As usual, this story begins with me picking the kids up from school. To distract them from the long arduous drive home (and avoid playing Kids Bop) I begin to interview them.
“How was school?” I winced when I said that. I hated being asked that as a kid and I always answered…
“Fine.” Zoey isn’t very fond of it either.
“I don’t know!” Sara didn’t know.
“What do you girls want for dinner?”
“I wanna pick!” Sara obviously had something in mind.
“Ok. What’s for dinner, Sara?”
“Ummmmmmmm….”
“I want…” Zoey started.
“NO!!! I GET TO PICK!!!!!” Sara wanted to pick.
“Fine.” Zoey wasn’t impressed, but was amiable enough.
“Ummmmm. French fries.” She seemed pretty pleased with herself.
I said, “Ok. What are we going to have with our french fries?” I know what you are thinking. She’s going to want McDonald’s or some such. Check this out.
“Tacos.”
So we get home and I start rummaging about trying to figure out what we are actually having for dinner. I go ahead and put some hamburger in the sink to thaw. We were so NOT having tacos and french fries. We had tacos two nights ago.
My phone buzzes. I have a text! From SWMBO. “Whats for dinner?”
I text back. “Tacos and french fries. If you buy taco seasoning.”
“Tacos sound good to me!”
Ten minutes later she’s home with taco seasoning.
So then I make tacos.
“Where are my french fries?” Sara was, and this is the best word to describe it: incredulous.
We have these little boxes of microwavable french fries from Crap-in-a-Box™. 4 minutes. So I made french frries.
*sigh*
We had tacos and french fries for dinner.
You must be lost.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Dora The Explorer
It occurs to me as I sit here, watching Nickelodeon with my daugheter that perhaps Dora et al might have it right after all.
Sara has been sick for 5 days straight. So I’m taking a day off work.
Dora carries around this back pack. Backpack.
Backpack, Backpack!
Backpack, Backpack!
Like a woman’s purse, full of useless stuff. I mean chock full of crap that makes men wonder, “Why on Earth do you carry this stuff around?”
Of course the answer is, “I might need it. Just like Dora.”
Now, Dora has this cousin. Diego. He lives in South America. He has a back pack too. Actually, a Rescue Pack. Just the name automatically makes it cool.
Just like a guy, he only carries what he needs. And that magical transforming one-strapped awesomeness is only ever what he needs. You need a bike? No? Ok. Motor scooter? No? Ok. Jet ski? Yes? Got it!
Backpack, 99% dead weight.
Rescue pack, 100% the right thing at the right time.
Sara has been sick for 5 days straight. So I’m taking a day off work.
Dora carries around this back pack. Backpack.
Backpack, Backpack!
Backpack, Backpack!
Like a woman’s purse, full of useless stuff. I mean chock full of crap that makes men wonder, “Why on Earth do you carry this stuff around?”
Of course the answer is, “I might need it. Just like Dora.”
Now, Dora has this cousin. Diego. He lives in South America. He has a back pack too. Actually, a Rescue Pack. Just the name automatically makes it cool.
Just like a guy, he only carries what he needs. And that magical transforming one-strapped awesomeness is only ever what he needs. You need a bike? No? Ok. Motor scooter? No? Ok. Jet ski? Yes? Got it!
Backpack, 99% dead weight.
Rescue pack, 100% the right thing at the right time.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Holiday Shows
Have you watched any of these “new” Christmas holiday specials? I mean, when I was a kid it was the same freakin’ claymation Frosty followed by claymation Rudolph followed by Charlie Brown every year, year after year. By the time it got boring, I grew out of it.
And whatever happened to The Wizard of Oz? Didn’t it come on every year for Thanksgiving? Maybe I missed it… TBS?
In either case… this year I had the distinct pleasure of watching, with my kids, Olive the Other Reindeer.
Here’s what I got out of it. Please chime in if you think I’m way off base here.
1. WTF?
2. Drew Barrymore could not sing to save her career.
That’s it.
This show defied the laws of physics in that it both sucked and blew at the same time.
And I was later informed this show came on last year… I just missed it.
And whatever happened to The Wizard of Oz? Didn’t it come on every year for Thanksgiving? Maybe I missed it… TBS?
In either case… this year I had the distinct pleasure of watching, with my kids, Olive the Other Reindeer.
Here’s what I got out of it. Please chime in if you think I’m way off base here.
1. WTF?
2. Drew Barrymore could not sing to save her career.
That’s it.
This show defied the laws of physics in that it both sucked and blew at the same time.
And I was later informed this show came on last year… I just missed it.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Sara's a Little Girl
Posted this is Facebook about a year ago:
During the summer of 2009 Sara was rapidly approaching the great age of 3. She was learning to do so many things herself, and was not hesitant in insisting that she do so herself. When she managed the task she was often praised, “Such a Big Girl!”
Her speech began improving greatly. Now almost everyone who were not her parents could understand what she said. Well, most of the time. “I CAN DO IT! I’m a Big Girl!”
Pouring the cereal into her bowl. “I wanna do it! I’m a Big Girl!”
Turning the lights on. Or off. “I can do it! I’m a Big Girl!”
Shoveling compost into the wheelbarrow. “I wanna do that!” Daddy says, “I don’t think so, kiddo. This shovel is awfully heavy.” Sara says, “I’m a Big Girl.” Daddy says, “I know, honey. But this shovel is bigger.” And then the heart wrenching howl into the sky telling everyone within a 30 mile radius just how frustrating it is to be so big, and yet not big enough. For such a tiny person, she can belt out a scream. And tears. If I cried that much I’d be as dehydrated as Astronaut ice cream.
Now for several months every night Big Girl Sara has been waking up sometime between 1:00 am and 3:00 am. She comes running down the hall calling, “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Her feet do not pitter patter. They go whack whack whack whack against the tile floor. She crawls up into bed and blissfully falls asleep next to her mother. At the same time, Mommy doesn’t exactly get a restful night’s sleep. Sara moves almost as much asleep as she does awake. And she has vivid dreams. She cries in her sleep. She giggles in her sleep. She throws Super Tantrums in her sleep. Those are fun. So finally, Mommy says, “I can’t take this anymore. I’m just going to get up when she comes in and put her back in bed. I certainly can’t lose anymore sleep than I am already.” Or something like that.
That night Sara comes whack whack whack whacking down the hall. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” and crawls up into bed with Mommy. Mommy hugs her close, kisses her all better, and takes her back to bed. She cried. She cried and cried and cried and cried. She cried so hard she woke Zoey up. Zoey is 5 (and a half! I won’t make that mistake again…) and could sleep next to a passing freight train while the high school marching band warmed up and my neighbor showed off his new car stereo system thumping some crap about a rapper killing his baby’s momma and two cops. I digress. So now Zoey is standing in the doorway holding Pancake (her bear). Her feet do pitter patter. “Sara’s crying,” she says. I (daddy) get up and find that Sara is actually standing behind Zoey and Pancake. I take all three of them back to bed.
I remind Sara she’s a big girl and needs to stay in bed.
Mommy reminds Sara she’s a big girl and needs to stay in bed.
It’s not long and she’s back. We knew this would happen, but we patiently take the right steps to start breaking her of the habit. It’s my turn and I pick her up. She hugs me close.
I whisper to her, “You are a big girl now. Big girls sleep in their own beds. Zoey sleeps in her own bed. Mommy sleeps in her own bed. Grandma sleeps in her own bed. Aunt ‘Tina sleeps in her own bed. Aunt Melissa sleeps in her own bed. Katelyn sleeps in her own bed. They are all big girls and sleep in their own beds.” I calm her down and leave her in her own bed.
Five minutes later.
Whack.
Whack.
Whack.
Whack.
Slowly she returns. Her head hung low, wispy blonde hair obscuring her face, her voice forlorn and in half cry, half sob, she laments, “I’m a Little Girl! I’m a Little Girl! I’m a Little Girl!”
So, she got to sleep next to Mommy for one more night. Hey, it was a big night for us all.
Sara is a Little Girl.
During the summer of 2009 Sara was rapidly approaching the great age of 3. She was learning to do so many things herself, and was not hesitant in insisting that she do so herself. When she managed the task she was often praised, “Such a Big Girl!”
Her speech began improving greatly. Now almost everyone who were not her parents could understand what she said. Well, most of the time. “I CAN DO IT! I’m a Big Girl!”
Pouring the cereal into her bowl. “I wanna do it! I’m a Big Girl!”
Turning the lights on. Or off. “I can do it! I’m a Big Girl!”
Shoveling compost into the wheelbarrow. “I wanna do that!” Daddy says, “I don’t think so, kiddo. This shovel is awfully heavy.” Sara says, “I’m a Big Girl.” Daddy says, “I know, honey. But this shovel is bigger.” And then the heart wrenching howl into the sky telling everyone within a 30 mile radius just how frustrating it is to be so big, and yet not big enough. For such a tiny person, she can belt out a scream. And tears. If I cried that much I’d be as dehydrated as Astronaut ice cream.
Now for several months every night Big Girl Sara has been waking up sometime between 1:00 am and 3:00 am. She comes running down the hall calling, “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Her feet do not pitter patter. They go whack whack whack whack against the tile floor. She crawls up into bed and blissfully falls asleep next to her mother. At the same time, Mommy doesn’t exactly get a restful night’s sleep. Sara moves almost as much asleep as she does awake. And she has vivid dreams. She cries in her sleep. She giggles in her sleep. She throws Super Tantrums in her sleep. Those are fun. So finally, Mommy says, “I can’t take this anymore. I’m just going to get up when she comes in and put her back in bed. I certainly can’t lose anymore sleep than I am already.” Or something like that.
That night Sara comes whack whack whack whacking down the hall. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” and crawls up into bed with Mommy. Mommy hugs her close, kisses her all better, and takes her back to bed. She cried. She cried and cried and cried and cried. She cried so hard she woke Zoey up. Zoey is 5 (and a half! I won’t make that mistake again…) and could sleep next to a passing freight train while the high school marching band warmed up and my neighbor showed off his new car stereo system thumping some crap about a rapper killing his baby’s momma and two cops. I digress. So now Zoey is standing in the doorway holding Pancake (her bear). Her feet do pitter patter. “Sara’s crying,” she says. I (daddy) get up and find that Sara is actually standing behind Zoey and Pancake. I take all three of them back to bed.
I remind Sara she’s a big girl and needs to stay in bed.
Mommy reminds Sara she’s a big girl and needs to stay in bed.
It’s not long and she’s back. We knew this would happen, but we patiently take the right steps to start breaking her of the habit. It’s my turn and I pick her up. She hugs me close.
I whisper to her, “You are a big girl now. Big girls sleep in their own beds. Zoey sleeps in her own bed. Mommy sleeps in her own bed. Grandma sleeps in her own bed. Aunt ‘Tina sleeps in her own bed. Aunt Melissa sleeps in her own bed. Katelyn sleeps in her own bed. They are all big girls and sleep in their own beds.” I calm her down and leave her in her own bed.
Five minutes later.
Whack.
Whack.
Whack.
Whack.
Slowly she returns. Her head hung low, wispy blonde hair obscuring her face, her voice forlorn and in half cry, half sob, she laments, “I’m a Little Girl! I’m a Little Girl! I’m a Little Girl!”
So, she got to sleep next to Mommy for one more night. Hey, it was a big night for us all.
Sara is a Little Girl.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Peanut Butter
So I'm making the kids their pb&j sandwiches for lunch and I'm down to the last little bit that only my wife is diligent and/or cheap enough to scrape out. I closed the lid, put it away and opened a new jar. Skippy!
Natural.
No need to stir.
So I opened it and a little bit of oil was on top. I dumped it in the sink because I would feel bad for the Skippy people if I stirred it back in.
As I smeared a lump of deliciousness on the first piece of bread I thought to myself, "Hmm. Natural. What does that mean?"
Well? What does it? My first thought is: oily.
Second is: what makes that other jar not natural?
Third: what have I been feeding my kids?
My Mom used to feed me that crap!
So now both jars reside in the pantry with maybe an ounce left between them.
Natural.
No need to stir.
So I opened it and a little bit of oil was on top. I dumped it in the sink because I would feel bad for the Skippy people if I stirred it back in.
As I smeared a lump of deliciousness on the first piece of bread I thought to myself, "Hmm. Natural. What does that mean?"
Well? What does it? My first thought is: oily.
Second is: what makes that other jar not natural?
Third: what have I been feeding my kids?
My Mom used to feed me that crap!
So now both jars reside in the pantry with maybe an ounce left between them.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Cat Antlers - Best Invention Ever
One year, before kids, my wife bought cat antlers for the cats. We put them on and as you can guess, the critters were less than impressed. They ran and hid. They looked a bit forlorn.
This year, somebody found them while digging around in a closet or something. We’ve got just the one cat now and she’s about 7 months old. Mom put the antlers on.
Now I’m sure many of you have witnessed a cat less than thrilled about having something foreign physically attached to it. I used to have fun sticking a piece of scotch tape to their backs.
This cat went berserk. Imagine a frying pan full of hot oil. Now dump some water in it.
It managed to pull the antlers down around it’s neck and then proceeded to bolt back and forth through the house while leaping five feet in the air. And the noise!
Let me quote.
“HIIIIIISSSSS! SCRRRRROOOOOWWWWW! HIIIIIISSSSSSS! ROOOOOOOOWWWWWW!”
Finally she managed to get her front legs through the antlers. She could not run fast enough to get completely through them.
I thought this a grand show and followed her with a beer.
When the critter finally expended enough energy to collapse in a gasping grey heap, Mom sat on her and managed to extract the antlers without a scratch. Experience counts for something.
The kids stood eyes wide like someone who’d just witnessed a drive-by shooting.
*sigh*
Reality shows ain’t got nothin’ on reality.
This year, somebody found them while digging around in a closet or something. We’ve got just the one cat now and she’s about 7 months old. Mom put the antlers on.
Now I’m sure many of you have witnessed a cat less than thrilled about having something foreign physically attached to it. I used to have fun sticking a piece of scotch tape to their backs.
This cat went berserk. Imagine a frying pan full of hot oil. Now dump some water in it.
It managed to pull the antlers down around it’s neck and then proceeded to bolt back and forth through the house while leaping five feet in the air. And the noise!
Let me quote.
“HIIIIIISSSSS! SCRRRRROOOOOWWWWW! HIIIIIISSSSSSS! ROOOOOOOOWWWWWW!”
Finally she managed to get her front legs through the antlers. She could not run fast enough to get completely through them.
I thought this a grand show and followed her with a beer.
When the critter finally expended enough energy to collapse in a gasping grey heap, Mom sat on her and managed to extract the antlers without a scratch. Experience counts for something.
The kids stood eyes wide like someone who’d just witnessed a drive-by shooting.
*sigh*
Reality shows ain’t got nothin’ on reality.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
I spy with my little eye...
I deliver the kids to and from school every day. Sometimes the drive is quiet. Particularly if they are stuffing their mouths with M&M’s. Other times there is singing, fighting, screaming, fighting, screaming, more singing, fighting, and screaming. I kinda like the singing.
After watching the Disney movie Brother Bear, the girls started playing I Spy. If you haven’t seen the movie, it’s about an Eskimo dude that turns into a bear. It takes place just after the last ice age, apparently in Canada. The two moose are voiced by Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas. (For those who know Rick, but not Dave, think back in time to the 80’s. SCTV. They made a movie, Strange Brew…”) Anyway, they hitch a ride on a wooly mammoth and the two moose play I Spy along the journey. And what the hell is there to spy in post ice-age Canada from the back of a giant hairy elephant? Trees.
“I spy something tall… and brown…”
“Tree!”
“Great! Your turn.”
“Mmm kay… I spy something green, and tall..”
“Tree!”
“Good, ok. Your turn.”
“I spy something…”
“Tree!”
My girls thought this might be a great game for our commute. Bear in mind (pun intended) Zoey sits in front of Sara, and they cannot see each other at all.
“I spy something… ummmm… red!”
“That sign?”
“No.”
“That sign?”
“No.”
“That sign?”
“No.”
“That sign!?!?”
“Yes!”
Freakin’ hilarious.
After watching the Disney movie Brother Bear, the girls started playing I Spy. If you haven’t seen the movie, it’s about an Eskimo dude that turns into a bear. It takes place just after the last ice age, apparently in Canada. The two moose are voiced by Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas. (For those who know Rick, but not Dave, think back in time to the 80’s. SCTV. They made a movie, Strange Brew…”) Anyway, they hitch a ride on a wooly mammoth and the two moose play I Spy along the journey. And what the hell is there to spy in post ice-age Canada from the back of a giant hairy elephant? Trees.
“I spy something tall… and brown…”
“Tree!”
“Great! Your turn.”
“Mmm kay… I spy something green, and tall..”
“Tree!”
“Good, ok. Your turn.”
“I spy something…”
“Tree!”
My girls thought this might be a great game for our commute. Bear in mind (pun intended) Zoey sits in front of Sara, and they cannot see each other at all.
“I spy something… ummmm… red!”
“That sign?”
“No.”
“That sign?”
“No.”
“That sign?”
“No.”
“That sign!?!?”
“Yes!”
Freakin’ hilarious.
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