Mack wanted to like When We Were Boys, a documentary that debuted recently at Toronto's "Hot Docs" festival.

But it was just brutal.

Please imagine a throbbing beat and twirling disco ball when I say: "The boys are back."

Mack Daddy's boys that is, my three sons, ages 12, 9, and 7.

My mother took them to rural Virginia, to visit my sister, and for six glorious days Ms. Daddy and I were child-free and did whatever the heck child-free people do, e.g. brunch and whatnot. Long strolls. Dinners out.

But now our boys are back, like a horde of marauding huns (pictured above), and...

Last Friday, Mack's mother, aka "Nana" (etymologically kind of a cross between Grandma and nanny, which is fitting because of how much child care Ms. Daddy and I press-gang her into-- she loves it, though-- but I digress) took all three of our offspring to Virginia, to visit Mack's sister, who's a lawyer down there.

And so the last few days, while fraught with all the usual work tensions and so forth, have had kind of a Utopian feel.

The first night, we danced, sometimes on our coffee table, until three in the morning.

...well, not the doghouse, exactly, although that might be a good name for my new digs.

I've set up a new office in my "coach house," as someone referred to it the other day-- though the term conjures up notions of elegance that really don't apply out here.

It's more of a garage, though it does have two large picture windows.

Anyway, I'm out here while Ms. Daddy gets the kids ready to go to Virginia with their "Nana" (my mother), as I mentioned in last week's post about kidless parenting.

Why am I not in there, helping out? Because I was just upsetting everyone and causing the tears to flow.

I'm better off out here, in the Doghouse.

Between the dog owners in my neighbourhood, if you see someone just walking around by themselves, sans canine companion, it's known as a "dogless dog walk."

Some other dog owner will see me walking by myself to mail a letter, say, and say: "Oh, hey, out for a dogless dog-walk?"

"That's right, dude. You too?"

"Yeah."

And now, by the same token, you could say Ms. Daddy and I are embarking on an experiment in kidless parenting.

Today was "cross-dressing day" at my oldest son's (age 12) school.

Wasn't quite sure, as a father, how I felt about it all.

So Mack's cheering his kid on at the intramural soccer game: "Go, kid, yeah!"

When he came off the field he was all crabby (he came off the field "with his eyebrows down" as we say in our family).

"What's the matter, kid?"

"You really embarrassed me, Dad. Yelling every time I touched the ball."

"Oh...I was just trying to encourage you."

I have a hard time dealing with the fact I "embarrass" my kids. Tattoos, Jay-Z sunglasses, rocking the freshest pimped-out gear at all times-- what more do they want?

A long time ago, when my oldest kid, Nick, was a baby (he's a "tween" now and as I write this is angrily stomping around, his long hair flopping, because we woke him up when one of his friends called), I joked that if he wrote a recipe it would be like:

Broccoli Florets with Apple Sauce Coulis

Microwave broccoli florets until tender.

Dip in apple sauce.

Lick apple sauce off floret.

Discard floret.

But time has passed, much water has flowed under the bridge, and now my second-oldest, JJ, is becoming, at age 9, a chef.

Pop quiz, my bloggies: What, at least according to a longitudinal study conducted at the University of Minnesota that followed the development of a number of kids from toddlerhood to young adulthood, is the single most important predictor that your child will wind up happy, healthy, successful, out of jail, and with the fewest monkeys on his/her back (e.g. drugs)?

Going to a good school? Growing up in a loving family? Being part of a stable household? Being imbued with a high IQ? Being blessed with wealthy parents?

Wrong, nope, nope, wrong, nope. Of course, none of the above hurts. But according to the study the single most important factor determining a person's success is whether that person did chores around the house as a kid.

In my last post I talked about how hard it is to get kids motivated to do work, and how the new generations coming up seem woefully unprepared for the rigors of, first, higher learning, and second, life.

And I promised in the next post I would talk about ways of dealing with that with your kids and so forth. But can I post-pone that post until the next one, con permiso, my bloggies?

Because I have some late-breaking news. We interrupt the regularly scheduled blogcast to bring you an urgent bulletin:

Mac got a tat.