Daddy, I want to be strong like you!

I didn't exercise a whole lot after Lindsay and I got married in 2007, and that "not a whole lot" shrank to "too small to measure" once Addison was born in 2010. But in 2011 I finally finished school, we moved to California, and I was ready to get back in the swing of things. I had visions of recapturing the athleticism of my youth. I joined a gym and enrolled Addison in their kids' club (which she hated at first, but has since warmed up to).

The first day I showed up at the gym, I was a assigned a trainer for a preliminary evaluation. Too bad I didn't know you could just opt out of these things. He was a nice dude, but we were clearly on different pages about why I wanted to start using the gym.

Him: "What are your main goals for coming to the gym?" 

Me: "Um, to get in shape?"

Him: "Right. Cool. And if you stick with me, you'll really be able to pop with a tight t-shirt on." 

Me: "Yeah, I guess. But mostly I just want to get stronger and faster." 

Him: "I totally get you, man. And the ladies love the muscles, amirite?"

Turkeys and toddlers never let you sleep in.

According to a poll reported on CNN this morning while I was at the gym, the day before Thanksgiving is the most traveled day of the year. *Relief* I sure dodged a bullet on that one.

I've made no secret of the fact that traveling with a toddler is one of my least favorite things to do. Of course I know that there are tricks that make that hellish endeavor easier. But there's no way around it, going on a holiday trip with my kid is no holiday.

Having said that, I was at the airport yesterday, ALL BY MYSELF, and I couldn't stop watching other people with their kids. I had a book, I had a whole bunch of junk food that I never get to eat at home, I had a few precious hours of alone time before I returned home to what would likely be an ulcer-inducing domestic revolution (Lindsay moved Addison to a real bed while I was gone). I could have nestled myself into some little corner, as far from other people's little hellions as possible. But no. I've found that now I'm a dad, I can't. stop. watching. kids. Mine, yours, theirs, whoever's . . . it's like a strange Clockwork Orange alternate reality of parenting. A couple of years ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about a dude and daughter on a moving walkway, his finger clenched in her little toddler fist. But now, it's as though any moment of parenting that I encounter, whether I've got my kid with me or not, grabs me by the eyeballs and says, "THIS IS YOUR LIFE. THERE IS NO ESCAPE."

Blog post or date night . . . blog post or date night . .

I told Lindsay a couple of days ago that I wanted to reduce my weekly posts here on the blog. She was like,

"It's about time, you jerk. Time to take me on a DATE." 

I started blogging on my birthday back in April, and started posting three times per week shortly thereafter. I'm pretty proud of keeping that schedule for nearly half a year. And I'm pretty sure that Lindsay thought I was going to give up on the whole thing after about a month. So, BOOYAH! It's possible I kept up the schedule just to win the imaginary argument I'd been having with her in my head.

That which was lost is found

On the positive side of crawling ventilation ducts: John McClane. Your wife can never again tell you to stop exclaiming "Yippee-ki-yay, [Mr. Falcon]!"

On the negative side: Tom Skerritt in Alien. You're gonna die in there.

Push! Push! PUUUUUUSH!

Today I was cleaning up around the house, which mostly involves pushing piles of stuff from one part of the house to the other. Shovels would probably help. So while I was doing this cleaning/bulldozing, Addison stopped in her tracks and suddenly began concentrating really hard. You all know what that means. She was suddenly hearing the distant shrieks and howls of the wild pack of toddlers that we stole her from that roams the foothills of L.A. Also, she was trying to push all of her food from the last two days out of her body.

Me: What are you doing!?  

Addison: I'm doing a poop.

Me: Crap. Wait, I mean don't! Hold it in!

Two-year-olds cannot be trusted

In other news, forts are awesome:

Until they find you and make you take out the trash.

I hope you made the right choice today

When was the last time a write-in candidate won the Presidency? Maybe it'll be this year.

Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

Here's a comic to qualify yesterday's comic, in which I cast all politicians as devils. I don't really think either Mitt or Barack is Satan. Or Hitler. It's what I try to teach my two-year-old -- when someone does something you don't like, you tell them how you feel and seek a resolution. You don't hit, bite, scratch, or call names. I'm gonna try not to be the guy who's got to start back at level one over and over again, keeping the game from progressing to the next level.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't

Do y'all think one of your candidates is amazing (I don't even really want to know which one, just your general feelings), or do you, like me, feel like someone's gotta be a little messed up in the head to want to run for President? I know, I know, some people start out with good intentions, but if anyone's read All the King's Men or Primary Colors, you know things change when someone's tasked with winning over a constituency.

Promises, Promises

Because if you're going to promise something you can't make good on, you may as well make it the coolest promise you can.

P.S. If you head to my facebook page, you can find all the comics in a single album.

Dad, why do you vote?

For the record, this isn't the reason my wife votes. She's a pretty smart cookie, and a pretty serious citizen. I'm a work in progress.

Also, I'm going to post a political cartoon every day until the election. I'm like the Stephen Colbert of dads who draw stick-men cartoons on the internet. Whatever that means.