The Fun -- and Pain -- of the Holidays

During the holidays, my brother and mother visited. My daughter, 7, said, “Spending time with you is the best present of all.”

My brother said, “Aww. Belle, you always know just what to say.”

My son John, 5, responded by saying, “Yes, and if you had a white beard you’d look just like Santa!”

While John might have bruised his uncle’s ego, it was nothing compared to what he did to his own father. The kids got Disney Scene It, a game involving watching DVD clips of Disney productions and answering trivia questions about them.

Belle and John, both incessantly seeking control, fought over the remote. John, strong as a Clydesdale, ripped it away and clocked me right in the orbital bone. Nearly plumb knocked me out!

John, always knowing just what to say, said, “Oops. Sa-weee.”

Then not 5 minutes later, Belle is showing her uncle how she can bounce her new soccer ball on her knees and for some reason, as it's getting away from her, she kicks it full force -- right into her uncle's face from point blank, hitting his check and glasses.

Fortunately, his blow didn’t hurt. I was the one who ended up with the egg on my orbital bone.

Here’s to the holidays. And to them ending—so I can heal.

The Necessary Evils of Parenting

I recently went to the dentist. The hygienist was very nice. Her poker was very mean. That is, the tool she used to scrape tartar off is also the one she uses to poke the gums of customers. What could be the purpose of this?

I asked a friend who is a hygienist, and she said it's to see how your gums react. Isn't that a bit like shooting a squirrel to see how it would react?

Alas, dental appointments are necessary evils, as are Family Fun Nights. You know, the Friday nights when the school welcomes all parents into their petri dish to inhale as many germs as possible while kids share food and toys at alarming rates. At the most recent infestation, my kids were playing bean-bag toss while eating the greasy free popcorn handed out by volunteers. Bean bag, popcorn, mouth. Repeat.

The next three nights, my five-year-old, John, woke up hacking.

If a parent declines to go to Family Contagion Night, said parent is a deadbeat. And your seven-year-old looks at you with a sad countenance, replete with a fat lip ala Cindy Lou Who from The Grinch.

Going to Family Fun Night is a necessary evil.

Then there's changing clothes. Locking my door for privacy is a necessary evil, even at home. The other day, my five-year-old ran down the hall, slammed full speed into the door, bounced back up and wiggled the handle. "Hey, Dad! Wait 'til you see our costumes!"

I didn't know it right away, but I'd soon learn that it was quite necessary to see the kids impersonate Eminem and Paris Hilton:

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I Can't Believe We're Having This Conversation

Earlier this school year, a boy went to my seven-year-old daughter's school locker between classes. He offered her a real ring and said they were boyfriend and girlfriend. After school, when Belle told me this, I couldn't believe "it was starting" so early. I felt like Homer Simpson:

I couldn't believe she and I were having this conversation when she was seven. So I told her that it was great she found a friend she liked so much. However, it was inappropriate to be dating someone at age seven. And even more inappropriate for him to be offering her valuable merchandise.

Belle frowned. "When can I date someone, Daddy?"

"When you're 60," I said.

She looked worried. "Seriously?"

"No, but not until high school."

"So what do I tell this boy?"

"Tell him you'll be friends, but you can't be his girlfriend right now because you're both seven and it's inappropriate."

"But Daaaaaad, what if no other boys want to be my boyfriend?"

At this point, I decided to boost her confidence, but I'm not so sure now that was right call. I said, "Belle, you're so smart, talented, and pretty you'll have boys lining up in high school to be your boyfriend."

She winced, rolled her eyes and said, "Daddy. Awkwaaaaaaaard."

Almost as awkward as a new poll showing that, in Wisconsin, Packers Quarterback Aaron Rodgers is now more popular than Santa Claus or Mother Teresa.

I respect all three. But while Rodgers does a lot of charity work--especially for the American Family Children's Hospital with kids who have cancer--he shouldn't be more popular than the saintly Teresa. In fact, I can't believe I'm having this conversation, either. Then again, I never saw Mother T throw a 60-yard touchdown on the run.

As for Santa, I can see Rodgers being more popular. After all, Rodgers is a real person. And, he never got booed by Philadelphia Eagles fans.

At least Rodgers wasn't voted more popular than Abe Lincoln or Jesus.
We'll leave that to Denver fans' view of Tim Tebow. And, of course, the poll participants ranked their approval of THEMSELVES higher than all of the above. Talk about awkward.

Thinking With His... Stomach

My five- and seven-year old kids have a new game they love to play. It's called "Something's Changed."

The person who is "It" spins around and the other players try to memorize how the person looks. When the person who's It leaves the room, s/he changes something about his/her appearance. The other players try to guess what has changed.

My wife was It, left the room, removed her socks, and declared, "Something's changed."

My five-year-old son, John, guesses, "You removed your nipple cover!"


He had been referring to her bra, of course, which thankfully was still in place.

My wife flexed her toes and said, "Um, no, that's not it."

I said, "John, this is a FAMILY game. Let's keep it clean."

I have no idea where he gets these notions, any more than I know where the party band LMFAO gets theirs.


Although, in John's case, research may have an explanation. An article in Psychology Today suggests that our moods are determined as much by our stomachs as our brains. Comfort food releases chemicals that make us happy.

That's certainly true for John, who is happiest when he eats. Like the time he giggled while placing a half gallon of milk upside down on the top of his head.

"John!" my wife scolded. "Put that back in the fridge. Where’s your brain?”

John shrugged and, in all seriousness, pointed to his tummy and said, “Here?”

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When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Blog-onade

This week, the kids were in the car on their way to school. They buckled themselves but Belle, 6, didn't close her door on the sedan all the way. When Belle's mom pulled out of the garage, the door flung open and speared the side of the garage! The glass shattered and there was $2,000 worth of damage.

"Oops," Belle said.

Fortunately, everyone was OK. When my wife called me, I was taking my mother to the hospital for surgery out of town. I told my mom that the car v. garage accident was "All part of our elaborate plan to make you forget about your surgery!"

"It worked," my mom said.

We hired people to fix the car and the garage door, but I got creative fixing the drywall in the garage--I simply used one of Belle's stuffed animals for insulation:

We're expecting an energy-efficiency rebate from Uncle Sam any day now.

Today, my son John, 4, wore his black pirate hat and took out his telescope and declared, "Argh, I'm a pirate."

"OK, Pirate John," my wife said.

"Don't call me pirate--my name is John," he said.

"Do you have to go potty, John?" my wife said.

"Pirates don't go potty," John said.

"Do they wet their pants?" I asked. No wonder they had so many diseases.

"No," John said. "They sit down and say, 'Man overboard!'"

I'd hate to be in the row boat when that happens.

While I'm sure Belle would have LOVED to make her brother walk the plank, she was too busy being Rudolph and trying to perform a timeless Christmas carol. But even that went awry:

It was a tough week--dealing with a surgery, a car crash, home damage, a pirate who won't go potty and deer with a droopy nose--but we made the most of it. It's good to see the kids picking up on this outlook. For example, Belle's friend was sucking on ice from her drink. Belle said, "What are you doing?"

"Sucking ice," the friend said.

"Oh, OK," Belle said. "I won't tell anyone you suck."


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Kids Meet NFL Players, Get Hugs!

The kids and I stood in line for an hour at the local zoo, waiting to meet Green Bay Packers Pro Bowl Receiver Donald Driver and Coach Edgar Bennett. It wasn't so bad, because the zoo keepers brought around animals for the kids to see while waiting. A parrot said "hello" to the kids.

John asked the parrot if he could say "Donald Driver." The parrot just stared. Must be a Vikings fan.

When the time arrived to meet Donald Driver, Belle gave him a picture she drew of him:

Donald loved it and said, "Thank you Darling," and gave her a hug!

Then Donald said to Johnny, "Hey kid, come here." Johnny turned and ran away screaming. Donald hadn't meant to scare him, and Johnny's just shy. So Donald pulled me out to exercise with him and the kids. Except Johnny didn't want to move. So I had to run in place while holding 50-pound John. Donald jokingly asked me to "get those knees up!"

Belle and the other 10 kids ran wind sprints with the Packers, and I had to run with Johnny on my shoulders. Luckily, Coach Bennett noticed my jersey -- bearing the name and number of Packers Quarterback Aaron Rodgers -- and asked me to run slowly to mimic the star QB. Bennett laughed and cheered my modest gait.

Most kids wore Packers gear, but of course there were two kids in Bears jerseys. Donald made them do twice the jumping jacks. The kids took it well and Donald was quite sporting with them afterward.

It was a lot of fun and well worth the wait. Speaking of waiting, later in the day the kids were playing with dolls and Belle said, "Daddy, we have five girls and one boy in our pretend family."

"And how many bathrooms are in your pretend house?" I asked.

"One," Belle said.

"Uh-oh," I said. That poor boy would do a lot of waiting in his pretend life.

"But Daddy," John declared, "the bathroom has five potties!"

'Children' Sounds Strangely Like 'Collusion'

The other day, my kids worked their way into a circular vitriol. "Daddy, Belle's hitting me."

"No," Belle said, "Johnny's just trying to get me in trouble!" And on it went.

I explained to them that if they both kept their mouths shut, neither of them would get into trouble.

"We wouldn't?" said Johnny, who's four.

"It's called collusion," I said. "Can you say, collusion?"

They paused.

"Daddy," Johnny said, "Can we please keep our mouths open?" You wouldn't think I'd have to teach them the word collusion, since most kids seem to be born with an innate sense of how to act it out.


Like when they conspire to convince me to let them watch TV. "Daddy, can we watch Diego?"

"No John," I said, "we don't have a DVD player with us. After all, we're at the botanical gardens."

Five seconds later Belle chimes, "Now can we watch Diego?"

Maybe that's why collusion sounds so much like children; they're practically synonymous. "I'm sorry, Belle," I said, "but we're still at the botanical gardens." Never mind that it was 75 degrees and sunny and the plants and flowers were in full bloom.

The kids also have conspired to leave random objects in my clothing and shoes. The other day, I went five hours with a Disney princess doll dress stuck in the toe of my work shoe, wondering, "What the heck is that?"

Belle thought that was so funny, she decided to get crazy and wear her pants on her head and her shirt as pants. "Pants on the head, pants on the head... lookin' like a girl with her pants on her head!"

What can I say? The kids like to let their "freak flags" fly.

And not just with their clothes--with my clothes, too. I like to think I'm pretty fit. But John recently ran into the living room with a pair of my underwear and declared to the whole family, "Look at these FAT PANTS!"

Sometimes they intend to be funny. Other times not. Like when Belle was making clothes for her paper dolls. She cut a little too much and ended up with a tiny piece of paper. She held it up to her grandma and said, "Look, Grandma. I made a paper bra!"


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