Eulogy for an Afternoon Nap | Ask Your Dad Blog

Monday, August 11, 2014

Eulogy for an Afternoon Nap

Today's post is a guest post from my arch-frenemy Mike Julianelle from the absolute worst dad blog on the internet, Dad and Buried. Why am I letting him guest post? Because I am lulling him into a false sense of friendship and comradery. Once he is properly fooled I will invite him on a helicopter ride for a fun night on the town, only to drop him on an abandoned island full of hungry bears. Nobody tell him the plan. Anyway, here's his stupid, unfunny post that I hate. 

(Note: After reading this post, do not go and read his other posts on his site, and DO NOT us the links at the bottom of this post to follow him on his social channels. He is not funny at all. Just take my word for it. No need to verify if I am telling the truth or not.)




Eulogy for an Afternoon Nap

It’s with a heavy heart that I've gathered you all here today, to say our last goodbyes to a true hero; a magical, benevolent soul who touched all of our lives for the better and an honest-to-god lifesaver who never failed to bring a smile to our faces. 

Sadly, after four long years of devoted service and stalwart companionship, our beloved Afternoon Nap has journeyed to the great beyond, where he has already undoubtedly reconnected with Morning Nap, Quiet Snuggle, and Calm Breastfeeding, all good soldiers who served us so well before bidding a fond, regretful adieu. 

Afternoon Nap joined the Dad and Buried family almost in conjunction with our son, and he loyally stayed by Detective Munch’s side – and ours - for nearly four full years, even as his compatriots slowly succumbed to the passage of time, leaving him alone, but never lonely, in our company. We've had our bumps in the road, of course; no one is perfect, not even you, old friend. But we powered through, we made it work, and you never failed to remind us, time and time again, how essential a member of our family you had become. You will be greatly missed.

It's bittersweet, of course, as the departure of Afternoon Nap is simply yet another milestone on our son's long journey through life, and we know the Detective will find new companions, like Quiet Time, and Reading Hour, and even the dreaded – but not entirely unacceptable – Sullen Silence that will accompany his teenage years.

But Afternoon Nap is irreplaceable.

No, as cherished as those new friends will surely become, none can ever match the grandeur, the selflessness, the sheer importance of Afternoon Nap during these early years of infancy and toddlerhood. His generosity allowed us to accomplish all manner of things, including work, chores, writing blog posts, catching up on episodes of Fringe, the occasional visit from his naughty cousin, Delight, and even a good old-fashioned nap or two of our own. 

But no more. Without him, the best we can hope for as our son crosses the four-year mark is an occasional haunting, a rare, ghostly, bound to be all-too-fleeting return whereupon Afternoon Nap will grace us with his presence after an especially active morning, or will tease us with a brief nod off on the way home from school, only to disappear again when we park the car; gone again in an instant, and forever. 

Oh, Afternoon Nap, you touched so many lives, as evidenced by today's large crowd, and you affected us in both big ways and small. That Saturday night we spent drinking and barbecuing on the deck, during which my son put on a delightful performance as a well-mannered, cheerful, obedient toddler, with nary a screaming fit or tantrum in sight? All you. The road trip we took to Maine, when, thanks to you we didn't even need to stop and were thus able to reach the shore in time to witness that spectacular sunset? How could we ever forget what you did for us?

The list of your sacrifices is endless, but, alas, it ends today. It ends too soon.

Our world is worse off without you, Afternoon Nap. Sleep well, my friend. You've earned it. We will miss you forever.

The family requests that, in lieu of flowers, contributions be made in the form of beer and vodka.


The only person Dad and Buried hates more than his son is John at AskYourDadBlog, and he still hasn't figured out why he's been allowed to post here. Nice people confuse him. Be sure to follow Dad and Buried at the following links, if only because it will really piss John off: Dad and Buried, TwitterFacebook 


2 comments:

  1. Loved it. Very thought out. RIP afternoon nap. We said goodbye to him many years ago, and he's still missed

    ReplyDelete