Ms. Maxwell writes:

At what point in the tenure of fatherhood does a dad shift from crushes on Head Cheerleader to The Girl Next Door?

I've been trying to figure out why Mr. Outdoors has saved photos of Anne Hathaway on the desktop of our computer. Not just one. Several photos. Since I know BusyDad covets similarly down-to-earth Jenna Fischer, I figure he probably has an inside track on the new crush going on in the Y chromosome half of my relationship.

What do I need to know here? The last I checked, the crushing was going on in Charlize Theron's world. Which I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND (I have a GirlCrush on her).

Now that I've had my hair cut and colored to match Charlize (subtle hints were given over the years -- least subtle being the page from People magazine of her on a red carpet that was tucked into my purse as I headed to the salon), do I now need to think dark and mousy? With contacts to make my eyes brown? And maxillofacial surgery so my smile goes literally ear to ear?

BusyDad:

I need a standing eight count. Jenna Fischer makes me woozy in a good way. And it doesn't help that my name is Jim.

I have written and re-written my answer 3 times already. This is my fourth attempt.

It would be easy to sit back at this point and say I really don't know why (as my failed attempts easily prove), but there is a reason. A really simple one that I cannot articulate. Time to pour me a little "writing juice," let it settle in and come back.

OK, I'm back. Let's try this one more time. I don't know your hubby, but I know how I think, and I have a feeling it isn't much different from him or other family guys. When you become a dad, you simply become more realistic. I think it's nature's way of buffering you from the blows that otherwise might emotionally derail you. Things like you will never get that Harley, you will never be a 32 waist again and you will never, ever fight in the UFC. That also means you could never turn the head of a Victoria's Secret model. Even if someone could get your Dockers-wearing dad ass into that premier party. Once reality sinks in, you admire the typical hot celebrities from afar, like you would a masterpiece hanging in the Louvre. But you covet the girl-next-door ones like you would that framed Al Pacino Scarface "pencil sketch" that dude at the mall sells out of his art kiosk.

Jenna Fischer reminds me of the little bit shy, doesn't realize she's hot girl whom I might find at the reception desk at my office (yeah, I know because she plays one! duh). To me, that would be attainable in my world (my alternate universe world). That bit of attainability is what gives her that extra something that guys grounded in reality would gravitate towards. Anne Hathaway has that look too, like someone whom you might find sitting in the cubicle next to you tomorrow. Someone who would compliment you on your comfort shoes from The Walking Company. Someone who would find your clip-on Blackberry case cool. She's not intimidating. Like you could totally go to Subway with her during lunch break. But wow, at the office holiday party in that dress and make-up you couldn’t stop staring (in Anne’s case, that secret agent bodysuit).

Scarlett Johansson? Never. Too hot for the cubicle. And that is why she resides in my ever-growing sour grapes pile.

Mr Lady:

Because real women are hot.

My husband will tell you, will scream from the rafters, that I am hotter today than the day I met him.  The day I met him I had a size 0 waist, a D-cup rack, and weighed under 100 pounds.  Today, I am within 7 pounds of his weight, have a size 10 8 waist, and facial hair.  I think he's insane.  He thinks I'm real.

Of course, when I just now called that motherf%@#er and asked him who the most crushable celebrity was, he said Angelina Jolie.  I said, "Really?" and he said, "Fine.  Avril Lavigne."  So, screw him.  He's totally ruined my point.

My point is that maybe, just maybe, your husband has grown up (unlike some of our spouses) and has realized that the skinny, blond, hot cock garage doesn't equal children and fulfillment and dinner and free ironing.  And free ironing is way hot.

Or maybe he's just trying to throw you off the scent.  Who knows?  Either way, it gives you a good excuse to spend an assload of money on highlights, and that makes it all worth it.

MommyTime writes:

I know a lot of equal-division-of-labor couples who both work outside the home, and who share cooking/cleaning and other household responsibilities. But....when it comes to evenings and weekends, the kids are by default mom's unless she makes some special request or arrangement for dad to have responsibility. I won't ask "why?" since that's obviously relationship-specific, but I will ask: what's a mom to do about this assumption? It can be very frustrating to be the main point person ALL the time BY DEFAULT and to feel like you have to arrange for childcare on the weekends if you want to go shopping alone. By the same token, mom doesn't want to sound like a naggity nagkins and be all "can't you stop playing your video games" all weekend long. Ideas?

Mr Lady:
Dag, yo. I thought it was just me. What to do about it? I have NO CLUE. I have to say that, in my case, I set myself up for it. I naturally migrate towards the "child care" stuff rather than the "unclogging the drains" stuff, and so naturally, my kids come to me first for things first. In fact, they will crawl over their sleeping father, grab his sleeping hand and use his sleeping finger to jab me in the eye to wake me up in the morning. Unless they want money, they come to me. So, yes, I am the default, and I am kind of At Fault.

Here's what I did about it; We made a schedule. I get every single solitary Sunday night to myself. The assumption is that I am going out and there is only a discussion about it if I am NOT. I don't have to check with anyone, I don't have to cook dinner first, or pack lunches for the morning before I head out, nothing. I don't have to go to the grocery while I'm out. I don't have to call and check in half way through the night. Do you have any idea the wonders this has done for my mental health? SO MANY. Oh, and he gets Monday nights. Same drill.  It works out well for everyone.

BusyDad:
Well, if you do indeed beg for it, maybe that's why. What man doesn't love a good begging?

Oh sorry, I keep forgetting I’m supposed to at least try to give useful advice...

In my household, we also have unspoken default tasks. My wife does the laundry, the dishes and cleaning, while I do the cooking and the waking up/playing with the kid. These activities evolved over time, much like natural selection. I suck at folding, and dust bunnies and dog hair bother me not. But I’m a better cook and Lego builder. However, this is not to say I wouldn’t LOVE sleeping in until 11 every Saturday and Sunday (damn my Lego building skills!). Because I did once and it was good.

The thing with default tasks is that once they become established, it takes a very deliberate course change to shake them up. I’ll bet that your hubby would step up to help you out. After all, he does care about you and I’m assuming would love to make you happy. You just need to do a few things.

Ask
You have to straight up ask your hubby to take a bigger role in keeping the kids entertained. Don’t imply, don’t hint. Just say it: “I would love it if you could occupy the kids this weekend.” Notice I did not add “while I go to the mall” or “while I get coffee with Janet.” Because saying that would imply that you would do it if you didn’t have other plans. No, you want him to occupy the kids because you want him to occupy the kids. Period.

Schedule
Schedule a time. Make it bearable at first. You can’t just throw him into the fire because it’ll only breed resistance next time. Something like, “On Saturday, June 7, from 8am to 12:30pm.” Leave no room for error or interpretation. Interpretation is our prized loophole.

Help
He’s had no practice at this, which is why he defaults to video games. Not really his fault. But you know what the kids like to do. You also know what your hubby likes to do (or at least doesn’t mind doing as much). Put the two together and help him come up with activities. Does he golf? Suggest mini golf. Does he like to fish? Suggest the aquarium (or even fishing, if weather permits). Even just a lunch and a few hours at the park. The point is to preload some ideas into his head. This way the task of “what am I going to do with these little buggers” doesn’t seem so gargantuan.

Or offer/withhold “quality time” with him. That always works. We’re admittedly simple creatures.

OhCaptain writes:

We are getting ready for the family to go on their first 'airplane ride' vacation. When we travel with just my wife and I, she tends to over pack. Heck, for a weekend in Vegas we had 4 bags. I'm afraid of what packing for the kids is going to do to my back when it comes time to load the van. How do I let the wife feel like she's in control, but keep the luggage count to a minimum?

Second question. Do I tell the wife the truth about the price of the last bottle of scotch that I bought, or shift the price to a number she'll be more will to...um...be more happy with?

Mr Lady:

How do I let the wife feel like she's in control, but keep the luggage count to a minimum? You don't. When it comes to packing, especially for kids, only one of you can win. Pack it yourself or buy the big bottle of Doan's Back Pills at Costco. That's the best I've got for you, brother.

As for the scotch? Lie. Lie through your teeth. Lie like it's the last lie you're ever going to tell. 99.98% of women will never understand scotch, and will kill you upon finding the receipt. Lie so hard it hurts. Don't feel too bad about it, though; I promise you she lied about how much those last highlights cost.

BusyDad:

Like a good Scotch, you can’t rush this one. The solution to this requires patience, accurate record-keeping and time. I wish I could give you a quickie solution, but I like you and don’t want you to get your ass kicked. Never mess with a woman’s clothing intuition. If she tells you your tie sucks, even though she was there when you bought it, and has seen you wear it a gazillion times, your tie sucks. Stop wearing it. But I digress. Suffice it to say that this falls within that realm. I would invest in a nice back brace or weight belt for this trip. And a notepad.

Now here’s where you have to get a little stealthy. Try to jot down on the notepad everything she packs. Get an inventory. During the course of the trip, write down everything the kids wore. When you return home, compare the two lists and cross off all matching items. What you have left is the inventory of all the dead weight from this trip. Memorize it. Until the next time you guys have to pack. When that day comes, remind her that on your last trip, she packed A, B and C but the kids never needed them. She’s not going to agree with you. But you’ve at least planted some doubt, since you used real facts and not just speculation based upon “Dad laziness.” Your goal is just to get her to notice it. And think about it. Getting your wife to think about something is the best you can do for now. Trust me, the next time, she will pause when she folds the 3^rd pair of kid jeans for the next weekend trip. And the time after that, she might even put it back in the dresser. Like I said. Slow, like Scotch. One year at a time.

And now the actual Scotch. Does your wife ever get anything that’s a little on the extravagant side? Shoes or handbags come to mind. Tell her the truth (a quick internet search will reveal the truth anyway, so why lie?), but equate your Scotch to those extravagances. Put it in a proper context, in other words. The average top shelf Scotch costs around $85 a bottle. That’s about half the price of a nice pair of shoes and less than 1/10 the price of a nice Marc Jacobs bag. You don’t actually say that, of course. You simply say “Sipping this Bruichladdich 14 yr. gives me the same warm feeling you get from slinging that bag over your shoulder.” She knows how much that bag costs compared to your Scotch. You don’t have to say it. Context. All context. Waiiit a minute here. Buy yourself a bottle of Bruichladdich 1973 ($275). You deserve it. So do I, come to think of it. Cheers!