In order to ensure the harmony of your household, you must only bathe your children when absolutely necessary, or once every couple of months. Of course, there are exceptions, such as when you’ve got company coming over, or if the government sends a representative by the house to question your parenting methods.
This type of sporadic bathing is an ideal situation for all parties involved. Kids love being stinky and dirty; it’s a status-symbol for them. To a child, being dirty is a sign of life experience and maturity, kind of like iPads and gourmet coffee for us, only less pompous and douchebaggy.
Sometimes visitors just drop by the house though, and those without children probably won’t understand the social complexities of your filthy two-year-old. In these cases, lying is necessary. If a houseguest comes by your home unexpectedly and mentions anything about the smell emanating from your children, don’t panic. Just smile, nod and blame it on the dog. If you don’t own a dog, you should adopt one solely for this purpose.
When you’ve had enough of your stinky child and decide that it’s bath time, make sure to do some preparations first. Fill the tub with water heated to exactly 99.48 degrees. This is absolutely crucial to a successful bath. If you deviate from this number at all, there are dire consequences: too cold and your child will go into hypothermic shock; too warm and your child will spend the entire bath peeing on your arm.
Once you’ve got the bathwater at the correct temperature, you’ll need to load the tub with toys, and I mean LOAD it. Get enough toys in there so that you’ll actually have to make room for your child. Children won’t bathe in a tub that isn’t the exact equivalent of a Toys R’ Us aisle, so just roll your kid’s toy box into the bathroom and dump it. It doesn’t matter that none of these toys were actually “designed” to be put in a bath, and for that matter are probably “dangerous” if they get wet. That’s what lawyers are for.
It’s usually not difficult to coax a child into a tub full of water. Kids are genetically programmed to be attracted to any substance which they can use to make a colossal mess. Once you’ve got him in there, the fun really begins.
Trying to bathe a child is not unlike trying to bathe a cat. He’ll scream, he’ll cry, he’ll claw you, and he’ll try to climb the walls in a desperate attempt to escape the shampoo lather. By the time you’ve got him reasonably clean, most of the water from the tub will be in your clothes and you’ll have intelligent mildew colonies living on your bathroom walls.
It’s a law of Nature that your children will become dirty again after you’ve bathed them, usually within about twenty seconds. As a responsible parent, you should cover your children’s skin with Armor-All or Thompson’s Water Seal after every bath. This way, you can simply hose them down whenever they get dirty.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Traveling and Vacationing with your Children
When you’ve got kids, will lose your mind from time to time. This is a given. It’s also understandable. Your house is never clean, your child is never sleeping, and you haven’t bathed in three days. Mother Theresa herself would have given up long ago.
During these periods of insanity, the best course of action is to remove yourself from the situation—which means getting out of the house for a while (or ingesting rat poison, but I’m assuming you’re not quite that desperate yet). What you need is a vacation.
Vacations and day-trips are palette cleansers for the soul; welcome refills of your internal battery juices. A stress-relieving getaway can be just what you need to conquer your case of the crazies.
You’ll probably be bringing your children with you when you take that stress-relieving getaway—even though your children are likely the source of your stress. To combat this wicked irony, you’ll want to make sure you’re suitably prepared before you walk out the door.
Packing:
When it comes to packing a child’s suitcase for a trip, it’s important to remember this one simple rule: More is always better.
Overdo it. Go nuts. Pack everything you can think of that is, has ever been, or might someday have any sort of association with your child. If you find yourself debating whether or not to pack that stuffed teddy bear that your kid hasn’t so much as glanced at since 2006, you’d better put it in the suitcase. If you don’t, your child will want it.
And scream about it.
At a very inopportune time.
Like when you’re changing lanes in rush-hour traffic.
Bring the teddy bear.
Seriously.
The next areas of packing preparation you’ll need to think about are food and drinks to be consumed during the ride, which are a necessity if you’ll be in the car for any period of time longer than fifteen minutes. Staples of “travelin’ snacks” include juice boxes, crackers, chips and anything else that your child can wedge between the seat cushions of your car.
As a matter of fact, your child probably won’t even eat any of these snacks because he’ll be far too busy squashing them into crumbs which he can then mash into the floorboard.
That’s okay, though. The important thing is to keep him occupied. Just keep repeating Parenting Mantra #48 to yourself: “At least he’s being quiet.”
Parenting Mantra #62 is also useful in this situation: “I’ll clean that up later.”
Getting your child into the car:
When leaving for a trip, the most effective (and maybe the only) time to get your child into the car is approximately three a.m. There is a small window of unconsciousness in a child’s sleep cycle at this exact time, and it’s possible to move him without waking him up.
In order to pull this off successfully, though, you’re going to have to make some preparations. If you shower and pack all of your suitcases the night before, you’ll be able to set your alarm for 2:55.
When you wake up, pull yourself up off the floor (because if you followed my earlier advice, you packed your bed and everything else in your room), scoop up your child and toss him into the car before he has any idea what’s going on.
If you must get your child into the car while he’s still awake, there are a few methods by which this can be accomplished.
The Slingshot Method:
1. Using high-tension springs and duct tape, fashion a crude slingshot across the inside of your car door.
2. Place your child in the slingshot.
3. Pull back and let go. Your child is now in the car, and likely needs medical attention.
The “Go Fetch” Method:
1. Find your child’s favorite toy.
2. Dangle it in front of him, repeating “Nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah.”
3. Throw the toy into the car.
The Mountain Lion Method:
1. Get a mountain lion. You can probably find one on a mountain somewhere. Or on the internet.
2. Position the mountain lion behind your child.
3. Yell “Look out! It’s a mountain lion!” and open the car door. If the mountain lion gets in the car and your child doesn’t, go back to step two. If the mountain lion and your child get in the car, call it a draw and just take them both.
Keeping your children occupied while driving:
Your kids will try to distract you while you’re driving. Children love seeing just how crazy they can make their parents. It’s like a sport to them, and since they’re too short to play basketball, it’s all they’ve got.
While you’re in the car, there are several things you can do to try and keep your children occupied. Here are brief rundowns of a few:
The license plate game:
This is an old standard that’s been around since the horse-and-buggy days. Your kids can pass the time by seeing how many different states they can identify on the license plates of neighboring motorists.
The fun won’t last too long, though. Your kids will only be able to spot a few different plates because your state sucks and no one wants to come there. It’s a real let-down.
The “Get a semi driver to honk his horn” game:
Another go-to pastime in the annals of kid travel. Every time you pass a semi on the highway, your kids make furious pumping motions with their arms, signaling the driver to honk his horn. It’s an entertaining game, but realistically there are only two possible outcomes:
1. The semi driver honks his horn.
2. The semi driver gives your kids the finger.
The “Let’s see who can be the quietest” game:
Kids are wise to this one, and you’ll be lucky if you can convince them to participate for more than a few seconds. This game involves you saying “Let’s see who can be the quietest!” like it’s the freaking greatest-sounding idea in the history of recorded time. Your kids will then pick up on your enthusiasm and give it a try. You’ll have approximately .0072 seconds of peace until they realize that it’s a stupid game and start yelling again.
The “Let’s see who can drink the most vodka” game:
Here’s a fun activity that you can participate in with your children. As an added bonus, since your body mass is much higher than your children’s, you’ll always win. Just make sure to hide the vodka bottle if you pass a cop.
Warning: This might be illegal. I’m not sure.
During these periods of insanity, the best course of action is to remove yourself from the situation—which means getting out of the house for a while (or ingesting rat poison, but I’m assuming you’re not quite that desperate yet). What you need is a vacation.
Vacations and day-trips are palette cleansers for the soul; welcome refills of your internal battery juices. A stress-relieving getaway can be just what you need to conquer your case of the crazies.
You’ll probably be bringing your children with you when you take that stress-relieving getaway—even though your children are likely the source of your stress. To combat this wicked irony, you’ll want to make sure you’re suitably prepared before you walk out the door.
Packing:
When it comes to packing a child’s suitcase for a trip, it’s important to remember this one simple rule: More is always better.
Overdo it. Go nuts. Pack everything you can think of that is, has ever been, or might someday have any sort of association with your child. If you find yourself debating whether or not to pack that stuffed teddy bear that your kid hasn’t so much as glanced at since 2006, you’d better put it in the suitcase. If you don’t, your child will want it.
And scream about it.
At a very inopportune time.
Like when you’re changing lanes in rush-hour traffic.
Bring the teddy bear.
Seriously.
The next areas of packing preparation you’ll need to think about are food and drinks to be consumed during the ride, which are a necessity if you’ll be in the car for any period of time longer than fifteen minutes. Staples of “travelin’ snacks” include juice boxes, crackers, chips and anything else that your child can wedge between the seat cushions of your car.
As a matter of fact, your child probably won’t even eat any of these snacks because he’ll be far too busy squashing them into crumbs which he can then mash into the floorboard.
That’s okay, though. The important thing is to keep him occupied. Just keep repeating Parenting Mantra #48 to yourself: “At least he’s being quiet.”
Parenting Mantra #62 is also useful in this situation: “I’ll clean that up later.”
Getting your child into the car:
When leaving for a trip, the most effective (and maybe the only) time to get your child into the car is approximately three a.m. There is a small window of unconsciousness in a child’s sleep cycle at this exact time, and it’s possible to move him without waking him up.
In order to pull this off successfully, though, you’re going to have to make some preparations. If you shower and pack all of your suitcases the night before, you’ll be able to set your alarm for 2:55.
When you wake up, pull yourself up off the floor (because if you followed my earlier advice, you packed your bed and everything else in your room), scoop up your child and toss him into the car before he has any idea what’s going on.
If you must get your child into the car while he’s still awake, there are a few methods by which this can be accomplished.
The Slingshot Method:
1. Using high-tension springs and duct tape, fashion a crude slingshot across the inside of your car door.
2. Place your child in the slingshot.
3. Pull back and let go. Your child is now in the car, and likely needs medical attention.
The “Go Fetch” Method:
1. Find your child’s favorite toy.
2. Dangle it in front of him, repeating “Nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah.”
3. Throw the toy into the car.
The Mountain Lion Method:
1. Get a mountain lion. You can probably find one on a mountain somewhere. Or on the internet.
2. Position the mountain lion behind your child.
3. Yell “Look out! It’s a mountain lion!” and open the car door. If the mountain lion gets in the car and your child doesn’t, go back to step two. If the mountain lion and your child get in the car, call it a draw and just take them both.
Keeping your children occupied while driving:
Your kids will try to distract you while you’re driving. Children love seeing just how crazy they can make their parents. It’s like a sport to them, and since they’re too short to play basketball, it’s all they’ve got.
While you’re in the car, there are several things you can do to try and keep your children occupied. Here are brief rundowns of a few:
The license plate game:
This is an old standard that’s been around since the horse-and-buggy days. Your kids can pass the time by seeing how many different states they can identify on the license plates of neighboring motorists.
The fun won’t last too long, though. Your kids will only be able to spot a few different plates because your state sucks and no one wants to come there. It’s a real let-down.
The “Get a semi driver to honk his horn” game:
Another go-to pastime in the annals of kid travel. Every time you pass a semi on the highway, your kids make furious pumping motions with their arms, signaling the driver to honk his horn. It’s an entertaining game, but realistically there are only two possible outcomes:
1. The semi driver honks his horn.
2. The semi driver gives your kids the finger.
The “Let’s see who can be the quietest” game:
Kids are wise to this one, and you’ll be lucky if you can convince them to participate for more than a few seconds. This game involves you saying “Let’s see who can be the quietest!” like it’s the freaking greatest-sounding idea in the history of recorded time. Your kids will then pick up on your enthusiasm and give it a try. You’ll have approximately .0072 seconds of peace until they realize that it’s a stupid game and start yelling again.
The “Let’s see who can drink the most vodka” game:
Here’s a fun activity that you can participate in with your children. As an added bonus, since your body mass is much higher than your children’s, you’ll always win. Just make sure to hide the vodka bottle if you pass a cop.
Warning: This might be illegal. I’m not sure.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Mountains and Molehills
I mow my lawn as infrequently as possible. I’ll “let it go” for upwards of three months, until the point that I see tigers and rainforest tribesmen taking up residence within my grass. Then, with much reluctance, I’ll fire up the ol’ tractor and speed through the chore as quickly as I can.
I’m not sure where this lack of enthusiasm for mowing the lawn originated. My best guess is that it all started back when I was a teenager. If I was in need of spending money, and my parents weren’t in the mood to give handouts (which was always), I was relegated to “earning” cash by doing “work,” which “sucked.”
As a naïve teen, I normally elected to get money by mowing the lawn. The idea seemed simple enough: All I had to do was ride a mower around the yard for an hour while daydreaming about what I was going to do with my whopping five-dollar payout. Easy, right?
Wrong.
There were several factors that hindered the completion of my lawn-mowing chore. First of all, our family’s mower had only four speeds. Fourth gear—the top velocity possible—wasn’t any faster than the swift pace achieved by an elderly woman with orthopedic shoes and a walker. One—the lowest speed—was roughly equivalent to glacial movement. Needless to say, by the time I finished mowing the lawn, the grass had fully grown back to the height it was when I started.
Even if I did attempt to push the mower into fourth gear and achieve the breakneck speed of 1/8 MPH, my parents would always freak out. They’d burst out of the house screaming, “That’s way too fast! Don’t go over ‘glacier gear’!” and I’d have to dial it down. It was like that movie Speed, only the exact opposite. And no fun. (Okay, never mind. It was the same.)
Fast-forward to last week. I was mowing the lawn, with my usual unabashed enthusiasm, and I noticed that the yard looked…different.
Exactly how “different” I can’t say, but I can tell you that the yard contained far more dirt than it should have. As a matter of fact, certain sections of it had abandoned the classification of “grass” and moved into “scorched earth.” These sections were crisscrossed with mounds of torn dirt stretching miniature trails around my lawn.
Upon closer inspection, and after several hours of exhaustive ecological research (which is the kind of research consisting of drinking a beer, staring at the ground and scratching my head), I determined that the hilly paths of dirt were mole burrows.
At first, I was overjoyed. No grass means no mowing, right? Thanks mole, feel free to dig up the rest of the yard. Now if I can teach you to perform rudimentary plumbing repairs, we’ll be all set.
Then something came over me.
I became angry with this mole. He had encroached upon my territory, defiled my property and hadn’t even bothered send me a check for his share of the mortgage. What a jerk. I felt violated.
It’s on, mole. It’s on.
I declared war on this mole, resigning myself to the fact that I would not rest until he was banished from my yard forever—or until I got tired. I thought of all the great military men in American history: Ulysses S. Grant, George Patton, Lieutenant Dan, Cap’n Crunch. What would they do in a wartime lawn crisis such as this?
The answer was obvious: They’d ask the internet.
My Google search of “getting rid of a mole” yielded 502,000 results. Unfortunately, most of these referred to the “skin mole” variety. Many of the rest catered to the “organized crime mole” category. After spending a considerable amount of time sifting through unrelated pages (and pausing to do some “relevant research” on a fantasy football site), I found what I was looking for.
A mole’s sustenance comes from earthworms and grubs. The tunnels they dig come as a result of their search for these creepy-crawly treats. Apparently, large sections of my yard are veritable buffets of invertebrate goodness.
So, the most straightforward solution to a mole problem is to rid the yard of its food supply. The mole will leave the area in search of more bountiful property (which is to say “the neighbors’ yard”). There are several lawn fertilizer products on the market that will kill earthworms and grubs. All I would have to do is buy one and spread it over my yard.
Executing this, however, requires actual work—work that I didn’t really feel like doing—so I ultimately decided against it. Besides, I like my slimy lawn bugs right where they are; I might need them someday. They could come in handy if I ever decide to pull an earthworm-themed prank on one of my kids.
I checked out some of the other options for getting rid of moles and eliminated them one by one. They were either too time-consuming, too expensive, or required me get up off the chair. Also, none of them involved explosions or the cast from “The A-Team.” Bummer.
Considering the fact that it’s almost October, I’ve decided to let the mole problem go for now. I’m pretty much finished mowing until spring (hallelujah), and my lawn is about to receive the monumental pimp-slap of Midwestern winter. I would imagine that my mole will soon be passed out for the next six months anyway, dreaming sugarplum visions of hitting Vegas with Sonic the Hedgehog.
I’ll confront the problem again when the weather gets better. Maybe by that time the guys from “The A-Team” will have dropped by and given me a few pointers.
Until then, sweet dreams, mole. Sweet dreams.
I’m not sure where this lack of enthusiasm for mowing the lawn originated. My best guess is that it all started back when I was a teenager. If I was in need of spending money, and my parents weren’t in the mood to give handouts (which was always), I was relegated to “earning” cash by doing “work,” which “sucked.”
As a naïve teen, I normally elected to get money by mowing the lawn. The idea seemed simple enough: All I had to do was ride a mower around the yard for an hour while daydreaming about what I was going to do with my whopping five-dollar payout. Easy, right?
Wrong.
There were several factors that hindered the completion of my lawn-mowing chore. First of all, our family’s mower had only four speeds. Fourth gear—the top velocity possible—wasn’t any faster than the swift pace achieved by an elderly woman with orthopedic shoes and a walker. One—the lowest speed—was roughly equivalent to glacial movement. Needless to say, by the time I finished mowing the lawn, the grass had fully grown back to the height it was when I started.
Even if I did attempt to push the mower into fourth gear and achieve the breakneck speed of 1/8 MPH, my parents would always freak out. They’d burst out of the house screaming, “That’s way too fast! Don’t go over ‘glacier gear’!” and I’d have to dial it down. It was like that movie Speed, only the exact opposite. And no fun. (Okay, never mind. It was the same.)
Fast-forward to last week. I was mowing the lawn, with my usual unabashed enthusiasm, and I noticed that the yard looked…different.
Exactly how “different” I can’t say, but I can tell you that the yard contained far more dirt than it should have. As a matter of fact, certain sections of it had abandoned the classification of “grass” and moved into “scorched earth.” These sections were crisscrossed with mounds of torn dirt stretching miniature trails around my lawn.
Upon closer inspection, and after several hours of exhaustive ecological research (which is the kind of research consisting of drinking a beer, staring at the ground and scratching my head), I determined that the hilly paths of dirt were mole burrows.
At first, I was overjoyed. No grass means no mowing, right? Thanks mole, feel free to dig up the rest of the yard. Now if I can teach you to perform rudimentary plumbing repairs, we’ll be all set.
Then something came over me.
I became angry with this mole. He had encroached upon my territory, defiled my property and hadn’t even bothered send me a check for his share of the mortgage. What a jerk. I felt violated.
It’s on, mole. It’s on.
I declared war on this mole, resigning myself to the fact that I would not rest until he was banished from my yard forever—or until I got tired. I thought of all the great military men in American history: Ulysses S. Grant, George Patton, Lieutenant Dan, Cap’n Crunch. What would they do in a wartime lawn crisis such as this?
The answer was obvious: They’d ask the internet.
My Google search of “getting rid of a mole” yielded 502,000 results. Unfortunately, most of these referred to the “skin mole” variety. Many of the rest catered to the “organized crime mole” category. After spending a considerable amount of time sifting through unrelated pages (and pausing to do some “relevant research” on a fantasy football site), I found what I was looking for.
A mole’s sustenance comes from earthworms and grubs. The tunnels they dig come as a result of their search for these creepy-crawly treats. Apparently, large sections of my yard are veritable buffets of invertebrate goodness.
So, the most straightforward solution to a mole problem is to rid the yard of its food supply. The mole will leave the area in search of more bountiful property (which is to say “the neighbors’ yard”). There are several lawn fertilizer products on the market that will kill earthworms and grubs. All I would have to do is buy one and spread it over my yard.
Executing this, however, requires actual work—work that I didn’t really feel like doing—so I ultimately decided against it. Besides, I like my slimy lawn bugs right where they are; I might need them someday. They could come in handy if I ever decide to pull an earthworm-themed prank on one of my kids.
I checked out some of the other options for getting rid of moles and eliminated them one by one. They were either too time-consuming, too expensive, or required me get up off the chair. Also, none of them involved explosions or the cast from “The A-Team.” Bummer.
Considering the fact that it’s almost October, I’ve decided to let the mole problem go for now. I’m pretty much finished mowing until spring (hallelujah), and my lawn is about to receive the monumental pimp-slap of Midwestern winter. I would imagine that my mole will soon be passed out for the next six months anyway, dreaming sugarplum visions of hitting Vegas with Sonic the Hedgehog.
I’ll confront the problem again when the weather gets better. Maybe by that time the guys from “The A-Team” will have dropped by and given me a few pointers.
Until then, sweet dreams, mole. Sweet dreams.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Dudes Can Be Fairies Too, Right?
Here's an older blog entry I found. I wrote it when my oldest daughter lost her first tooth.
I’m sure I had conversations with my parents about the Tooth Fairy, but I don’t remember what was said. As a matter of fact, I don't remember anything before the Who Shot J.R.? episode of “Dallas.” I must have killed those particular brain cells with beer.
As a result, I was quite unprepared for the intricacies contained in being the father of a child losing her first tooth, and the doors to adulthood that it would open.
As soon as we became aware of our daughter Taylor‘s first loose tooth, my wife and I began offering support and advice.
"Just keep wiggling it," we'd say. “It will fall out and you can put it under your pillow. The Tooth Fairy will come during the night. She'll take your tooth and leave money. It's totally a win-win situation for you."
Taylor seemed pretty intrigued about the idea, but she had made it abundantly clear that she would not try to force the tooth out. She wanted to wait until it fell away on its own. I was somewhat dejected upon hearing this, as it had been my plan to tie her tooth to a gasoline-powered rocket made from my lawn mower engine and “see what happened.” Eventually, I relented and let nature take its course.
Things went on rather uneventfully until Taylor’s tooth finally did come out one night as she was brushing. It bounced across the porcelain of the sink, nearly sliding into the drain. I snatched it up just before it tumbled into oblivion.
Once the tooth was securely in our possession, I made big deal out of the occasion, congratulating Taylor and making sure not to mention that she now bore a striking resemblance to Mike Tyson. After all, losing your first tooth is one of those iconic childhood moments that a person never forgets. I didn't want her to be working this out in therapy at age forty:
"Well, doctor, my life started to go downhill when I lost my first tooth. Daddy didn't seem to care too much. Then I tried heroin."
That evening at bedtime, I took Taylor through the usual routine. I tucked her tooth beneath an extra pillow (making sure to put it close to the edge of the mattress, as to facilitate an easier retrieval) and everything was set.
I was coasting through the bedtime process, thinking that this whole “fatherhood” thing was pretty easy to master. Then Taylor started asking a lot of questions that I wasn't quite prepared for:
"Daddy, How big is the Tooth Fairy?"
"Oh, she's about this big,” I said as I held my hands six inches apart.
"How does the Tooth Fairy get into my room?"
"Umm...she flies in through the window."
"But how does she get through the window if it’s closed?"
It was then that I realized she had inherited my imagination as well as my penchant for rational thinking. We are all doomed. Especially me.
"I don't know, honey. She just twinkles her nose and junk. She's magic."
"We need to open up the window so she can get in!"
Of course, by saying “We need to open the window,” she meant “You need to open the window,” resulting in twenty minutes spent fumbling through the blinds and coaxing the locks open.
Once that was done, I turned around and gave her forehead a goodnight kiss, trying desperately not to think of the money wasted trying to heat the house all night with an open window.
My wife had given me a five-dollar bill to place underneath Taylor’s pillow for her “Tooth Fairy money” (I think I only got a quarter or a Home Depot coupon or something for each one of my teeth, but I'm sure the current price of oil is also affecting the tooth market), and since I was “The Man," it was pretty much a given that I'd be sneaking the money in there once I confirmed that she was asleep.
Around ten o' clock, I got up to go to the bathroom and peeked into her room. She was out cold.
Showtime.
Clutching the fiver in my hand, I tiptoed inside.
There I stood in the threshold of the doorway, facing a slumbering five-year-old and a very curious cat who had been watching my every move since entering the room. I was immediately reminded of the opening twenty minutes of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.
Everybody knows the scene: Indiana Jones emerges into the main hall of a forbidden temple. He places cautious steps around all the booby traps and other assorted deadly stuff on the floor. His eyes grow wide beholding the treasure before him: a small idol made of pure gold, no doubt worth millions. Maybe even billionty-millions.
Indiana tiptoes his way up to the idol and strokes his sweet five o' clock shadow as he decides how to make the exchange. He pulls a bag of sand out of his pocket (because everyone carries a bag of sand in their pockets) and, measuring with his eye, gauges the weight of the idol so that he can quickly switch them out.
After a heavy breath, he swaps the bag of sand for the idol. He exhales in relief as he realizes his calculations are correct. Then he runs the hell out of the room, chased by stones and poison-tipped arrows.
I had to go through the exact same thing.
Instead of booby traps, I had to silently make my way around the sea of Barbies and My Little Ponies that littered the floor. Once I arrived at Taylor's bed, I did a very smooth exchange of tooth for money. It was freaking ninja-like. I was beaming with self-worth until the cat started meowing, which was my signal to run.
I turned and hop-scotched my way out, checking over my shoulder for any poison-tipped arrows that may have been following. There was none, and I collapsed in the hallway, breathless and wondering just what I could get on Ebay for a “slightly used” tooth.
Taylor never woke up.
All in all, things went pretty smoothly. I was quite proud of myself until I realized that I will have to do this another four hundred times for all of her and my two other daughters’ teeth.
From now on, maybe I'll wear a pink dress and some cardboard wings just in case.
I’m sure I had conversations with my parents about the Tooth Fairy, but I don’t remember what was said. As a matter of fact, I don't remember anything before the Who Shot J.R.? episode of “Dallas.” I must have killed those particular brain cells with beer.
As a result, I was quite unprepared for the intricacies contained in being the father of a child losing her first tooth, and the doors to adulthood that it would open.
As soon as we became aware of our daughter Taylor‘s first loose tooth, my wife and I began offering support and advice.
"Just keep wiggling it," we'd say. “It will fall out and you can put it under your pillow. The Tooth Fairy will come during the night. She'll take your tooth and leave money. It's totally a win-win situation for you."
Taylor seemed pretty intrigued about the idea, but she had made it abundantly clear that she would not try to force the tooth out. She wanted to wait until it fell away on its own. I was somewhat dejected upon hearing this, as it had been my plan to tie her tooth to a gasoline-powered rocket made from my lawn mower engine and “see what happened.” Eventually, I relented and let nature take its course.
Things went on rather uneventfully until Taylor’s tooth finally did come out one night as she was brushing. It bounced across the porcelain of the sink, nearly sliding into the drain. I snatched it up just before it tumbled into oblivion.
Once the tooth was securely in our possession, I made big deal out of the occasion, congratulating Taylor and making sure not to mention that she now bore a striking resemblance to Mike Tyson. After all, losing your first tooth is one of those iconic childhood moments that a person never forgets. I didn't want her to be working this out in therapy at age forty:
"Well, doctor, my life started to go downhill when I lost my first tooth. Daddy didn't seem to care too much. Then I tried heroin."
That evening at bedtime, I took Taylor through the usual routine. I tucked her tooth beneath an extra pillow (making sure to put it close to the edge of the mattress, as to facilitate an easier retrieval) and everything was set.
I was coasting through the bedtime process, thinking that this whole “fatherhood” thing was pretty easy to master. Then Taylor started asking a lot of questions that I wasn't quite prepared for:
"Daddy, How big is the Tooth Fairy?"
"Oh, she's about this big,” I said as I held my hands six inches apart.
"How does the Tooth Fairy get into my room?"
"Umm...she flies in through the window."
"But how does she get through the window if it’s closed?"
It was then that I realized she had inherited my imagination as well as my penchant for rational thinking. We are all doomed. Especially me.
"I don't know, honey. She just twinkles her nose and junk. She's magic."
"We need to open up the window so she can get in!"
Of course, by saying “We need to open the window,” she meant “You need to open the window,” resulting in twenty minutes spent fumbling through the blinds and coaxing the locks open.
Once that was done, I turned around and gave her forehead a goodnight kiss, trying desperately not to think of the money wasted trying to heat the house all night with an open window.
My wife had given me a five-dollar bill to place underneath Taylor’s pillow for her “Tooth Fairy money” (I think I only got a quarter or a Home Depot coupon or something for each one of my teeth, but I'm sure the current price of oil is also affecting the tooth market), and since I was “The Man," it was pretty much a given that I'd be sneaking the money in there once I confirmed that she was asleep.
Around ten o' clock, I got up to go to the bathroom and peeked into her room. She was out cold.
Showtime.
Clutching the fiver in my hand, I tiptoed inside.
There I stood in the threshold of the doorway, facing a slumbering five-year-old and a very curious cat who had been watching my every move since entering the room. I was immediately reminded of the opening twenty minutes of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.
Everybody knows the scene: Indiana Jones emerges into the main hall of a forbidden temple. He places cautious steps around all the booby traps and other assorted deadly stuff on the floor. His eyes grow wide beholding the treasure before him: a small idol made of pure gold, no doubt worth millions. Maybe even billionty-millions.
Indiana tiptoes his way up to the idol and strokes his sweet five o' clock shadow as he decides how to make the exchange. He pulls a bag of sand out of his pocket (because everyone carries a bag of sand in their pockets) and, measuring with his eye, gauges the weight of the idol so that he can quickly switch them out.
After a heavy breath, he swaps the bag of sand for the idol. He exhales in relief as he realizes his calculations are correct. Then he runs the hell out of the room, chased by stones and poison-tipped arrows.
I had to go through the exact same thing.
Instead of booby traps, I had to silently make my way around the sea of Barbies and My Little Ponies that littered the floor. Once I arrived at Taylor's bed, I did a very smooth exchange of tooth for money. It was freaking ninja-like. I was beaming with self-worth until the cat started meowing, which was my signal to run.
I turned and hop-scotched my way out, checking over my shoulder for any poison-tipped arrows that may have been following. There was none, and I collapsed in the hallway, breathless and wondering just what I could get on Ebay for a “slightly used” tooth.
Taylor never woke up.
All in all, things went pretty smoothly. I was quite proud of myself until I realized that I will have to do this another four hundred times for all of her and my two other daughters’ teeth.
From now on, maybe I'll wear a pink dress and some cardboard wings just in case.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The Field Guide To Children's TV Shows
One of the most overlooked aspects of being a parent is deciding which TV shows to allow your young children to watch. This is a very dangerous area to ignore, not only because the shows will influence your child’s development, but also because once your child decides that he or she likes a particular show, you will constantly be subjected to it for years to come.
You will learn every episode by heart. You will know all of the characters. You will memorize the dialogue. You may even find yourself watching the show when your child isn’t even in the room. You won’t realize that anything is wrong before it’s too late, and you’re curled up on the couch dabbing a tissue beneath your eye because Hannah Montana’s TV boyfriend just broke up with her. Take heed, my friends.
As a public service to all parents who have young children, I’ve decided to list some of the more popular kids’ shows on television and critique each one. You can use this list to monitor what your child watches so that the show won’t ultimately drive you insane.
SHOWS FOR REALLY YOUNG KIDS:
Imagination Movers — Watching this show is equivalent to receiving a full frontal lobotomy without the aid of anesthesia. The program consists of several grown men who work for some sort of moving company. The thing is, they never do any actual “moving,” nor any other type of work.
So how do they spend their time? By singing songs and prancing around like douchebags for half an hour. I don’t even think I’ve ever seen them leave the building.
I’m all for teaching kids the value of music and junk like that, but these guys are just tools. Unfortunately, though, little kids love tools—especially the prancing douchebaggy variety—so they go nuts for this show. You’ve been warned.
Dora the Explorer — This show isn’t too bad, and it’s easy to make fun of, which makes it less difficult to watch. The focus of every show is Dora and her friends’ harrowing journey to find something or other. It doesn’t really matter what they’re attempting to find; it’s the same storyline every day so the objective is interchangeable. I went into more detail with this one in a previous blog, so check that out if you want more info.
Go, Diego, Go! — Basically a spin-off of “Dora the Explorer.” Diego spends his days rescuing animals that have sprained ankles and crap. To date, Diego hasn’t been savagely mauled by any of these animals, which is kind of a let-down.
SHOWS FOR TODDLERS:
The Fairly Odd Parents — This is a show about a kid who has a pair of fairy godparents who give him anything he wishes for. It’s reasonably entertaining, but it would be a lot better if it were more realistic. For instance, I’ve never seen an episode where the kid wishes for a box full of grenades. Hell, that would be the first thing I’d ask for.
That being said, the annoyance factor on this show is pretty low, and some of the jokes are actually funny, so it may be a good choice.
Spongebob Squarepants — Everybody knows this one. It’s been around for the last ten years or so, and with good reason. It’s by far the best animated show out there. You don’t even have to be drunk or high to enjoy it (though it doesn’t hurt). If your kid gets hooked on this one, consider yourself lucky.
Back at the Barnyard — This one’s also pretty decent. It’s about a bunch of barnyard animals (cows, chickens, pigs, etc.) who live on a farm, and the zany misadventures they get into. The writing is good, and the gags are genuinely funny. Good show.
The Mighty B! — Avoid this one at all costs. I’m not even sure what the show is supposed to be about; I always turn it off within five seconds. Why? The main character speaks in a high-pitched whine laced with a heavy lisp. It’s the single most annoying sound that has ever penetrated my ears. If your kid starts watching this show, set the TV on fire and then throw it out the window. You’ll thank me later.
LIVE-ACTION SHOWS FOR OLDER KIDS:
Hannah Montana — The phenomenon that is Hannah Montana is almost too difficult to fully comprehend. This has been the biggest thing for Disney since Donald Duck perfected the temper tantrum. On the show, Miley Cyrus plays a normal teenage girl who leads a double life as a pop star. Nobody knows she’s a pop star, though, and thus hilarity always ensues.
The show itself isn’t terrible. There are worse things your children could be addicted to. I find that my greatest joy in watching “Hannah Montana” is cheering wildly whenever Billy Ray Cyrus comes onscreen. This is usually followed by a rousing chorus of “Achy Breaky Heart,” which then prompts my daughter to throw a shoe at my head. It’s good all-around family bonding.
Drake and Josh — This show was on for a long time, but I don’t think they’re making any new episodes because the main characters reached Nickelodeon’s Magical Age of Disownment. If you can still find reruns, it might be worth looking into.
Drake and Josh are stepbrothers, brought together by a Brady Bunch-style marriage. Drake is the cool one, and Josh is comparatively dorky and awkward. This dichotomy supplies a seemingly endless variety of storylines, most of which have been done about a billion times by about a billion other shows. Still, it’s tolerable if you’ve got nothing better to do than watch it with your kid. The dude who plays Josh is good for a few one-liners and random physical comedy, so it borders on actual “entertainment” at times.
iCarly — This is a show about a couple of tween girls who have a weekly webcast called iCarly. It’s a spin-off of “Drake and Josh,” so if you didn’t like that show, then you’ll probably hate this one. That being said, it’s bearable, albeit slightly juvenile. If your kid prefers to spend every waking moment screwing around online, she might become interested in this show, so watch out.
The Suite Life on Deck — This is a spin-off of “The Suite Life with Zack and Cody,” featuring most of the same central characters. I won’t waste any time in telling you that this show sucks fat monkey testicles.
Remember Uncle Jesse and Rebecca’s twin boys from “Full House”? Those are the kids from this show, and they still haven’t gotten haircuts since then. Each of the boys possesses all the theatrical talent of a limp noodle, which is further proof that they sure in the hell didn‘t spend all the money from those “Full House” residual checks on acting lessons. Ten seconds of this show and you’ll be banging your head against a cinder block.
The Naked Brothers Band — Yet another ignorant-ass show. Fortunately, this one has stopped production, so you will probably never have to watch it.
The show focuses on a bunch of annoying tweener kids who are in a band and spend their time composing horrible, horrible songs. They then perform these songs within the context of the show. Oh yeah, did I mention that the songs were horrible? Well, they are. They sound like they were written by a raccoon on a crack binge. The mute button on your remote will see plenty of action if you find yourself subjected to this garbage.
Big Time Rush — This is a show about a “boy band.” It’s essentially a rip-off of that Jonas brothers show, which in turn is a rip-off of about a million other shows that are rip-offs of “The Monkees.” Everything old is new again; La-De-Freakin’-Da.
The members of the “Big Time Rush” band are pretty much exactly as you’d expect. There’s The “Tough” One; The “Cute” One; The “Funny” One; The “Probably Gay” One and The “Other” One.
The show is rife with tired dialogue and clichéd plotlines. Each episode finds the ensemble getting into yet another “wacky” situation through “zany” circumstances. Yawn.
You may be wondering why a network would bother to produce a show centered on a “boy band” fifteen years after that ship sailed (and consequently hit an iceberg), but it’s apparently still a profitable concept. As long as there are screaming, infatuated tweener girls with idle time and allowance money to burn, there will be idiotic shows like this.
Well, there you have it. I hope this helps all of you parents in choosing what kind of shows your kids watch. Remember, it’s never too early to start filtering this stuff. You’ll be sparing your children’s sanity, and your own.
You will learn every episode by heart. You will know all of the characters. You will memorize the dialogue. You may even find yourself watching the show when your child isn’t even in the room. You won’t realize that anything is wrong before it’s too late, and you’re curled up on the couch dabbing a tissue beneath your eye because Hannah Montana’s TV boyfriend just broke up with her. Take heed, my friends.
As a public service to all parents who have young children, I’ve decided to list some of the more popular kids’ shows on television and critique each one. You can use this list to monitor what your child watches so that the show won’t ultimately drive you insane.
SHOWS FOR REALLY YOUNG KIDS:
Imagination Movers — Watching this show is equivalent to receiving a full frontal lobotomy without the aid of anesthesia. The program consists of several grown men who work for some sort of moving company. The thing is, they never do any actual “moving,” nor any other type of work.
So how do they spend their time? By singing songs and prancing around like douchebags for half an hour. I don’t even think I’ve ever seen them leave the building.
I’m all for teaching kids the value of music and junk like that, but these guys are just tools. Unfortunately, though, little kids love tools—especially the prancing douchebaggy variety—so they go nuts for this show. You’ve been warned.
Dora the Explorer — This show isn’t too bad, and it’s easy to make fun of, which makes it less difficult to watch. The focus of every show is Dora and her friends’ harrowing journey to find something or other. It doesn’t really matter what they’re attempting to find; it’s the same storyline every day so the objective is interchangeable. I went into more detail with this one in a previous blog, so check that out if you want more info.
Go, Diego, Go! — Basically a spin-off of “Dora the Explorer.” Diego spends his days rescuing animals that have sprained ankles and crap. To date, Diego hasn’t been savagely mauled by any of these animals, which is kind of a let-down.
SHOWS FOR TODDLERS:
The Fairly Odd Parents — This is a show about a kid who has a pair of fairy godparents who give him anything he wishes for. It’s reasonably entertaining, but it would be a lot better if it were more realistic. For instance, I’ve never seen an episode where the kid wishes for a box full of grenades. Hell, that would be the first thing I’d ask for.
That being said, the annoyance factor on this show is pretty low, and some of the jokes are actually funny, so it may be a good choice.
Spongebob Squarepants — Everybody knows this one. It’s been around for the last ten years or so, and with good reason. It’s by far the best animated show out there. You don’t even have to be drunk or high to enjoy it (though it doesn’t hurt). If your kid gets hooked on this one, consider yourself lucky.
Back at the Barnyard — This one’s also pretty decent. It’s about a bunch of barnyard animals (cows, chickens, pigs, etc.) who live on a farm, and the zany misadventures they get into. The writing is good, and the gags are genuinely funny. Good show.
The Mighty B! — Avoid this one at all costs. I’m not even sure what the show is supposed to be about; I always turn it off within five seconds. Why? The main character speaks in a high-pitched whine laced with a heavy lisp. It’s the single most annoying sound that has ever penetrated my ears. If your kid starts watching this show, set the TV on fire and then throw it out the window. You’ll thank me later.
LIVE-ACTION SHOWS FOR OLDER KIDS:
Hannah Montana — The phenomenon that is Hannah Montana is almost too difficult to fully comprehend. This has been the biggest thing for Disney since Donald Duck perfected the temper tantrum. On the show, Miley Cyrus plays a normal teenage girl who leads a double life as a pop star. Nobody knows she’s a pop star, though, and thus hilarity always ensues.
The show itself isn’t terrible. There are worse things your children could be addicted to. I find that my greatest joy in watching “Hannah Montana” is cheering wildly whenever Billy Ray Cyrus comes onscreen. This is usually followed by a rousing chorus of “Achy Breaky Heart,” which then prompts my daughter to throw a shoe at my head. It’s good all-around family bonding.
Drake and Josh — This show was on for a long time, but I don’t think they’re making any new episodes because the main characters reached Nickelodeon’s Magical Age of Disownment. If you can still find reruns, it might be worth looking into.
Drake and Josh are stepbrothers, brought together by a Brady Bunch-style marriage. Drake is the cool one, and Josh is comparatively dorky and awkward. This dichotomy supplies a seemingly endless variety of storylines, most of which have been done about a billion times by about a billion other shows. Still, it’s tolerable if you’ve got nothing better to do than watch it with your kid. The dude who plays Josh is good for a few one-liners and random physical comedy, so it borders on actual “entertainment” at times.
iCarly — This is a show about a couple of tween girls who have a weekly webcast called iCarly. It’s a spin-off of “Drake and Josh,” so if you didn’t like that show, then you’ll probably hate this one. That being said, it’s bearable, albeit slightly juvenile. If your kid prefers to spend every waking moment screwing around online, she might become interested in this show, so watch out.
The Suite Life on Deck — This is a spin-off of “The Suite Life with Zack and Cody,” featuring most of the same central characters. I won’t waste any time in telling you that this show sucks fat monkey testicles.
Remember Uncle Jesse and Rebecca’s twin boys from “Full House”? Those are the kids from this show, and they still haven’t gotten haircuts since then. Each of the boys possesses all the theatrical talent of a limp noodle, which is further proof that they sure in the hell didn‘t spend all the money from those “Full House” residual checks on acting lessons. Ten seconds of this show and you’ll be banging your head against a cinder block.
The Naked Brothers Band — Yet another ignorant-ass show. Fortunately, this one has stopped production, so you will probably never have to watch it.
The show focuses on a bunch of annoying tweener kids who are in a band and spend their time composing horrible, horrible songs. They then perform these songs within the context of the show. Oh yeah, did I mention that the songs were horrible? Well, they are. They sound like they were written by a raccoon on a crack binge. The mute button on your remote will see plenty of action if you find yourself subjected to this garbage.
Big Time Rush — This is a show about a “boy band.” It’s essentially a rip-off of that Jonas brothers show, which in turn is a rip-off of about a million other shows that are rip-offs of “The Monkees.” Everything old is new again; La-De-Freakin’-Da.
The members of the “Big Time Rush” band are pretty much exactly as you’d expect. There’s The “Tough” One; The “Cute” One; The “Funny” One; The “Probably Gay” One and The “Other” One.
The show is rife with tired dialogue and clichéd plotlines. Each episode finds the ensemble getting into yet another “wacky” situation through “zany” circumstances. Yawn.
You may be wondering why a network would bother to produce a show centered on a “boy band” fifteen years after that ship sailed (and consequently hit an iceberg), but it’s apparently still a profitable concept. As long as there are screaming, infatuated tweener girls with idle time and allowance money to burn, there will be idiotic shows like this.
Well, there you have it. I hope this helps all of you parents in choosing what kind of shows your kids watch. Remember, it’s never too early to start filtering this stuff. You’ll be sparing your children’s sanity, and your own.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Hannah and Dora: An Overview
I’ve got three daughters: Ulcer, Migraine and Stress. Those aren’t their real names, of course, but close enough.
Anyway, my daughters are all fairly young, and like most kids they spend fifteen or sixteen hours in front of the television every day. This means that I get to experience a wide variety of kids’ shows that I normally wouldn’t if I were just watching TV by myself.
Sometimes I’ll wander into the living room and find myself actually watching these shows, if for no other reason than bored curiosity. For instance, I’ve seen just about every episode of “Hannah Montana” and I can honestly say that I’ve never found a schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder to be more engaging. If you’ve never seen the show, allow me to explain:
On “Hannah Montana,” Miley Cyrus plays a normal teenage girl who has a normal teenage life, and in her spare time just happens to be Hannah Montana, America’s biggest pop star.
There’s a catch, though—and this is the basic hook of the show: No one outside of her family knows that she is Hannah Montana. It’s a big secret. They all think that Miley and Hannah are two separate people, even though the only differentiating factor between them is a blonde wig.
Just a freaking wig? That’s it?
Yep. Just a freaking wig. And noooobody can detect the slightest resemblance. I guess it’s like the whole Superman/Clark Kent thing. Fictional people are so distracted by cranial accessories that one can easily live a double life without fear of discovery.
Of course there are also some obvious logistical impossibilities presented by a teenage girl somehow being able to juggle school, friends and extra-curricular functions along with her secret life as a relevant pop star, but hey—it’s Disney. This is the corporation that gave the world an androgynous talking mouse and a verbally incoherent duck who never wears pants. You’ve got to suspend disbelief.*
My middle daughter is only two years old; too young to have developed the discerning palette necessary to become a regular viewer of “Hannah Montana.” She’s still into the animated stuff, and her favorite show is “Dora the Explorer.”
The basic premise of “Dora the Explorer” is fairly simple. A girl named Dora (who doesn’t appear to be any older than eight) spends half an hour walking somewhere. She always has some zany adventures along the way, of course, but the concept of every show is pretty much the same. This leads me to believe that Dora’s parents—whom you almost never see on the show—don’t really like Dora that much, since they allow her to go on these dangerous expeditions all the time. Dora probably has a huge life insurance policy that they want to cash in.
Dora is aided in her daily quest by an unusual cast of characters who are only slightly less boring than she is. Here are short descriptions of a few:
Boots — Boots is a monkey, and also Dora’s best friend. His name is Boots because—wait for it—he wears boots. I’m guessing that Boots considers himself fortunate that he chose not to wear his favorite pair of stiletto heels on the day he met Dora.
Backpack — Backpack is an actual backpack, and another good friend of Dora’s. Every time Dora and Boots find themselves in an unsolvable predicament, Backpack makes some awesome suggestion that fixes everything.
I know that a living, breathing backpack sounds creepy—and it is—but Dora never has any qualms about wearing a sentient being on her shoulder every day. Furthermore, there doesn’t appear to be any limit to the amount of room inside Backpack. I’ve seen Dora pull stuff out of Backpack that has no business being able to fit in there, and I’m talking big stuff, like Chevy Impalas and lumber.
Map — Much like Backpack is an actual backpack, Map is an actual Map. The creativity displayed by the writers on this show astounds me.
Writer 1: “Hey, what should we name the map?”
Writer 2: “How about ‘Map’?”
Writer 1: “Works for me. Let’s go to lunch.”
Swiper — Lastly, we have Swiper, the “antagonist” of the show. Swiper is a weasel who wears a Lone-Ranger-style mask over his eyes, just so there’s absolutely no question that he’s a villain.
Swiper is always trying to ambush Dora and steal stuff from her. When he jumps out, Dora and the gang thwart him by saying, “Swiper, no swiping!” This causes Swiper to immediately give up and walk away. Persistency is not Swiper‘s strong suit.
Normally, Swiper is unsuccessful at taking Dora‘s stuff. Every once in a while, though, he manages to get his hands on something from inside of Backpack. You would think that Swiper would run away and buy heroin at this point, but you’d be wrong. He usually just tosses whatever he stole into the woods.
I’m not sure if there’s a point in stealing something if you’re just going to chuck it into some trees as soon as you get it, but I guess that’s why I’m not a career criminal. After Swiper throws away his ill-gotten bounty, he just stands there while Dora finds it again (which takes all of three seconds).
I fail to see the lesson here, but whatever. I don’t have time to think about it anyway, because “iCarly” is coming on.
Oh, crap. Did I say “iCarly”?
Uh…I meant “CSI.”
* Notice how I made it through that entire section without making a Billy Ray Cyrus/“Achy Breaky Heart” joke. Looks like I’ve finally graduated to “Second-to-Lowest Common Denominator Humor.” Woo-hoo!
Anyway, my daughters are all fairly young, and like most kids they spend fifteen or sixteen hours in front of the television every day. This means that I get to experience a wide variety of kids’ shows that I normally wouldn’t if I were just watching TV by myself.
Sometimes I’ll wander into the living room and find myself actually watching these shows, if for no other reason than bored curiosity. For instance, I’ve seen just about every episode of “Hannah Montana” and I can honestly say that I’ve never found a schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder to be more engaging. If you’ve never seen the show, allow me to explain:
On “Hannah Montana,” Miley Cyrus plays a normal teenage girl who has a normal teenage life, and in her spare time just happens to be Hannah Montana, America’s biggest pop star.
There’s a catch, though—and this is the basic hook of the show: No one outside of her family knows that she is Hannah Montana. It’s a big secret. They all think that Miley and Hannah are two separate people, even though the only differentiating factor between them is a blonde wig.
Just a freaking wig? That’s it?
Yep. Just a freaking wig. And noooobody can detect the slightest resemblance. I guess it’s like the whole Superman/Clark Kent thing. Fictional people are so distracted by cranial accessories that one can easily live a double life without fear of discovery.
Of course there are also some obvious logistical impossibilities presented by a teenage girl somehow being able to juggle school, friends and extra-curricular functions along with her secret life as a relevant pop star, but hey—it’s Disney. This is the corporation that gave the world an androgynous talking mouse and a verbally incoherent duck who never wears pants. You’ve got to suspend disbelief.*
My middle daughter is only two years old; too young to have developed the discerning palette necessary to become a regular viewer of “Hannah Montana.” She’s still into the animated stuff, and her favorite show is “Dora the Explorer.”
The basic premise of “Dora the Explorer” is fairly simple. A girl named Dora (who doesn’t appear to be any older than eight) spends half an hour walking somewhere. She always has some zany adventures along the way, of course, but the concept of every show is pretty much the same. This leads me to believe that Dora’s parents—whom you almost never see on the show—don’t really like Dora that much, since they allow her to go on these dangerous expeditions all the time. Dora probably has a huge life insurance policy that they want to cash in.
Dora is aided in her daily quest by an unusual cast of characters who are only slightly less boring than she is. Here are short descriptions of a few:
Boots — Boots is a monkey, and also Dora’s best friend. His name is Boots because—wait for it—he wears boots. I’m guessing that Boots considers himself fortunate that he chose not to wear his favorite pair of stiletto heels on the day he met Dora.
Backpack — Backpack is an actual backpack, and another good friend of Dora’s. Every time Dora and Boots find themselves in an unsolvable predicament, Backpack makes some awesome suggestion that fixes everything.
I know that a living, breathing backpack sounds creepy—and it is—but Dora never has any qualms about wearing a sentient being on her shoulder every day. Furthermore, there doesn’t appear to be any limit to the amount of room inside Backpack. I’ve seen Dora pull stuff out of Backpack that has no business being able to fit in there, and I’m talking big stuff, like Chevy Impalas and lumber.
Map — Much like Backpack is an actual backpack, Map is an actual Map. The creativity displayed by the writers on this show astounds me.
Writer 1: “Hey, what should we name the map?”
Writer 2: “How about ‘Map’?”
Writer 1: “Works for me. Let’s go to lunch.”
Swiper — Lastly, we have Swiper, the “antagonist” of the show. Swiper is a weasel who wears a Lone-Ranger-style mask over his eyes, just so there’s absolutely no question that he’s a villain.
Swiper is always trying to ambush Dora and steal stuff from her. When he jumps out, Dora and the gang thwart him by saying, “Swiper, no swiping!” This causes Swiper to immediately give up and walk away. Persistency is not Swiper‘s strong suit.
Normally, Swiper is unsuccessful at taking Dora‘s stuff. Every once in a while, though, he manages to get his hands on something from inside of Backpack. You would think that Swiper would run away and buy heroin at this point, but you’d be wrong. He usually just tosses whatever he stole into the woods.
I’m not sure if there’s a point in stealing something if you’re just going to chuck it into some trees as soon as you get it, but I guess that’s why I’m not a career criminal. After Swiper throws away his ill-gotten bounty, he just stands there while Dora finds it again (which takes all of three seconds).
I fail to see the lesson here, but whatever. I don’t have time to think about it anyway, because “iCarly” is coming on.
Oh, crap. Did I say “iCarly”?
Uh…I meant “CSI.”
* Notice how I made it through that entire section without making a Billy Ray Cyrus/“Achy Breaky Heart” joke. Looks like I’ve finally graduated to “Second-to-Lowest Common Denominator Humor.” Woo-hoo!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Getting Your Child To Sleep
Kids are God’s little narcoleptics. They all possess the ability to fall asleep without warning, most often while sitting on the toilet. They’ve got their own internal clocks when it comes to dozing off.
Your kid will never want to sleep when he is actually supposed to though, especially if you are tired. One method you can use to combat this tendency is to keep a bottle of whiskey by your side at all times, preferably secured in a custom-made holster fastened to your waist. As soon as your child falls asleep, whip out that booze and guzzle it down. Wait thirty seconds, then pass out. This way, both of you will get some rest.
In order to better your child’s sleep habits, it’s necessary to develop a nightly bedtime ritual. This is a routine that you and your child go through each evening before bed to help calm him down and prepare him to go to sleep. A typical bedtime ritual might go like this:
You: “Hey Timmy, let’s go brush your teeth.”
Your child: “No. I don‘t want to.”
You: “Hey Timmy, let’s go read a book.”
Your child: “No. I don‘t want to.”
You: “Hey Timmy, let’s eat a bunch of chocolate and finger-paint the walls.”
Your child: “No. I don‘t—wait, yes. I actually want to do that one.”
You: “Haha! Too late, you lost! Now you have to drink this entire bottle of NyQuil.”
*Note: I’m aware that your child’s name probably isn’t “Timmy.” You undoubtedly picked something far more creative and meaningful with which to christen the fruit of your loins. Maybe something like “Jimmy.”*
Other methods of calming your children before bed can include the following:
Reading a bedtime story — There are tons of children’s books out there that can be used to get a child to fall asleep once he’s in bed. Most of them have cutesy titles like The Briar Patch Bears Consider Purchasing A Microwave or Jenny Jellybean Applies For An Adjustable Rate Mortgage. When selecting a story, the key is to pick something that will hold your child’s attention, yet still be boring enough that he’ll want to fall asleep while you’re reading.
If the book is too boring, you may fall asleep yourself, which is a very dangerous situation. Kids are ingrained with a frat house/slumber party mentality which dictates that anyone who falls asleep before they do is automatically subject to be doodled upon with a Sharpie.
Singing a lullaby — Way back in the olden days before books and morphine were invented, parents had to soothe their offspring to sleep through the power of song. The key to this method is proper song selection. Something by John Mayer would be appropriate. Something by Megadeth would not.
Also, if your singing voice closely resembles the sound of mating tomcats, it’s likely best to forget about this method.
Letting the TV do all the work — Why have a television if you’re not going to use it? And when I say “use it,” I mean “plant your child in front of it, then leave the room for an extended period of time.”
TVs were made for babysitting, and there are plenty of shows that will hold your child’s interest. That Spongebob guy is great with kids; he has excellent references. Feel free to leave your child with him for several hours, even though it’s only a half-hour show. I’m not sure how the math on that works out, but it does.
The time your child spends sleeping is the best (and perhaps only) time to fix all the stuff he messed up while he was awake. You’ll need this time to pick up stray toys, clean the crayon off the walls, and get your cat out of the dryer.
For this reason, once your child falls asleep, your primary focus should be to keep him asleep. This is much more difficult than it sounds. Unlike every other living thing on the planet, children gain a heightened sense of awareness when they are sleeping. The slightest disturbance will rouse them. They can easily be awakened by a leaf hitting the grass three counties away.
Because of this, it’s important to take precautions.
You can try placing industrial-grade earmuffs (the kind construction workers wear) on your child, but chances are the extra weight and girth will render your child incapable of movement. (This is not necessarily a bad thing for you, but your kid will probably get pretty mad about it.)
Soundproofing your child’s room is also a valid idea, but the Laws of Parenthood dictate that if you were to spend thousands of dollars soundproofing your child’s room, he’d never want to sleep in there.
The most realistic solution to keeping a child asleep is to modify your own habits. When your child is sleeping, you must invoke the power of the ninja, creeping stealthily from one room to another. Your footsteps must be light and noiseless. Float if possible.
It takes practice, but with a little hard work and a lot of ingenuity, you can have the house glistening and spotless by the time your child wakes up.
Just in time for him to make a mess of it again.
Your kid will never want to sleep when he is actually supposed to though, especially if you are tired. One method you can use to combat this tendency is to keep a bottle of whiskey by your side at all times, preferably secured in a custom-made holster fastened to your waist. As soon as your child falls asleep, whip out that booze and guzzle it down. Wait thirty seconds, then pass out. This way, both of you will get some rest.
In order to better your child’s sleep habits, it’s necessary to develop a nightly bedtime ritual. This is a routine that you and your child go through each evening before bed to help calm him down and prepare him to go to sleep. A typical bedtime ritual might go like this:
You: “Hey Timmy, let’s go brush your teeth.”
Your child: “No. I don‘t want to.”
You: “Hey Timmy, let’s go read a book.”
Your child: “No. I don‘t want to.”
You: “Hey Timmy, let’s eat a bunch of chocolate and finger-paint the walls.”
Your child: “No. I don‘t—wait, yes. I actually want to do that one.”
You: “Haha! Too late, you lost! Now you have to drink this entire bottle of NyQuil.”
*Note: I’m aware that your child’s name probably isn’t “Timmy.” You undoubtedly picked something far more creative and meaningful with which to christen the fruit of your loins. Maybe something like “Jimmy.”*
Other methods of calming your children before bed can include the following:
Reading a bedtime story — There are tons of children’s books out there that can be used to get a child to fall asleep once he’s in bed. Most of them have cutesy titles like The Briar Patch Bears Consider Purchasing A Microwave or Jenny Jellybean Applies For An Adjustable Rate Mortgage. When selecting a story, the key is to pick something that will hold your child’s attention, yet still be boring enough that he’ll want to fall asleep while you’re reading.
If the book is too boring, you may fall asleep yourself, which is a very dangerous situation. Kids are ingrained with a frat house/slumber party mentality which dictates that anyone who falls asleep before they do is automatically subject to be doodled upon with a Sharpie.
Singing a lullaby — Way back in the olden days before books and morphine were invented, parents had to soothe their offspring to sleep through the power of song. The key to this method is proper song selection. Something by John Mayer would be appropriate. Something by Megadeth would not.
Also, if your singing voice closely resembles the sound of mating tomcats, it’s likely best to forget about this method.
Letting the TV do all the work — Why have a television if you’re not going to use it? And when I say “use it,” I mean “plant your child in front of it, then leave the room for an extended period of time.”
TVs were made for babysitting, and there are plenty of shows that will hold your child’s interest. That Spongebob guy is great with kids; he has excellent references. Feel free to leave your child with him for several hours, even though it’s only a half-hour show. I’m not sure how the math on that works out, but it does.
The time your child spends sleeping is the best (and perhaps only) time to fix all the stuff he messed up while he was awake. You’ll need this time to pick up stray toys, clean the crayon off the walls, and get your cat out of the dryer.
For this reason, once your child falls asleep, your primary focus should be to keep him asleep. This is much more difficult than it sounds. Unlike every other living thing on the planet, children gain a heightened sense of awareness when they are sleeping. The slightest disturbance will rouse them. They can easily be awakened by a leaf hitting the grass three counties away.
Because of this, it’s important to take precautions.
You can try placing industrial-grade earmuffs (the kind construction workers wear) on your child, but chances are the extra weight and girth will render your child incapable of movement. (This is not necessarily a bad thing for you, but your kid will probably get pretty mad about it.)
Soundproofing your child’s room is also a valid idea, but the Laws of Parenthood dictate that if you were to spend thousands of dollars soundproofing your child’s room, he’d never want to sleep in there.
The most realistic solution to keeping a child asleep is to modify your own habits. When your child is sleeping, you must invoke the power of the ninja, creeping stealthily from one room to another. Your footsteps must be light and noiseless. Float if possible.
It takes practice, but with a little hard work and a lot of ingenuity, you can have the house glistening and spotless by the time your child wakes up.
Just in time for him to make a mess of it again.
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