Honea Express

Archive for the ‘Dad Blogs’ Category

The thing about winning a major award without any sort of advanced notice is that you’re often caught with your virtual pants down and something difficult to explain in your hand. Seriously, have you ever tried to explain the perfect glass of bourbon? It’s not easy.

So it was that I received an email announcing that I, or rather this site, was ranked in Babble’s Top 50 Dad Blogs, while Honea Express was sitting here neglected, loading funny, and covered in reviews.

Still is.

However, being listed is pretty nice, especially since I haven’t been posting here nearly enough. It happens.

I’d like to say thanks to Babble, and more importantly, thanks to you. If it wasn’t for you nobody would give a crap what I did in this space, and I appreciate that every day.

I suppose this is kind of a lame post to have up on the blog now that I’m getting ones and ones of extra traffic, but I’m tired, Tom Waits is on the radio, and I’m thinking about drinking in the dark until the night takes me home.

This is what winning looks like, people.

I don’t think any of my other parent/professional blogging was taken into consideration for the list, but that’s what pays the bills, so if you have a moment please click below:

Kids Should Skip School (The Stir)

In Defense of Boys (DadCentric)

Occupy Childhood: Invest in Futures (BabyCenter)

Parenting on a Budget (BabyCenter)

Halloween and Other Scary Things (BabyCenter)

 Top 5 Superhero Movies of ALL TIME (JoeShopping)

Maker of “Word With Friends” to Launch Gaming for Acquaintances (Insert Eyeroll)

Thanks for all that voodoo you do, so well.

People often ask me what it is I like to do in my free time. To which I say, mind your own freaking business. If I wanted you to know about it I would put it on the blog. Or Twitter. Or Facebook. But probably not Google Plus.

But then it dawned on me that I do not have a moment of free time, hence my inability to answer. Sure, some might say that writing a blog post is “free time” and I get that, but I’m just taking a break from writing something for money. That’s a job, people. Some smoke on their breaks, I blog. Also, pornography.

Basically, I wanted to touch base with you, the reader(s), and let each and every single one one of you know that I truly appreciate your kindness in what was (and continues to be) a very tough time for us. But we’re making due and getting by, and the good (deity of your choice) willing, maybe we’ll win a few games.

I’ve been keeping busy. Limey Yank Productions is a full-time job without all the hassle of benefits or paychecks, and I’ve been posting random bits of parenting woes and whoas all over the designated play area of the Internet. I’m also trying something new: humor. It’s like funny.

My wife is enjoying her new job, the boys like their new school (the youngest started kindergarten last week!) and the dogs seem happy to be happy. I don’t know what the hell the cats are up to.

And in the meantime life is bits of love and leisure wrapped tightly between inboxes and deadlines. We spend our days working and our nights trying to catch up. The boys bounce barefoot from beach to branch, leaving a trail of sand-covered Magnolias in their wake.  The days fly by us like we’re standing still, but we are moving fast in all directions.

The wind is a chorus of whispers and promise. Free time is but a kite in the distance.

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Thank you for reading.

And here are the links I couldn’t fit into the paragraphs above. You’re welcome:

Atticus and the Lion King 3D Premiere (video)

Public schools outlawing peanuts

Disney’s D23 Expo recaps, Day 1 and Day 2

This is my best post. I’ll tell you that right now. You might smile. You might sigh. You may have to step away from your computer and touch something to make sure this is real. That something is your focal point. This post is your anchor. I am the captain of your ship and we are sailing on an ocean made from the tears of so many children.  All children cry. Yours, because you don’t love them enough. Mine, because I love too much. All tears taste of salt. All tears flow to the sea.

I’m trying something new. Do you like it? If you do then please paste this on your car bumper. Page a friend. Yell it from the assorted rooftops. This is me excelling in a new direction, and the direction is up. It is like the rapture, but with more hype.

I am a giant redwood among the pines and oaks of daddy blogging. Other dads cut holes at my root, because they cannot reach my heart. They drive their cars through me. They are part of a fast-food forest. I am a seven course meal and the wine is an “h” short. Dessert is layered in metaphors. It is nearly as sweet as my words, but without the linger or the bite.

I will not rewrite this post, which makes it even better, because it is raw. It is trending.

I know things about parenting that you do not. You have told me so with your actions. Save your words for Scrabble and friends. This is sticks and stones territory. This is tough love. There is no reach around. There is no spoon.

Some of you may not get this. It may seem too deep. It may seem too powerful. If that is you, then congratulations, you just Googled directions to where love lives. There are hugs nearby.

If this post makes you angry then you are reading it wrong. If it makes you cry then you are probably Glenn Beck. Or me. Let it out. That’s how love flows. It sounds like Kenny G on a train in the distance.

There is a box and you are in it. I am on the outside, thinking of ways to help you get more traffic. It starts when I open the lid.

The roads were narrow and slick with sweat. The whiskey fell from our pores and grew lost beneath the current in which we waded. The air was layered with lingering lust and the promise of magnolias. It was midday and people were dancing in the streets. It was as dangerous as it was carefree, and upon the faces were the storied smiles of hard living in the big easy.

We made our way one drink at a time. We ate too much and slept too little. The hours between the end of the day and the start of another were filled with laughter and the deep breaths that live around it.

Jazz danced with every word. He swayed. She threw her arms into the nearness of the night. You just stood there, knowing, and nodded. I sipped my whiskey and handed you the bottle every time your glass went dry.

Ours was a group of revolving cameos, each entrance a chance for applause and each exit a time for tears. We were filmed before a live studio audience. Some stayed more than others.

Everyone will tell you what we learned and how we did it. Everyone will tell you how it all went well and it all went wonderful. Everyone would be right. It was just as everyone says, but with a better beat. And the beat went on.

I miss New Orleans in that forgotten hour, when the bartender hands you one last one last one and moments get thrown back like sacks of memories slapped across your shoulder. The door swings open and a train goes by, the sun is rising and the beer is cold. The laughter as loud as ever.

I’m alive. I haven’t left the building. Yes, there are cobwebs covered in icicles hanging on the hinges of Honea Express, but it’s not like I haven’t been busy.

For example:

My latest at DadCentric – One Foot in Front of the Other

My latest at BabyCenter – 2011: This One’s for the Boys

They said that 2010 was the year of the Dad Blog, and yet it was fairly quiet around these parts. I’m aiming to fix that. I’m not sure what fodder will fall to these pages, but whatever it is I hope you join me for the ride.

The following was Bill Watterson’s goodbye to Calvin, Hobbes, and us. I think it also makes a grand hello.

Hello, 2011. Welcome.

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