Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Don't Fight Over Dirty Crackers

Brothers and sisters will fight over just about everything--toys, which movie to watch, and food.  Even dirty food.

 I'd love to tell you that I sweep and mop the floor once a week, but that would be lying and I prefer to use my lies on the kids.  It's an effective way to get them to do your bidding.

In reality, I mop once a month or maybe every two months.  Let's just say the floor has to look really, really dirty.  Today it was.

When I saw Libby dining on floor scraps, I figured maybe it was time to do something about it.  Normally, I would call the dog inside and let her have a go at the crackers. It saves me from both having to sweep and feed the dog. The baby was enjoying herself too much and I hadn't fed her lunch yet, so I figured, two bird with one stone right?  A clean floor and a full baby.

 Whenever I sweep and mop, I have to remove all the chairs from the dining room.  It makes sweeping easier and it keeps the kids occupied.  There's just something about chairs being lined up that fascinates kids.  They race across them, jump over them and jump off of them. 

Whatever.  It gives me ten minutes to clean up and keeps them from stomping through my dirt pile.  It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt though.

It's usually Leah that gets hurt, this time was no exception.  The poor girl cries if you look at her the wrong way, so it's hard to know exactly why she cries sometimes.  I had assumed that brother pushed her off of a chair, but before I could start lashing out at the boy, she showed me her broken cracker.

Turns out that she had dropped her cracker on a chair while playing, it broke, and then she and her brother were fighting over whose dirty cracker it was.  I understand that you kids are hungry every five minutes, but you're fighting over one cracker. 

It's not going to do much to alleviate your hunger pangs in the first place.   Plus, not only is it broken into ten different pieces, it has also been on the floor prior to Leah's handling of and subsequent dropping of said cracker.  You are fighting over a broken, dirty cracker.  Go to your rooms.

 How I love sending the kids to their rooms.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Camping In

This past weekend was the first of what I hope to be many trips to the local boy scout camp grounds.  Despite my initial fears of us having to leave early, we had an excellent time.  Our only prior camping experience resulted in us packing up our tent at one in the morning and heading home so Caleb (and Momma and Daddy) could go to sleep.  The thought of sleeping outside in a tent was just too exciting.  He fell asleep, strapped into his booster-seat about five minutes after leaving the campground.  So, I wasn't exactly sure how this weekend was going to pan out.


We arrived a little later than I had hoped to.  This was due to a quick snack run on our way to the camp.  I wasn't sure what the cook had planned for us, but I could guarantee that whatever it was, the boy wasn't going to eat it.  We had spaghetti, which he did a pretty good job on before asking for chips.  After a little negotiating, all good meals involve some sort of bartering, he finished his meal and we dove into some chips.

After the meal, it was time for lessons.  But, before we could start, we had to get the boys to sit down in a circle.  If you've ever tried to get boys to line-up, or sit down, you know that it's kind of like herding cats.  After about twenty minutes of "You need to spread out", "You sit over there", and "Stop hitting each other", the boys were finally in a shape that closely resembled a circle.  Or maybe an oval.  Alright, it was more like a puddle.

Our fearless leader, Karl, had an interesting lesson planned for the boys.  Topics covered just about everything from astronomy to Egyptian life/death philosophy, Copernican heresies, and my personal favorite, Greek mythology.  By the end of his lesson, our little circle ended up looking like a college auditorium, with everyone facing the professor.  The only difference was that Karl's students were actually interested in what he was saying.

With the lessons over for the night, it was time to wear the boys out.  Can you say "Night Hike!"  Three or four flashlights, five or six adults, and fifteen to twenty boys headed out into the 285-acre wilderness of the camp ground for a little exercise and an introduction to Sasquatch.  I stayed behind to start clearing tables and chairs for our Camp In, while the boy went out into the mysterious beyond.   When he returned,  he told me many things about Big Foot and even claimed to have seen "red eyes" glowing in the forest.

With the Sasquatchery over, there was only one thing left to do before we turned in for the night, i.e., ghost stories by the camp fire.  With the boy scout leader ruling out any gruesome/bloody tales, I knew I wouldn't be telling any stories.  It's just as well, because the stories we heard were quite good.  They were tales, not in the sense of unbelievable, Scooby-Doo type ghosts, but more in the vein of close family members dying and trying to communicate with their loved ones afterwards.  To me, these are more frightening.  After twenty or so minutes of these stories, many of which had some boys covering their ears, we expected them to go to sleep.

Hunting for the 'Squatch
 And, go to sleep, they did.  I was amazed that none of the children freaked out in the dark.  Personally, I couldn't sleep at all.  It wasn't the ghost stories so much as it was the atmosphere.  First off, I didn't bring an air-mattress, something, I now regret.  The tiles on the floor where forged from the same ice-cold materials as Viking swords.  And, they pierced the skin through my sleeping bag, much in the same way.

If the cold wasn't enough to keep me awake, the smell of my son's feet were.  Boys' feet stink.  I've found that various socks affect podiatric stench differently.  Black, dress socks tend to increase the nasal offense to a higher degree than any other sock.  These are what he wore that night.  As if laying side-by-side weren't bad enough, throughout the course of the night, he slowly slid across the floor until his feet were right in my face.  Morning couldn't come soon enough, but would it be a better experience?

Camp Warren Levis

With the long, sleepless night of our first cub scout camping trip over, I wasn't sure if I'd have the energy to enjoy the day before us.  We had planned on hiking, doing some environmental clean-up, and fishing, but I had also planned on getting some sound rest.  You know how that turned out.

Before camping at Warren Levis, I knew little to nothing about the campground itself.    It's placement in the middle of town worried me. I assumed that we would be staying in a small cabin, fishing in a half-acre pond, and "hiking" on the city sidewalks.  I couldn't have been more wrong...or more impressed.

When we first arrived, I noticed a stone header that read "Swami Lodge."  I thought, Awesome.  I can't wait to meet Chris Berman...and then punch him in the face.  After looking at the photo longer, I realized we were actually staying at "Swaim Lodge."  Not as exciting:


The atmosphere inside the lodge.


The view from our lodge--overlooking the "pond".


  The boy was overly excited about the entire thing:


Then again, it could have been the cake:


Cake which was eaten right before bed.

If the sugar wasn't enough to keep him up all night, I figured the fire-side ghost-stories would be:



The boys were all too eager to go on a hike the next morning.  Pretty sure I was just sleep-walking the entire time.


A canteen for hydration, a compass for orienteering, and a stick for beating me if I fell asleep on the path.

After the hike, we took a journey down to the lake for a little fishing.  It was windy, cold, muddy, the fish weren't biting, and I almost took a hook to the face--several different times.


I was impressed that Caleb picked up his own worm.  He's usually afraid to touch his own dirty socks and underwear.  On the rare occasion that he does, he washes his hands three times afterwards.  With our fish-catching prospects low and our climate tolerance even lower, it was time to head home.  But first, another long hike...uphill...to our car.


My largest complaint about the camping trip is that we never had the chance to play any food sports.  I'm deadly at Egg Baseball and would have taken on any challenger in a Bacon-Eating Contest.

 If somebody went to the trouble of making a sign, I think we owe it to them to hit eggs with a baseball bat.

Lack of food fighting aside, Caleb had a wonderful time, just ask my wife, because she heard all about it when we got home.  He's already looking forward to our next trip.  And I'm already planning on packing the air-mattress and some sleeping pills.

Monday, March 18, 2013

Don't Wipe Your Butt at the Table

Nothing is more frustrating than a child potty training.  While this was true with our son, our oldest daughter pretty much potty trained herself.  I think the second child (and hopefully, the third) is easier when it comes to training, because she sees the older sibling using the toilet and she wants to try it herself. 

While Leah was easy to train, there are a few things we need to work on still, mainly proper butt wiping.  The problem isn't so much her technique as it is her location.  For this reason, we had to create a new rule yesterday.

 Wet Wipes: For messes on faces and dark, dirty places!

If you're like us, your family keeps a box of wipes at the dinner table.  Dinner time gets messy and wipes within reach can be handy.  A problem arises though when you also keep a box of wipes in the bathroom for wiping other messes away.  This problem is further complicated when your toddler runs out of both wipes and toilet paper.  What's a girl to do, but to head for the next known location of wipes?

I have no problem with her using the wipes from the table.  I'd just prefer she didn't use the wipes at the table.  And, definitely not while I'm eating.

Rule #17:  Don't Wipe Your Butt at the Dinner Table!

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Home Made Lunchables

The boy gets on the bus at 7:15.  Sharp.  I am amazed at how the bus driver is consistently there day after day at the same time.  His bus has only been late twice.  Once because of snow and once because of a substitute driver.  Barb (his driver) is amazing.  Sunday's time change did not affect her schedule at all.  It did, however, turn ours upside down.

We usually roll out of bed anywhere from 6:30 to 6:40.  Monday morning we clocked in at 7:02.  Thirteen minutes to get dressed, down some Pop-Tarts, brush teeth, and catch the bus.  I didn't think it would be a problem until I started to pack the boy's lunch.  He loves him some sammiches and I was out of bread.  No time to run next door and borrow a couple of slices.  MacGyver Up!


This is why I'm not home school material.

Making Play Time Fun

Here's some quick parenting advice for those of you with toddlers.  It's not easy playing games with a toddler.  They can't catch a spiral, swing a bat, ride a bike, or play video games.  So how's a guy supposed to bond with his kid?

If you're young child is anything like mine, he or she loves to play make-believe games.  While tea-parties and dress-up have their strong points (probably) they don't offer the At-Home parent any real benefits.

Sure, you get to spend some time with your kid, but what good does that do if you're miserable every second of it.   It's not quality time if you're constantly thinking about how unfashionable you look in a boa that doesn't even match your purse or how the Tea-Party is a total sausage-fest.  Seriously, why does she have to give all of her stuffed animals guy names?

 Elmo passed out again. Did I mention we drank Jeremiah Weed at our tea parties?

Recently, I discovered a make-believe game that keeps my daughter happy and serves a greater purpose for this Stay At Home Dad.  It's called house, but you can't just play any ol' version of this classic.  Before you begin, you need to set down some ground rules.

Rule #1:  The girl always gets to be the Mama.

Rule #2:  The baby gets to be the Daddy.   This isn't a stretch, because we both whine about the same amount.

Rule #3:  Daddy gets to be the baby.

Rule #4:  Babies always sleep.


Look at how much fun she's having!