A conversation between E- and J-: Heaven in a handbasket

Now that my 2-year-old son E- is astronomically more verbal than he was just a few months ago, he can actually hold up his end of many straightforward (generally needs/wants-oriented) conversations. Of course, that doesn't mean he always chooses to do so.

Occasionally, he strikingly decides to barrel on in true LiteralDan form, hoping to wear down his opponent by sheer force of will. Exhibit 437 (of Thousands):

E- (to my wife J-, reaching toward his inconveniently hard-to-reach Easter basket): MY back-ket. My back-ket. MY BACK-KET!

J- ((patiently, while making dinner): Yeah, E-, that IS your basket. It's up high because you kept taking candy when you weren't supposed to.

E- (as if she hadn't said anything at all of import): ...My back-ket! My can-nee.

J-: Yes, it is your candy, but that doesn't mean you can eat it whenever you want...

E- (before she even finished her sentence, as if his point was too urgent to wait): Jehwy, beeeeeeans!!

J-: ...

E- (almost exasperated, trying to communicate with a simple foreigner): EAT! Can-nee! Jehwy beans!

Suffice it to say, he continued to be frustrated by everyone's inability to understand that, unlike most children, he quite enjoys eating candy, and would strongly prefer to consume it in place of, as well as alongside, any other foods he's offered. No one said it wasn't lonely being the outlier.

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You may enjoy my previous J- conversations, (2YO son) E- conversations, (9YO son) D- conversations, and (6YO daughter) M- conversations.

2012: The Year We Make... Stuff Up

Well, as you may or may not have already observed, we're all still here, living and breathing. Even waiting a couple weeks to factor in some rounding errors that might have skewed things a bit, the world seems much the same as it was not that long ago, and it seems safe to say that the world stands as much chance of ending as it ever does, just like we found out after hitting the year 2000 without planes falling from the sky.*

Are we all that hard up for some real, guilt-free drama and plain-dealing in our lives?

Yes, yes we are.

Sometimes it feels like we've peaked, at least here in the "First World", and the only productive way to go is sideways, to something more elemental, and beautiful... a place and time where all these idle things we've created don't really matter, all the filters we've built between ourselves as humans dissipate. A place where the person shuffling imaginary sums of money from one place to another finds the bulk of her life's experience suddenly useless, and the man with the hand-dug fallout shelter, fully stocked armory**, and decades-long supply of canned food is king.

But then the movie ends, we walk out with our heads down, and we forget all about that nonsense while scrolling through Tumblr pages for updates on our favorite memes, or while monitoring comments on our pictures of food we were about to eat at some point.

But hey, sometimes it just takes a minute to shake out the cobwebs and remember what's really important, right? Here and now, or there and then, and family, and not... stuff... or whatever somebody else reposted on Facebook once that sounded really deep 'n' shit.

Here's to another new year of more of the same! But moreso!

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* Good thing, too, because I was on one that day, off to meet my future wife for the first time. We'll never beat those plane fares!

** To finally get a chance to protect his toothless, malnourished children with the finest matériel tens of thousands of dollars can buy!

A lion in autumn

An e-mail I recently received from Buy.com asked the deceptively simple question, "What will you be this Halloween?"

That quandary was immediately and permanently addressed within the body of that very e-mail, in the form of a timeless treasure buried beneath a pile of boring, foolish, or even mildly ridiculous costumes: "A Sexy Wizard of Oz Cowardly Lion!"

Just in case one did not immediately grasp the magic inherent in those words, they included a siren song for the eyes:

Seems astonishingly obvious once you hear it and see it laid out like this, doesn't it? I mean, right here you have the very heart* of the film if not of the original book series itself! The whole narrative, this fictional universe, it all begins to collapse without the hefty weight of the Cowardly Lion's sex appeal anchoring it all --unspoken, undescribed, unobserved... possibly nonexistent-- and yet I'll bet you never once thought of it before now. Genius. Just genius.

Now, granted, the "sexiness" of this particular creation is highly dependent on the nature of the clay used to craft it, but I'm pretty confident I have the body to pull it off. The only real stumbling block to my undisputed ownership of this and all future Halloweens is the fact that it's currently on sale for $77.

I may have to let some pretender claim my throne, for that price. Or else, hmmmm... what would one of those craft bloggers do?

I'm off to find where I left my tan Spanx bodysuit and faux-fur boots 'n' muff!

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* Tin Woodman be damned. Again.

A conversation between M- and J-: It is risen

The following conversation between my 5-year-old daughter M- and my wife J- took place during our multi-state car trip right before Easter, during which my wife indulged in many of her Rhode Island favorites from childhood, including "Easter bread", a very sweet, iced treat:

J- (concerned that the kids have buried and/or crushed the loaf we were taking home, somewhere in the van): Where's the Easter bread?

M- (immediately jumping in, with a "Magical Storytime" voice all cued up): He stays in a nook, faaaaar under the ground...

J- (interrupting, totally confused): What??

Me (realizing the disconnect): No, the Easter BREAD.

M-: OHHHhhhhhhhh!

J- (cutting through the visions of candy and gifts, to the most important matter at hand): So... you don't know where the bread is?

They were definitely very happy to have the Easter Bunny himself leave his beloved nook to visit shortly after this, though he didn't leave us any Easter bread. Just lots of what I could only assume were jelly beans...

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, J- conversations, and (8YO son) D- conversations.

Classic quotes, Vol. 35

Here are the latest memorable quotes from my 5-year-old daughter M-, my 7-year-old son D-, and my 1-year-old son E- that I've managed to remember or write down:

M- (referring to the snowman she was mentally designing, for her preschool homework): And his name will be "Ho-Wrecker"!

Kid at school (amazed, watching E- doing a victory lap with a basketball he found): Whoa! That baby can WALK!

M- (after being asked an obvious question, before I reached in to turn on the fan): ...No. I'm sweating, but I'm not pooping. ... I'm sweating!

D- (after we were talking about dogs and wolves eating grass): THAT'D be cool, to see a wolf throw up.


M- (approximately 10 minutes after first regretting asking me why February 29 is a special day): ...Oh..... 

A conversation with M-: We're all important in our own way

Pretend I'm more on-the-ball and it's still Valentine's Day, and enjoy this then-appropriate conversation I had awhile back with my now-5-year-old daughter M-, when she saw just how many yogurts I'd picked up at the store while she was at school:

M- (joking, with an incredible amount of enthusiasm, while standing at the fridge): Wow! The Mom yogurts made a LOT of baby yogurts!

Me: Oh? All by themselves?

M- (without a trace of doubt): Yes!

Me (foolishly playing with fire, for my own amusement): Without any help from Daddy yogurts?

M-: No. (thinking twice) Well, a LITTLE help, maybe. They help do stuff like carry heavy things, and pack up the clothes for them, and stuff. (taking the opportunity to drop another hint of a present idea) Like their roooooooobes...

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, (7YO son) D- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

Internet blackout

By way of issuing the latest "Happy New Year" on record, I'm gonna opportunistically hop on a rolling train that I will simultaneously claim to have pushed out of the station myself.

That's right-- I am the sole pioneer of the Internet Blackout of Wednesday, January 18. I'm so far ahead of everyone else on this, I've already been holding strong for 17 days!

So go ahead, all you late-coming, fair-weather bandwagoners-- I've been keeping the seats nice and warm for you*, grab whichever one you like! ...Except for that one, that one's for my feet.

Here's to registering our support for defeating all freedom-destroying laws (SOPA) and decisions (Citizens United)!

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* Don't ask how.

A conversation with M-: Away in a manger full of presents

Here's a revealing conversation I had with my 4-year-old daughter M-, when I absentmindedly vented my brain of the potentially hazardous buildup of Christmas songs stuck in it:

Me: "I don't want a lot for Christmas / ..."

M- (interrupting with an important point, while gesturing slightly to herself): I do.

Me: Oh you do, do you??

M-: Yes. Do YOU want a lot for Christmas?

Me (really overselling my angelic virtue): No. I just want everybody to be happy.

M- (brow furrowed in earnest reflection): ... Well, I want a lot for Christmas.

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, (7YO son) D- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

Amusing searches, Vol. 15

Here are more of the most amusing searches that brought people here recently, in this case all to one post-- we'll again call this The Least Depressing Searches That Led People to my 10 Reasons my 3-Year-Old Son May be Homosexual Post.

(All search strings are reprinted exactly as they were entered, and the search text links to the post at which the visitor arrived.)


• why is my 5 year old son's tooth sensitive to hot? (Oshawa, Ontario) - I'm guessing because his central nervous system works. Don't worry, though, that should clear up in a few years

• my 3 year old son trys on clothes in secret (Marathon, WI) - If your 3-year-old is able to somewhat competently put on and take off a whole outfit, I wouldn't worry too much about what he or she puts on in particular. Just enjoy the extra 10 minutes of sleep you'll get in the morning.

• how long is a normal 12 year olds penis (Hailsham, UK) - Oh, I dunno... anywhere between, say, 1 inch and 15 inches? Just like the range for everyone else? (Most women excluded.) One can only hope you're keeping this preoccupation to yourself.

• what is wrong with my 3 year old (Leicester, UK) - Assuming your 3-year-old is like most, let's see... 1) He smells like he doesn't much care for baths; 2) He really could stand to wipe his nose, but not on his clothes again; 3) He should be returned for warranty service on his volume control; 4) He's just so needy! I mean, seriously, does he EVER help with chores, or carry YOU in from the car? And 5) The kid doesn't even know how to read!

Classic quotes, Vol. 31

Here's a selection of some recent quotes from my 4-year-old daughter M-, 7-year-old son D-, and wife J-:

D- (to my mom, after he chose to dump unhealthy amounts of cinnamon on his toast): Your cinnamon is really HOT!

M- (missing the point of a race during Cars 2): Why are they driving so fast??

J- (mindlessly talking aloud to herself, after realizing Father's Day was approaching): Oh, sh*t, that's coming up already...

D- (as my dad tried to point out that he wasn't listening to the requested story he was reading aloud): What??! I can not hear you over the sound of me talking!

M- (shouting at J-, who had quietly advised her to really start sleeping, while she was pretending to sleep): I am, MOM!

J- (suffering through a diet, as M- pulled a pack of Hostess cupcakes off a grocery shelf): Put that down right now! (muttering to herself) Put it down before I buy them...

M- (ending a series of overly dramatic comments about a forklift she was hearing at Costco): Watch out, that fork lifter's going to fork us up!!

A conversation with D-: Candy, or The Optimist

After three kids, plus a keen self-awareness during my own childhood, I know a thing or two about how children's minds work. Some aspects are very simple and obvious, others more complex, but this recent conversation with my 7-year-old son D- reminds us that the most important thing is we are all slaves to our most basic needs.

Me (repeatedly calling from the shower to D-, waiting in the bathroom to come in and get washed): D-? ... D-? ..... D-?? (muttering, unsure if he really left or is hiding somewhere in the bathroom) ...Alright, no candy for you, then...

D- (after a very long pause): ...Wait, what did you say??

Me (ignoring my own triumph over the chronic, and talented, hider): Hey, there you are, buddy-- come on, it's your turn to get clean next.

D- (suddenly very compliant, but urgently looking to resolve his confusion): Okay, I'm coming, but, so... what did you say just a minute ago? "No something for me," or something??

I decided to play dumb on this one, stalling for time long enough that an, "I don't remember what you're talking about," was plausible and thus above his keen suspicion. Can't give up this trick just yet-- I have so few of the old standbys left, at his age.

Happy Father's Day!

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You may enjoy my previous D- conversations, (4YO daughter) M- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

Logic and Reason never brought me candy or presents

My now 7-year-old son D- (I really need to update my masthead...) is at that age where he views Logic and Reason as his own all-powerful keys to unlock the secrets of childhood that adults often-unintentionally guard so fiercely.

And yet, at the same time, advanced as he is in the twin arts of Sarcasm and Skepticism, he can't quite resist the pull of childish naivete. He's the kind of kid (much like myself back then) who doesn't "really" believe in Santa, but who feels compelled to make a calculated hedge against the possibility of facing the huge downside of a disappointed, vengeful St. Nick.

Because of this swirling sea of uncertainty, the following exchange between D- and his 4-year-old sister M-, taken from a larger stream of chit-chat about school and life on our way home one afternoon, was obviously quite agonizing for him. (I've abbreviated some of the pauses and excluded descriptions of his pained facial contortions, for your own sanity in reading through it.)

M-: We have a TV in our [preschool] room, too, up REALLY high. That's where Snowflake was sitting one time.

D-: Who's Snowflake?

M-: The elf who was hiding around our classroom... right before it was Christmastime. You can't touch him, though, or he'll lose his magic.

D-: Wellll, that can't be right, because you guys had to touch him to put him up there.

M-: No! He FLEW up there, by himself, at night.

D- (thinking hard about this): Wait... was this in a movie?

M-: No, it was in my class, for real. He's really magic, and he hides all over the room! You can't touch him, or he loses his magic.

D- (thinking again, then making absolutely sure): .....So, was this ON the TV, like a movie or a show?

M-: No! It really happened, to me, in my classroom, at Christmastime. For real.

D- (thinking some more): ...And you said his name was Snowflake?

She had of course discussed this, as you might imagine, in depth at Christmastime, but he was apparently too hopped up on Yuletide hysteria then to pay any attention.

It's also worth noting that during this conversation, she didn't even mention what these "magic powers" are, nor did she allude to the elf's supposed occupation as Spy for Santa. "Magic" speaks for itself, I guess.

I can't help but picture that once he was as sold as he could be on the idea, he was immediately plotting how to capture it and extract its secrets.*

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* These days, whether pirates, leprechauns, or odd-looking kittens are in question, "secrets" should be read as "Goooooooooold!"

Things that amuse me, Vol. 7

Here are some of the happenings and such that have been amusing me lately:

1. Only a baby can sit there crying after punching himself in the face and still reel in the sympathy of the whole room.

2. There's nothing like an earthquake, string of tsunamis, resultant fires, and impending nuclear meltdowns to make a 7-year-old ask me why I don't turn off the music and turn on the news on the way to school.

3. I recently wiped out several dozen flies flirting and sunning themselves on the east side of my house. They died as they lived-- trying to make thousands of babies and irritating the hell out of me.

4. A baby is the kind of person whom you can't trust to not urinate on you during any given 1-minute period of the day.

5. Unlike his do-gooder cousin the Easter Bunny, the equally famous After-Easter Bunny has this week been employing his Magical Rabbit powers of whisking himself around to the baskets of all good little boys and girls of the world to remove just enough candy each time that they'll never notice.

The ultimate stocking stuffer

Look what I found in my stocking this year:
A two-day-old baby? It's another Festivus miracle!

Editor's Note: He's very tiny.

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Alright, fine, I can provide more information... we'll call him E-; he was born 6lbs, 5oz, and 19in long. Here we go again!

A conversation with D- and M-: Santa awards half points for honesty

This is a conversation my wife recently had with my 3-year-old daughter M- and 6-year-old son D-. M- only touched on the tip of the iceberg, and D- is learning the benefits of spin in public relations:

D- (sweet as sugar and twice as pure): Mom, how many more days until Christmas?

J- (as innocently as he wishes he was): Why?

D-: 'Cause then we get presents!

J-: Oh, yeah, right. Well, 19 days, bud.

M- (helpfully chiming in): D-, we'd better start being good, 'cause I really want presents!

D- (nodding): We have been good...

M- (shaking her head in disbelief): No, no, we haven't!! Remember I drew on you with a marker today??!

I wish you all the best of luck in restraining your own baser natures just long enough to trick Santa into giving you everything you want, but little that you need!

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, D- conversations, and J- conversations.

Things that amuse me, Vol. 6

Given the amount of time that passes between posts, and the relative shallowness of those posts over the past year or more, you'd think I'd have more items for this list, but let's pretend I've spent weeks culling these priceless gems from a much more expansive list of nearly-as-high-quality material:

1.While trying to work my legs through some soreness one day, I tried to remember what over-the-top physical activity I'd engaged in the previous day that would have caused such a hearty ache, and then I remembered the sudden, severe, prolonged, multi-muscle leg cramps that assaulted me while sitting too long at the computer armed only with salty snacks and an empty water glass.*

2. Halloween is the opening "fuck you" from the universe to people really seriously beginning to think again about maybe starting to build mildly more healthy habits during the last quarter of the year.

3. You'd think that time served in pregnancy would enlighten women as to the daily struggles of men with freakishly large pot bellies, who aren't blessed with the comforting knowledge that without any planning or effort on their part, that belly will quickly and easily evacuate itself in under a year. Who ties their shoes, gives up seats, or just smiles warmly as they reach for a second family-sized ice cream sundae "for the baby"?

4. Not unlike heroin on a street corner, bacon and cinnamon roll samples at Costco sell themselves.

5. For good reason, people who know what they're doing when remodeling houses make firm plans and schedules (and order all materials) in advance of beginning the project. Actually, this isn't so much an "Amusing Thing" as a "Deep, Deep Regret and Bit of Hard-Earned Understanding".

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* Technically, cramps exceeding 10 seconds count as physical activity.

A conversation with M-: The little things matter most

The following is a conversation I had with my 3-year-old daughter M- recently, while passing the time before preschool by reading her feather on the class turkey of things for which the kids are thankful.

Me: You're thankful for lollipops?? That's what you're most thankful for?

M-: Yes!

Me: Not your family, or something?

M-: I'm thankful for lollipops AND my family!

Me: In that order?

M-: Yes!

(Note that all of her lines purposefully end in exclamation points... that's just the way she talks.)*

In case I don't see you all before next week, happy Thanksgiving!

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* Except for when she's bossing people around in a quiet, threatening way, instead of her usual loud, outraged way.

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, (6YO son) D- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

One-item lists, Vol. 2

Things not to say to your pregnant mother
1. D- (in response to J-'s comment that a ground squirrel looked especially fat): "Probably, it's the mom."

Things that are only slightly more fun than a spontaneous, unsedated colonscopy
1. Talking politics with old men from the country during a recession.

Unsolvable mysteries of the universe
1. My wife couldn't care less that I finally acquired some Bacon Salt to sample... This is a woman who would gladly wrap each piece of her breakfast cereal in bacon if only it wasn't so time-consuming.

Things that seem like they must be made up, but are not
1. The head of the Skoll Urgent Threats Fund, formerly head of Google's philanthropic arm, is named Dr. Brilliant. Dr. Larry Brilliant. It just seems like he's showing off every time he signs his name. Can you imagine how ecstatic his dad and mom must be? They would be, respectively, Captain and Professor Brilliant, Lord and Lady of Nerdlingshire.

Things that are ruined by rescheduling for the convenience of adults
1. Halloween. Free the 'Ween, suburbia! I hope you're having a great one today, and that you'll get out there and get you some candy (with hired orphans, if you haven't yet made your own candy-bait organ grinder monkeys) regardless of what your town or church might have declared about when or where you should be pounding on your neighbors' doors, demanding candy in exchange for their peace and security.

Amusing searches, Vol. 10

Here are more of the most amusing searches that brought people here recently, with no particular theme this time.

(All search strings are reprinted exactly as they were entered, and the search text links to the post at which the visitor arrived.)

• santa peeing on roof (Toronto, Ontario) - That's right, Santa gave up on coal for naughty children years ago. He just wasn't getting through to them like he does now.

• why do people act dramatically - I don't really know. But I have a question for you: WHY do you always ask me questions like this??!? Because you hate me?!?? I'm never speaking to you again, in fact I'm never speaking to anyone again, because I'm going up to my room to DIE. Forever!

• you're awfully fidgety (Jacksonville, FL) - How can you tell that from there??!? Is your ISP located in Jacksonville, but your mobile device is located INSIDE MY HOUSE?

• if my son was born 10/9/08 how old is he (Norristown, PA) - Let me take just a second and a half for you here... 22 months. 22 months.

• sexually irresistible (Columbia, MO) - Ah, dammit... you people can find me on the Internet now?! I've gotta get my name changed again...

• how people become self conscious (Durban, South Africa) - Well, first you start thinking way too much about yourself and how the world perceives you, then you become immovably obsessed with the fact that, like every single other person in the history of the world, your entire existence is ridiculous and unnecessary in every way.

Classic quotes, Vol. 25

While you're remembering our fallen troops this Memorial Day, lighten up the mood a bit with some recent quotes from my 3-year-old daughter M- and my 6-year-old son D-:

M- (just standing there, repeating herself over and over): I'm going to clean up after myself, without even a word. I'm gonna clean up the whole house, without even a word!

D- (absolutely incredulous, after my mom congratulated him for telling a grownup about something that happened): ...But I DIDN'T tell a grownup! I told DAD!! *

M- (while waxing poetic about the popsicle she was just given): Visions that are dancing through my head, are POPsicles!

D- (overheard from the playroom, in a very stern, controlled tone): No, I'm NOT playing school with you, I'm playing my own game. Stop trying to make me, or I'll just tell Dad. (unintelligible response) ... No, then you'll have no kids at ALL, because I'M. NOT. PLAYING. And if you try to PUSH me on it, I'll. Tell. Dad.

M- (towing a long string of paper behind her, pulling off a line many guys have vainly tried through history): Wanna pet my snake?? He's really long...

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* I would make this same distinction.