Carrots

Sometimes my brain wakes me up in the middle of the night with the most idiotic thoughts. For example, last night's thought was that carrots should be measured in "diamonds." Like, "Look at the size of that carrot ... it's huge, it must at least be a 24 diamond carrot. It'll easily win the blue ribbon at the State Fair this year." Actually, it probably should be spelled a little differently. Like "diamenz." It's nice to know this is the kind of thing my brain is working hard on while I'm sleeping at night and then deems worthy to wake me up for. Maybe that's why it's so hard for me to get out of bed every morning.

Kids These Days #1

Kids these days. It's like a guy can't accidentally start a spatula on fire in his own house without his 7-year-old telling the whole world about it.

Family Games

On random weekends I like to shave only half my face to see if my family notices and they like to pretend like they don't notice so I look like an escaped lunatic from a mental hospital to the rest of the world. It's a fun little family game we like to play.

The Conversation

Sat down on the couch next to my 7-year-old just as he was finishing up his apple juice drink box. When he reached the bottom and started making annoying gurgle noises through the straw with it, I was about to ask him to stop when my stomach decided to reply with it's own gurgle sounds. For the next several minutes, my son and I sat silently while his juice box and my stomach had a riveting, back-and-forth conversation about something we'll never know.

Parental Kryptonite

I have to confess ... sometimes I get selfish. I’m not proud of it, but sometimes I don’t feel like playing that millionth game of Sorry, or play that billionth game of catch in the backyard, or make that zillionth Lego spaceship. But every single time my kids ask me to spend a little of what we parents call “quality time” with them, in the few moments of silence between their request and my response, my stupid conscience gets up, strolls diligently over to the jukebox in my head, drops in a few coins, hits a couple buttons and on comes that damn “Cats in the Cradle” song that is my absolute parental kryptonite and I am rendered powerless to do anything but acquiesce to their solicitation. That song, man. It gets me every time. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Don’t even get me started with when it comes on in real life. If I’m in mixed company I have to excuse myself in fear of breaking down into a blubbery mess by the end of it and risk being forced to turn in my “man card.” Fortunately, since it’s an old song, it doesn’t happen too often. Curse you, Harry Chapin and your cradles and cats and evil gut-wrenching parental guilt trip song!

Spheres

I overheard my 12-year-old playing with her younger brother and she asked him to help her pick up all the 'spheres' in the backyard. A little confused, I asked her what she meant. Apparently, somewhere along the way, she learned the slang associated with male genitalia and now feels awkward using the word 'balls.' They grow up so fast.

Sugary Cereal

Every once in a while we give into our kids’ endless pleas for sugary cereal. Recently, a box of Frosted Flakes made it into our home and, though we try not to do it often, I have to admit that this time it’s been worth it due to my 7-year-old’s hilarious inability to remember what they’re called every morning. So far he’s asked to have a bowl of Frozen Flecks and, the next morning, a bowl of Frosting Fleeks and, the morning after that, a bowl of Frosted Flags. I can’t wait to hear what tomorrow morning’s variation will be.

Vegetables

The day my son is tall enough to ride all the rides at Six Flags is the day my wife and I are going to have to come up with a new, equally convincing reason for him to want to eat his vegetables.

One Reason

One of the main reasons I had children is because I knew that someday there'd be this empty part of me that could only be filled by having someone shorter than me follow me around and point out the gray hairs on my head that they themselves had large part in helping to create.

Parental Flaw

I've come to the realization that among my many flaws as a parent, one of the major ones is that I seem to lack the ability to think things through. For example, when we got the 7-year-old an advent calendar that contains 25 individual Star Wars-themed mini-Lego sets in it, I thought it'd be a fun little thing for him to do every day, being that he's big into both Legos and Star Wars. What I didn't realize was that what I was actually buying was a new, blond-haired alarm clock that would be entering my room every single morning somewhere between the ungodly hours of 5:00-6:00 AM while I'm still peacefully slumbering, that would immediately turn on the light upon entering, and then (and the order here is important) ask if he could turn on said light (and not wait for my response) and then ask — nay, demand — that I help him build, essentially, a tiny, 20-piece puzzle when my brain is barely functioning enough to even comprehend where I am. This flaw is something I need to work on, I know, though it's been 12 years now since I first became a parent so I admittedly don't have high hopes of any improvement in this area.

The Last Bite

That intensely serious look my dog gives me suddenly when I get to the very last bite of my slice of pizza as a long string of drool cascades from the corner of his mouth.

Good Morning

Laying in bed, not wanting to get up, when I suddenly hear my 7-year-old bust into a loud, exceedingly cheerful and completely made up song that consists solely of lyrics of him individually saying ‘good morning’ to every single toy in his room and wondering what the heck his mom sprinkled on his waffle this morning. Sheesh ... I’ll have whatever he had, please and thank you.

Batteries Not Included

Out of all the frustrating things my 7-year-old has done since arriving on this planet, I’d have to say that constantly taking all the batteries out of all the remotes has to be pretty close to the top of the list. That’s just evil. It’s okay though, I’ll just add it to the list of things I’ll do to him when he gets older and moves into his own place. Just you wait, kiddo, just you wait [insert maniacal laugh here].

Random Act of Kindness

So this year my kids' store-bought, chocolate-filled advent calendars also feature nice little holiday-themed "random acts of kindness" ideas on each day's flap. Recently, my 12-year-old decided to take it upon herself to enact one that read "Make Someone a Cup of Hot Cocoa" and I happened to be the lucky recipient. Unbeknownst to me, though, she decided to forgo simply using a packet of powdered mix and instead made some 'from scratch'. Of course I didn't know that until I took a sip and the thick sweetness of it shot directly to my brain. I instantly heard a popping sound which I believe was my left eye forcibly dislodging itself partially from the socket. With a gentle smile, I asked her what was in it and she informed me that it basically had chocolate and every type of sugar (regular, powdered, brown) she could find in the pantry. After experiencing a brief bout of cold sweats moments after, I'm pretty sure her random act of kindness has reconfigured my DNA.

Insult

My 7-year-old was mad at me and called me Mr. Poopypeepeepottyboogerpants and I told him that's fine, but since you're my son that means you're also Mr. Poopypeepeepottyboogerpants! So there! BURN!

Fish Grandpa

So I went to my 7-year-old's room this morning to give him a quick goodbye hug/kiss on the head before he left for school and on my way out I bent down to say "good morning" to his goldfish and from behind me I hear in a voice that I can only assume is my son's impression of his fish if they actually had voices say "Oh, hi Grandpa!" followed immediately by my wife's burst of laughter from the other room.

Grandpa?! Um, no, fish. I am not your grandpa.

And grandma in the other room better pipe down.

Alphabet

I just overheard my 7-year-old in the other room singing the alphabet and he ended it with W-X-Y-M-C-A. Was there ever a teacher in the Village People line-up?

Despacito

Thanks to my kids, over the last month or so that song Despacito has fully taken over our household. Fortunately neither of them speak Spanish so they have no idea what the lyrics mean. I will have to say it is somewhat entertaining to hear them mangle said lyrics with their own form of Spanish-inspired gibberish. They have no problem doing that yet they get mad at me when I change it to "Tres Taquitos" and continue filling it with other food items like Doritos, Cheetos, burritos, churros, tacos, etc. I mean, being a life-long fan of "Weird Al," how could I not?

I Mean Dad

My wife is a stay at home mom, which means, among many other things, the kids spend a lot more time with her than with me. And that also means when they want something, 90% of the time they're asking her for it and, directly because of that, 99.9% of the conversations I have with them, I kid you not, begin like this:

KID: Hey Mom?
ME: I'm Dad.
KID: I mean Dad.

Yep, to them I am not simply "Dad." I am "MomIMeanDad."

EBS

I'm convinced that both my children are afflicted with EBS (Eyelid Blindness Syndrome). It's when you can't see another person's eyelids. I just made it up. How else can you explain the fact that every single morning they initiate loud, one-sided conversations with me while I am clearly still asleep? No gentle tap on the shoulder first, no "good morning, dad" ... they just launch into a barrage of jibber-jabber as if I was just laying there, staring at the wall, longing for someone to talk to. EBS ... the struggle is real.

The Record

Just overheard my wife and daughter talking in her room ...

WIFE: Thank you for cleaning your room up, I really appreciate it.
DAUGHTER: What's the record for keeping my room clean?
WIFE: (sarcastic) Probably like 5 minutes.
DAUGHTER: (non-sarcastic) Yay! I beat it!

"We broke up."

My 6-year-old is a big fan of peanuts in the shell (or "crust" as he inexplicably calls it), so when we went to Five Guys (a burger place that has free peanuts) for lunch yesterday and he said he didn't want any, I was surprised. When I asked him why, he simply said, "We broke up." I laughed and asked him what that meant and he reminded me of the time not long ago when, after he loudly proclaimed his love for the snack, I retorted with the classic grade-school response, "Then why don't you marry 'em?" After all this time, I had no idea he took me seriously.

King Sized Bed

Strange how a king-sized bed is plenty big enough for two adults yet the mere addition of a flopping-like-fish, cover-stealing, arm-to-the-forehead, foot-to-the-groin, sideways laying/H-making 6-year-old and its suddenly like being crammed into a twin-size.

Get Out of Bed

Just overheard my wife talking to my daughter, who needs to get up for a gymnastics class, but is sleeping in ...

WIFE: Zoey, get out of bed or I'll sick your brother on you.

BROTHER: (evil laugh) YEAH!

This will not end well.

The F-Word

The 6-year-old is beyond obsessed with getting a pet fish and has been asking us, non-stop, for over two weeks for one. It's gotten to the point where we've actually forbidden him from even saying the word "fish" to us. This hasn't stopped him from talking about it though. Now he's started using the term "f-word" instead. This could pose a problem if he starts begging us for the "f-word" in public.

Update: I just told him he could get a goldfish cracker instead and we'll see if he can take care of that for a week first. He was not amused.

Unable to Connect

So I try to covertly get my 11-year-old off the computer by secretly turning off my internet router (which is in another part of the house) and then I come back to see her still on the computer, but now playing Google's "Unable to Connect to the Internet" endless running T-Rex game. Blast you, Google! How dare you make me actually parent my child!

Just Me?

Does anyone else go to their phone to just check the weather, but instead go to Facebook for 20 minutes, watch several funny videos on YouTube, download 2 songs on iTunes, order something from Amazon, play several levels of Angry Birds, check how the Brewers are doing in the standings and then binge watch 3 episodes of a show on Netflix. Or is it just me?

Happy 4th of July!

It's kinda weird that when most people (including myself) refer to this holiday they say "Happy 4th of July" instead of "Happy Independence Day". It'd be like saying "Merry 25th of December" or "Happy 31st of October". Amiright?

Goodnight Shirt

My 6-year-old just asked me to help him find his "goodnight shirt." It took me a minute to figure out he meant his pajama top.

Important Safety Tip

Driving in the car with my 6-year-old and he suddenly breaks the silence with, "Hippos attack people so please don't mess with them or they will eat you and you'll be dead."

Important Question

On the way to bed last night, i passed my daughter's room and from the darkness I hear her, in her sweet little voice, ask, "Dad? What's a head lock?"

Help Getting Up

I overheard the 6-year-old wake up his mom this morning to ask her to help him with his cereal. When she asked him to give her a moment because she needed a little time to wake up, he replied, with all the sincerity in the world, "Will little kisses help?" This kid, I tell yah.

The Little Things

The 6-year-old fell asleep on his mom's lap by the fire pit last night. I picked him up to take him to bed and, on the way, with his eyes still closed he says, "Will you lay with me 'til I fall back to sleep?" I told him, "Of course I will," and he replied, "You're such a nice dad." Aw, heart melted. I try, kiddo. I try.

Game

I couldn't tell what game the kids were playing this morning while I had been trying to sleep in, but I can only guess it's something called Yelling and Slamming Doors. I could be wrong. I don't think so though.

Lip

You know, I'm fully aware of my 6-year-old's lack of ability to sit still for longer than 2.35 (average) seconds at a time. This is a well established fact. It's even on Wikipedia. I was also very aware, based on the same enthusiastic yelling that woke me up this morning, that he was watching something on TV that he was extremely excited about. Yet, despite these 2 very obvious, cold hard facts, my brain decided, for some unknown reason, to instruct me to silently walk up to him from behind and give him a quick kiss on the top of his head this morning. And now I have my stupid brain to thank for this full, pouty bottom lip. Someone ask me how many different ways shrimp can be prepared.

Ken

Living in a house with a sister, of course my 6-year-old is going to occasionally be exposed to movies he probably wouldn't see on his own. For example, the Barbie movie he watched yesterday with his sister. He may not admit it to anyone else, but based on his enthusiastic review afterwards, he seemed to like it. More specifically, he really enjoyed the comedic stylings of one particular character, which he dubbed "The Boy Barbie." He has a name, son. It's Ken. Ken is his name.

That Wasn't It

My favorite is when my kids think they've done something cool and excitedly call me over to watch them do it again and then, when they try to do the cool thing again, they mess it up and I, not knowing what it was they were actually trying to do in the first place, feign excitement at what they actually did do and they quickly say, "That wasn't it," and then they immediately proceed to try to do it again, but fail again and I feign the excitement again, still not knowing what it was they were trying to do and again they quickly say, "That wasn't it," and this repeats several more times before I finally tell them to let me know when they have it figured it out and then several minutes later they call me back and we repeat the whole process all over again and after what seems like a thousand attempts they never are able to do whatever that cool thing was ever again. Good times.

Censored

Just overheard my 6-year-old yell, "But i don't know where the h-word they are!" You know you're a good parent when you've taught your child to self-censor at such an early age.

IT Question

A question for my IT friends: My 6-year-old just asked me how many "galometers" a movie file of his is and I was wondering how that converts to gigabytes.

Packing

This is what happens when you let your 6-year-old pack his own suitcase. Good thing it was a road trip otherwise we would have never gotten through security with all the weapons (nunchuks, a Star Wars blaster, a lightsaber) he decided to pack, along with a dozen matchbox cars. I'm not sure what kind of vacation he thought this was going to be.

#6yearoldninjajediassassin

Agony of Defeat

The Agony of Defeat ...

How Many?

MY 6-YEAR-OLD: (through the door) Dad! What are you doing in there?!
ME: (sarcastic) Um, I don't know ... what do people usually do in the bathroom?
MY 6-YEAR-OLD: Are you almost done?!
ME: I don't know. Don't rush me.
MY 6-YEAR-OLD: Ugh! How many poops you have left?!
ME: (after a beat) How many ... ? Uh, let me count. Seven.
MY 6-YEAR-OLD: (shocked) SEVEN?!

Commercials

Watching live TV with my 6-year-old is always entertaining. I swear, for as long as he's been able to talk, at the end of EVERY SINGLE commercial, without fail, he always says, "We should get that." The best is when he singles one of us out for whatever product is being sold, like the other day he said, "You should get that, Dad," after seeing a commercial for a Tesla. Yeah, okay, sure, I'll head on over to the dealership right now. I'm waiting for the day when he sees a commercial for something like adult diapers to see who he "assigns" it to.

Pick Up Your Toys

We told the 6-year-old to pick up all his toys off his floor. We should have been more specific.

Poked Eye

You watch The Three Stooges with your kids and you probably shouldn't be surprised when one of them pokes you in the eye, right?

Last Day of School

Today is my kids' last day of school. I know this because they woke me up this morning, pre-alarm, repeatedly yelling "LAST! DAY! OF! SCHOOL! WOO-HOO!" Then the 6-year-old came in to rub a little salt in the wound by asking me when my Summer Break starts. I told him most adults don't get a Summer Break. I'm pretty sure we've had this discussion before so I couldn't quite tell if his "Awww!" was genuine or sarcastic. Then the 11-year-old came in, snuggled up next to me in bed, looked up at me and told me that I have a lot of hair in my nose.

Dog Prank

I wonder if my dog laughed to himself when he pooped directly at the bottom of my kids' backyard swingset slide.

Speech Class

Thinking back to my Freshman year High School Speech Class where I was, I kid you not, the only guy in a class with nine girls and being forever thankful that our teacher, who was wise enough to not bust out the classic advice to fight fear of public speaking by picturing your audience (i.e. my classmates) in their underwear. I think it's safe to say that that would have not bode well for a 15-year-old with raging hormones. Crude nickname (barely) averted!

No Sleep 'Til Winter

Laying in bed on a Saturday morning, listening to my 6-year-old son repeatedly yell-sing "NO! SLEEP! TIL WINTER!" Here's to both my kids who never let a little thing like lack of knowledge of the actual lyrics stop them from belting out songs at the top of their lungs.

The Alarm Clock

It was 6:27 am on a Wednesday. For some bizarre, weird, unknown strangeness, I woke up a few minutes before my alarm was set to go off. I hate when this happens. Most people in this situation would, I assume, just get up and shut off their alarm, but not me. When this happens, I will continue to lie there, in silent protest. To whom I am protesting, I have no idea, but if I have designated approximately 510 minutes of sleep time for myself, then that’s exactly how much time I’m taking, dammit. I say this as if, when my alarm clock finally does goes off, I will immediately jump out of bed instead of what I actually do, which is hit snooze 87 times. But that’s not the point here. So I’m laying there and my mind starts to drift instead of doing what it should be doing and that’s watching my clock closely so I can be sure to hit that snooze the very second that the alarm goes off, because if I don’t, it attracts … the Morning People. Morning People are a small tribe of annoyingly awake and very loud creatures that live in the house with me. They — (expletive deleted)! My alarm is going off!

“Hey Dad!” the six-year-old runs in and yells.

“Hi,” I grumble.

“Time to get up!”

“I’m not ready yet.”

He crawls up on the bed and sits down on the pillow next to my head.

“(Expletive deleted),” I say in my head and let out a sigh, "Here we go."

“It’s 6:31,” he says.

“Yep.”

“When are you going to get up?” he asks.

“I don’t know. 7:30,” I say, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave me alone. He doesn’t.

“It’s 6:32 now.”

“Thanks.”

At this point I could tell him to leave, but I don’t. The reason for this is unclear to me. Perhaps I don’t want my kids to think of me as that type of grumpy Dad (even though I clearly am at 6:32 in the morning). I think maybe it’s more because I smell the potential for a humorous Facebook/blog post and I’m willing to subject myself to what is about to happen to find out. Either way, I continue to lie there and try to ignore him.

“It’s 6:33. Six. Three. Three. Six hours and thirty-three minutes. Thirty-three minutes after six o’clock.”

At this point, it’s starting to become annoying, but at the same time I kind of wish he knew Spanish so I could hear him also say, “Seis treinta y tres.” Or maybe Roman numerals: “It’s VI. III. IV.”

He continues: “Now it’s 6:34. A six, a three, a four … 6:34 … AM.” He pauses. I know exactly what he’s about to say. “What does AM stand for?” he asks, right on cue.

Before I can say, “Ask Mom,” (see what I did there?) he decides to take the whole thing to a new level when he notices my alarm clock also displays ... ugh … seconds.

“It’s 6:34 and 23 seconds, 24 seconds, 25 seconds, 26 seconds, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32 —”

“Riley,” I say sternly, hoping that that’s ALL I need to say.

“Are you getting up yet, Dad?”

My stern voice clearly needs work.

“Still not ready. I think I heard mom call you,” I lie. He doesn’t fall for it. It’s not the first time I’ve used that.

“It’s … 57, 58, 59 … it’s 6:35 now, Dad!”

“Okay! Fine! I’m getting up!” I grumpily yell and sit up.

“Yay!” he says and immediately runs out of the room.

I sit there fuming for a second, but then realize … hey, I can lay back down again! So I do. Because I’ve still got time before — EXPLETIVE DELETED! — my alarm goes off again!

“Daddy!” the 11-year-old runs in.

The Dad Star

I got my 6-year-old an X-Wing fighter toy for Christmas (which is nearly identical to the one I had at his age) and he absolutely loves it. He's been flying it around the house non-stop, shooting at things, including me, which he has dubbed "The Dad Star." I'm not accustomed to being a planet destroying space station, but as long as he doesn't try to fly his toy down my trench and fire lasers into my exhaust port, I'm okay with it.

The Studio Boss

Sometimes my kids make me feel like a studio boss. You see, two summers ago I got the crazy idea to make a short superhero themed movie with them just for fun and they’ve been relentlessly pitching me ideas for more ever since.

Back when I was an age somewhere between the current ages of my two kids, I had decided, without a doubt, that I wanted to make movies when I grew up; a desire that was, of course, fueled by two guys named Lucas and Spielberg. I remember my ambition and excitement to make movies of my own was out of control, but, being the days just before the arrival of personal video cameras, there was no way for a kid my age to do so … or so I thought. Imagine my unbridled joy the day when I learned my parents had bought themselves a Super 8 movie camera and were actually willing to let me use it. It was crude, it was kind of expensive and it had no sound capabilities, but it was something. And then imagine my excitement when I Iearned that using a Super 8 was exactly how Spielberg had gotten his start as a kid.

Unfortunately that excitement quickly reverted back to frustration when I was faced with the harsh reality that filmmaking is, for the most part, a collaborative art and, being the only child of two busy parents, I became quickly frustrated when most of the time I couldn’t find anyone to help me with my creative visions. And this is why, despite the fact that I end up doing 75% of the work and they instill insane, whine-infused deadlines to deliver the finished product to them within a day or two (though luckily they’re pretty easy to please), when my kids beg me to help them make a “movie,” I will always, eventually, find the time to do so. Oh, the irony of life that I went to film school and moved all the way to Los Angeles to end up only, to date anyway, making movies with my kids. Hopefully I'm giving them inspiration and maybe teaching them some skills. I guess at the very least it's fun quality time spent together that they'll remember as we all grow older.

The Harry Potter Ride vs. My Son

My son is bummed he's not tall enough yet to ride the Harry Potter ride at Universal Studios. I told him he should've worn his platform 9 3/4 shoes.

Toes

I noticed my 6-year-old looking very intently at his toes. After a moment he asked if I could stick my middle toe up by itself and I told him I didn't think I could. He then asked me if doing so was like saying a swear word like it is when you do it with your middle finger. Yes, son ... never, ever flip your middle toe at anyone. Except maybe if someone cuts you off in traffic.

Feeling Loved

It always makes me feel so loved when I come home from a long day at work, walk in the front door and both my kids come running out, all smiling and yell, "Yay! Food's here!" and then grab the take-out I brought home for dinner out of my hands and run off. Yes, these are the precious moments.

Business Venture

My 6-year-old came to me yesterday with a small stack of construction paper and asked me to make some paper airplanes with him. I wasn't sure why until I watched him gather them up, put them into his trick or treat pumpkin bucket, walk out to the sidewalk in front of our house and start yelling, "Paper airplanes for sale!" After his new business venture ended in failure, we all got in the car to go get some lunch and he brought his bucket of planes with him. Once at the restaurant, while standing in line at the counter, he broke away from us and I assumed he was going to start trying to sell them again. To my surprise, he just started handing them out to all the ladies in the place, all of whom were obviously charmed by him, laughing and smiling as he demonstrated their use. This kid.

List

In other news, our 6-year-old just presented us with his official Christmas "list" which consists of a nearly 6-foot-long chain of photos of toys cut out from catalogs and taped together, end-to-end.

And The Rest

I remember getting mad as a kid whenever I heard the original version of the Gilligan's Island theme refer to the Professor and Mary Ann as "and the rest" and now so do my kids. Ah, the circle of life.

The Dark Side

By request, we recently purchased the 6-year-old a new set of Star Wars themed bedsheets. I have to confess that when he picked out ones that were emblazoned with Darth Vader and Storm Troopers, this caused me some concern that he may be aligning himself with the dark side, but all those worries were laid to rest last night when, while being all tucked into bed, he started to giggle maniacally and said, "I just farted on Darth Vader." I mean, really ... that's cold. The dude already has breathing problems.

Fashion Sense

My daughter's fashion sense can be summed up in two words: Punky and Brewster.

If you love something, let it go?

After a long respite, my daughter has suddenly, without any warning, rediscovered the song "Let It Go" and is now, as I type this, singing it with as much off-key, wrong-worded fervor as she had when it first gained popularity not so long ago. Please send help. Please send help now.

The Forest

Ever since we saw The Force Awakens this past Christmas, my 5-year-old has been constantly trying to use "the forest" on me. I can't tell if he's trying to be a Jedi or a Lumberjack.

Hockum

My 10-year-old's favorite word is "hockum." As in: hockum the moon looks like it's following us? Or: hockum you have hair in your armpits? Or: hockum girl parts are on the inside and boy parts are on the outside? Every day is chock full of a never-ending, rapid-fire barrage of hockums.

STOP!

My kids were being uncharacteristically (ha) loud and crazy today which caused my wife to finally yell "STOP!" at the top of her lungs and the 10-year-old, without missing a beat, followed it up with "Collaborate and listen!" Yeah, in retrospect, I don't think my wife appreciated my involuntary chuckle, but what do you expect when your child unexpectedly quotes Vanilla Ice?

Sunblock

My wife discovered my 10-year-old taking the initiative to protect her skin this weekend by liberally applying sunblock to herself. I say liberally because I overheard my wife say to her, "Hey ... um, no ... I don't think you don't need to put sunblock on in your armpits."

The Countdown

It always amazes me how the act of counting down is such an effective parenting tool. It happens so often in our house you'd think we live at Cape Canaveral and have had successfully launched about two and a half million satellites into orbit by this point.

The Hard Rock Cafe Sweatshirt and the Irony of Life

Every workday, on my walk to and from the parking garage where I park my car for work, I walk past a Hard Rock Cafe. It may seem ridiculous and/or really hard to believe now, but for a brief moment in time when I attended middle school in a small town in southeast Wisconsin, the Hard Rock Cafe logo sweatshirt was the epitome of coolness. It was a status symbol that was only rivaled by the Lacoste polo shirt (collar up, of course). If you were really cool, you’d pair the two in an epic display of tween superiority. And the further away your Hard Rock sweatshirt’s city of origin (which was displayed directly below the logo) was from your own hometown the better. That meant you were that much cooler, because that showed everyone else in school that your family was well off and had the money to splurge on lavish vacations.

For whatever reason, be it for lack of finances or interest (or both?), my parents were never into going on family vacations … anywhere. Actually, we did go camping a few times, but to the best of my knowledge there were never any Hard Rock Cafes located anywhere near the campgrounds we went to. So, that said, for that brief window in time, I coveted one of those damn Hard Rock Cafe sweatshirts. Back then I was a chunky kid in thick glasses with buck teeth who wore J.C. Penny’s Lacoste knockoff polo shirts with a fox instead of an alligator. I was the furthest from cool as you could get. I know, shocking right? For these reasons, I’m pretty sure I professed my desire for said sweatshirt to my Mom on multiple occasions, as if one would magically make me one of the cool kids at last.

A few years later, long after it’s coolness had faded away (because we all know how fickle fashion is), my Mom finally got me one as a surprise. It was from Chicago, the closest Hard Rock Cafe to us and it was purchased by a relative who had visited there. I still remember my mom excitedly giving it to me. I can only imagine how disappointed she must have been upon seeing my incredibly unappreciative, typical teenaged reaction to receiving it. Over the next couple of years, I think I wore the sweatshirt two, maybe three times. It mostly it hung neglected, deep within the recesses of my closet until it no doubt became garage sale fodder only a few short years later.

Flash forward to 2013. The very day I was to start a new job at a building located on Hollywood Boulevard, the one I’m at now and the one with the Hard Rock Cafe that I walk by every day, my Dad had called me early in the morning to tell me that my Mom was rapidly losing her battle with cancer and that I needed to fly home immediately. She passed away within the week that followed.

So now, as I walk by that Hard Rock Cafe every single workday, I’m reminded of that sweatshirt … that stupid sweatshirt that seemed so incredibly important to me at the time. Of course, it never occurred to me to apologize to my Mom about it before then and now, obviously, its too late. The irony of life stings sometimes.

Writing

My 5-year-old, sitting at the computer, listening to music and writing the Great American Novel. He would type, then sit and stare at the screen for a couple of minutes (writer's block, obviously) and then would start typing again. Twenty minutes later he had a good 30 pages of what you see in the image here.

New Light Saber

This is the light saber I got for Christmas so when I duel with the 5-year-old I no longer get stuck using the plastic toy microphone stand. It's on now, 5-year-old!

Wrapping

One good thing about having kids is that I can totally let my wrapping skills slide. If anyone asks about a particularly sloppy wrap job, I can just say, "Oh, the kids wrapped that one" and people will not only buy it, but they'll think it's totally adorable, too.

Force Awakens

My kids are like the title of the new Star Wars movie ... they force awaken me every single morning. And yes, the force is strong with them. Every. Single. Morning.

Ode to Joy

You haven't lived until you've heard a bunch of 5th graders play "Ode to Joy" on kazoos. Magical.

Priorities

The 5-year-old just burst into the room and started enthusiastically yelling, "Dad! I'm about to build the most awesomest Lego ship ever and it's gonna have a million shooters on it and it's gonna shoot [pew pew noises] and explode the bad guys and everything [explosion noises with spit flying everywhere] and it's gonna be super cool and you'll see that it's gonna be the most awesomest ship you've ever seen when I'm done and when I fly it out here! But first I gotta poop." And then like that ... he was gone.

Uno

Playing Uno with the 5-year-old is fun ... he gets excited and cheers every time I play a Draw Four or a Draw Two against him. Apparently he thinks the name (and object) of the game is actually Uno Hundredo. Or something like that. I don't know Spanish.

Light Saber Battles

My epic light saber battle with the 5-year-old ended with him smacking me hard on the wrist, me blurting out a somewhat censored expletive and then him basically calling me a wimp by saying (remorseless I might add), "Don't worry dad, it'll grow back."

Sounds of Christmas

The sounds of Christmas in my house consists of the 10-year-old's beautifully off-key (and loud, of course, because there's no other way to do off-key) vocalizations of traditional Christmas songs and the 5-year-old accompanying her by playing the harmonica like he's hyperventilating into a paper bag. Also loud.

Toyless in the Tub

My 5-year-old was toyless in the tub last night when he called me in, not unlike a CEO summoning their assistant over an intercom. I walked in and asked him, "What's up?" He took a moment to assess his situation then, with the methodical seriousness of a surgeon asking for tools, he said, "I need ... a car ... and ... a duck." So I reached into the bag of tub toys, gave him what he was asking for and then turned to leave, but then he yelled, "Stop!" I slowly turned towards him. He paused dramatically and then said, " ... and the shark." Sh!t just got real.

Wanted

Walking to the bathroom and stumbled upon this. What the heck? And only 7¢?! I guess I'm not "that" wanted. Good thing it's an old picture 'cause I look totally different now without the goatee. Man, just a few days ago I was given the award for Best Dad Ever and now this. How quickly I've fallen from grace.

Award

My 5-year-old presented me with this trophy for being "The Best Dad Ever!" And I didn't even know I'd been nominated. Suck it, all you other dads!

By the way, I thought I heard mention that there'd also be a check ... which I have not yet received. Who do I talk to about that?

Art

Art by my 10-year-old entitled, "A Unicorn Does Its Business."

Names

As you all may have realized, I tend to comment a lot about my exceedingly crazy kids here on Facebook. Just today I had a shocking realization. The very definition of my daughter's name (Zoey) is "Full of Life" and a derivative of my son's name (Riley) could very well be "riled up." Good lord, we may have very well brought this craziness upon ourselves. Let us be a cautionary tale for all you out there about to name your future child.

The Reverse Jesus

Why is it that both my kids, without fail, wait until we're out of the house, in the car and pulling out of the driveway to start complaining incessantly about being thirsty? It's really too bad I can't pull a "reverse-Jesus" and turn all their whine into water.

Hot Cross Buns

You haven't lived until you've heard a stirring rendition of "Hot Cross Buns" being performed by a 10-year-old who has just started learning to play the clarinet. Simply sublime ... I wept.

Prodigy

So after an extremely brief (thankfully) stint learning the violin last year, my 10-year-old has switched over to the clarinet. That basically means we traded loud screeching sounds for loud honking ones. To be honest, I have yet to witness her playing and can't speak to her progress thus far, but my wife said the other night, while practicing, my daughter stopped and asked for earplugs ... for herself. So obviously she's a prodigy.

Haunted

I'm totally freaked out ... I seriously think my house may be haunted. I keep hearing strange voices calling out in the night, find our dining room chairs mysteriously moved to different parts of the house, see strange markings on the walls and — oh wait, no ... I forgot ... I have children.

I Don't Drink Coffee

I don't drink coffee so, after years of experimentation, I've found the best thing that helps me wake up in the morning is 3 additional hours of sleep.

Tool

My 5-year-old asked me to help him with a project in the back yard by saying that I'm, I kid you not, a "big tool."

Raisins

Unearthed these guys today ... apparently I was a bit of a collector back in the day. Good thing I kept them because they're worth about 5¢ each on eBay now. That said, I decided to not retire and insead chose to secretly set them up on a shelf in my 5-year-old's room. I can't wait to hear him ask me why I gave him all these pieces of poop with arms and legs.