Dog eat dog

The NFL shop has now made available the customizable pet jersey. So, now your dog can sport the newest Philadelphia Eagles' jersey. Just think of the possibilities.

The art of regression

I have been using the timeout or the, "please go to your room and think about what you have done while you play with your toys," technique for the better part of my daughter's life, as a form of punishment. While I could estimate that my success rate is better than 50 percent, there are some weird results that emerge. The weird results include some that look like me spending time in my bedroom scratching my head after a yelling match with my daughter. "Go sit in your bedroom, you're on timeout," she said. "Wait a minute, what the hell just happened," I said. Time and time again, roles interchange, child waves finger at parent. To be fair, it is a game we play, but the game turns from real-world discipline to play-world head scratching. But still, I have unknowingly mastered the art of regression. Sigmund Freud defined regression as a defense mechanism leading to the temporary reversion to an earlier stage of development. Rather than handling impulses in a adult way I revert to attacking them in a childish way. It may be my own immaturity and the realization that I am still working at becoming a better father.

Really, the art of regression makes me realize how much I learn from my daughter day in and day out. She is so much smarter then I give her credit for and she is more than anything helping to make me a more mature person, in a way.

So, considering my experiences, I have derived a theory that I have coined the art of regression theory, hence the blog title. Now, this theory is NOT a conclusion of any kind of scientific evidence, moral or ethical theory or any significant findings but rather my suspicions and rather odd mindset. The art of regression theory gives all the credit to the child and states that children knowingly push their parents toward a state of to obtain what they want. Now, don't ask me how they do this (no evidence remember) but regression is now a defense mechanism as well as an art mastered by children to conquer the world... of parents. Now that I have proven my theory, test it out, and see what happens the next time you attempt to discipline your child.

Mr. Mom

(This article was originally published in Laramie County Community College's student newspaper, Wingspan, and was edited and contributed to by the Wingspan staff.)

By Adam McCoy

She carries guns. I carry baby bags.

You see, I am a full-time student and work part time, really quarter time, at a minimum wage job. In the U.S. Air Force, my wife, Jenny, works as a security forces member —or a cop.

I’d like to think I wear the dungarees in my family. But, sadly, that probably isn’t true.

Instead, my family is a little different from the traditional “Leave It to Beaver” household.

So just what is the traditional American family? A married couple with a child with the husband as the breadwinner and the wire as the caregiver? That’s sure not us.

I know many can say their family isn’t television picture-perfect, but how many include a “Mr. Mom”?

I care for our 20-month-old daughter, Olivia, the majority of the time because my wife dressed in combat boots and carrying a M-4 leaves town for three to five days at a time. That essentially leaves me as a single dad.

During those days, embarrassingly I admit I Swiffer the linoleum, Hoover up Legos and Dreft the OshKosh B’Gosh overalls. Because we haven’t had much money except enough for Huggies and Enfamil formula, I have spent hours at home watching “Little Einsteins” on the Disney Channel and changing my “spit-up”-covered shirt.

Trips to the supermarket with my daughter have resembled trips to the circus freak show. But this time, we’re on display. Imagine the odd looks when I stroll up to the cashier and swipe my Women, Infants and Children (WIC) card.

However, it wasn’t always like this. I am a military veteran and met my wife when I was enlisted. We always split the bills and usually spent our own individual money. But, when I separated from the military in October 2005, life changed: I was stuck at home without any money and waited for my wife to return home in the evening. What I thought was freedom turned out to be the worst time of my life. The shock of the resulting four months, prior to starting college, were full of unemployment checks, video games, day-time cable television, depression and nicotine cravings. I was clueless to the magnitude of the situation. Frequently, I asked my wife for money, and the one time she told me no, it damaged my pride. Then the situation worsened. Because my wife was pregnant, we were both struggling to quit smoking. Those who haven’t been yelled at by a woman four months pregnant, irritable from nicotine cravings and channeling Satan, are fortunate.

On top of all this, my vehicle was about to “blow a gasket,” so unless I woke up at 5:30 a.m. to drop my wife at work, I was trapped in the house all day or was resigned to walking to my destination.

My time home alone made me realize all I wanted in life was to support my family and have a career in writing.

So I started my first semester at Laramie County Community College and enrolled in my fine arts elective, an “Introduction to Theater” class, in which the major project was to produce a play. I portrayed the part of a man gone crazy because he had recently lost his job. The character struggled with the fact that he could no longer provide for his family. I found that part easy to play because I was essentially playing myself.

Afterward, I realized the hurt I sometimes feel because I am no fulfilling my “manly” duties at home is offset by spending so much time with my daughter, which has definitely put what I value most into perspective.

I’ve decided being “Mr. Mom” is worth it because of the great time I’ve had playing with my daughter and the laughter, the smiles and the times when she gives me a hug and says, “I love you, mommy.”