Private Caller

It never usually does but, for reasons unknown, the message indicator light on the answering machine caught my eye at lunch this afternoon.

Please leave us a message after the tone...

"Hello," came the woman's voice.  "Yes, I don't know who you are but I was just lettin' you know..."

Oh Lord, this can't end well.

"...that I had about 15 phone calls from a little boy from this phone number..."

Please tell me he was just asking you if your refrigerator was running.

"...that he is just like...requesting...all kinds of music."

Well, that narrows the field to two.  Hold on a second.  He's what?

"So I'll just let you know that he's not calling people that he knows.  Thank you.  Bye."

Tuesday...eight thirty-two AM.

Justin!

"Justin?"

"What?"

"Remember when you said that Max gave you that telephone number?"

"He did!"

"Oh, I believe that.  But, I don't think it's for the radio station.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that the lady it belongs to is not at all interested in playing any of the music you want to hear."

"Oh."

"Would you please stop calling it, especially since it's long distance, and let Mom and me help you look up the toll-free number?"

"Okay."

- 31 January 2012

Animal Expert

As a matter of fact...

"Because I am an animal expert and an animal rescue hero.  That's how God made me."

And that's all there is to it.

- 4 February 2006

Aquatic Adventures

It's fascinating to watch your children be creative.  Most of the time, I am able to keep up and follow along with their various processes as they play.  This bath time adventure, however, was eluding me.  There was something about the way the cars and toy soldiers were behaving that led me to believe I did not fully understand what I was witnessing.

"What's happening here?" I asked Justin as I surveyed the collection of toys that lined every available inch of the rim of the tub.

"I'm fighting sharks and octopuses with ropes...and monkeys."

But of course.  Go monkeys!

- 11 November 2003

I Really Like Magic

It is extremely difficult for anyone without ADHD to understand what it is like to live with this disorder.  Indeed, it is often difficult for those of us who do to understand either, let alone provide a decent explanation.

My best accounting comes in the form of two analogies:

The ADHD Mind

The subconscious mind is always in and never out.  Information flows in and is retained forever.  To the sans ADHD individual, the mind is like a neatly organized dresser or closet.  Everything is carefully folded and put away.  A place for everything and everything in it's place.  The ADHD mind, on the other hand, is like a clothes dryer.  It's all there, of course, forever tumbling and spinning - sometimes damp, sometimes dry but always wrinkled.  Once in a while you must open the door to retrieve something, only to find that the safety mechanism is broken and the dryer will not stop running.  Unfortunately, you have to find what you're looking for anyway.  Usually, something else comes flying out instead.  I think this quote from Jomadado sums it up nicely.

"I don't lack the ability to focus.  I have the super mind powers to focus on tons of things all at the same time.  So take that, boring normal brain people."

I myself  have tried all of the medications at one point or another.  Some of them simply prevent the dryer from running altogether while others short out the electronics, causing the drum to rotate twice as fast and/or use twice as much heat.  A few will even fix the safety mechanism and allow you to complete your laundry.  In any event, they are all temporary measures.

The other key component to ADHD survival is leaning how your mind functions with ADHD both medicated and un-medicated.  Again, I refer to my analogy.  I have read the instruction manual a hundred times.  Most of the time I am absorbing the words and their meaning.  A great deal of the learning process, however, still boils down to trial and error - button pushing.  What happens when I turn this dial or push this button?  Sometimes the clothes are still wet.  Sometimes they shrink.  What does Permanent Press really mean and what happens when the clothes fit into more than one drying cycle category?  The machine won't let me select more than one cycle at once!  Now what?

I have called the repair technicians (doctors) on numerous occasions.  They have taught me how to jerry-rig a switch but there is really only so much they can do to help as they each own a major appliance but none owns a dryer specifically.

Coping With the ADHD Mind

In the end, it comes down to learning how to bake cookies.  I have all of the ingredients and a really terrific recipe (my brain and an understanding of how it works).  I have learned how to carefully mix and measure, but in the end, I will need an oven (meds).  None of these things will work independently.  Without the oven, I will just make myself sick eating raw cookie dough.  Without the ingredients, I am just wasting electricity.  Without the recipe...well, yuck.

Now imagine trying to help your children bake their own cookies.  Each one of them is using different ingredients, a different recipe (written in a language that they do not speak) and a completely different oven.  It is an awesome challenge.

That is why I find sayings about ADHD so amusing.  They are, at once, both side-splittingly humorous and completely true.  I know!  Yesterday, while at work, a friend of mine sent me an email containing one such saying.  As I did a little digging to find the source, I ran across two others.  All three have become favorites of mine and each one of which perfectly and accurately describes either me or my sons.

• Attention deficit disorder should be called attention-to-lots-and-lots-and-lots-of-things-and-some-other-stuff-except-the-one-thing-I-really-should-be-paying-attention-to disorder.
• Ask me about my attention deficit disorder or pie or my cat.  A dog.  I have a bike.  Do you like TV?  I saw a rock.  Hi.

And my all-time favorite.

• My ADD makes it hard for me to focus and focus sounds like hocus pocus and I really like magic a whole lot.  Abracadabra.

And so, my friends...
It's cereal time.  What smells like mustard?  The grass it tall.  Bye.

- 27 January 2012

Quotes by jomadado.  Follow this link to visit jomadado on Twitter.

Remember?

For a three-year-old, who had been the only child, having a baby brother was a difficult adjustment.  The adjustment was not made easier by the new brother's increasing mobility.  Justin, being a very smart boy, had devised a plan.

"Baby!  Please try to ignore me...remember?!

- 29 April 2004

Sunday Morning Scandal

Ashley had taken the older boys to Sunday school and mass was over an hour away.  Logan was well occupied in another part of the house so now was the perfect time to strip and remake the beds.  The last thing I needed was "help".  I had no sooner removed the sheets and blankets when I heard Logan running down the hall calling, "Daddy!"  As I turned to leave the room, Logan came skidding to a stop in the doorway.  His face registered a look of shock and he drew breath.

"Daddy!  These beds are naked!"

Thanks for your help, Logan.

- 22 January 2012

Good Story

It has become clear that Justin's story telling lessons are not progressing in the desired manner.

"Once, at the family reunion...I think it was the family reunion...I don't remember.  Grandpa took me to this store...some kind of store with these things..."

Oh, do tell.

"I don't remember what it was called.  They had these things that looked like mini-grenades."

Fascinating.

"I asked grandpa what they were and he said 'mini-grenades.'"

"Good story," I replied.  "You should remember that one and tell it at the next family reunion."

Please just don't tell me again...and pass the green beans.

- 23 January 2012

The Boy Whisperer

I am in absolute awe of my wife - a general acknowledgement as to my state of being, but particularly noteworthy given what I found when I walked in the door just now.

Grandma and Grandpa came for a visit this afternoon.  True to form, all three boys put on spectacular displays of monkeyshine, skylarking and tomfoolery.  Logan had not had a nap and Justin and Ethan were wound up.  Much to my delight, as Ashley's folks headed home, I was sent to the grocery store...alone.  This is usually both a blessing and a curse.  I am temporarily blessed with the peace of a solitary existence but cursed with having to return to who on earth knows what.

As I pulled into the driveway, I saw no indications of smoke - good.  When I got out of the truck and grabbed the grocery sacks, I was not immediately aware of screaming, shouting or other vocal manifestations - great.  I opened the back door and set the groceries down, taking note of the fact that there were no signs of blood or a struggle and Ashley was not making a bid for freedom shouting "it's your turn" as she left - excellent.  It did strike me as odd that all of the lights were off but it had been sunny earlier and it wasn't dark outside so I didn't pay much attention.  While putting the groceries away, I noticed that I had bought the wrong yogurt (mostly because it was different from what was still in the refrigerator) and I knew I would be in trouble.  Rats!  Time to go confess. 

I went to find Ashley.  As I passed the living room, I noticed that the blinds were drawn and the lights were off.  That's when I realized that both of the older boys were asleep on the couches and had used the pillows as blankets.  Ashley and Logan were also asleep on their respective beds.  How did she do that?  Logan I get, but how did she get the older boys to take naps...at their age...in the same room?  If I had tried something that bold it would have had to involve duct tape and a tranquilizer dart.

The house has a peculiar feeling.  It is not used to silent stillness at this hour.  Even as I sit here typing I am struck by the oddity of it all, especially given the time.

Hold on a second!

Okay, everyone is still breathing and the pillows are being used as blankets.

I really, really, really want to wake her up and find out how she did it but I really, really, really think that would be a bad idea.  Maybe I should leave well enough alone.  Yes, I think that's best.  Perhaps I don't want to know.

- 22 January 2012

Strange Banner

Just when I thought that the car ride couldn't get any more interesting...

"Piles of the month?!  Eww!  That's g-r-o-s-s!"

Now don't misunderstand - while I may not be Shari's biggest fan, I enjoy their food just as much as the next guy, especially their...

"Pies, Ethan!  That sign says 'Pies of the Month.'"

"Oh, phew!  I did not want to know what kind of piles they were talking about."

Me either, kiddo.  Me either.

- 21 January 2012

Traditions

Apparently, my sons are either not going to learn this lesson at all or it is going to be a long and painful road to enlightenment.

• When you insist on watching a scary movie...and you make me promise not to scare you...and I agree...I am l-y-i-n-g.

Granted, the boys are far more desensitized than I was at their age.  They are, nevertheless, able to be scared.  As we sat down to watch Poltergeist last night, the atmosphere was electric.  Lights were on and escape routes had been planned and tested.  The movie progressed without incident, including the obligatory face hiding and at least one request to shut it off (which was not fulfilled...nor did the requesting boy leave).  I will concede that 1982 doesn't really hold a candle to the kind of horror movies and visual effects that people of this youngest generation are sadly used to, but the boys loved it anyway.  When it was finished, I was slightly crestfallen that they didn't appear to be as frightened as I had hoped...or so they said.

<insert evil grin and maniacal laughter here>

Remember, Justin, Ethan and Logan, I may be a lot of things but dumb is not one of them.  I too am a boy.

"Boys.  Brush your teeth, it's time for bed," I called.

There were the usual shenanigans and buffoonery.  I waited patiently.  Now there was whispering.  The shell of bravery was beginning to crack.

"Ethan, come with me," Justin whispered.

"No, Justin.  I have to brush my teeth too," Ethan said.

"Just come with me and wait while I brush my teeth.  Then I'll go with you," Justin suggested.

"Okay," Ethan agreed.

Off they plodded to the bathroom at the back of the house.  There was nervous silence.  Aha!  I crept down the hall and through the kitchen.  Suddenly, I leapt out from behind the wall and roared.  The terror was all consuming and absolute.  My work was complete.

What!?  Wasn't that the reason we became parents...to be able to share these precious moments with our offspring...to cause them to soil themselves and have nightmares...to continue the noble tradition of inflicting psychological damage upon each successive generation as was done to us at the same tender age?  No??  Oh, too bad.

Perhaps then, I should have felt bad that Justin and Ethan continued to quietly brush their teeth as silent and angry tears streamed down their faces.  They didn't speak to me for the rest of the evening.

- 20 January 2012

Birthday Monsters

One of Logan's favorite books is Birthday Monsters by Sandra Boynton.  In one part of the story, all five monsters receive presents including a hat, a truck, a toy monster and a tie bow (only recently committed to memory as a bow tie).  The fifth monster has his hands in the box but you cannot see his present.  Logan always laughs over each of the silly monsters and their gifts but pauses over the last one and falls silent.  You can practically hear the gears grinding as he puzzles over what that present could be.  This mystery distresses him greatly.

A few nights ago, I decided to ask him what he thought was in the box.  Logan is a very clever boy and I knew that he would have an interesting answer.  At my question, I was given a look both thoughtful and concerned as he got up on all fours and peered at the book.  He got close enough to press his nose against the page and I could tell that he was trying to see inside the box.  I received another fretful glance before he returned to the book to think.  I was excited - this was going to be great!  Finally, with a sigh of great relief and a tone of voice that said, "don't worry, I've got this all figured out," he turned back to me.

"How 'bout we turn the page and keep going?"

- 12 January 2012

Our Crazy Language

English is the most widely used language on our planet.  Comprised of over two million words and almost as many rules it is a very complicated and crazy language to learn.  One in every seven people can speak it, over half of the world's books and three-quarters of the world's mail are written in it.  With that much clout behind it, how do explain to your three-year-old that he can't use the word "skecher" as a verb?

"How do you skecher your shoes?" Logan asked, as we dug a pair out of the cubbyhole and prepared to put them on.

"Do you mean how do you put them on?" I asked, searching for some clarification.

"NO!" he snapped.  "How do your skecher your shoes?!"

The same way you huggie your diapers or Levi your blue jeans I suppose.  I'll have to get back to you on that.  In the meantime, go ask your mother.

- 12 January 2012

I Didn't Need to Know

"Dad!"

Curses, curses, curses, curses, curses.  I stumbled out of bed and attempted to find my brain through the fog of sleep.  Was I cursing out loud?  No, I'm pretty sure that was in my head.  I navigated my way into the next room.

"Ethan?"

"What?"

"What is it?" came my angry whisper.

"Logan's in my bed."

I was mad at this statement and the boy who had made it.  Was it because I knew that, if I left Logan in bed with Ethan, he would bother Ethan with flailing limbs and endless questions?  No.  Was it because I knew that removing Logan would cause him to start crying and wake up the entire house?  No.  Was it because it was 3:32 AM?  No.  It was all of these things...and more.

"Ethan."

"What?"

"When you first went to bed last night, and Logan climbed up here, you tried to tell me---"

"That Logan was up here," he cut across.

Curses.

"When you first went to bed, and Logan climbed up here, you tried to convince me to let him stay."

"I know."

Curses, curses.

"Then why can't he stay now?"

"He can!"

Curses, curses, curses.

"Then why did you call me in here?"

"I wanted to tell you that Logan was up here."

Oh for cryin' out loud!  Next time...write me a letter!

- 19 January 2012

Stupid Cool

When it was time to leave the park...

"What?!  We wasted so much time on the stupid...cool toys!"

I would offer you words of consolation, if only I knew how you felt.  Next time you'll have to use your time more foolishly...wisely?  I hope you're not too happy...disappointed?  When we come back you should try out the awesome...lame toys! 

- 29 June 2007

May I Help You?

Boys don't listen.  Time and again they will ask you a question and by the time they have reached the question mark at the end of the sentence, they're gone.  Do I know where they go?  No I do not.  They appear to be standing in front of you but as for the rest of it, well...  All I can attest to is the simple truth that they are no longer present in the here and now.  These are the facts, do with them what you will.

When I arrived home this evening, Ethan immediately started quizzing me about the possibility of having a friend spend the night this weekend.  After clearing up the confusion that stemmed from not listening to the answer his mother had already given him, I went to find a change of clothes and Ethan went to find the phone.

As I rummaged through the clean laundry bins it became apparent that I was no longer alone.  When I turned around, there stood Ethan, starring at me with the phone to his ear, clearly making a call.  I continued with my pursuit until I realized that Ethan was waiting for me.  It was an awkward moment - each of us standing there - nothing being or having been said.  Admittedly, I felt silly engaging in a telephone conversation when I wasn't actually on the phone so I asked,

"May I help you?"

"Um, Mom told me to come and ask you my question," he replied, keeping the phone pressed to his ear.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I already knew the translation of that statement but I decided not to jump to any conclusions and give him the benefit of the doubt.  There was an enduring silence during which I could hear voices on the other end of the telephone connection.  I cocked my head to one side and waited.

"What question did Mom want you to ask me?" I prompted at last.

"I don't know," he said.

I knew it!  Ethan, are you even listening to yourself? 

Andy - 1  Benefit of the Doubt - 0

Well, as much as I enjoy our little chats, I have to go and do anything else.  If you ever figure it out...it's your mother's turn again.

- 17 January 2012

An Understanding God

Really Justin, really?

"What?  I just glanced down!"

I see.  And somehow you just happened to know exactly what I was talking about just from my glare?  Guilty much?

"I could see you reading your comic book during the prayer."

"I was not.  And it's a graphic novel."

Dude, I'm sitting three feet away from you...

"Justin, you had to move the leg you were using as a bookmark and crane your neck to see the opposite page.  I don't care what you call it.  You can put it in a dress and call it Grandma for all I care, you're missing the point."

---

"Justin!"

"What?"

"Put...the book...away."

"Sorry!  I didn't know you were talking to me."

- 16 January 2012

Carne Amante

As it became clear that the carefully planned menu was being ditched in favor of pizza, the inevitable discussion began...who wants what?  This conversation is usually short and sweet owing to the fact that everyone in the family has a favorite and I will eat anything that isn't a beet.  Thankfully, all three boys are generally of one mind so the bickering is limited to cheese or more cheese.

Hold on...what's this?  Why was I hearing the words "meat lovers" from Justin?  What happened to cheese, cheese and more cheese?

Justin, who sincerely believes that he loves pizza but, in fact, loves the idea of pizza far more, suddenly decided to branch out.  How unfortunate.  As it is, there is always begging and pleading, and when you finally give in, he barely eats an entire slice - two, if you nearly starve him to death ahead of time (this is purely speculative, of course).  What horrible timing.  And by horrible timing I mean, I like the way things have been for the past eleven years so quit with the independent thinking.

"Dad, I really love the meat lovers pizza," he informed me.

I shouldn't have been surprised.  The diligent laying of ground work for this proposal had been afoot for days.  There was careful mentioning of "meat lovers" whenever we passed a pizza shop.  He slipped the words "meat lovers" into the conversation whenever we passed the frozen foods aisle.  He launched into the story of this new found love with unflagging persistence any time anyone used a word that started with "p" .  Almost at once I began to wonder who was going to get stuck eating the rest of this meat monstrosity when he finally came to the conclusion that he didn't like it after all.

"Since when?" I ask.

I immediately regretted having spoken.

"You know how I played basketball this year..." and just like that he was off on a story of such magnitude and scope that it made the Iliad seem like a recruiting brochure for the Greek Army. 

Now, I am not one to suffer long stories but I did my absolute best to listen, fighting every single urge I had to fill in the blanks and complete his sentences in an effort to bring about the end of the story as fast as humanly possible.  My wife will tell you that this is completely ironic as I am the most long-winded person you will ever hope to meet (or not to meet as the case may be).  Finally, I had reached the end of my rope.  Too much pausing and thinking, too many "ums" and "ers" and too much time I will never get back.

"...at the end of basketball...what is it called?" he paused to think of the word "season".

"Justin!  You have got to learn how to tell a story!" I said, trying not to shout.  "Mr. Parsons - end of basketball season - team reward - meat lovers pizza - now you love it and that's all you want to eat for ever and ever - amen!"

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the look of absolute disbelief that Ashley was giving me from the passenger's seat.  Just keep that look to yourself honey, we could easily have died listening to that story.  Is that really the last thing you wanted to hear on this earth?

- 15 January 2012

In the Altogether

Many things in our household have a schedule.  Notice I did not say follow a schedule.  Nakedness, however, neither has a schedule nor follows any sort of timetable whatsoever.  I am referring, of course, to the boys' spontaneous undraping.  On a side note, I have noticed that one of the many triggers for the birthday suit bash seems to be meal time - a fact I do not wish to spend a lot of time analyzing because I am afraid of the implications.  That will be a task for my psychiatrist and the many hours of couch time that are almost certainly a part of my future.

Once again, as breakfast was coming to a close, the silent clarion call went out.  Before I knew it, Logan was at my side, leafless and crying.  Call it a hunch but I had the feeling he was not crying as a result of being au naturel.

"Why are you crying?" I asked, shaking my head.  "You seem to have forgotten your fig leaf."

"The boys closed the door to the family room in my face," he wailed.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said.

"But Da-ddy, I wanted the boys to laugh."

Well, I laughed.  Does that count?  Now, about your clothes...

- 14 January 2012

Think Again

Part of the fun of speaking Boy is being able to impart your life's experience on your sons.  Maybe not all of it, however.  To that end, anything you may have forgotten to tell the younger ones will undoubtedly be filled in by the older siblings.  As with any training plan, a flaw will occasionally be revealed.

One such crack in this foundation of learning appeared when my youngest son learned to say, "kick your butt," at the ripe old age of two.  Luckily, the source of this knowledge could easily be traced back to his older brother who was two years his senior.  Unfortunately, the trail of guilt did not stop there but continued, instead, directly back to me.  "I kick your butt," was something Ethan knew perfectly well he was not permitted to say.  In spite of this fact, he was determined to locate the exact boundaries of his parents tolerance on the subject.  Having decided that we wouldn't know what he was saying if he disguised the phrase, he put his hypothesis to the test.

"I kick your B," he shouted through a face-splitting grin.

Say that again and I kick your B!  Hmm, perhaps it was this line of thinking that got me into trouble in the first place.  I am reasonably certain that Ashley was ready to kick both of our B's.

- 10 June 2005

And There Was Much Gnashing of Teeth

Ethan was angry...very angry.  His ill temper had landed him a stint on the naughty chair.  Seething with rage and gnashing his teeth he stood on the chair and snarled his outrage.

"You're gonna pay for this."

It was cute when he was two.  Now that he's eight...not so much.

- 4 January 2006

Mighty Oaks From Little Acorns Grow

"Daddy, there's something wrong with my ear.  Last night there were acorns in it."

To this day, I still don't know what that means.

- 19 December 2003

North Africa

Watching the National Geographic channel is always a gamble when you have little children.  One evening, as the family sat on our bed, engrossed in the television program, Justin leaned over to whisper something in my ear.  I braced myself as a thousand possible five-year-old utterances raced up and down in my mind.  My brain was unable to settle on the most likely candidate before he spoke.

"In the fields of North Africa, wild butts roam."

I'm gonna be honest with you.  That was not even in the top five thousand.

- 12 January 2006

Knees

Justin had fallen and scraped both knees earlier in the day.  When it came time for his bath he made me promise to be gentle as I cleaned them.  I let him soak and splash in the warm water for a while but I didn't need to be told twice when the bath had come to an end.

"My knees are gettin' cranky," he informed me.

Okay buddy.

- 1 October 2003

Give Up the Ghost

Time to concede defeat and pack it in.

While gathered around an early spring patio fire, Ethan sat slumped in his chair, fixated on the dying embers.  He let out a long, dejected sigh.

"What's the matter, Ethan?" Ashley asked him.

"There's no food in my hand and the fire's going away."

Life is now over.

- 26 March 2007

Magic Reindeer Food

Having boys means that you are engaged in a never ending battle against sabotage.  It comes in many forms.  Sometimes it's a sortie.  Other times it's a massive and well planned attack on multiple targets.  In order to speak Boy, you have to be ready for every eventuality.  My wife is very good at this game.

Logan and his friends made "Magic Reindeer Food" in preschool.  At three years old, this was by far the most exciting thing he had done in preparation for Christmas.  He was nearly beside himself in anticipation of being able to spread this rolled oat and glitter concoction over the lawn to attract Santa's reindeer.  It was darling.  The package bore a label (which he had colored himself) reading:

Magic Reindeer Food: Sprinkle the Magic Reindeer Food on your lawn.  The smell of oats and the sparkling glitter will guide Rudolph to your house on Christmas Eve.

The real task, of course, was preventing Logan from spreading it over the grass the day he brought it home.  We simply could not convince him we would not be immediately descended upon by 32 cloven hooves just because we made oatmeal on the lawn.  It quickly turned into a two week long squabble.  Finally, Christmas Eve arrived.  Logan went to put on his shoes.  Logan's older brother, Ethan, was flabbergasted, if not a little bit mischievous and attempted to express concern while simultaneously cause a stir.

"Are you trying to poison the reindeer?" Ethan demanded.

"They're magic reindeer," Ashley said, fixing Ethan with a murderous look.  "They know how to fly. They'll know how to manage the glitter," she said, hoping that Logan had not overheard.

"Yeah, in heaven!" he said under his breath.

- 24 December 2011

Only a Little

When you learn how to speak Boy, interpretation is key.  Simple answers like "yes" and "no" may be devastating in and of themselves, based on the question you have just asked.  However, qualifying those answers is what tells the real tale and does the real damage.  Restrictions and modifications are never a good thing.

Let us examine this particular qualification: "only a little."  You'll notice that, when it comes to qualified answers, there is a distinct format that deviates from the norm.  Instead of a simple Q and A pattern, as is the standard, it has now become Q and A and Q.

• Q. Exactly how much syrup did you put on your waffle?
• A. Only a little.
• Q. Then why are you asking for a mop?

• Q. How much flea powder did you put on the cat?
• A. Only a little.
• Q. Then why are you asking whether or not the kitty likes to have baths and where did you get that white cat?  Our cat is black.

• Q. I smell smoke!  Is something on fire?
• A. Only a little.
• Q. Why isn't the answer to that question, "no"?

And so we arrive at Saturday afternoon.  You may recall the slight hitch in my plans to put the Christmas lights on the house.  For some reason, I not only learned nothing from this previous experience, but I managed to compound the problem by not paying attention in math.  Instead of putting Logan down for a nap with one other child inside the house acting as a lookout (albeit an apathetic one), I put Logan down for a nap after waving the other two boys good-bye and watching them depart with my wife on a school related project for the upcoming levy.  That, coupled with the fact that we, apparently, always put a pull-up on him at nap time sealed my fate.

Certainly it could be said that I did my best to be quick and efficient.  Lights were removed.  Cords were bundled.  Progress was being made.  No sooner had I reached the highest gable of the house on a 20 foot extension ladder than I heard the melodious strains of a wailing boy who had woken from his 30 minute nap in an empty house.  I slid down the ladder and ran around the house to the back door.  There, in the kitchen, stood Logan, crying.

"Daddy, am I done with my nap now?" he sobbed.

"Yes, Logan, you can get up now," I said, trying hard not to roll my eyes.

Then I noticed his underpants. 

"Logan!  Did you wet the bed?"

He immediately stopped crying, grabbed his drawers and began to hop on the spot.

"Yes, but only a little bit," he reassured me.

Oh, rats!  I made my way down the hall and snapped on the light in his bedroom.  There before me lay his bed - wet in ways I didn't know a bed could be...the step stool still dripping and a trail across the carpet, leading down the hall to the bathroom where it stopped five feet before the toilet.

"How in heaven's name...what am I gonna...uh...Logan."

A full and complete sentence was not within my grasp.  I turned to face the boy who had dutifully followed me throughout the house as the yellow mystery unfolded.  At the very least he had the decency to look slightly abashed.  As I stood there trying to decide what to do first, it slowly dawned on me that my socks were wet.  That seemed odd.  I am not a new father and experience told me to be very careful where I stepped and not just plow through the house.  Retracing my steps I discovered that, while the trail may have gone cold before it reached the toilet, it did, in fact, go all the way down the hall, across the kitchen floor and down the back steps to the door.  I was doomed from the moment I stepped in from the cold and took off my shoes.

As I related this anecdote to my wife that evening, all she could do was laugh.  Can you blame her?

- 7 January 2012

To Pee, or Not to Pee

After his bath, Logan automatically goes to the bedroom closet and gets out his "nighttime underwear" (pull-ups).

"Dad!  Dad, there's no pull-ups!  There's no pull-ups!" he shouted.

Please, please tell me that you're being proactive and that you have the last one in your hand.

Alas, no pull-ups.

"Logan, you're going to have to wear underpants to bed and you can't go potty in your bed," I told him.

After all, while we had never officially put this plan into full force and effect, many is the night he has woken up with a completely dry pull-up.  Surely this would not be too difficult.

Then the fretful potty dance began.

"Logan, did you hear me?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Can you do that?" I asked with increasing skepticism.

"No," he stated.

"Why not?" I demanded.

"'Cause my body parts like tinkling."

- 5 January 2012

There Is No Plan B

"Ethan, would you like a corn dog for dinner?" I asked, knowing that Ethan dreams of a world made of corn dogs.

"No, I'm done with those now."

What?  Okay, you've got to give me a second to recover and come up with Plan B...or C.  I think you just tore a hole in the fabric of the universe.

- 7 February 2008

Get With It, Grandma!

When Logan got up on Christmas morning, he was very excited to find that Santa had left him a pillow pet.

"Grandma, look at my pillow pet," he exclaimed, waving it in front of her face.

As soon as she had managed to remove it to a distance greater than three inches from her head, she brought it into focus and replied,

"Oh!  It's a dinosaur."

There was a pause while playing was momentarily interrupted and consideration was given as to the best method for correcting this faux pas.

"Umm...maybe it's a dragon...bye-bye," he said.

She was dismissed.

- 25 December 2011

Lullaby-bye

After waking up from a nightmare, I asked Justin if he wanted me to turn on his music to keep him company.  Thinking that this lullaby CD would comfort him, I was surprised by his answer.

"No Daddy, my music is nervous."

- 11 November 2003

Oh Poop!

Ashley took Justin to the Feast of Carols dress rehearsal while I stayed at home to accomplish a few Saturday afternoon projects.  After putting Logan down for a nap and settling Ethan in with non-television related activities, I headed outside.

Almost immediately, Ashley began texting me about how beautiful the Whitman Chorale sounded.

I'm glad.

Another text announced the wonderful arrangement of Ave Maria.

Super.

Still another text about the delay of rehearsal and the resilient choir director.

Imagine my delight.

Meanwhile I'm out in the bitter cold trying to accomplish yard work and hang Christmas lights.  Please, by all means, continue to tell me about your comfortable seat and warm surroundings (the temperature was beginning to effect my attitude).

I was moments away from texting that exact thought when I heard the back door fly open and a sudden but unconcerned announcement drifted across the yard to greet my ears.

"Dad!  The toilet's plugged up and Logan has poop on his hands!"

The only thing I heard after that was the slam of the screen door and the screaming of lambs.  When will the lambs stop screaming?

- 3 December 2011