Tidy Husband

Eligible for the seniors discount and the Happy Meal deal at the same time.

  1. Just One Second

    If that was all it took.

    Call it a stall tactic or not wanting to stop what she’s doing or whatever - it’s annoying.

    Photo by Agê Barros on Unsplash

    Put on your PJ’s. please.

    “One second”, she tells me.

    I get it, I do. I hate it when I get interrupted when trying to concentrate and I just want to finish this paragraph and then I can give you my full attention to whatever you have to tell me right now with the constant “ Dad, Dad, Dad…..DAD!” being repeated in my right ear.

    It seems that in this house we’re all inattentive or too attentive to the important stuff, but this morning was peak “one second” for her.

    If it was the past 10 days or so, you can have all the seconds you want because we were snowed in, bored and a little on edge. But this morning was a school day and we needed to get dressed and out the door on time because Mr. Dave the School Bus Driver does not wait - nor should he.

    We were up and awake with too much time in fact. We had so much time she decided she needed to send all her stuffed animals to school and make paper backpacks for them.

    “We’re out of tape”, she tells me as she roots through the junk drawer unsuccessfully for another roll.

    I tell her she’s going to have to deal because even though I have tape stashed, now is not the time to start a paper backpack company for stuffed animals.It’s a great idea and we can suggest it the folks at Shark Tank but right now can we just concentrate on putting on pants?

    “One second”, she tells me and then runs up to her room and comes back with tape from her bedroom. I don’t ask questions I don’t want the answer to. Also, now we’ve got…

    14 minutes until the bus comes.

    She’s dressed, but no socks on. My priority is toothbrush, socks, coat, hat, bookbag and boots and out the door - It’s t-minus 12 minutes now. She decides that the stuffed animals with custom book-bags are now going to school and they need to be placed around the house in the proper educational setting for each animal.

    “One Second”, she tells me.

    The bunny is placed on the table with some rubber bands. I am instructed to feed her when she’s at school today.

    I instruct her to get some effing socks on and brush your teeth, because now:

    8 minutes until the bus comes.

    Socks are on. They don’t match but whatever. She was supposed to wear spirit clothes today but she tells me that it’s a suggestion and not a rule so she wears a red striped sweater and white pants. To heck with rules.

    Teeth get brushed so little it’s hard to call it teeth brushing and more like teeth “showing them what a toothbrush looks like”, but hey it’s a Monday and also…

    4 Minutes until the bus comes.

    Final instructions are given about the stuffed animals as I manage to get her coat on about what they should study. I agree while I help her zip up and put on mittens because it’s cold out. I can’t find a hat, but she has a hood and it’s not too cold out.

    I make sure her snack is in the her book-bag and then adjust her hood and zip her up a so she’s a little warmer. I ask for a and then I open the door and my little charge runs straight for the fresh snow in the lawn. She has exactly

    2 Minutes until the bus comes

    She kicks the snow on the driveway while I watch her from the front window and after a minute the school bus comes screeching to a halt with red flashing lights ablaze and opens the doors for my little charge to manage the stairs that were designed for much bigger kids.

    I wave, but she doesn’t acknowledge. She’s too busy seeing friends she hasn’t seen over the winter break and getting seated.

    I watch the bus turn the corner ready to pick up it’s next passenger and then turn around and survey the damage that happened. Not too bad - a few dishes in the sink and an extra sock on the floor. I start to pick up the sock and then realize I need a break after all that. I lie down on the couch and close my eyes.

    “Just for a second”, I tell myself.

    Time flies when you’re late for the bus,

    TH and Co.

    Permalink

  2. Be Nice to Your Uber Driver

    plus a few other tips I have learned after 5000 rides

    I came home to this. Did I mention I loved her?

    I hate the “what do you do?” question. I’m not who I am by whom I work for - or the type of work I do. I trade my time for money, and for the past couple years I have been driving an Uber.

    Why?

    BW says I can, and it works for us for now.

    This is not a job. You’re a 1099 contractor and this means that for the most part you work for yourself. You fire up the app and wait for a match for a ride and if the time/place/money ratio work for you then you accept the ride and start driving.

    Rinse, lather, repeat.

    Now with close to 5000 rides under my belt the past 2 years, I have a few tips and tricks for riders:

    1. Be on time. I’ve driven 10 minutes across town to be at your door. The app has sent you at least 3 text messages showing you where I am. I will wait for 2 minutes and leave. Time is money, and all that.
    2. This is my car. I have had almost zero bad interactions but it’s not my fault you don’t have enough brain cells to work the app and figure out where you want to be. I will drop you off at the destination that you chose.
    3. I never pickup at a Walmart. Because it’s Walmart.
    4. If you do not have a baby seat for your child, you’re not riding with me.
    5. If you have more people than I have room, you’re not riding. No, your kid cannot sit on your lap. Math seems to be hard for some people.
    6. I’m not a mover. I will not help you move apartments.
    7. I don’t work nights. I’m old, can’t see all that well at night and don’t like people barfing in my car - so days works for me.
    8. I don’t get the full amount you pay. I get about half-ish. If you paid Uber 50, I will see about $20.00. It’s not great, but it is what it is and it’s not so bad driving around all day with a hot cup of coffee and your music on.
    9. If you have more stuff than I have room, I don’t have to take you.
    10. Tips are appreciated but not necessary. Times are hard out there, for all of us.
    11. I rate everybody five stars, because this isn’t Amazon reviews. If you’d didn’t barf in the back - we’re good.

    When I started, I thought that having strangers in my car would be gross, and I’ve had my share of odors waft up from the back seat (mostly weed) but most people are nice, smell okay and say hello and don’t say another word to you until you drop them off.

    The child asked me if I will drive for another 5000 rides and I said “maybe”, because you never know what the future will hold. I could.. become a professional writer.

    Wait. I am a professional writer because some people reading this have actually paid me to support my work which still blows my mind.

    In the meantime, I’ll fire up the Uber app tomorrow and drive my little blue car around town because despite what Substack would have you believe - this writing thing is a hobby that pays a bit for pizza at this point and that’s about it.

    Be nice to your Uber Driver. You might be asking them to sign your copy of their book one day.

    Driving towards my goals,

    TH and Co.

    Permalink

  3. I'd Like to Buy the World a Coke

    The diet starts NOW apparently.

    I went out and actually worked by driving Uber for the first time of the new year this morning and when I came home I was greeted with this:

    I didn’t think much of it because by now if you’re a regular reader, artwork is big here and there’s a new piece of artwork hanging around here daily. Besides, I was busy bringing in and putting away the groceries I picked up so I wasn’t really attentive to what the random artwork meant.

    It was only after stuff got put away, and lunch was getting eaten did I notice the can of coke on the table:

    For those of you that don’t read six-year-old it reads:

    Don’t Drink. TOXIC

    Only then while we were eating our leftover pizza I realized this can of Coke and the writing on it was a message and it was directed at me!

    The message on the Coke can was pretty obvious: she doesn’t want me to drink Coke anymore.

    Allow me to explain myself: There was a time when I didn’t drink soda at all and then about Covid, I got a taste for Diet Coke and before you know it I had a multiple can a day habit. One day I went to the store to refill the cart, but the price had gone up so I turned around and didn’t buy it.

    I had quit. Kind of.

    I didn’t go cold Turkey. If I was out and needed a drink I would stop by the dollar store and grab a Coke while I was driving.

    Until today, apparently. I am now no longer to have any Coke. I have been told by the child.

    This is serious, folks.

    And…according to the sign above I am only allowed to eat:

    • Apples
    • Oranges
    • Bananas
    • Broccoli
    • Blueberries
    • Grapes

    I am NOT allowed to eat:

    • SODA
    • DONUTS
    • ICE CREAM
    • CHOCOLATE

    I have no idea where she got this idea, but if there’s a message here it was received loud and clear.

    I will try and do my best…

    In the meantime if you don’t hear from me for a few days it’s because I’ll be curled up in a ball detoxing.

    Hoping the withdrawal symptoms are too bad,

    TH and Co.

    Permalink

  4. The Routine is Better Than the Result

    If you’re going to start something…you may as well continue it.

    A year ago I wrote about Socky Underpants.

    That is was the slice of pie I had for dessert. The diet starts tomorrow, or when the pie is gone. So ya - tomorrow it is.

    Since then, I have written 364 more times. I have written about Easter and birthdays and dressing up for Halloween and tooth fairies that come to visit and even about how I love my robot vacuum.

    At the beginning, I wrote in quiet. I told no one.

    I’m no writer. I have zero sense of paragraphs or use of commas and a million other formatting errors. But I wrote again the next day. At about day 30, I told BW because hey, 30 days - yay me! Then a few months passed and BW posted it on her social media and friends and family found me.

    I told a few more friends and then made a few more friends here too (which is awesome) and before I knew it I’ve been writing for over year now. If you peruse the archives, the topics don’t really matter and that’s OK because the goal is that there is no goal. The goal is to write more and get read more.

    What matters is now it’s known at my house that after the child goes to bed, it’s time for me to write. I made time for it because for me it’s important to document the comings and goings of our life here.

    I see value in writing.

    Would I rather watch YouTube, or play with my computers some nights? You bet. But, I have prioritized this over everything else once the child is in bed.

    And a funny thing happens: Every night I shut the door to her bedroom and then wonder what the heck I will write about. Most nights, I have no idea what to write - but that doesn’t stop me and I continue to pluck away at the keys. Sometimes I delete it all and start over and other times, I write it and say to myself “good enough” and then hit publish.

    If you’re starting something: writing or exercise or painting…keep at it! You never know where it will lead.

    At least that’s what I tell her.

    Me? My diet starts tomorrow. maybe - when the pie is gone we can talk.

    Keeping at it despite the odds,

    TH and Co.

    Permalink

  5. The Idea vs Reality

    A lesson for the first day of the year.

    Today, it was decided we should go sledding.

    The Dream

    Photo by Lan Gao on Unsplash

    You’re sledding with the the child in perfect weather, with no wind and warm enough that the snow doesn’t melt, or if it does you don’t notice because there’s lots of snow.

    Somebody is waiting for you at the bottom with hot chocolate and your sled appears magically at the top of the hill waiting for you. You take the lift up, of course.

    Your child comes completely clothed with coats and hats and boots on and ready and magically arrives at the top of the hill with her shiny white smile glistening in the sun. No sweat and not tears.

    You hear about this because some sledding fairy or maybe an au pair takes your child sledding because in your dreams you never go sledding - especially at your age - so there must have been a nanny or some other caretaker in this dream of yours.

    The Reality

    You have been voted to take the child sledding. You check the outdoor temperature. 15 degrees. This is not good.

    “At least there’s no wind”, your mother-in-law chimes in. It’s easy for her to be so optimistic because she’s not the one going sledding.

    You admit defeat and start to get ready and get dressed for the frigid temperatures, but here’s the thing - there’s a time limit between getting dressed for temps in the teens and still being inside wrangling boots and mitts on - and when that time limit is reached where Dad is dressed for 15 degrees but he is still inside wrestling boots or negotiating about whether she should wear 2 sweaters or three, Dad gets cranky because he’s still inside but now he’s hot and sweaty in 3 pairs of insulated pants and 3 hoodies and a winter coat.

    The ladies manage to get her snow panted and gloved and hatted and out the door and we’re off.

    Wait. I have to de-ice the car first because it’s been days since we went anywhere so this will take some time. The child wants to go sledding because it’s her first time and she too has been cooped inside for too long.

    We get into the car and drive the five minutes to the park behind the public library where the big hill in town lives. This is the hill with the sign that states: NO SLEDDING and the city/town is not responsible to anything that could happen to you as you slide down a hill at uncontrolled speed for your first time ever.

    We get there and there’s a few other families breaking all the rules and we realize that due to this and the lack of snowfall there’s very little snow on the hill itself. This actually turned into a good thing for our solo sledding because the grass lumps poking through put the brakes on.

    As far as speed:experience ratio, this worked in our favor and we had the golilocks effect on this hill - not too fast but not too slow - juuuuust right.

    As a preliminary, we went up about 1/3 of the way for a trial run. Success!!

    Okay then, we go all the way to the top and I get her all setup on the very dangerous piece of plastic that she will be travelling on at speed and I did what every responible parent would do: I push her down.

    She screams all the way down. I don’t know if it’s fear or fun but she makes it to the bottom unscathed and wants to go again. She hasn’t lost her mittens yet and though her hood flew off with all that speed, it’s fixable.

    We go to the top and we go again to the same effect: No issues other than the screaming on the way down.

    I tell her that the sledding rule is you drag your own sled up the hill. I’m no snowplow parent and she can pull her own sled.

    On the seventh attempt she told me she wanted to deviate from what was working: holding onto the handles on the side of the sled. This time she wanted to hold the rope. I told her it was a bad idea, but she would not listen.

    Okay then…

    She made it to the bottom.

    Almost.

    On the last 3 feet of the run she leaned over a little too far and every kid that’s been sledding knows what happens next: you get a face full of snow.

    “I’m so cold!!, I want to go home” she cries

    “Huggie!”, she pleads.

    I take her sled from her, resist the urge to tell her “I told you so” because this means she is done and if she is done so am I! and the sirens call of my warm couch beckons.

    We walk to the car, me dragging her sled and her face bright pink from her bad choice and we get in the car where she pleads to get the car hotter and faster than physics can make it happen.

    Home. She kicks off her boots, and snow pants and gloves and runs to her tablet because it’s been a while and watches her cartoons or whatever she watches.

    I follow her around and pick up and hang up the coats and the gloves and the pants and find a towel to dry up the big puddle in the middle of the floor. When that’s done I make her a hot chocolate with whipped cream on top (don’t tell mommy) and she slurps and spills happily while I finish cleaning up the mess.

    It’s then that I look at my watch. Total elapsed time was about 30 minutes from leaving to arriving. It took us longer to get dressed and undressed than we actually went sledding.

    And that’s the reality of sledding on this first day of the year 2026.

    3 more days until school starts

    TH and Co.

    Permalink

Every post → · RSS feed