I just watched an Instagram video where 3 little boys stacked up a bunch of solo cups in front of their front door so when their dad came home from work, he’d crash into them. The mom was videotaping when he walked in and he saw the cups before going through them.

So he went back outside and the mom called for the boys, who were playing in the other room. When he walked in again, he dramatically fell through the cups and onto the floor shouting, “NOT AGAIN!!!” and the boys went bananas. ♥️♥️♥️

I’m not sure if a lot of guys read my blog, but if you’re out there… be THAT guy.

When I went out with PJ the first time, I told my friends, “If I end up marrying this guy and we have kids, I’ll get to say – ‘Time for bed kids, go put on your daddys (PJs)’.”

I was joking, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t conjure up an image of happy kids running around and PJ as their dad.

Fast forward, and my thoughts came to life.

He’s totally the guy who would fall through the cups.

People probably look at him and think, “Man, he hit the lottery with 3 boys! Poor wife though – she must be sick of all the sports.”

PJ is obsessed with sports, my boys… not even a little bit. They played soccer and basketball when they were little and didn’t like it.

Once my youngest tried to watch a football game with him and never did it again.

The Mets opening day was this week and my middle referred to it as football 🤣 PJ corrected him, but didn’t care. In fact, I think I was more disturbed by the fact that my son is so unobservant that he didn’t know the difference between football and baseball! WTF??!!

But yeah, PJ doesn’t give a flying flip that they don’t like sports. He’s the weirdo that likes to watch all games – including the Superbowl – by himself, so he’s probably glad they don’t want to have heart-to-hearts with him in those moments.

Instead they bond over video games and movies and cooking and discussing historical events.

He has secret handshakes with each of them that they do every night before bed. PJ’s not a religious man, but he calls it “their prayers.”

He messes with them with nicknames they hate and by punching their plushies in the face. He’ll do annoying things like poke them or tease them until he gets, “Stop Daddy, it’s not even funny anymore 😑”

They don’t go to him when they want a “yes” answer because they know he’s not a pushover like me.

But man do they love their dad. They get mad at me when I bitch about him and tell me I’m mean. (Even though they know the things I say are totally legitimate).

They NEVER go against him. I’m always the bad guy. They’re on daddy’s side, all day, everyday.

This is when I remind them how long I was in labor with 2 of them, had an emergency c-section with one, and bled out and almost died with another. You’re probably judging me for using guilt to control them, but they don’t care AT ALL. They didn’t inherit the guilt gene from me. They’re completely guilt-free like their dad.

Truth be told, I wasn’t cut out to be a mom of young kids. I struggled. I was really lucky to have PJ as my support. But I did just have a momentary feeling of nostalgia and wishing they were young again so we could do that cup thing. PJ would’ve fell and flayed around in those cups like a damn fool. Then he would’ve got up and started chucking the cups at them and they’d run around screaming and ducking for their lives.

If you have young kids – do things like this!! You’ll never regret it and they’ll never forget.