Michael’s How To…

Posted on March 10, 2011 | 11 Comments

How To Get Dressed In The Morning

in thirty easy steps!

 

Step 1: Notice that your mom has brought your clothes downstairs and put them directly in front of you.

Step 2: Draw a smiley face on your Magna-Doodle.

Step 3: fling your stuffed dolphin into the air five or six times. build nest for dolphin.

Step 4: Acknowledge your father’s loud imperative with a grunt, drop nest pillows.

Step 5: Consider removing your pajama shirt.

Step 6: Notice depleted glow-stick lodged between couch cushions, remove and wave about.

Step 7: Take off pajama top.

Step 8: Ask to watch SpongeBob.

Step 9: Complain about the unfairness of not being able to watch SpongeBob until after getting dressed and finishing breakfast.

Step 10: Take off pajama bottom.

Step 11: Attempt to turn pajama bottom right-side out, abandon project after succeeding only in repeatedly turning it out half right, alternating between one leg and then the other.

Step 12: Ask where clothes are.

Step 13: Prance around naked until father redirects you.

Step 14: Notice large orange ruler nearby, insert into strap of dolphin pillow pet.

Step 15: Hunt for underwear.

Step 16: Ask where clothes are again.

Step 17: Notice clothes are underneath pillows and blankets that you’d just strewn around back around steps 3 and 4.

Step 18: Pull on underwear, complain of them being tight. consider father’s words about how the tightness might be due to them being on sideways.

Step 19: Re-orient underwear.

Step 20: Place socks on hands, put on a sock puppet show for parents.

Step 21: Put pants on. backwards.

Step 22: Ask father how much three plus three plus four plus four plus six plus twenty plus a billion plus a billion plus one thousand is.

Step 23: Ignore father’s dictate to finish putting on clothes.

Step 24: Drape shirt over arms and tuck under chin to make it look like it you’re wearing it.

Step 25: Repeat math question.

Step 26: Insist to your father that you’re actually wearing your shirt, therefore you’re done getting dressed.

Step 27: Actually put on shirt.

Step 28: Repeat step 22, tucking chin to chest to make it look like you’re trying to fool your father into believing that you really didn’t put on your shirt.

Step 29: Mutter that your father has no sense of humor.

Step 30: Place socks on feet.

See how simple that is? In a matter of a mere forty-eight minutes, you’ll be fully dressed and ready to go.

Next time I’ll cover the thirty five steps to eating your Wheaties.

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Posted in frustration, inscrutable, michael

Newness

Posted on March 7, 2011 | 4 Comments

Spring is here.

Okay, not quite. But I’m ready for it anyway.

And with it comes a fresh format.

The old, dark, treehouse background was growing mildew; I’ve been getting tired of looking at it, to be honest. That, and the family is transitioning. The girls are teenagers (Lord help me) and aren’t as involved in the daily antics of home life, opting instead to spend time text messaging, hiding in their rooms or hanging out with friends.

Sister B is almost 18. Sister S will be 17 at the end of the year, and sister L will be 15 on her next birthday, which is rapidly approaching.

Michael, of course, is sprinting toward age 7, and we’re anticipating all of the joys and sorrows, tribulations and victories that comprise that particular stage of life.

The scene shown in the comparatively minuscule header above depicts a common occurrence: Daddy chauffeuring Michael to some destination (e.g. school, swimming, errands) while Michael fills the airspace with his inimitable, inscrutable and fundamentally unrelenting palaver.

It’s different. It’s a contrast change. But mostly, the header is smaller so you don’t have to scroll down as far to get to the post. You’re welcome.

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Posted in Blog

One of them Countries

Posted on March 2, 2011 | 4 Comments

Last night Michael and his sister S decided upon watching an old episode of Scooby Doo while waiting for dinner to be ready. She was glad to see it was an original episode from 1970, and not one of the “cheap imitations they make now.” It makes me proud to know she appreciates the classics.

As is inevitable in every Scooby Doo episode, time came for the Pop Music Backed Chase Scene, in which Shaggy and Scooby run from the ghost/ghoul/monster/creep with much hilarity, while accompanied by such marvelous pop tunes as “Daydreamin’” and “Tell Me, Tell Me”.

During this particular episode, the gang was being chased by a very dapper but nonetheless headless man, to the strains of “Seven Days a Week.”

Sister S spoke up: “Why do they use so many Beatles songs in these shows?”

“That’s not a Beatles song. It just sounds like it,” I said.

“It’s not? It really sounds like the Beatles,” she said.

“It’s supposed to. That was the popular sound for that time. A lot of pop groups sounded like that then. They were still riding the tail end of the British Invasion, which was ushered in by the Beatles primarily,” I said.

The discussion ended at that point. I served dinner up and we all sat down to eat.

Eventually Sister S and Michael were excused from the table while my wife and I finished up our salads.

“So, why were we at war with the French?” Sister S said out of nowhere.

“What?” I asked.

“You said it was the French War.”

“I don’t remember saying that,” I said, trying hard to recall what phrase or phonemes I might have uttered that came out sounding like “French War”.

“Yeah,” she insisted, “you said Scooby Doo was made during the War with the French or something.”

It suddenly dawned upon my wife where the misunderstanding was.

“That’s not what he said. He said it was during the British Invasion.”

Silence.

“Oh.”

French, British, whatever. It’s some other country over there.

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Posted in daughters, family, moments

Quoth Daddy

Posted on March 1, 2011 | 5 Comments

“Thanking the universe for your blessings is like thanking the walls of the restaurant for your meal.” – Me.

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Posted in life, ponderings

Smartness

Posted on February 23, 2011 | 9 Comments

The Portland area forecast is for rain/snow mix, and lots of it. They’ve been talking about it for days.

I’ve already assured my wife I’ll be bringing my laptop home from work in case we get snowed in. She’s requested that I put her snow tires on in case it’s really bad.

I drove to work today in wintry conditions: foreboding sprinkles and near-freezing temperatures.

So naturally, for my lunchtime errand, despite seeing the heavy, dark ominous clouds looming overhead and moving inland, my thought was:

“Nah, I don’t need to bring my coat.”

And after returning from my errand, looking very much like a drowned rat from having sprinted through the sudden (but nonetheless predictable) deluge of sleet and rain, I ponder my choice. Was it a bad one? Yes.

Will I learn from it? Probably not.

I’m glad my wife puts up with me.

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Posted in life, moments, ponderings

Oprah is Not My Friend

Posted on February 19, 2011 | 8 Comments

On Thursday, Michael and I happened to be watching the news while he was finishing up breakfast.

On comes a commercial for an upcoming Oprah show.

It shows a video recording of a little boy storming around a house in a screaming rage, while Oprah’s voice intones ominously: “…seven years old, he tried to kill his OWN MOTHERRRRRRRRR….”

That’s all Michael needed to hear.

I had to spend the next hour or so inventing from whole cloth explanations as to why the little boy was angry, who he was, what happened to his mom, how he got better, what was wrong in his head, when it happened, and whether he’d some day show up on our doorstep screaming and wielding a knife.

Later that day, after school, I had to go through the explanations again. He brought it up to his mom, and I had to explain to her what the commercial was about, and how deeply those fifteen some odd seconds of airplay affected our son.

That night we prayed extra hard for happy thoughts and protection from evil.

Friday morning, Michael came into our room at 4:00 sniffling and weeping about a bad dream he had. He wasn’t tremendously coherent at that point, and we weren’t able to get out of him exactly what he’d dreamt about, but I knew it was likely born of what he’d seen and heard the day before.

He had a pretty good day Friday, but by the evening he was once again concerned about his mommy’s safety and about his own overwhelming emotions in general.

This morning, once again, he came into our room way too early, crying and snuffling about another bad dream, something concerning his mother and his classmates having to go away.

“I should ship Michael off to Oprah so she can soothe away his nightmares,” I said.

Anyone know her address?

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Posted in michael, moments, morning, parenting

The Pecking Order, Defined

Posted on February 14, 2011 | 8 Comments

Daddy: “Michael, I need you to put your jammies on. It’s almost bedtime.”

Michael: “All right, all right. I’ll listen to your words and do it.”

Daddy: “I’m really glad to hear you say that. That makes me happy to know you’re listening.”

Michael: “…because you’re the boss of me.”

Daddy: “That’s right, I am.”

Michael: “…and Mommy is the boss of you.”

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Posted in dad, inscrutable, michael, moments

Things Unspoken

Posted on February 11, 2011 | 6 Comments

There’s stuff you can write about, and there is stuff you can’t.

Sometimes it seems like the “can’t say” stuff is just too much. You have to deal with them pretty much every day in some way or another; you have to shoulder weighty burdens that have no short-term resolution, if any…

“I got it! I got it! I got it!”

“I ain’t got it.”

…and you really want to write about it.

I’m sure you can all relate to this. Blogging can be very cathartic; it provides a venue for expressing frustrations and hopes and for relating funny family stories or regaling others with details of family adventures. But there are some things you just gotta keep to yourself.

Suffice it to say: I am very thankful for Michael’s Mommy who supports me, and for the Lord who renews my strength.

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Posted in dad, life, ponderings, stress

When I was three…

Posted on February 9, 2011 | 3 Comments

…the Top 40 chart leader was that Nancy Sinatra song: “These Boots Are Made For Walkin’”. As I recall, the lyrics were: “blah blah blah blah blah ONE OF THESE DAYS THESE BOOTS ARE GOING TO WALK ALL OVER YOU.”

And in my tiny, pre-school, everything-is-literal brain, I believed the song was a horrific announcement that out there, somewhere, was a pair of boots walking around crushing children. I knew that it was only a matter of time before they found me and WALKED ALL OVER ME.

I lived in silent dread, waiting for those boots to show up.

At the same time, I lived in fear of an anvil falling out of the sky, but for some reason only while riding in the car. And this is why I never stuck my head out the window.

It was a rough year.

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Posted in family, memories, ponderings

Skunk, continued

Posted on February 7, 2011 | 5 Comments

After a week of keeping traps out and baited, we have caught no skunk.

But we have trapped opossums six times. I don’t know if there are six possums living under the deck or if there are just two really stupid ones that don’t seem to learn from past mistakes. Either way, I’ve called the trapper guy to come out and whisk off the two I found trapped this morning. They can go be stupid somewhere else.

The real kicker today didn’t concern the possums or the skunk. Sister S had been concerned for her cat. Sister B had her dog spend the night Saturday, and S was worried that her cat might run off.

Most of yesterday cat was no where to be seen. Even after dog went back home, cat remained missing.

This morning, cat was not stationed outside the bathroom door, waiting for sister S to finish her morning ablutions. Cat did not come running for breakfast when the can of Friskies was opened.

“Tom? I’m worried about the cat,” she said finally, before heading off to school.

“Why?”

“She hasn’t shown up this morning. She usually comes in for breakfast. I haven’t seen her all night.”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll turn up. We saw her yesterday when the dog was here,” I said, trying to be reassuring without giving in to the possibility of her freaking out.

“I guess so…”

She gathered her things and headed out, shutting and locking the door behind her.

Not two minutes later, she came back in.

“I found the cat. She’s in one of the traps.”

“Oh, jeez…” I got up and got my shoes on and headed out the front door.

She’d finally gotten herself trapped, like I was worried she’d do three years ago.

I approached the trap in the front. Sure enough, out of the trap droned the most pitiful sound: “YOWL! YOWL! YOWL! YOWL!”

“Hold on, kitty. I got you,” I said, lifting the mechanism and opening the door. She shot out of it like a fuzzy black howitzer shell, still yowling repeatedly, before she disappeared under the back fence.

I came back inside and told my wife. Then yowly cat could be heard again, this time from inside the garage, where she sat in front of her cat door, no doubt terrified that it too could be another trap.

I’m sure it’ll be another year of re-training before she starts using small, hinged-door entrances again.

I hope the skunk is gone.

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Posted in family, life, moments, stress