What I Learned In 2011

1. Going to work in an office is not work. I can take breaks in an office.

2. Everyone needs a nap at about 2 PM. Daddy included.

3. The hardest thing I ever did was teach a 2 year old to go in a potty and not a diaper.

4. The new hardest thing I will ever do is teach a 3 year old to wipe his own bum. If I manage to accomplish this task.

5. Time doesn't take a day off, doesn't get sick, and goes to the gym everyday. It also made my little girl appear, sit up on her own, and learn basic sign language way too fast. Chances are, it'll teach her to crawl tomorrow and put her through High School next week.

6. Time also turned rudimentary 2 yr old language skills into mostly coherent 3 yr old sentences. Mostly coherent.

7. With expanded freedom comes more face plants because we're going faster and not looking where we're going.

8. Television may represent all that is bad in this world and be responsible for all kinds of social/learning disabilities, but it is my best friend about 4 PM. And 9 AM. And 11:30 AM.

9. A request for juice is not to be taken lightly. It should be delivered as soon as possible. Or else.

10. It is VERY easy to drop 15 pounds when you're not going out to lunch 3 times a week.

11. It is NOT easy to go to the gym 3 times a week with 2 kids.

12. Peanut butter and jelly is a kid's best friend.

13. Peanut butter and jelly is pretty dang awesome for Daddy too.

14. When my kids graduate Magna Cum Laude from an Ivy League school, I will gladly take credit for starting them off on the right foot. But we all know it was Super Readers, Word World, and the Leapfrog Tag Reader.

15. The nap thing is REALLY IMPORTANT.

16. Seriously, naps.

17. One of my goals starting out was to clean the house throughout the day. Not even close. Probably much worse off, in fact.

18. Taking a shower is a luxury. Taking a long shower is an impossibility.

19. I probably owe most of my colleagues, family, and friends apologies for showing my unshaven face in their presence. Like 5 or 6 days before I realize I look like a lumberjack.

20. I was able to cut my coffee use in half. But on the days I had coffee, I NEEDED COFFEE.

21. On days I NEEDED COFFEE, it was often finished 6 hours later and room temperature when I found the half empty mug.

22. Mobilizing a 3 yr old to go to the playground has honed my negotiation skills because what he's currently doing is always the most awesome thing ever.

23. Demobilizing a 3 yr old already at the playground is just a massive test of willpower to see who is the stronger species.

24. If the weather is gorgeous, both kids will be sick. If it's pouring rain, they will be bouncing off the walls.

25. N. A. P. S.

It's been quite an interesting 7 months and I'm looking forward to seeing what they're capable of in 2012.

CK

Tis Better to Receive and Receive and Receive Some More

Now that we are back home and have unpacked the car, the sheer volume of presents our kids hauled in is absolutely ridiculous. There were Hess trucks and firetrucks and trains and of course the dragon castle. Owen's cousin got a police car, an electric guitar, and a matching Hess truck so there would be no fighting between the two boys over THOSE toys.

Of course there was fighting over the Hess trucks because they are 3 years old. They did work together with the trucks a few times, much to the chagrin of the adults. This is what we heard for stretches of 5 to 10 minutes about 5 or 6 times a day:

Fantastic. When they finished playing with the Hess trucks, they would grab the police car and fire truck and save the day (or cause a disaster) with all the flashing lights and blaring sirens. Usually outside the girl baby's door while she was sleeping.

They had a blast playing with each other and it was a lot of fun to watch. They didn't seem to fight over toys as much as they did at the beach. Probably because there were toys as far as the eye could see. Both loved the dragon castle and I don't blame them. Daddy had a lot of fun with it too. With all the features, the highlight is a rotating dragon head with an up and down motion that allows the dragon to eat the warrior knocking on the castle gate. WITH thunder, lightning, and spooky sounds. I spent a LOT of time coaxing three year olds over to it and using the switches on the back to scare the crap out of the boys by threatening to eat them via plastic dragon.

Owen, could you give me a hand to eat...er, with this gate.

After the dragon would almost take a finger and the near-victim had dived to safety and refuse to come any closer, Daddy would laugh and laugh. It should be illegal to have this much fun. Good times.

The interesting part will come in the next day or so when we try to convey that it's time to give after all the fun receiving. I have no idea how a 3 year old is going to handle our request that he pick out some of his old toys to donate or if he will even grasp the concept. Probably the same way he has responded to all of our requests he doesn't like lately, "NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!" But we want our kid to be an upstanding citizen that donates his time, talent, and money to worthy causes so it needs to be done. Plus, I'd like to wake up in the middle of the night and go to the bathroom without stepping on a Toys 'R Us store.

CK

12 Hours of Christmas

This is how my Christmas went, as depicted by Artie the elf.

8:00 AM: SANTA WAS HERE!!!!!!!!!

10:30 AM: I need a nap, face down in the middle of the floor.

2:00 PM: Buried in discarded wrapping paper and bows, 100% casualty rate.

8:28 PM: It's all fun and games 'til you're halfway through the bottle and get a dino-DUI.

Santa!

So, it's Christmas Eve. We are currently at my in-laws place after a long couple of weeks building up to Santa Day. We started a while back with the importance of being nice instead of naughty. We were ignored and Owen aimed for the naughty list. We bought an Elf on the Shelf and named him Artie, specifically pointing out that Artie would watch Owen's every move and report back to the big man every night. Artie was summarily pummeled and tossed about like a rag doll. Or rag elf.

Artie even played pranks to make sure Owen knew he was being watched. Owen's behavioral response to Artie can be summed up as 'Bah humbug.' Here are some of the situations we discovered our Elf in:

These next two photos are my favorites. Owen loves self-portraits and Artie did the same thing. No way Owen gets the subtle comedic nuance of these photos, but I think I'm clever.

Artie even visited Nana and Papa's house during a sleepover last weekend to make sure he was good away from home too. Of course Artie got into trouble there too:

The wife decided that next year, we'll have to tell the cold fat man to send an Elf that often gets caught being helpful so we can get pictures of him emptying the dishwasher, folding laundry, cleaning Owen's room, etc. Based on the effectiveness of Artie, I want to purchase the special upgrade offered by one of my Facebook Friends, "Krampus in the Closet". From the Krampus Wikipedia page:

'Krampus is a mythical creature recognized in Alpine countries. According to legend, Krampus accompanies Saint Nicholas during the Christmas season, warning and punishing bad children, in contrast to St. Nicholas, who gives gifts to good children. When the Krampus finds a particularly naughty child, it stuffs the child in its sack and carries the frightened child away to its lair, presumably to devour for its Christmas dinner.'

Sounds effective to me. Eventually, we decided that Owen was good enough to provide a nice recommendation to Santa. It might be 51-49, but I don't want to pay for the 'I got a lump of coal for Christmas when I was 3' therapy. What's the problem with coal anyway? I love the stuff, you can use it to cook meat products on a grill.

Now that we'd decided to give him presents, we had to start fighting about Christmas traditions. My family tradition was open one present on Christmas Eve and the rest Christmas morning. Mom would steer us toward a present that was acceptable to avoid heartache from a package of socks and to keep from opening the coolest present too early. I recall being 7 or 8 and insisting I open a gift that sounded good when shaken. Mom tried to convince me to pick another, but I went for it anyway. It was a belt, and I'm not sure if I cried, but there was DEFINITELY wailing and gnashing of teeth. Now that I am a parent that delights in the misery of my own child when physical pain is not involved, I can't imagine how much my parents laughed at me. They're great though, they didn't laugh in my face. Much.

Today, we hit my parent's house for Christmas Eve presents before coming to my in-laws, so no need to do the one present tonight. Once the kids read 'Twas the night before Christmas' with their Gan and set out the cookies and milk, it was off to bed. We immediately jumped on the stockings and Santa presents to get them ready. The Santa presents are the source of the greatest marital disagreements in 7 and a half years of marriage. Seeing everything wrapped up and the stack of presents nearly doubling overnight under the tree is simply amazing and might be my favorite thing about Christmas as a kid. But the wife's family is a bunch of heathens, leaving the toys unwrapped in front of the fireplace. Great, Santa brought him the AWESOME DRAGON CASTLE I'VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT FOR THE LAST THREE WEEKS AND THE EXCITEMENT HAS MADE THE PAJAMAS MOMMY AND DADDY GOt me super boring so I care naught about them.

He should be looking at the big blue felt bag containing said Dragon Castle for 4 hours tomorrow morning while we go through stockings and breakfast and Mommy and Daddy showers to let the anticipation build. Then, when ALL the other gifts have been opened, it's magic time. If nothing else, threats of taking away Santa presents might just buy us another few hours of behaving himself. Probably not.

"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, anyone stirring had all of their presents returned to the North Pole so go to sleep."

And if you were wondering, being a Daddy and getting to eat Santa's milk and cookies makes them uber delicious.

CK

Super Readers

As we've been fantastic parents raising a little boy who says things like, "It's okay, we all get scared sometimes" and "No thank you very much," we also need to plop him in front of the tv for hours at a time. Most shows are annoying, don't catch his attention, or have all of 2 episodes available on Netflix that we need to watch 18 times apiece.

Super Readers is a welcome change in our home. It's really good at helping with letters, spelling, and basic reading. Makes it fun with the little kid super heroes and Alpha Pig. He's been singing their version of the ABCs lately. Same letters, but a new and exciting rhythm. And then there's how he's taking lessons learned and applies them to every day life.

The Super Readers start the efforts to fix a problem by putting their hands in and yelling "Super Readers...TO THE RESCUE!" He had me put my hand straight out this afternoon and I couldn't figure out why. Until he put his hand on mine and I yelled "Super Readers," which made him scream "TO THE RESCUE!" at the top of his lungs. Whenever we have a horrible problem, like the dog's water being empty, we change the story to fix the problem. Followed by an announcement that "Super Readers saved the day!" So far, Super Readers have saved the day for emptying the dishwasher, making lunch, and putting pants on. Actually, that last one probably was a 'saved the day' situation.

CK

This Kid Has Talent

So THIS Is Age 3?

Owen has been needing a haircut, so I decided to take care of it while he was watching some tv this morning. During the trim, I was trying to even up the front. He decided to look down despite repeated statements telling him to hold his head still and even trying to keep my hand under his chin. The clippers are very good and caused me to have to take about 1/8" more off than I would have liked to even things up. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Lloyd Christmas from Dumb and Dumber:


One of these two is insane and the other is a lunatic.

From the moment the haircut was over on, he has been channeling Dumb and Dumber. Rather than try to recount humorous anecdotes about each little incident, I'm just going to list the ones I can remember:

1. Trip to CVS to get more cough syrup for Daddy. I promised him a treat if he stayed with me and didn't touch anything. Treat lost 3 seconds and less than 10 feet into the front door. Earned his first timeout since he turned 3 two weeks ago for not listening.

2. Despite being warned repeatedly not to touch the Christmas decorations waiting for the tree, told that Santa doesn't bring presents to bad little boys, and threats of force, he dumped a package of ornament hangars on the floor, resulting in the 2nd timeout since he turned 3.

3. It took a LOT of crying to get upstairs for quiet time. Even though he's been sick and looked exhausted.

4. During 'quiet time' in his room, there was no napping. Julie heard him crying. When she opened the door, he was climbing the bookshelf in his closet. Books? All over the floor.

5. Snack time consisted of carrots and hummus, which he normally likes but he wasn't interested today. Based on general surlyness, we decided to get out of the house. As soon as I got his shoes, coat, and hat on, he put a carrot in his mouth. After being 90% chewed, it was spit out on his train table and one of Lily's baby toys.

6. While I was cleaning carrot 1 up, another 90% chewed carrot was spit back into his Mommy's bowl of carrots. Mommy loudly questioned, "Could you get any more gross?" Challenge accepted Mommy.

7. Immediately after Mommy's statement, a giant booger was pulled and placed on the bill of his hat. The other end was still attached to the source.

8. Immediately after attaching one to the hat, he rubbed and spread everything all over his face.

9. Immediately after spreading it all over his face with Mommy recoiling in horror, he decided it was huggin' time, complete with burying of the face in Mommy's clothes.

10. After wiping everyone/thing down, we headed out the door. Where he picked up his little stack of safety cones and threw them down the stairs.

11. The first 5 minutes of our 10 minute journey were spent whining. The last 5 were spent passed out. When we got out of the car, he cried.

12. Rather than play at the little table of toys in the country store we went to, he wanted to play with all of the wares. The owner and I laughed at him carrying around a wedge of wood painted like a watermelon slice while he tried to eat it. Of course, he dropped it. Thankfully it didn't break.

13. He's been excited about Christmas trees for 2 weeks and I asked him to help me pick one out at the country store. Lily was screaming for no apparent reason and he choked. Couldn't commit, was overwhelmed, and later upset I made the call without his input.

14. Driving home, he cried because I wouldn't give him the other half of the homemade fried apple pie he ate at the store. That's Daddy's half.

15. He cried because I got him and his sister out of the car to take inside and out of the cold and cold rain. He wanted me to take the Christmas tree in the house instead of the girl baby.

16. When we got home, he decided to go potty by himself using the male standing method. He soaked the front of his pants, shirt, and jacket.

17. Dinner tonight included edamame in the pod. He got the beans out of the pod by squeezing them to fire them across the dinner table and going to retrieve them. Okay, this one was pretty fun.

18. More crying to get him upstairs for bath time. I know there was a third timeout in there, but I don't recall when or why.

19. Me: "Owen, can you please take your pants and socks off for bath time? I'll help you with your shirt in just a second." Apparently, he was a little impatient:

20. Bath time included his first cannonball. And more 'stricken u-boat commander' impressions.

21. After drying him and the floor off, he got his 18th wind. We had the Tasmanian Devil doing laps around our bedroom. There were two naked timeouts, a first for this family, because I couldn't get him out of there and into his room for pajamas.

22. After avoiding a third timeout because I picked him up and carried him into his room, there was more crying. Averted because Mommy came in for a hug.

23. He refused book reading and crawled into his book shelf. "I can't come out, I need a hug and Mommy."

24. He finally got into bed with the Target toy catalog and we spent 15 minutes flipping through. During those 15, he was the cutest little boy in the world. I think I'll let him live another 24 hours. Unless he acts like he did this afternoon.

CK

Hypothetical Scenario 2

Let's say you had to run into a store with a 3 year old on the loose. Would it be terrible to use the free balloon at the end of the store visit as leverage to try to keep him from walking backwards down the aisles, grabbing everything in sight, spinning around randomly, and running in S patterns? A Daddy wouldn't be a horrible Daddy if he said, "Stay with me, or you won't get a balloon when we leave," every 4 seconds, right?

When the balloon has been obtained and tied around said 3 year old's wrist and we walk out of the store, how many times should I, I mean someone who is definitely not me, have to say things like, "Hey, stay with me. Pay attention. Don't walk into that trash...never mind, does your head hurt now? Hold my hand crossing the street."

And when some random 3 year old throws his hands into the air during some random spin/dance move resulting in the balloon slipping off his wrist and floating away, would anyone be a terrible father for using that as a teaching moment? A teaching moment that involves saying something like, "Your balloon ran away because you weren't listening to Daddy and running all over the place."

If you saw a red balloon floating above Gilead Road about 4:30 PM today, I have no idea where it came from. Thankfully, some random 3 year old didn't have a meltdown and seemed to understand that life is full of disappointment, but only if you don't listen to your Daddy and do exactly what he tells you to.

CK

Addendum to 15 and 1/2 Inch World

We are in Atlanta for the wife's company meeting for a couple of days. Drove down yesterday and checked into the hotel around 4 PM. It took about 3 minutes in the room for Owen to drop trou, find the potty, and spray the wall. It wasn't even too high. I think he just got a little excited about being in a new place.

At least I wasn't in the hotel room at the time. But don't worry, the universe has a great sense of humor. The faucet in our little kitchenette fell off the sink and water sprayed into the air soaking the counter and, of course, me.

CK

It's a 15 And 1/2 Inch World

Since it's been way too long since I cracked a good poop joke or gave you an update on my brilliant potty training efforts, here we go. I should definitely be paid for potty training, really no accidents during the day or at night in a long time. Sure, we have an occasional leak because we're playing on a playground, strapped into the car seat to extend his nap, etc. The wife gets a high 5 for suggesting we leave his little training potty in his room at night. But really no incidents. It might be our greatest accomplishment as parents to date, makes us feel like we are raising a human instead of a third dog.

He's really good at dropping his own pants and wandering into the bathroom to do his own business if we're occupied and can't help him. He knows how to flush and we'll eventually learn how to return pants to their original upright and locked position. All in good time.

Our toilet stands 15 inches high and is the perfect height to keep everything within the designated firing zone. When you get out into the world, the toilet height can vary significantly, often being less than 15 inches, and horror of horrors, 15 and 1/2 inches or higher. Since wee bladders are activated by being out in public, we know the locations of all the bathrooms at the stores, parks, and Doctor's offices in the area. We visited the Doctor last week to get him diagnosed with pink eye and pick up a prescription. Since we were in and out of the Doc's fast, his bladder didn't trigger until we were in the pharmacy (to remain nameless so we are allowed back - I'd also hate for other little boy Daddies to miss out on this experience). Hint: Commode Very Substantial.

We entered the bathroom and went through the pre-flight checklist. Pants down, underwear out of the way, step up to the plate...oh crap. We hit a 15 and 1/2 inch toilet. The firing mechanism is located at 15 and 1/4 inch above the floor slab. In this situation, you have to calculate the angle of attack in order to arc up and into the target in more of an indirect firing procedure than a typical point and shoot.

Two minor problems:

1. You have about 0.3 seconds between unveiling of the weapon and commencement of the firing.
2. Your peeing contest prowess is inversely proportional to your height. The smaller you are, the farther you can propel. He can easily clear his height and then some.

I couldn't get him to hold it long enough to pick him up. We didn't have a spare pair of pants so I had to protect them at all costs. And you try explaining the finer points of getting up on your tippy-toes to a 3 year old mid-stream. I made a snap decision that the bathroom walls were covered in that linoleum wall sheeting and would be the safest target. I didn't recall giving him 4 gallons of juice before we left the house, but his bladder apparently thought so.

We wrecked this bathroom. Ever seen an old black and white war movie where the submarine gets hit? I know what that stricken U-Boat crew feels like. After damage control shut down the leak, I reached for the paper towel dispenser. Of course it was empty. I started to go for the toilet paper to leave the next inhabitant in a terrible situation, but thankfully there was a free-standing roll of towels sitting next to the toilet and we mopped up as best we could. Well, I cleaned up while he tried to open the door and walk back into the store with his pants around his ankles. I'm happy to say the ankle pants held nary a drop of urine.

I learned a very important lesson. Always carry a tape measure when you leave the house.

CK

Is She Your Baby?

I do all the cooking and grocery shopping in the house because the wife is...questionable...in the kitchen. Used to have a great little ritual that got me to the store on Sunday then home with a sub from their deli and the week's groceries about 1 PM. Perfect during the fall for the early NFL games. For some reason, I kind of switched to taking the kids on Mondays and learned that an entirely different clientele inhabits the grocery stores and Targets of the world during normal weekday business hours.

Weekend shoppers are often carrying a case of terrible beer, a bag of chips, and charcoal. They are too busy yelling at their kids to acknowledge your little darlings screaming about the free balloon and cookie. The weekday shoppers generally lived through the Great Depression and move at a pace that doesn't take much motivation. I have witnessed complaints over cans of peas listed at 57 cents when they were supposed to be 50 cents. Not much beer in the carts, it's been replaced with fiber supplements and cat food.

The weekday folks love talking to babies and little boys riding along with Daddy. ESPECIALLY when it's just Lily and me. I should constantly wear a shirt that says "She (she - she's a SHE) is x-months old, never smiles at strangers, and she looks like her Mommy AND Daddy."

Occasionally, I get some odd ball questions or comments. I was stopped in Target one day for Granny to coo at Lily in her blue and white polka-dot dress with yellow flowers and ribbons. Granny asked how old _he_ was, and I responded with, "She is 6 months old." I might as well have kicked her in the shin. She was really upset and berated me for putting a little girl in blue and that only little boys should wear blue. I tried to crack my usual joke when people get gender wrong(all babies look like old men with gas) but she wasn't having it. It's probably a good thing I could outrun her with a brisk walk.


Am I a boy, girl, or nursing home patient that hasn't gotten their pudding?

I've had people tell me that Lily looks just like me and others say she looks nothing like me. I've been asked what color Mom's hair is. If we're doing cloth diapers (why do you want to know that?). But the best conversation ever left me speechless at the end of it.

This lady spied Lily and me in the store while Owen and Mommy were hanging back home. I could tell there was going to be a conversation. Most people will make a googley eye as they pass or say hello, but this lady lit up at 100 yards. She wanted to know everything. Birth weight, Mom's hair color, religion, preferred college choice (definitely all-girls school, 150 miles from any boys). I was polite, but it was getting ridiculous. Finally, this woman asked if Lily was my daughter, waited about 15 seconds for me to blink at her and spit out an "Uhm...yeeeeesssss?" while I was trying to figure out if this is a trick question. As soon as my response was out, she turned and RAN. This lady was moving like she was storming the beaches of Normandy, just gone.

What the? I looked at Lily and she looked at me, and we made an important Daddy-Daughter bonding decision. From that moment on, she stares blankly at people and I tell them she doesn't smile at weirdos.

CK

The Toys 'R Us Big Book

If you're an animate life form, you clearly know that Christmas is coming. Halloween is still warm and Thanksgiving is tens of days away, but there's only 52 more shopping days left for you to express your love of Capitalism or the terrorists win. I don't think Owen quite realizes what's in store come 12-25. I don't think he really understands what's happening on 11-16, his third birthday, either.

Don't get me wrong, he TOTALLY understands the joy of unwrapping a present. Anyone receiving a gift in any situation causes him to clap, yell Happy Birthday, and try to help open any gifts that remain wrapped. Wrapping paper must be destroyed immediately.

We held a surprise baby sprinkle for my cousin last weekend. Terminology lesson: a sprinkle is like a smaller baby shower for people who already have kids. I am an adult male. As soon as the gifts came out, Owen started yelling 'Happy Birthday!' and had to help open up presents that weren't for him, or even immediate family members. Thankfully, my cousin graciously let him open one or we might have had some crying.

Yesterday afternoon, the wife had the kids while I was running around doing adult work. Owen went into her closet to punish her since she was selfishly changing the sheets on our bed instead of giving him 100% attention. That's where he discovered our secret stash of wrapping paper. Wrapping paper has to be the greatest toy ever. It's a present that has all the ecstasy of ripping apart the paper and when the paper is gone... Oh. My. God. It's a 3 FOOT CARDBOARD TUBE.

Or should I say, it's a trumpet telescope megaphone funny noise amplifier sword bridge for Thomas the tank engine thing that can be jumped up and down on. It is WAY cooler than the $550 swingset or the *insert any toy above $20 here*. Yes, I'm still bitter about how he'd rather run around in the backyard with a stick than play on the swingset.

We got the Toys 'R Us Big Book a few days ago in the mail, followed closely by the Target Toy Sale catalog and this has opened up a whole new world. Since receiving the catalogs, they have been studiously poured over and are getting pretty ragged at this point. He kept asking to go potty with his 'Magazine' and I wasn't sure what he was saying until he ran past me to find it on the floor. He spent 15 minutes in there looking through it and making random comments. "Wow, look at that!" and "It's a crane!"

Our bedtime story last night was the Target toy catalog. I was trying to ask him things like: "What numbers are those? What color is that truck? How many night jobs will Mommy need to get to afford everything you want in this catalog?" He wants no part in the learning, just to point at stuff and announce, "That's cool!"

He pointed at a picture of two boys playing with a racetrack. One kid's car obviously lost and that kid was giving the classic hand on his head frustration pose. Owen pointed him out and announced that the boy hurt his head. Opportunity! I told Owen that the boy hurt his head because he was bad. I might have told him Santa hits bad little boys in the head and doesn't bring them toys.

So, this birthday and Christmas, I'm going to the Dollar Store and getting a multi-pack of birthday wrapping paper and Christmas wrapping paper. He can destroy reams of paper, get an embarrassment of cardboard tube riches, and I'm out like $2.17 and win yet another Father-of-the-Year award.

CK

Darn This Ancient Technology

Owen mastered iPod several months ago. He knows where to find his games in various folders. He can access Netflix, go to the Instant Queue, and play an age-appropriate show. Of course, he also knows that if he accesses Daddy's blood and guts games or plays the Nazi Zombie movie, there will be a magic trick performed before his very eyes. He'll get thumped and the iPod will vanish into thin air (Daddy's pocket).

It's pretty fantastic, I have used the iPod to pacify the beast in the grocery store, doctor's office, car, while I'm on the phone, and so on. Maybe being overly plugged in is bad for them, but being assaulted by an angry mob for the screaming kid in a store is also bad for us.

The problem we've found is that Owen expects all electronics and even stuff that is not electronic to be magically wonderful like all Apple products. Touch screens are Awe. Some. So EVERYTHING should have a touch screen, right? The tv, the digital camera, screen door, laptop computers, windows, the light switch when viewed through the digital camera. That was hilarious. He's trying to flip the light switch through the camera viewer. Who's raising this kid?

It's funny, but it's kind of annoying when he's trying to swipe the tv to get to his shows. Oddly enough, lil' boys have greasy, sticky, and snotty fingers and this material is now on our expensive media devices. After Owen is finished with my iPod, I usually need to take a pressure washer to it. With bleach. And antimicrobial soap.

We try to explain to him that some electronic devices require a remote control, oh the horror! He is pretty excited about the fact that he doesn't have to un-ass himself from his chair to select the next show on Netflix. A real man. Especially since he's learned that weekends mean "Daddy needs to watch football!"

I feel like next year will be the year that I teach him how to yell at missed tackles and second guess the coaches. I just hope he doesn't think he can take a Sharpie to the tv to diagram plays like the announcers.

CK

Failure to Communicate

Quick post today. We were using the rain barrel to water the garden and Owen wanted to help. I kept filling his little watering can and told him to water any plants he saw. I filled the can 3 times and we watered, in order: the car, the street, and his shoe on the sidewalk. None of which are plants, or even animate objects. Looks like we'll be working on botany tomorrow.

CK

Toddler Physics

As Owen discovers more and more ways to have fun, his horizons are definitely expanding. Sure, he's always been aware of gravity. If you face plant on the sidewalk on a daily basis or fall off the kitchen chair again, it's hard to ignore the effects. This afternoon, we learned another important lesson associated with gravity. What goes up, must come down. Specifically, if you throw a softball up in the air, it's going to come down. If you throw said softball straight up over your head, guess where it's landing? Another important physics lesson learned, as well as reinforcement that if you bonk your head, Daddy will probably find it funny if it's a minor bonking.

I was thinking about other physics lessons we're learning and came up with a couple that have been fun. I don't know if you've ever seen the experiment where you fill a jar with rocks until it's "full." After no more rocks can be put in the jar, you fill it with sand in between the voids around the rocks until it's "full" again. Finally, you pour water in to demonstrate that objects are different sizes and you can always fit more in a space.

The application of this rule is just like the stomach of a toddler. Things like vegetables, meats he doesn't want, and plain rice are the size of rocks where very few, if any of the items fit. Fruit and chicken fall into the sand category. Cookies, candy, and ketchup will always fit. That boy loves him some ketchup, we should have bought some Heinz stock. I looked them up since he started eating ketchup about 2 years ago and I'm pretty sure that all of this growth is because of this family:



He's also learning the importance of making deals during dinner. I let him know there's pudding for dessert (sugar-free, we're not monsters for parents) and he needs to eat some of his green beans. We carefully divide green beans into the 'has to eat' and 'doesn't have to eat' piles working on the counting and math skills. Then he utilizes a technique that involves covertly dropping the 'has to eat' pile on the floor where another scientific law takes effect. That law is known as Bella's Law: all objects of a somewhat edible variety that strike the floor are immediately and irretrievably consumed by our chocolate lab Bella. This makes eating unpalatable foods much easier on the little guy and provides entertainment for him while his 'has to eat' pile disappears, earning him the treat. Win-win!

The last law of physics we're running into more often is the law of inertia. Immovable object meets irresistible force. His stubbornness is the immovable object to the irresistible force of me telling him what he needs to do. "It's time to go inside." "No." "Owen, come inside now, we have to eat lunch." "No we don't." "If you don't come inside, you don't get any lunch and I'm going to lock you outside." "Okay."

At this point, I start counting to 5. He always gets angry we're counting, tears up and yells for us to stop, and usually does what we want him to do immediately. You can gauge the level of enjoyment he was getting out of the activity ending by the number we get to before he starts complying with our demands. I've gotten to 4 and a half, but he was having a blast running around the neighbors yard that day. It is unclear what happens when we get to 5, it never happens. I am afraid that there will be a day very soon when I count to 5, being the fifth number that is reached, and he will have continued to ignore me. I'm just assuming the apocalypse will begin at that moment.

CK

Watch Where You're BAM!

As Owen has gotten older and more independent, we're hearing things like, "I do it myself!" Zip up his own hoodie or pajamas. I don't blame him on the pajamas though, the wife put him in his pajamas once without underpants and nipped lil' Owen because she's a girl and never had to worry about zipping injuries. I was the favorite for quite a while after that.

He wants to get his own juice. Take his plate over to the counter. He wants to walk instead of ride in the cart at the store. The problem with the store is that he LOVES looking at everything except where he's going. This usually results in him starting to veer off to one side or the other, finally turning to look where Daddy went and getting back on course. It often results in a chuckle for Daddy because he'll turn back just in time to be startled by a display or some other inanimate object about to viciously run into him.

We were at Target this afternoon and he was awfully tired. No nap, an hour running around at the Mall Playground. His focus was even more off than normal as he wanted to stop and look at everything. We were finally ready to leave and headed to the front to check out, going through the clothing side of the store. I turned around to get his attention and motivate him to stay with me and try to get out of there.

He was staring over his right shoulder at some kids clothes for some reason. It's not like he wants to wear clothes, he loves him some quality nekkid time. I could see he was drifting straight toward a big rack with shelves at different levels. I said his name to try to get his attention, but he ignored me. Lesson 1: Always listen to Daddy. I said, "Owen" again, this time with a little more urgency as he was about 4 steps from the rack. Lesson 2: When Daddy uses his pay attention voice, you should definitely listen.

Finally, about 2 steps from the rack, I started to give him the quick, loud, authoritative "OWEN!" The O was barely out of my mouth when he realized something was approaching in his peripheral vision. He pulled his head around in time to take a shelf right in the mouth, falling over on his butt stunned. Lesson 3: If you fail to listen to Daddy and walk into something, Daddy will laugh at you.

He was tired, he was slightly injured in the pride department, and he decided that crying was the best option. Have no fear, it only took him about 10 seconds to want to be put back down and walk himself. I'd like to say he learned from his mistake, but as we walked out of the store, my boy was staring over his shoulder behind him.

CK

My SAHD Life

A few weeks ago, my local Toastmasters held it's annual humorous speech contest. I competed against two other very talented, funny people and was very grateful to be selected as the winner for best speech.

Luckily for you, or maybe not, we record all the speeches at our club and I decided to share mine with anyone who cares to watch it. The title is "My SAHD Life" and believe it or not, I talk about being a SAHD. The sound quality is a little rough, the punchlines are really rough, but enjoy.



CK

I Hate You Google

Google does a lot of wonderful things. They have the bestest search engine. Their homepage is ridiculously simple (Facebook, Yahoo, everyone else take a hint). And the Doodle is entertaining. You have to love their "Don't Be Evil" motto.

But this time, they have gone too far. Last night, I was enjoying my testosterone by lounging with my feet up on the couch, beer in hand, watching the Steelers at Colts football game. Then, it came on the air. In 60 seconds, I was a blubbering, sobbing mess. They tapped into what I like to call, the Daddy nerve. I've never really had a problem with crying or getting over emotional about stuff, until the Daddy nerve got activated a few years ago. It takes situations that are sad, happy, or otherwise emotional that involve children and projects that moment on to your life. You don't get choked up over what's happening in the movie, show, or whatever you're reading. But when you picture yourself and family in that situation, its game on.

For example, when we watched 'How To Train Your Dragon', there is a father-son story line that had me swallowing back the waterworks while my wife thought it was a "cute" movie. Not that my son and I have a rift that will be healed by an intense bonding experience in a 90 minute movie, but I can picture something like that. Owen wants to be a .400 average right handed power hitter, and I'm disappointed that he won't become a lefty with a 100 mile an hour fastball. Ultimately, he hits the game winning homerun in Game 7 of the World Series and we reconcile at the plate. You know, stuff that's likely to happen.

The worst though is the tragedies that project onto my life. I'm incredibly blessed to have two healthy children, but when the wife was pregnant with Lily and Owen was about 2 years old, there was a story in the local paper about a couple. They had a 2 year old little boy, and got pregnant with a little girl. During an ultrasound, it was determined that the little girl developed without a brain and would not survive after birth. It was devastating, and I made the mistake of reading their story at the office where I spent probably an hour hiding under my desk and trying not to disturb my coworkers.

The only good that came of the story was that the parents defied Dr. orders to terminate the pregnancy and worked tirelessly to overturn rules that said the baby's organs could not be donated to other children in need. This poor child did not survive, but several other kids were helped by the organ donations. Not only was this a tragic story, it had that element of 'We overcame this terribleness to find a way to help others.'

Here is the ad. It's just an awesome, beautiful commercial and I just watched it again for about the fifth time. Still cried, but it's not as bad. I must warn you, if you are a parent, are going to be a parent, or have a soul, have a tissue ready.



I just hope that Google finds restraint and doesn't air it too often during college football and NFL games. The last thing I need is to be in a biker sports bar when it pops on and I'm in the fetal position weeping. Of course, it may be a good way to get free girlie drinks.

CK

I'm Working

At some point during the last couple of years, we received a laptop from someone. It was a laptop for Owen with the letters ABC and numbers 123. The keys are also colored and different shapes for learning purposes. Click the spacebar and it plays classical music. It really is a very cool toy for Owen and he loves it. The only problem is that it's extremely loud. Like jet engine loud. Sure, it has a quieter setting, but what's the fun in that?

Owen recently found it after we'd hidden it in the wife's office to take a break from the thing. Since he got his hands on it, he's been hauling it all over the house. He'll set it up and start some music playing. If you ask him to turn it down, or put it down since it's lunch time, nap time, or whatever, he gets mad. "I'm WOOOORRRRRKKKKING!" Uh oh, looks like the excuse we use when we want to check emails, Facebook, or, in Julie's case, actually working is being turned against us.

He'll also tell us he's checking email. Now, I'm not sure who's sending him email, but I really hope the spammers haven't found him. I would hate for his extensive piggy bank holdings to go to helping Nigerian royalty. If he gets an email that promises to help him pee straight and hit the potty, I'll click any link in it.

And God help the wife and I if he starts a Facebook page. The last thing I need is a bunch of Farmville invitations and postings of lyrics from his favorite kiddie tunes that reflect the emotional development stage he is currently experiencing. 'The wheels on the bus go round and round. Like the forced daily routine my tyrannical parents impose upon me.'

CK

Thomas the Tank Engine...of Death

We are really into kids shows now, though we do try to limit the amount of time he watches every day to less than 6 hours. He loves Fireman Sam, the Cat in the Hat (voiced by Martin Short), and a couple of other shows. The best one, by far is Word World. He points out letters all over the place and correctly announces which ones they are because of that show, so he can pretty much qualify for the 7th grade in most school systems.

But I want to point out a menace to society, Thomas the Tank Engine. Thomas is a horrible role model. One of Owen's first phrases was "Oh no! Mess," because that's pretty much what Thomas does every episode. Going too fast, racing other engines/helicopters/buses, not looking behind him before backing, carrying loads too heavy to show off, subterfuge, bigotry against diesel engines, breaking down and failing to deliver the goods (or the people). If the Nazis had invaded the Island of Sodor, Thomas is probably collaborating to be a really useful engine. But he'd be sabotaging their plans unintentionally.

Another phrase we have started using around the house is "Then there was trouble," because it's such a common announcement in the show. Thomas smashes through someone's front door because he wanted to go out on his own without a driver, failing to realize he needs a person to put his brakes on. And why is someone's house right at the end of the rails?

He often ignores necessary common safety equipment like cow catchers and snow plows, almost always resulting in a cow derailing the train or having to be dug out of a snow bank. He's constantly causing goods to be spilled, and he almost ruined the restoration of Great Waterton when he caused another engine to crash into a water tower, collapsing it in the middle of town. Not to mention how many £s in delays and repairs his accidents have caused.

Not to mention the fact that he is cheeky, easily annoyed, and devious, which contributes to his pattern of problems.

Where is the Transportation Safety Board to investigate and enforce the regulations? Are there even any regulations to begin with? I'm calling for Thomas and the Sodor Railway to open their records and let's correct some of these safety concerns before Thomas hurtles into a bus load of Nuns.

And what about my dear, precious little boy? He should be building train tracks and railways, building Lincoln log homes, and small towers with wooden blocks. Due to Thomas the Crap Engine's example, this is what happens to the Island of Owen's railway:



The dead end track hanging over a cliff looks awfully dangerous.

CK

Times Two

We're on vacation with the wife's immediate family this week, in a lovely oceanfront house. That means Owen is spending a ton of time playing with his cousin, who is about 6 months older than he is. When we arrived on Saturday, I think it took about 3 minutes before the first fight erupted over a toy.

There is a school bus that the grandparents bought to keep at their house for the boys to play with when they came to visit. The bus is hugely popular because it's new every time and makes a lot of noise when you run screaming around the ceramic tile floors with it. The cousin was probably playing with it when Owen decided it was his turn. Lots of grabbing, crying, and pulling on the desired toy.

What was bizarre about the situation is that there are five (FIVE) buses here at the beach with us. They never want to play with one of the other four, just the one the other has. Even if both of them have a bus in each lil' fist, there is still one left over.


If only I could find a school bus to play with!

So far this week, we've had to break up epic fights between them over Thomas the tank Engine, a Hess truck, a small boat, various cars, dumptrucks, and, of course, whichever bus is fashionable at the time. Thankfully, we've been able to contain it with threats of timeout and the old, "It's his turn to play with it, it will be your turn in a little bit."

They have had a blast together and watching the peaceful little interactions has been really interesting. As I write this, they are in the cousin's room sounding like they're destroying something. Since it's in the cousin's room, I don't think I have jurisdiction and I'm not going in there. My sister-in-law just went into the room and said to them, "No, don't throw things at the fan." Ah, that's what that breaking sound was, sounds like an interesting experiment for two inquisitive little boys.

Yesterday, about dinner time, they found a 1,000 piece puzzle in a drawer and worked well with each other to open it up and start putting the puzzle together*.

* - Throwing it up in the air and pouring pieces over each other's heads.

When it came time to put the pieces back in the box, Owen was VERY helpful. When you got 100 or so pieces in there, he tried to pour it over his cousin's head. Both boys had to go to timeout while the puzzle was cleaned up and placed well out of reach.

Their favorite game at the moment is jumping on the air mattress in the cousin's room while one yells "A poo poo!" while the other yells, "Stinkies!"

I'm sure by the end of the week, we'll be sharing toys like champions, we'll have stopped screaming at the top of our lungs in a high-pitched voice in the house, and we definitely will not have broken the side of the couch next to the kitchen table by pushing on it too much.

CK

Updated: Within 5 minutes of posting this blog, they were fighting over a bus because one of them picked it up out of the lineup I created for the picture.

Look At Me

My apologies for not posting a new blog in a while. Lots of work work and high level parenting going on lately. Owen is really getting in to "Do It Myself" mode, which entails me asking him to do something and his immediate response is "NOOOOOOO!!!!!! I do it myself!" Even if it's something he wants to do.

This has definitely been difficult to deal with, since my previous tactic was giving him about 10 seconds to respond before picking him up and taking him/putting him wherever I need him to be. However, I can't make him pee in a toilet or eat his dinner. This was so much easier when "We need to go to the store," so we go, diaper in place. Now, it's, "We need to go to the store so can you please go to the potty?" "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO, I DON'T WANNA GO POTTY." As he's doing the dance and holding it.

So I needed a new tactic. I call it the 'Look At Me' approach and I'm pretty damn proud of myself. I'm sure it's in some parenting books, but who's got time to read books when I have two youngin's yelling at me all day. Maybe I picked it up by watching Super Nanny with the wife and watching the REALLY bad parents.

You get down on his level, say authoritatively, "Owen, look at me. We need to go to the store, can you please see a man about a dog?" It usually works to get him to calm down and realize his eyeballs are floating. My evil plan has gotten him to use the potty before leaving the house, put pants on, take pants off, go inside, and whatever else I want him to do.

An alternative to this is the two options tactic. "Owen, look at me. I know you want to go to the playground naked and pee on the slide, but we need to wear pants. Do you want to wear this pair, or these ones. Yes, we will still go out in public with the mismatched shirt so your Mommy will be horrified at Daddy's clothing choices."

Just last night, I used 'Look At Me' to good effect during dinner. "Owen," I said calmly, "Look at me, I need you to sit down in your chair and eat. And please try to keep your penis from dangling in your dinner."

Yes, I said that at the dinner table, just before we played good hugging robot/evil baby-eating robot with his stuffed robot. Maybe letting him come to the dinner table without pants isn't the BEST parenting in the world, but you have to pick your battles.

CK

Is That a Wink?

I had one of those moments yesterday evening that just had me shaking my head. We had pasta for dinner, so we took Owen's shirt off and put on his pasta eatin' bib. After he finished his dinner, he pulled the bib off and announced it was potty time. Off came the shorts and underpants and on to the potty. We were still eating dinner, so I told him to let me know when he was done and went back to the dinner table.

Since he's a big boy, he came wandering out of the bathroom wearing naught but a smile. It didn't take him long to decide to play froggies. You squat down, put your arms between your legs, and hop while yelling "Ribbit!" Hi-lar-ious.

He wanted us to play froggie with him, but we were eating dinner, so he started hopping away from us, me watching him, the wife with her back to him. After a hop or two, he looked back to see if we were playing. This is where it went downhill, quickly.

He didn't stand up, turn around, and query, "Mother, Father, I respectfully request you participate in a frog impression game with me, post haste." Nope, he stuck his butt in the air, legs wide open, and looked back upside down through open legs. Yes, everything God had blessed him with upon his birth was quite obvious and never meant to be viewed at this angle. I lost it, just laughing uncontrollably. It must be why the Scots lift their kilts in Braveheart, no way the English can breathe from laughing, much less fight.

Luckily (or unluckily depending on your perspective), my wife wanted to see why I was suddenly laughing like a buffoon. She got the full experience too. Immediately, the wife rolled her eyes and shook her head, deciding that his shame/embarrassment emotion has not yet developed. Thank you Queen of the Understatement. We pretty much spent the rest of dinner arguing about whose son that was. Unfortunately, I might be the loser here and the loser when it comes to the panoramic overlook.

CK

We've Been Robbed

We found our closet ransacked tonight. We don't think we lost any valuables, but our dirty laundry was thoroughly trashed and the Christmas wrapping paper was strewn about. He was in there for like, 14 seconds.



Bonus photo, he recently put his underwear on his head and announced, "I have a hat!"



CK

Mr. Skunk and Mr. Bird

We were headed over to my parents house this morning and Owen wanted to bring a skunk and a bird from one of his toys in the car with him. On the way, he started a conversation between the two of them. It went like this:

Mr. Skunk in a deep voice: "Are you okay?"
Mr. Bird in a higher voice: "I'm okay."
Mr. Skunk in a deep voice: "Are you okay?"
Mr. Bird in a higher voice: "I'm okay."
Mr. Skunk in a deep voice: "Are you okay?"
Mr. Bird in a higher voice: "I'm okay."
Mr. Skunk in a deep voice: "Are you okay?"
Mr. Bird in a higher voice: "I'm okay."
Mr. Skunk in a deep voice: "Are you okay?"
Mr. Bird in a higher voice: "I'm okay."
Mr. Skunk in a deep voice: "Good, you're happy."

While very funny to listen to, it proves to the wife something I don't think she believes. You see, when Owen is going high speed down the driveway and crashes, she thinks I always tell him to be more careful and rub some dirt on it. I really do ask him if he's okay. Gotta check to make sure gravel isn't embedded in his forehead, no broken bones, etc. After he is calmed down over his brand new scraped knees that just finished healing from the last time, I try to explain center of gravity, mass vs. acceleration, and general clumsiness.

By making Mr. Skunk ask Mr. Bird if he's okay, it shows, yet again, that I am the world's greatest Dad and care about his well being first. Second, I explain the finer points of not face planting on concrete. Of course, he is a boy, so I think that he is legally required to have scraped knees and bruises at all times from ages 2 to 27.

CK

Look Out Dance Floors

With his interest in music growing (and his favorite songs list expanding ever so slightly), Owen is starting to want to dance. Of course, he has been blessed with a crushing genetic curse. No dancing ability in this family. Sure we'll break it down after some wine at a wedding reception, but I'm praying there is no video footage of one of these occasions.

His moves are well on their way to stiff white boy abilities, usually a little shaking his hips and waving his harms wildly with a big grin on his face. And if you dance with him, the grin gets even bigger.

I decided that he needed to expand his repertoire a little yesterday as some rocking '80s tunes were blaring from my iTunes. So far, he's learned the bus driver, where you have both hands on the wheel and occasionally stop to open the door for the kids. The shopping cart, very similar to the bus driver, except you use the one hand on the cart and the other to pick items off the shelves. Finally, we taught him making the pizza. That seemed to be his favorite. Throw your fists over your head and pretend you're throwing the pizza up in the air. And there will be more to come.

Look out ladies at wedding receptions in 2028, someone's already practicing his lady-killin' moves.

CK

A New Hope

This afternoon, Owen and I watched Star Wars. The original, episode IV, A New Hope. He LOVED it. Sure, we skimmed through a few of the battle scenes and the Uncle/Aunt death scene. The best part was his little comments throughout. He was really excited about the spaceships and robots. We'll work on calling them droids later. Here were a couple that I particularly enjoyed.

At the beginning when the star destroyer is chasing Princess Leia's ship: "It's a BIIIIIG spaceship!"
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As C3PO and R2D2 are in the dessert of Tattooine: "The robots are walking. It's hot."
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Me: "That's C3PO."
Owen: "C3PO"
Me: "And that one is R2D2."
Owen: "R2D2"
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When the Jawas short circuit R2 and pick him up: "They're gonna help the robot."
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"Omi Wan Kemoni, Oki Man Pemoni, Oki Wan Wenoni"
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Me: "Stormtroopers are baddies."
Owen: "Stormtroopers are baddies."
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"No moon. It's space...space station."
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"Chewmacca."
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Anytime one is on screen: "It's a spaceship!!!!!!"
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At the end: "I like that movie. Watch it again?"

That last one brought a little tear to Daddy's eye.

CK

Shave and a Haircut

We like to look our best in the Kelly household. So, today was shave and a haircut day.





CK

Don't Tell Mommy

We were playing in the backyard this morning (not with the fancy swingset, with sticks and a $1 ball) when it happened. "I need to go potty Daddy." This is excellent, we haven't had any potty incidents in quite some time. The trouble with his announcement outside is that he never wants to go inside. For any reason.

Trying to get him inside often results in screaming, loss of bones, and tears. I can usually get him to come in for a potty break with the promise that we will immediately come back outside and I won't force him to do anything dastardly like wash his hands or face. Today was really difficult, after his announcement he wandered over to the bushes, chased the dog, and wanted to pick a 'pomato' in the garden. Convincing him to come inside and potty was not going to work. "Fine," I said, "let's pee in the backyard."

It was a huge hit with the participant. He couldn't stop loudly announcing to the trees and dog that he peed outside. It was so much fun, we did it again while we were outside playing in the afternoon. Same tree, just doing our part for the native vegetation during the heat wave.

The reason I've entitled this particular post 'Don't Tell Mommy' is that there are certain members of this household that don't believe in taking a leak in the comforts of nature. Especially when the indoor plumbing is a mere 3 or 4 hundred steps away. Toddlers don't take straight lines. This won't be an everyday occurrence Mommy, don't worry.

Of course, this evening, he did announce he had to go potty and started acting like he was just going to water the chair in the living room. We'll have to keep a close eye on that, else Mommy is going to be REALLY upset.

CK

Running List of Toddlerisms

The wife and I were chuckling about the latest crazy statements and we needed to start a list. This is that list. Likely to be expanded often, new items are in italics at the top.

Playing with the new bath letters that stick to the wall:
Owen: "These are Os."
Me: "Well, one is an O and the other is a zero."
Owen: "No, they're Os. And they're green."
Me: "Yes, they are green, but one is a zero."
Owen: "No Daddy, that's silly."
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Looking at his Mommy's belly button during bedtime: "Your penis is inside-out!"
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Owen knows we're going to get pizza and looks at the sign next to the pizza place: "K - U - M - O - N...PIZZA!
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At the store in Georgia on a Sunday, where beer and wine sales are not allowed
Me: "Oops, I forgot you can't buy wine on Sunday. *fake panic voice* OH NO!"
Owen: "Don't be sad."
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Owen, randomly at breakfast: "My birthday is coming over!"
Mommy: "Your birthday is coming over?"
Me: *laughing*
Owen: "It's bringing presents!"
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During quiet time, Owen decides to play with his snap together Thomas take and go track:
Owen: "It's broken, I need to fix it."
Me: "Okay, you go fix it."
Owen walks away and comes back 15 seconds later: "I need a screwdriver to fix it."
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Looking at his Halloween Candy Haul, Owen: "Can I have this one?"
Me: "No, we already had some candy."
Owen holding up a different piece: "How about this one?"
Me: "No, you've had enough candy."
Owen holding up yet another piece: "How about this one?"
Me: No, no more candy tonight."
Owen proceeded to hold up every single piece of candy and ask "How about this one?"
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Owen, looking at the garden: "What's this?"
Me: "That's called bok choy. It's for stir fry."
Owen: "No, it's salad. What's this?"
Me: "Raddichio, it's lettuce."
Owen: "No, it's salad. What's this?"
Me: "Mesculin. I mean it's salad like the rest."
Owen: "I don't like salad."
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Owen: "I have an idea guys!"
Mommy: "You have an idea? What's your idea?"
Owen: "I'm going to make you guys happy!"
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Me: "Do you want to read 'Sneetches' tonight?"
Owen: "No! That's too dangerous!"
Me: "What makes it dangerous?"
Owen: "I don't like that one."
Me: "That makes no sense, liking something doesn't make it dangerous."
Owen: "Motorcycles are dangerous."
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Owen had a cold and felt a little warm to his Mommy. Owen, after Mommy checked him with the rectal thermometer: "I'm feeling better!"
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Me jokingly to the wife: "Look here missy!"
Owen to his mommy: "Look here missy!"
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The wife sarcastically: "I feel sexy."
Owen enthusiastically: "I feel sexy TOO!"
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Me: "Dinner is imminent."
Owen: "Dinner is immi..imm...imma...immimmiimiiimmi....ALL DONE!"
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*Me with car keys between my teeth so I can buckle him into his car seat with 2 hands*
Owen: "Don't eat the keys Daddy! That's DANGEROUS!"
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Owen in a parking lot: "Mommy, no penis. Daddy, penis."
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Over Play-Doh:
Me: Now what animal should I make? A snake?
Owen: A snake! Yes!
Me: Okay, here you go.
Owen: It's happy.
Me: It's a happy snake? That's good.
Owen: It's happy snake. And happy monster.
Me: Okay, now what animal should I make?
Owen: Walrus.
Me: Let me guess, a happy walrus?
Owen: Nooooooo, a silly walrus.
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Owen at dinner: "Daddy's in the car."
Me: "I'm in the car? Where am I going?"
Owen: "Yes."
Me: "Okay. So I'm in the car going to yes. Is there anyone else in the car?"
Owen (excited): "A octumpus!"
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Me to Owen at the front door in my dress shoes: "Where are you going buddy?"
Owen: "Work!"
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Owen, randomly out loud referring to Thomas the Tank Engine: "Thomas has penis."
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Owen: "I pooped in my pants! Yay Owen!"
Me: "No, not 'Yay Owen.'"
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Owen to Mommy as she was trying to decide what to wear: "Mama needs pants!"
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Owen, hiding when you see him and he's not ready to be found: "NO! I'm HIIIIIIDING!"
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Owen, during lunch: "NO! Eat your soup with spoons you guys!"
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Owen: "I see a spider!"
Me: "Oh yeah, I see it too. It's called a wolf spider and it eats bugs."
Owen: "I LOVE it! I squash it!"
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Owen, guess where: "I make lots of stinkies. It splashed."
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Owen on the swingset at the park, with some construction equipment nearby: "Yay Owen and Daddy we swinging together looking at backhoe and going fast."
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After answering some questions honestly:
Owen: "Owen has a penis. Daddy has a penis. Mommy has a *garbled word that roughly rhymes with vagina*. Poor Mommy."
Mommy: "No, Mommy wants no part of having a penis."
Mommy to Daddy: "I didn't know 2 year olds were aware of penis envy."
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About to vacuum the house:
Owen: "We're going into the vacuum."
Me: "That's not safe, there's no air in a vacuum."
Owen: "There's no air in a vacuum."
Me: "Good, where's your Nobel for Science?"
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Me: "What do you have in your mouth?"
Owen, pulling something out of his mouth: "A rock."
Me: "Why are you eating a rock?"
Owen: "You want one for your mouth?"
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After falling halfway down the stairs because he was goofing off, right after the crying has stopped and my wife's heart started beating again:
Owen: "I fell down."
Mommy: "Yes, it was terrible."
Owen (starting to smile): "I rolled down backwards."
Mommy: "I know."
Owen: "It was fun. I do it again?"
Mommy: "No, never again."
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Right after picking weeds in the yard on the way to the car:
Owen: "Owen and Daddy like weed."
Me: "No, that would be illegal and Mommy would be mad."
Owen: "Mommy doesn't like weed."
Me: "Right, now climb in the car and let's go."
Owen: "Owen and Daddy GOOOO! With weed."
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Me: "Owen, show your Mommy the tomatoes you just picked."
Owen: "Mmph, mmmm, phmph." *mouth full of the cherry tomatoes he just picked*
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We were outside and away from home on a cold day and he needed help going potty:
Me: "Sorry my hands are so cold buddy."
Owen: "ME TOO!"
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Owen: "I want coffee."
Me: "No, coffee is for Daddy to drink."
Owen: "Beer is for Daddy TOO!"
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Me: "Owen, are you licking that tree?"
Me: "Owen, stop licking that tree."
Me: "Owen, would you please stop licking the tree?"
Me: "Owen! Stop. Licking. The. Tree."
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Hide and Seek

We've gone through quite a few favorite games since Owen turned into a toddler and now a young man. Peek-a-boo, where's Owen, and the game of just run screaming as loud as you can through wherever you are. He's really gotten into hide and seek lately. Not quite sure how the rules are supposed to work, but he grasps the overall concept, and if you can fall over giggling at the end, what the hey?

Obviously, you have to have a hider and a finder. Usually, Owen is the finder and one or both of us is the hider. He closes his eyes tight and puts his hands up to his face, counting to 5. Upon counting to 5, the fifth number being reached, he announces "Ready or not, here I come," as every good finder should. Inside the house, we hide behind the bathroom door, a floor length curtain, behind the couch, or in the alcove by the pantry. Occasionally, you can slip into the office or on to the basement steps. He wanders around the house looking for you, but he really just wants to be surprised. Therefore, the best hiding spots are the ones where you can be passed over, then jump out and yell "BOOOOOO!" right behind him. He'll jump, pee a little, and be reduced to fits of laughter as he tackles you.

If you find a REALLY good hiding spot, he'll give up and go play with his toys so you have to be somewhat selective. We were playing in the backyard once and he counted. Daddy hid behind one of the many large poplar trees back there and Owen never came looking for me in that area. He spent a good 2 minutes looking for me in the wrong places as I peeked out from behind the tree. He finally gave up, and spent another 5 minutes wandering around in the backyard, picking up sticks, looking at bugs, and other random toddler activities. Finally, I decided to sneak up on him and waited for his back to be turned. I crept up behind him and got to about 10 feet away when he happened to turn around so I rushed him and threw him skyward while making some sort of monster noise I came up with.

It scared the crap out of him, he'd obviously completely forgotten I was out there with him. But it took about 1.3 seconds to register it was his Daddy and I don't think he could breathe he was laughing so hard. After settling down, he said, "You hide again!"

On the rare occasion when he wants to be the hider, this is where we have failures in the hide and seek dynamic. His idea of hiding is getting in a corner, or putting his hands on the fridge, in plain sight. When you get to 5 and announce ready or not, you can't find him until he's ready to be found. Walk right past him, loudly wondering where he is. If you see him, he'll scream, "NO! I'm HIIIIIIIIDING!!!!!" When he's ready to be found, he will come running out at you yelling, "BOOOO!!!!!" so you have to act properly scared and often get tackled. Maybe Daddy has too much fun with hide and seek by teaching the scare/tackle version.

He's finally starting to grasp better hiding technique and is usually found peeking out from behind a tree, a curtain, or behind the couch. One of these days, I'll have to get him to hide really well. Then I can give up and maybe have some peace and quiet. Except I'd probably forget and he'd scare me to the point of peeing myself and giggling.

CK

The Mall Playground

We just returned from an hour or so at the little playground in the local mall. It's just too hot to go out after we almost melted this morning, so some A/C in a contained area where Owen could get some energy out was perfect. This particular playground is really more of a small play area packed with at least 2 dozen kids. No traditional playground equipment, just a bunch of hard foam animals in various poses for kids to climb on, slide down, jump from, and fall off. Foamed carpeting keeps the falls from hurting too much. Our lil' man always has a blast going crazy in there and there's enough white noise and other stuff going on that the baby is happy too.

My biggest complaint though is that the play area is really for kids about 6 and younger. Bigger kids are always running around on it, and even that's not a big deal MOST of the time. It's the one kid who is entirely too old (like 12) and has no awareness of his surroundings. Last time we were at the playground, this particular kid was about 10 or 11 or so, and was constantly doing dumb stuff like waiting for little kids to run by him and jump over their heads or trying to make ever farther jumps from the cat's head to the sombrero. When he slipped and fell during one landing, he whacked his head on a polar bear ass. He wasn't hurt, so I was free to laugh by pointing and doing the Nelson "Ha-ha!" Sure, if he broke an arm or split his head open, I'd be over there trying to help out with First Aid. But it is somewhat satisfying to see a thumping.

Today was an entirely different experience. There was a boy, maybe 7 or 8, with his mom following him around to pose him on the different animals for, I guess, "glamour shots". She was shooing other kids out of photos, having him put on designer sunglasses, and flash what appeared to be gang signs.

This was a little strange, considering there were probably 30 kids in a relatively small area, but the choice of outfits was what took it to another level of high comedy. The kid was in a stained t-shirt (like every kid on the planet) and athletic shorts. No underwear. We ALL know this because his athletic shorts was lacking in the ability to cover his hot cross buns more than halfway. It's one thing for a pair of shorts to fall down a bit while playing, but when mom is having you sit on a skunk for 3 minutes doing various poses while your vertical smile is saying hello...

Maybe I'm officially an old man shaking my fist in the yard and yelling, "Pull up your pants!" As you can tell from my last blog, I will never understand why the Lady Gaga's, Justin Bieber's, and whatever teeny-bop group comes next have success, but I'm really hoping the 8 year old public display of assfection will never be hip.

CK

I Don't Like That Music

As Owen has become more verbose, his likes and dislikes are becoming less obvious. By less obvious, I mean he used to give us an emphatic foot stomp and "NOOOOO!" for things he didn't like. Stuff he likes gets an emphatic foot stomp and "NOOOOO!" when you take the item away or stop the fun activity. Now, he'll actually just tell us if he doesn't like something most of the time.

This is definitely the case with music. As soon as we get in the car, he wants the music turned up and either listens along happily or announces "I don't like that music." His taste is pretty limited so far, BIG fan of Veggie Tales songs and James Brown's "I Got You (I Feel Good)." Everything else is "I don't like that music," stated over and over again until you skip to the next song for another "I don't like that music," or you ignore him. He even hates "Real Gone" by Sheryl Crow, the song they used for the opening credits of the movie Cars. If you were not aware, Cars is the greatest movie in the history of movies to all who are 3 feet tall and male.

I kind of ignored all this, until I started playing my 80s playlist off iTunes one afternoon. Fantastic stuff, some A-Ha, Duran Duran, Men at Work, Rick Springfield. And of course, Europe's "The Final Countdown." If you made a request that "The Final Countdown" be played at your funeral, I will rock out to it with air guitar. Don't blame me, you requested the song, you would have wanted it that way. But Owen hates the '80s. He wanted them off the speakers as soon as possible and almost threw a tantrum over it.

So I tried the Beatles. Magical Mystery Tour, Abbey Road, The White Album, A Hard Day's Night (just in case he prefers the early sober Beatles over the...medicated ones). No, no, no, and no. Ugh, this is not my kid.

Maybe he's got some weird musical tastes so I decided to bust out some of my different loves. A little Irish/Celtic music because who doesn't like a happy jig or a drinking song with innuendo? Apparently Owen AND his mother don't like jigs and/or bawdy drinking songs. Some Classic Rock, like the Stones, Zeppelin, ZZ Top. "I don't like that music." He doesn't like the Oldies, Classical, Jazz, Funk, or Crooners. I know he's not some Emo kid, so Alternative stuff like R.E.M. and Dave Matthews is right out.

If you're thinking The Wiggles, a Rebecca Black, or a Justin Bieber type since he is, technically, a kid, stop it. Just stop it. I consider it bad parenting at best and child abuse at worst to let Bieber into my home and I will cut him out of the will if he ever pushes play on an autotuned song.

For now, I think I'm stuck listening to Veggie Tales and James Brown on a loop. The really cool thing about hearing "I Feel Good" all the time is that he's started to sing along with it. But not the whole song, only one section with the horn licks, "SO GOOD! Buh buh buh bum, BUUUUUUUMMMMMMM!!!!!!!" It's pretty entertaining to listen to him sing along with the Godfather of Soul and I kind of think he's got the creative genius of an Andy Kaufman by just picking one part of the song to sing. We'll have to work on some of JB's other hits, like "Get Up Offa That Thing," "Papa's Got A Brand New Bag," and "Sex Machine." His Mom's going to love that last one.

CK

Don't Know What to Call This One

Owen and the wife are both slowed down a bit by colds this week. Owen seems to be over his, but the wife is in the depths at the moment. I was rocking Lily in our room and she brought little man upstairs for bedtime this evening. The wife sat down on the bed and looked at me with puffy red eyes, a little snot running down her face, and sarcastically wheezed, "I feel sexy."

Except she said it a little too loudly, so Owen cried out with glee, "I feel sexy TOO!" I don't why I'M in trouble now since I didn't say it, but apparently my laughing uncontrollably reinforces bad behavior and/or language we want him to avoid. It's one of those moments that I will definitely recall forever and probably recount decades from now.

I was reminded how fast this time of their lives will go and suddenly, I'm looking at a teenager, high school grad, and beyond. This morning a lot of email traffic started flying about a young man I knew vaguely through my weekend hobby. He took his own life and it's been with me all day. I only met him once and didn't know him very well. I don't know his parents but my heart goes out to them. I can't imagine what they're going through and never, never want to. Like the old quote says, 'Parents should never have to bury their children.' I hope that his parents can eventually find peace.

Since becoming parents 2 and a half years ago, both the wife and I have awoken on many mornings to explain the vivid dreams of one or both our kids falling down stairs, getting lost, etc. Thankfully, the one time Owen did fall down the stairs, he emerged with only a small bruise. Two yellow jacket stings that barely fazed him last week, sprained ankle that isn't slowing him down this week, and two eternally scraped up knees. I just hope that's the worst stuff they ever have to deal with.

Sure, becoming a SAHD has put a strain on the family through finances and being in close proximity all the time but I'm so glad to be with them everyday. The late night screaming fests, the stomping of the foot and attitude laced "NO!", and blatant ignoring of my voice when he's playing with the electrical outlet. We recall Owen being a tougher baby to handle than Lily so far, but I remember those first smiles, the chuckles he made way more than the late nights.

Lily has started smiling, but she's a very serious baby. I often will get one small smile a day, if I'm lucky. She just started laughing in the last couple of days and I will put up with any amount of screaming to get the half second smile or giggle. There will be times that I'll want to Homer Simpson choke the boy or take away Lily's...uhm...pony? But I will not stop loving the hell out of them no matter what.

CK