The kids and I went to the grocery store today. We found a parking space right next to the shopping cart return. When we went inside, there were no miniature shopping carts available (which meant I didn't get stuck steering two shopping carts through the store). When we got to the Free Cookies For Kids display, there were no cookies. Instead, there were chocolate cupcakes! One for Zoey, one for Daddy, and some icing for Zed. Plus, Zoey got a pink balloon (which she later set free, of course).
Things were going super great! Until... [cue the music of impending doom]
We were out in the parking lot. I was in the process of putting Zoey in the car (Zed was still in the cart with the groceries) when a middle-aged woman came up to me.
"Sir, can I ask you a question?" she implored.
When anyone asks permission to ask a question, the follow-up question is never good. Normally, I would've ignored her but for some stupid, stupid, stupid reason I was feeling charitable, so I replied, "Sure."
"Do you have Jesus Christ in your heart?"
Oh hell.
***
I live in the South so I'm used to these people. When I was on my way to rock shows, the preachers would tell us all we were going to Hell. In college, the pit preachers would tell us all we were going to Hell while we were walking to class. Live here long enough and they eventually start blending in with the background.
Once, I had a blowout on the interstate. While I was changing my tire, a guy pulled off the road behind me. Was he coming to help? Coming to ask me if I needed to call anyone?
No. He pulled off to ask if I was saved and to give me a brochure. Talk about your Good Samaritan.
Once, I accidentally went fishing in the middle of a Young Methodist get-together. B-I-G mistake. Someday, I'll tell you that story.
To me, religion is a personal matter. I don't care who or what you worship, just don't come up to me and start shoving it down my throat.
Sometimes I feel like I have the word HEATHEN stamped on my forehead.
***
When these people come up to you, you must remember not to ridicule them. It only makes them stronger. So I started with my first line of defense: play nice.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Are you saved?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"On a scale of one to ten, how likely are you to go to Heaven?"
The hell? It was time to move on to my second line of defense: act like you have to be somewhere else.
"Ma'am, I'm running late. I don't have time to talk to you. Sorry."
"You can always make time for Jesus."
"Ma'am, I'm sorry. I really need to go." I buckled Zoey into her car seat and turned around.
She was standing between me and the shopping cart (with Zed still inside). I was beginning to fear for the safety of my children, so it was time to move to the third line of defense: fury.
"Ma'am, please leave me alone."
"Sir, I just need to know..."
"Ma'am, please move away from me and my children. I can't get to my son! You're standing in the way!"
"But God sent me here to you today."
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!"
I moved past her, grabbed the cart, drove it to the other side of the car, and began putting Zed in his car seat. Of course, the woman followed me.
"Sir, I just need to talk to you about Jesus Christ."
"And this is how you go about doing it?" I lashed at her. "By coming between a family? Leave me alone! I'm going to call the police!"
She didn't budge. She continued her spiel. It was time to move on to the fourth line of defense: ignore the problem (which is actually the first line of defense, but I had already messed that up by giving her permission to ask me a question).
"Jesus died for your sins."
<crickets chirping>
"Can I pray with you?"
<crickets chirping>
Finally, she walked away. We were safe.
Not saved, but safe.
So how was your day?
Just Because I Am Not Without Sin Doesn't Mean I Won't Cast The First Stone Upside Your Head
Kind Of Like A Chameleon Except ALL His Body Parts Move Independently Of Each Other
Zed has finally begun eating "people food." He's not gobbling up burgers quite yet, but in the past few days he has eaten several Cheerios, some noodle soup, and a few crunchy, fruity baby snacks. Apparently, his ear infection triggered something in his brain that said, "Dude! You see that stuff they're eating? That might be pretty good."
Keep in mind he's thirteen months old. I was beginning to think we would be serving jars of Gerber's Apples & Chicken at his wedding rehearsal dinner.
Of course, life never pans out like a warm and fuzzy sitcom. He is eating, but he is still struggling. He still gags as if we're serving him our world famous rat-feces flavored turkey drumsticks.
But now he's added a new twist to the already twisted ordeal: he actually battles himself while eating.
This morning, Zoey was eating breakfast at the kiddie table. Zed pulled himself up to the table and cruised over to her bowl. He reached in and pulled out a Cheerio. After playing with it and examining it for a few seconds, he popped it in his mouth.
Immediately, he made The Oh My God What Is This Crap Face as his tongue pushed the Cheerio out of his mouth. But his hand took matters into its own hands and pushed the Cheerio back into his mouth. Once again, he made The Face as his tongue pushed it back out.
This only further angered his hand.
Tired of all the back and forth, his hand called for reinforcements: his other hand. Both hands worked together, successfully shoving the Cheerio back into his mouth, only this time they remained at his mouth in case the tongue tried to push the Cheerio back out. The tongue, able to see the barrier the hands had created, gave up and let the teeth take over. Digestion ensued.
Baby steps. One day at a time. Insert your own cliché here.
You realize I just spent 300+ words describing how my son eats?
I need a vacation.
GHS: 0
Related:
I Hope This Prevents Zed v. Chag
Sid And Marty Krofft, Wherefore Art Thou?
HOW DID I SPEND MY DAY? WELL, SINCE YOU ASKED
The kids and I are sick. We spent most of the day on the couch cuddling, coughing, reading, sneezing, fighting, moaning, eating, groaning, playing, wheezing, laughing, and sniffling. Not necessarily in that order.And we watched entirely too much television.
Don't get me wrong. I love my television. Her shiny silver lines. The way her remote just fits the curves of my hand. And don't even get me started on her sister, TiVo.
Where was I?
We watched entirely too much children's television. And most of it was utter dreck.
I try to steer my children's viewing habits to something that has at least some educational value. Hence, plenty of Sesame Street, Dora, and Blue's Clues. But most of the other shows out there aren't only of little to no educational value, but they're an insult to your senses as well.
TELEVISION SHOWS I WILL NOT LET MY CHILDREN WATCH NO MATTER HOW DESPERATELY I NEED ALONE TIME
CaillouCaillou is a whiny little bastard. I would love to strangle him. I do not want my children to be whiners, so we stay far away from Caillou.
Oobi
I don't want my children to talk like cavemen, so we do not watch Oobi. Would it kill you guys to use a verb once in awhile?
Little Bear
Zoey loves this show but I refuse to let her watch it. It's just so nauseatingly sweet, you can get cavities after a few viewings.
Barney
I don't really need to explain this, do I?
Teletubbies/Boobah
See Oobi. I'm just not a big fan of things that don't actually speak or use complete sentences.
Max & Ruby
It's a show about a big sister lording over her little brother bunny. My daughter doesn't need any help or pointers.
THE PART WHERE I GET ALL NOSTALGIC, YEARNING FOR THE SHOWS OF MY YOUTH THAT IF I SAW TODAY WOULD PROBABLY MAKE ME CRINGE WITH EMBARRASSMENT
Why aren't there shows like those created by Sid & Marty Krofft? When I was a kid, I loved watching Sigmund And The Sea Monsters, H.R. Puffnstuff, The Far Out Space Nuts, The Lost Saucer, and my all-time fave, Land Of The Lost. Those shows were so cool. I even played in a band called Sleestack (as did 27.6% of men my age).Maybe I should just track down the DVDs of all those shows and show them to my kids. And then when they get older, they can tell all their friends about the "weird shows" Daddy made them watch.
THIS DISCLAIMER PROBABLY SHOULD'VE GONE AT THE BEGINNING
My apologies if this post seems loopier or more incoherent than usual. I am a wuss. I cannot take most medicine. I am currently taking a decongestant, which leaves me in a half-awake/half-asleep state, unable to truly function. My eyes water uncontrollably. My mouth tastes like sand. I cannot stop yawning yet I cannot sleep. Plus my brain is spinning from all these children's television theme songs. Kill me.
Stuff Only I Care About V (Lyrics By Cracker)
VIRGIN RECORDS, IT AIN'T GONNA SUCK ITSELF
I was browsing the Web the other night and saw that Cracker had released not one, but two Greatest Hits CDs on February 21. I realize that record companies like to go to the well as many times as possible to steal our money, often repackaging a band's hits different ways to produce several Greatest Hits compilations during the lifespan of a band, but I had never heard of two Greatest Hits CDs dropping on the same date. Upon further inspection, I found that Virgin Records, the same company that dropped the band from their roster several years ago, released Get on With It: The Best of Cracker (Virgin previously released a Cracker Greatest Hits collection, Garage d'Or, in 2000), whereas Cracker released Greatest Hits Redux. The difference? Greatest Hits Redux is the band's official release and contains rerecordings of all the songs along with a new track. And it's also a big middle finger to Virgin Records. David Lowery rocks!SO WE WERE STANDING AROUND, FADING IN AND OUT OF FASHION
Speaking of Cracker, I'm actually going to see them in a few weeks. It's an acoustic show with Lowery and Johnny Hickman. I haven't been to a live show of any kind (other than this garbage) since seven months before Zoey was born. Long overdue. I'm also going to see Ween a few weeks after the Cracker show. I almost went to see Jenny Lewis the other night, but didn't feel like dealing with the "Dude, who brought their Dad?" comments all night long.BAD VIBES, BROTHERS AND SISTERS
I would like to thank everyone who took the time to comment on my Friday Playdate entry. And even though there were differences in opinion, I would like to thank everyone for behaving in a civilized manner. No one made fun of anyone's hairstyle, weight, or marriage. Thank you for acting like adults.AND EVERYDAY I RESOLVE TO SAY THE WORLD IS MINE
When I grow up, I hope to have an outlet so far-reaching that when someone or something irritates me, I can whip something up in a week and show it to the world.Hats off, Trey Parker and Matt Stone.
WHEN HE BEARS HIS SCARS, HE'S A STAR
I'm probably going to lose the last remaining ounce of credibility I have left (Who am I kidding? I never had any to begin with.), but one of my favorite guilty pleasures started back up this week: Blow Out. This show follows hairdresser-of-the-stars Jonathan Antin, an egotistical, demanding, rockstar/drama queen who cries at the drop of a hat, especially in his therapy sessions. It's great television.SUNDAY MORNING HANGOVER
I'm lazy this week, so I've only got one link for you. But this entry is so powerful (at least to me), it kind of deserves to have the spotlight all to itself:
The Cynical Guide To Parenting: Chocolate
Chocolate is a very important part of a child's diet. It is one of the five food groups, along with chicken nuggets, french fries, juice boxes, and ketchup. In addition to being an important part of your child's daily dietary intake, chocolate can also be used as motivational and learning aides.
CHOCOLATE AS MOTIVATION
Chocolate is an excellent motivational tool. Some people might look at this as a bribe, but I prefer to use the word reward. Tomato. To-mah-to.Case Study 1
Say you're on your way to Target with an infant and toddler in tow. Your infant has to sit in the shopping cart, whereas your toddler cannot because she's "A BIG GIRL NOW! BIG GIRLS DON'T SIT IN CARTS!" You can't put one of those Kiddie Leashes on her because people will throw rocks at you. So what are you to do?
Now you could easily drop by the Snack Oasis on your way into the store and buy her a slushee and popcorn, but then you're lost the motivation for her to remain by your side because you've rewarded her upon entering. Instead, tell her, "If you're a good girl, I'll buy you a candy bar when we leave." And then all you have to do is remind her of the candy bar when she begins to wander or wants to pull things off the shelves. Everybody wins!
Case Study 2
When we were potty training our daughter, we would reward each successful trip to the potty with M&M's. One M&M's if she did Number One, two M&M's if she did Number Two.
LEARNING THROUGH CHOCOLATE
I have taught my daughter subtraction with chocolate. I'll place thirty-seven M&M's on the table and say, "Here are thirty-seven M&M's. If Daddy were to take away thirty-five of them and eat them (munch, munch, munch), how many M&M's are left?" And she'll proudly reply, "Two!"Note: You can also use M&M's as a tool to learn addition, but it's nowhere near as fun or tasty.
CONCLUSION
Chocolate: it's not just for dessert anymore. I encourage all parents reading this to incorporate these simple tips into your daily lives. Be creative! Invent your own motivational and educational uses for chocolate.This article is part of the ongoing series The Cynical Guide To Parenting.
Related:
The Cynical Guide To Parenting: Threats
The Cynical Guide To Parenting
Speaking Of Potty Training
Friday Playdate
Today, Zed and I were in line to pick Zoey up from preschool, halfway through our Music Appreciation Class (today's lesson: New York Dolls), when I heard a tapping, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my SUV door.
I almost went through the roof. Seriously.
It was Mrs. Baker, the mother of one of Zoey's classmates. Embarrassed (hey, I was just rockin' with Zed, screaming singing at the top of my lungs (the kid loves to watch me make an fool of myself for me to sing to him)), I rolled down my window.
She handed me a white faux-fur wrap and a tiara. "I think these belong to you," she said.
What? I'm not allowed to be Queen For A Day?
***
On Friday, Ella took the day off work. There was a huge-can't-miss-it consignment sale that morning. That afternoon was Zed's one-year checkup (he had the rotavirus at the time of his actual one-year checkup so we had to reschedule). There are few things I cannot do with both kids. I cannot take both on a business luncheon with my clients. I also cannot take both to the doctor. Sitting in a tiny room, trying to entertain/control Zoey while Zed is poked, prodded, or receiving shots is just too much for me to handle alone. I admit it. I suck.
Once Ella got back from the sale, I started mowing the lawn. I was halfway through with the backyard when Ella came outside.
"Guess who has a playdate?" she asked.
"You?"
"Mrs. Baker just called and wanted to know if Zoey could come over and play with Charlotte today after school."
"Did you tell her no?"
"No."
"Am I allowed to tag along?"
"I don't think so. She offered to pick Zoey up. I think that answers your question right there."
"Zoey's too young to go over to someone's house without me. Call her back and tell her something came up."
"I will not."
"Fine. I'll do it."
"No. You. Won't."
"But she's too young to go to someone's house without one of us!"
"She'll be fine."
Grumble. Grumble. Grumble.
Look, I don't trust most people. Hell, I don't even like most people. But I like Mrs. Baker. She is part of my Monday morning coffee get-together.
But I still didn't trust her.
That afternoon, while Ella and Zed were at the doctor, I begrudgingly readied Zoey for her playdate. I packed her princess clothes and some toys. I drove to Charlotte's house very s-l-o-w-l-y, trying to think of imaginary emergencies that would keep Zoey home. Nothing came to mind.
I dropped Zoey off, gave Mrs. Baker a list of emergency numbers (my house phone, my cellular phone, Ella's cellular phone, my mother's cellular phone (ok, that last one was a lie)), looked around their house for sharp objects, and circled the block until it was time to pick her up went back home. I sat at my house and watched the minutes c-r-e-e-p by.
And when I went to pick her up, she was in one piece. And happy. In fact, she started crying when she saw me because she didn't want to come home.
***
"Thanks," I replied. "Zoey was looking for her tiara yesterday. I assumed it was lost in the clutter of her room."
"No problem," Mrs. Baker responded. "Charlotte really had a good time on Friday."
"So did Zoey. Maybe next time they can play at my house. We just finished the playground on Saturday."
"Sounds good. Maybe we can all have a picnic in your backyard."
Immediately, I knew. It was okay for Zoey to go to her house, but there was no way her daughter could come to my house and be alone with me.
***
Ok. Here's the reader participation portion of our story. I have a few questions and I'd like you to answer them truthfully. I won't judge.
- Would you allow your three-year-old son/daughter to attend a playdate without you? Is that too young or am I too neurotic?
- If you have a young child, would you allow him/her to attend a playdate where the only adult supervision is a male? Be honest.
Related:
Sex And The Suburbs
Stuff Only I Care About IV
CARRY ME AWAY
Concrete Blonde has always been one of my favorite bands. I've been lucky enough to see them on several occasions. Hell, I even went to a Sting concert just because they were the opening act. Anyway, if you are/were a fan of Concrete Blonde, Berkeley Place posted an acoustic set from 1991 by Johnette Napolitano. Definitely worth a listen.FIGHT CLUB SOLVED!
Remember when I told you about the Fight Club Junior in our neighborhood? Remember when I told you I was building my own swing set (Probably not, because no one was reading this site back then. For two months, I was writing for my own amusement, like a crazy little Unabomber.)? Well, this weekend I finally finished the swing set.I'm slack. But you knew that already.
We invited all the kids in the neighborhood over to play today and told them all they are allowed to use it anytime they want. Time to buy some liability insurance.
I'M A JUNKIE
I use both Site Meter and StatCounter because one can never have enough stats and I'm cheap (they're both free). Site Meter has just recently begun tracking outclicks, so you know where people go when they leave your site. Very cool!SUNDAY MORNING HANGOVER
Here are some of the more interesting/entertaining posts I've come across this week:- Izzy learns of a flasher in her daughter's preschool class.
- Kristen discovers motherhood is a lot like being a secret agent.
- Lucinda proves she may very well be the coolest mom ever.
- MIM readies herself for her close-up.
FUN WITH GOOGLE
Here are some recent search terms people have used to get to my site:- sweat candy in spanish
I have no idea what sweat candy is in English, let alone Spanish. Whatever it is, it doesn't sound very appetizing. - neurotic parenting
Dude, you have sooooo come to the right place. - vomiting stomach bug blog trash can
See? I knew there were people out there who enjoyed good vomiting tales. - why do dads and moms fight all the time
Money? Stress? Kids? Kids. - softer side of cynical
Apparently, I've been too nice lately. Time to toughen up! - party pleasuring
And to think I thought party planning was the coolest job one could have. - is my daughter dead??
Google is good for a lot of things. But for determining if your daughter is alive or dead? I'd try calling 911 instead.
- spanish word for pink
I have no idea, but my daughter could definitely tell you. - cynical is not good!
Not your fist time here, eh?
FIGHT CLUB REVISITED
My main problem with Fight Club: basically, the whole "movement" was started from people watching one guy beat himself up. I know that's what I look for in a leader.Of course, they could've done much worse.
Rockin' Out With Dora The Explorer
Last night, I had the great pleasure of attending Dora The Explorer's Pirate Adventure.
Immediately, I knew that Dora was going to be much different from any concert I had ever attended. First of all, the Religious Right did not accost us on the way to the auditorium. You know the ones I'm talking about: the guys who scream at you inform you that you're headed to hell for attending a rock show and that you need to REPENT NOW. Truth be told, I missed the pit preachers. They were always good for a laugh.
When we reached the merchandise booth, there were plenty of toys and stuffed animals for sale. Why don't they have toys at the shows I used to attend? Who wouldn't love a cuddly Axl Rose Beanie Baby?
I also noticed that there were no black t-shirts for sale. I wasn't aware that concert tees came in any other color.
We made it to our seats at 6:50 PM, ten minutes before the show was scheduled to start. Keyword? Scheduled. The kids started to get a little antsy and I looked down at my watch and saw that it was 7:05 PM. I wondered if Dora had lost The Map and couldn't find her way to the stage (because God knows that chick can't find her own ass without using The Map). Or maybe Boots was throwing his feces all over his dressing room. Or perhaps both he and Dora were tag-teaming some groupie.
But I was brought back to reality when I noticed all the children were becoming restless. I've heard tales of people rioting at concerts if a band shows up late or ends their gig earlier than expected. I've also seen my daughter in action when she throws a tantrum. Multiply this by a thousand other children and there's no way a couple of rednecks tearing up seat cushions can compete. I began to fear for my own life.
Finally, at 7:14 PM, the lights went dim and the show began. The children in the audience were immediately divided into two groups: those who were in total awe, unable to blink due to the fear they might miss something, and those who were terrified of what they were seeing (Mom! Dad! What the hell is this? Who are these people? This isn't Dora! I want to go home!) while their parents were busy calculating how much money five minutes of Dora was going to end up costing them.
When Boots hit the stage, the kids in the crowd went wild. I however, was less than impressed. He was overzealous and extremely animated, the Community Theatre Queen who overacts and fantasizes about Mr. Big Broadway Producer sitting in the crowd, waiting to take him to NYC after seeing his performance.
And did I mention he was African-American? That's right, they had a black guy playing a monkey. Spike Lee would not be pleased.
About forty minutes into the production, there was a ten-minute intermission. Intermission? I've never been to a concert that had an intermission. Of course, the Stones probably have an intermission halfway through their gigs so their fans can change their Depends. But, seriously, the previous forty minutes had already felt like forty hours. I was ready to go home and didn't need an intermission. I needed an ending.
After thirty more minutes, We did it! We did it! We did it! Hooray! Thank God! I made it out alive.
Zed? I think he enjoyed it as much as I did. First of all, he was terrified of the pigs and Isa the Iguana. Towards the end, if they weren't singing, he wasn't happy.
But Zoey had the time of her life. At least someone came home happy.
Related:
Rock 'N' Roll Lifestyle
Scene From A Restaurant
Last night, the four of us went out to dinner. I was eating a breadstick but had eaten all the sauce out of my plastic container.
"Zoey, can I have some of your dip?" I asked.
Zoey took a look inside her plastic container. "Just a little," she replied.
I took the plastic container, poured some of the sauce on my plate, and handed the container back to her. She looked inside and became upset.
"I said just a little titty bit! A little titty!"
Ella and I started laughing loudly, which angered Zoey all the more.
"But Daddy likes big titties," I informed her.
GHS: 0 (I've become accustomed to our lewd dinner conversations)
Hair, Apparent
We are trying to let Zoey's hair grow, but it's been difficult so far. Her hair is quite long in the back (about a fourth of the way down her back), but we are trying to let her bangs grow as well. Currently, they hang right over her eyes. Her hair is very fine and will not hold a barrette for longer than thirty minutes. That is, if she doesn't take them out before they fall out. She won't leave a headband in for longer than ten minutes, either.
***
Ever since I was little, I have had long hair. Long in the guy sense, that is. My mother tells me that even when I was two or three, I hated getting my hair cut. I would cry if I felt the barber had cut it too short. Which is why so many strangers would come up to my mother and say, "What a beautiful little girl you have!"
***
Of course, we could always let Zoey cut her own hair.
***
I was lucky. I've never had to work in the food services industry. Never been a waiter, busboy, dishwasher, or cook. During high school, I was lucky enough to have a mall job; I sold suits to people old enough to be my grandparents. That was the main drawback. The whole reason to have a mall job is so you can meet chicks when they're hanging out there on the weekends. But no self-respecting girl would dare venture into a store that held the possibility of bumping into her parents.
I also had to keep my hair short for the job. Another drawback. One summer, at the request of a stupid-waste-of-time girl I was seeing at the time, I put Sun-In in my hair (Don't laugh! I know I'm not the only guy who has used Sun-In. In fact, some women still use the product (or at least products like Sun-In).). Fast forward to the following October: for Halloween, I sprayed some purple temporary hair coloring on my head.
The next morning, I was showering before I went to work. When I got out of the tower, I looked in the mirror and noticed my hair was still purple. I went in the shower and washed my hair again. Still purple. I washed it six more times. Still. Purple.
I wondered if I was going to be fired.
I wasn't.
Over the next few months, my hair went from purple to burgundy to a lovely shade of pink before finally growing out. I had to put up with a lot of curious stares from my living dead customers and more than a few barbs from my homophobic boss.
***
Last night, Zoey, Zed, and I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner. We were standing at the deli. All the women were gushing over both kids, as people are wont to do when they come into close proximity of either of my children.
Women #1 (pointing to Zed): Is he a boy?
Me (while huffing): Yes.
Women #1: He's much too pretty to be a boy.
How in the hell are you supposed to respond to a statement like that? Tell them you'll schedule a sex-change operation tomorrow? People suck.
***
When I was in college, I really let my hair down. Ha! My hair was the longest it had ever been: it came down to my nipples (and no, I'm not some freak of nature with nipples on his neck or something; my nipples are where they should be). I also single-handedly kept the fine people behind Manic Panic in business. At one time or another, my hair was green, purple, pink, orange, red, jet-death black, and probably a few combinations of the aforementioned colors. I was such a rockstar poseur.
It's amazing I still have a full head of hair.
***
Despite weeks of protesting on my behalf, Ella cut Zed's bangs this morning while I was showering. Sneaky.
At least she didn't mess with his curls.
***
Currently, I'm rocking the AlternaMullet™. I shaved my head (not totally bald, but as close as I could get with clippers) in August after mowing the lawn on an extremely sweltering day. I haven't cut it since.
My hair is totally covering my eyes. Totally covering my ears. And totally covering my collar. Ella has been nagging me since Thanksgiving to get it cut.
Me: I like my hair long.
Ella: I don't.
Me: But it's the style.
Ella: Yeah, for fourteen-year-old boys. You're thirty-six. Look like it.
While watching the Oscars, we had the following exchange:
Me: Look! Tom Hanks has long hair! I told you long hair was popular!
Ella: And when did Tom Hanks become the epitome of cool?
Point taken. I'm going to have to get my hair cut, probably after mowing on an unusually warm day.
But at least I don't cry anymore.
Stuff Only I Care About III
IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME
The Sopranos return tonight!MARCH MADNESS
Judging by all the upsets in the conference tournaments, it might do you good to stock up on Cinderellas when you're filling out your brackets on Monday morning. Anyone want to watch my kids on Thursday and Friday?MORE DINOSAUR ROCK
VH1 will be launching a new reality show entitled SuperGroup (their phrase, not mine) on May 18th. The premise? Sebastian Bach (formerly of Skid Row), Jason Bonham (formerly of Bonham), Scott Ian (formerly of Anthrax), Ted Nugent (formerly of Ted Nugent), and Evan Seinfeld (formerly of Biohazard) have two weeks to come together as a group and perform in Vegas. Why, Scott Ian? Why?Sounds scary. Actually, it can't be any worse than Nugent's first "supergroup," Damn Yankees.
HOUSEKEEPING
You may have noticed I've updated my links in the right sidebar. I've added some of my favorite humor, music, and sports sites. Check them out if you're not familiar with them.SUNDAY MORNING HANGOVER
Here are some of the more interesting/entertaining posts I've come across this week:- Callie tires of her sons' constant competitions (and receives the world's sickest search engine hit).
- Freezio shares his son's psychedelic artwork.
- Mir learns what second graders are reading: housewife porn.
- Paige ponders Scientology.
- Wendy discovers the only remedy for repeated viewings of The Backyardigans is plenty of alcohol.
The Puddle Jumper Is Now The Bandwagon Jumper
EVERYBODY LOVES A WINNER
There are only two sports around here: professional football and college basketball. So it came as no surprise that Zoey's preschool decided to have an ACC basketball day (I only wish they had kept the kids all day so I could watch the games on TV). Basically, they were to dress inLast night we were trying on her Tar Heels cheerleader outfit (because we always wait until the last minute for everything). I have already drilled it into her head that her favorite baseball team is the Yankees and have been trying all week to make her realize that she's a fan of the Tar Heels basketball program.
"Who's your favorite basketball team?"
"The Champions!"
"What? I thought your favorite team is the North Carolina Tar Heels."
"No! It's the Champions!"
She's three years old and already has a bandwagon-jumper mindset. If she ever starts rooting for Duke or the Red Sox, she's dead to me.
Although, technically, the Tar Heels are the champions, so maybe she's a UNC fan after all. And the way they've been playing of late, I feel they have a pretty decent chance of repeating.
THREE VARIATIONS ON A THEME
Zoey, in a desperate attempt to steal attention from Zed, likes to pretend that she's a baby from time to time. I'll pick her up and she'll say, "I'm a baby." Sometimes I'll play along."What does a baby say?" I'll ask.
"Es-es-es-es." Zed's new trick is the S sound. Over and over and OVER again.
"Zed says that! Why do you think he says that?"
"I don't know. Tell me," she said.
"I think he's trying to say BIG SISTER." And damn if I didn't win Father of the Year right then and there. She was beaming from ear to ear for the rest of the day.
Today, we played the same game. After she said, "Es-es-es-es," I asked, "Why does Zed say that?"
"I think it's because he wants my friend Sarah to come over to play."
That's my daughter. Always looking out for Number One. And obviously rooting for Number One as well.
Personally, I think Zed is trying to sing Safety Dance. S-S-S-S-A-A-A-A-F-F-F-F...
I'm showing my age.
GHS: 0
Me v. Them
It seems like every site I read has been talking about the Mommy Wars. So much, in fact, that I repeatedly turn to MSNBC to see if Bush has drafted my wife. Rimshot!
Here's my take on the Mommy Wars: It doesn't matter if you're a mom who has to work, a mom who chooses to work, or a mom who stays at home with her kids. The only thing that matters is that you shower your children with love, care, and understanding. If you cherish your children during whatever amount of time you get to spend with them during the day, you've won the Mommy Wars. Rock on, soldier!
What I'd like to talk about is my own war against society. Or rather, how some in society perceive me. If I go out into the world alone, I get treated no better or worse than most members of society.
But with kids in tow?
People treat me like I've got a seeing-eye dog. Or like I'm Arnie Grape.
If I go to the grocery store by myself (a rarity), I am able to shop in peace (in more ways than one). If I have the kids with me, as soon as I enter the joint, I'm accosted and asked if I need any help. Um? No. Quite capable, thanks.
Once, I actually had a stock boy ask if I needed him to walk with me while I shopped. Thanks, dude! Am I drooling? Do I look incompetent?
Oh wait! I know! I look like a MAN!
Why is that when some people see a man alone with a child, they immediately feel sorry for him? Why do they feel he's incompetent? Why do they think he must be babysitting his kids? I know I'm not the only one who experiences this fun.
Yesterday, Zoey's preschool was having a Book Fair. I had Zed in the stroller with Zoey walking by my side when we entered the church. I did not know where the Fair was being held (it's a big church), and since there were no signs advertising the Book Fair, I asked someone as soon as we entered the church. The lady said, "Go down the hall, take a right, and you'll see signs." I thanked her and headed down the hall when an elderly lady came upon us.
She took one look at Zoey and said, "Oh! Aren't you a cute little thing? I bet you're here looking for your Mommy! She's probably down in the (MOBS or MOPS or some lame acronym dealing with mothers) meeting."
Having dealt with well-meaning old ladies like this many times in the past, I instantly shot back, "No. She's not looking for her Mommy. Her Mommy's at work. We're headed to the Book Fair."
A man came out of a door (which is probably a good thing because I had begun looking for closets to hide the old woman's body). She turned to the man and said, "Sam, will you escort this gentleman to the Book Fair?"
"No thanks, Sam. I know where it is," I huffed as I walked down the hallway.
Ok. Sorry for all the navel-gazing, woe-is-me bullshit. Ella says I make too big of a deal out of this. Is she right?
Fight Club Junior
The first rule of Fight Club Junior is you do not talk about Fight Club Junior.
The second rule of Fight Club Junior is YOU DO NOT TALK about Fight Club Junior.
Third rule of Fight Club Junior -- if your child is not directly involved, walk away and pretend you didn't see a damn thing.
If only I would have followed rule #3.
I am Jack's enormous regret.
There are two and a half boys in our neighborhood that attend kindergarten. The half of a boy? His parents are divorced, so he (KidA we'll call him) lives with his Mom for two weeks. And then he comes to our neighborhood and lives with his Dad for two weeks. He and one (KidB) of the other two kindergarteners do not get along. At all. Unfortunately, they're also next-door neighbors. At least for two weeks out of every month.
I am Jack's utter lack of backstory.
Two weeks ago, Zoey, Zed, and I were in a neighbor's backyard. Zoey was playing with her friend Elmo. There was also a group of other children, which included KidA and KidB, playing in the backyard. I was busy watching Zoey and trying to push Zed's stroller through the woods (you guys can have your Bugaboos; I'll take my Graco MetroLite All-Terrain stroller). I heard some yelling and turned around. KidB was running after KidA with a baseball bat.
Welcome to Suburbia.
KidB threw the baseball bat at KidA but missed. KidB continued to chase KidA. I ran over and stepped in. "Guys, you're friends (which I knew was a lie). Friends don't treat friends that way." They both looked at me with disgust. But at least they stopped fighting.
KidA's Dad came out of the house. He's a salesman, so he only works half-days when he has custody of his kid. He asked me what happened. I told him, "I don't know what started it or who might have thrown the first punch. When I turned around, KidB was chasing after your son with a baseball bat." Then KidA's Dad started yelling at all of the kids.
"You guys are always bullying my son! What is your problem?" Of course, his yelling brought KidB's Mom out of her house. And then KidB's Mom began yelling at KidA's Dad by yelling at her own son. "KidB, come home. We don't want to upset anyone's parent." It was at this point I was wishing I was invisible.
I am Jack's utter lack of invisibility.
KidB's Mom then came over to talk to me. "What happened?" she asked. I told her the exact story I had told KidA's Dad. Just as I was finishing, we heard more yelling. All the kids were in the clubhouse, holding the door shut so KidA could not enter. Poor little bastard.
This, of course, set off KidA's Dad even more.
I am still Jack's utter lack of invisibility.
He began another tirade about how the whole neighborhood terrorizes his child. Look, neither kid is an angel. I've seen both kids act like jerks to other children in the neighborhood.
KidB's Mom had enough and took KidB inside. I took my kids home, glad the ordeal was over.
I am Jack's utter lack of prognostication.
The next morning, KidB's Dad came over to my house and wanted to hear my side of the story. For the third time, I explained what I saw. He told me that KidA's Dad was threatening to tear down the clubhouse.
The clubhouse was "community property." It was built by KidA's Dad and KidB's Dad on common property which is directly behind KidA's Dad's backyard. All the kids in the cul-de-sac play in the clubhouse. I was a little pissed that he was talking about tearing it down.
KidB's Dad also told me that KidA's Dad was teaching KidA how to fight. KidB's Dad's reaction? He began training his son to fight as well. It's like they're gearing up for some boxing match or something. The Scuffle In Suburbia. The Clash In The Cul-De-Sac.
I am Jack's utter lack of wit.
I told KidB's Dad to sit down and have a chat with KidA's Dad. Open a few beers and hash things out. He agreed that this would be the best course of action.
On Wednesday, I asked KidB's Mom how things were going. She told me that KidA's Dad had been patrolling the perimeter of his yard, making sure that no child entered his yard. He hadn't been keeping the kids out of the clubhouse, though. So I took that as a good sign that eventually all the bad feelings would blow over.
Yesterday, when I was taking the kids for a walk, I noticed KidA's Dad tearing down the clubhouse.
Time to move.
I am Jack's ulcer.
GHS: Plenty, but none were caused by my kids
Stuff Only I Care About II
THE OSCARS
I haven't really watched the Oscars in several years. Why? Ever since Zoey came along, I make it to my local theater once a year. Hence, no vested interest. But I will be tuning in this year just to see how Jon Stewart fares.THE SOPRANOS
One! More! Week!FOOK DOOK
Why doesn't Dick Vitale just wear a Duke sweatshirt when he's announcing NCAA basketball games?DO YOU REALIZE THAT YOUR SONG WOULD MAKE A GREAT COMMERCIAL?
I've been listening to The Flaming Lips' Yeah Yeah Yeah Song nonstop With all your power
With all your power
With all your power
What would you do?
I can see Microsoft buying the rights to this song and adopting "What Would You Do?" as the tagline for Vista. Am I the only one?
Do yourself a favor and read Paige's piece on Yeah Yeah Yeah Song and The Sound Of Failure. And while you're at it, check out her new mp3 site, swoon.
SUNDAY MORNING HANGOVER
Here are some of the more interesting/entertaining posts I've come across this week:- Dutch catches a glimpse of his future.
- Girl's Gone Child's son Archer rocks GGC Cribz. Word.
- Izzy tries to buy a pair of tap shoes at a consignment store.
- Kristen learns of semi-vegetarianism.
- Lucinda struggles not to have a conversation with her stoner cashier .
- Mrs. Kennedy wonders if her son is a miniature Ted Bundy.
- Patrick meets the Moss Man.
I Don't Think It Was A Commentary On Ella's Cooking
We've been bad parents (I know, you're all shocked!). As soon as she would finish her meal, we allowed Zoey to leave the table to go play in her playroom. This gave Ella and I a few minutes alone with each other to enjoy our meal and talk about our day. However, we began to notice that with each passing meal, Zoey would eat less and less just so she could leave the table sooner.
About a month ago, we put an end to all of this. Zoey now has to wait until everyone is finished before she can leave the table.
And it's not pretty.
"I'm done."
"Are you finished?"
"Are you finished yet?"
"How about now?"
"Now?"
Eventually, we have to ignore her. Then she just sits and sulks, staring at every bite that enters our mouths. It's our nightly ritual! And it's so much fun!
But she knows how to exact revenge.
Every once in a while, she'll turn the tables on us and eat her meal so excruciatingly slow, it's as if she's enjoying her Last Meal. And to make matters worse, she smiles the whole time, as if to say, "How ya like me now? It's not much fun when the shoe's on the other foot, is it?"
And then there are times like tonight.
Zoey ate about four bites of dinner, guzzled her milk, and ate a bite of bread. She then shoved her plate to the middle of the table and announced, "I'm done with this crap."
But she won! She got to leave the table before we were all finished with our meal.
Unfortunately for her, she had to go straight to timeout.
And yes, she had to return to the table once she had completed her sentence.
GHS: 2
