White collar work is more dangerous than it looks.
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James Breakwell, Exploding Unicorn
@XplodingUnicorn
Father of daughters. Owner of pigs. Writer of books: explodingunicorn.com/books
James Breakwell, Exploding Unicorn’s Tweets
I grounded three out of four kids for being bad and the fourth kid for gloating to her sisters that she was the only one who wasn't grounded. A perfect score. Good night.
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I had to finish an urgent project with a hard deadline 25 minutes away.
I told my kids to leave me alone and be as quiet as humanly possible.
My 7-year-old promptly dropped a glass, which shattered on the kitchen floor.
In her defense, that probably is as quiet as she can be.
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Even cavemen hunting wooly mammoths didn't have to work this hard for their food.
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I thought they were planting flowers. They were actually hoarding roly-polies. Girls just want to farm bugs.
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Never before in the history of the human race has a person failed so hard trying to order a single meal.
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My next newsletter comes out tomorrow. In the meantime, you can still read the one from last week. Check it out here:
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Apparently now my kids are stashing candy on the back of the toilet. I didn't ask questions. I just helped myself.
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This is the hail we got overnight. Our house and vehicles are fine, but our fairy village was devastated. We will rebuild.
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Maybe getting a pet pig wasn't the best idea in the world, but at least I never have to clean up when I spill blueberries.
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A normal, sedentary board game became charades, which morphed into group tackle charades. Thus is the fate of all family board game nights. This was supposed to be "Jasmine."
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I'm just a dad, sitting in a dentist's office at 7 a.m. for an appointment for all four girls that I forgot about until I got a reminder text that woke me up 20 minutes ago, cradling my egg grandchild from my daughter's health class encased in cotton balls and sponges in a cup.
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Just a quiet night customizing miniatures with my crew. They're already better at painting than me. Don't tell them, but they're better at slaying goblins, too.
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I can't believe my family talked me into this.
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8-year-old: *screams with rage*
Me: Don't scream at your sisters.
8: I'm not screaming at them.
Me: Then who are you screaming at?
8: My hair.
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7-year-old: I got invited to a birthday party!
Me: Sorry, we're busy that weekend.
7: Yeah, I'll be busy eating cake.
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My family sat me down for a talk.
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My 12-year-old is getting an egg in health class tomorrow to simulate a real baby.
She's been worrying for days about how to protect it.
Now she's building a padded crate to keep it safe.
If only I knew parenting was that easy.
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My next newsletter comes out tomorrow. In the meantime, you can still read the one from last week:
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Two kids in a row fell asleep in the same spot on the same afternoon. The couch is undefeated.
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12-year-old: Can [insert name here] come over for a sleepover?
Me: I thought you two hated each other.
12: That was last month.
I can't keep up.
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Me: *dropping off my kid for an extracurricular activity* Wait, I forgot to give you money.
12-year-old: I already took it from your wallet.
I guess I'm a self-service ATM now.
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7-year-old: What's for dessert?
Me: Eat your dinner first.
7: I need a goal.
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10-year-old: What's for dinner?
Me: Pizza.
10: I knew I got out of bed for something today.
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Great news for my fellow dreamers and weirdos:
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Me: You need to take a shower.
10-year-old: I took one yesterday.
Me: You need to take one everyday.
10: This is getting out of control.
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My 8-year-old made a poster of the things she's thankful for.
The small drawings are her pet pig, macaroni, and the Earth.
The big drawing is tacos.
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8-year-old: We had four crayfish in our classroom and the three big ones ate the small one.
Me: That's terrible.
8: Yeah. They must all be sisters.
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Every photo of your kids should look like it could also be the cover of a rap album.
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Behold, the story of the dumbest injury of all time: How I Hurt my knee writing.
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My next newsletter comes out tomorrow. I'm going to share the story of exactly how I hurt my knee writing. It was too embarrassing not to share. In the meantime, you can still read my newsletter from last week here:
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I found a huge bloodstain on the wood floor.
I thought one of the kids or pets had a horrible accident.
Then I figured out it was just a bunch of smashed strawberries.
Now I have even more questions.
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We were running late for Sunday school waiting on my 10-year-old when she ran out to our van with one sock on and the other sock and both shoes in her hands.
Honestly, I respect the hustle.
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As I've gotten older, I've become used to injuring myself in stupid, unathletic ways.
But today I set a new bar: I hurt my knee writing.
I will be taking no further questions at this time.
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7-year-old: *telling me the rules of a game she made up* The goalies get swords.
Me: I am so in.
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Me: Did you put your clothes away?
10-year-old: Yes.
Me: So they're not on the floor?
10: That is away.
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After school, instead of getting in the back of my van like she usually does, my 12-year-old sat shotgun and said, "This is front seat talk," and oh boy was some tea spilled.
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12-year-old: I need money for a thing at school.
Me: I already gave you money for that thing.
12: This is a different thing.
She could be laundering money and I would never know it.
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My 8-year-old came home from school with a sapling for a pecan tree. She wanted to plant it right away.
We absolutely do not have space in our yard for another tree.
Yes, we planned it anyway.
If it lives, it will cause me big problems ten years from now, but it made my kid… Show more
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