recipes in search of the best one. I made ten pounds of frosting! Ten pounds! The cake weighed about thirty when it was done. I ended up using two frostings, one super thick for the filling, made out of melted unsweetened chocolate bricks and a few other things, and a buttercream recipe for the outside. Heart attack here we come!



I wasn’t happy with a simple frosting job, so I found a recipe for fondant and whipped that up too. I rolled out the fondant and cut out straps and a key hole for the chest, with little rivets too. The fondant was so thick that it actually broke the motor in huge electric Kitchenaid mixer. I even burrowed down into my boys olfactory system again and scraped out those golden nuggets you see on the cake.

I made Lilly a 200 page 13x11inch photo book with all the best photos I took of Mr Pants in his first year of life. Ahhhhhh. I know, I know.



RECIPES:
Cake
Frosting
Filling
Fondant