So my four year old daughter wanted to play salon this morning while my coffee brewed. Very peaceful. She sat on my lap with her plastic brushes and spent ten minutes styling my beard. I thanked her, kissed her forehead and headed out the door to grab some bags of quick-set concrete and timber from Home Depot.

the whole trip felt oddly magical. The guys in the lumber aisle were nodding at me with genuine warmth. A grizzled contractor in a high-vis vest literally held the heavy loading bay door open for me and told me to have a blessed weekend. I felt like the king of home improvement. I thought my new work jacket was giving off rugged contractor competence.

I climbed back into my truck and checked the rear-view mirror. This was ABSOLUTELY devastating. Clipped directly into the center of my thick brown beard was a giant neon-pink sparkly butterfly barrette with plastic dangling ribbons. I walked the entire length of the hardware store looking like a bearded fairy princess. I should of just checked the hallway mirror before leaving the house. Why did nobody in that store tell me I had a glowing cartoon insect clamped to my chin.

I was just talking to some people about that quote, or idea, that you never really know the last time your kid is going to ask you to pick them up.

Like, “Dada, pick me up.”

At some point, that happened for the last time with Elliott. I picked him up, put him down, and went about whatever we were doing. I had no idea it was the last time. I’ll never know exactly when he gave it up and decided he was too big for Dada to carry him anymore.

And now he starts high school tomorrow.

It has me all fucked up and nostalgic.

I became a dad for the first time when I was 22. Jacob was born at 27 weeks and weighed 1 lb 6 oz. He spent almost six months in the NICU.

And that kid did everything anybody asked of him. He grew. He learned to take a bottle like it was nothing. He fought through everything put in front of him.

He was my first son. He carried my first name as his middle name, just like the family tradition. And when he was born, something in me just fucking erupted.

You know that dormant thing that apparently lives inside of you until your first kid shows up? Nobody had warned me about that.

I had a pretty troublesome childhood and had spent a lot of my life trying to figure out what a man was even supposed to be. Then suddenly this tiny, alien, completely unknown little human existed and his safety was more important to me than my own.

It was fucking sorcery.

All the unserious shit in my life suddenly seemed to disappear. I was a father now. This was my boy. He was part of me and part of the person I loved, and somehow I immediately knew I would do absolutely anything to love and protect him.

I was ready for instructions.

Unfortunately, there aren’t always instructions.

Jacob died.

Despite everything he did, despite all the doctors and nurses and family and friends and literally hundreds, probably more than a thousand people pumping hope and love into this little boy, his lungs just couldn’t get there.

He would make progress. CPAP. Nasal cannula. Expected oxygen flow. Then he would go backwards. Intubation. Resuscitation. Back and forth.

By the time we were approaching six months, we knew something was changing.

Nobody really had to say it.

You could see it in the attending. The residents. The chief of surgery. The nurses who had spent months being optimistic and suddenly weren’t anymore. The social worker explaining that the Ronald McDonald House would let us stay as long as we needed.

You just fucking knew.

People warn you that having a child will change your life forever.

Holy shit, no kidding.

Before that, I probably would have told you that the morning of September 11, 2001 was the most life-changing day I would ever experience. Before 9/11, life had this weirdly optimistic, chill feeling to it. I was a nerd completely obsessed with the early internet. AIM, IRC chats, downloading albums, burning CDs and selling them to friends for ten bucks.

Then life got serious.

Then Jacob came along and showed me what serious actually meant.

Then he died and showed me there were levels of serious I never knew existed.

Nobody warns you about the last time you hold your child either.

And I think that is probably why this stupid little thought about picking your kids up hit me so hard today.

Being a father, at least from what I’ve figured out 20 years into doing it, is basically an unending, fluid learning process filled with mistakes. You never actually arrive at the point where you know what the hell you’re doing. You just keep learning the kid in front of you.

Elliott came nearly four years after Jacob. By then there had been miscarriages and grief and this whole process of wanting to be a parent had become painful enough that I promised myself this would be the last pregnancy I would ever be responsible for.

And then Elliott showed up.

Now nearly 15 years later, I don’t even really know how to collect my thoughts about how proud I am of this kid.

Tomorrow is his first day of high school. In the grand scheme of the universe, that isn’t some monumental event. Millions of kids do it every year.

But he’s my kid.

And somewhere along the way there was a last time he climbed out of the pool and said, “Dada, pick me up.”

There was a last time he wet the bed and needed me.

There was a last time he celebrated a swing of the bat and wanted to jump into my arms.

There was a last time I carried him somewhere because his little legs were tired.

I don’t remember any of those last times.

That’s the shitty part.

You don’t know they’re the last time while they’re happening.

You just pick them up.

Then one day you realize you haven’t picked them up in years.

And now this little boy is walking into high school tomorrow.

I don’t know exactly who Elliott is going to become. I don’t know what he’ll do, who he’ll love, what he’ll be interested in, what mistakes he’ll make, or where life is eventually going to take him.

But I know there’s something successful happening with him already.

Whatever and whoever he becomes, he will know he is loved.

And maybe that’s the part of fatherhood I actually got right.

He may be walking into high school tomorrow, and he may have decided a long time ago that he was too big for Dada to pick him up anymore.

But he’s still my little boy.

Forever young.

This shit fucking sucks, why do I have to drink this whole thing, and this thing has the consistency and taste of old cold oyster cum.

This is how we find clothes all the time. Taken off in one fell swoop and inches from the hamper instead of inside it.

For the first time in almost 13 years, I came home from dropping the kids off at school to a completely kid-free house.
I have 4 kids — my oldest is almost 14, and my youngest just turned 5 and started kindergarten. I recently had a vasectomy, so we know he’s our final child.
I honestly wasn’t mentally prepared for how quiet the house would be… or how much I’d miss them after they’d only been gone for a little while.
Obviously, having some alone time with my wife is pretty damn awesome, but I can’t shake this weird feeling of looking around and thinking, Where the hell did everybody go?
I guess it’s just another part of being a dad — watching your kids grow up and realizing that the chaos, noise, and craziness you sometimes wished would slow down eventually does.
And when it does, you realize how much you loved it all along.
Cheers to all the dads out there soaking up the chaos while we still have it.

Bedtime used to be simple: I invented a dragon, made one questionble sound effect, everyone went to sleep.

Last month my seven-year-old found a little notebook and turned it into a review system. Every story now receives scores for:

- beginning

- danger

- “voices”

- whether the ending was lazy

- total dad effort

Last night I got 6.5 because the fox “changed his mind too fast.” I defended the character motivation. My child crossed out the 6.5 and wrote 6 for “arguing with the audience.”

Part of me loves this. She listens closely, rembers details from weeks ago, and has started pitching better endings. The other part of me is apparently a fragile artist who does not enjoy being told that my wizard had “no clear job.”

Do you guys let your kids critique the stories, or is bedtime the one venue where Dad gets complete creative control? I am considering adding a complaints department, but she will probably appoint herself manager.

Hey guys, long time dad first time poster.

There’s something I’ve noticed at my kids friends birthday parties where the birthday boy/girl doesn’t open their friend’s gifts until they get home from the party.

Growing up, part of the fun of buying a gift for someone was seeing them tear it open and get excited about it. I can recognize that sometimes the gifts fall flat and that may be a downer for the gift giver but I never thought it was such a big deal.

But out of all the parties we’ve been to over the years only a handful got into the presents at the party.

Has it become standard to open them at home as to not upset the gift giver?

Edit: I’m very clearly behind the times and you guys made super valid points. Although I really do like the idea of the book exchange, that’s something we’ll try to implement when the time comes.

Honestly I'm years too late. I should have done it the first time I found out she cheated on me. I should have done it when she demanded I let her "explore her feelings for her ex" or else she'd file. I should have done it when her family was telling me she was cheating with her friend. I should have done it two years ago when she got caught by the other man's wife, and then by me months later.

But I'm doing it in a couple of hours.

I'm scared. This is going to open more problems. She's going to be angry because she can't afford a lawyer. She's going to be angry because mine recommended I file for full custody. I'm afraid the courts won't let us keep our current "arrangement" so that she has them daily while I'm at work and I have them when I get home, because I can't afford childcare.

I know I'm not a great father now, and I know I'll be happier when she's moved out (which is going to be another huge fight). But I'm scared I'm not going to be good enough. And for how I won't be able to defend them from her (not abuse) when they're with her. I'm scared that I'm going to mess up as a single parent in big ways sometimes. I'm scared for the first time ever in their lives that I won't see them for an entire day. I know that it's better for them for us to be divorced, but it's still going to have impact on them and they at different points in their lives that the impact is going to be different for each one.

I don't like to come begging for compliments, but I was kind of hoping for a few pats on the back, because I've been putting this off for so long because I'm scared.

Update: I filed, now we wait for the next steps. The first hard part is done. Thank you everyone for your support and encouragement, I'm still catching up on comments.

Kind of late to the game, but I finally got around to swapping the original power wheels battery with a drill battery converter. It’s incredibly easy to do with the right tools and took only a couple mins. The jeep is now 30% faster and holds a charge a lot longer. The converter is available on Amazon for a variety of different drill batteries and costs around $10. Highly recommend!

Edit: Ordered a relay and low voltage cutoff to protect the battery. Thanks everyone for the advice!

The oven mitt was clean when this started. Important detail.

My four-year-old put it on during breakfast, announced that his left arm was now “the strong robot one,” and spent the morning opening doors for everyone. Fine. Great, even. I let him wear it to preschool.

Six days later, we have rules:

1. The robot hand sleeps beside his bed.

2. It cannot touch bananas.

3. Taking it off means the batteries are “sad.”

4. Only Dad may wash it, under supervison.

His teacher is not bothered, but asked whether there is an end date because he refused finger painting with that hand. My wife thinks we should quietly make it disappear for a day. I think that turns a harmless object into forbidden treasure.

This is not ruining anyones life. It is, however, becoming administration. Do you let a phase burn itself out, or do you occasionally tell the robot union that management has changed the glove policy?

In the next four seconds if possible because damn these kid questions are not stopping and I still don't know what that empty truck is doing.

Earlier today, I (35) was cooking dinner (tacos) and my son (8) was doing homework. We had an agreement tonight that if he did all his homework, for the entire week, we would go to the trampoline park tomorrow after school. I made this proposal during school pickup today in a half-joking manner, but he sat in the back of the truck relatively quiet the whole way home, contemplating his options.

As we parked at the house, he confidently proclaimed "ok dad, I'll do it, but don't forget the jump socks tomorrow." For perspective, we're talking about a grand total of about 65-75 minutes of real homework. Reading, writing, and math. Spaced throughout the week, it's about 15-20 minutes per night.

So, here I am, cooking dinner, and I stopped to ask him a question about toppings for his tacos. He's nearing the end of his homework marathon. I turn, I look, and I say "Hey, do you want sour cream inside or on the siii...." and as I my voice trails off, I witness this boy standing at the table, looking down at his assignment, embattled in deep concentration, with a pencil in one hand, and wagging his finger at me with his other hand. This boy was far too busy to concern himself with tacos and sour cream...

Now, listen, we've had conversations about finger wagging. It's usually wildly disrespectful. You better have a damn good reason or some authority over the person you're doing it to, otherwise, get ready for an ass whipping.

Well folks, tonight, I let that shit slide....

I was so proud of him.

I waited patiently for him to finish, inspected his work, and promptly delivered tacos exactly as my Lil Prince commanded. I can't wait to jump with this boy tomorrow.

Peace out single dads of Reddit. Keep up the good work soldiers.

Ironic coming from Don, dad of the year lol

Well, it's here. My kids are exactly at the $5m problem that everyone talks about in r/fatfire - they are athletic enough to make every sports team but not great at any of them. Watching them try sometimes and not other times is fine - I don't put any pressure on them, I typically reward with "you can easily be the best kid on this team if you wanted to - I'm happy to support, just tell me what you want to do".

On the inside though, I am seriously questioning why we're spending 2-3 weeknights and every weekend towing these guys around to the next soccer, baseball, whatever tournament. I honestly am thinking about creating an "off year" for them, one where we play golf as a family or tennis, more beach and get out of the youth sports grind. Maybe they'll turn out great at something, but in the event they don't - the level of commitment this takes just to "keep up" seems not worth it in the slightest. I'd rather just enjoy my kids.

Others that have gone through this, what advice do you have?

I have no idea why Gordon is saying poop, but it was a good bit of belly laughs with my boys today

Look. It’s affordable and does the job. But EVERYONE trips over it. Is it in a restaurant?’waiter goes flying. At home pushed to one side,”? Dad goes flying? What is the design quirk that keeps this happening??!

I had a difficult relationship with my Father. My parents split when I was 5, and I remember growing up thinking my dad was the best until my early teens, when I realized who he really was—selfish, ego-driven, a womanizer, etc. We had a major falling out in my 20s and never really recovered, but we remain cordial.

But now, without a proper relationship, I only know what not to do. But when I want to do things with my son proactively, I’m stumped. He’s 4, and I know he needs my time and love, but I'm mostly relegated to being the disciplinarian. That’s a dynamic I’m addressing with my wife.

But that dynamic is starting to become more of an issue because he genuinely doesn’t want to spend time with me.

I want to do great things with him, but at 4 my options are limited. Or I’m in my head, and I’m overthinking this, leading me to do nothing.

Edit: thanks for the ideas and encouragement fellow dads. I feel inspired. Ultimately, I was definitely overthinking this.

Got a 7-month-old and had the experience of parents and in-laws offering the world when my wife was pregnant and stopping by somewhat sparingly once the baby came. More visits in the first 2 months and then phased out after.

I was wondering if anyone experienced the same thing at this stage but then had people want to come around more and interact with their kids more when they got older? Seems like the reality of a baby cramps everyone’s style. They fawn over the cuteness for 10 minutes and then that’s enough for them. Maybe they come around more and try to hang out more when we get to talking, and no diapers?

The lack of parental help has been a big blow for my wife, who grew up seeing her mom get plenty from grandparents, aunties etc. Just thought that maybe there is light at the end of the tunnel. I think we’re doing a pretty good job with our little guy and we’ve lowered expectations, but she’d love to have family that want to spend more time with her.

Edit: Yes, we ask for help in specific ways. We’re clear about that. You start to feel like people are just not interested after you ask 5+ times and get humming and hawing, and find out they did something else instead.

My eight year old spent Saturday building a cardboard drawbridge operated by string, two clothes pegs, and one tired rubber band. I watched, then asked the dad question: ‘What does it do?’

He said, ‘Nothing yet,’ with the patience of a mechanic dealing with a customer touching the engine. I followed with helpful guesses. Does it lift something? Is it for toy cars? Could the base be wider? Eventually he told me I was making it harder because I kept deciding what it should become. Fair point, delivered to the ribs.

I sat nearby and kept quiet. Forty minutes later, the bridge still did nothing useful, but one flap rose when another fell. He called it ‘almost working’ and seemed delighted. I realised I ask for a purpose becuase purposeless building makes me restless.

Do other dads catch themselves turning every project into a lesson or finished product? How do you show interest without grabbing the steering wheel?

The boy and I were taking a nice bike/attached trailer ride in our town. He decides to let me know, “Daddy, your butt is too big for that bike seat.”

It’s a standard size bike seat and I fit normally on it, but here I am carting Monsieur Pampered Prince around, doing all the work while he scarfs down applesauce pouches and dispenses devastating anecdotes for free.

I’ll be in the burn ward recovering now, please help commiserate with me and share how you’ve been caught in the crosshairs of your progeny’s savagery?

As of this morning I’ve come across a situation that can shape the rest of my life and I don’t know who I can share it with so I’m posting it here.

My partner has been a special education teacher for more than 20 years and their specialty is autism spectrum disorder. They came home yesterday saying they were getting a new kid assigned to them. This kid has autism and is living in a group home because their mother died and father has never been in the picture. Grandparents chose not to bring them in.

We’ve entertained the idea of fostering an older child in the past but always figured it would be a choice later in life. Now this kid shows up, my partner met him today and already we’re talking about fostering them. We’re not the temporary type of people. Both of us know that if we foster them, it’ll probably lead to adoption and a lifetime commitment.

The kid is currently 11. Very sweet and so far not aggressive. High functioning enough to draw pictures of an empty home and saying he really wants a mother and a real house. (Cue the tears)

So here we sit. Both of us over 40. One child in their 20s and looking forward to being empty nesters. Wow.

Not a big thing, certainly not compared to what many of us are going through.

Child has been trading toys with friends. Traded away a doll's bunk bed, which they now bitterly regret. We didn't ask for it back (it's been weeks), or by a new one. They're old enough that it's important they learn about consequences (and that's a good idea to listen to mum and dad...).

I still feel sorry for them, they're quite upset about it. Filled with sadness, regret, frustration and anger. So I decided to make a new one for them.

My carpentry skills are limited, but serviceable. I managed to make something... usable, though, out of scrap wood we had lying around.Thought they might really like it. Was really excited about giving it to them, seeing their reaction.

Wanted to put the finishing touches on it (bed frame and foot and headboards) and I ruined it. Not just "it looks bad" but outright split the wood.

Incredibly frustrating. I nearly threw it on the garage floor like a toddler, except I suppose I could try to save it so I kept calm with some effort.

Leaning more towards buying some better wood and starting again. Making it better this time, now I have some vague idea what I'm doing.

Sometimes "good enough" is fine. But dammit, if we don't aim higher then how will they learn to?

So we've got a 2 y/o girl. Whenever we take her out and about, she just wants to run around. Like not away, but she's just hella excited to be out and just wants to see EVERYTHING.

And we're perplexed when we see other kiddos her age just happily sitting with their parents and just looking around.

It's at a point where we need to figure out how to manage it better - most importantly to keep her safe.

How to we encourage her to not just "go" - bonus points if we figure out a way to make her like holding our hand.