Diary of a Stay At Home Dad: Frank the Christmas Socialist

Where did we get this kid?

It’s a question we ask ourselves a lot these days.  He displays charter traits that neither Tracy nor I have.

We take the kid to see Santa Claus a few weeks ago.  Santa, other wise known as Kringle – the enslaver* asks Frank what he wants.  The kid says, and I quote, “a candy cane and a soldier.”  So guess what, the dude produces a candy cane and a plastic soldier from the Nut Cracker.  Frank was happy, Santa was happy.  Christmas over.  All done.

Well where is the magic in that?  Even the hobo peeing on the side of the 7-11 in a Santa suit could have done that.

It gets worse.  The kid comes over and gives his candy cane to his mommy cause he wants to share.  Are you kidding me?

Mind you the kid wants for nothing at Christmas and birthdays.  We get him a few things, but I have parents and seven brothers and sisters who, along with Tracy’s brother and wife and Tracy’s mom, keep Frank amply supplied in the gift department.

So the big day finally gets here and I’m not feeling like Frank was getting it.  He’s only three but I thought he might exhibit a little more excitement.  Nope, he was pretty unimpressed by the whole affair.  We made cookies to put out for Claus boy and he wanted to eat one and give the rest to Grammy and Mommy.

We threw reindeer food, or bait as they call it down here, out into the front yard.  He would not go unless mommy and daddy threw some too.

Anyway, we get downstairs on Christmas morning and he sees his pile.  And it’s a pile, reference my large family above.  He sees a box of candy canes on top of the pile.  Since that’s what he asked for he thinks that’s his gift.  And he’s pretty psyched about it.  He runs to get the box and proceeds to give me and mommy one each.

When we explain the other presents are for him too he says “no they are for everybody. Everyone gets some presents.” That little Bolshevik!!  He’s going all socialist on us. Spreading the Christmas wealth.

Then it took him all day to open his stuff.  Not because there was so much, but because he would open something and then play with that thing for an hour or so.

Where did we get this kid? Every time he does something like this Tracy and I each separately, but silently, think “he may not be my kid.”  Tracy has no case, she knows he is hers, she carried his little commie butt for nine months.

But every now and then, in the right light, he looks like the dude who used to cut our lawn.

His sister on the other hand, at the ripe adjusted age of 5 months, tore open every package put in front of her.  Share? Her?  Yeah right.

Hopefully she’ll be the one to bring balance to the force.

Ah well, priecīgus Ziemassvētkus comrades!

Since everyone gets a present at socialist Christmas, here is yours.  Behold the fourth annual christmas pajama picture.  And some shots of the girl.


The family that PJs together…

Share?  Share what? What is this, the collective?

Share? Share what? What is this, the collective?

Let me show you how's its done big brother.

Let me show you how’s its done big brother.










All in all a good Christmas.  A good first one for AM and a good day for spreading the wealth for Frank.



*Think them elves wouldn’t rather be in Miami working the dwarf tossing circuit instead of freezing their tinsel off in a indentured toy factory?  Guess again.