Big Ugly Man Doll

The Reigning Queen of Pink was very upset tonight, and it devolved upon me to find out why.  Since she’s allergic to chocolate and her older sister had made brownies earlier, this wasn’t really going to be a tough one. 

I’ll digress here a moment: the brownies were dessert for the older two; the RQoP has her very own “chocolate pudding pops” that she had for an after dinner amuse bouche.  SOBUMD makes these from bananas, avocados, agave nectar, carob powder, sea salt, and almond milk – and regardless of how that might sound, I assure you that they are, in fact, delicious.  If you can’t have chocolate, this is a frozen heaven on a stick – plus you can have it for breakfast! 

But no matter how good it is, the bottom line is that it tastes almost, but not completely, unlike chocolate brownies.  Really, only chocolate brownies taste like chocolate brownies, and the Human Tape Recorder made these from scratch.  (The only direction she asked for was “single recipe or double?”  Atta girl.)  So, the RQoP went upstairs not crying but certainly teary-eyed, and refusing to talk.  To her credit, she didn’t ask – at this point, she knows the answer.  Life is tough, and hers is often tougher than most, so I give her a lot of props for not asking, and not just wailing. 

So I followed her up to tuck her in and try to jolly her a little, and remind her that she’s not alone in having allergies a little, and jolly her a little more.  We had a brief discussion about the likely ability of the cat on her bed to eat her (high), and then I thought I’d try opening with a Socratic parable. 

BUMD:  “Do you like strawberries?” 
RQoP:  “Hmmmph.”
BUMD:  “No, really, do you like them?”
RQoP:  “Cut up with sugar on.”
BUMD:  “Oh yes.  Do you know, when I cut up strawberries for you and put sugar on them, I would love to eat one.  Did you know that?  I cut them up for you, and they smell so good, and they look so good, and I’d love to just pop just one of them in my mouth and eat it.  But I don’t.  Do you know why?”
RQoP:  “Hmmmph.”
BUMD:  “Because I’m allergic to strawberries.  They’re not good for me, no matter how good they look or smell.  But I still cut them up for you.”
RQoP:  “Why don’t you just sneak just one?”
BUMD:  “Because I’m allergic – they’re not good for me.”
RQoP:  “Why are you telling me this?  You should talk to your pediatrician!”

Oh, snap.  No, I should talk to my therapist.  At least she got a good laugh in before bed!  In the meantime, if you have a recipe for egg-free, dairy-free, soy-free, corn-free, carob brownies, I’m all ears.

Tags: Children // 10 Comments »

One of the truly great pleasures of growing up in the 1980s was a comic strip called Bloom County.  While several of the greats from that age have proved timeless – Calvin and Hobbes are as funny now as they ever were then, and my kids laugh as hard as I did at them – much of Bloom County’s brilliance was topical, specific to its age, and does not evoke the same reaction from those who didn’t live through it.  One of my all time favorites was a bit with Oliver Wendell Jones, after he had some bit of hacking go badly wrong.  His father was lecturing him that “London, Paris, and New York are burning,” and that he was going to be grounded pretty much forever.  Oliver’s reaction:  “Well, I suppose I couldn’t very well have expected the ‘I did the same thing when I was your age’ speech.”

There are times when we have talks with our kids that really make me wonder.  While I’m sure – largely because they enjoy telling the grandkids – that the Sister of the BUMD and I used to bring up topics that made my folks shake their heads, I am dead certain that we never once sat around the dinner table and discussed the viral mechanisms, epidemiology, survival rates, and best practices surrounding the zombie apocalypse and the rising.  As we did last night, for example.  “They only want to bite you to spread the virus, Daddy.”  Oh, right, I’d forgotten.  “Daddy, you need a clean head shot, but you have to be outside the range of the blood spatter because it can infect you.”  

At first I asked Number One Son if he wanted to read a really good book about zombies, Mira Grant’s Feed – which is the best written and most authoritative book on the topic I’ve ever read.  About five minutes later, I asked him if he’d already read it – you never know, with him, but he hadn’t.  (Yet.)  Nor was he the only one talking – both girls seemed more knowledgeable about the topic than I would have suspected, even from our little self-rescuing princesses. 

I am equally sure that, while my sister and I might have, very occasionally, sat around discussing celebrities, not once did the dinnertime talk turn to who looked better than whom while dressed in skulls – skull prints, or actual skulls, human or otherwise.    Somehow, it just never came up.  (“Well, I suppose I couldn’t very well have expected the ‘I did the same thing when I was your age’ speech.”)

And yet, while things change, and some cutting edges blunt over time, some things remain unexpectedly razor sharp even 40 years on.  When I was a young boy, the topic of nuclear proliferation popped up over breakfast more than once.   Over today’s breakfast, the 12-yr-old Human Tape Recorder (which still sounds better than Human MP3 Recording and Playback Device) asked why it was that the world had so many nuclear weapons – where was the need?  So, needing a quick history lesson and never being one to let another’s work evade my eyes, I used the immortal Tom Lehrer’s “Who’s Next?” as my lesson plan. 

And do you know what?  Recorded in 1969, it’s just as topical, just as cutting, just as ironically funny today as it was then.   Have a listen, and tell me if I’m wrong.

Tags: Children // 5 Comments »

You call in your drink order from the road, and your 12-year-old has it ready 60 seconds before you walk in.  Mmmm, Scotch.

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It’s Friday, and that means answer time! For those of you who have commented with questions from previous ManFAQs, thank you. I’m adding yours to the list of questions women have asked about men over the years, and I will answer them all in turn – to continue to demystify the more malodorous gender for those of the gentler. Actual questions, posed by real women, and answered by a REAL man. What could go wrong?

Question:   Why can’t guys admit that other guys are attractive?

Answer:   Oh, we can.  We just won’t admit it to you.  The logic, if you’d like to call it that, goes as follows: 

• You’re actually talking to him.  Therefore, he assumes he has a better-than-average chance of sleeping with you.
• If the topic of Other Guy comes up, the very last thing he’s going to do is suggest that Other Guy might also be a good candidate for Hey Hey, with you, with him, with your Dachshund, with anyone.  He’d rather you thought of him as “the only guy in the world.”
• Also, by conceding our attraction toward Other Guy, we worry that you might perceive us as less qualified candidates for said Hey Hey; it might lower your impression of our masculinity. 

The fact that very little of this analysis is rooted in anything close to what you experience as reality doesn’t really enter his conscious mind.  We all know that George Clooney is hot, and we all know that your chances of getting into bed with him are about equal to mine; i.e., approaching zero.  But if your guy really can’t admit that Other Guy is a good looking person, and could be his Valentine if he went that way – then yeah, he’s probably pretty repressed. 

Because really, under all that angst, testosterone, and bravado, we’re all about three drinks from bi. 

Now you know.  Please, feel free to comment with any questions you’d like answered!

Tags: Children // 3 Comments »

The chair wasn’t always in that corner; in fact, it wasn’t always in the room at all.  But now, there it sits.

It was a bedroom for a while, for us, but there were mirrors on the closet doors, and we didn’t like that, for obvious reasons, and things changed.

It was an office for a while, for us, but the family grew, for obvious reasons, and things changed. 

It was a bedroom for a while, for the oldest, and it was just as purple as the day is long.  But there were windows at ground level, and that’s not what we wanted for a pre-pubescent girl, for obvious reasons, and things changed. 

And so it became an office again, and the pale purple became a dark purple, and the chair moved back in, with its memories of other houses, and other rooms.  The purple is an afterthought now on walls mostly covered, for obvious reasons, with books and with art, and CD cases and the computer of great industry, and the hat racks that have yet to be hung there but you can see where they WILL go, in time, and the sword collection, and the books, and the chaise, and the books on that side. 

But for now, the chair sits in the corner, brooding, dreaming of a time when it will be loved again, in a room with a view, with more room, with more chances for a good sit, or a nap, or more than just relaxing with a book and a nice tequila – and how many glasses of tequila, how much Scotch, how many late night ice creams and popcorn kernels has it seen?  How many people, large and small, on its one good arm, the other turned forever to that damnable wall?  How many cats?  How many kids?  How long will it stare at the chaise opposite, red, permanently reclined and waiting for another cat, another person, another room?

The rest of the room is reasonable, covered, from floor to the ceiling in places, with the books that gravitate to this room like birds to a feeder, knowing that the warmth of the nest, this library, will provide a haven, safe harbor from the fires.

And the chair waits.  And things change. 

For obvious reasons.

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