June 26, 2012

He Who Holds the Hose is King

By Simon

Sweet

Summertime and the Livin’ is Easy 

I would say this is a sign of a job well done.

Well maybe not easy with all of the SPF 401K and Citronella smoke flumes, not to mention the hideous sight of dudes in those big leather Velcro sandals; but even though the season presents a few obstacles to avoid, it is totally worth it.

Who doesn’t love cooking meat over an open flame and being barefoot 93% of the time?  We had some people over to the house last weekend and I had a hard time being a grown up.  That slip and slide was like some kind of tractor beam sucking me in.  We ate and drank and talked and drank and had a great time with friends.  I like to think that I am just the biggest of the kids but after seeing how fast my 30 minute investment in filling water balloons was squandered by greedy children with poor aim, I had to fight the urge to use the situation as their first lesson in supply and demand economics.

When a kid is waiting for you to fill a water balloon the anticipation is almost palpable.  It is like little snippets of Christmas eve standing right in front of you in dripping shorts and covered with grass clippings.  I don’t think it is a secret, but the two most important ingredients in water balloon fun are mischief and someone dry and unsuspecting.  That person is usually a grown up and you will often find them on a power trip as they escalate the water fight to the next level by manning the water hose.

The night was basically all of the good things about summer wrapped up in bacon and tossed in a deep fryer and then dipped in ketchup. (I was going to wax poetic there and say something like “dipped in giggles” or “dipped in the setting sun” but let’s be honest, ketchup stands alone.)  In short, it was awesome.

Summer also brings with it one of my favorite words: vacation.  I am looking forward to heading down to the beach next week so I can update my summer wardrobe.  Embarrassingly, I have been stuck in “past season” Corona wear for way to long and it is time to style up and get my boogie board on.  Summer is totally sweet.

 

Weak

All Good Things Must Come to an End 

“The Sad Clown” is a painting of Emmett Kelly by artist Barry Leighton-Jones
(because I guess you aren’t supposed to just say “image via the internets.”)

I am a pretty mild-mannered guy but there is a good 45 seconds every Sunday night that I seriously contemplate burning my office to the ground.  What is that?  I thought that I would have outgrown that by now.  I may not spend half of the night moping around like I did when I was a kid in school, but there is no escaping that separation anxiety and postpartum weekend depression can be just as real in your 30’s as it was when you were twelve.

I don’t think that grown-ups are supposed to admit that kind of stuff out loud since life is so much bigger than just waiting for the weekend to get here.  I enjoy my career, work hard at it and sometimes it doesn’t stop to observe the Sabbath.  In a lot of ways I am lucky to enjoy what I do and for it to be bigger than just punching a time clock everyday.  I am grateful for that but at the end of the day, the reality is no one has to pay you for what you do on the weekend because it is the stuff that we would do for free that yields the largest return on intangible investment.

One day my daughter might read this when she is twelve and push it right back into my face saying  “AH HA! I knew it.”  Sorry about that fellow grown-ups, I know that this was supposed to be our little secret.

Weekends are great and time with friends and family invaluable, but that little moment on the occasional Sunday night when you have to swallow the dread and carry on like a grown-up is totally weak.

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June 17, 2012

Baby Daddy

By Simon

Happy Father’s Day Babe. Who knew I was getting so lucky when Maury pulled your name out of that envelope. Love always, your Baby Momma.

20120617-102233.jpg

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June 13, 2012

Breaking Up is Hard To Do

By Simon

Sweet

Not the Man I Used to Be 

Most of this post are jokes but the lady bug towel really happened. I didn’t look quite as cute as my kids with the hood over my head and it wrapped around my shoulders.

I tend to carry a few extra lbs around the mid-section.  I find that it helps quell some of my unbridled sexuality and generally puts people at ease.  Let’s face it, if my physique paralleled my charm and charisma people might need one of those eclipse viewer things just to look in my general direction.  It is a selfless act but I am standing at the sink eating a hunk of leftover birthday cake at 11:45 pm for the people.  Unfortunately, as well as I try to sell that line of B.S. no one is buying, especially me.

I think when your daughter affectionately calls you “big fella” it is a good time to begin standing your ground in the battle of the bulge.  It may not be the easiest thing in the world but seeing your hard work pay off is totally sweet.  Sweet like chewy brownies or a pint of butter pecan ice cream; sweet like fruity pebbles with rainbow milk, or a Little Debbie Swiss Cake roll you have delicately consumed layer by chocolaty layer.  Wait, what was I writing about?

I am cutting portion sizes and putting my relationships with Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers (JBC) and peanut butter and rainbow sprinkle sandwiches on a break.  I am hitting the gym and hard work is yielding results.  This process, though, is not without perils of its own.  I have had to navigate the embarrassment of being the guy in the gym with a lady bug towel because he grabbed it in the dark and due in part to my overall lack of planning, I have forgotten some key items after a workout and gone commando more than once (I don’t know how  guys do that by choice, especially in slacks).

The hardest part may be sticking with it but it is a pretty good feeling for your wedding ring to slip off in the shower or for your belt buckle to take up residence a new notch.  I am not claiming any victories yet but you may want to check if they sell those eclipse viewer things on Amazon.   The taco shell made out of Doritos may be hard to pass up (God Bless America) but seeing the number on the scale go down and knowing that you did it by yourself is totally sweet.

Weak

Bloated Regret  

Realizing you still haven’t lost your baby weight is pretty tough, especially when you are a man in his 30’s.  You know how when you are driving to a new place that you have never been, the way there always seems much longer than the way back?  Losing weight is nothing like that.  The way there is just a downhill blur of joy and Funyuns and when you finally turn to go back you can’t believe how far you have gone.  The way back is longer and harder and the whole time you are wishing you had realized how far you had gone and turned back sooner.  When I look back, there were some key indicators that I must have overlooked while I was busy cleaning the Cheeto dust from my chubby digits.  If you think you may be missing some of those red flags to stop licking peanut butter off of the knife, please let me share some of the signals that I overlooked.

  • When the cashier at the grocery store puts a box or Oreos on that little ledge like it is a pack of gum you want to keep separate.
  • When you actually agree to have a hot apple pie with that.
  • When you get another order of fries just for eating in the car (because some kind of golden arched magic just makes them taste better when one hand is on the steering wheel) .
  • When you start to wonder if you kept those extra links that came with your watch because that sucker is getting tight.
  • When you find that the majority of the lies you tell yourself are in that 30 second span in the Arby’s drive through tightly wedged between excited hunger and bloated regret.
  • When you hope your kid doesn’t finish their dinner so you can handle the leftovers.
  • When your Goggle search history includes 3 different types of gravy.
  • When you decide that “The Cheeto Glove” is the best idea ever and research patents.
  • When Little Debbie herself sends you a hand written thank you card.
  • When the only ads on the right hand side of your Facebook are for marshmallows.

They all seem so obvious now, but when you are too busy developing your snacking prototype or hoping that the button on your pants can hold that last bit of icing, you simply miss the signals.  So feel free to print those out and use them as a cheat sheet to help you know when you have gone too far and it is time to turn back.  Standing in the glow of your refrigerator light in the middle of the night treating yourself to a home-made Vegas buffet may seem awesome at the time but nicking yourself when you are shaving because the other chin got in the way is totally weak.

 

<a href=”http://yeahwrite.me/62-open-challenge/”><img src=”http://yeahwrite.me/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/retrobadge_200.png&#8221; alt=”read to be read at yeahwrite.me”></a>

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June 7, 2012

Taking Off Your Training Wheels

By Simon

Sweet

I Love You More Than Christmas 

image property of sweetandweak.com

You definitely didn’t come easy.  Or cheap for that matter.  One day when you are older, your mom and I will explain to you about the doctors visits and the treatments and why we still sometimes call you a miracle.  Tomorrow will mark six whole years that you have been in our life and six years that we have been clocked in for one of the best jobs life has to offer.

You were pretty tiny on that first day and none of the clothes we brought to the hospital even fit you.  Now you had one of the top cubby holes in kindergarten because you were one of the few that were tall enough to  reach it.  Preemie clothes and top shelf cubbies may be the physical bookends of your life right now but it seems like you are adding a new story everyday and I am so proud of what you already have in your collection.  If your life were a bookshelf, most of it would be empty shelves right now and when I think about the kind of little girl you are growing up to be, it makes me excited to have a front row seat as you fill it up with the stories of your life.

I took the training wheels off you bike on Memorial Day weekend and as I slowed down my jog and let go of your seat you peddled  away from me on your own, leaving me standing in the street full of pride and a lump in my throat.  I couldn’t help but think of that moment as a metaphor for the rest of your life.  As a parent, we can only take you so far in every experience until we have to let you go so you can fully experience the joy of being submersed into life with the realization that your floaties have been left behind and you are treading water on your own.

All of that may sound silly because you are still only 6 years old and the list of things you can do without us still pales in comparison to the list of things you need us for.  From this point forward though, only one of those lists can grow.  I cannot put into words the unabashed joy that you have brought into our life.  Six years ago, everything in my world became more because you were in it.

Right now you still probably think I am the coolest and funniest guy in the world but I know that won’t last forever.  I cherish it though, and even though my arms tire faster from picking you up and swinging you around, I want to keep doing it until your smiles diminish or my other rotator cuff tears, whichever comes first I guess.  If my hugs ever feel a bit tighter than normal sometimes it is because I am trying to get them to soak in extra deep.

I am so proud of the stories you have written so far and so excited about the chapters and volumes that you will get to add to your little life.  You are a smart and beautiful little girl and have that kind of personality that makes all of the places you wander to, better while you are there.  You love to laugh maybe more than anything and I know we will always share that as a special bond.  You make me proud to be your dad and excited for all of the experiences that life has on tap for us to share together.

I used to think I wanted to stop you from growing and keep you little forever but if I had been given one glimpse of who you are now, those feelings would have been replaced with the excitement of getting here.  I watch how you learn and respond to things around you and the love and protection you show for your family (especially your little sister) and I couldn’t be more proud.  You are putting your imprint on my life just as definitively as I am putting mine on yours.  In fact, thanks to you I would be willing to go toe to toe with anyone on “Good Luck Charlie” trivia.

These next several stories are going to be so much fun and I can’t wait to live them out together.  You still have a long way to go before leaving me behind with a lump in my throat is more than just a metaphor.  We are going to have a great time filling your pages with memories and I hope one day you look back and one of the best ones was the day you turned six years old.

I love you more than anything in the world, even Christmas.

Happy Birthday

**Writing an emotional and kinda sappy letter to your daughter and letting strangers read it and making someone tear up is totally sweet.

 

Weak

The Birthday Momatition 

image via Pinterest

I know that I am a pretty plugged in dad when it comes to parenting stuff but keep me out of the whole competition or momatition.  Not everyone is guilty by any means, but I see it on social media and recognize the subtle pressure that builds when you spend 5 days constructing a chocolate fountain out of Legos for your son’s birthday or hire a calligraphist to write the invitations on scrolled up pieces of birch bark because this year’s theme is “the camping party.”

We did a few birthdays at our house and while lots of time, effort, and money were put into them, we never got to the point of having a dump truck full of sand turn our backyard into a beach party.  That is because we aren’t crazy.  Our daughter, on the other hand, has only wanted to have her birthday at Chuck E. Cheese for about as long as she could talk.

While we haven’t been to germ-fest USA for a Chuck E. Cheese party yet, the whole birthday party somewhere that isn’t your house is the best idea ever.  I mean, there are still streamer remnants hanging from the unfinished ceiling of our garage from when our daughter turned 4.  Getting to leave all of that behind when you head home is awesome.

You may be a little put off that the goodie bags are actual bags instead of re-purposed mason jars and that the birthday cake came from a store and is probably choc-full of gluten (whatever that is) but the difference between the two types of parties really lies in the fact that the next day both kids are a year older but only one set of parents will spend the rest of the weekend cleaning up.

Using something as peasant like as the mail to deliver invitations and not creating our own wrapping paper with our handy stamp kit may not make us famous on Pinterest but not having to deal with the glue gun burns or the 27 trips to and from the craft store is a pretty good trade-off.  Kid’s birthday parties are awesome but when they get turned into a momatition it is totally weak.

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June 4, 2012

Thank God for Little Bags of Shut the Heck Up (Parenting with Fruit Snacks)

By Simon

Sweet

Teach Them Well and Let Them Lead The Way  

I couldn’t agree more with those lyrics from the late Whitney Houston.  Creating a person is one of the greatest things of all.   As with anything though, eventually the new wears off.  Once all of the awe and splendor of creating human life finally begins to fade into the background you realize that there is a whole lot more to this thing than just keeping them alive long enough for them to be able to actually sleep with a pillow or blanket without risk of SIDS.  The fun part begins when they begin to walk and talk and are basically your very own DNA Play-Doh that you get to shape however you like.

At 20 months old, our youngest daughter is a lot like one of those smart phone apps you say something to and it repeats you in a cute funny voice.  She is learning new words and phrases everyday and it is obvious that no member of our family is passing up the chance to leave a few thumbprints in her molding process.  Last week while driving a squeaky little voice from the back seat piped up and said “WATCH IT DADDY!” followed by an eruption of giggles from her big sister.  Our oldest has come to the conclusion that teaching her little sister new phrases is the funniest thing ever, especially when they are phrases that she doesn’t have the guts to say out loud herself.  Her mom teaches her to say sweet things like “love the baby” and “I am one years old.”  It may not have been until last night though, as she wandered through the house yelling “BACON IS AWESOME” that I realized how sweet this new little game could be.

Yesterday I watched her drag the stool from the bathroom into her room and proceed to climb up onto her changing table and then climb back down.  This newly discovered talent also explains the bowl of apples in the kitchen full of mysterious little bite marks.  When you reach that point of realizing you did your job keeping them alive this long and now it is time to really turn them into someone cool, it is totally sweet.

Weak

Armed with Snacks 

Sometimes it is like watching Gizmo turn into a Gremlin.  From adorably cute to little monster in 3.6 seconds.  Most of the time we realize it is part of the gig and take it all in stride.  Other times the cries of our children have the ability to reduce us to begging pleading shadows of our former self.  Often, our transformation can be just as rapid as theirs.

Sunday morning I found myself trying to rationalize with my one year old, “Yes sweetie, your daddy is very handy but even he cannot fix a broken banana or put it back into the peal so please for the love of everything holy just stop crying.”  Yeah, it was like that.  There are times though, when the humane and sensitive options of soothing are exhausted, that parents are forced to go to the silver bullet in the battle against their little weretoddlers.  That’s right.  Fruit snacks.

They may be disgusting little gummy sugar wads but there is no doubt that they have been blessed by some great shaman or created by a wizard.  When readying ourselves for a day out in public with our little ones, I am often reminded of that scene in Rambo when he straps weapons onto his arms and legs and then rises tying the red band around his head.  Usually, I leave with pockets full of goldfish and Cheerios and emergency fruit snacks strapped to my ankle (stuffed in my sock).  I am locked and loaded and ready for battle the grocery store.  It may sound like taking the easy way out but I have found that sometimes, a stern tone or empty threat simply do not have enough fire power and the only way to shut their mouths is to give them something to chew.  Every now and then, I feel like just tearing the bag open with my teeth and lobbing them in her general direction like a little grenade of shut up.  The bonus with that tactic is that it takes extra time for her to wander around finding all of the gelatinous nubs of artificial flavor and strengthens her immune system since she will be eating from the floor.  Kids are one of the best things to ever happen to me but fruit snacks as a silencer is totally weak.

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June 1, 2012

Life in The Last Minute

By Simon

Sweet

Being Sucked in Until The Credits Roll 

How sweet is that moment when you get your last kid to bed and the last toy either cleaned up or kicked to the corner?  The great nightly sigh of relief that I sometimes feel should be accompanied by a roaring crowd or at least a steady golf clap for another one in the books, another job well done.  We love our kids but that nightly respite from activity is a calmness worth basking in.

Last night, after a long day at work with the kids down and the wife lost in her Kindle, I nestled into the friendly confines of my couch’s butt groove and took part in America’s true past time, channel surfing.  Flipping between the NBA playoffs and anything else that struck my fancy, I stumbled upon an old movie called U.S Marshals.  It is the kind of movie that is right in my wheelhouse of enjoyment and from the minute I heard Tommy Lee Jones say things like “zoom in on the man by the door” and “Ok, put it on the big screen and clean up the image”, I knew what I was doing with the next 45 minutes.  I never get to say stuff like “hold him on the line while we triangulate the cell tower and pinpoint his location”  in my line of work and getting to say that stuff is rad.

I enjoyed finishing the movie and thought about how awesome it is when you come across an old movie that you like.  When you catch it in the middle it doesn’t seem like such a time investment and the serendipitous nature of your discovery is rewarding.  There are some movies that I know  that no matter what point in the story it is in, I will be locked in until the credits.  My sure things are The Empire Strikes Back, You’ve Got Mail, and any action espionage flick that has a lot of courier font being typed up on the screen saying stuff like ” Langley, 15:00 hours.”  I have probably seen the last 10 minutes of You’ve Got Mail a hundred times.  I am waiting for the day my daughter asks “Why didn’t Kathleen Kelly just track Joe Fox’s IP address and then find him on Facebook or something?”  Wasn’t the innocent technology naiveté of the 90’s comfy?

There is no doubt about it, when you have a bit of free time and your channel flips to Luke landing in the Dagobah System, it is totally sweet.

Weak

Why Do Today What You Can Put Off Until The Excruciating Last Second? 

The Problem with letting myself get absorbed into the thrilling plot twists of a movie like “Sharktopus” is that more often than not, my free time is really just a byproduct of my own laziness and denial.  I have a tendency to push responsibility to the back burner sometimes in the name of enjoyment and gratification.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I once started a science fair project during third period of the day that it was due.  In college I would often pull all nighters or sometimes even decide I wanted to sleep and set my alarm for 3:30 in the morning to get up and start writing a paper that was due in 5 hours.  I guess some people base jump or rock climb, but for me, the most intense adrenaline boosts seem to come when a deadline is on the horizon and rapidly approaching.

I get that this isn’t the best way to operate and the longer you wait to complete a task increases the odds for failure.  I am not sure if I missed a page in the “being a grownup” handbook but the whole concept of getting something done early so you don’t have to stress about it has never really taken hold.  I can absolutely see the benefits of doing stuff early but I think that I have convinced myself that the stress and sometimes panic fuels me to create my best work.  (That sounds like even more of a cop-out now that I have written it.)

I need to improve in that area of my life and my first step is probably addressing my general organizational skills which sadly, still look pretty much like the bottom of my tenth grade locker.

Writing this blog has been fun and I would love to continue by trying to think of more almost funny material or recycle old jokes that I haven’t put here yet but I have a huge proposal that I have known about for a month and it really needs to be finished by the close of business today.  Guess it is time to get started.  The last-minute may be exciting but waiting that long all of the time is totally weak.

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May 30, 2012

A Handful of Spaghetti and Other Toddler Delicacies

By Simon

Sweet

Well, At Least She is Eating 

I wonder how much it would cost to get a drain installed in our kitchen floor?  I could probably justify a couple of benefits of having one but the primary reason is that more often than not, our little one needs to be hosed off before leaving the table after a meal.  She is learning to use utensils and it is great to hear her gurgle out an “I got it!” as she bites down on a fork load of food.  Let’s be honest though, she might as well be eating soup with a slotted spoon.  Last night we had spaghetti and we are perfectly content with robbing our second of the cute picture of spaghetti all over her head and face.  We let it happen with our first and there are just some things that you learn from aren’t worth repeating.

She was bibbed up and things started well as she managed to keep some cut up noodles on her spoon.  Flash to 15 seconds later and she is downing sauced up pasta by the handful.  The horror recedes from her mother’s eyes as we both realize that she is in fact eating and we know that utensils and cleanup are only battles but nourishment is the war.  We try to help a bit but accept the mess she is making.  That is, until our united family front begins to crack in weakness.  Our well-behaved 5-year-old makes the mistake of laughing at the little one and one little chuckle is all the encouragement our little ham needs before she attempts her best spaghetti juggling routine and delights in the laughter of her sibling.  Before long she has her parents laughing as well and she is relishing her role as the star of the show.  We manage to get a few more bites down her hatch between giggles and then flip a coin to see who gets bath duty and who gets to clean up the dinner massacre.

I got kitchen cleanup and asked myself what  CSI’s David Caruso would do?  After taking my sunglasses on and off a few times and squinting my eyes to survey the damage I went to work.  A roll of paper towels later we were finished and our freshly bathed kids still had a case of the giggles.  It may have been an epic mess but at least she was eating and even if you have to navigate nostril peas and hair dipped in yogurt, knowing your kid is fed is sweet.

Weak

My Greatest Fear Has Become the Rogue Sippy Cup 

Is there anything worse?  You find a sippy-cup under the couch or behind the toy-box and your prayer begins.  Dear Heavenly Father, please show me your grace and mercy and let this cup be full of water, and if it has to be full of milk, please give me a sign so I can throw it away when my wife isn’t looking so I don’t have to wash a white festering clump of rot out of this thing.  In Jesus name, amen.  You may start and end your prayer differently or address it to someone or something else but there is no mistake that in that moment we all hope for some kind of divine intervention.  You try to remember the last time you saw the cup in the active rotation and what was in it but it is no use, the princesses and the Dora’s and Minnie Mouse’s all run together you don’t have a clue.  You walk to the sink and play a version of parenthood roulette as you twist open the lid and pray for the best.

I used to think that finding a forgotten sippy-cup was the worst thing possible, until last week when our little one upped the ante of horror and disgust.  She walked into the living room holding a sippy-cup that neither of us had just given to her.  My wife and I exchanged glances and like a scene from a movie both lunged as the word NOOOOOOOOOOOO bellowed out of each of us.  Diving to save our little one, I batted the cup from her hand but it was too late.  The sip of septic gross combined with the scare of having her dad punch a cup millimeters away from her face may very well result in a hefty therapy bill one day.  Not sure if this one had juice of milk in it but the sour odor was already escaping the nozzle and the fruit flies swarming around it made the decision to throw it away an easy one.  Contrary to any opinions that may be forming, we are not unfit parents and go through lots of wipes and elbow grease  trying to maintain a suitable living environment for our little mess machines.  Cleaning a house with little kids in it is like tossing buckets of water over the side of a sinking boat.  No matter how fast you go or how much headway you make, you are still taking on water.  Most messes are all in a day’s work and just part of the gig but the rogue sippy-cup is totally weak.

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May 21, 2012

Drawing The Line at Painted Toesies

By Simon

Sweet

Daddy’s Home! 

Hearing two little high-pitched voices squeal those words as I walk up the stairs makes it all worth it.  When people say there is something special about a daddy’s girl they are right.  Two beautiful little bundles of blue eyes and curls that I still can’t believe I had a part in creating.  Daughters have a way of stealing your heart in an instant and making you work for the rest of your life to ensure that they never give it back.

Having two daughters probably means two weddings and two first dates and that I will spend 2020 to 2028 with a daughter in high school.  Those things are daunting for sure but there is still a lot of time between now and then and it gets to be filled with giggles and tickles and dress up and tea parties.  I don’t bat an eye when given the opportunity to toss a pink feather boa over my shoulder and lift my pinkie for a spot of tea.  I try to keep them well-rounded with an occasional light saber battle but when having two daughters means wearing a tiara and competing in a beauty pageant,  I join in without question.

I do it because I love them in a way that I could have never understood before they were here.  I do it because their smiles and giggles feed my soul and also because Doc McStuffins is actually a pretty good show and I need to find out what happens even when they wander off and I am left watching it alone.   I have painted a bedroom purple, another bedroom pink, and then repainted the purple one pink.  I have a “wing” of our house adorned in pastel and fairy dust.  It may sound silly but even when I feel as if I may drown in a sea of pink and sparkle, nothing makes me feel more like “the man” like having two little girls who love their daddy.  You see, to them, I am the man.  When they seek protection or provision or even occasionally a prince charming or a knight in shining armor, their search ends with me.  There is magic in that.

When we found out our second was a girl I told my wife that I finally understood why God had made me so good with women.  She didn’t find it near as hilarious as I did but I like to think that He knew I would embrace the frilly and the sparkle and recognize how special girls are.

They really do grow up faster than you are prepared for and I love seeing them grow into themselves.  I get excited about the women they will become and realize how I get to be a part of that, a part of them.  There isn’t much that I wouldn’t do for those two girls.  To keep them safe or to just to see them smile.  I am a full contact dad of daughters but even I have my limit.  Though the begging seems to amplify, there will be no painting of daddy’s toesies and no lip stick.

Last night I held our youngest and rocked with her as she fell asleep.  At 19 months her feet now hit my legs and she seems to spill out of the lap that not too long ago enveloped her.  I listened to the rhythm of her breathing and soaked in the moment.  I sat there for a long time and hoped that this Sunday evening would root itself deep enough into my soul that I will still be able to find it 20 years from now.

Daughters are totally sweet.

Weak

Sometimes I Just Need More Lasers 

So yeah, I play with the girl toys because all of the emotional mumbo jumbo I just wrote about is true but sometimes dad just wants to blow stuff up.  I still want to play with their cozy critters, only I want to turn them into lunch for a hungry Jedi Knight that hunts them down.

When you play toys with your kids, it takes you back to your own childhood.  The thing is, when I was a kid, Star Wars, GI Joe, and The Dukes of Hazzard were my jam and I never had much use for Barbie, Polly Pocket, or Cabbage Patch Kids.  While nothing in the world can change my love for my girls, sometimes I just need to wander down the boy side of the toy section to see what kind of rocket packed monster killing super agents are lining the shelves today.

I loved my toys when I was a kid and sometimes it bums me out when I am putting stuff together on Christmas morning and realize none of this shizz came with a grappling hook.  My girls never like it when I make Barbie’s corvette careen off an embankment and crash into a twisted pile of flaming steel.  No one ever wants to make Strawberry Shortcake a secret agent or My Little Ponies Dinosaur snacks.

This is an area where my wife is truly awesome.  Last Christmas she gave me light sabers.  She knows that I won’t get to vicariously enjoy the girl’s fighter jets or transformers.  She also knows that I spent most Decembers as a kid with a Sears Wish Book in my lap drawing circle after circle around the greatest toy man has ever known.  The U.S.S. FLAGG G.I. Joe aircraft carrier complete with towing fuel vehicle, admiral’s launch, and working electronic sound system.  I might as well have been circling a picture of one of the Egyptian pyramids because there was no way I was getting either.  I remember seeing the aircraft carrier in a store and marveling that it seemed to take up the bottom shelf of the entire aisle.  I remember it was over $100.00 which might as well have been a million.  I coped with its elusiveness because it seemed like no one actually got the aircraft carrier.  That is, until one day you find yourself in Pete Mooney’s basement  taking in its glory firsthand and realizing it truly was the greatest thing you had ever seen.

I appreciate that my wife realizes that after time all of the sparkle starts to take a toll on old dad.  It is nice to pepper in the occasional sword fight or pirate scenario into play time because take it from me, your daughters think that having their American Girl Doll taken hostage by an evil doctor plotting to rule the world is totally weak.

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May 18, 2012

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

By Simon

Sweet

Racing the GPS 

image via garmin.com

The dashboard GPS has to be one of the greatest inventions ever.  I mean it is right up there with air conditioning and the baconator.  For one thing, if you have a GPS you never have to listen to your wife nag  suggest you stop and ask a stranger for directions (which might as well be the same as getting out of the car wearing a shirt that says: I am only 75% of the man you are).  This little device, though often frustrating , brings a certain calming quality to our marriage when I decide to take a short cut and dare veer off of the digital pink line of safety.  Sure, sometimes we follow our digital mate precisely and put an unhealthy amount of trust into it as we wind up cursing under our breath and turning around in vacant lots or wishing we were still on the paved road but all in all, it is pretty dang awesome.

I think that my favorite thing about our GPS is that on long drives it gives me a clear competitive objective.  When I am driving and using the GPS, all of the goals in my life boil down to one thing.  Beating the arrival time on the GPS.  It is almost embarrassing how much joy I derive from beating the GPS.  I say almost because the amount of awesome clearly outweighs any shame.  One of the great things about racing the GPS is that it re calibrates as you go so if you gain a minute, it will adjust giving you instant gratification.  I went on two separate business road trips this week and am happy to say that I beat the GPS each time.  There are a couple of ways that you can beat the GPS like catching green lights or light traffic, but the best way to win is by speeding.  I drive a lot, so as a byproduct I speed a lot.  I don’t mean driving reckless like a maniac but my cruise control is most comfortable at least 8 mph above the posted limit.  I don’t know why it is, but anytime I cross back into my home state I feel a sense of relief like the state troopers here will welcome me home as a favorite son and overlook my GPS racing.  This is stupid for several reasons, mostly because  I really only seem to get tickets in Georgia.

Driving can often be a long mundane tiring task, but beating the GPS can make it totally sweet.

 

Weak

If Only I had a Portable Infrared Sauna 

image via consumertraveler.com

Have you ever heard of a plane crashing because of an iphone?  Maybe missing the runway and landing in a river because of a Kindle?  No?  Funny, me either.  I know that in my house we have computers and cell phones and regular cordless phones and baby monitors all running at the same time with nary a glitch or disruption.  So here is the thing. I don’t think that safety has anything to do with the reason that we have to turn off all electronics before take-off and landing on a plane.  I think the real reason is Sky Mall.  Unless you bring your own material, the seat in front of you really only contains 2 pieces of reading material (assuming you don’t need to read the barf bag or evacuation instructions)  some boring airline magazine that really is just about restaurants in cities you aren’t on your way to, or Sky Mall.

Sky Mall has comandeered my attention more than once below 10,000 feet.  In fact, had I not read about it only a day before Mother’s Day, my wife may have been the proud owner of one of these:

Sit back and just say ahhhhh to in-home relaxation. Portable Infrared Sauna $399.99
image via Sky Mall

Something about flipping through Sky Mall makes me feel like I am severely lacking in iphone accessories, meerkat lawn statues, and pet car-seats.  Has anyone actually ordered anything from Sky Mall?  Perhaps a plush mini staircase for your little dog to climb up to your bed, or maybe packets of the first ever protein supplemented ketchup? I mean surely you are all getting your credit cards out to order one of these:

The Traveler’s Bed Bug Thwarting Sleeping Cocoon. $79.99
image via Sky Mall

You know, thanks to 20/20 and 60 minutes, that one may actually be a good idea.  I am sure there are folks out there that needed a bunion regulator or a generic Snuggie, I just doubt that Sky Mall is their retail destination.  Have you ever met anyone that works for Sky Mall?  Tell me that wouldn’t be the best job ever, getting to decide what makes it into the Christmas edition?  That actually may be my dream job.  I want to be in charge of all of the vendor’s submissions and test products in order to deem them worthy of mile high status.

Until then, I will continue to ask every flight attendant possible if they have ever seen one of these on an actual flight:

This person is able to sleep comfortably in any Seat! Can you say the same? Probably not, unless you have SkyRest. $29.95
image via Sky Mall

It looks like that guy is taking a restful snooze, but my guess would be that he passed out from exhaustion and light headedness after the 20 minutes it took to blow that thing up.  So far zero accounts of seeing one of these in person by any flight attendant I have ever asked.  I don’t know how much longer Sky Mall will be paying the airlines in order to gain a captive audience at the start and end of each flight, but until then I will participate in the flipping ritual and wonder if I need a hot dog toaster or one of those butler statue toilet paper holders.

It is funny to joke about after the fact but when you have to bring your chair to its upright position and lock your tray tables, the prospect of looking through a Sky Mall for the next 15 minutes is totally weak.

 

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May 14, 2012

If Time is Cyclical, at What Point does Late Become Early? (or: I wish I had posted this before Mothers Day)

By Simon

Sweet

Say Hello to Your Mother for Me  

It would have been neat if I had put together some great touching blog post that would have made my wife and mom tear up and exclaim that my words were more precious to them than any gift they had ever received.  I guess in a perfect world those heartfelt words of adoration would have also populated paper and screen before Mother’s Day was over.  To be honest though, I was lucky that I wasn’t asking the clerk at 7-11 if they carried greeting cards on Saturday night.

What I would have written though, if I hadn’t spent 25 minutes Saturday night looking for scissors and scotch tape (because she is the only one that knows where we keep that stuff ) would have been a simple thank you.

I would have thanked the moms for rescuing their kids from dripping banana splits even if it did mean having to take her clothes off in the garage (and not in a good way).  I would have thanked moms for notes in school lunches and clean rooms when we got back from summer camp.  I would have also thanked them for remembering to get extra napkins and being the one that signs permission slips and makes sure our kid doesn’t show up at school dressed for pajama day when it is really hat day.

I try to do my fair share to create a solid foundation for our family but let’s be honest, if we are going for a house metaphor, mom is obviously the nails.  Mom’s are the heart, moms are the love.

I would also thank the moms for the prayers and the worries.  I didn’t see it as much as a kid because I was too busy being the source of said prayers and worries but I see it now.  That stuff matters, it matters a lot.

I would tell moms that while we seem pretty good at taking for granted all of the behind the scenes stuff they take care of, we know there is a lot and we are grateful that they are always behind us picking up what slipped from our carry and reminding us to watch our step.

I don’t know if it is the hardest job in the world but I do know that it is the most important.  Yep, if I had made the time, I would have written those things and then I would have also told them that I loved them.  I would thank them for letting me live wrapped up in their love, and offer mine in return.

I should have written those things and a bunch of other things to tell moms how special they are.  I would have also thanked moms for staying and waiting even when I was running late.  Even if it was a whole day late.

This blog thing I started a few months ago wouldn’t be very complete if I missed the chance to mention that moms are totally sweet.

(One more, I would have also thanked them for suggesting I start writing a blog and then reading and laughing and telling me good job in a way that only a wife/mom can do)

Happy Mother’s Day (early or late, you decide)

 

Weak

Breakfast in Bed with a Side Order of Terror  

It really is a cute idea and I can remember being excited as a kid helping dad and sister make breakfast in bed while mom pretended she didn’t hear us dropping stuff and fighting in order to keep the surprise alive.

Lets be honest though, I think mothers and fathers can agree that breakfast in bed is simply way more trouble than it is worth.  Especially since you can now google image a luxurious Eggs Benedict with fresh-cut fruit and steaming hot coffee and paste it right into your Facebook status.  (At least I assume doing something like that would be easy.)  Breakfast in bed means a couple of things.  First off, mom or dad is a prisoner in the bedroom until the big reveal.  Also, nobody ever writes: congratulations on getting to change the sheets tonight before bed because of all the crumbs and spills, on the inside of a card.  Lastly, kids aren’t good at cooking so you let them help with the creative stuff like cards and flowers while you oversee the mechanics of toast burning.

I do love the Americana of the whole thing though, and the big reveal is certainly fun.  Sometimes though, even in your best dad effort to create a meal and presentation worthy of Pinterest with fresh-cut flowers from the backyard and everything, you don’t notice the spider.  Yes, that happened.   That’s right, the flowers came from outside.  Guess what also lives outside?  Ding Ding, spiders!  Spiders give my wife a major case of the heebie jeebies, so you can only imagine how overjoyed she was to make her discovery while she was holding a cup of hot coffee and her legs were pinned down under a tray of breakfast complete with crystal vase full of flowers and water.  Fun times right there.

She may have done a good job pretending she had no idea what we were up to but in the end we got to see the difference between fake surprise and real surprise.

Spiders are totally weak.

 

 

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