Memoirs Of A Not-So Trophy Husband

Two-hundred and seven days. It's been 207 days since I've driven rush hour traffic, sat through a 45 minute meeting that should have taken 10, filled out a MOP (Measure of Performance), learned a new SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) or drank a POP (can of carbonated water with flavoring) to keep from nodding off after a 2-hour birthday lunch for Jack (or whatever his name is) in accounting. Yes, 207 days ago I accepted a buyout from my job as a copywriter to become what all males of my generation aspired to as young boys: A Trophy Husband.

Okay, so maybe it's not a first place trophy. Maybe not even second. Honorable Mention Husband? Yeah, I could live with that. I cook the meals. I clean the house. I get the kids off to school in the morning. Totally Mr. Mom stuff. And I'm cool with it. HOWEVER. . . I also find myself cursing at stray socks, anticipating the arrival of the mail carrier more fervently than some high-strung, ankle-biting chihuahua and carrying on conversations with anyone who'll listen, including two dogs, a cat and even a bunch of goldfish that seem to reproduce almost as frequently as Jim-Bob and Michelle Duggar.

It's definitely a different life than what I'd grown accustomed to but I'm going to enjoy it, laugh at it and share it through this blog as often as I can. After all, this is it. It's my life, the life of a Trophy - I mean, Honorable Mention - Husband.