There were a mere three things on my shopping list: Outdoor thermometer, rain gauge, bug spray.
Seeing as how I am the most awesomely efficient shopper in the history of mankind, this would be a task almost too easy for someone of my caliber.
I needed the rain gauge and thermometer to replace my outdoor weather station, which never quite worked the way it was supposed to. And by “the way it was supposed to,” I mean “at all.”
Part of the unit was a canister that sat outside, supposedly taking weather readings. It then relayed them inside to a digital display. Of course, the display never quite worked, and would give me temperature readouts of, say, the letter B and an upside down seven.
I think it has something to do with the energy sphere over my house. I call it that, as that is the only sci-fi kind of name I can figure out for the way wireless devices tend to act (or rather, not act) at my house.
Several years ago, my wife got my inner child a gift, the most awesome Dukes of Hazzard remote control car ever. And I could never get it to work. I returned it, got a new General Lee, and had the same result.
After about four remote control cars, I sat my inner child down and told him it wasn’t meant to be. He was disappointed, but it will make him stronger and more able to handle inner bullies when he’s an inner teen.
Anywho, since the energy sphere appeared to affect my weather station, too, I was going to go low tech and get a plain old rain gauge and a plain old thermometer.
The bug spray was because I am simply the most delicious person on the planet, and mosquitoes come from miles around to taste me. They also feast on my son, yet have never bitten my daughter. I told her that is because (a) she is sour and (b) they don’t like monkey meat. She finds neither of these very funny.
So back to my shoptasticness. I loaded up the kids and headed to the store, pretty sure I would be so efficient that I may actually go back in time. I went into the first store and quickly found the bug spray and a thermometer. I figured the rain gauges would be nearby, but saw nothing.
After a few minutes, I opted to ask a clerk for help.
“Rain gauges are over by the thermometers,” I was told, the clerk motioning to where I had just come from.
I went back, scoured the shelves, and found nothing. I returned to the clerk and told her I could not find the rain gauges.
“Oh, we’re out of them. But that’s where they would be.” I stared at her for a second, I guess waiting for her “Gotcha!” moment. No. No Gotcha! moment.
She had honestly just told me where a product I was shopping for would be if they had it, even though they didn’t, as if routine product placement tests were being done by shoppers.
Resisting the urge to delve into this one, I put the thermometer and bug spray back and headed out to the next store.
Much like the previous store, I quickly found the bug spray and a thermometer. I spied a clerk and asked him where the rain gauges would be.
“Rain gauges are over by the thermometers,” he said. I stared at him for a second, thinking there was no possible way this could happen again.
I went back to the thermometers. Nothing. I returned to the clerk. “Oh, we’re out of them. But that’s where they would be.” Seriously. At that point, my daughter asked why people didn’t just tell us they were out of them. From the mouth of babes…
Beaten down, I headed to a third store. I vowed that I would speak to no one. I would not be led astray again.
I found the thermometers tucked away in a corner. Knowing full well that if rain gauges existed they would be here, I scanned the shelf. And there it was, tucked away in a corner, a small orange plastic gauge, all $2.49 of it begging to go home with me, a thermometer and some bug spray.
I am glad that I finally found the items I needed, but can’t believe it took me as long as it did. On the upside, if I ever need a rain gauge again, I know where they’re kept. If they have them.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The Worminators
I have written on several occasions about how my children on occasion, oh, what’s the right way to say it -- lock horns in an epic battle royale with the sole goal of annihilation.
They’re siblings. They fight sometimes. I did with my sisters, and I am sure you did with your siblings, unless you were an only child, in which case you never got to experience the emotion of having to have the exact same thing that someone else had all of the time. Case in point: When my kids go swimming, the only pool toy they want is the one the other one has. There are roughly 500 various floats and noodles and balls and such out there, but rest assured, if one grabs the Finding Nemo kickboard, that is the ONLY toy around.
So anywho, I was pleased the other evening when I finally found something to bring my children together. And you can have all of your fancy parenting magazines and coping techniques and generous bribery moments to bring harmony into your house. But if you really want to find a new blissful sibling union, ask yourself this: “Have you gone worm stomping?”
We were sitting at my parents’ house, enjoying a nice evening on the deck. My dad noted that it had rained earlier in the day, and that the ground was damp. “You know, I wanna try something,” he said, standing from his chair and grabbing a broom. Sweeping, I thought. Not the most over-the-top daredevil attempt, but try away.
Instead, he took a few steps into the yard, turned the broom upside down and began pounding it on the ground. After about 10 seconds, the earth began to move. Big, long worms started to break the surface, wiggling around in the moist soil.
Most of us had heard of some variation of bringing worms to the surface, but we had never actually tried it. My guess is that this is probably something that plenty of folks know, and that somewhere there is an old farmer who would have eyed us with an amused look, whistled for his trusty horse to come up to commence stomping its hoof, bring the bait to the surface.
I decided to take a turn. Same results. Parker was having a field day, grabbing the worms and putting them in a small box nearby. Allie was being a cautious observer and occasional worm spotter for Parker. After find success with the broom, we tried several other techniques, such as (a) putting a metal pole in the ground and taping it with a hammer, (b) stomping my foot and (c) yelling “COME HERE, WORMS!!!!” The metal pole and worm calling were ineffective. The stomping method brought worms up, but you can guess what happened a few stomps later.
Although we had seen successes, we were not totally sure how we could quantify our results. Ten worms? Twenty? Clearly, this needed some scientific study. We picked out a nice little plot that was about one square foot. I began pounding with the broom, and the worms came gushing. At this point, there were so many, everyone was grabbing worms and putting them in a small mason jar, which was soon full. We transferred the worms into a cigar box and decided it was time to figure out what our haul was. Allie and Parker formed a worm counting team. Parker would take one worm out and transfer it to another box, and Allie would record the tally.
She gave us updates throughout the count, usually on the tens, but occasionally other intervals (“We’re at 27 — TWENTY SEVEN!!!!”) When they were done, Allie and Parker came over to announce the tally — 71 earthworms. Or, as I told them, enough for breakfast AND lunch.
Now, you may think that the idea of grabbing 71 earthworms is not your cup of tea. And you may be right. Of course, to me, filthy, slimy hands mean you’ve had some fun. The kids definitely have a new hobby, and we have tried out hand worm stomping a few other places. You will be able to tell quickly if they are around, because they come right out to greet you. Keep at it, and when you find a place where the soil is moist and loose and crawling with worms, you’ll be amazed at the ease of bringing them up. It’s enough to make you forget about the Finding Nemo kickboard.
They’re siblings. They fight sometimes. I did with my sisters, and I am sure you did with your siblings, unless you were an only child, in which case you never got to experience the emotion of having to have the exact same thing that someone else had all of the time. Case in point: When my kids go swimming, the only pool toy they want is the one the other one has. There are roughly 500 various floats and noodles and balls and such out there, but rest assured, if one grabs the Finding Nemo kickboard, that is the ONLY toy around.
So anywho, I was pleased the other evening when I finally found something to bring my children together. And you can have all of your fancy parenting magazines and coping techniques and generous bribery moments to bring harmony into your house. But if you really want to find a new blissful sibling union, ask yourself this: “Have you gone worm stomping?”
We were sitting at my parents’ house, enjoying a nice evening on the deck. My dad noted that it had rained earlier in the day, and that the ground was damp. “You know, I wanna try something,” he said, standing from his chair and grabbing a broom. Sweeping, I thought. Not the most over-the-top daredevil attempt, but try away.
Instead, he took a few steps into the yard, turned the broom upside down and began pounding it on the ground. After about 10 seconds, the earth began to move. Big, long worms started to break the surface, wiggling around in the moist soil.
Most of us had heard of some variation of bringing worms to the surface, but we had never actually tried it. My guess is that this is probably something that plenty of folks know, and that somewhere there is an old farmer who would have eyed us with an amused look, whistled for his trusty horse to come up to commence stomping its hoof, bring the bait to the surface.
I decided to take a turn. Same results. Parker was having a field day, grabbing the worms and putting them in a small box nearby. Allie was being a cautious observer and occasional worm spotter for Parker. After find success with the broom, we tried several other techniques, such as (a) putting a metal pole in the ground and taping it with a hammer, (b) stomping my foot and (c) yelling “COME HERE, WORMS!!!!” The metal pole and worm calling were ineffective. The stomping method brought worms up, but you can guess what happened a few stomps later.
Although we had seen successes, we were not totally sure how we could quantify our results. Ten worms? Twenty? Clearly, this needed some scientific study. We picked out a nice little plot that was about one square foot. I began pounding with the broom, and the worms came gushing. At this point, there were so many, everyone was grabbing worms and putting them in a small mason jar, which was soon full. We transferred the worms into a cigar box and decided it was time to figure out what our haul was. Allie and Parker formed a worm counting team. Parker would take one worm out and transfer it to another box, and Allie would record the tally.
She gave us updates throughout the count, usually on the tens, but occasionally other intervals (“We’re at 27 — TWENTY SEVEN!!!!”) When they were done, Allie and Parker came over to announce the tally — 71 earthworms. Or, as I told them, enough for breakfast AND lunch.
Now, you may think that the idea of grabbing 71 earthworms is not your cup of tea. And you may be right. Of course, to me, filthy, slimy hands mean you’ve had some fun. The kids definitely have a new hobby, and we have tried out hand worm stomping a few other places. You will be able to tell quickly if they are around, because they come right out to greet you. Keep at it, and when you find a place where the soil is moist and loose and crawling with worms, you’ll be amazed at the ease of bringing them up. It’s enough to make you forget about the Finding Nemo kickboard.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Summer fun sleep over time
My daughter has gotten to the age where she is starting to have sleep-overs with friends. Which means my son has begun his intense Little Brother training.
Allie is 7, and Parker is 5, which means (a) Parker really wants to play with Allie and her friends and (b) Allie and her friends really don’t want Parker to play with them.
I know this well, as I am the Little Brother. I have three older sisters, so I had three times the opportunity to torment them and their friends. I recall one of my sister’s less tolerant friends responding to my delightful hijinx by spitting a mouthful of milk in my face. Crude, but effective.
To be fair to Parker, he just wants to be part of the action. And to be fair to Allie, there is no reason she should have to include him in the action and have said action be on his terms.
For example, I made dinner for everyone, and being the super awesome cool dad I am, I told them they could eat their pizza in the den and watch some TV. I told Allie’s friend she could pick what they would watch. Because it is genetically hard wired in 7-year-old girls, she is limited to only choosing “Hannah Montana” or “High School Musical.” (I currently have the song “Fabulous” from “HSM2” stuck in my head. For those of you with young daughters, I apologize unleashing that earworm on you. For those of you without young daughters, I recommend you not try to figure out what I am talking about. Think of dentist’s drills or Rosie Perez cackling or anything. Trust me.)
So anywho, Parker decided they should watch “Diego” (which, ironically, stars Rosie Perez). I told him no. He told me, through his subtle body language, that this was not exactly the answer he was looking for. (Said language including lying on the floor, stomping his feet and then barking, “I...WANT...DIEGO.”)
The urge is always there to say, “Girls, just switch to ‘Diego.’” That’s a problem on numerous fronts. First, you’re rewarding a temper tantrum. Second, you’re going back on letting the girls have their choice of shows. And third, you’re inviting Rosie Perez into your home, which is a tremendous “Lost Boys” style mistake.
So I did what any good parent would do. I locked him out back and turned the music up loud. Ha! Little abandonment humor there.
Actually, I took Parker to his room, where he continued to plead his case. For what’s it’s worth, if he’s ever to be an attorney, he really should work on a better delivery. Pounding your fists, clenching your jaw, wrinkling your brow and saying, “I..JUST...DON’T...WANT...MY...CLIENT...TO...GO...TO...JAIL...” probably isn’t that effective.
Once I calmed him down a bit, we had this conversation:
ME: Parker, has anyone ever gotten their way in this house because of a temper tantrum?
PARKER: (staring me down, taking a deep breath) No.
ME: Do you think today is the day you START getting your way with a temper tantrum?
PARKER: Um...yes?
ME: Try again.
PARKER: No.
ME: So, what should we do?
PARKER: Not watch “Diego.”
We didn’t even get into the fact that “Diego” is Tivo’d and can be watched whenever. I figured not to push the issue. In a matter of a few minutes, he was downstairs, watching TV and enjoying some pizza, taking a few minutes out of his busy sister-harassing schedule.
As Allie continues to have friends over to play, I am sure the dynamic will continue to be interesting.
They will play with dolls. He will take one hostage.
They will put on music for a “dance party.” He will replace it with a CD of insect sounds.
They will try to jump rope. Parker will tie them up.
Ah, the joys of little brothers. Here’s hoping none of her friends likes milk.
Allie is 7, and Parker is 5, which means (a) Parker really wants to play with Allie and her friends and (b) Allie and her friends really don’t want Parker to play with them.
I know this well, as I am the Little Brother. I have three older sisters, so I had three times the opportunity to torment them and their friends. I recall one of my sister’s less tolerant friends responding to my delightful hijinx by spitting a mouthful of milk in my face. Crude, but effective.
To be fair to Parker, he just wants to be part of the action. And to be fair to Allie, there is no reason she should have to include him in the action and have said action be on his terms.
For example, I made dinner for everyone, and being the super awesome cool dad I am, I told them they could eat their pizza in the den and watch some TV. I told Allie’s friend she could pick what they would watch. Because it is genetically hard wired in 7-year-old girls, she is limited to only choosing “Hannah Montana” or “High School Musical.” (I currently have the song “Fabulous” from “HSM2” stuck in my head. For those of you with young daughters, I apologize unleashing that earworm on you. For those of you without young daughters, I recommend you not try to figure out what I am talking about. Think of dentist’s drills or Rosie Perez cackling or anything. Trust me.)
So anywho, Parker decided they should watch “Diego” (which, ironically, stars Rosie Perez). I told him no. He told me, through his subtle body language, that this was not exactly the answer he was looking for. (Said language including lying on the floor, stomping his feet and then barking, “I...WANT...DIEGO.”)
The urge is always there to say, “Girls, just switch to ‘Diego.’” That’s a problem on numerous fronts. First, you’re rewarding a temper tantrum. Second, you’re going back on letting the girls have their choice of shows. And third, you’re inviting Rosie Perez into your home, which is a tremendous “Lost Boys” style mistake.
So I did what any good parent would do. I locked him out back and turned the music up loud. Ha! Little abandonment humor there.
Actually, I took Parker to his room, where he continued to plead his case. For what’s it’s worth, if he’s ever to be an attorney, he really should work on a better delivery. Pounding your fists, clenching your jaw, wrinkling your brow and saying, “I..JUST...DON’T...WANT...MY...CLIENT...TO...GO...TO...JAIL...” probably isn’t that effective.
Once I calmed him down a bit, we had this conversation:
ME: Parker, has anyone ever gotten their way in this house because of a temper tantrum?
PARKER: (staring me down, taking a deep breath) No.
ME: Do you think today is the day you START getting your way with a temper tantrum?
PARKER: Um...yes?
ME: Try again.
PARKER: No.
ME: So, what should we do?
PARKER: Not watch “Diego.”
We didn’t even get into the fact that “Diego” is Tivo’d and can be watched whenever. I figured not to push the issue. In a matter of a few minutes, he was downstairs, watching TV and enjoying some pizza, taking a few minutes out of his busy sister-harassing schedule.
As Allie continues to have friends over to play, I am sure the dynamic will continue to be interesting.
They will play with dolls. He will take one hostage.
They will put on music for a “dance party.” He will replace it with a CD of insect sounds.
They will try to jump rope. Parker will tie them up.
Ah, the joys of little brothers. Here’s hoping none of her friends likes milk.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Tips for travel
For those of you not familiar with traveling with a small child, I suggest this easy experiment:
1. Go to four or five yard sales
2. Buy everything at all of them
3. Cram the recently purchased items in your car.
4. Head on your way
I am not sure how something so small as a child can require so much stuff. I remember the first time we traveled after our daughter was born. Our Ford Explorer was filled for a two-day trip to Atlanta. There was a stroller, a portable crib, a second stroller (just in case), another portable crib, a portable playpen, that toy with the flashing lights, that toy with the shiny wheel and roughly 65,000 diapers, as the possibility of your child contracting dysentery had somehow snuck into your sleep-deprived brain.
We also took three huge suitcases of clothes. Of course, for some parents that is necessary, as some babies, such as our daughter, throw up for the sheer sport of it.
As the kids gets older, I am glad to report that the amount of stuff we travel with has diminished greatly. There are numerous reasons for this:
1. As children get older, they usually stop expelling disgusting things at mind-blowing rates. This is a very nice stage to reach, almost as nice as the “can blow their own nose” stage.
2. It doesn’t take long for parents not to care very much about their clothing. Not that we resort to donning burlap sacks or anything, but you can be sure that it didn’t take much for me not to care about the Shoulder of Drool.
3. You realize that strollers the size of forklifts don’t always have to go. I am fairly certain that most umbrella strollers are purchased, taken on a trip and then abandoned before returning home. My wife and I even took to not taking strollers if we were going somewhere we could rent them. (Hint: Two kids? Get two strollers. NEVER get suckered into the double. Tired kid + tired kid + double stroller = Someone getting kicked, pinched, bitten, ejected from the stroller, etc.)
But the best improvement we made in traveling with kids is adding movies in the car so that they stare hypnotically at Shrek through four states. I have heard people comment numerous times how “we didn’t have DVD players when WE were kids, and we used to take road trips – eight of us in a tiny clown car with no AC – and drive to Brazil.” Yes, you are a trooper. And I am pretty sure that if I got into a time machine and took a DVD player to your parents just before one of these trips, they would say, “So, let me get this straight, Future Man – This little screen opens up, and the kids can just watch cartoons on the whole drive to Brazil? And they won’t ... talk? And they might even fall asleep? Wow, the future really is a wonderful place.” Or they might be kinda freaked out by me showing up in my future outfit and handing strange technologies to them. I don’t know your parents.
We first added the moving pictures to our vehicle when we took a fantastic drive from Florida to South Carolina – eight hours – with a little background music I like to call “Child Screaming So Loud Cars Were Pulling Over Thinking It Was a Police Siren.” Finally, we simply gave in and let her drive.
Ha! Kidding. But for the next trip, I took a small TV we have in our kitchen and fastened it to the console with bungee cords. I got a little converter so that we could plug it into the car. Our next trip: Five hours of Elmo on constant repeat. And it was beautiful.
Eventually, we upgraded to one of those VCR-TV units that hangs from the back of the seat. That was good for a while, until someone learned that little toes could reach it and mess with the buttons.
By the time Parker was old enough to care about watching something, we had bought one of those little DVD players that we could just sit on the console. This was much nicer than the original TV because I didn’t have something the size of a cinder block strapped in next to me.
We have since added a van, and it has the DVD player built into the car. And I think that’s a more important purchase than seat belts. For what it’s worth, I have heard quite a few movies that I have never seen. I can quote “Cars” for you. Never seen it. I saw about four seconds of it when SOMEBODY in the car suggested I move my seat back from the fully reclined position, despite the fact that (a) she was supposed to be asleep and (b) it was a very straight and empty road. And to keep harmony in the car, my wife gave each of the kids a little DVD holder, and they take turns picking the movie. If we can just figure out a way to agree on who picks the first movie, we’ll be fine.
Again, I know plenty of you think those dadgum kids today with their spoiled ways and their movies in cars.
But really, what is the difference? We all had diversions when we were on road trips. Just because ours were a little lamer than watching “The Incredibles,” it doesn’t mean they’re spoiled.
It means they just may not ever know the joy of finally – FINALLY!!! – seeing a Hawaii license plate.
1. Go to four or five yard sales
2. Buy everything at all of them
3. Cram the recently purchased items in your car.
4. Head on your way
I am not sure how something so small as a child can require so much stuff. I remember the first time we traveled after our daughter was born. Our Ford Explorer was filled for a two-day trip to Atlanta. There was a stroller, a portable crib, a second stroller (just in case), another portable crib, a portable playpen, that toy with the flashing lights, that toy with the shiny wheel and roughly 65,000 diapers, as the possibility of your child contracting dysentery had somehow snuck into your sleep-deprived brain.
We also took three huge suitcases of clothes. Of course, for some parents that is necessary, as some babies, such as our daughter, throw up for the sheer sport of it.
As the kids gets older, I am glad to report that the amount of stuff we travel with has diminished greatly. There are numerous reasons for this:
1. As children get older, they usually stop expelling disgusting things at mind-blowing rates. This is a very nice stage to reach, almost as nice as the “can blow their own nose” stage.
2. It doesn’t take long for parents not to care very much about their clothing. Not that we resort to donning burlap sacks or anything, but you can be sure that it didn’t take much for me not to care about the Shoulder of Drool.
3. You realize that strollers the size of forklifts don’t always have to go. I am fairly certain that most umbrella strollers are purchased, taken on a trip and then abandoned before returning home. My wife and I even took to not taking strollers if we were going somewhere we could rent them. (Hint: Two kids? Get two strollers. NEVER get suckered into the double. Tired kid + tired kid + double stroller = Someone getting kicked, pinched, bitten, ejected from the stroller, etc.)
But the best improvement we made in traveling with kids is adding movies in the car so that they stare hypnotically at Shrek through four states. I have heard people comment numerous times how “we didn’t have DVD players when WE were kids, and we used to take road trips – eight of us in a tiny clown car with no AC – and drive to Brazil.” Yes, you are a trooper. And I am pretty sure that if I got into a time machine and took a DVD player to your parents just before one of these trips, they would say, “So, let me get this straight, Future Man – This little screen opens up, and the kids can just watch cartoons on the whole drive to Brazil? And they won’t ... talk? And they might even fall asleep? Wow, the future really is a wonderful place.” Or they might be kinda freaked out by me showing up in my future outfit and handing strange technologies to them. I don’t know your parents.
We first added the moving pictures to our vehicle when we took a fantastic drive from Florida to South Carolina – eight hours – with a little background music I like to call “Child Screaming So Loud Cars Were Pulling Over Thinking It Was a Police Siren.” Finally, we simply gave in and let her drive.
Ha! Kidding. But for the next trip, I took a small TV we have in our kitchen and fastened it to the console with bungee cords. I got a little converter so that we could plug it into the car. Our next trip: Five hours of Elmo on constant repeat. And it was beautiful.
Eventually, we upgraded to one of those VCR-TV units that hangs from the back of the seat. That was good for a while, until someone learned that little toes could reach it and mess with the buttons.
By the time Parker was old enough to care about watching something, we had bought one of those little DVD players that we could just sit on the console. This was much nicer than the original TV because I didn’t have something the size of a cinder block strapped in next to me.
We have since added a van, and it has the DVD player built into the car. And I think that’s a more important purchase than seat belts. For what it’s worth, I have heard quite a few movies that I have never seen. I can quote “Cars” for you. Never seen it. I saw about four seconds of it when SOMEBODY in the car suggested I move my seat back from the fully reclined position, despite the fact that (a) she was supposed to be asleep and (b) it was a very straight and empty road. And to keep harmony in the car, my wife gave each of the kids a little DVD holder, and they take turns picking the movie. If we can just figure out a way to agree on who picks the first movie, we’ll be fine.
Again, I know plenty of you think those dadgum kids today with their spoiled ways and their movies in cars.
But really, what is the difference? We all had diversions when we were on road trips. Just because ours were a little lamer than watching “The Incredibles,” it doesn’t mean they’re spoiled.
It means they just may not ever know the joy of finally – FINALLY!!! – seeing a Hawaii license plate.
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