Be Polite

In which your humble narrator encourages civility in his offspring. 

Scene: preparing children for bed time. Child #1 is brushing his teeth in his bedroom, concludes his dental hygiene session and proceeds toward the door to exit his room in order to rinse his toothbrush in the bathroom. His mother is standing the doorway impeding his progress.

Child #1: Mama, get out of the way!
Me: That's rude. Try again, politely.
Child #1: Mama, may you please go away?

Epistolary Dump

In which your humble narrator corresponds with entities unlike to respond or sue him.

Dear Youth of America,

Put some damn clothes on, and seriously, you're going to live to regret that tattoo one day.

Dear State of New York,

Congratulations on letting the gays get hitched. And extra special congratulations for doing it legislatively. Just don't go buck wild and let corporations get married even if Antonin Scalia thinks they're people too.

Dear People who "Make Their Voices Heard!",

Isn't sort of an exercise in futility to "make your voice heard" every damn day in a culture where exactly no one listens? I suppose it sounds better than "I like to shout my opinions all the damn time!"

Dear Peter Falk,

Rest in peace. Goodbye, Columbo.

Dear Rest of the United States of America,

I am in no way responsible for Michele Bachmann. Just because she lives 20 miles from me doesn't mean I have any insight into that big bag of crazy.

Literal and Metaphorical Dark Clouds

In which your humble narrator becomes confused about his geographic location, packs off the children into the care of trained professionals, encourages trained professionals not to allow Child #1 to walk at the end of any lines, and receives a teensy ray of email-delivered hope in his ongoing battle against imminent professional despair and eventual penury.

So it's June, which means apparently, that it will first rocket up to 103 degrees and then rain for three weeks with temperatures barely cracking into the 70s. This is the weirdest weather year in the Cities that I can remember and I've been here for quite a while. But today is sunny and nice and I feel good.*

The children are now "in care" three days a week. Child #1 is at day camp which is going well with one entirely predictable exception. On Wednesday two lines of small children were passing in a hallway, Child #1 was at the end of his line, no doubt rambling along without the slightest attention being paid to his surroundings. He managed to get turned around and start following the other line of children to their destination. No one realized this until adults responsible for the other group of children realized they had picked up an extra child. At this point of course, Child #1 snapped back to the reality that the rest of us inhabit and started to freak out, wailing, "I'm supposed to be in Beth's room!" He was promptly deposited back with his group though it apparently took him a little while to calm down.

How can one put this politely? Child #1 lacks focus. He is a terribly sweet child who has a certain difficulty in, shall we say, goal-directed and sequential behaviors. He has been strenuously arguing against my assertion that after using the toilet, pulling one's pants up before trying to flush, wash one's hands, and leave the bathroom will actually make the entire process more efficient. He rejects my narrow, linear, temporal conformity strongly.

Also, this morning I received an email indicating that I may get my dissertation data before the State government shuts down next week.  If this in fact occurs, I can do my analysis this summer and (fingers crossed) complete my thesis. The only good dissertation is a done dissertation.


*By which I mean I do not feel actively bad because I am sublimating my anxiety with unusual success.

I'm #2!

In which your humble narrator learns his place.

Child #1 succesfully completed his first year of preschool yesterday. After a celebratory lunch at Costco (he picked it) we did some grocery shopping. Having recently returned from a brief trip to Ohio and Iowa there was no food to speak of in the house.

At the last stop (a liquor store, but you know, a nice one next to the grocery, not one filled with bums or anything), Child #1 so enchanted the cashier that she gave him a sucker. He was enraptured.

After loading the groceries into the van I scooped up Child #1 over my shoulder to put him in his seat. He giggled and said "I love you, Daddy."

"Aww," I replied, "I love you too."

"And I love my sucker," he continued. Not being one to realize when to leave well enough alone, I asked, "Who do you love more, Daddy or your sucker?"

"My sucker." Without missing a beat.

And the Worm Said "Wheeeeeeee!"

In which your humble narrator ventures out and digs up some Oligochaeta.

Since the weather has broken we've ventured out into the yard again. On a recent trip to Target, the children demanded that we purchase watermelon seeds for the garden. Sure, kids, why not? Nobody likes watermelon that much, but why should that stop us from growing tons of the stuff?

While the progeny amused themselves in the yard I began to dig up the sad little strip of earth that some day will be a watermelon patch. Hoo, doggie there were a lot of worms. So I think to myself, "kids love worms!"

"Hey, kids!" I exclaimed, "come look at these worms!"

Both children obediently trundled over to get a load of the squirming masses. Neither was particularly squeamish, and soon both were carrying worms to and fro about the yard.

It wasn't until several minutes later that I looked up to Child #2 happily chattering to her wriggling earth worm while standing to next to the little kiddie slide that we had earlier hauled out of the garage.

"Here you go, worm," she said, "you go down the slide. I'll give you a push."

Damn You, Elton John

In which your humble narrator explains how, according to Child #1, an aging British pop sensation soiled his bath tub.

I was sitting in the bathroom giving Child #1 a bath tonight. They have some bath markers, you know, for the funness. Child #1 picks up the red marker and starts scribbling all over the side of the tub. Conversation went as follows:

Child #1: This is Elton John's blood.
Me: Wait, what?
Child #1: This is Elton John's blood, all over the tub.
Me: How did Elton John's blood get all over the tub?
Child #1: (Waits, pondering, then:) Elton John was in the tub and he cracked.
Me: You are so weird it makes my hair hurt.

I'm pretty sure that the boys at preschool have something to do with his recent blood fixation. Either that or he's a vampire. Whatever.

The Salience of Rain Gear

In which your humble narrator goes to the library with his offspring and is caught between opposing tides of activists in his usually quiet neighborhood.

It's raining and cold (still) so after dropping Wife-a-roo at her place of employment, I drove the children back to the neighborhood, but detoured to the library a few blocks from our house.

The library is across the street from Planned Parenthood.

Today is Good Friday. I had, of course forgotten this. A pleasant (and tiny) police officer waved us into the Library/Rec Center lot after I rolled down my window and cheerfully explained that we were just here for the picture books, thank you.

Both camps were marching around in their little penned-in enclosures soliciting honks from passing drivers and waving placards. Both children spent a fair amount of time looking at the spectacle as we climbed the steps up to the library entrance.

Child #2's only comment on the circus-like atmosphere? "Look, that lady has a pink umbrella! I like it!"