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.

No shirt, no shoes, no problem

A few days ago my sister called to see if I wanted some hand-me-downs for Mr M.  I told her I did, so she said she would send a box of clothes with her husband to drop off if I could go pick them up at his business location that's closest to me.  So I went and picked them up, then took them over to my kids' house so Mr M could go through them.  There were a lot of shirts that he really liked, including a couple of sleeveless t-shirts.

Mr M has always been one who likes to show off his 'muscles' so I said, "You should be happy about having all these muscle shirts, right?"

He answered, "Well, I don't want to have too many muscle shirts because it can be ghetto, depending on the situation."

"No, Dude, it's always ghetto.  No matter what the situation is."


So yeah, another quality piece of fatherly advice goes into the books.

Trick or treat 'til the neighbors gonna die of fright

Mr M wanted to dress up as a zombie for Halloween this year.  Some friends of mine said they had a zombie costume that their son wore a few years ago that I could borrow, so I didn't put a lot of effort into making one for Mr M.  Until yesterday, when they said they'd looked everywhere and couldn't find it.

Not wanting Mr M to be the only one in his class that didn't dress up for the Halloween party at school*, I had to start scrambling to put something together.  I called my ex-wife and said that she should start looking around for old clothes that we could tear up and cover with fake blood and mud or something.

Then Togers got an idea:  Mr M has an army jacket with a 'zombie killer' patch.  Togers suggested that Mr M wear torn and bloody clothes, but wear that jacket too, so it would be like he was a zombie killer that got overpowered and turned into a zombie himself.

Mr M nixed that idea.

When asked why he didn't want to do that he simply said, "A normal zombie would have more dignity."












*After my ex-wife drove him all the way to my house so we could go pick out some fake blood and make-up, Mr M informed us that he wasn't going to dress up for school anyway, just for trick-or-treating later, so the "scrambling" was done in vain anyway.

There's a vulture at the end of my bed

My boys and I are at my parents for Father's Day weekend.  On the way here, we started telling knock-knock jokes in the car.  Mr M made up one that's entirely inappropriate, so of course, I have to share it.

"Knock knock!"

"Who's there?"

"Your doctor."

"Your doctor, who?"

"You have cancer."


I'm seriously starting to wonder about that kid.

Dead I am the one, exterminating son

Mr M is obsessed with surviving the zombie apocalypse. One of the first things he asked me when I got to their house over Thanksgiving was, "Dad, what three weapons would you want for the zombie apocalypse?"

I told him I'd want a shotgun, a machete, and a flame thrower. I'm pretty sure I could last a while with that.

Togers told me that when he was in the hospital, Mr M saw one of those rolling beds. He was fascinated by it, and went up to the doctor and said, "That would be perfect for the zombie apocalypse. You could just fill that bottom rack up with dynamite, then roll it down a hill and blow up a bunch of zombies."

He's nine. The doctor probably thinks he's a psycho. The next ten years or so are bound to be interesting with that kid.

But, now that I'm aware of his new obsession, he ought to be happy with the two shirts I bought him for Christmas from Threadless.com

The End Of The Road:

The Horde:

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.

It's not a question about getting the message

Mr M: You're old. And I'm closer to my birthday than you.

Me: No you're not. I only have to wait until April. Yours isn't until September.

Mr M: So? You're closer to death than I am. Ha ha ha ha.


Touche. Jerk!

Jolly old St Nicholas

Mr M has argued with us about whether Santa is real or not for the past two years. This year he won the argument.

So, instead of getting presents from Santa this year, he got them from the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Your Mom, Ed the Homeless Guy From Van Buren, Bambi From The Best Gentlemen's Club in Phoenix, Will Smith's Robot Arm and Sunny From iRobot.

Good luck trying to deny THOSE entities, Mr M.

I got game

Tonight, Togers and I taught Mr M how to play Mancala. In one of the games I started beating him pretty handily, and started taunting him*.

In a sing-songy voice I said, "I'm going to win. Ha ha ha ha ha ha."

He said, "Maybe not. I have a trick up my sleeve. It's called flipping the board over."







*Because I'm such a great father.

I'm in hate with the size of a desert

Yesterday my ex-wife called to tell me that when she was picking the kids up from school, Mr M got in the car and the first thing he said was, "Did you know that you can dump dead bodies anywhere in Arizona because it's the desert."

She said, "You can?"

He said, "Yeah. You can dump bodies, or dig a hole and bury them, and nobody will find them because it's a desert landscape."


Is my son going to be the next Shane Botwin?

Guns in the sky

Mr M came home from school last week and said he was feeling sick.

My ex-wife asked him if he thought it might be because he wasn't drinking enough water.

He told her that it wasn't that. It was because if he couldn't think about guns he has a nervous breakdown, and he can't think about guns when he's at school.

In related news, my parenting goals just changed: If I can get my kids raised without one of them being involved in a school shooting, I'll feel like a success.

All the kids are staying fat

The problem with me spending time with my kids is that the only posts you're going to see in the near future are going to be about them. Like this little tidbit from Mr M while we were driving to my sister's wedding.

Mr M: Dad, if a fat girl was lost in the forest, what would a tree say?

Me: I don't know, what?

Mr M: How about lose some weight, fatty.

I probably should have explained to him that it's not nice to make fun of people. Instead I just laughed.

There's an eventual release from every scale of crime

Yesterday afternoon I got a text from my ex-wife. It said, "Just told [Mr M] to go sit on his bed until he does what he was told. He replied, 'I am gonna be sitting there forever 'cause I am not going to do it.'"

Almost immediately after that I got a second text from her saying, "Well, it took less than five minutes for him to get sick of his room so he did it. So now you know, forever equals five minutes to [Mr M]."

I'll never look down again, again

Earlier this week:

Ex-wife: Hi. I need you to talk to your son. He got in trouble on the playground today.

Me: Okay. Put him on.

Mr M: Hi Dad.

Me: Hi dude. Your mom said you got in trouble at school today.

Mr M: Yeah. I did.

Me: What did you do?

Mr M: I called a girl a midget.

Me: Why did you do that?

Mr M: Because she is.

At least he's penitent. Oh, wait.

Here comes Peter Cottontail

A few minutes ago I was talking to Mr M about the Easter Bunny coming tomorrow.

"Dad, there's no such thing. The Easter Bunny isn't real. It's just a guy dressed in a bunny suit that comes and leaves candy in your house."

Yeah, dude, 'cause that's less creepy.

And I believe there's a way to shut the things you don't need out

Talking on the phone to Mr M:

Me: How are you?

Mr M: I'm happy.

Me: Good. Why are you so happy?

Mr M: 'Cause I'm eating a cookie and talking to you.


It's the simple things, you know?

Yeah I will take these old shoes to get to you

Mr M: Hi Dad. Thanks for the shoes you sent. You know those white ones?

Me: Yeah.

Mr M: They make me run really fast.

Me: That's cool. I thought you might say that. Did you think that purple swoosh on the side was cool?

Mr M: What purple swoosh?

Me: The thing right on the side of the shoes.

Mr M: You mean that blue thing?

Me: It's not blue, it's purple.

Mr M: No it's not. It's blue.

Me: It's purple. Are we going to have to send you back to Kindergarten so you can learn your colors?

Mr M: I know my colors, Dad. It's blue.

Me: Ask your mom what color it is.

Mr M: Ok. Mom, what color is this?

My Ex: Purplish.

Mr M: See? They're blue.


It's like talking to a Creationist.

He was a skater boy

Mr M showcasing his mad skateboarding skillz

The story I heard

Pearls of wisdom from Mr M:

You know, dentists don't care if you brush your teeth every single day.