Parental Predicament

Question:

If I buy my 13 year old an iPod and he turns around and sells it on the playground, does that make me an accomplice in a black-market enterprise?
Does this not bode well for any future career not involving the movement of illegal goods?
Is he showing initiative in planning to upgrade, or stupidity in letting his plans slip out before he made the new purchase?
Can I trust him to walk his little brother to the park, or will he come back with a fistful of pesos?

Seriously, the dilemma I find myself on the horns of is this: who gets the money? I know it was a gift, but a) my feelings are hurt, and b) I could use that coin! And since he forgot about tax, doesn't he owe me a little extra?

I don't mind giving him the $ back after he's earned enough for the model he really wanted, but I don't want it wasted away on fritos and video games (kids these days...)

Any ideas, suggestions, helpful hints...?

Yes, Virginia...

I don't remember exactly when Son #1 discovered the truth behind St. Nick, but he was cool about it -- he played the game well for his little bros, and winked at me as a co-conspirator when he mentioned all the things he wanted "Santa" to bring him, as if I wanted to reward his not exposing Mr. & Mrs. Claus as frauds...

But now #2 is 10, and should know better... but I don't think he does. He believes. He believes strongly, with a passion that I would not be surprised if it lead to a black eye for defending Santa's reputation on the playground. We've tried to test him, to see if he was just playing along this year, but he has never been a good actor/liar. We've tossed him little hints, jokes about the number of Santas at the malls or how the Claus clan spends the summer, but he has a plausible (if you factor in magic) explanation for everything.

My worry was he would be exposed as a True Believer at football practice, but that's not the type of thing you talk about in the huddle, and I was glad when the season ended with his faith, and manhood, still intact. Now with one week left of school before the Christmas -- oops, Holiday, oops, Winter Break -- I do hope one of his friends will break it to him gently... it's not something I want to have to tell him before he goes off to college or on his wedding night ("Hold up, Son, one more thing...").

update: And now the cinematographer, or more appropriately the "Punk'd" hidden cameraman, side of #2 is coming out: he is testing all the angles to best catch Santa in the act of delivering the goods... he has the batteries, the back-up batteries, the charger, the blank tape, where exactly to place the plate of cookies... which means I need to climb over the stair railing, shimmy along the back of the couch, spiderman my full-of-cookies ass down the bookshelf to "accidentally" knock the camera sideways so it films the wall. And then spend 10 minutes making sounds like a jolly old elf filling stockings and sneaking back out to his reindeer! Sheesh! I hope it's worth it, this kid better have gotten me a darn good gift...

How you doin'?

Heard from a dear old friend the other day, and she wanted to know what was going on in my world... I wanted to reply with more than a quick summarizing sentence, so I started thinking about what really was happening in my life lately. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was all the same ol' boring stuff -- so I told her I'd been in jail for 18 months, and I haven't heard from her since.

Not really. But I did make up a bunch of cool stuff, involving lottery winnings, world travel, and the opportunity to direct Spiderman IV... and, surprisingly, I haven't heard from her since.

Um, no. Not even close. But the lady in front of us at Vons won an iPod, I travel the freeways daily to and from school/practice/endless errands, and the latest Spidey film is on our Netflix list....

So what is going on in my world? At the risk of sounding like one of those 6 page family update Christmas card letters, here's a rundown of the latest...

• TMW&BWITW* is still the Queen of all hair stylists (contact me for her appointment #) and still very much loves her career. Her hair is deep dark red, cut in something called an a-line bob, I think, and she is hotter than ever. She plans on having Son #1 work for her at the Salon this holiday season, which should be quite the adventure for both of them. Between the two of them, her clients won't be able to get a word in. The Wife and I just celebrated anniversary #11. She enjoys walks, shopping, the beach, dinner & a movie, and hanging out in back watching the kids play. They don't make 'em any better than her....
• #1 son is in 8th grade, attempting to achieve straight A's for the reward of a cell phone, the absolute essential object to have for high school. Pencils? Books? Don't be silly, ya gotta have the phone. Between you & me, our money is safe, but he is trying so hard. It has been interesting watching him struggle with the whole puberty/maturity thing -- at times painful (will that voice just hurry up and change?), but mostly a joy. #1 has always been a joy, even at his most exasperating. He has also discovered MySpace and heavy metal, and using his limbs as post-it notes. His hair is always in his eyes, and his hat is always on his head. He is taller than all his grandparents, and weighs as much as a St. Bernard.
• Son #2 weighs as much as straw, but he seems to have kicked his height genes into high gear this year. Our 5th grader reads The Iliad, Gulliver's Travels and Ivanhoe, knocks his week's homework out in 20 minutes, and seems to have discovered the social side of school this year. He plays Pop Warner football (Go Cougars!), lives and breathes the Chargers, and wears his jersey to bed. My tough tackler is still scared of spiders and the dark, and plans on working in our haunted house next Halloween, despite never having actually stepped foot in one. He is the goofy one, strange of face and voice, and the leader in organizing games and adventures with the kids on the block. #2 is the caretaker of Trooper and Wreck, the 4 month old bearded dragons.
• 1st grader and consummate 6 year old #3 is learning to read, en Espanol y Ingles, and after fighting it for the past year has started to discover the coolness of books. He is totally amazed that I read some of the same exact stories when I was a kid, "so long, long, long, long time ago?!?!?" People say he is beautiful, and wonder where he got it from. Thanks. He also played football, although without #2's passion for the game; the interest was in what's for snack and when is the game over? I keep telling him that when the doctor predicted 6'5" he instantly became my retirement plan, so he better start loving push-ups.... #3 makes up entire days of classroom activity, in outlandish scope and amazing detail, never once coming close to what he actually did in school each day. He also sings double-LPs worth of songs in French, despite not knowing a single word of the French language.
• Turbo is fat and lazy, and barfs on the dining room rug once a week.
• I am "semi-retired" (not really, but it sounds better than "between jobs" or "still looking") and taking care of the boys & house & grocery shopping; Mr. Mom, if you prefer. I am going to school at Azusa Pacific University and will have my BA (Human Development / English, straight A's) in May, then it's on to the teaching credential program. So by this time next year I hope to be working as an elementary school substitute (I'm leaning towards being the mean sub by printing up surprise pop quizzes and practicing a surly demeanor). I have also been tutoring some 4th graders and coached the flag football team to a perfect season (ok, so it was 0 - 8, as in perfectly horrible. But they tried hard, and seemed to really enjoy the snacks). I have been trying to cook the ultimate pot roast, keep my garden safe from cat & kids, read a lot of kid's books, and spend too much time listening and listing... I am also attempting to re-write that last sentence with a lot more testosterone -- as you read it, try picturing me watching NASCAR, scratching my hairy chest and spitting on the floor, while opening a beer with my eye socket. Remember, I coach football, my wife is gorgeous, and the only daytime tv I watch is ESPN. While I work out. With a beer in my hand.

So there you have it. Too much of it, I'm sure. I didn't even get to my sexy new sister-in-law, my sister's Grand canyon elopement, the fires, and my parents spending the night. And the next night. And the night after that. I guess I'll save all that for the next time someone asks how I've been doing (if this didn't teach 'em)....

*The Most Wonderful & Beautiful Wife in the World

The Fish Whisperer

Maybe we'll look back on this day and realize this was the moment #2 was set on the path to his career as a... koi pond cleaner? animal rights activist? public defender? It certainly won't involve the Pro Bass Fisherman's Tour....

He was at a birthday party, swimming with some friends, when the hostess of the shindig tossed a bunch of goldfish and some paper cups into the pool -- "It's a game! Catch as many as you can!" Being 10 year olds, they dove and lunged and splashed, except for my son: instantly concerned for the health and safety of the fish, he yelled at his friends to stop playing and get the fish out of the pool quickly. After a brief argument in front of shocked adults, he went and got a cup of fresh water and his friends helped him get the fish out of the chlorine/boy-filled water. None required mouth-to-gill, and the party continued.

So... now we have a family of fish, from all appearances happy and content, in a nice bowl on the toilet bowl tank. They'll probably be belly-up in the morning, but they'll go to goldfish heaven knowing a boy with a good heart cared for them.


p.s. Said son also recommended "The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane" for TeacherDad's next book review, so I'll be checking that one out tonight....

Mr. Johnson & the Aliens

"God is 1" bigger than Grandaddy."

Um... okay. You definitely have my attention, son #3.

"God came before the aliens."

What have I been letting him watch...? Does Dora discuss extraterrestrials?

"So who made the aliens?"

"Mr. Johnson."

???????

"Mr. Johnson, but then he died because he was old."

"Isn't God much bigger than Grandaddy? He must be big enough to make, say, an elephant?"

(much intense thought going on now. I could tell by his eyebrows.)

"Yeah, he's big. But how did he make their blood? Eeyew!"

End of conversation. He walked away, leaving me absolutely no clue as to what started the whole thing, or just who in the heck Mr. Johnson is.

The Three Uglies

Or, Apparently it is Not Okay to use Certain Terms of Endearment in Public*, even though they most certainly are not even close to ugly, or even average, and anyone could tell that was the case just by seeing how good looking their Father is, and who was obviously using the word in a humorous ironic/oxymoron/jumbo shrimp kind of way.


Anyway... I don't carry a wallet, just one of those money clips (eternally empty) with 2 slots sewed so tight I have to chisel out my driver's licence, but that's the whole point because otherwise men, like my Dad, would shove everything they own and walk around with a leather and receipt-paper brick in their pocket. No joke, he still has 25 year old pictures of our prom dates in there, grocery lists for the Safeway that was torn down in '92, and business cards, blood donor cards, membership cards, dental appointment cards.... There's cash in there too, but not the spending kind -- the lucky dollar bill with 6 two's, the lucky dollar bill with the full house, the $2 bill....

So I don't carry pictures of The Wife or the Boys, and it's not because I'm embarrassed or ashamed, I just don't like sitting on the photo album/rolodex. I also stay away from carrying pictures because I lose too much of the day: one glance at The Wife and I'm stunned, swept off in reverie, amazed that this gorgeous woman will actually walk into our house and ask what's for dinner. And pity the unfortunate soul that sees the school photos on my notebook, because that uncontrollable swell of boast just takes over, and I can talk about Uglies #1,2, and 3 for hours.

We get in the habit of using phrases or words to describe certain people or events in our lives, and that word, Honey or Bubba or That Summer, is a shortcut to all the memories and emotions we associate with that person or time in our life, and they are released and sometimes overwhelm us when the word is mentioned. Or we use the word to mean so much more than the letters spell out, there are paragraphs and stories and deep bonds behind behind the words we choose to call or describe those most important to us.

My Boys are my Pride and Joy. That is a description men have used for eons to label any and all, from sons to sports cars. It might have just started as a habit with me, show off the pictures and use the phrase, but now I have come to realize those words personify 1 and 2 for me. #1 has always been a warm, loving, bundle of laughter and kisses. We chose his name because it meant laughter, he smiled and giggled at 3 months, and I could never help laughing when he cried that oh-so-mad cry babies do. He has never shied from a hug and a kiss, except now when I pick him up from school, and has always been able to bounce back almost instantly from any rough time. This is the kid that never learned to whisper and never thought to hold a grudge. He's the boy getting yelled at for something but forgives and forgets before the scolding is over, and he is already on the the next minute of life, wondering which is better, DC or Marvel, what skateboard should he get, hey Dad what's for dinner, and did I show you my new molar? I can never not smile when I see him or think of him, and there is a burst of Joy when I think of how blessed I am to be his Dad.

So if #1 is joy, #2 must be pride... it's not that he doesn't make me happy, it's that he reminds me I was given a second chance on the whole family situation, and I get to be a full time, morning to night, 365 days a year Dad. He is proof I could be a father and do more than the fun weekend stuff, I could help someone learn and grow daily, I wouldn't miss anything he went through and would always be there as soon as he needed me. Of course this meant being there for the barf at midnight, and the fifth week of vacation "I'm boooored" whine, and the endless repetition of mundane family life (the sentence I have said billions of times in my life: "Get your hands out of your... a) mouth, b) nose, c) pants or food"**). I am immensely proud of #2 as a person, a student, and a son, and proud of how others look to him as a brother, friend, and classmate. He is clever and quick, smart and eager, goofy and spastic, and while he wants to be quietly cool and tough, he is still sensitive and silly.

And #3? I guess it's hard to be the littlest brother, you aren't first, everything has been done before so you struggle to be original. The comparisons start right away -- he has #1's cheeks, #2 was crawling by now, look at your brothers, go ask your brothers.... We see a lot of the other two in #3, and of course they are his primary teachers and examples. He seems a lot like #1 physically and in temperament, but now has started doing #2's nutty faces and actions, so he'll blend it all together and make it his own. I just hope we're ready for it. We've always said there will be that phone call: #1 is in trouble for getting the beer and starting the party, #2 is in trouble for fighting with 1 to stop the party, and #3 will be on the roof, stripped down to boxers and football helmet, and ready to jump over the hedge and into the neighbor's pool. ...But #3 is our Heart, our healing and our grace -- he is the seal, the sum, he is the inexorable bond that makes us, as a family, One. I enjoy #3, adore #3, , look into the eyes of #3 and melt. I am already sad knowing someday #3 will leave.


ok, now we're back in hallmark territory.




**and yes, believe it or not, sometimes all four in the same breath, for the same child.
*and certainly not that one, Bro, at least not until they're quite a bit older.

bunk beds

Another example of quality writing, and not only because he mentions me....

http://twobuyfour.blogspot.com/



My boys all sleep in the same funky stinky snorey room: #2 on the top bunk where he has built himself a little old lady's cocoon of pillows and blankets, stuffed animals and special treasures, library books we can never find, and 83 dirty socks... another few years he'll have a wet bar, hot plate, cheerleader -- we'll never get him down; #3 has the bottom bunk, kept clear and clean due to the nightly Moses impersonation, parting the sea of legos, cars, books and blankets to the floor to be stubbed/kicked/stepped on by me at 7am the next morning or into the crack between bed and wall, where they disappear into the chasm never to be seen again... unfortunately, another likely location of many library books; #1 isn't a full-time resident, so now that he he out-grew the dresser drawer, we slide him underneath the bunk bed.

...and they talk. They talk and talk and have great important discussions in the dark. Or not so important, but the sillier they get the louder the giggles get, so I can give the special Father voice, the deep, grave, ominous "Boys..." for them to settle down. #3 usually provides some ambiance, a little mood lighting from his collection of my lost flashlights, or from the view master projector, or maybe with a light show with the 250 laser pointer/key chain/tire gauges my Dad has given him over the years. I don't let them stay up too late, I want them to grow strong and healthy plus I don't want them grumpy the next day, but often I will sit at my desk and simply listen to them, listen to the low hushed voices in the dark, listen to the murmurs slow, quiet, and drift away. I don't hear or understand most of what they say (yugiohbionicle what huh?) but what is important is that they are together, healthy and safe, growing and building memories of how special is to have, and to be, a brother. They might not think of it for another 30 years, but maybe on a night such as tonight, they will, and it will be good.

And, as if on cue, one of them has started snoring. I love my boys.

Back to the Future*

Ok, break from studying. Not just 'cause I'm tired of conjugating el, oops, los verbos but cause following 3 cherry cokes with 2 cans of Starbucks blow in a can, I mean iced coffee, is exceeding the reccommended daily dose of the jittery twitching racing stuff. Don't know if I'm too wired to think straight since I'm thinking too fast to go back and see what my last thought was.

anyway, end of year, time for year in review stuff. Teacher-Dad gives mis hijos homework to do over Christmas vacation, they love it, I swear. They answer questions, a poll if you will, what they did last year and what are their favorite moviebookshow etc etc... that damn H Potter has topped the charts for several years now... and also i have them look into the future, what they want to be when they grow up, that sort of thing. This is where we got the immortal, at least in our house, sorry it hasn't made it across the street yet, answer to what do you want to be when you grow up -- "1/2 Spiderman, 1/2 police dog, 1/2 cheetah" -- nevermind the math, gotta admire a man with goals. That was from #2 at the age of 3 or 4....

also saw one of you amazing bloggers (blog-ettes?) posted a letter written to herself 10 years ago. Cool. So I'll add that top the homework this year, bury it in the backyard as a timecapsule or something.

anyway, before I leap from "como jamon por que almorzar" to quadratic equations I stopped by to solicit ideas for the year in review slash look into the crystal ball.

oh, gotta go -- "1 new message"!!!!



...



(several hours later...)


ok, now I know what combination not to ingest... and yes, I believe the crispy jalapeno burger at Islands contributed to the debacle. Let's put it behind us, shall we?

As I was saying, I have the boys fill out a questionaire, to interview each other on what lies ahead in the future and to reflect on the past year. Being boys and being young, they focus on which toys, games, and books they liked and which toys, games, and books they want to get. Their speculation on future careers has much in common with their most recent Halloween costume, the holiday being fairly close to Year in Review, so I'm sure the answers this time around will be International Spy and Spiderman (does either profession provide health benefits?) -- #1 will write "gamer" as he has done for several years now, which leads me to accidentally lose his GameBoy for a few months. Ah, family traditions....

We do this every year, but by Jan. 4th every year I can't find them, so it really won't be a hell of a lot of fun in two decades time trying to remember what they wrote. But this year was/is different, seeing as TMW&BWITW and I turned 40 and celebrated our 10th anniversary -- nice round numbers, worthy of commemorating. I want something written down on nice paper, maybe that crinkly parchment stuff, and stored away in a safe place so that in another 10 year's time my Bro can call The Wife and her new husband and remind her to pull out the 2006 time capsule. She can gather the family around the hearth, or the kitchen table, or the bar at Jimmy Love's. If my passing was peaceful and the insurance was kept up, maybe my urn will sit on the bar next to a cold Karl Straus. If my passing was more "piece-full" they may need to include The Wife's parole officer in the party guests. Either way, it might be interesting to see how we each saw the world, and saw our future in the world, ten long years ago. Hopefully the boys' penmanship has improved. (Then again, in 10 years all they will need to do is think and a laser will project from an eyebrow pore and print the words on... crap, what will replace paper in 2016?)

So if you have any ideas for topics or queries, regarding the past or the future, let me know so I can add them to the time capsule homework. Trust me, they love this stuff!









*by the way, my latte Queen, -- he said, and I said, "density"

Thankful

I'm thankful for the fact that there is no limit on using the post title "Thankful"...

I am thankful, and guilty and still quite extended and swollen, for all the fantastic food I ate today. I am thankful for Fat Tire Ale and Starbucks coffee.

I am thankful I do not, for the first time in over 20 years, have to work tomorrow! "Black Friday" my ass, for me it's going to be sunny and warm and stay as far away from a shopping mall as possible Friday. I don't want to even hear the sound of a cash register or hear the words earlybird, coupon, or did you beat goal yet???? And in retail reality, if that's not some sort of oxymoron, after the sheer madness of the 5am shoppers it's not the busiest of days; the last two weekends before X-mas are usually much more intense and packed and endless. So I am thankful for TMW&BWITW* who lets me do her dishes and laundry and fix her leftover turkey sandwiches instead of earning a paycheck folding 70,000 sweaters this holiday season. Of course she'll be getting painted macaroni noodle jewelry for Christmas this year, but we all had to make some sacrifices.

I am thankful for my family, especially #3 who entertained us with "guess what animal I am" charades for hours, working his way through the entire ark until even he had no idea whether he was imitating a tiger or koala or walrus, they had all started to act and growl the same so he would just say "yes!" to whatever we guessed. And for my Grandmother, soon to be 85, who invited us all to drop in and visit her in Denver, even though she lives here. Guess she didn't like the pie.




* The Most Wonderful & Beautiful Wife in the World would like to be addressed as "Sugar Momma" from now on.

Flawed Children

My children have flaws. Not huge defects, no reason to send them back or spend a fortune on repairs, but small nagging issues in design and/or operation. Although I may never be quite comfortable with some of these, I'll have to learn to live with it. My cross to bear, I suppose, part of the sacrifices we make as parents.

#2 is just plain goofy. He makes faces and strange noises, dances like a Bangle with two left feet in cement boots, and has the ugliest belly-button. He has the uncanny ability to forget every word I have just said to him within two seconds of going to do what I asked. He not only forgets what I sent him to do, he forgets we have even seen each other since I served his morning waffles.

Waffles, an exact science. If I don't cut #3's waffles precisely the way he requests them, we achieve total meltdown. Unfortunately his detailed requests change day to day, waffle to waffle, and come after the cataclysmic affront to his breakfast has been made. Some mornings the waffle is eaten whole, no butter, one square filled with syrup. Other days require a surgeon's steady hand to cut down the middle of the vertical (no, not the horizontal ones!) ridges. Other days he wants to do it himself. And no matter how long the last scrap of waffle sits soggy on the plate, don't even think of clearing his place.

#1 wakes up at 2am if the wind changes direction, #2 will sleep* through the big one. #1 is unable to make a choice -- which one superpower would you choose? Um, all the powers of the X-Men plus.... no, no, who is your favorite literary character? Harry and Ron in the first 3 books, and also... -- hope he never has to decide between girls, he'll have to move to Utah. #2 does not know how to blow his nose. His sleeves are dry, so who knows where it goes? #3 can curl 9 of his toes. #1 can have a conversation with anyone at any time, in any room of the house or any place in the city, at any time of the day, on any topic. And if he didn't have to eat or sleep, he'd still be talking. #3 finds snails for pets, and wants to be a marshmallow for Halloween.




I love my boys.






*glad I mentioned sleep, almost forgot the tooth under his pillow! Anybody got a quarter?

Hardy is Dead

Hardy* was a spider. I suppose Hardy may still be a spider, but Hardy may be a spider moving to another patio, probably closer to the beach or the kids, or Hardy may still be a spider in the sense that my lunch is still a burger. If a bird ate Hardy, I hope that bird is sitting his stuffed gluttonous bird ass on a branch and telling his bird buddies about the biggest toughest spider he ever ate in his life. He'll leave out the part where Hardy, the spider, fought fiercely to the bitter end and almost, but not quite, turned the food chain tables and had the bird for dinner. If Hardy is in spider heaven, God is telling Hardy how proud He is be about the day Hardy had 2 bees and a huge fly all snared in the web at once. Hardy ate well, and faithfully built his web across the back of our patio, rebuilding his (I always said "her" but the rest of the Fam could tell it was a "he") giant meal-net for the past 2 weeks. Hardy could sit on a 50-cent piece and hang all eight legs over the edge.

Hardy, if you're out there, please write and let us know how you're doing.



*Hardy is "Hardy" for the same reason all our various fish have been "Frank" or "Hart", the same names bestowed upon the many caterpillars and snails lovingly adopted as pets (albeit quite temporarily in some squishy cases) by tender-hearted #3.

I'm Gay

...not that there's anything wrong with that.

Well, I guess there would be something wrong with that. I know I would have a problem with it, and I hope TMW&BWITW would try to convince me otherwise.

Anyway...

Of course I'm not. But I have found myself really enjoying cooking, and sweeping the floor every day, and stressing when the uglies touch my sparkling clean sliding glass doors -- and heaven help them if they don't put the right color napkin out to match the placemat!

With school and football and Los Chavos down the street I don't get to do the classic sit down dinner too often, but there are days we actually look in the cookbook and pick something requiring measuring cups and a cutting board, and more pots and/or pans than will fit in the microwave. My skills aren't mad, but as with anything worth doing, cooking well requires practice and experience. So the most enjoyable part of cooking a meal isn't the ecstasy on our tastebuds when we're at the table, it's all in the prep. I enjoy getting the ingredients spread out all over the countertop, cookbook propped up on some jar or bowl I'll be searching for in a minute. I enjoy a beer when I cook, and olives speared out of the jar. I enjoy the uglies on the other side of the counter, sitting at the bar ordering milktinis or apple(juice)tinis. I don't really want them helping, the kitchen ain't big enough for the two of us, and the temptation to add pepper to everything or crack open every egg in the carton is too great. I want them to sit on the stools and talk to me, or pretend to listen while I ramble or lecture, have a game or tunes on the radio, or just play with the measuring cups and be there. It's good to just be. I find myself planning our next kitchen, with more countertops for mixing bowls and more room for my helpers to help, with an open space between the chopping block and the barstools so as the uglies get bigger and taller I can look across at them and be amazed, be proud, just be.