Страница 2 из 50
When I was a writer on Jimmy Kimmel Live, before I had kids, if there was a weekend shoot pla
By the way, I’ve been using the word “kid” a lot. This is on purpose, because I find that all these “I’m a better parent than you” assholes tend to use the word “child” instead of “kid.” They also like using “home” instead of “house.” When parents, especially mothers, get defensive and vocal they tend to say, “When you come into my home and use that tone in front of my child…”
Anyway, before we move on, let me tell you a little bit about my children… I mean kids.
My twins were born on June 7, 2006. They were supposed to be pulled from Mama Carolla on June 6, 2006, but even though I’m not superstitious or religious (as if there’s a difference) I thought it just seemed weird to have my kids on 666. So we pushed it by a day. I mean, if you had two flight choices, September 11 or September 12, any level-headed person after 2001 would fly on September 12. Lynette was having a scheduled C-section, so we had the option of delaying it by a day. Actually, on June 5th, Lynette started having contractions and I thought we were going early. I remember that we were watching The Apprentice and, like any good husband, I used the TiVo pause button to time the contractions.
The contractions were just those fake Braxton-Hicks things (up until then I thought Braxton-Hicks were the guys who sang “Smoke from a Distant Fire”), and two days later we were in the hospital extracting the kids. At this time, I was doing my morning radio show. Obviously, I couldn’t be there, but the show must go on, so Kimmel filled in. I remember sitting in the room listening to my sports guy Dave Dameshek doing his weekly “Jerk Report,” instead of listening to the nurses ordering me around and asking to see my wristband every time I came in and out.
Anyway, they were born and were completely healthy. So
Why “So
I also wanted them to have solid, classic names. Not made up bullshit names we have nowadays. I don’t know what’s up with all the… den names? Aiden, Jayden and Cayden. That’s a soap opera name, not a real name. There’s no Aiden, Jayden or Cayden who’s going to dive on a grenade in Afghanistan to save his platoon. We’re all obsessed with giving our kids unique names to make them feel special. A list came out in 2013 and some of the most popular names were Django, Katniss, Atticus, Asher and Serafina. Listen, you’re not going to get into Harvard because you have a unique name that a hundred other white parents in your town also thought was unique. Just fucking name your kid Dave and let him go out and carve a life for himself.
A lot of people do the thing when they have twins where they give them both names that begin with the same letter. I was against that from the start. My best buddy growing up, Ray, has three brothers Rob, Ro
Speaking of Jimmy, him being my bestie, he was the first to come see the kids when they got home from the hospital. It was kind of awkward, though. He showed up with Sara Silverman, his girlfriend at the time. Lynette was hormonal and feeling overwhelmed with how disorganized things were at home — diaper pail in the wrong place, spider in the bassinet (both true stories, btw), shit like that. So she was crying. I didn’t even know they had come in. When they went into the room they just saw Lynette in a heap of tears and me standing there like a stooge. I remember the look from Sara like, “What did you do, you monster?!” This has happened to me more than once. A few years later, Lynette was out of town and I was alone with the kids. Despite being fine most of the night, the minute their na
See, I even get the dad shaming in my home about my children.
This is a book for you parenting realists out there. Dads who want to crack a beer and go to the garage instead of to Gymboree class, and moms who can’t wait to go back to work after maternity leave. This is for anyone who has ever rolled over in bed after a long day of “Mommy Mommy Mommy Daddy Daddy Daddy” and said to your partner, “What the fuck were we thinking?” Don’t get me wrong. I love my kids. I just hate what our society has turned parenting into. It used to be enough to feed, shelter and clothe your kid. Now I talk to the dads at the two o’clock Saturday basketball game who just got back from the soccer tournament in San Juan Capistrano that their kid was playing in that same morning. If he skips that hundred-mile round trip, if he blows that off and only goes to the basketball game, he’s a pariah. If my dad had put down his cigar and gotten off the sofa, he would have been a saint. So this is a book for all the other dads out there like me, who yearn for the days of a lower bar. You’re welcome.
CHAPTER 1
Daddy, Stop Talking!
SOMETIME SHORTLY AFTER the twins started talking, they decided I should shut up. It quickly became the family joke to teach them to tell Daddy to zip it. I remember one night we were sitting around watching television as a family and I was pausing the TiVo and yapping, as I’m prone to do. Natalia, whom I’m sure had been coached by Lynette, chimed in with “Quiet time, Daddy.” This delighted Lynette and also the na