I fancy myself a decent writer. I may not think I’m great (except when I’m having a truly manic moment, and despite my outward nature, those moments are few & far between), but I feel that I have a conversational style that is easy to read. In short, I think I’m fun to read (because I have fun writing), and I like to believe that’s why y’all keep on coming back.
I think I can “play the writing game.” But, then I read CDG, and I’m reminded that there’s a whole other writing game out there. Seriously, I’m honored & a little starstruck hosting her here on this meager blog. I hope you enjoy.
We’ve all seen him. On the field adjacent to the playground: we’re standing around the Bugaboos and Maclarens, Starbucks in hand while the small fry throw sand in each other’s faces play sweetly together in the sandbox. He’s flat on his back, ankles in the air, surrounded by, buried in, conquered by no less than three giggling, crowing children–probably at least one of them ours.
They make it look so easy.
They remember to bring bats and balls and frisbees the same way we remember to bring diapers, wipes, water, sunscreen, snack, spare underwear, crayons, band-aids, and the kitchen sink.
They play dinosaur or race car or Swedish Chef with the squealing toddler in the shopping cart as they cruise the produce aisle.
Hot Dads.
And where better to wax poetic about the attractiveness of a man caught in the act of parenting than here? (You’re welcome, John!)
Not enough is said about the stone-cold foxiness of a man who plays with his kids. A man who changes diapers makes my heart flutter. A man with a spit-up stain on his shirt or bows in his hair he forgot to take out after he played beauty parlor with his daughter? Fatal. (editors note: I recall stares at a grocery store – I was wearing a black shirt with white stains all over it, only, of course, I had no idea about the spit-up stains. There was a time in my life where white stains on clothing would have meant a very different thing, but there also was a time in my life where I’d be embarrassed about heading out in stained clothing).
Short, tall, dark or blond, rock-hard abs or not, a man who loves his kids is dead sexy. I would trade a chiseled jaw and pirate smile for a guy who knows the late George Carlin used to narrate episodes of Thomas & Friends on PBS.
And I have a feeling I’m not alone in this.
Over the weekend, I ran away out, blissfully alone, to do the weekly shopping. This is the tweet I sent out when I came home to my husband and son:
Totally weird and vaguely inappropriate, but educational! And the sight of my two boys, snuggled up on the couch, my husband flushing pink at the ears when Felix asked about snail “piggy back rides?” I’m not gonna lie. That made me want to switch Microcosmos for an episode of Chuggington and take my husband upstairs for some afternoon delight.
So guys, the next time you’re pushing your child on the swing, and the Playground Moms are giggling and trying not to stare? Go over and introduce yourself, because they all think you’re just a little hot.
And who doesn’t need that kind of ego boost?
An engaged dad can be surprisingly hard to find – diamond in the rough – a sexy diamond
So unbelievably true! And I’m proud to say my husband is one of those hot dads. He blows me away sometimes with his ability to get lost in play time with the kids. And when he offers to take a non napper off my hands so I can take a nap? Swoon!
Okay, I’m only partially embarrassed to admit that until you mentioned it being inappropriate I was all “snails giving each other piggy back rides? that sounds freaking adorable!”
On a note not about me being an idiot – so, so, so true! (I mean this post, that is, not my idiocy.)
p.s. What did you think of Assassination Vacation? ‘Cause I’m scared you hated it and now realize you should never take my advice.
(Be brutal.)
Oh yes, hot dads. ::Swoon::
You are definitely not alone in this! They don’t necessarily have to be hot dads, though. Hot uncles? Hot brothers-in-law? Same impact!
I have an image of my brother in mind as I type this. No, no, not for that reason–ew! Rather, I recall taking martial arts with him some years ago. He was 15 or 16 at this point, I think.
The little kids loved him and he loved the little kids. At most point while not on the tatami, he’d have two or three kids clinging to his legs while giving another one an airplane. The little kids would shout his name when they saw him come in.
I’d watch the teen girls stand and make googly eyes at my brother. And later, when my brother would ask, “Why don’t girls like me?” I’d smack him upside the head and say, “How the heck can you not see it?!”
His oblivion continues, sadly!
I agree with the exception of Brad Pitt. Post children, he looks like shit.
There is a scruffy, brow-beaten exception to every rule.
Especially when you’re married to Crazy.
Yes to all of this, CDG. Yes yes yes.
Absolutely. I fell in love with my husband all over again, watching him fall in with our first daughter.
along with this being so cute and funny, it’s also true. So true.
I have to say that when John (mine) plays with Gio and Jacob, crawling all over the floor or putting lavendar lotion on them after he has given them a bath, I’m smitten with him all over again.
what a great way for you to tell the men who Help us RAISE those babies, how we adore them. 😉
I am so grateful for my husband’s willingness to rough play, wrestle, and do tackle football in the backyard. I don’t want to do that stuff. And, yes, it makes him hot. 🙂
So, so true….
Thanks, y’all, for the comments. And thanks to John for hosting me here. It’s a pretty fun place to guest post.
Girl, you nailed it!
A man who knows his way around a diaper, knows the special sway to calm an infant, knows just how to dress a baby doll: hotter than all the underwear models in the world.
Oh and John, you’re totally a hot dad, in case you didn’t know that already.