Dirty Rockin’ Egg

The last time that my wife and I were on time to any kind of appointment was almost 5 years ago, before we had kids. It doesn’t seem to matter how hard we try or how early we attempt to leave the house, something always happens to slow us down. Someone needs a snack before we leave and then gets it all over himself, someone needs a chocolate milk before we leave and then gets it all over himself, someone needs to go pee before we leave and then gets it all over himself... you get the picture. That ‘someone’ is David or Graham, and occasionally me.

Easter Sunday was no different. We were a few minutes behind our scheduled departure time for the short drive to my In-Laws’ house where we planned to hunt Easter Eggs. In an attempt to get the boys to hurry up I used the old turn-it-into-a-competition trick and told them that “The last one in the car is a dirty rotten egg!” David and Graham bolted for the door. Now, I had intended that this would be a competition for the two of them, but they decided that it was for all four of us, which is totally unfair because I have to buckle Graham into his seat and that made me the last one in the car.
“You’re a dirty rockin’ egg, Dad!” yelled Graham. Somehow it didn’t seem quite so bad to be the dirty rockin’ egg. Candis thought that Graham was mispronouncing ‘rotten’ but I’m convinced that he really does think that I’m rockin’.

My Father-In-Law and I were put in charge of hiding the eggs in the expansive back yard, which turned out to be a mistake because neither of us counted the number of eggs that we’d hidden or remembered exactly where they all were. Apparently these are things that are important, because it’s difficult to ensure that you’ve retrieved all the eggs without knowing those two facts. I readied myself to play the role of referee and hoped that I wouldn’t have to call any Technical Fouls while David and Graham each took a basket and commenced Operation Eggs Traction. (Extraction - get it? I came up with that one all by myself!) *PATS SELF ON BACK* The boys would routinely spot an egg on the far side of the yard and sprint past 5 or 6 easily visible eggs to get to it. Aside from the fact that these two kids apparently couldn’t find an egg if it was screaming their name, the game went smoothly. They played fair and even showed each other where stashes of eggs were hidden so that they could both go grab some. Candis thought that this was nice, well-mannered behavior, while I made a mental note that they lacked the competitive spirit and killer-instinct to be champions and quietly devised ways to instill this in them.

After they had found all of the eggs (I think) David and Graham decided that they wanted to hide the eggs for the adults to find. This was when the underhanded tactics and cheating began, and unfortunately there was no one to play referee. Contestants were spilling other’s baskets to slow them down, they were stealing eggs from one another’s baskets, there were even rumors of one team adding eggs to the game to increase their final count. It was despicable. It was competitive spirit and killer-instinct. It was men against women and the fairer sex did not fair so well despite all their Machiavellian machinations.

It is ironic that my 3 and 4 year old boys were better behaved than the adults. David and Graham managed to share, to be polite and to genuinely be well behaved. This tells me that we haven’t screwed them up yet, but don’t worry our actions later that day assure me that it’s only a matter of time before we do.

Just Me & The Boys

My wife is a Wedding and Event Coordinator which means that there are times when I have to watch the boys by myself on the weekends. It’s a scary prospect and one that we all try to avoid as it’s not in anyone’s best interest for me to be the lone parent for any length of time. I’m not fit to watch the house by myself let alone two boys who are looking to get me into trouble; “Yeah Dad, Mom always puts the banana peels in the disposal.” It’s OK though because they’re in bed by the time my wife gets home and then I just blame them for everything.

This past Saturday was one of these occasions. Candis left the 3 of us at the house and informed us that I was in charge by virtue of being the only one who didn’t need to be constantly reminded to flush the freakin’ toilet when you’re done!

The afternoon went quite well. Graham (our 3 year old) napped, I played video games on my Xbox and David (our 4 year old)... well... I’m sure he entertained himself with something. At one point he did come and ask me what side of the house he should put the trees on (he was drawing a house), “the right side or the wrong side?” I tried to tell him that he meant “right side or left side” but he was insistent that it was either “the right” or “the wrong.” Thinking that he was trying to engage me in a political discourse, I ignored him as I do with everyone who attempts this.

At 4:30 Graham woke up from his nap and the world ended. From what I could tell the following is a list of items that Graham was upset about:

• Mom was not home.
• Dad was home.
• Someone had put Dad in charge.
• He had to go to the kitchen to receive milk.
• Aforementioned milk was in the WRONG CUP!

I’m sure I’m missing some because I don’t speak caterwaul, but it eventually subsided and we moved on to dinner. Instead of just making something I made the mistake of asking “what do you boys want for dinner?”
“Pancakes” came the immediate response which was quickly seconded by the younger accomplice. Not wanting to disturb the peace or provoke the neighbors into calling social services I looked in the freezer before saying no, to see what I could make. Lo and behold, frozen pancakes. Cooking time: 45 seconds in the microwave. Effort on Dad’s part: minimal.
“OK, pancakes it is.” I was a hero.

I was still beaming with pride at having made dinner for my kids as I helped them wash up afterwards. David wanted to play ‘Mom and Dad’ (which makes me nervous on so many levels), but he wanted to pretend that they were a “Mom and Dad with no kids.” I know where he gets this from because Candis and I play this all the time, it really is a fun game.

As they played happily I decided that it was time for me to change the light bulb on the front porch that has been out for some time. This was a strategic move on my part, I knew that my wife would come home and in the course of asking how everything went we would eventually get to the question “what did you make them for dinner?” My plan was to change the subject and fake being upset. “Did you even notice that I changed the light bulb on the porch? I do all this work around here while you’re off at your fancy parties and then you don’t even notice. It’s like you totally take me for granted, I don’t think you really appreciate what I do around here.”

Unfortunately the plan hit a snag when I couldn’t find where we keep the new light bulbs, but I managed to wrangle one from a lamp in the basement to accomplish the mission. She won’t be happy the next time she turns on that lamp, but hopefully I’ll be at work when that happens.

Bye Bye Titty

David, my 4 year old, found the above note taped to our front door the other day. As always you can click the image to enlarge it, the names and phone numbers have been hidden to protect the stupid. It would appear that someone in my neighborhood is missing their cat and also that a village is missing their idiot. It is so sad to see things like this; parents allowing their kids to name the family pet “Titty.”

Yeah, I get it. It’s cute to have your infant name your new kitten and it was probably funny when she mispronounced “kitty” but that’s where it should have ended. It’s one thing to name a stuffed bear “Email,” because the kid keeps saying it, but it would be nice if parents possessed the common sense to veto names when they crossed the line. “Titty” definitely crosses the line.

As a parent, it’s important to remember that you are in charge here. This would have been a good opportunity to use your veto power, after all if you don’t exert your parental authority from time to time then you are really just the tall people that live in the house and pay the bills. That’s no fun. Sometimes I like to veto things and exert my parental authority for no other reason than to feel the rush of being powerful. The adrenaline surges to my head from having supreme executive power in my household. “This is not a democracy, it’s a dictatorship!” I like to say. I rule with an iron fist. Justice is swift and unmerciful. I have absolute dominion... you know... as long as that’s cool with my wife and all. She’s not reading this is she?

I can’t help but think of some of the conversations that must go on at Titty’s (Titties?) house. “Don’t chase Titty!” “You have to be nice to Titty.” “Have you seen Titty lately?” Those must be fun times.

Does anyone else remember when you were in middle school and you’d play a game where you combined the name of your first pet with the name of the street that you grew up on, and that was supposed to be what your “adult film” stage name would be? Yeah, this kid is going to rule that game. I don’t think that anything beats Titty Sunset.

It’s easy to forget in the midst of all this mocking that a family has lost their pet. I really do hope that they find Titty. Even though I’m not a cat person I would never wish any harm on Titty because I remember how sad I was when we lost our pet dog “Nipples.” I remember running around the neighborhood in tears yelling “has anyone seen my Nipples?”