One week ago today we welcomed the fourth Sharp child into the world. I’m still deciding on the official “daddy’s writing nickname” for our adorable little boy.

Gone are cop shows, medical procedurals, and anything resembling reality TV. Now, in their place are talking dogs driving cars, the island of Sodor where anthropomorphic trains live, cat sheriffs, and something called a vegimal. 

I’d like to think that the people that read my writing are generally an above-average lot. Is this egotistical on my part? Certainly, but I still like to believe it, and if you are reading this then you have a vested interest in perpetuating this idea.

One of the more underrated aspects of raising small humans is the watching them learn about life, and then articulate what they have learned by putting their own unique spin on the knowledge they have gained.

Several months ago I watched a fascinating baseball documentary named Fastball. Not coincidentally to my story here, we had just found out my wife was pregnant with Sharp baby number four.

This past weekend we threw a birthday party for our six-year-old Zoologist and our almost four-year-old Ballerina. It was a long day at the end of a long week.

They are four words that when strung together don't seem like the kind of thing that would terrify an allegedly well-adjusted, mature adult. But to the parent of a small child out in public they are four of the most terrifying words in the English language.

I’ve learned a lot in four years of raising a daughter. Though certainly not limited to this number, here are four things I’ve learned in those four years.

It was a dark and stormy morning. They say crime doesn’t pay, and that’s because of my work. My friends call me Detective Dad, but you can call me The Hammer.

One thing you have to understand about my kids is that they don’t really stand a chance. It isn’t there fault it is simple genetics.

Changing a dirty diaper is truly one of the joys* of parenting. It was something that I dreaded before I became a father, but at this point in my life it is old hat.

Today my son turned six years old. The day will be fun for everyone. He will get cupcakes at school, and tonight we will go to the fine-dining establishment of his choice – McDonalds.

Tonight, in honor of my 40th birthday earlier in the week, my wife and I loaded up our three young amigos and headed to a minor league baseball game. Are we insane? Possibly. Did we have fun? Certainly.

At this point in my blogging life I feel pretty sure that a collection of quotes by the five-year-old zoologist will become a regular blog occurrence. Our little zoologist just has such a way of looking at the world and articulating his thoughts that we are constantly jotting down things that he says.

The difference between waterboarding, and giving an 18-month-old a bath, is negligible at best.

This morning, in the midst of the get ready for work and school craziness that is the first day on a schedule after spring break, I committed an egregious error.

The wild west has been quite prevalent at the Sharp household as of late. First, the kids have been on a bit of Sheriff Callie binge.

Today the five-year-old zoologist had a dentist appointment to fix a cavity. This is a fairly traumatic event for a occasionally dramatic little boy so we decided to give him something to look forward to and promised to go out to eat.

This morning brought another school drop-off with the five-year-old zoologist and three-year-old ballerina. As usual a car ride of any length (more than 30 seconds) also brought with it a question that I struggled to answer.

As a parent I was prepared for the moment when I would suddenly realize I was challenged by a smaller version of myself. I was also ready, at least in theory, for the moment that I would be flabbergasted by one of my children doing exactly what one of my parents would have done.