Posts tagged ‘Children’

The Weekend, Looking Back and Forward

30 August, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | 1 Comment

OK, as someone who is, in fact, professionally large and ugly, it’s not every day that I just sit down and gush about what a nice weekend I’ve had. This one, however, was quietly brilliant enough that it deserves some mention.

First, an old friend (we’ll call him Johann, to protect the guilty) came for dinner on Saturday. Not only did he bring flowers, he brought wine. Not only did he bring wine, he brought stories – and not only stories, but with the stories he brought knowledge, charm, and humor. I hadn’t seen him in more than 3 years, and SOBUMD had never met him. As he walked in, 3 years fell away like the opening curtain on a favorite play – one to which you could understudy because you know all the words – and SOBUMD and the kids took to him as though he’d been by a dozen times before. We spoke of opera, computers, poets who are dead, singers who aren’t, and government bureaucrats and contract staff who perhaps should be. With a heart condition that includes showing off the chin-to-nethers scar from his quintuple bypass, he is allowed beef only twice per year. Needless to say, as a professional bad influence, we served a terrific flank steak. It was great to see him.

All three of the kids loved him; the Human Tape Recorder for his great stories, Number One Son for his insight into the world of Temple Grandin and those like her, into which category Number One Son has the distinction to fall, and the Reigning Queen of Pink for his ability and willingness to outtalk her – a trait she has never before experienced in an adult. I was still giggling an hour after he left.

On Sunday, the Very Clever Grandparents invited us to visit the House in the Hood and accompany them to the National Building Museum in downtown DC. While this might not ordinarily sound like the single most exciting thing you can do east of 14th St, the draw at the moment was the Lego exhibit – the worlds’ great architectural masterworks rendered en min at something like 180:1 scale in Lego. Chicago was well represented, and I was personally proud of the Lego company to see that there was no mention of any Willis Tower. The Sears Tower, however, stood proud, 14 feet and countless thousands of Legos high. Fallingwater was there, albeit sans water, as was one of the Twin Towers (sans plane, which would have been a shark too far), and the Burj Khalifa – it’s the tallest building in the world, and at 18 feet high in Legos it was the tallest structure in the room. For the Lego enthusiasts (namely Number One Son and myself), it was a hell of walkthrough. The National Building Museum folks being no fools, the second section was there for you and your small kids to grab a double fistful of bricks and start building. The Lego folks being no fools either, the third section was there for your small kids to grab a box of Lego kits and insist that you buy it on the way out. Luckily we had the foresight to feed the kids on the way to the National Building Museum, and we got out with our dignity and wallets, and without a single brick following us home.

My close personal friend Bruce Springsteen sang to us at improbable volumes as we drove home in time to catch the Emmy awards, which were not hosted by the incomparable Temple Grandin and those like her, but which might as well have been for all the awards the recent movie about her – and she herself, by proxy, a distinction she very clearly understood – won. As a parent of Number One Son, I watch Temple Grandin with some degree of awe; she’s not just interacting with society, and she’s not just interacting with society very successfully – she’s helping to reshape society to better interact with her, on her own terms.

This is the goal, although Number One Son doesn’t know it yet, and at 10 years old doesn’t need to yet. This is the goal, although Number One Son doesn’t present with nearly as many issues as Temple Grandin did at his age. But make no mistake – this is the goal: to arm him with the social wherewithal to change his world to meet his needs on his terms, and to recognize those areas where that change is not feasible without letting that kind of defeat crush him.

In the larger sense, this is the goal of all parenting, the goal all parents and teachers have for their children and students. However, I can tell you as a parent that when you see the four-lane superhighway stretching to the horizon for your “neurotypical” child, the one that says “No Posted Speed Limit” and “Where We’re Going, We Don’t Need Roads”, and then you look at the overgrown brambles on the Ho Chi Minh Trail of Life, with the hidden tripwires and mines that haven’t been cleared since Saigon fell, you too will want to make sure that before your “different” thinker sets out, they’re armed to the teeth and they know how to use the tools you’ve given them.

And set out they well, and set out they must, and Temple Grandin has done a wonderful job of clearing some of the social minefields just by being who she is. Kudos to HBO for running the show, and to the Emmy folks for recognizing it.

I go to bed thinking of a better future, away from these Badlands, Glen Beck notwithstanding.

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All You Need To Do Is Ask

19 August, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | 2 Comments

Big Ugly Man Doll:  So, your Majesty, you’re going to be 8 years old in a few days.  You must know stuff.  Tell me, what’s the true meaning of life?
Reigning Queen of Pink:  Math, Science, and people having babies.  Oh, and adopting babies for people who can’t have them.
BUMD:  That may be one of the best answers I’ve ever heard.  Thank you.
RQoP:  Don’t judge me, man.  It’s the best answer I can think of.

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Cooking With the BUMD, Day 14: In the Kitchen with Dad

10 August, 2010 | admin | 4 Comments

It is a little-known fact that the entire decline and fall of the Roman Empire can be traced back to the their failure to teach their kids to cook.  Instead of learning to make their own pasta, the layabout sons and daughters of the Empire just sat in their nice Roman baths, saying things like “Hey Spartacus, nice javelin” and “Yo, Farticus, this isn’t the hot tub – the sulfur baths are down the hall” and generally soaking up the minerals in the natural hot springs.  You can still see them today – the ones that soaked up too many minerals became the statues we see in Rome now.  It was the old version of the tanning bed.

But anyway, there they all were, those Romans, soaking and bubbling and having their slaves peel their grapes and feed them, and the ones who learned anything from their parents learned how to live big, bold lives in public, keeping well documented records in public places of all the stupid things they did and said to each other, so that one shining day, a man from Stratford on Avon might write about them and make them sound less mundane.   (Side note – does this mean that in 1200 years, someone will write successful plays based on the antics of Perez Hilton and ONTD?  “OMG!”) 

But they couldn’t cook, and when the Mongols hit the fan, Roman kids were left to fend for themselves (the parents being either dead, peeling grapes for the Mongols, or turned to statues), and they were unsuccessful.  No cooking, no survival skills in the real world, no more Roman Empire.

To ensure that doesn’t happen here, we’ve started turning my sous chef loose in the kitchen.  The Human Tape Recorder can leverage her natural skills in the kitchen; tell her the recipe once and she’s got it forever, just like all the stuff you said that you didn’t think she could hear when you said it.  Thus far, she’s learned to make things she likes.  This is largely because SOBUMD and I are professionals when it comes to cooking with kids.  The conversation goes like this:

HTR:  I’d like some sugar cookies.
BUMD:  Kitchen’s that way, go to it.

I think this is a perfectly reasonable way to teach her to cook.  It also taught her the value of a good oven mitt, but that’s another story.  Yesterday, she added oatmeal-walnut chocolate chip cookies to her repertoire.  And they were good.

So the question I put to you, dear friend, fond relation, or Gentle Reader, is this: What are those dishes that children must be capable of cooking on their own, before they should be let out of the nest?  When they finally pack their shit and you convert that room into your pleasure dungeon like you’ve been talking about, what does that kid need to be able to cook – and cook well – to stop the Mongol hordes? 

We’ve got cookies.  What else?

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OCD is a Defense Mechanism, or, Only the Paranoid Survive

13 July, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | 1 Comment

“Did you turn the oven off?” is a cliché, one of hundreds we joke about all the time, like the person with the glasses on their head looking everywhere for them, or geniuses who can’t match their socks to save their lives.  It’s a cliché, like any other dime-a-dozen cliché…. 

Until the first time you come home and realize that you have, in fact, left the oven not merely on, but on and set for “bitumen/anthracite overkill” on the broiler.  For several hours.  The house smells of meat overcooked weeks ago, the HVAC unit is screaming for mercy under the onslaught, and the pets keep checking roll call to make sure they’re all still there in case one of them’s next. 

You’re checking your oven now, aren’t you?  Before you get up, I’m going to take a moment to admonish you to check your smoke and CO detectors, too.  You do have carbon monoxide detectors, right?  We talked about this, right?  OK, go check the stove and the alarms, I’ll wait. 

Back?  OK.  This concludes the PSA portion of today’s post.  And let’s hear it for obsessive compulsive disorder – you might not get much done, but you’re going to live through it. 

Another in the “mother was right” category; not too long ago I was compelled to call my own mother when I did, in fact, cut my damn tongue licking the knife.  I don’t even remember what I was licking off; I just remember the sharp, searing pain of embarrassment – shit, she was right.  I had to call to let her know.  Since then I’ve learned that I can use that as a compelling argument to my own children.  “Don’t do that, because when you hurt yourself you’ll have to come tell me and I’m going to laugh at you!”  (Although my friend B sums it up much more succinctly: “No sympathy for stupid.”)

Do you have a “wow, I never thought I’d really do that” story you’d like to share with the group?  We’re all friends here. 

And yes, the house still has that faint ‘eu de char’ – smells kind of good, actually.  I might be inspired to try another Julia Child recipe…

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Of Fathers and Sons

20 June, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | 1 Comment

My son was born on the first day of summer in the new millennium, 10 years ago today. I know the pedants will tell you the millennium started with 2001, but Y2K had all the zeros and in the end, most of us will remember that as the big one. Today is the second time his birthday has hit on Father’s Day – it happened in 2004, and won’t happen again until I can buy him a beer. You know, legally.

Without further ado, happy birthday to Number One Son!

The buying of beer notwithstanding, I am widely regarded as a good father. I’m involved in the lives of my children, and have been since I cut their umbilical cords when each was born. I do not manage their lives – far from it – but I’m a fairly active dad, dropping them off and sometimes picking them up from school, talking to their teachers, coordinating the occasional play date. I read to them when they were smaller, and while the girls still like to hear me read a story, these days more often than not I just recommend books to them. One of my proudest moments came a few months ago when our eldest finished a book and told me I should read it, since she was sure it was the kind of thing I’d like – and she was dead right. (Cornelia Funke’s Inkheart, for those of you scoring at home.)

And I’m sure I’m doing OK as a dad, because I check in with the kids periodically. “Kid,” I ask them each, “are you having a good childhood?” So far, all three of them have responded with two thumbs up, if not glowing endorsements.

But as a good and involved father, I have to say I had a terrific example. It’s not like I’m making this stuff up on the fly – the specifics, perhaps, just as a good poet will write a good sonnet – but the format of the sonnet I learned. My father taught me many things about being a dad, without really meaning to, I’m sure, just as I’m teaching my kids without laying out a specific course of study. Someone asked me recently if my father was the kind of dad who was “always there for you.” It’s an odd question to me, not one with a yes or no answer. Yes, he was always available to ask a question or solve a problem, as long as the problem in question could wait until he got home.

For the record, I’m giggling a bit as I write this because I know my folks will read it. (Sometimes it’s hard not to shout “Hi Mom and Dad!” when the cameras roll past you…)

One of the most important lessons I learned from him was that you get up and go to work. Now that I’ve been in a professional environment for half my life, I realize that there must have been days when he didn’t feel like going to work, either under the weather or hungover or filled with existential ennui or just having the kind of eye trouble that you get on a nice summer day when you just can’t see going to the office. But he went, and he made it look easy, and if he had a bad day we didn’t see it.

And that’s the other important thing I learned from my father, that I’ll share with you on this Father’s Day – it’s always easier if you’re cheerful and friendly about it. Doesn’t matter what it is, it will be easier if you’re good natured about it. My dad had an epiphany of sorts not too many years ago, and the interesting thing isn’t that he had it; it’s that he’s so used to seeing the good side of everything and everyone that it took more than 50 years for him to see it. Driving with my mother in the car, and both of them thinking quietly for a while, out of the blue he exclaimed, “You know, there’s really a lot a jerks and assholes in the world.”

My mother, not missing a beat, looked him straight in the eye and said, “Your son is going to be so proud of you!”

And I am.

Happy Father’s Day to my father, and to all of yours!

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Rosco P. Coltrane’s Last Case Taken Over by Jack Bauer

21 April, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | No Comment

Now pretty much every American male between 15 and 25 years during the early 80s can tell you that Dukes of Hazzard was the best show on television at the time. There were many theories put forth about the show’s popularity, from the classic story themes to the archetypes in characters. And also Daisy Duke.

Catherine Bach, as Daisy Duke, was the perfect foil to Tom Wopat and John Schneider’s Bo and Luke, and the three of them were why boys, and girls, respectively (or not respectively, depending on one’s predilections and dispositions), watched the show in droves. An episode without Daisy was a day without sunshine, or at least a day without great legs and et cetera.

And I’d still kinda like to drive a 1969 Dodge Charger.

But I was nearly grounded for watching the show. You see, the Human Tape Recorder comes by her sobriquet naturally, and regrettably paternally.

And it came to pass one day that a bargain was struck – I was allowed to watch “that dreadful show” (as it was called in my house, denigrating the fine name of the General Lee and casting aspersions on my Daisy) on the condition that I not come upstairs and repeat the episode verbatim. In fact, I was to refrain from discussion of the show unless directly pertinent to the topic at hand.

Did I really watch an hour of television and then “synopsize” it to my parents for an hour, line for line? Yes I did. Can two out of three of my own children cast of characters do that now? Yes, yes they can. Have I struck the same bargain with them? Oh, hell yes.

(The difference is that I’m sparing myself from the likes of Hannah Montana and iCarly. My parents were missing out on quality programming.)

Last night, my mother called me. She called to ask that I explain to my father that he is not allowed to watch “24” any more, unless he agrees not to come upstairs and tell my mother everything Jack Bauer said along with a blow-by-blow recitation of each person killed and why Jack felt badly about it.

Now, 24 is a step above iCarly – the singing’s better – but I have to side with her on this one. (Besides, Jack probably would sleep with Daisy Duke, then have her killed for conspiring with Boss Hogg, then feel badly about it.)

To Dad’s credit, he assumed that my mother was calling HIS mother, the Queen Mother of Pink. When he realized she was calling me, he tickled her until she hung up laughing. My parents may be as crazy as my kids!

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New Lows in Demonology

24 March, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | No Comment

Not long ago, it was discovered that even Big Ugly Man Dolls have birthdays. Now, I’m at what I call the “Cards and Laughter” age, which is when someone cards you buying booze and you burst into laughter. I’m not complaining, but I’ve noticed I don’t get carded when I have the kids with me. I don’t know if that’s pragmatism or sympathy.

Anyway, having recently had a birthday, I thought I’d relate a quick tale of Number One Daughter, the Human Tape Recorder. This starts with MOBUMD (yes, I have a mother) bringing “The Birthday Candle” to the party. She brings one for every party; she used to just buy these in bulk and now owns stock in the company. These candles have rotating pyrotechnics, so you place it on the cake, light it, and a dozen or so small candles flop out – lit – and spin around while a mini-roman candle style firework burns in the center. All the while, a midi loud enough and high enough to makes dogs howl plays “Happy Birthday to You” relentlessly.

Once the pyrotechnics are done and you’ve blown out the smaller, more conventional weapons, you can remove this from the cake. It’s still playing Happy Birthday. You can then put it in the trash.

It’s still playing Happy Birthday.

You could hit it with a hammer. It’s still playing Happy Birthday. We tried keeping it quiet while we enjoyed our cake by putting it in the bottom of a pan filled with water. It’s still playing Happy Birthday. These things are built to survive global thermonuclear warfare.

So, we took it out of the water and put it in the trash, and took the trash outside. This is when Number One Daughter mentions what a great idea that is. “We can explain to everyone that this is how we ward away devils and zombies.”

To paraphrase the immortal Calvin’s dad, I don’t know which is the more appalling, her grasp of recycling or her grasp of demonology and necromancy. I guesss to be clear, it’s the idea that she HAS a grasp of devil-warding, demonology, and necromancy that appalls. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; this is the one born on Halloween. It comes as naturally as shopping comes to the Reigning Queen of Pink. I wonder if that’s why I don’t get carded when she’s with me…

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i went to the zoo and it sucked

23 March, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | No Comment

Sometimes, you take the kids to the zoo and not one critter is available for your viewing pleasure, or they’re out but they just lay there like logs, or they’re not doing anything you want to have to explain to the kids so you walk past the monkey enclosure very fast. Take the kids home and read them this.

The Aardvarks ate arsenic, they died with a frown
The Bears bit their keepers and they all were put down
The Cougar got loose, dunno where she’s at
And the Dingoes dropped dead, life’s tough and that’s that
The Elephant’s absent, not tardy or late
The Falcon found something unkind on his plate
Giraffes have been gone now for many a year
But the Horses have only stepped out for a beer
The Iguanas just lay there, they might just be dead
Just like the Jackals, who never got fed
And the Kangaroo’s hopping right out of the gate
And Lion’s case worker’s been left to his fate
And the Manatee left with a “love you long time”
And the Naked Mole Rat got a job fighting crime
The Owls are all gone, they were too wise to stay
And the Panda’s been recalled – to where, I can’t say
A Queen Snake got loose and she caused quite a stir
Along with a Rattler that Queenie called “Sir”
The Sea Lion sabbatical has twice been prolonged
And the Tapir beat feet, tapped his hooves, said “so long”
An Upland gorilla got a job writing code
The Vulture found dinner on the other side of the road
The Wombat is talking to old Charles Fort
And the Xenopus Frog has found a new sport
And the Yak’s in Tibet, ’cause this place was too hot
And the Zebra changed stripes, ’cause his new name is Spot
Yeah I went to the zoo, ’cause there’s so much to see
But the only one left in the whole place was me!

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Kid’s Toys We WISH They Made

31 January, 2010 | admin | 1 Comment

New from the Lego Bionicle Line – Toa Mata Hari!
One of the rare female Bionicles, she’s had most of the others, and they’re all in love with her. You can play with her as she plays the guys off against one another! Isn’t she FABULOUS!
American Girl Doll – Sybil!
With completely different outfits for Vicky, Peggy Lou, Mary Lucinda, Marcia Lynn, Vanessa Gail, Mike, Nancy Lou Ann, Ruthie, Clara, Helen, Marjorie, and The Blonde. They’d make a ton of money on this one, and it’s the LAST doll you have to buy!

Wii Screw!
Put the kids to bed and enjoy the safest sex you’ll EVER have. Remember the plastic sheath you’re supposed to put over the remote? Right. Think Sin City SIMS and you’re close.		 [Picture removed in the interest of taste and decency.]
Merrily We Pull Along Duck and Egg Scrambler!
Little Johnny can finally help in the kitchen – just put a fresh egg on the duck’s wheels and let him “walk” it for an hour. When the music stops, the egg is ready for cooking – if you haven’t started drinking by then.
Build a Bear.
No, yeah, a real goddamn bear. Run!
Shots and Ladders!
Get drunk and naked with this new twist on the classic board game. Penalty Shot!
Pre-School Musical!
Step into the past with Troysie, Gabby, and the gang as they cry, whine, repeat themselves over and over, and pull each other’s hair… Oh, wait, that’s the real one. Never mind.

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“The Captain, he’s been a-drinkin’, oh!”

30 January, 2010 | Big Ugly Man Doll | No Comment

Music, they say, can soothe the savage beast, and nowhere is this more evident than in the crib and nursery.  The fussiest babies – and here I can speak with complete authority – can often be quieted through the calming magic of music.  Whether it’s an adult singing to them, a CD played softly, or a lullaby mobile gently spinning a tinkling, twinkling star, music is a nearly universal panacea for the pandemonium of parenthood. 

And if that shit doesn’t work, you can turn it up loud enough that you can’t hear the screaming monsters in the back seat.  As part of my ongoing public service announcements (which are part of my parole), I offer some advice on choosing music that (A) will keep your kids occupied for more than fifteen seconds and (B) won’t have you reaching for the black-market valium you picked up last week. 

The Wiggles.  The best part of any kids’ song is that the tune can be adapted in your head to mean something totally different, and the BEST kids’ music is written with the parent’s needs in mind.  The Wiggles, an entirely too wholesome act from Down Under, does this pretty well.  Such songs as Crunchy Munchy Honey Cakes and Hot Potato remind us that cooking is fun; Dingo Tango and Here Comes A Bear remind us that life can be very, very scary.  Then there are the ones that are obviously for grownups:  

  • Let’s Have A Barbie On The Beach – Why yes, let’s! 
  • The Captain’s Wavy Walk  (“The Captain, he’s been a-drinkin’, oh!”)
  • We’re Playing A Trick On The Captain (While He’s Passed Out Drunk)
  • We’re Dancing With Wags The Dog (‘nuff said)
  • Wake Up Jeff (The Police Are Here!)

 And last but never least in any Wiggles countdown:  Hey There, Shaky Shaky!   (“Hey there! I wanna shake with you!”)  Let’s face it, this is a kid’s song based on a bad pickup line in a bar. 

 There are some more traditional songs that can be adapted to learning lessons as well.  Wheels on the Bus is a favorite:

 The Baby on the Bus says,
“Waa waa waa,”
“Waa waa waa,”
“Waa waa waa!,”
The Baby on the Bus says,
“Waa waa waa!”
And all the other parents on the Bus give its mommy dirty looks.

 And…

 The Driver on the Bus says,
“Move to the back,”
“Move to the back,”
“Move to the back!”
The Driver on the Bus says,
“Move to the back!”
And Rosa Parks says, “No.”

But one of the all-time best set of songs for kids and their parents came from a Disney show called Bear in the Big Blue House.  The songs have a kind of demented brilliance that’s hard to resist, even long after all my kids have quit watching the show and requesting the music in the car.  From the back seat, over the dulcet tones of the Sex Pistols or Barenaked Ladies, we’d hear the imperious request: “Excuse me, Boo Yang please!”  I’m still not sure if the Boo was for Bear or Big or Blue, but Yang meant songs, and Boo Yang it was. 

Songs like Take Time to Smell the Cheese (“Life is so much betta / when you smell the Feta”) and What’s That Smell? could get us miles without hearing them whine.  (Although “Smells like breakfast – hey, it’s you!” seemed pretty scary; did that 7-foot-tall bear just tell me I smelled like his breakfast?  Run!)  Then there are the Welcome to the Blue House, Good Morning, and Goodbye Songs, all delivered in an operatic boom that we still shout at the kids (GOOD MORNING, GOOD MORNING, GOOD MORNING TO EVERYONE!) even though they’re long past wanting to hear it.  The song Clean Up the House is great for reminding everyone to help clean (“Let’s take it upstairs!”  “Oh, geez, Dad, let’s not…”) and I still remind them to “Brush Brush Bree, Brush Brush Broo!” when going to bed.  Mostly out of sheer bloodyminded spite on my part.  I had to listen to those songs for hours.  They should suffer in turn.

My favorite Boo Yang, though, may have been Shadow’s Lullaby.  It’s a great song, lilting, lyrical, and haunting, that describes how safe you are sleeping tonight because the “Shadows are watching over this house.”   Yesssssssss, that’s the nice, supernatural stalker image I want running through my head as I try to fall asleep.  Can we sleep with all the lights on again, please, at least until I can get Dancing With Wags The Dog back in my head?

And since that was too creepy, we will close with the cautionary tales of They Might Be Giants, who did a kid’s album a few years ago.  From the people who brought us Triangle Man and Birdhouse In Your Soul, my kids are bopping to the strains of: 

  • NO!  (which means, and we repeat a LOT in this house, no.  And that’s final.)
  • I Am Not Your Broom (nor your maid, damn it.)
  • Violin(ce) - and don’t think we won’t resort to it if you can’t behave! 
  • Don’t Cross the Street (into oncoming traffic)

 At least from TMBG, we expect it’s going to be weird.  My favorite from the NO! album is Where Do They Make Balloons, and is it the same factory that makes condoms? 

 Music.  It’s not just for breakfast anymore.

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