The Case For and Against Having a Third Kid

Don't worry, anyone who watches my already existing children. Sonia isn't pregnant, as far as I know. I've just been noticing a significant amount of chatter lately regarding whether I should throw caution (and any semblance of sanity or a social life) to the wind and have a third child. And there seems to be two distinct schools of thought around this. Not surprisingly, both are built around the fact that my life would effectively be over.

 I had to use this GIF, because no photos exist of three actual children cooperating at the same time

CASE FOR IT (All things I've actually heard from people who have three or more children):

* Dude, once you have two, you might as well have eight.

Now, this is how I generally feel about cookies, but I'm not completely convinced it is also applicable to offspring. I believe the thinking here is that, if you're already wired to deal with more than one kid punching you in the groin, then what's another one?

* All children are a blessing.

Now, this is the crazy nonsense that the Duggar family might tell you. And trust me, I don't believe it. Most children are an absolute burden, as evidenced by pretty much any show on television. This does nothing to sway me toward the dark side. In fact, it does the opposite.

* But don't you want to have a girl?

Sure. I'd love to have a girl.  I'd also love to walk through a mall without being approached by a man holding a remote control airplane and a chloroform-soaked towel. But some things are out of our control, aren't they?

* Come on, join the "three kid club!"

This isn't even a point. It's just people whose lives are over who want mine to be over too. #miserylovescompany



CASE AGAINST IT

* Are you an idiot?

A legitimate question I've been asked by my male friends when this subject comes up. And I have an answer. Yes. Absolutely.

* They will outnumber you guys.

Probably the best case against having a third. I mean, if you were in a tag team match, you certainly wouldn't welcome a third member on the other team, right? But if that third team member would occasionally hug you? Then you might actually consider it.

* You can't afford another child.

Kids are money-suckers. I'll give you that. But if you put one on a street corner with an acoustic and an open guitar case? They become money MAKERS. Just an idea.

* Two is more than enough.

This coming from someone with 14 tattoos, seven earrings, and absolutely no responsibilities aside from ensuring your DVR storage space is under 90% full. But tattoos, earrings and DVRs don't crap on your hands. So....okay, fair point.


Ultimately, having children at all seems downright moronic most of the time. They demand our time, money, attention and guidance 24 hours a day and rarely ever reciprocate. But I'd be interested to hear from my readers, parents or not, about your thoughts on the topic.

Should having a third child be punishable by law?

Should having any children be punishable by law?

Let's discuss.

P.S. My writing is now featured in the recently released "Parenting Gag Reel" book! Several other comedic authors are included and you can pick up the paperback here or e-book here. I'm plugging along on my parenting book as well, refining the guest editorials section and it's all starting to come together. Stay tuned!

-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here.

When Your Son Realizes Yours is Bigger Than His

We're surrounded mostly by people who, at their core, are out simply to get their point across, to tell their most interesting story, to get the biggest laugh. But not kids. Kids have no agenda. They just tell the truth, no matter the consequence or how offensive it might be to others.

"Hey, son, I put you to bed tonight. Let's get your PJs on." 

"No, I don't want you. Go away." 

This kind of thing happens. Regularly. At some point, you simply develop a thick skin or just cry by yourself in the bathroom. I've done both.

But the joyous upside of this uncensored honesty is that your kids will also tell you positive things that adults normally would not. 

"Daddy, your penis is much bigger than mine," my son will say, as I relieve myself while he's brushing his teeth.

"Why yes, it is, son," I reply. And then he'll stand next to me in front of the toilet and insist that we "cross streams." Thankfully, I know that he gets that expression from me. I'd be a bit concerned if I didn't know where he'd heard it.  

My four-year-old also notices that my wife's breasts are, thankfully, bigger than mine. But the fact that he even acknowledges I have any at all indicates brownies are out of the question for a few days. And he's completely infatuated with "private parts" already...especially his own. No impromptu dance party is complete without an appearance by his butt-crack and he constantly threatens (and often delivers) to "poke me in the balls." Much like when watching a Kevin James film, I've learned to turn my body away from him. Self preservation is key.

Should I be concerned, though? Will my constant affirmation that my penis is larger than my son's ultimately yield resentment? Well, I can't say for sure, but I definitely intend to keep doing it.

Be good to each other.

 

-Joe DeProspero

jdeprospero@gmail.com

Follow me on Twitter by clicking here. 

Check out more of my comedy writing at Doctors Etcetera.

 

Reflecting On a Sad Anniversary

I've been on the fence about even writing this blog for over a month now. I don't want people seeing this show up in their news feed and rolling their eyes thinking, "Here comes Joe with another piece of writing about how hard his life is." And frankly, I don't consider my life to be all that difficult. Surely, there are obstacles, but overall, I'm quite blessed. I just tend to let things fester in my brain before they ultimately are forced out by way of alcohol and I end up sharing too much. But today, completely sober (at least so far), here are my honest thoughts about what the last year has been like for me (it's cheaper than therapy).

One year ago, on April 14, 2012, I walked into my mother's condo to find her dead. No warning. And no time to brace for it. Not a day goes by that I don't think of that horrific image, her laying there next to a vacuum, cell phone continually ringing. I'd never discovered a dead body before. It was surreal and still feels like a dreadful dream. It makes me shake even to write about it. Thoughts came rushing into my head faster than I could process them. This couldn't be happening. She was only 59 years old. She'll never see her grandchildren grow up. But life is like that. It doesn't happen the way you expect or were prepared for. Then came the funeral, the emptying of her condo, and everything else unpleasant that comes with it. Oh, and breaking the news to my Grandmother only to have her die from a massive stroke. I still don't think I've completely processed everything. But one thing that does bother me is when people say, "At least she (Grandma) didn't suffer." The last thing that happened before the stroke was finding out her only child was dead. So please don't tell me she didn't suffer. She suffered in ways no one with a heart like hers ever should. At least it wasn't prolonged. That's more accurate.

So I'd love to be able to tell you that it's gotten easier over time. But I'm not there yet. Whatever "there" is. Sure, there are days when I'm entrenched in playing with my sons, laughing with my wife and mindlessly scanning my Twitter feed for PimpBillClinton tweets where I feel normal again. I've even gotten to the point where I can mention Mom in the past tense without feeling completely unhinged. But, being honest, I've realized that there's no timeline for healing. And I've also realized that people go on with their lives and assume you're fine if you don't shout in their ear with a megaphone that you're not. So, if you're around me and I get distant, seem to shut down socially and "get weird," there's a decent chance it's because of this.Simply asking, "How are you?" isn't a bad idea either. But I think most people are afraid of the answer or are simply too consumed with other things to even ask. It's human nature, I guess.

The hospice where my Grandmother died offered group counseling services after her death, which I was able to participate in free of charge through her insurance. It was the strangest experience. I went twice. There was this large, hairy male in his 50s that looked like Hagrid from Harry Potter who went on ten minute diatribes about his 85-year-old mother passing months earlier. Part of me wanted to punch him in the face for being so melodramatic despite his mother living a long life. Then I realized, 59 or 85, losing a parent is losing a parent. I still think he talked too much, though. Then there was a family of three Spanish boys, aged 15 to 21. They'd lost their mother recently too. Their father was there. At one point, when asked how he was dealing with the loss, he said with voice cracking, "I'm trying my best. I know I'm not Mom and I can't give them that. But I am trying." His frustration was obvious. And I wanted to offer a hug just because I sympathized with his situation. He was forced into a role where he simply had to be strong despite his sadness. That's the role that's been hardest for me, personally.

Something else that's been hard is seeing some people around me constantly mistreat or take their parents for granted. I suppose it's easy to take those closest to you for granted, but I'll admit to feeling more than my share of angst watching people argue, bicker with and treat their mothers as nothing more than a burden. I can only dream of seeing my mother grow old enough to become an unbearable nag.

I have a close friend who also lost his mother. And he told me, "You start thinking about life in two halves, 'before Mom' and 'after Mom'." I couldn't quite grasp the concept until now. But it's exactly what I do. I can think of a family party, a movie release, a song playing on the radio, a shirt I bought, and I can tell you whether it was before or after Mom's death. That's the profound effect a good mother has on you, for better or worse. 

So, if you've recently lost a parent or someone incredibly close to you, I hope this doesn't make you worry that it'll "never get better." Things do, in a way, get "better." But (as analyzed on an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm), better doesn't necessarily mean "all the way" better. Just better. And next year, maybe better still. It's still heartbreaking every single day. But we adapt. We have to. For my kids I have to. For my wife I have to. And that's what I tell myself every night before I go to sleep.

If you've still got one, give your mother a hug today. You'll never look back thinking you did too much of that.

Peace and understanding,
Joe
jdeprospero@gmail.com

When a Stranger Criticizes Your Parenting

Well, it finally happened. It took three years, 10 months and 28 days, but it happened. I was publicly called out on my parenting techniques by a complete and total stranger. And it happened in church, of all places. So, if you're a frequent reader of this blog who's aware of my fiery passion, you can already imagine how this transpired.

First off, I hate taking my kids to church. As a man of little patience and a vigorous propensity towards frustration, having to keep the behaviors of two small children in check for a straight hour is no easy task. And while I think the idea of getting your kids used to routinely behaving in such a noise-restrictive environment is a noble one, it often feels like a complete waste of time and energy. This past Sunday put my wife and I to the test.

As usual, we arrived about eight minutes into the mass, just as the priest was beginning his homily. We ducked into the "Cry Room"- area of the church behind glass that's supposed to be used exclusively by families with small children. I say "supposed to be" because at least half of the chairs in the room are taken by either adults with bearded teenage children or adults with no children at all. Despite my rising anger over this fact, we begrudgingly squeezed past those very rule-breakers to get to the only three unused seats, with me holding a restless Nate on my lap.

 You can find anything on the Internet. Even a picture of a kid actually behaving in church.

It wasn't long before both boys lost interest in the priest's message, which filtered into our special room via wall-mounted speakers. In fact, it took about 90 seconds. Into Antonio's book-bag they went, pulling out a handful of books and a toy car for each of them. I couldn't blame them for being bored. I get bored half the time and I'm not three years old. So the boys both moved to an open area where they pushed their cars on the carpet like little boys tend to do. But since I refuse to be seen as irresponsible, I got up from my seat when I saw Nate start to wander near the other parishioners. Learning from the bad examples of others, when I can avoid it, I don't allow my kids to inconvenience or bother people. As a parent, I believe it is my duty. So, I stopped Nate in his tracks and pointed him away from any possible physical contact with an annoyable stranger. Then, suddenly, a man leaned over and whispered to me.

"You know this isn't a daycare center, right?" he asked sternly, pointing to the sign on the nearby wall.

I was so stunned I just stared at him for seven seconds. It might not sound like a long time, but ask someone to let you stare at them for that long and ask how it feels. It was excruciatingly awkward. Then he repeated himself, thinking I didn't hear him.

"Are you being serious right now?" was all I could get out at first. Being as temperamental as I am, I'm always so close to my boiling point that my brain practically short-circuited. "I'm doing the best I can. Have you ever tried keeping two toddlers entertained during an hour mass?" I continued, before pointing out the very first bullet on the very sign he pointed out to me. "And this is a room exclusively for the use of families with small children. So what are you doing here? Where are your children?" I asked in full voice. I could tell he didn't expect me to respond with such angst, as he put his hands up as if to say, "Oh boy, what have I started?"

Moments later, he got up and left. Still heated, I looked at my wife (who was trying to calm me down to prevent this from coming to blows) and said, "Good!" loud enough for everyone in the room to hear me. And like most of us do when we're arguing a point, I looked around desperately for supporters, but everyone was looking at me like I was wearing a ski mask, walking into a bank. I shouldn't have been surprised, though. Generally speaking, when there's an uncomfortable moment happening in public, people tend to avoid participating in it at all costs. Can't blame them. But I would've appreciated a high-five.

So, at the end of the day, I was still fuming about what had happened. But above all else, I felt like I'd taken a stand for all the children who get dragged to church on a weekly basis who are simply too young to understand the concept of religion and exist solely to be entertained. And I also believe that I stood up for tolerance...which is a principle of the Catholic church, right?

Have any of you gotten into an uncomfortable conversation because of the unsolicited opinions of a stranger, or even a family member? I'd like to hear about this and to keep this conversation going.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to share it with someone who'd like it.

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-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here.
Watch my video here.

The Art of Deception: Teaching Our Kids to Lie Effectively

I know what you're thinking. The second you saw the title of this blog you said to yourself, "Pfft, that's ridiculous. I would NEVER teach my kids to lie." But you have. Or you will. Trust me on this. Today, we'll go over the little ways we teach our children that lying is acceptable...under the right circumstances.

Clearly, most of us don't have children with the intent of raising them to be deceitful cretins. But let's face it; despite our best efforts to keep them honest, we've all been guilty of at least one of the following deeds:

The Nap Illusion

This is really only applicable if you have multiple children. But if you do, then you're familiar with the nap illusion. Your younger child is still on a daily nap schedule, but your older one is past that phase. He's all like, "Sleeping? Ain't nobody got time for that!" However, your younger one won't go to sleep if he sees his older sibling awake and having fun. So what do you do? You create the nap illusion. I did this last weekend. I whispered to my son, Antonio, "Lay down and pretend you're going to sleep, too." He smiled menacingly and did just that. But not before doing his best to sell the illusion.


"Don't worry, Nate. I'm taking a nap and I'm definitely not going to stay up and play with those Legos that are on the floor over there." #subtle

Making Mom Happy

When we're hustling to get out the door for a party, getting the kids dressed, ready, fed, happy and not hitting you is no easy feat while we're trying to get ready ourselves.  So if you're a guy who's married to a woman, she will regularly ask you to "approve" her outfit. And if she doesn't believe you, she may get so desperate that she asks your child. So, I try to be ahead of this and coach my son to "tell Mommy that you think her color scheme is appropriate and seasonal. No matter what she's wearing, say exactly that." Naturally, he doesn't say that at all and we end up being late to the party and everyone is crying.

CYA

Picture this. You're driving two children to a farm to go apple-picking. It's October, so there's only so long you can avoid doing such a thing. Your wife is out of town so it's all on you to get the kids dressed and to assemble the perfect amount of snacks and drinks for your voyage. You arrive at the farm and go to take them out of their car seats. But you realize something odd. Your younger son appears to have already figured out how to unbuckle himself from his seat. You think, "Wow, my kid is so gifted and surprisingly strong.  I can't believe he..." And then you realize you never strapped him into his car seat to begin with! You look around for witnesses to this act of juvenile carelessness. Your older son is looking at you with a menacing grin. You beg him not to tell his mother. "What good would that do?" you even ask. You're desperate to maintain your otherwise average parental reputation. But I speak from personal experience (because this entire scenario happened to me) in saying that your kid won't care about your reputation and you'll end up looking like Casey Anthony.

Sure, I'll lie for you. For a price.

Ultimately, I guess I should be happy since 2/3 of the time, my child opts for the truth instead of honoring my wishes for a bold-faced lie. But I'm foolish enough to think that my children will make the distinction between what I say is okay to lie about and what their inner voice tells them is acceptable. And the real moral of this story is that your kids won't lie about the things you want them to lie about, so simply urge them to tell the truth, no matter what the consequence...which is likely what I should have been doing all along.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to share this with others.

Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here.
Buy my first book in paperback here.

Candid Thoughts On My Sons Playing with "Girl Toys"

When I was little, and the neighborhood kids were being punished, or if it was raining out, or if it was after dark, I played with my older sister. And it didn't matter what it was. House, Nintendo, Barbies...okay, especially Barbies. I was on board. I can just see most of my male friends reading this and gasping, but rest assured I enjoyed taking off Barbie's clothes and being disappointed that there were no nipples on her plastic boobs. Regardless, I did plenty of "girly" things growing up. I did my share of "boy stuff" too, like collecting GI Joe figures, obsessing over WWF, and getting mild erections over the aforementioned naked Barbies. But ultimately, my childhood was peppered with more than a decent helping of femininity. It didn't make me gay. It didn't make me "confused" about my sexual identity. I believe what it did make me is balanced (and in case you're wondering, my Barbie affinity has subsided drastically over time).

I suppose I have my parents to thank for either being open-minded about gender roles or simply too caught up in life to notice how often I played with dolls. But I find that as an adult with boys of my own now, Mom and Dad's example has rubbed off on me. For starters, my sons have a kitchen. They "make me coffee" in it, bake cupcakes in the toy oven and we hold regular "shopping sprees" where my older son gathers groceries in a shopping cart and comes to me with funny money to pay for them. Not exactly the kind of activities that fit into the boy stereotype. I suppose traditional male norms would dictate that I should stop this activity. But I'd rather my kids were happy than confined to a predetermined gender barrier. My older son's favorite color is purple. He also loves Legos, soccer, and punching me in the groin. Of those interests, there's really only one I'm looking to change.

 "I know Dad will be mad, but this one comes with a hair dryer and brush!"

I'm  not hoping to pat myself on the back here for being more progressive than the next father (As a parent of two, I believe I'm still learning on the job). But if you're a parent to a young boy and you find yourself taking dolls out of his hand or insisting that "boys don't cry," ask yourself if you're doing this for his benefit or yours.If you're only doing it based on your own preconceived notions, I can't honestly say that you're being the best parent you can be. After all, my parents enabled my creative freedom and now I'm writing in a public forum about how much I appreciate it. Wouldn't you want the same?

I'm a 33-year-old man who can recite every episode of The Golden Girls or every starter for the New York Jets. I'm into twisted Quentin Tarantino films, but I don't mind the occasional Hugh Grant romantic comedy. In fact, I like to think I embrace more than I reject in life. It is with this open mind that I aim to approach parenthood. My parenthood, anyway. So next time you use the words "that's for girls," remember the proper way to say it is, "that's for girls....or Joe." I'd rather be known for encouraging happiness and exploration than as "the jerk who ruined my childhood."

-Joe DeProspero
You can reach me at jdeprospero@gmail.com.
Or follow me on Twitter here.
Or boy my first book on Kindle here.
Or read some classic Golden Girls quotes here.

Explaining Why Batman is Only Kid-Friendly Sometimes

I recently purchased "The Dark Knight Rises" on DVD. After watching half of it, I left the DVD cover on the coffee table. My three-year-old son, Antonio, innocently picked it up and asked if he could watch some of it.

"No, honey. This is too scary for you," I answered, with a chuckle.

"But..it's Batman," he said, pointing to the cover graphic, eyebrows frozen in disbelief. I looked down at his feet and noticed the Batman logo adorned on his sneakers. So then the question was....how do I explain to my son that certain characters or programs are watchable depending on circumstance?

What I ultimately did was explain that there was a "Kid Batman" and an "Adult Batman." But truthfully, I think he saw right through the bullshit. How could I explain it so he'd understand, though?

"Well, you see, the 'Adult Batman' has lots of melancholy and dying and 'Kid Batman' is basically just Batman and Robin doing donuts in the Batmobile." That's how I'd like to explain it, but realistically can't, or won't. That would be crazy. I mean, it would be crazy, right?

These are the kinds of things we are forced to say as parents. A Kid Batman and an Adult Batman. I'm not even sure if I should capitalize "kid" and "adult" here, but it feels like I should. But seriously, imagine if there were different versions of other characters. Like what if Big Bird starred in a movie opposite a murderous lunatic who cut the faces off its victims? How would we differentiate? And imagine the looks on their faces if we accidentally put the wrong one on during a playdate.

Realistically, there was only ever one Batman movie that was arguably suitable for children. Don't pretend you don't know which one I'm talking about. It was "Batman and Robin." Clooney was Batman, Schwarzenegger was Mr. Freeze and there were nipples in the bat suit. Since this is the most cartoonish of all the Batman films, I considered allowing my son to watch this one first, to "ease him" into the series. But I also don't want to ruin the franchise right off the bat (pardon the pun). I'd almost rather him watch one that will give him nightmares. At least he'll still have respect for the series.

California citizens saw this movie, and voted for him anyway

As parents, we're faced with difficult decisions every day. But I'm always surprised by the ones that seemingly come out of nowhere. I count this among them. So, fellow parents, how would you describe the difference between Adult Batman and Kid Batman?

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