Come on children, you're acting like children, every generation thinks it's the end of the world

Sometimes parenting calls for teaching your kids important life skills, whether they're old enough to learn them or not. Sunday afternoon we drove out to the dry lake bed so I could teach Tortellini and Togers how to drive. The complicating factor? My car has a standard transmission. Call me crazy, but I firmly believe that everyone should know how to operate a stick. Besides, they're both a lot older than I was the first time I drove a motorized vehicle with a clutch. I was eight. (Hi Mom. I bet you didn't know that, did you?)

I explained everything on the drive out, and demonstrated how to work the clutch and gear shift. Once we got there and they started driving there were a few times I thought my car was going to die out there in the desert. It didn't. And at least we had no traffic to worry about.

Tortellini went first. Her biggest problem was learning how to start out. She killed the car a few times, then just figured that she could get going easily if she peeled out rather than trying to take it slow. Periodically she'd forget to take her foot off the gas when pushing in the clutch, so the engine would rev until I pointed that out, but that was only for the first few minutes.



Togers asked to go second. Apparently that was because he wanted to learn from Tortellini's mistakes so as to avoid looking foolish. His plan seemed to work because he figured it out almost immediately. His biggest problem was recognizing when he was about to hit a bump and slowing down for it. That definitely made me glad we weren't out on the streets. My poor car's shocks.



And of course Mr M wanted to take a turn, so I let him sit on my lap and steer while I operated the pedals. I decided that as long as I have a say in things, that kid will never get his license. He asked if I could drive faster, so I did, then I saw a little look on his face, knew exactly what he was thinking and said, "Don't you dare turn that wheel hard while we're going this speed." He was disappointed, but asked if I could slow down enough for him to do it. That seemed to satisfy him.



By the end of the day, Tortellini and Togers seemed to get it all figured out:

Then we went home. The end.

Yeah that's right, I'm the egg man

The other day I was standing in line at the post office so I could send off a lab mates' samples since he had to leave town suddenly. There was a family with four kids under the age of six standing in front of me. (I thought, "What is this? Utah?")They were there to get passports.

I crinkled the padded envelope in my hand, and one of the little girls (probably about 5) asked "What is that?"

"Um. Actually, they're DNA samples."

"I'm allergic to eggs."

"You are?"

"Yeah."

Her dad chimed in with "Are you really allergic to eggs? Or do you just not like them?"

She answered, "I'm just allergic to raw ones. But I can eat them if they're in cookies."

It's good to know she can have cookies. I can't even imagine how deprived my childhood would've been without cookies.

At least as old as you are as you walk away

Mr M started Kindergarten yesterday. My ex-wife called after she dropped him off. She said that he normally likes to hold her hand when they're walking together, but wouldn't when they got out of the car. Until the walked into the building. He got a little nervous and reached up to grab her hand. Once they were in the classroom, the teacher told him he could go play with the other kids on the playground, he ran off without even saying goodbye to his mom or step-dad, and that was that. His mom cried. He had fun.




His step-dad told me yesterday afternoon that when Mr M was getting ready in the morning, he commented that he didn't want to wear a shirt to school because he wanted the kids in his class to be able to see his muscles (pronounced musk-ulls). I think we may have a young jock on our hands.

There was a time when it used to mean just about everything. Just like now.

My mom has a way she swears works to predict the height your child will reach when they are adults. If you double a kid's height at a certain age (2 years old for boys, 18 months old for girls), that's supposedly how tall they will eventually be. My mom says that it worked for all her kids. They laughed about it at first because the prediction was that all the boys would be over six feet tall and neither of them are. Well, it turned out that all three of us ended up being over six feet tall (I'm the tallest at 6' 4"), so now we kind of play the game with our kids.

I have a two year old niece that is quite tall for her age, so while the whole family was visiting we started talking about how tall our kids were going to be. My daughter is deathly afraid that she's going to be as tall as me. I don't think she will be, and my mom agrees.

Mom: I don't think she needs to worry about it because girls usually quit growing about two years after they get their boobs. She's not going to get too much taller than she is right now. Maybe another inch or two before she's done, but that's about it.

Naturally, that shifted the conversation toward one of my favorite subjects: Boobs.

Sister: If my daughter gets my boobs she'll be fine. If she gets [Sister-in-law]'s boobs she's not even going to have enough muscle to stand up.

We all laughed.

Sister(to me): I'm serious! They'll be like [Ex-wife]'s when she was pregnant with [Daughter]. Each one of hers was as big as a basketball.

Me: You don't have to remind me of that. I lived it. Remember?

Dad: It wasn't until then that [Minnow] learned how to dribble with both hands.

I'll show you how to cyclops rock, then you turn around and break my heart

Two nights ago I was finishing eating dinner with a friend when my phone rang. I almost didn't answer it because I didn't recognize the number, but decided to once I realized it was a number from the Salt Lake area. It was my kids' step-dad calling with some bad news. My son had accidentally shot my daughter in the eye with a BB-Gun and they were at the emergency room. It was late, and there wasn't much I could do to help with anything, so I just sent home and worried. I got a little bit of sleep, but woke up at 3:30 the next morning, packed my things and got on the road at about 5:00 so that I could be with my kids. It's good that I left when I did, because I got to their house just in time to take her to get a CT scan that the doctor had ordered. We got the results back today, and everything looks good. The doctors are confident that she won't need surgery, that she's on the way to recovery, and that she'll regain her normal vision. There's still too much blood in her eye to know for sure that there isn't any retinal detachment, but it looks like the blood that's in her eye is being reabsorbed by the body, so we should know more on Monday. But don't take my word for it. See for yourself:



The silver lining? My friend had to cover the bill for the meal because I was on the phone. And it was fairly expensive. I'll have to pay her back. The other is that I'm able to spend time with my kids, even though it's not under the best of circumstances. I'll be in SLC until we're certain that everything is alright.

Forever yesterday (breathe slowly and deeply)

I don't know why kids think that they need to spend their time growing up, but no matter how many times I tell my kids to knock it off, they just keep getting older. Yesterday I found out that my daughter has a BOYFRIEND! Dun, dun, dun. Okay, so I've suspected for a while, she is thirteen after all, but she confirmed it yesterday. Apparently she was very afraid* that I'd find out and be mad at her, so she kept it secret for a while, but had "I heart [Kid's Name]" as her myspace profile quote about a week ago. Of course, I didn't know she was on myspace until I saw it about a week ago, so that was a relatively safe place, but it just goes to show that you never really know who's reading.

I talked to a friend about it yesterday afternoon, shortly after I talked to her.

Me: I don't know what to think about the fact that my daughter's got a boyfriend already.
Him: Well, you had to know it was coming sooner or later.
Me: Yeah, but I was hoping for later.
Him: Just think, in another three years or so she'll be . . .
Me: Don't say it!
Him: Don't say what?
Me: I know what you're about to say. Don't say it.
Him: How old was [Ex-Wife] when you got her pregnant? Seventeen?
Me: See, I knew that's what you were going to say.
Him: Well, you could always take her down to Tijuana and get her tubes tied.
Me: Yeah, I'm sure her mom would let me do that.
Him: It'd be easy. Just say, "Kids, get in the car. I'm going to show you Mexico."
Me: They already saw Mexico when their mom remarried.
Him: Oh yeah.
Me: I'll have to sell it as showing them a completely different part of Mexico.
Him: I'll say.
Me: I'd have to be like, "Here boys, take this twenty dollars and go catch a donkey show while I take your sister into this back alley. We'll meet you out front in an hour."
Him: You could get [Next Oldest] a vasectomy while you're there.
Me: Or get one for myself! I've been thinking about it anyway. I mentioned it to my brother, and he said that I should wait because I might get married again and want to have kids. Even if I do remarry, I'm done having kids. I figure if I get snipped now then it's out of the question.
Him: Well, you can always have it reversed.
Me: Yeah, but I wouldn't. I'd just have to make sure that anyone I started dating knew about it up front (no pun intended).
Him: Well, it could even be a selling point. You could say, "No, don't worry baby, you can't get pregnant."





* So afraid that her friend told my ex that she threw up a few times because she was afraid I'd find out.

Grandma take me home

Me: What did your grandma get you for your birthday?
Son: Her dead.
Me: What?
Son: HER DEAD!!!
Me: No, not that grandma, your other one.
Son: Oh, great grandma?
Me: No, Grandma [Inside Stories].
Son: Oh. I thought you meant the other one.


If I had been talking to anyone else, I would have had to say, "No, retard, I meant the only grandma who sent you a present!" But, since he's my son, and he's so cute, and only five, I just had to laugh.


(She gave him a remote control car. My ex-wife says he loves it and won't stop playing with it.)

And I miss everyone, but most of all the children and their shiny toy guns

Yesterday was my youngest's birthday. He turned five. For most people, September 11 is a day of tragedy, but to me it just marks the day that one of the best things to happen to me actually happened.

I called yesterday morning to wish him a happy birthday. My ex-wife answered the phone and I talked to her for a few minutes before he got on the phone.

Me: Did you get the presents I sent? There were two packages.
Her: Yeah, but he hasn't opened them yet. What did you get him?
Me: One is a toy gun that makes a bunch of different sounds. The other is a sword that does the same thing, but lights up with different colors too.
Her: Oh good. He's been going around telling everyone he was getting a gun for his birthday, but we didn't get him one.
Me: I always feel like I get him the same thing, but I honestly didn't see anything else I thought he'd like, so I went with the toy weapons again.
Her: Well I'm glad you did. He'll be happy with those.
Me: What did you get him?
Her: We got him a little desk.

Oh yeah, I'm the cool parent!

She also told me that the other day he asked how many more times the sun would go down before he turned five. Then, yesterday morning when she told him he was five he went and looked at himself in the mirror to see if he'd grown any. As if it would somehow happen overnight. Knowing this, I asked him about it once he got on the phone.

Me: Happy Birthday. Are you excited to open your presents.
Him: Yeah. I have to wait until [Step-Dad] gets home.
Me: So how does it feel to be five? Are you bigger? Stronger? Faster?
Him: Dad, I'm just five.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - EDIT- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

By that logic, I'm not getting fat, I'm just thirty-two.

Little Boy Blue and the Man 'n the Moon

I got a chance to visit my kids on the way to Canada, and on the way back. In fact, on the way up I spent the first night at their house, but felt that I had to get up early the next morning to make up for the time I spent with them. I left their house at 5 a.m., so obviously they were all asleep, but I went and told them all goodbye anyway. They all mumbled some sleepy goodbyes, but perhaps the cutest one came from my four year old.

Me: Goodbye [son]. I love you.
Him: I love you too.
Me: I love you more.
Him: I love you more.
Me: I love you most.
Him: I love you moster.

He wins. It's impossible to beat "moster."

Who could see and not believe?

My son has been visiting for the past week while his mom and step-dad are vacationing here. They're leaving today, so yesterday I took most of the day off in order to spend more time with him. My ex-wife called the day before with the idea that we should take him to the Mac King Comedy Magic Show at Harrah's. My son has always been interested in magic, so I thought it was a great idea* and we went. I'm glad we did. The show was hilarious!

I have a friend who works there, and we were at his house the night before. When we told him we were going to see the show the next day, he gave my son a tip on how to be chosen to go up on stage. Of course, my son took his advice and got to become part of the show. My son was on stage for about ten minutes, and enjoyed himself thoroughly. The show was fun to watch anyway, but it was even better to see how happy my son was to be a part of it all.

As we were at my friend's house the night before, we started joking about what kinds of things would happen if my son did get to go on stage.

Son: What if he cuts me in half?
Me: Then let me just say that it's been nice knowing you.
Son: Or what if he makes me disappear?
Me: Then I'd have to thank him.
Son: Maybe he'd make you disappear with me.
Me: Then I'd still be with you. How's that going to give me my freedom?
Son: It wouldn't, but if he made you disappear the world would be a better place.

The kid's getting pretty good at comebacks.




* I was just annoyed that I didn't think of it. It shows that I'm the out of touch parent.

I gave my heart to a simple chord

As a parent I think it is my moral obligation to teach my children to listen to good* music. And by that I mean that I need to pass my music tastes on to them. It's a classic case of nature vs. nurture. I would have been thrilled if I could have passed my music tastes to them in chromosome form, but since I couldn't, I have to do it by creating the right environment. That environment takes shape within the confines of my car. I let them choose what to listen to when we're driving, but they have to choose from my CD collection, so they only think they're in control of the stereo**.

At any rate, given this moral obligation, you can imagine my delight when I received the following email from my daughter:

I never e-mailed you that list of the people i want you to burn the cd's for me!

Aerosmith
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club [[all of them]]
The Sun

and I THINK that's it, but if i remember, i'll tell ya.

I'd prefer it if Aerosmith wasn't on that list, but I guess you can't win them all***.






* If I don't do it, they're going to end up listening to all the crappy stuff that gets airtime (such as Kenny Chesney, 50 Cent and Fergie). Then, in twenty years, they're going to have to own up to the shame (and maybe even have to pay for therapy) when they realize how bad that music really is.

** The secret is that I don't keep any music that I don't like in my car, so I win no matter what.

*** Unless you conveniently "forget" to burn any Aerosmith and opt for the new They Might Be Giants album instead.

Everybody dance now

Here you can see some awesome dance moves by my youngest. This is before the "fun factory" incident.



Sorry about there not being any sound. Apparently I am retarded when it comes to running my camera. Just pretend that you can hear some 80's music playing in the background. Any 80's music will do.

I survived, it's good enough for now

Saturday I took my kids to a pool party. Swimming is definitely not a bad way to spend an afternoon when the temperature is nearing 110. And to think, there's still another 5-10 degrees to go before we hit the summer highs. Man I hate this place in the summer. On the bright side, at least it's always sunny (pun intended).

I knew there was going to be trouble when I saw my four year old who was happily standing by the side of the pool shooting his sister with a water gun throw the gun, grab his butt with one hand, and take off running for the house only to have trouble opening the door and then suddenly stop and turn around with a look of shame in his eye. I walked over and asked him if he'd pooped in his swimming suit, and he sheepishly said that he had. To steal a phrase from CW, it was the worst Play-Doh fun factory ever.

I took him in the bathroom, and deftly maneuvered the suit off his body without spilling any diarrhea on my hands or the floor. His legs and the toilet seat weren't so lucky. He looked down and pointed out the obvious.

Him: Dad, there's poop right there.
Me: Yes there is.
Him: That's disgusting.
Me: Yes it is.
Him: Dad, there's some poop on my penis.
Me: Here. You have to wipe that off with this toilet paper.
Him: Ok. **wiping**That's disgusting.
Me: Tell me about it.

I put him in the bath, put his swimming trunks in the washer, and then had him wear my t-shirt until he could wear his clothes again. He was very embarrassed about it, and acted self conscious about being the only person there who was wearing a t-shirt that went all the way to their ankles with absolutely nothing on underneath. I tried to get him to feel less ashamed by telling him that it could happen to anybody, but he didn't really start acting like his usual self until he got his swimming trunks back out of the wash.

I wonder if it would have helped if I'd have told him this story about one of the most embarrassing moments of my life:

I was in second grade when a similar bout of peristalsis hit my eight year old colon. I booked it for the boys bathroom, but when I got to the door that entered it from the playground, it was stuck. I pulled and pulled, but the door wouldn't open. Probably because of the fat kid that was on the other side that thought it would be funny to hold the door shut so nobody could get in. Well, it worked. I didn't make it, and instead dumped a load of the runny stuff in my pants. I went into one of the stalls to try and clean it up, to no avail. It was all over the place.

Now seems like a good time to talk about how traumatic it was to go to the bathroom at my elementary school anyway. I don't know how it is today, but I doubt it was as bad as my school was then. Anytime anyone was using one of the bathroom stalls, there would always be kids who would climb up and look over to see who was in there. Then they would sit there and yell to people in the hall about how so-and-so was pooping. I'm hoping this weird behavior was unique to my school (and maybe some in Germany - they obviously get into the whole scheizer thing over there sometime). I still don't like to go into stalls in public restrooms, and I'm sure it's partly due this experience.

Anyway, this time was no different. As I sat there trying to wipe diarrhea off my clothes, several of my classmates peered down at me from above while chanting pooh-pants over and over again. Then my teacher, who was a woman, came into the boys bathroom to see what all the fuss was about. Obviously this was a very big deal to 8 year old Native Minnow, but she did go to the trouble of cleaning me up and calling my mom to come get me, and for that I should be grateful.

Upon my return to school I was subjected to being called Pooh-Pants on the playground, but that died off after a few days. At least it did with most of the kids. There was one kid who was a year older than me who continued to call me that every single time he saw me for the next few years (basically until he moved on to seventh grade). I remember one day when I had to wear my cub scout uniform to school for some reason, and I thought about what a relief it would be when that kid didn't recognize me because I was in uniform. If he didn't recognize me he wouldn't call me Pooh-Pants.

I was crushed when I turned a corner at recess and that was the first thing I heard him call out. How could this be? How could he recognize me? I was wearing a cub scout uniform for crying out loud. How could he not respect the uniform? Perhaps even worse than that was the time he brought it up during my sophomore year of high school. In front of one of the cutest girls in the senior class. Oh how I hated that guy! Talk about dragging a joke out for way too long.
I must be over it by now though, or I wouldn't be relating this story online to be seen by anybody who happens to come along.

Sing with me now

My kids came to town last week. They got here Wednesday night, but I didn't really get to start spending any time with them until Friday because they went to a wedding on Thursday while I was out buying a car.

Anyway, on one of the days they were here I started singing a song while I was fixing lunch for some reason.

Sha la la la la la
My oh my
Look at the boy too shy
Ain't gonna kiss the girl
whoa whoa

Sha la la la la la
Ain't that sad
Ain't it a shame, too bad
He's gonna miss the girl

Roommate's Son: Why are you singing a song from the Little Mermaid? It's a little girl movie.
Me: It's an awesome movie.
11 year old son: Maybe he just likes to watch mermaids. It's ok Dad. There's no shame in that.

No shame indeed.

Once you're outside you won't want to hide anymore

My youngest sister graduated from high school on Friday. I took my kids to the ceremony so that they could see her give her valedictorian speech, hoping that it might inspire them to do well in school. My sister is someone who I would hope my kids would strive to be like. However, since kids tend to be clueless about these sorts of "life lessons" my motive was probably lost on them. I'm still glad we went.

Here's my sister giving her speech. She did a really good job. Much better than what my brother and I did for ours (more on this later).

Not to take anything away from my sister and what she's accomplished (graduation, valedictorian, 4 year college scholarship), but I think the best parts of the weekend came after her graduation ceremony. Notably, the kiddie trike olympics that were held in my parents' driveway later that evening:

Or Sunday, when I took my kids to Goblin Valley. First, we went on a short hike through a slot canyon just outside the park. The actual hike through Little Wild Horse Canyon is a nine mile loop. Since we didn't have a lot of time (or water) we only hiked about the first mile, then turned around. We hiked the entire thing about seven years ago when my oldest kids were still young, but they didn't remember much about it so I think it was good that we went again. They certainly seemed to think it was cool. As you can see, it's a great place to go to find out whether or not you're claustrophobic.

On the way back my youngest got tired of walking.

Him: Dad, can I have a piggy back ride?

Me: Yeah, but why do you have to be so lazy all the time?

Him: Because I love it.

After we got back to the car we drove to Goblin Valley and hiked among the rock formations.

It had already been a pretty long day at that point, plus we had a long drive back to my parents' house, so we didn't stay there too long. After about an hour I told the kids that we needed to start heading back to the car.

My youngest: Why? I'm happy here.

Obviously:

We drove out to the desert just to lie down beneath this bowl of stars

10 yr old: Dad, which way are we going?

Me: North.

10 yr old: Wait, I thought that way was north.

Me: No, that's east. But to be honest, we're really driving northeast.

4 yr old: No! We're going desert.

I must confess I like this mess I've made so far

Daughter: Dad, I don't know how much I weigh because . . .

Son: Because you broke the truck scales?

Daughter: No, I don't know how much I weigh because . . .

Son: Because you're too afraid to look?

Me: Don't worry kiddo, that's what brothers are for.

Daughter: I know, he's always this annoying.

'Cause I haven't been too brave but mostly frightened

Thirteen years ago today I was in a hospital in a small town in northeastern Utah. I was reading magazine articles about death of Kurt Cobain, trying to take my mind off the wave of nausea that was bubbling up inside me.

I was scared. Scared of what was in store for me that day. Scared because I was waiting to experience one of the best things to happen to me in this lifetime.

I was anxiously awaiting the birth of my little baby girl.

It was a long wait.

At the time, we lived an hour and a half away from the hospital, so the doctor decided to induce labor the previous day to save us from having to make another trip. There were a few complications, but after approximately 19 hours the moment had finally arrived, and my life would no longer be the same.

She was the most beautiful little froggy looking thing with a smashed up face that I'd ever seen. At 9 lbs. and 20 1/2 inches she was rather plump. Plump enough that when my car wouldn't start in the parking lot and my mother had to make the drive to pick us up at the hospital and take us home, her cheeks jiggled with every little bump in the road. As my mom drove and I watched her cheeks jiggle, car problems were the farthest thing from my mind. I was a dad.

A lot has happened over the past thirteen years. After several moves, two college degrees (with a third in the works), two little brothers for her, and a divorce, I no longer live with my baby girl, and she no longer has the pudgy cheeks that jiggle in the car. But I love her every bit as much as I did then, if not more. Even if she does like to do strange things like wear aluminum foil on her teeth.


Happy Birthday Baby!!!

I tried hard to have a father but instead I had a dad

My 4 year old: I'm lucky. I have two dads. One fat and one not fat.

His Step Dad: Wow. I just got put in my place by a 4 year old.


***************EDIT******************

Speaking of my 4 year old, is he a budding young ornithologist, or a future serial killer? I'll let you decide:

Bangs to drape across your forehead

My daughter: Dad, you might not be the right person to ask this, but do you know how people get their hair to be wavy? You know, like the kind of big waves?

Me: Genetics.

She's right. I'm not the right person to ask that.