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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