We are the people that rule the world

Me:  Alright, Kiddo, we have an early day tomorrow so you need to go get ready for bed.

Mr M:  **Goes and puts on basketball shorts over his jeans**

Me:  Uh, dude, what are you doing?  Go take your pants off first.

Mr M:  Whoa, whoa, Dad, at least take me out on a date first.

Hey yeah I'm the one that you wanted, hey yeah I'm your superbeast

I've been in Arizona with my kids for the last few days. Today as we were driving back from a quick trip to the mall, Mr M asked me an important question.

Mr M: Dad, would you rather be a zombie or a human?

Me: Hmmm. Probably a zombie.

Mr M: Why a zombie?

Me: Because then the only thing I'd feel would be a craving for brains.

Tortellini: Yeah, but it would be an overwhelming feeling.

Me: It would. But it couldn't be worse than longing for a human's touch.

Tortellini: Ew. Perv.

Mr M: He's a pedophile*.

Nothing says happy holidays quite like being called a perv and a pedophile by one's own children.

*I hope he doesn't know what that word really means.

Oh one day when you're looking back . . .

I can't believe I never blogged about this, but it's a story from last Christmas. (Well, the drive when I took my kids home just after last Christmas.) It illustrates the unique way in which my little family deals with the big topics. This time, it was about the fact that I'm not Mr M's biological father, but had never really explained that to him myself.

I've talked about this before, but usually when we're on long road trips, my kids like to play games and have contests to keep themselves entertained. When it's cold out (like when the temperatures are in the teens), there's usually at least one competition to see who can hold their hand out the window the longest.

We took the scenic way back to Arizona last year, and passed by the Grand Canyon. When we were near the north rim, the roads were covered in snow, and the temperatures were well below freezing (17 degrees I believe). Of course my kids had the contest to see who could hold their hand out the window the longest. I can't even remember who won, but I know it wasn't me. I didn't even play that time. I was a little nervous about staying on the road.

Five minutes after the contest ended, Mr M wanted to play again. Tortellini and Togers didn't want to because their hands hadn't yet warmed up enough to give it another go. I told Mr M that he'd need to find a different game to play.

Mr M: Alright, how about we play 'Who's Most Related To Dad?'

Me (Laughing, and a little shocked): Who do you think would win that game?

Mr M: [Tortellini] and [Togers].

Me: And why do you think that?

Mr M: Because you and mom made them, and mom and someone else made me.

Me: That's right. But you know I love you very much, right?

Mr M: I know.

And just like that, the conversation I'd been dreading having with the kid since the time he was born was over. Easy peasy.

Kids with guns

Last night I was talking to Mr M on the phone.


Me: What do you want for your birthday?

Him: A Nerf gun, with lots of darts. And Dad? Can I get a bb gun?

Me: No, you can't have a bb gun.

Him: Awwww. Why can't I?

Me: Because, remember when [Tortellini] got shot in the eye? We don't want something like that to happen again.

Him: Yeah, but [Togers] wanted that to happen.

Me: No he didn't. It was an accident. But we don't want any more accidents like that. And how many times have we asked you not to point your Nerf gun at people, but you still do it? You'd probably shoot someone accidentally, or break a window, and I can't afford that.

Him: Alright. Can I have a shotgun instead?

Me: Nice try!

Him: I bet Grandpa would get me one.

Waiting for Superman

If you've ever wondered how my kids and I entertain ourselves while waiting for overpriced pizza to come to our table (and you know you have), it's by pondering the important questions of life, such as these:

Who would win in a fistfight, The Incredible Hulk, or The Thing?

Who has a firmer handshake, Ice Man or the Human Torch (from Fantastic Four)?

Who would win in a staring contest, Cyclops or Magneto?

Who would make the best ice cream sundae, Ice Man or Wonder Woman?

Who would win in a Derek Zoolander style walk-off, Wonder Woman or Spider Man?

Who would be the bigger alcoholic, Batman or the Incredible Hulk?

Who would be most likely to cry after being dumped, Spiderman or Aquaman?

Who has hooked up with more guys, Lois Lane or Mary Jane Watson?

Who will be the first to come out of the closet, Robin or the Wonder Twins?

Look out Mom, here come the swells

I had to say goodbye to my kids today. Again. My ex-wife got a job offer and a place to live in Arizona, and felt like she had to take it.

I understand, but it still sucks.

My kids seem to be handling it better than I am though. At least judging by this excerpt from a conversation I had with them last night:

Me: I'm really sad that you guys are moving away from here.

Mr M: Are you going to cry?

Me: Maybe*.

Mr M: Then you're a crybaby!









*Of course I cried**.

**I'm a crybaby.

I am an American aquarium drinker, I assassin down the avenue

Me: I can't believe you're going to be a teenager within a week.

Togers: I know.

Me: You realize I have to kill you within the next few days, right? I can't be having teenagers.

Togers: Um, you've already got one: Tortellini.

Me: I know. I'm working on that too.

Togers: ???

Me: I've hired a hitman.

Togers: Well he must not be a very good one considering that she just turned fifteen.

Me: I know. He's not. I'm thinking of asking for my deposit back.

He scares me so, like I scare myself

We went on a road trip for Memorial Day weekend. I dropped the two oldest kids off with friends, and Mr M and I went to visit my sisters. It turns out that Mr M is an inquisitive little bugger when he's got me all to himself. Here's a sample of the ten billion questions he asked while we were driving:

"Dad, why do we need atmosphere?"

"Dad, what year did we get water on earth? Was it like 1944?"

"Dad, what would it feel like to jump through a cloud?"

"Dad, what would happen if lightning struck lava? Would both of them just get hotter?"

"Dad, what would happen if I jumped out of a car while it was moving really fast?"

"Dad, is there food in space?"

"Dad, how can you make snow turn into an avalanche?"

"Dad, how hard would it be to blow up the moon? Could you do it with an atomic bomb?"

"Dad, what would happen if that whole mountain fell down when we were right next to it? Would the trees fall too?"

"Dad, what if the sun went out? Could we just eat frozen ham from a dead pig to survive?"

"Dad, what would happen if you killed everyone but yourself?"

"Dad, what would happen if you cut off somebody's legs?"

"Dad, is Hitler part of God?"


As you can see, as the drive went on, I began to believe more and more that it might be time to start worrying about the kid.

--------------------UPDATE--------------------

It's worth mentioning that there were a few moments of silence that came when Mr M decided that he wanted to be like a dog and have some wind blowing in his face:

What a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy

Mr M: Sometimes I wish I was the oldest kid.

Me: Why?

Mr M: Because I'm the most goodest.

Me: You are?

Mr M: Yeah.

Me: Well, what about Tortellini and Togers?

Mr M: They suck.

Girl why not take out the trash and once you get him out tell him not to come back again

Me (to Tortellini): And to think, your mom had all of this.
[said while motioning to myself with my hands]

Togers: And she threw it all away.

Tortellini: Because it was garbage.

It sounded like the hum of insects nesting in my hair

Me: Go comb your hair.

Mr M: I did comb my hair.

Me: Well go fix it. It looks creepy.

Mr M: I like being creepy.

Say, "My heart is still crossed." Scream, "You're so wonderful."

Last night I called my kids. Togers told me they were all playing Scrabble, then Tortellini told me that my ex was beating everyone. When Mr. M. got on the phone I told him he should go help them play.

Me: You need to go help Tortellini kick your mom's butt.
Mr. M.: NO! I love my mom.
Me: I know you do. But you can love her and still kick her butt at Scrabble.
Mr. M.: Don't say that.

I'm going to have to get him to work on his toughness.

Wash your hands of it forever

Girl 1: Can I have some gum?

Me: That was my last piece. But do you want this one that I'm chewing? You can have it.

Girl 1: Ok.

Girl 2: Gross.

Girl 1: Why is that gross? Because [Minnow] has diseases?

Girl 2: Yeah.

Me: You don't even know me. You can't say that.

Girl 2: I've heard enough.

Me: Don't believe everything you hear.

Girl 1: The only thing you need to know about [Minnow] is that he's from Utah, so he has 15 wives.

Girl 2: So he does have diseases then.

Me: No diseases. They were all virgins when I married them, because they were all like twelve years old. Isn't that the way polygamy works?

Girl 1: You should know. You're the polygamist.

Me: Besides, fifteen wives? That's way too many. Actually, do you know how many wives is too many?

Girl 1: How many?

Me: One.

We don't need no education

I awoke this morning to the sound of the bedroom door opening. In walked Mr. M.

Me: Good morning kiddo.
Mr. M.: Good morning Dad.
Me: Is Togers awake?
Mr. M.: No.
Me: Is Tortellini awake?
Mr. M.: No.
Me: Is Grandma up? Or Grandpa?
Mr. M.: No.
Me: How do you know?
Mr. M.: I know all that stuff.
Me: You do?
Mr. M.: Yeah. I know a lot of stuff.
Me: Ok then, what's the square root of pi?
Mr. M. (in a condescending tone): Pie is round, and you put stuff in it.

For reasons unknown

Mr. M.: I helped Mom quit smoking.

Me: You did? What a good boy!

Mr. M.: [Step-Dad]'s going to try to quit too.

Me: Are you going to help him?

Mr. M.: No. I think Mom's going to help him.

Me: Well, you could help him too.

Mr. M.: *long pause* I think Mom can help him better.


------------------UPDATE------------------

I know I said that I was going to start referring to my youngest son as Bill on here, as per his request to start being called that, but it just doesn't work for me, so I've changed it to Mr. M. instead. The other two will still be Tortellini and Togers though.

Cat scratch fever

Son: That is a mean cat!
Me: Why?
Son: Because, it attacks.
Me: Really?
Son: It attacks humans.
Me: Which humans?
Son: We're humans.

Speak for yourself kiddo. I'm a God.