Wacky Wednesday - Healthy Living (cough cough)

I'm done.

I'm done with being sick more then I should be. I can't decide if it's the child or if it's the job or if it's the fact that I had pneumonia once. I try eating healthy and exercises and I still get sick WAY more then I used to.

It's annoying and it's ALWAYS respiratory.

Bastard little green phlegmballs.

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Isabella and I started a financial planning class tonight. 13 weeks of instruction to get our asses in gear for making sure Niamonster (and perhaps some future children) are set when growing up.

Believe me, we'll instill in them the virtues of making a living for themselves, but I also don't think you can expect a teenager to be able to pay thousands of dollars for college when they can't even keep money in their checking account.

I'm sure you'll hear more about this in the future with both of our blogs.

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I asked my wife last night if I needed tickets to the gun show. She was trying to flex for me. It'd be even funnier for you if you knew how scrawny she was.

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Finally -

Interesting stuff going on in Teh... uh... you know that one place that just had elections. (Don't want some crazy ass coming over to my blog and censoring me... or.. whatever they're doing.)

I guess I never really understood riots and destroying things to make a point. I mean... you're not really making much of a point at all.

What goes through your head?

"This election was rigged! Quick! Everyone throw bricks through the windows of local stores!"

Cause... that's going to accomplish a lot. Irony sure would set in if the store owner was two blocks down throwing bricks into someone else's window.

I'd hate to be a police-person in that state. Get up in the morning knowing you're going to have to get crap thrown at you all day. I mean - I don't agree with what's going on over there at all, but you have to be somewhat sympathetic to the police officers. Could you imagine waking up in the morning knowing full well that you were probably going to get rocks and bricks thrown at you while people try to rip you off your bike so they can burn it. Just because your jacket says "Police".

I don't think violence is the answer, but if someone threw a brick at me, you bet your ass I'd crack them in the head with a billy club.

Just sayin'...

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Hope your Wednesday is full of happy, billy club-free moments!

Fatherhood Friday

Welcome to Friday of the Fatherhood variety.

I hate work. I hate work because it takes me away from Niamonster. I hate work because she knows I leave every morning and she hates it. I hate work because it's a whole 9-10 hours that I'm not apart of her life. 

Don't get me wrong, I love my job - I find great personal enjoyment in sitting in front of my dual eye-blistering 26" monitors with a computer that could quad-process the panties off of a Mormon in .12ms, and writing code that is complex and requires a depth of knowledge that most people don't even want to have in the computer world. 

But since Niamonster was born, it somehow isn't about me anymore. So that fact that I'm getting enjoyment out of work at, as what I view, the expense of the raising of my child is something that I've had to think a lot about. 

It just feels that when I say that I'm the "provider" of the family, it feels like a cop-out. Money is such a "blah" sort of thing because when I die I don't get to take it with me - - - so why is it such a focus of a family?

I've been playing a little in my hypothetical head lately. What if I were to just pack up my family, sell almost all of my possessions, hop in my car, and head west? Complete beatnik/hippy style. I know my family has lots of love and common sense so that we really wouldn't need a huge source of income. It's a total "damn the man" feeling, but is it so bad?

Have I become the person that is so wrapped up in material things and status that I've fallen into the stereotype of "provider" who's sole purpose is to go out and make money for his daughter and family?

So here lies the conundrum in my head: How do I balance the "provider", the "protector" and the "lover" into a nice little package called a "great dad"? 

It's nice to know that I'm not the only one. Since I've started introducing myself to other dads who blog, I've noticed that this is a common internal thought within a lot of fathers. 

What "balance" internal wars have you had?

What is your "damn the man" dream?