40 And Holding

Yet more Pre-School Wisdom

I gotta hand it to the kid. For being only 4 years old, Jackson is quite the ponderer of the universe and it's mysterious workings. His older brother, Jordan, is very smart in a scholastic sense. He knocks you over by his easy grasp of the fundamentals - in a parlor-trick kind of way. But, younger brother Jackson is smarter in a worldly-kind-of-how-things-work-sort-of-way. He's a deep thinker. He hears something, and ponders it for days until finally stating out of the blue something like this:

Jackson:  Mommy, you can see Jesus' underwear because he doesn't wear pants.

The boy will either grow up to be Pope, or a bumper sticker artist.

More Pre-School Wisdom

Jackson:  Daddy, what does "forever" mean?

Me:  "Forever" means "always." Like Mommy and Daddy will love you Forever.

A few hours later....

Me:  Jackson, are you going to live with Mommy and Daddy forever?

Jackson:  No. I'm going to live with you until I'm 100 years old, and then I'm going to Heaven.

Seems simple enough.

How Did Wii Ever Get Along Without It?

Try to imagine Debbie doing Wii Fit Yoga. That's not so hard to imagine - in fact it's kind of a nice mental picture. 

Now, imagine if you will a 4-year old boy watching and copying his mommy doing Wii Fit Yoga. 

Now, imagine that said little boy just got out of the tub and is doing Wii Fit Yoga - Butt Nekkid'. 

The Lotus Position will never be the same.

The Torch is Passed

The continuing legacy of Rock Stardom is no longer in jeopardy. Thanks to Jordan's little friend, Michael from up the street, Jordan has discovered the Guitar Hero game collecting dust in the corner. I received it as a Christmas gift a few years' back. And though I thought it very cool, playing it was keeping me from the real deal, so it has lived a lonely existence these many months while I tried to hone my real Guitar Hero Skillz. So, he's been playing it like mad and having me sit in to do the guitar duels and for the more difficult numbers like the Iron Maiden and Living Colour tunes - which do NOT suck.

What's the downside to all this? Well, of all the cool tunes Jordan could pick to play ad-nauseaum, he has chosen "Slow Ride" by Foghat. Didn't we talk about this right here? Try listening to Foghat on super-slow-speed about 80 times. Well, at least it's not "Stranglehold."

Merry Christmas

 

From The Boys.

White Christmas Meets The Shining

It's been about a week now that we've been cut off from the rest of the world beneath a blanket of billowy white snow. In all my years I cannot remember a true White Christmas, just like the ones I used to know. I remember White Thanksgivings, White New Year's, White Finals Week, Vanna White, and White Goodman - but no White Christmas.Yes, we are having a White Christmas - and it is NOT COOL. 

When Bing Crosby made this song the biggest seller of all time, he lived in an age where men ruled the world. A White Christmas probably meant being up at a ski lodge gallivanting up and down the slopes, flirting with little snow bunnies half his age, singing the occasional ditty Male-Kali-Ki-Maka while the wife was at the lodge taking care of the kids during the day and serving drinks in a jacuzzi at night (in heels of course). 

Bing Crosby did not live with my children Jordan and Jackson in Modern Times. Bing Crosby didn't have to sit home and wonder how he'd ever meet all his deadlines while being snowbound for a fifth day in a row. Bing Crosby didn't have to invent new things to keep his kids from killing each other or themselves. Bing Crosby had a seemingly endless supply of Crown Royale, which Matty has run out of weeks ago. If Bing lived in the real world, he would not be singing about all his Christmases being white, he would be wielding an ax like our good friend Jack Torrance.  

Now don't get me wrong. I love my children. People must think me horrible to speak on parenthood in such realistic terms. I peruse other blogs now and again - typically written by the ladies', who go on and on about the virtues of motherhood and how wonderful it is to have children and 7-passenger vans, how their DHs are bumbling but good-intentioned, and how adorable all this is. These ladies are obviously taking mass doses of Vicadin. Raising kids is hard work, mostly frustrating, with fleeting moments of joy. Being snowbound only amplifies all the above sentiments.

It started so innocently.  A few flakes and the News channel hyping the whole "Arctic Blast" to come. Naturally I paid little mind as the News hypes every little thing. I was correct for the first few days, this Arctic Blast was just not happening. I did take the opportunity, however, to go to work late and come home early due to "the inclement weather." We had a great time, made snowmen, threw snowballs. The neighbor kids came over with allofthefolks at home. The snow was beautiful and we enjoyed it knowing that it would be gone by Christmas - regardless of what the weatherman said. A perfect storm - here on Wednesday, gone by the weekend, Christmas festivities as usual.

Then it took a turn for the evil. The "Blast" took it's time coming and didn't actually arrive until Saturday. By Saturday the kids were tired of going out in the snow. It wasn't the wet kind to make snowmen out of, it was the white-out blizzard kind that you can't stand to be in. I had the bright idea to take Jackson for a walk around the block. It was so cold, and the wind was blowing so hard, that Jackson has not returned to the out-of-doors since. This was not Bing Crosby's White Christmas. This was Jack Torrance's "The Shining".

So by Sunday the kids are sick of the snow, won't go outside, we can't get out of the driveway, we haven't left our street since Friday, the TV is off and on, we're starting to run out of the essentials (Coca Cola), the kids are fighting yet again over some wood blocks that they haven't played with in over 3 years, Jackson's hungry, Jordan's bored, Jackson keeps touching Jordan, Jordan keeps looking at Jackson, Jordan's feet are in Jackson's face, Jackson's butt is in Jordan's face - Daddy is eyeballing that Tylenol bottle and wondering if there are enough capsules to actually induce a coma that would last through the holidays. I could self-medicate except that it would not be fair to dear wife, Debbie, to have to endure this all alone. But wait - having kids was Debbie's idea anyway, right? It's all her fault, right? All I ever wanted was to be a Rock Star. Ozzy never had to deal with this. Yes, yes, just a few capsules and a shot of Crown and we could ride this Arctic Blast out fine. 

So, you can see how the dementia could to set in and how Jack Torrance could eventually end up running through the halls wielding an ax. Except Jack had the whole of Timberline Lodge to go nuts in, while ol' Matty has all of 1502 square feet in a ranch spec home in suburban Camas to try to keep it together.

All I can say is Thank God for Looney Tunes and 101 Dalmatians. Finally, in desperation we decided to just start opening Christmas presents early. We love our children so much that we overindulge at Christmas time and could probably open presents all month with the bounty stacked up in the closet. We decided that 90 minutes of 101 Dalmatians and over 200 minutes of Looney Tunes classics, played at least 3 times per day, would give us at least 8 hours of sanity per day. We're not typically electronic parents, but for the sake of our children's' welfare we do what we must. We opened the movies and thanks to Wile E. Coyote, Foghorn Leghorn, and Cruella de Ville peace and tranquility have returned to our house.  Now if I only had some Crown.

Editors note: The above is all written in jest with some artistic license taken. I love my children and do not even own an ax. I would NEVER mix Tylenol and Crown because everyone knows that you mix Vicodin with Crown. And finally: IT'S STILL FREAKING SNOWING!

Pre-School Dictionary

Another installment of the Pre-School Dictionary:  AKA, Things You Need to Know (Courtesy of Jackson)

1.  Temperature Knower = Ear Thermometer.

2.  Drinking Medicine = Children's Tylenol (liquid kind)

3.  Poopie Head = Your older brother who's continually up in your business.

4.  My Bones are Broken = Perfectly logical reason for not wanting to go to bed on time.  (Yeah, I don't get it, either)

Rave: Disneyland

Well, I'm back and nearly recovered from the family vacation, sponsored by the family Scrapbook.  As an overview, we spent 4 nights in Anaheim (3 days at Disneyland) and 3 nights in San Diego.

It went really well.  But first off I have to rave a little about my wife, Debbie.  Debbie is a planner.  I am not.  I typically do my planning on the plane somewhere in-between final boarding and the first go-around with the drink tray.  I pack the morning of, and then once we're in the plane I'm like, "Debbie, where are we going first?  How many nights are we going to be gone?  When do we get back?  How much did this all cost?  Who are these kids, I thought they were going to their gramma's house.  How much did this all cost?"

When I took my Europe trip I had thought about it for 14 years, but finally got down to planning about 1 week beforehand.

So, Debbie planned the entire thing and it went off without a hitch.  So for Debbie - a big THANK YOU.   The only thing she overlooked was the HEAT WAVE going on in Southern California.  Anyone who knows me knows that I have a comfort zone between 72 and 77 degrees.  I think my internal thermostat was damaged whilst living in Spain where it would get to 90 degrees for days on end without AC.  It was in the mid-90s in SoCal so I suffered for that.

Anyway, I have to say I was very very impressed with Disneyland.  I haven't been since I was about 6 years old - barely remember a thing except for the "Pirates of the Caribbean" and "Haunted House" rides.  Let me say, Disneyland is spotless.  It's like everything looks brand spanking new.  Everything is so well kept up and clean.  Also, the employees are great.  So nice, and so well informed about the goings on at the park.  I think Disneyland is well organized and easy to get around.  As for waiting in line, the worst wait we had was for the new Nemo ride (the old submarine ride), where we waited about an hour.  Otherwise, it was about 15 to 30 minute waits for the rides.  In retrospect, it may have been the heat wave keeping the crowds to a minimum... I dunno.  After trying to do everything, I finally made the command decision that the boys really just want to ride the same 10 rides, so we just did those over and over, and stop at every food vendor that Jordan passed by:  "Daddy look, Hot Fresh Popcorn".  I took a little personal leave at one point and rode the big-boy rides.  I also rode Dumbo about a dozen times.

But most importantly, the boys had a fantastic time.  You know it's going great when Jordan says after a very grueling 1st day:  "Daddy, this is the best day I've ever had."  That there is powerful stuff.  And though you hate to see your kids cry, it is probably a sign of a job well done when your son bawls when he leaves Disneyland on the last night because he wants to live there.  Warms the cockles of a parent's heart I say.  So, regardless of my heat-suffering we had a great time in Disneyland, and I'd love to go back.

Our room... suite really... in San Diego was to die for.  I don't know how we did it, but we got some sort of upgrade at the Catamaran Resort at Mission Bay.  Somehow we got into a two-room suite on the 11th floor with a view of both the bay and the ocean.  The kids loved it of course since it was right on the beach but also had a pool, and also had Koi ponds.  The elevator being the most fun feature for the kids of course - many disputes over who was pushing the buttons.  The Chases could never afford this kind of thing in real life, but somehow it happened, and ruined any chance of us ever going to San Diego again because after this swanky joint I just could never go back to a HoJo's.  A big thumbs-up for the Catamaran Resort - super nice place.

The final day we went to the San Diego Zoo.  It's huge and that's all I want to say about that since it was hot as shit.  Then we had some time to kill so we cruised over to the old US Navy Recruit Training Command where I went through boot camp about 21 years ago.  Not much of it left, but I was able to visit some old ghosts.  Debbie was unimpressed, but what do expect from a total civilian?

Nobody got sick, nobody got lost, nobody got sunburned, so overall it was a resounding success.

Boogity Boogity Boogity: How I Stopped the Hate and Learned to Love NASCAR

It's my son, Jordan's fault. Nope, make that my dad's fault. Nope, really it's Jordan's fault. Let's start from the beginning.

Back in the early 70s my dad took me to a stock car race. We were living in Pensacola, Florida. In P-Cola going to a car race (pronounced: Core race) is about as normal as going to the Piggly Wiggly. My dad had a friend who knew a friend who knew the then up-and-comer-future-star Darrel Waltrip. He was driving the old #17 at short tracks throughout the south. So, I got to meet Darrel Waltrip before he was famous. Got his photo, got an autograph, may have even sat in the car but I don't recall (maybe my dad will chime in).

I can't really blame it on my dad, though. I did watch races as a lad, but back in those days all we had was Wide World of Sports. Races weren't really shown on TV like nowadays - they just showed highlights and snippets and not all the stuff that goes with a race like we see now. Anyway, after leaving the South I also left core racing behind. As a young adult, and even as a middle-ager I made fun of NASCAR like any other respectable Yankee. I would say the obvious: Turn Left, Turn left.... oops another left.... no take a left.

So, yes, it's my son Jordan's fault. Let me elaborate. My son, Jordan, talks a blue streak. He gets up at 6 every morning and just starts talking. He doesn't stop talking until he falls asleep. He's also a loud talker. He's also one of those talkers who needs somebody listening, responding, validating, and all those other Dr. Phil words. He has always been this way. About 2 years ago this time he was talking a blue streak as usual, when the TV dial (remember TV dials?) stopped on a NASCAR race. My normally talkative son was dumbstruck - moreover, he was dead quiet... for like 30 minutes. It was AWESOME! He was utterly fascinated watching all the numbered cars going around the oval. He was completely taken with the little ticker that runs along the top of the screen which keeps track of all the cars' positions. And, we had peace and quiet for once.

This didn't last long, though. I think it was me who had the bright idea to go and BUY a NASCAR car. I took Jordan down to Target and cruised the toy isle for something resembling a Nascar. Well, whaddya know, they actually make little cars JUST like the ones on TV. I had him pick one out. He chose the #42 Texaco/Havoline Dodge., at the time driven by Casey Mears. Well, Jordan took that little car, found a few others in his toy box that had numbers on them, and started having his own races. Up to this point in his life, Jordan expressed very little interest in "boys" things, preferring to read and do math problems. I was thrilled that he was being a boy, and encouraged him to explore this newfound interest. Also, watching the races together gave us something in common that was fun to do. Before I knew it I was actually looking forward to the Sunday race, checking into Nascar.com to read up, and slowly getting into NASCAR. Well, now two years and 30-some miniature NASCARS later, at about 5 bucks a pop, my son Jordan has the entire NASCAR field at his disposal. His "races" have grown beyond belief. He has driver introductions, the National Anthem, an Air Force flyby, and does his own commentary. The race begins at about 6:30AM and runs about 1/2 hour, and includes crashes, spinouts, pit stops, and more crashes and spinouts. And... it is LOUD now. Imagine waking up to Montoya spinning out Pruett? Every morning. 

Now everyone in the family is involved. We all have our favorites. Jordan roots for the #42 Juan Pablo Montoya, the #5 Casey Mears, and the #20 Tony Stewart. I also root for the #42 because it's so fun to watch Jordan root, and because he's from another country which really pisses the Bubbas off. And I also root for my local boy #16 Greg Biffle. Debbie roots for #99 Carl Edwards "because he's dreamy." Jackson pulls for the #24 Jeff Gordon. 

Well, I'm out of the closet now with my liking of NASCAR. I came clean to my buddy, Dale, one day. He told me it was like hearing his best friend was gay. How could I watch cars go around and around turning left? I told him, "same as you can watch Golf on TV, it's like they all have the same swing."  Well, I can't explain - it has to be in your blood I guess.

Last year for Father's Day, Debbie organized a trip for us to go watch a real NASCAR sponsored event.  It wasn't the "on TV guys" but the local up-and-comers.  We went to a 1/2-mile track in Roseburg, Oregon, and Jordan and I watched two races in one day.  I was concerned that Jordan would quickly tire of the monotony of a real race.  But, this turned out to not be the case.  Not only was Jordan completely and utterly INTO the races, he wanted to see another that night.  Jordan and I had a blast - it was a great time for sure, and I will always remember that day.

I get kidded by other adults for being into NASCAR, but I read somewhere that "if you are interested in what your kids' are interested in, someday they might be interested in what you're interested in," or some Dr. Phil shit like that.  

Well, I'm out of the closet, Loud and Proud, and now you have to deal with me.

 

Miner 49'er

My children are nose-pickers. That's to put it mildly. In truth they are nose miners - they dig deep for the choicest nuggets. I've threatened to cut fingers off, put dog poop on the fingers, and cutting noses off - to no avail. Having grown tired of this, like my father before me, I started just making shit up.

The other day I told Jackson that his nose hole is connected to his eye, and if he picked his nose too hard he would poke his eye out. This is partly true. I suppose somehow somewhere the nasal passage meets the tear duct, but it's probably a shaky connection at best. But, these are just kids, right?

So, I was driving around with Jackson and Jordan, giving Debbie some time off for Mothers' Day. The car grew very quiet so I tipped the mirror to find both kids knuckle deep. I told Jackson, "Jackson, if you put your finger too far in your nose you will poke your eye out. It will fall right out and fall on the ground, and a dog will come by and eat it, and you won't be able to see anymore."

Jordan asks if this is true. I say, "Yes, when I was little I knew a boy who poked his eye all the way out and it fell in the ground, just like a little ball."

About 10 minutes passes by, and sure enough, it's harvest time again. I again warn Jordan about the dangers of nose picking, when Jordan just says plainly, "I don't think that's right."

Then Jackson says, "I can't poke my eye out, Daddy, there's a turn inside my nose. I might break my finger."

How far does one dig to hit "the turn?"

One kid uses logic, and the other uses brute force. This is so much like them.