Tag Archives: sex

Mmmmmm Bacon

Is there anything better in the morning than waking up to the smell of bacon?

I know you dudes think I’m going to answer that question with a resounding no (especially considering we’ve discussed the Law Of Headlines No. 17.3 which states that for any question asked in a news headline, the answer is invariably no ((or penguins, depending on the weekday asked))), but you dudes are wrong this time.

The one thing better than waking to the smell of bacon, is walking downstairs to discover that there is — in fact — bacon to be et at the origin of those delicious smells.

Yes, that’s right. For those perspicacious among you who have already realized where this is headed, please hang on a mere moment as I talk about the deadly, soul-crushing moment of pure heartbreaking defeat when you walk into the kitchen to realize that all you have are those wonderful smells.

The terror of realizing that all you’re smelling is the ghost of bacon past. . . The residue of bacon already eaten. . . Insubstantial aromatic echoes that linger on the nose, but never on the tongue.

I speak, of course, of my darling wife, known to me as She Who Must Be Eating All The Bacon.

Yes, dudes, it is true. The other day, I awoke to the lovely, tingly smell of freshly cooked bacon. Now, considering that I’m the person who cooks maybe 95% of the food in our house, smelling any kind of food aroma when I didn’t cook it means something odd is happening.

The smell of bacon hooked me through the nose and pulled me from a warm, comfy bed and stumbling into the kitchen. Through bleary eyes, with demanding bladder being roughly ignored, I scanned the kitchen looking for what surely had to be there.

But to no avail. The counter was empty. The greasy pan was empty (well, empty of food, but not the mess I would have to clean) and cold.

I felt as if someone had taken a stake made from sharpened bacon and then shoved it through my heart. Which, considering how much fat and nitrites and other horrible things are in every crunchy, delicious bite, is a pretty good metaphor for what happens to your body when you eat bacon.

Bereft. Bacon-less. Broken

I staggered around the kitchen, unsure of how I could go own, my heart breaking from the crispydeliciousbacon betrayal.

What else could I do? I got out the rest of the bacon, cooked it up and then devoured every delicious slice.

Mmmmm bacon.

At which point, Zippy the Travelin’ Boy’s twitching nose tugged him into the kitchen. He mumbled something about needing bacon.

I snatched the empty bacon wrapper, shoved it deeply into the trashcan, covered it with greasy paper towels, looked deeply into his bloodshot eyes, swallowed, breathed deeply and told him the truth.

“Your mom ate it all.”

Thus doth bacon make fiends of us all.

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Dad’s Role In The Family

Dads matter.

That seems like a no-brainer these days, but for much of the 20th century, the role of the father in family life, especially the rearing of children, was assumed to be minimal.

Note that word there — assumed. There really wasn’t much in the way of research done on the effect a dad has on his children’s growth and development. After all, Freud Himself enshrined the role of the mother as vastly important to the personality of the child so who were they to argue?

More recently, researchers have been turning their gimlet eye to dadsdads_best_1 and finding out what I’ve known all along: Dads matter.

Did you know that a healthy father can ease the impact of a mother’s depression on the children, while a depressed father is a risk factor for excessive crying in infants? That fathers can suffer from hormonal postpartum depression?

Or that fathers’ early involvement with their daughters leads to “a reduced risk of early puberty, early initiation of sex and teen pregnancy”? We’re not sure exactly why, but Bruce J. Ellis, of the University of Arizona, has noted that exposure to fathers’ pheromones can slow down pubertal development.

In a review of Paul Raeburn’s “Do Fathers Matter?” in the New York Times, Mark Oppenheimer reports that numerous researchers are finding that fathers have some surprising effects on their children.

Older fathers are more deeply involved with their children’s schools, more likely to attend ballet classes or know their children’s friends. On the other hand, the children of older fathers seem to have stronger genetic predispositions toschizophrenia and autism — so much so that older dads should get genetic counseling, Mr. Raeburn argues, just as older moms hear about the risk of Down syndrome.

On yet another hand, the children of older dads are taller and slimmer. So there’s that. (Nobody knows why.)

That nobody knows why there at the end is a familiar refrain in a lot of sociological research of this type. We’re able to find the effects, but because the initiating incidents are so intertwined with multifarious actions by multiple actors, it’s difficult to sort out which cause is the, well, cause.

For instance, research shows that dads are the dudes who have a bigger effect on their children’s vocabulary than do moms. One prevailing theory for this has to do with vicious stereotyping. Because, the theory goes, the mothers are around the little dudes and dudettes more (because women stay home and men work outside the house of course), they tend to tailor their vocabulary to words the kid already knows. Fathers, however, because they’re absent for more time, don’t know their kids as well and so introduce words that are novel to the child.

Does it surprise anyone to think I might disagree with this theory. I know the reason my young dudes have great vocabularies (and they do. No question.) is because I actively worked at it. I wouldn’t use baby talk with them and didn’t dumb down my vocabulary when I talked to them.

I did explain a lot of words, but I made sure to expose them to the variety of vocabulary victuals I liked to serve up on the plate of life. Even when the metaphor is horrifically strained because of atrocious alliteration.

Dads matter. We’ve always known it, but now it’s up to science to start letting us know how and why. And it’s up to dads like us to make sure we matter because of our presence, rather than our absence.

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Charlotte Parent: Go Read

Don’t we all love surprises?

I’ve been told that most people do, in fact, like surprises. I am not most people, but I’m assuming you dudes are. Mostly because you’re more than me and more equals most. Some of the time.

Moving on.

I mention surprises because the topic of today’s post is a surprise.

Today at Charlotte Parent, where I’ll be blogging under our Stay-At-Home Dudes column name, I’m worrying about something really, really cool. It’s a surprise.

See? I told you it would be a surprise.*

Go read.

Footnotes & Errata

* Mostly to me because I have no idea what I’m going to write about. But you already knew that, didn’t you?

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