I like to plan things. Meals, trips, conversation topics, most efficient driving routes, you name it. Some things, however, are beyond my control. Family planning, for instance, was a bit of a crapshoot. But in an ideal world, I wanted two girls.

So here I am, a father to two lovely ladies of 5 and 3. Every day is a joy. There’s glitter everywhere.

As I tackle year five of being wholly outnumbered, it’s time to offer up my findings. The sample size, at this point, has produced many insights that are rooted in factual observation, and hopefully won’t get me exiled to the basement. The time has come to hand in my report on what it’s like being the only dude in a house full of ladies.

Exhibit 1: So Much Hair

You know you have reached peak hair when every shirt you throw on has a dangly one in the sleeve. This is an unbelievably consistent occurrence and ever since Maggie grew a head full of curly locks to match her mother, this is my life. Drains, floors, and stray toothbrushes lay fully at their mercy.

To top it off, I have no idea how to style and/or arrange the two small heads that have been presented to me. WTF is a barrette and what are they good for!? I pick up at least 10 per day off the floor, so maybe they are simply fun to play with.

When Allison goes out of town, I consider it a success if my girls return home from school with any implements I stuck on their head still intact. Corralling a fidgety child’s hair into a reliable ponytail still feels like throwing darts, but I’m trying.

Exhibit 2: Music

Taylor Swift isn’t terrible. There, I said it.

Music is one of those things that I hold reasonably sacred. I was a radio DJ in college at WEGL, played in a band* and have a decent record collection. Once I married Allison (for mostly not her taste in music) it was already assumed that I would have to make some playlist sacrifices.

We have a family agreement that a song can’t be played twice on the same car trip. Rules exist because they were, at one time, broken to an egregious extent. I’m warming up to that T-Swift, but a man can only take so much. Once you hear your 5 year old belt out the line “In the middle of the night…In MY DREEEAMS…You should see the things we do, BABY!” then you start to reign it in a bit.

The Frozen movies actually have some pretty solid jams, and Trolls is a musical triumph. Over time, my critical mind has opened a bit. I’ve embraced music that would have gotten me fired from the radio station, but rest assured I’m still racing to connect my Spotify library first when we get in the car.

Exhibit 3: Dairy Products (mostly cheese)

Lord have mercy the cheese. I can’t say that my single days ever involved a cheese board, but here we are. That fondue pot we thoughtlessly registered for is now a staple in the pantry. Needless to say, my dairy product paradigm has shifted on its head.

Allow me to recite the inventory of our refrigerator at this exact moment: Cottage cheese, 2 packs of string cheese, cheese dip, cream cheese, muenster slices, 2 lbs of grated parmesan, 2 blocks of mozzarella, havarti slices, shredded cheddar, feta, pimento cheese, ricotta…I’m tired of typing, and I bet you get it by now. I never knew the genre could be so versatile, for the whole of breakfast, lunch and dinner.

When I heard of the dairy industry’s recent decline, I slept well knowing that we are doing our part to supplement the demand curve.

Exhibit 4: Pee Pee Shame

I thank God every day for having a penis. It is a much more convenient and efficient lifestyle. Getting ready in the morning, packing for trips, and purchasing clothes are all very simple undertakings. So, understandably, I was rattled a bit once the shaming began.

Allison and I are constantly reminded that there is no privacy in this house. A locked door or missing parent is simply an excuse to raise more hell and bust down the barriers between. Unless they are deeply unconscious, there’s a very good chance our poops, showers, and mommy/daddy special time will be interrupted.

It was Maggie who hurled the first insult. As detailed above, my visits to the restroom are seldomly uninterrupted, so Maggie took an opportunity to examine my unorthodox standing method and deem it “super gross.” Her feedback included commentary on “peeing out of (my) front butt” which was obviously hilarious. She quickly got Libby onboard with her hate mongering, so now the mere sight of me taking a leak elicits all kinds of chastization from the duo. With a few months of therapy, I’ll get beyond it.

Exhibit 5: Toilet Paper

When you get married, there are compromises to be made. Two people will never perfectly align on every single thing, so you meet in the middle…except in those areas where you totally don’t. In the early days of my life with Mrs. Chapman, I wondered where all the toilet paper went. Then I helped create two more females. What used to last me a week will barely survive one day. It’s uncanny. Call me frugal, but even a big situation is likely a 10 square commitment. Somebody report back and let me know what the deal is. I tried to ask one time but was growled at.

Exhibit 5: Feelings

Historically, I would classify myself as “emotionally challenged.” The Chapman method, which has served to give several of us hypertension, is to internalize your feelings. I can recount many instances where my mother incurred serious wounds or was presented with really heavy situations, and just got on with it. The most I ever remember Brenda crying was when she backed into my sweet ‘95 Ford Mustang (a gift for my 16th birthday) and dented the fender. She was so upset that I got an aftermarket spoiler added at the body shop.

Fast forward to February 2015. Allison and I are hosting a Superbowl party at Chapman HQ. Maggie is 3 weeks from debuting on the scene. Toyota’s commercial that year featured a father and his daughter through the years. When the flashback ends, dad is crying in his Camry while dropping his adult daughter off at the airport. She is waving goodbye and departing for her assumedly dangerous military posting. Y’all, I totally lost it.

These days, it doesn’t take much. Old photos of our children, commercials featuring Sara McLachlan and sad puppies, Queer Eye reveals - all guaranteed to make me well up.

Yet, even with this heightened sensitivity, I still manage to hurt little baby feelings on a daily basis. My children’s responses to adversity and what I consider to be proportional reactions are usually way off. Therefore, I am often called “mean” or generally accused of lacking the appropriate amount of empathy. My snuggles are also apparently second rate.

Last week, our family was at the pool. For Maggie, the time had come to offload her floatation aids and swim like a big girl. It was a goal we had pushed her to take on, and things were going well in the shallow end. Then, she slipped off a raft in an area where it was just deep enough to scare her a bit. Maggie was rescued immediately, but that didn’t keep her from elaborately expressing her dismay to the entire pool-going audience.

Her immediate intent was to find the nearest exit and retreat in embarrassment, screaming dramatically with a face full of tears. But the gates were child proof and after the first one failed to yield, she furiously tugged on it like someone auditioning for the part of “desperate prisoner.” Over the next minute, she made a full circle of the facility, applying the same over-exaggerated theatrics to each locked gate and the distance covered between. Each failed attempt only brought out more emotion. It was made so much worse that we couldn’t help but laugh at the silliness of it all.

Here’s the thing, though. That same child came back the next day with a vengeance. She established her own training regiment, setting increasingly more challenging goals along the way. By the last day, she was swimming like a fish, having conquered her fears and the deep end. I couldn’t have been prouder.

And that’s why having a family full of ladies is pretty great.

*Gooch was an influential house party band formed by my roommate and I. We were terribly awesome