A conversation with E-: It winnertime, and the lyin' is easy

Being that my son E- is now firmly 2-and-a-half, the following is the nice version of most every conversation we have with him these days.

J-: Okay E-, it's bedtime.

E- (jumbling up something he's heard us tell ourselves as we serve dinner at bedtime these days): Nooo... it's winner-time!

Me: Did you mean "summertime"?

E-: 'Es.

J- (unmoved by this ingenious ploy): Well, it's night-night time either way.

E-: No it not... (looking out the window, for effect) ...It mornin' time!

He went to bed shortly afterward, under formal protest.

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You may enjoy my previous E- conversations, (9YO son) D- conversations, (6YO daughter) M- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

A conversation with M- and D-: How many licks does it take?

The following is a recent conversation I had with my 8-year-old son D- and 5-year-old daughter M-, the tone of which is predictably not all that rare around here:

D- (sharing an announcement with the world) : She LICKed meeeeee!

M- (feebly beginning a defense): No...

Me: M-, did you lick him?

M- (thinking better of it): Yes... Because he was being a jerk, and wouldn't stop!

Me: It's not a good strategy to use your germs as a weapon. And it's never a good idea to ever LICK an 8-year-old...

D- (almost proudly): Yeah, especially THIS one!

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You may enjoy my previous D- conversations, M- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

A conversation with M-: I am a skilled negotiator.

My 5-year-old daughter M- is still working out the kinks in her understanding of numbers, as evidenced by our recent conversation below:

M- (putting on her most comically dignified voice as she approaches me, clutching a bundle of imaginary balloons): I would like to buy these... 8 balloons, please.

Me (like a bored street vendor who knows he's got you right where he wants you, but doesn't much care anymore): That'll be four hundred dollars, please.

M- (still with the voice): I don't have that much money.

Me: Then you don't have any balloons, either.

M- (sliding toward her normal voice, as she tries valiantly to keep this one from getting away from her): How about this, how about we bargain: I will bring the number down to: six... million dollars.

Me (slipping out of character in disbelief): Six million dollars? DOWN to $6 million?!?

M- (regaining her Monopoly-guy voice in full glory): Or wait... How about... I pay you what you asked for. Here you go! (sprays fake money at me and runs)

So in the end, she acted pretty much like me in every negotiation I've ever been forced into.

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, (8YO son) D- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

Things that amuse me, Vol. 10

Here's another selection of items that have been amusing me since the last time I posted a collection of these:

1. At 7 months old*, my son E- discovered that pulling one's tethered pacifier out and forcibly unclipping it instantly creates a devastatingly effective set of nunchuks with which one can threaten people to meet various demands.

2. It's come to my attention that I've recently been keeping about the same hours as a house cat. Except, without all the naps. I guess that's not really amusing, but instead subtly tragic. Maybe I should go find myself a sunny spot on the floor by a window somewhere... after I finish thoroughly licking myself and then staring alertly out the window for a few hours.

3. My wife's very simple explanation for the baby's sudden crying jag in the other room, "Oh, he just got really excited about the thing in his hand, and he fell over."

4. In case they needed another reason to pity them, basketball coaches for 7-year-olds have so many fewer weapons than those of older kids. The kids are too oblivious to respond to the tried-and-true psychological torments that are the hallmarks of coaching; they don't really much care if they make a shot, so long as they get to take one; and, for example, when sternly warned that continued misbehavior would mean one of my son's teammates would, "have to run to the end of the court and back", all his teammates immediately leaped up, hands in the air, shouting, "I wanna run! I want to run!!!"

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* Now outdated, as he's currently 10 months old and thinks pacifiers are SO lame.

A conversation with D-: Candy, or The Optimist

After three kids, plus a keen self-awareness during my own childhood, I know a thing or two about how children's minds work. Some aspects are very simple and obvious, others more complex, but this recent conversation with my 7-year-old son D- reminds us that the most important thing is we are all slaves to our most basic needs.

Me (repeatedly calling from the shower to D-, waiting in the bathroom to come in and get washed): D-? ... D-? ..... D-?? (muttering, unsure if he really left or is hiding somewhere in the bathroom) ...Alright, no candy for you, then...

D- (after a very long pause): ...Wait, what did you say??

Me (ignoring my own triumph over the chronic, and talented, hider): Hey, there you are, buddy-- come on, it's your turn to get clean next.

D- (suddenly very compliant, but urgently looking to resolve his confusion): Okay, I'm coming, but, so... what did you say just a minute ago? "No something for me," or something??

I decided to play dumb on this one, stalling for time long enough that an, "I don't remember what you're talking about," was plausible and thus above his keen suspicion. Can't give up this trick just yet-- I have so few of the old standbys left, at his age.

Happy Father's Day!

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You may enjoy my previous D- conversations, (4YO daughter) M- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

Self-inflicted sterilization on 500 channels

Just like your mother always told you whenever she wasn't trying to use the TV as an unpaid babysitter, TV will fry your brain cells. But beyond that, it seems, it might also destroy any hope you have of growing your family larger than it already is.

Or at least that's the hope of the Indian government:

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Less sex, more TV idea aired in India

On World Population Day this year, India's new health and welfare minister came out with an idea on how to tackle the population issue: Bring electricity to every Indian village so that people would watch television until late at night and therefore be too tired to make babies.

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While they just might be on to something here, I have to point out that we Americans are having no problems increasing our population at what's traditionally been considered a reasonable rate.

Sure, a lot of that increase might come from illegal aliens jumping the fences to get a better look at our monstrous TVs, but still, we keep the Labor and Delivery nurses on their sensibly supported toes all by ourselves.

If the Indian government's logic was as sound as they seem to feel it is, can you imagine if someone took away America's national average of 8 hours a day of television time? Or, worse yet, our additional 7 daily hours of dicking around on the Internet?? Three billion of us would be packed in here like a typical American backside in a Chinese airplane seat!

We might even, through exposure, manage to grow past our Puritan repression and resulting obsession with sex as something illicit and get back to doing something meaningful with ourselves! I mean, besides making more selves.

Anyway, I tend to agree with this heroic 24-times-a-father from Uttar Pradesh:

"After watching TV," he says, "when we look at scintillating things, we will probably want to make more children."

Yep, that's pretty much how it works, buddy-- you're ahead of the curve!

Even if he's wrong, it's worth noting that although the poor are only getting electricity, at long last, in an attempt to trick them into abstinence, they will eventually learn that it can be used to do other helpful things like light one's house and refrigerate food. They might then feel so happy and hopeful they'll have a few more kids just to celebrate. Jai ho!

IL to ME Odyssey: Indiana, Ohio & Pennsylvania

Here are more of my observations on our car trip from Chicagoland to visit family in Northern Maine, part of the series of posts: Illinois, Indiana, Ohio & Pennsylvania, New York, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine.

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INDIANA
Distance Traveled: 154 miles
Bathroom Breaks: 2

• Indiana's most noteworthy form of welcome to weary travelers of I-90 is the stench of a sewage treatment plant for at least the first 20 miles. What could be more likely to invite us to get to better know our neighbors to the east? Perhaps a series of spike strips across all inbound lanes?

Or maybe a high-pitched noise broadcast across all channels and through the air, counteracted only for locals by special government-issued noise-canceling earbuds worn at all times? Seems like something those stinky old spiteful Indianans would do.

• The rest stop in Portage, Indiana amused me by having the Girls of Playboy pinball machine in the entry to their game room, right next to the children's claw game filled with Dora and Minnie Mouse dolls. I guess this just means Indiana is fun for the whole family!

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OHIO
Distance Traveled: 245 miles
Bathroom Breaks: 3

• As you can see, we got a lot better about bathroom breaks, thanks largely in part to threats and bribery. It figures, though, since the pricey Ohio Turnpike (more than half our journey through the state on I-80/I-90) is unbelievably clean, well-lit, and lavishly appointed. It makes me wish I could meet all my bodily needs for the entire trip during only those 2 of 22 hours.

• After stopping at a gas station for our final bathroom break (since I-90 splits off the Turnpike proper, it figures), we decided begrudgingly to give up for the day with less than a third of the trip covered after the first day, in about 9 hours. That's right-- only 9 hours, and only 430 miles or so.

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PENNSYLVANIA
Distance Traveled: 40 miles
Bathroom Breaks: 0

I can't tell you how happy I was to start out the day knocking down a whole state without a single bathroom break, or, at least, I won't tell you. Even though we were just clipping the corner of an otherwise large state, I'll still just quietly treasure it as my own secret little joy in this cold world.

By the way, in case you ever take a similar trip, please make sure you (like us this time) follow I-90 instead of I-80 when they split in Ohio, Especially if it's any time within a few hours before sundown. Otherwise, you'll just have to describe to us all how tender is the face of God, either from beyond the grave or having been blessed to narrowly escape it.

Let's all tell Congress it's okay to earmark a little something extra for PDOT (I've decided they must call it this if it's not already) to upgrade this road, perhaps at the very minimum by adding some reflectors on the lane lines, and maybe some new reflective paint. Or, they could issue everyone night vision goggles at the border. Which is cheaper?

A conversation with M-: I think... I may not make it...

The following is a conversation I had with my 2-year-old daughter that takes an ongoing battle to a revealing extreme:

M- (with a very serious, soft voice, sticking a finger into my face): See this finger? Look at this finger. That's an owie. (changing gears to a sharply pained whimper instead) I need a Band-Aid...

Me (looks at finger, then rubs off a crumb of the previous night's red Jello cake): Nope, that's just cake. You'll survive.

M-: Oh... yeah! That's just cake... (relieved laugh)

In case you're wondering why all those balloons are falling from the ceiling, it's because I have now officially spent 500 full hours of my life denying bandages to my children for wounds that are questionable --or in this case, edible-- at best.

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, (5YO son) D- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

Made with 100% of your RDA of cotton fiber

After he relapsed into the unfortunate habit of chewing on his shirt while he was lying in bed one night, I asked my 5-year-old son D- when I noticed it the next morning why he had chosen to nearly disintegrate most of the front of his jammie shirt.

He responded that he was just so hungry he couldn't help himself, trying to guilt me for rebuffing his attempts to stall bedtime just a little longer the previous night by declaring he was suddenly starving.

I told him it was an interesting theory to say the least, seeing as he had barely touched his cornflakes at breakfast. Being the logical wunderkind he is, he reasoned that he was "so full from eating [his] shirt all night, [he] just [didn't] have any room left."

I hereby swear, on all that is good and holy, that both this kid and I will somehow manage to survive the next 15 years without killing each other. After that, it's up for grabs.

A conversation between M- & D-: Tra-la-la-LA-la-laaa

In my kids' continuing efforts to make me look bad for ever yelling at them for anything, they put on the following performance first thing in the morning the other day:

M-: What d'you wanna play with me?

D-: I dunno, what do you want to play with me?

M-: Ummmmm...

D-: How about Duplos?

M-: Yeah, yeah! Duplos! That'd be fun.

D-: Okay, let's go play Duplos together.

M-: Okay!!

To drive the point home, they then walked off holding hands.

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You may also enjoy my previous (5 YO son) D- conversations, (2YO daughter) M- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

I am the hero I've been waiting for

Though he may be a whole 5 years old now, my son D- is more importantly a man in training, and following that storied tradition, he constantly asserts his superiority in every way over almost everything he looks at, hears of, or thinks of, even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

So I walk a fine line every time I'm challenged on strength, speed, intelligence, agility, or proficiency in many of the world's most inane activities.

I don't think it's healthy to completely disillusion and demoralize him, but I think it's equally unhealthy for me to set him up for any harder of a fall than he's already due when released into the wilds of full-time school next year.

I mean, a kid needs all the confidence, whether completely off base or not, that he can get in this world. So if he starts out thinking HE'S the strongest man in the world, instead of me, then that just gives him a leg up over all the other boys, right?

Here's a conversation snippet, issued out of the blue while walking through the library, from the kid who's told me (verbatim) more than once, "I know Everything. Not everything-everything, but I know Everything," just minutes before and after asking me entries in that day's long list of questions about how the world works at the most fundamental of levels:

D-: I'm even stronger than you.

Me: Yeah?

D-: I'm so strong, that if there was a robot, up in space, and I was up in space? One punch, and he'd be dead. If I punched a big robot one time, he'd be dead.

...I'm thinking that "leg up" just may land him upside down in a cafeteria garbage can one day. Maybe I should grab his ankles and wrists with one hand and hoist him helplessly into the air like a safari prize more often while I still can.

We all know this world is nothing if not humbling, and I've always found a steady diet much easier to take than the sudden compulsory feast days that are one's only alternative. So I suppose I'll have to take it upon myself to begin a campaign of careful destruction and reconstruction of his ego, via the most fun, ridiculously lopsided competitions I can think of.

And once he turns 10? Then, my friend, we move on to a crash course in Trash Talk 101 delivered by the one true master greater than Shakespeare, Da Vinci, Jordan, and your mom combined.*

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* I mean me.

A conversation with D-: Lion vs. gazelle

The other night while I was folding laundry, my 4-year-old son D- managed to achieve the rare feat of sneaking up on me undetected. His ferocious roar gave me the momentary flash of panic I normally only taste in the air around my own victims, but being the consummate professional* I am, I immediately recovered and so betrayed nothing to my tormentor.

However, after a moment's reflection during a brief unrelated Q&A (4-year-olds being nature's ideal unpaid messengers), I decided not to deny him his rightful victory, so I called to him just before he left the room:

Me: Hey, nice work back there, by the way-- I didn't hear you coming at all!

D- (smiling): I'm gonna scare you again...

Me: No, it can't work now, because you just told me you were doing it.

D-: (pauses) Let's try it again where I don't tell you about it.

Me (laughing): But you just told me about it again! (looks back down toward the laundry)

D-: (begins tip-toeing forward with a large smile)

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* Non-compensated professional, of course, as is the case with most of my careers.

You may also enjoy the other (4 YO son) D- conversations, (2YO daughter) M- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

I would be embarrassed to host a yard sale

I recognize that for all my yammering away this past year, you all still don't know me as well as you should. So please allow me to continue chipping away at that barrier.

Have I ever shown you my widespread, impromptu collections of ancient, now-illegible receipts for transactions under $3? How about my utility bills from college? My many broken pieces of childhood toys? Never seen my "perfectly good" clothes that in my darkest moments I secretly acknowledge I'll never even want to wear again?

Perhaps that was a little extreme.

In all fairness to my compulsions, what if someday soon, I get: 1) called up to participate in a 4th-grade non-competitive soccer or basketball league; 2) re-hired as a store inventory auditor or movie theater supervisor; or 3) transported back to the early '90s on some kind of compelling mission that requires me to blend in with other toolbags?

I don't want to look like an incompetent moron that day, scrambling to dig through the musty back room of the thrift store where a full half of my clothes rightly belong. Paying for something I already owned at some point in my life? I refuse!

The Boy Scout motto is Be Prepared, after all, and I can assure you that I am prepared not only to suit up for a return to domination of smaller children on the soccer field, but also to be buried under a mountain of useless shit.

The only question is, which mountain will be the one that gets me?

At long last, Pt. 2

I've never done long multi-part posts like this before (unless you count the saga of how I nearly lost an eye), but it became clear it was definitely called for this time.

You may want to read Part 1 of my experience at the election day Obama rally in Grant Park before continuing.

...

Once inside the Parallel Party Someone's Mom Organized For The Uninvited Nerds, we found that to keep the mob from storming the inexplicably opaque* fences of the Cool People's Party, at least 10 Jumbotrons were set up around the rest of the park, with the primary one alone allowing probably 60,000 people to soak in CNN's commercials** and ridiculous gimmicks for hours before and after Obama's actual speech (on a closed-circuit feed).

So we had to satisfy ourselves with watching TV while standing alongside a whole bunch of other very happy voters. Since it was immediately evident that all of these many, many spectators were exceedingly peaceful and well-mannered, this prospect wasn't as undesirable as it might have been under other circumstances. I had known for months that I wanted to be out Amongst The People for this night, no matter the outcome, and I got exactly what I came for.

J-, on the other hand, apparently got some kind of alien larvae threatening to Cesaerean itself right out of her abdomen, as was the diagnosis issued by the esteemed Doctor We-Don't-Want-To-Leave-So-We'll-Just-Play-It-By-Ear-While-Basking-In-The-Extra-Space-A-Sudden-Unexplained-Vaguely-Stomach-Related-Illness-Helpfully-Provides-In-A-Crowd.

These guys got all dressed up for nothing.

I haven't mentioned how miraculously warm it was that night, but it was over 70 degrees for three straight days, which is about 40 degrees higher than a typical November in Chicago. Clearly, it was a sign that God wants Barack Obama to be president.

This warmth was amped up at least 10 degrees in the thick of that many walking space heaters, and I'm sure the oxygen content of the air within the crowd was about half the dose required for sustaining life. Hence J-'s alien larvae decided to take evasive action by cutting power to her ears, sense of balance, and (almost) her consciousness.

It was at this point I decided to let J- lead us in a little conga line back through the crowd, issuing promises of copious vomit to anyone unwilling to make way quickly enough. I left her on a strangely unused filthy stage far from any of the Jumbotrons, and then made my way back into the madness to find some water.

Not just any water, mind you --after all, we were alongside one of the largest sources of fresh water in the world-- but rather the most expensive water I could find. Nothing's too good for my precious, and how else does one measure quality but by expense?

Luckily, I was in amongst a large, captive pool of consumers, so I felt sure I could count on Connie's Pizza to provide me with nothing but the best. After waiting out the 350 people ahead of me, I was relieved though unsurprised to find a bottle of water (not unlike the two I had confiscated at the gate) going for a patriotic $3, and knowing this stuff thus must be far better than any beverage I'd previously ingested, I readily threw down my money for a $5 slice of pizza while I was at it (since the mysteriously ill lady had decided greasy cheese would be an invaluable assistant in getting back on her feet).

...

After saluting the noble folks at Connie's (look for their Delivery Maseratis in a neighborhood near you), I again waded through a rainbow blur of human skin, dropped off the food, refolded J-'s death shroud, and headed out to find us a new base of operations. As I walked all over this sprawling park, I found several previously unnoticed McCain-sized rallies around each bend, in a layout I couldn't even begin to map out. If only the Secret Service would release some of the photos they must have been taking from their lonely helicopters up there in that restricted airspace, I could feel vindicated in my opinion of the crowd estimates.

...

Once again, you can read part 1 here, and look for part 3 tomorrow and part 4 after that.

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* Why can't I at least watch through the short chain-link fence, under the watchful eye of security forces?? Those flimsy little fences weren't protecting ANYone.

** I can't have been the only one looking for my DVR remote to obliterate those commercials. I'd almost forgotten what an irritating experience they provide.

The rules of M-, Vol. 1

Here are just five of the rules for life my 20-month-old daughter M- seems to live by:

1. If you find a little bit of something gross on the floor and you're struck with the admirable idea that you should go throw it away, you immediately get credit for that, even if you give up after one guess of which cabinet hides the garbage can and you then unceremoniously eat said bit.

2. Children must be heard and seen, at all times.

3. As long as you combine the vocabulary of a 4-year-old and the logical powers of a 5-year-old with the cuteness of a 6-week-old, people are much more willing to forgive the destructiveness of a 17-year-old.

4. Everyone must inform a high-ranking baby of every single thing they are doing, big or small.

5. Insisting that adults repeat something on demand over and over again, long after you know their response back and forth, will not only cement it in your memory, but it will push them into a hypnotic state in which it's impossible for them to resist digging out a pacifier for you.

See also: The rules of D-

The rules of D-, Vol. 1

Here are just three of the rules for life my four-year-old son D- seems to live by:

1. If you are told not to throw a ball in the house, that's merely an invitation to improvise-- parents like to challenge kids to think outside the box. Try bouncing it extremely hard, kicking or rolling it into something with enough velocity to propel it into the air (this process absolves you of any blame), or even rolling it up a wall hard enough to make it hit the ceiling. These are all proven winners that are bulletproof come Lecture Time.

2. There's hot, very hot, and freezing hot.

3. Baby blankets and other small cloths are made exclusively for children's entertainment, rather than for infant warmth, as is commonly misperceived. Additionally, they can be used for home defense by stretching them out across a polished wood floor, forming a devious booby trap for any rival four-year-olds* who might run through without paying attention or thinking about what happens every single time they run over a blanket on a wood floor.

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* Important! Remember to slow down whenever you must run near these traps yourself.

North Dakota on my mind

In a footnote yesterday, I suggested that I might compare* the U.S. state of North Dakota to a state of near-death.

You must understand that I say this based on the fact that it's the only U.S. state from which I haven't yet recorded a visit to this blog. Every other state has sent me anywhere from a handful to well over a thousand hits, and in fact half the states have visited at least a hundred times, along with 53 foreign countries, but between the two Dakotas, I'm holding steady at 1 visit in almost 8 months.

What gives, Dakotas?!? We must have some common interests or interpersonal connection that might trick you into coming here. Given that you have the highest percentage of churchgoing citizens in the U.S. (according to Wikipedia**) and your highest point is something called White Butte, I feel sure it's a temptation when I suggest you can stop by once in awhile to yell at me for being a "filthy, godless, America-hating, city-slicking, Obama-loving, liberal hippie!" Sound good? You know it does.

Actually, the most cutting of criticisms would be that this whole post is just a ploy to attract an unsuspecting hitchhiker or two wandering the Google turnpike from up Dakota way. This, however, is not remotely accurate, and furthermore: "Gov. John Hoeven", "Mt. Rushmore sucks", Sioux, departing, "Western Meadowlark", "flights out", Minot, "how much longer till I can leave", and "Who needs Mt. Rushmore, anyway... we're just not that showy".

Whatever you wanna say to me now, funny-talking folks, fire at will-- my comment board is open as always!

In closing, it is a distinct honor to disappoint you, my likely-incensed casual North Dakotan drop-ins. I'd love you to stay, but if you simply can't, I ask only that you leave a tiny piece of your Very Upper Midwest souls with my friends at Google Analytics on your way back out the door, so I can finally finish coloring in my cool map of the U.S. various shades of green***.

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* In case you were born/raised in North Dakota, or you have family there, or you'd just like to defend a physically large state containing only almost exactly 10 times the number of people as the minor Chicago suburb in which I live, please note the supremely artful and undeniably endearing hedging of my phrasing^ here. I'd appreciate it if instead of cursing at me, you just chuckled lovingly and suggested I go into politics. ...Okay, go ahead now.

** This is a disclaimer that must always accompany any fact taken from Wikipedia-- new rule.

*** They don't call it "Anal-ytics" for nothing!

^ Or alternatively, you could just admire my extensive and arguably excessive use of adverbs and gerunds.

The Unbearable Weightiness of Morning

In case the 80 of you are wondering why I didn't post yesterday, my Spongebob Band-Aid and I will tell you.

Wait, time out, let me kill the dramatic suspense and skip to the end-- I'm lazy and disorganized. But if you want to hear about the seed of a reason that I would give if pressed for an acceptable excuse instead of being fired from my own blog, continue reading.

Due to my wife's and my lack of practiced social skills and outgoing...ness, combined with our somewhat nomadic lifestyle during the past four years, our kids haven't gotten a chance to go to many* birthday parties. But yesterday, we had an honest-to-goodness party to attend, though given that we had to show up by 9:15am at the latest at a place on the Near North Side of Chicago where we'd never been, this event was most definitely playing against our strengths.

For those who don't live in a densely-populated metropolitan area like Chicago, or who don't have any children, or who are even remotely competent or organized, you may find the fact that this place being 12 miles away meant we had to set our alarms for 7 o'clock in the morning quite surprising. On the flip side of that coin, those of you who are morning people by choice or chance, such as having children who are in bed by 7 and up at 6 every day, may want to slap me. All I can say is our lifestyle and body clocks are what they are, and 7am is as early for me now that I get up at 8 as it was when I was getting up at noon in college. I am nothing if not hardcore, and this part of me will never die.

So we were staring down the barrel of 9am, though not for the first time, and I knew we had to be ready for this or it would never happen. To grind the story to a halt once again out of a compulsion to clarify something not suited for a footnote**, I had finally gotten into something of a rhythm of doing this parenting thing by this spring, just in time for J- to get out of work for the summer, and the combination of both of us being around to take turns on things and generally hang out a lot (to make up for all the lost time during the school year of 12-hour days) has almost totally killed my progress.*** Hence I had a not-so-well oiled machine to rely on for getting us out the door in the morning.

To combat this, I planned ahead the night before and picked out clothes for all four of us and laid them out in the hallway, I shaved... I even oiled the three-story firefighter pole I installed next to our back stairs.**** Even farther in advance, I had printed out the invitation we needed to show the people at the door of this place, along with a release voucher (there are few better indicators of good times to be had), and the directions to get there. The following is a schedule of how our morning actually played out. Keep in mind that this is considered a startling success for us:

7:00 - We are all sleeping soundly in our bedroom. (The heat has gotten too much in the past few days for even the kids' miracle window fan to overcome, so they are on the floor of our room to share our conditioned air.)
7:20 - J-'s alarm, somehow set for 7:20 instead of 7, goes off.
7:40 - J- actually wakes up, then wakes me up, and goes off to put waffles in the toaster and then shower.
7:41 - M- wakes up smiling and happy as usual.
7:41-7:50 - I lay there willing M- to spontaneously learn how to get out of her own bed, dress herself and her brother, and make breakfast.
7:50 - I finally lift her out of bed and set her on the floor, hoping she can finish waking up her brother in a way that will leave him not cranky.
7:50 - She immediately does as subconsciously ordered, by marching around the room pointing at D- shouting "D- sleepin'! D- sleepin'!!" before sitting on his pillow calling his name.
7:51 - I blink hard and then leap out of bed much like a pearl diver heading down for an especially deep patch of oysters.
7:52-8:10 - A blur of waffles, clothes, and whatever else makes time pass by faster than I think it does.
8:11-8:20 - ???
8:21-8:30 - Getting out the door-- normally a 45-second process, at the most, for a single person.
8:31-8:55 - Crawling steadily despite stop signs and other obstacles even in extremely light rush hour traffic, hoping some miracle would allow us to get there at 9 as suggested on the invitation.
8:56-9:00 - Hoping the GPS was horribly miscalculating its frighteningly accurate arrival estimate.
9:01-9:14 - Beating my head against the steering wheel and considering initiating a high-speed chase just to assure myself of a clear path and the ability to ignore all those sadistically timed traffic lights and (let the incredulity drip from your tongue as you read this) stop signs Chicago likes to put on major thoroughfares.
9:15 - Putting on a happy face to spite the Gods of City Driving, then dropping off J- and the kids to begin experiencing the super-awesome fun zone.
9:16-9:18 - Hoping my tired eyes would unswell-shut as I walked the couple of blocks from my parking space.

I know by now you must be dying to hear from me and Mr. Squarepants about the wild party itself, but you'll have to wait till Monday to hear more. Or, if you are reading this in The Future (dun, dun, dunnnnn!), you can just skip to the next post.


* "Many" being defined as more than one non-family party between them in their lives.

** Regular readers may be equally shocked to find that I have standards for footnotes, and that I would pass up an opportunity to include one. Well, all I can say is, check me out-- I managed after all, didn't I?

*** I've learned from this collapse, though, and I'll post about it next week.

**** See, J-, when I put it in there with all the true stuff, doesn't it sound not only plausible, but a good, safe idea???

Upsize yourself! Nobody likes a quitter

Did you ever find yourself fantasizing about throwing together a junta and overthrowing your bosses if they ever tried to fire you?

Well, prepare to meet your idols, living the dream:

Mauritania army stages coup

To boil down the story to its essential elements:

The coup in Africa's newest oil producer took place after the president and prime minister fired the country's top four military officials. ... A brief announcement read over state television Wednesday said the new "state council" will be led by ... one of the four generals [fired] earlier in the day. The statement also restored the jobs of the other three generals.

Take that, The Man!

A conversation amongst all of us: St. Noodle

The following four-way conversation took place one day while J- was feeding M-, D- was milling about after lunch, and I was in the next room typing up some blog posts for the week I spent working.

J- (to M-, continuing some murmured back-and-forth they'd been having): Tell Daddy!

M- (barely intelligible through a mouthful): Ahluvoodoo!*

Me: I love you, too!

J- (in a teacher's gentle correcting voice): She said, "I love noodles."

Me: Oh.

D- (announcing reassuringly while approaching from the dining room): I love noodles, too, Dad.

Me: Okay... good to know.

It's touching moments like these that really make the whole parenting shebang feel worthwhile, you know?


* If you think she may actually be pulling the wool over both of our eyes (pun intended, in my case) and actually professing her love for voodoo, you're probably right. The other day she was hugging her teddy bear and I swear it was getting hard to breathe. This baby will be a Black Magic Woman if I ever met one.