Some Wonder Woman party dresses are simply worn. Some are EARNED. This is the story of one brave birthday girl who survived a real-life Attack of the Dad (me, by accident) and kept on partying.
Let me start at the beginning.
I guess my son is a bit of a trendsetter. His birthday party and always-Batman fashion choices helped inspire a preschool classmate to have a Pump It Up party of her own. The theme: Wonder Woman.
Pump It Up is a huge indoor collection of inflatable play structures. We’ve visited a few times, and Champ has a favorite: A dome with four platforms and a giant, swinging foam ball suspended from the ceiling. He calls it “the big red ball machine.”
So when we arrived at the party, he went right in. Other kids were still arriving, and I felt bad that my son was all alone in the bouncer. One of the bigger boys from his class joined us, and we started swinging the wrecking ball around.
Then the birthday girl got in. Here’s what happened next:
I live in a carefully curated thought bubble where woke bros and social justice warriors nurture each other’s uniqueness through tolerance and understanding. Recently, however, my you-do-youtopia was shattered when all of social media erupted into an all-out war on one of life’s great joys: pineapple pizza.
Let me back up.
Pizza time at my house can be tricky. The kids are picky. My wife can’t eat tomatoes. But pizza is the only thing I feel like eating about 90 percent of the time, so I’m determined to find a pie that pleases everyone.
Enter Barro’s Pizza, my longtime favorite delivery joint, which recently opened a new location just a couple miles from our house. These local legends are known for their pillowy crust, ample mozzarella, heavenly chunks of Italian sausage and impossibly cheap lunch specials.
Hey there, jobber. Employed person. Working so-and-so. Whatever you call yourself. How would it feel if you suddenly got a four-hour break from all work activities? How about if this break became a regular thing, happening twice a week?
I’ll tell you how it feels. My son (almost 5) and daughter (newly 3) just started going to preschool at the same time. A wonderful group of teachers is imparting essential skills and molding these animals into better people with no help from this stay-at-home dad. I’m useless for about four hours, twice a week.
It’s an electrifying opportunity to catch up on elusive goals like fitness and creativity. It’s a focused moment for chipping away at big projects around the house. It’s prime time for personal errands like haircuts and doctor visits as well as boring stuff like auto repair, lunch with grown-ups and stores that don’t sell toys.
The only drag on my newfound freedom is this haunting truth: We’re paying a lot in tuition, and I don’t make any money. The longer the kids are in school, the less being a stay-at-home dad makes financial sense.