Treat Yo' Self

With Christmas not far away, it's time to start thinking about toys for the kids.  I've always tried to stay away from presents that need batteries and make a lot of noise, but what if your child is the one making all the noise?  And, what if her battery never runs out?

Now, I know what you're thinking.  The box says 5+ years, but my 3-year old could really use this.  Don't worry.  A little hem here, an alteration there, and you're tiny toddler will be rocking back and forth in the corner in no time.  I would highly recommend a dog cone to keep your child from gnawing through the straps--the leather isn't of the highest quality.

Some children may get claustrophobic with their arms wrapped around themselves tightly  and fastened securely behind their backs with leather straps.  (Big Babies!!!)  For those children, you might want to consider something a little less intense.

 Again, don't let the age restriction scare you.  The ankles of a 7-year old are quite larger than those of a 6-month old baby.  But who could possibly need this more than a young baby that just learned how to crawl?  Not to worry.  The ankle bracelet is adjustable and you could always put this around your baby's waist if need be.

For more information or to purchase products, visit Control Toys.  Not matter what you decide to buy this holiday season, the important thing to remember is that a gift for your child can be a present for you.

5 Man Acoustical Pop-Tart Jam

This is a rule that has been in effect for my mischievous children for  some time.  It started with the boy when he was about 3-years old and the baby is now carrying the torch into a new era of mischievousness.

Rule #33:  Daddy's acoustic guitar is not a toybox

Just because it's been sitting in the corner of Mommy and Daddy's bedroom for 6+ years, that doesn't mean I'll never play it again.  I would like to keep it nice.

Even though I haven't had to play Wonderwall by Oasis to impress a girl since 1998, doesn't mean I don't want to learn new songs.  This will be hard to do with your My Little Pony brush stuck between the strings.

Also, your My Little Pony brush is not a guitar pick.

Other things that are not guitar picks:  Mickey Mouse flashcards, paper clips, Dora the Explorer bingo tokens, and your fat baby fingers.


My acoustic guitar is also not a toy box.  I'd thank you kindly to please keep your Cinderella dress-up jewelry, dice, and other small, choke-able toys out of it.  And while we're on the subject, keep those same things out of your mouth.

  Not sure why you felt the need to put a dishcloth in there either.

The acoustic guitar, much like our vacuum cleaner, is not a piggy bank.  Keep your money the money you stole out of Mommy's coin purse in Mommy's coin purse.  Also, stop stealing money.

When I said I wanted to learn how to play Brown Sugar I was referring to the Rolling Stones song, not your breakfast.  So please, please, refrain from shoving pop-tarts into it.  It's not a toaster.

However, that high-fructose corn syrup and oily gelatin makes for a nice string-wax; my fingers have never glided so smoothly across the frets.  Thank you for that.

Cheetahs and Leopards and Jaguars, Oh My!!!

Kids love to ask questions.  For the longest time, they were answered easily.  We used to be able to get by with answering "Why is the sky blue?" with a simple, "It just is."  Now our son has begun questioning our answers--"But, WHY is it blue?"

I strain to remember my elementary science lessons and bumble my way through an explanation throwing around terms like "prism", "spectrum", and "dissfraction" half-heartedly, hoping to convince him I know what I'm talking about.  I later learn that "dissfraction" is not even a word and that perhaps "refraction" or "reflection" would have served the situation better.  Elementary school was a long time ago.

  Then again, maybe a made-up word like "dissfraction" is easier.

Even worse, now Caleb is beginning to ask questions that I have no idea how to answer.  The other day he asked my wife what the difference was between a jaguar, cheetah, and leopard.  Uhhh.....

It was nice when he wanted to know the difference between any of those three and a tiger.  Spots vs. stripes.  Done and done.  But, all three of those things have spots.  Can you tell which one is which?

Thankfully, we have the internet.  After an extensive, five-second Google search, my wife found that there are many differences between the three, but rather than try to explain differences between ligament structures, rosettes, and spots, it's easier to boil it down to geographical differences.  And for now, this is enough to satisfy his curiosity.

Also, I think that cheetahs look like their make-up is running from too much crying--probably upset about the lack of rosettes.  Cheetahs are a jealous, hormonal bunch.

I don't know how parents answered questions before the internet.  I guess it was easier (and safer) to tell your kids to shut up and go play outside back then.

 This worked for my parents. It's still a great parenting technique.

Recently, the boy has begun asking me questions that even the internet can't help me with.  This morning, while waiting for the bus, he asked me what the difference was between frustration, anger, and fury.

With no internet available at the end of our driveway, I was left to my own resources--never a good thing.  I made up a mad, madder, maddest hierarchy of emotion that he wasn't buying.  He then explained the differences to me:  Frustration was when you were mad but didn't feel like yelling.  Anger is when you wanted to yell but didn't and fury is when you super-magma yelled.

I'm not sure what exactly a super-magma yell sounds like and I don't think I want to know.  After getting him on the bus, I decided to google the question.  The results yielded answers from buddhist forums, psychological websites, and christian sermons.  The answers varied from anger is an illusion, to repressed feelings, to the devil made me do it--none of which are helpful to a 7-year old boy.

The internet usually has the answers to any question, but I guess it can't always make me look smart.

Note To Self #3

Note to Self:  Hide the Halloween candy better.

As I was cleaning the house this morning, I heard Leah stirring around upstairs.  I finished stocking the bathroom with t.p. and diapers then started working on the bedrooms.  From the other room, I offered to make her breakfast, but she said she was already eating.  When I went to check on her, I saw that she did indeed have breakfast in front of her:

Torn

Sparky has been hunting a mouse for at least an hour this morning.  I use the term "hunting" loosely, because what he's doing is less like hunting and more like fishing.  He's using the catch and release system, over and over, with the same mouse.  I don't know how this little rodent hasn't died of a heart attack yet.  And, I'm torn.  And now, Natalie Imbruglia is stuck in my head.  God, how I hate mice.

I'm torn because while I'm proud of the cat for earning his keep, I also hate to see the mouse suffer.  Actually, that's not true.  My wife hates to see the mouse suffer.  I just wish he'd kill the thing and get it over with so I could pick it up and throw it in the trash.

But, I'm not going to yell at him and discourage him from doing what he was brought into this house to do.  As much as it would break my kids' hearts to hear it, Sparky wasn't brought home for their enjoyment.  He's here to kill mice.  Kill 'em dead.

I can't punish him for taking a little pleasure in his work can I?  I can tell that Rachel wants me to finish him, but this isn't Mortal Kombat and there's a code between assassins.  "Nothing is true, everything is permitted."  So, rather than grab my hammer and stop this nonsense, I'll permit Sparky his little indulgences.

Note To Self #2

Note To Self:

Never trust a toddler playing quietly.

Also, Magic Eraser does not work on hands...or legs...or other areas of the body that are exposed when your child walks up the basement stairs with her diaper off and a blue magic marker in her hand.

Don't forget to buy more magic markers. She seems to like them.