Bedtime and Basketball
Bed Time. Lights Out for the kiddos. Time to watch my alma mater, the Mizzou Tigers play some high flyin’ hoops against our rivals to the west, the dreaded Kansas Jayhawks.
The ball is tipped, and there I am imploring the team in black and gold to get the ball to tickle the twine, make it wiggle and giggle. Then, out of nowhere, a gold headed 3 yr old boy dressed in black basketball pjs appears at the foot of my bed. “Daddy, can I watch the basketball game with you?”
Now, how do I say “no” to my son who wants to root on the Tigers especially when we’re heavy underdogs on the road at KU? We need all of the help we can get.
“Daddy, where do the Tigers live?” Answer: In Columbia, Missouri.
“Daddy, I thought Tigers lived in a jungle?” Answer: Yes, in a Jungle in Columbia, Missouri.
“Daddy, what’s a Jayhawk? Answer: An Ugly Bird.
“Daddy, can I go put my basketball jersey on?” Answer: Of course.
“Daddy, does LeBron play for the Tigers?” Answer: I wish.
“Daddy, does Kobe play for the Tigers?” Answer: I wish again. And, for my third wish, I’ll take D Wade.
“Daddy, can you find me? I’m hiding under the covers.” Answer: Hold on, Coop. We’re making a run. We’re within 8.
“Daddy, are we rooting for the Jayhawks?” Answer: No!
“Well, Daddy, the Jayhawks are winning.” Comment: Thanks Cooper. I know this already.
“Daddy, I think the Jayhawks won.” Comment: Yes, Cooper. The Jayhawks won.
“Daddy, thank you for letting me watch the basketball game with you. I love you very much. I had a lot of fun. Can you please take me to my bed now? I’m tired.” Comment: It was the best game that I’ve ever watched. Bed Time. Lights Out.
A Christmas gift for Daddy
It’s Christmas Eve. We just returned from a Christmas Mass-Christmas Dinner combo. I melt into the couch completely stuffed from eating everyone’s food. I’m conversing with my father-in-law when out of the corner of my eye I spot a shadow near the fireplace.
He’s short, about 3 feet tall, dressed in a red sweater with a sweet little smile. He has something in his hand. Is this an elf bringing me a Christmas present just a few hours too early?
“Daddy, do you want one of your daddy drinks,” asks the 3yr old elf that looks a lot like my son Cooper.
Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. I’ve heard about this day from some of my buddies who have older sons. I never thought it was real though. I thought it was only one of those dreams that dad’s tweet about in their sleep. Christmas is a time of magic though; maybe the story is a non-fiction.
My wonderful son stands in front of me holding a cold, frosty, bottle of all American (well, it used to be All-American, now it’s half American, half Belgian) Beer.
Okay, crazy anti-beer zealots, I drink maybe 2 beers a week, so let’s not get carried away that I’m one of these beer guzzling, couch potatoes that ferments himself in between the cushions. I just like a nice sip of an adult beverage once or twice a weekend, so relax.
Now, let’s get back to the Christmas miracle.
I look up from my seated position and see a halo around Cooper’s head or maybe that’s the glow from the TV, but either way, he’s an angel in my eyes, always has been, always will be.
I grab Cooper, and give him a big bear hug. I tell him how thankful that I am for him thinking of me on this Christmas Eve. He has really grasped the concept of giving during this holiday season. He then shakes my hand (yes, he shook my hand), and says “Anytime, Daddy.” A single tear runs down my cheek. I grab the bottle, take a drink, and puff my chest out. That’s my son!
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night “cap”.
Holiday Shopping at Hooters (this post was written by a dude)
Happy Holidays to all of you Dads out there. This Daddy Diary is strictly for you. Moms who continue to read, you have been warned.
My 3-yr old son, Cooper and I, are off to find a gift for PaPa (Cooper’s Grandpa, My Dad).
PaPa’s perfect night is a couple of cold ones while watching a baseball game and a plate full of chicken wings in front of him. Every male reader knows where we’re going to get his gift.
Hooters!!!
And, this is where the Daddy Diary begins.
Cooper and I enter through the double doors. The Neon Orange blinds us. We both trip right into the hostess stand. (That move never worked in college). Cooper looks up with his big, blue eyes “Hi, my name is Cooper, we need a present for my Papa.” Wow, he’s smooth. I really could have used him back in the day. I’m so proud of him.
“Well, sure, Cooper, would you like a gift card, so your Papa can come here whenever he wants?” She’s smooth too. What a great salesperson. “Yes, please, he told me that his favorite restaurant is Hooters.” This is great stuff. Cooper is in charge of the conversation, making good eye contact, and accomplishing our goal. I stand back and admire.
“You’re very pretty,” says Cooper. “Well, thank you,” replies the Hostess, “you’re handsome too. Will you be my boyfriend?” Really? It’s that easy when you’re 3? “No thank you, my mommy is my girlfriend. She’s the prettiest girl in the whole wide world.” Yep, that was the old 32-A move, “Play hard to get.” Women have perfected that move over the years. “Oh well, your mommy is a lucky lady, Mister Cooper” says the Hostess in a fit of jealousy, but never once looking at me. My ego is hit, but I’m the “wing” (shameless pun) man here, I know my role.
Then, Cooper goes in for the close. “Do you like baseball? It’s my favorite. I love playing baseball with my Daddy.” Yep, here we go, I’m finally introduced to the conversation. “I like baseball too,” says Cooper’s new friend, “Here’s your gift certificate for your Papa. You come back and see me, okay?” Cooper’s first trip to Hooters and he lands the 2nd date. Amazing! “Okay,” says Cooper, “Merry Christmas.” He grabs the gift certificate himself, takes my hand, and we exit the Owl’s nest.
Atta boy Coop, you accomplished something that most of us Dads cannot ever dream of doing. You bought a Christmas present with one whole week to spare.
Happy Holidays!
The Potty Dilemma for Daddy
When is a little girl old enough to enter a public restroom by herself?
That’s the question I was posed this week. The women’s restroom is uncharted territory for this Daddy (rightfully so). It reminds me of Noah’s Ark.
Users enter in pairs. They’re gone for what seems to be 40 days and 40 nights (what takes so long?). And, when they exit, tears of laughter or tears of some sob story that I don’t usually understand are raining down their freshly powdered faces. I’ll take my chances in a flooded men’s room.
So, on Monday night, my 5-year old daughter, 3-year old son, and I went to Home Depot. We’re there about 8 seconds when both of them need to use the potty. Cooper comes with me, and Delaney says “Daddy, can I use the girl’s room by myself?”
What? Really? She’s 5. Isn’t there an age requirement? You know something, she said “girl’s room” and I said “potty.” Maybe she is old enough, and I’m the one that needs to grow up some (that’s true, but a story for another Daddy Diary).
“Okay, honey, but don’t read the walls, stare straight ahead, and don’t look down.” Oh, she’s going into a women’s room, not a men’s room. “Just make sure you wipe the seat (do you women do that too?and every time I guess?, huh, wild).
Cooper and I leave the restroom in about 3 minutes, and Delaney is no where to be found. Oh geesh, what have I done? She was too little to go in there by herself. She must have fallen in or worse, she’s listening to some story that a woman is telling from watching Oprah. Oh, no, I’m a terrible Dad.
The Women’s Room Door opens. “Hey Dad.”
“Are you okay?” I ask.
And, I want to ask all of these questions that I’ve always wanted answers to. What was it like? Are there groups of women in there telling stories? Are there really no urinals? Are the walls all freshly painted? Is there no graffiti? Does it smell like a rose garden? I start to ask…and you know what she says.
“Yes, Dad, I’m fine. I just had to use the girl’s room. Where did you think I was going? On a boat ride to the Zoo?
Ah, kid’s imaginations are a wonderful thing. She read my mind.
Kindergarten Soccer
0-0 score. Halftime. Tournament Quarterfinals. And, my daughter gets the call to be the Goalie to begin the 2nd Half.
And so it begins, my new career as a Daddy to an athlete. I’ve played in thousands of sporting events in my life. Never did my palms sweat, eyes twitch, knees rattle as much as they did while my 5-year old was in net for her Kindergarten School soccer team.
You have to understand. Delaney is the youngest girl on the team. She’s the smallest girl on the team. She’s not the most aggressive girl on the team. The team she joined played together last season. They have a great head coach, a terrific supporting cast of assistant coaches, dynamite parents as fans, a fantastic group of players, thus are really, really good.
I wanted Delaney to be a part of her school soccer team, so that she could meet new friends, get some exercise and learn about the sport that I played for over a decade of my own childhood. And, it just turns out, that she joined the 2026 Gold Medal Award Winning Team USA. Remember the name Abby Houlihan. This girl is the next Mia Hamm. She “strikes” the ball. She doesn’t just kick it. She freakin’ rips the thing. But, I digress.
Whistle Blows. 2nd Half is underway, and here comes a breakaway. Delaney is bobbing up and down in the net in anticipation of the ball coming her way (or she might have to go potty). Either way, she makes the save, runs to the top of the box, and throws it a good 5-7 yards. She might not be the next Hope Solo, but she could be the next Jennie Finch (my daughter can play some softball; that’s in her genes).
Before I could congratulate her, the other team is coming at her again. She’s looking at me for positive reinforcement. “Delaney, nice save, watch the ball, here they come again!!!!!” Someone put berry juice in her cleats. (Sidebar: Berry Juice is what Care Bears drink to make them bounce high). The ball comes skyward, and I’ll be darn she catches the thing. Just like in the backyard when I’m hitting pop-ups to her.
I keep checking my watch. Halves are 25 minutes in kindergarten soccer. It’s been exactly 3 minutes. 22 more to go. There’s no chance my heart can take 22 more minutes of this. Luckily, the 2026 Team USA (currently known as Delaney’s teammates) start to control the tempo a bit, keeping the ball near the opponent’s goal. About half way through the 2nd half, the head coach yells “SUB!” and out she goes. See, in Kindergarten, most coaches will substitute all positions, Goalie included. Final Tally. 6 shots on goal, 6 saves for the Bouncing Care Bear known as my daughter. Deep Sigh from this author.
The game actually goes to Shoot Outs!!! Again, this is Kindergarten!!! But hey, it’s a tournament, and there needs to be a winner. I cannot imagine what Libby’s Dad was going through. Libby played Goalie for the Shootout. But, she IS the next Hope Solo, so stops all shots her way, and Team USA wins the game, and, of course, continues on to win the entire Tournament.
Delaney runs over to me, and leaps into my arms. “Daddy, can we get ice cream?” Now, that’s my 5 year old. “Heck yah, kiddo, you did great!!!” “Daddy, we won. Can I play again?” “You bet honey, I just need to go see a cardiologist tomorrow, and then I’ll be ready to go.” “Daddy, what’s a Cardinal-ologist?” “It’s a person that tells me how lucky I am to be a daddy.” “Daddy, I love you!” “Me too squirt, I love you too.”
Game over for today. I win.
“Take me out to KinderGarten” - Opening Day
Dear Delaney-
Tomorrow, you’re officially a Kindergartner.
I just want to tell you how much I love you. I’m so proud of you already, and this is just the beginning. This is your own personal scholastic Opening Day, so I decided to write a song about it for you to sing to your new friends (it keeps my eyes from watering).
Take me out to Kindergarten.
Take me out with my 5year old friends.
Buy me some crayons and a pink backpack.
I’ll love it so much that I do want to come back.
For it’s root, root for Mrs. Meyer’s Class
If we don’t win, someone messed up the math.
For it’s one, two, three stains on my shirt,
But, that’s what happens when you play at recess in the dirt.
Hooray Kindergarten.
I love you Mini D. Remember, your Daddy is always right. If you can remember that golden rule, you’ll always hit a Grand Slam.
Mother’s Day: My favorite “June” Holiday
This Daddy Diary is a plea to the 2010 calendar creators. It’s time to switch Father’s Day and Mother’s day around.
So, the other day I was staring at my August calendar. No Holidays. Huh. It’s the only month where there are no Holidays in the ole USA. I have to be honest. I started thinking about Holidays only after my St Louis Cardinals traded for Matt “Holliday” a few weeks ago. It’s easy for me to get off topic…
January has New Years and Dr Martin Luther King Day. February has Valentine’s Day and President’s Day. March has St Patrick’s Day and sometimes Easter. April has Opening Day (my favorite) and sometimes Easter. May has Memorial Day and Mother’s Day. June has Flag Day and Father’s Day. Okay, I’ll stop, you get the point, and this is where my plea comes from.
Most countries celebrate Mother’s Day on a specific date for a specific reason. Example, Thailand celebrates Mother’s Day on the Birthday of the Queen of Thailand. You know why we celebrate Mother’s Day on the 2nd Sunday in May? So, that the holiday can sneak up on the husband’s with no warning, and we got hosed. We end up stressing about brunch, flowers, chocolates, gifts from the kids to the mom’s, presents from us to our mom’s etc. And, we do it all in the last minute, because no one gave us any warning. Moms get a nice 6 week planning period. They sit back and enjoy Mother’s Day, then wake up Monday, and start prepping for Father’s Day. Not us Dad’s, it’s a sneak attack. We get warned the 2nd Friday in May at about 6pm with a “Hey honey, what are we doing Sunday for Mother’s Day?” What????????????? We respond. “Well, yes, hubby pie, it is the 2nd Sunday in May.” Oh, of course, I forgot to set my alarm. Geesh. It could be worse. Romania has Mother’s Day AND Ladies Day. I knew there was a reason I was glad that my last name wasn’t Ciubar (no offense to anyone with the very popular Romanian surname “Ciubar” by the way.)
I ask the calendar creator this. Who is more organized when it comes to preparing for family functions? Women or Men? I admit it. My wife is muuuuuuch more organized when it comes to Holidays, Birthdays, Anniversaries, Baptisms, Bah Mitzvahs, Weddings, (I’m sweating now), and of course Father’s Days. Guess which one that I get no help with? Yep, Mother’s Day. That one is all on me. So, Mr. Calendar Creator, how bout throwing me a bone, a nice bare, WISH-bone where I wish that you flip Father’s Day and Mother’s Day around? Father’s Day is now on the 2nd Sunday in May. Mother’s Day is now on the 3rd Sunday in June. That would help us Dad’s out a whole lot.
Typical conversation on the 3rd Friday in June, 2010 goes like this: “Oh grand Hubby of mine, what are we doing Sunday?” “Well, I’ve been planning for this coming Sunday since last year, my wonderful wife. It’s a surprise, and you’re going to love it.”
(Dad now scrambles to favorite airline website. Date Departing: Early AM, 3rd Sunday in June. Destination: Bucharest, Romania. # of Tickets: 1. Date Returning: My Birthday)
