6.30.2015
Summer Fun or Is It!?
1.21.2013
Who Invented Paper!?
Imagine going through life blaming everything and everyone for your daily woes and mishaps....oh wait, most of you do. Let's rephrase...imagine blaming a significantly ridiculous, innocent bystander for all your daily woes and mishaps. OK, some of you may still apply to this scenario; but, how many of you are seven years old?
Now, most kids are over dramatic and begrudgingly incapable of accepting responsibility for things that happen in their tiny little worlds. On most occasions it's the fault of a sibling, a parent, or friend. But, in our world, our seven year old likes to blame manufactures, theorists of history, mythical figures, and inanimate objects.
I am unable to remember when these ludicrous attributions to his problems began; but, now that it is no longer an occasional occurrence, I've concluded that their must be something wrong with him. For example; when receiving a paper cut, due to his own stupidity of paper placement near his mouth, he exclaimed, "Uggghhhh, who invented paper? This is ridiculous!" And in a Christian Bale like tantrum, stormed off to another room while tossing tables, punching babies, and kicking people in the balls.
Another instance came when I was hurrying to put on his snow clothes so that he could go in the backyard with friends. As I wasn't moving fast enough for him, and he feared he would miss something, he began to shout, "Who does mother Nature think she is!? If she didn't invent cold weather, I wouldn't have to put a scarf, hat and gloves on!" Again, Christian Bale, yadda yadda yadda. So, the mythical figure of nature is to blame for him not being able to zip his coat in an expedited fashion.
It all seems to stem around who invented the items of his misgivings, or when challenged by a situation he immediately looks for a scapegoat. A ridiculously irrelevant scapegoat, but a scapegoat nonetheless. Here are some more gems:
Now, most kids are over dramatic and begrudgingly incapable of accepting responsibility for things that happen in their tiny little worlds. On most occasions it's the fault of a sibling, a parent, or friend. But, in our world, our seven year old likes to blame manufactures, theorists of history, mythical figures, and inanimate objects.
I am unable to remember when these ludicrous attributions to his problems began; but, now that it is no longer an occasional occurrence, I've concluded that their must be something wrong with him. For example; when receiving a paper cut, due to his own stupidity of paper placement near his mouth, he exclaimed, "Uggghhhh, who invented paper? This is ridiculous!" And in a Christian Bale like tantrum, stormed off to another room while tossing tables, punching babies, and kicking people in the balls.
Another instance came when I was hurrying to put on his snow clothes so that he could go in the backyard with friends. As I wasn't moving fast enough for him, and he feared he would miss something, he began to shout, "Who does mother Nature think she is!? If she didn't invent cold weather, I wouldn't have to put a scarf, hat and gloves on!" Again, Christian Bale, yadda yadda yadda. So, the mythical figure of nature is to blame for him not being able to zip his coat in an expedited fashion.
It all seems to stem around who invented the items of his misgivings, or when challenged by a situation he immediately looks for a scapegoat. A ridiculously irrelevant scapegoat, but a scapegoat nonetheless. Here are some more gems:
- Shaming the inventor of "Music" because he has to practice the piano.
- The Dept. of Agriculture is to blame for making him try vegetables.
- Jimmy Carter should be put to death for inventing the Peanut.
- And it is his teacher's fault that he doesn't eat all his lunch; because sure, she's in the lunchroom with her class, hovering, eating all of their food.
1.23.2012
We're 'Gonna Text Like It's 1994!!
I had a dream last night. A dream about my high school crush, and to this day, I still get a little weak in the knees at the mention of his name. But, in my head, he's still the tall, blond, hunk of a man from high school; that's how he'll stay in my mind. This dream wasn't anything special, we didn't run off to far away places, have steamy lovin' or anything like that. But, we were back in high school; which is how I like to still see myself.
We were put in charge of planning some sort of school event that required him and I to work closely together, again, nothing too crazy. But, I began to notice something strange. We were texting, 'Googling', and using all sorts of technology that were absolutely not present when I was in high school. And, after I woke, I began to think; how would our high school experience have been altered had we had this technology available to us? And then, I thought, 'Wow! High Schoolers DO have this technology available to them now!"
What an immense amount of pressure it must be to constantly stay 'connected'. What would it have been like if my parents were able to call me when I was sneaking beers to a party? Or, what would've it felt like to Google the research for all my reports, rather than going to the school library and pouring over mounds of Encyclopedias? I don't think I would've liked that high school experience. It's enough pressure, just to get through those awkward years unscathed. Think if every one of those awkward moments were on social media, or there was a cell phone photo for almost everything you did? I'm glad I only have a mental picture for some of the stupid things I did; passing out on someones front lawn, making out with a friend's (much older) brother at a party, and countless other brain buster moments.
I really feel for high schoolers now. It must be an insane experience to constantly be 'on', and not be able to unplug and be yourself. I probably would not be the person I am today, had I been that wired in as a teen. I worry for my guys, in 10 years or so when they're in high school. And in 10 years, they could be teleporting there and eating pills for meals. They'll never have to learn to cook or drive, won't it be amazing for them? To never have to learn a skill, or get their hands dirty...a little machine will do that for them! Wow, personally, I can't wait for that inept group of kids. At some point, aren't we concerned that even though we're growing leaps and bounds technologically, that we're creating a mediocre person as a result?
We were put in charge of planning some sort of school event that required him and I to work closely together, again, nothing too crazy. But, I began to notice something strange. We were texting, 'Googling', and using all sorts of technology that were absolutely not present when I was in high school. And, after I woke, I began to think; how would our high school experience have been altered had we had this technology available to us? And then, I thought, 'Wow! High Schoolers DO have this technology available to them now!"
What an immense amount of pressure it must be to constantly stay 'connected'. What would it have been like if my parents were able to call me when I was sneaking beers to a party? Or, what would've it felt like to Google the research for all my reports, rather than going to the school library and pouring over mounds of Encyclopedias? I don't think I would've liked that high school experience. It's enough pressure, just to get through those awkward years unscathed. Think if every one of those awkward moments were on social media, or there was a cell phone photo for almost everything you did? I'm glad I only have a mental picture for some of the stupid things I did; passing out on someones front lawn, making out with a friend's (much older) brother at a party, and countless other brain buster moments.
I really feel for high schoolers now. It must be an insane experience to constantly be 'on', and not be able to unplug and be yourself. I probably would not be the person I am today, had I been that wired in as a teen. I worry for my guys, in 10 years or so when they're in high school. And in 10 years, they could be teleporting there and eating pills for meals. They'll never have to learn to cook or drive, won't it be amazing for them? To never have to learn a skill, or get their hands dirty...a little machine will do that for them! Wow, personally, I can't wait for that inept group of kids. At some point, aren't we concerned that even though we're growing leaps and bounds technologically, that we're creating a mediocre person as a result?
 |
| My High School Self, circa 1994 |
3.10.2011
Merry Christmas, Here's your Baby!
I thought I’d have at least another 10 years, or so, to get ready for ‘The Talk’; however, recently The Boy has been asking questions about how he got into my belly. The first time he asked, I was completely caught off guard, and told him it was magic. Then I proceeded to yell “Abracadabra” and tap his tummy with the pen I was holding. Then thought about it for a minute and was like, oh shit, that’s not right, now he thinks he can carry babies in his belly. Son of Bitch, what did I just do? Commence damage control.
The next day, The Husband and I sat him down and told him that when a Mommy and Daddy love each other, and are married, that God gives them a baby. Then we waited and stared at him, kind of like the way you stare at a dog humping another dog. You don’t want to stare too long, because it’s awkward, but you can’t look away. So, there we were, creepily staring at our five year old, waiting for the barrage of questions to flow from his tiny, chapped lips. Then, he uttered them, the two syllables that I was not expecting. He said, “O.K.”, and walked away.
What? Ok? What the fuck was that? I just spent the last 24 hours preparing for the incessant questions and the lies I would spew from my mouth. Like, “yup, it’s magic; and yup, you have to be married, and yup, it’s not icky at all, and yup, the doctor pulls the baby out of the belly button.” I had flashcards and a PowerPoint presentation prepared, and this little shit says ‘o.k.’ and walks away!? Awww, hell no….but, that was the end of it. Or so I thought.
Weeks later, while we’re driving to the store, here’s what went down:
The Boy: Mom, does God give you babies?
The Mom: Yes, son.
The Boy: Does he throw them down the chimney like Santa does with our gifts?
The Mom: Something like that. The baby definitely comes out a narrow shoot. (I manage to say while trying to contain my laughter and the pee in my bladder)
The Boy: Well, how does it get in there?
The Mom: Magic
The Boy: OK
There it was again, OK. Why is he so agreeable? This may not be a great character trait. ‘Hey, you wanna try some pot? OK! Hey, you wanna drink and drive for us? OK! Hey, wanna take your Mom’s car out for a spin when you’re 12 years old? OK!’ Damn it, he’s going to be just like me! But again, that was the end of it. Or, so I thought.
After our shopping, The Boy was admiring the absurd amount of coloring books he acquired and deciding which to color first. I stupidly suggested that he give one to his sister when he gets home and he replies, “No way, I need all these! When God puts my baby in [The Neighbor Girl’s] belly, that kid is going to need lots of books to read!” I was not able to contain my pee, and immediately called my BFF to tell her what my son was planning for her daughter.
As time goes on, I’m sure my misinformation, is going to confuse the shit out him. God is going to arrive in December with his Christmas gifts and then perform a Vegas inspired magic show. And, when he’s older, Santa is in some odd way going to get his juices flowing. I should probably think twice before protecting my children’s innocence with little white lies. I guess I’ll start telling The Girl that the weird guy at the mall, giving her candy, is her Uncle.
The next day, The Husband and I sat him down and told him that when a Mommy and Daddy love each other, and are married, that God gives them a baby. Then we waited and stared at him, kind of like the way you stare at a dog humping another dog. You don’t want to stare too long, because it’s awkward, but you can’t look away. So, there we were, creepily staring at our five year old, waiting for the barrage of questions to flow from his tiny, chapped lips. Then, he uttered them, the two syllables that I was not expecting. He said, “O.K.”, and walked away.
What? Ok? What the fuck was that? I just spent the last 24 hours preparing for the incessant questions and the lies I would spew from my mouth. Like, “yup, it’s magic; and yup, you have to be married, and yup, it’s not icky at all, and yup, the doctor pulls the baby out of the belly button.” I had flashcards and a PowerPoint presentation prepared, and this little shit says ‘o.k.’ and walks away!? Awww, hell no….but, that was the end of it. Or so I thought.
Weeks later, while we’re driving to the store, here’s what went down:
The Boy: Mom, does God give you babies?
The Mom: Yes, son.
The Boy: Does he throw them down the chimney like Santa does with our gifts?
The Mom: Something like that. The baby definitely comes out a narrow shoot. (I manage to say while trying to contain my laughter and the pee in my bladder)
The Boy: Well, how does it get in there?
The Mom: Magic
The Boy: OK
There it was again, OK. Why is he so agreeable? This may not be a great character trait. ‘Hey, you wanna try some pot? OK! Hey, you wanna drink and drive for us? OK! Hey, wanna take your Mom’s car out for a spin when you’re 12 years old? OK!’ Damn it, he’s going to be just like me! But again, that was the end of it. Or, so I thought.
After our shopping, The Boy was admiring the absurd amount of coloring books he acquired and deciding which to color first. I stupidly suggested that he give one to his sister when he gets home and he replies, “No way, I need all these! When God puts my baby in [The Neighbor Girl’s] belly, that kid is going to need lots of books to read!” I was not able to contain my pee, and immediately called my BFF to tell her what my son was planning for her daughter.
As time goes on, I’m sure my misinformation, is going to confuse the shit out him. God is going to arrive in December with his Christmas gifts and then perform a Vegas inspired magic show. And, when he’s older, Santa is in some odd way going to get his juices flowing. I should probably think twice before protecting my children’s innocence with little white lies. I guess I’ll start telling The Girl that the weird guy at the mall, giving her candy, is her Uncle.
11.15.2010
S$#@ The Girl Says...
Vol 1 of ....many; as we've discussed, we're not dealing with Einstein here.
Stay tuned...more to come.
1. Daddy went to work to bring home cooked bacon.
Of course this would be true if Daddy worked at Oscar Meyer. And that would be Awesome!
2. Mommy where are my cocks? (crocs)
I should probably buy her normal named shoes to avoid this mix up. And also, I have no idea where her cocks are, she's two!
3. Hey Mommy, look at that big cock? (clock)
I should probably buy her normal named shoes to avoid this mix up. And also, I have no idea where her cocks are, she's two!
3. Hey Mommy, look at that big cock? (clock)
Awesome when we’re at Kohls. The looks of disapproving Moms….love it!
4. Peanuts make [The Boy] throw down. (up)
Yes, they make him so angry he pulls his nine and shoots ‘em up. Or grabs his shank and knifes the shit out of them.
5. I want the yogurt drink of monkeys.
Sounds like she’s going to be the next villain in an Indiana Jones movie, doesn’t it? She wants the drinkable dannon yogurt, there just happens to be a monkey on the label.
Stay tuned...more to come.
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