Forced to Run Errands

Greetings, WYMOP fans!

Knock-knock.

“Yeah, Dad?”

I opened the door and stuck my head into the boy’s bedroom. “I’m going to need you for a while.”

Blue eyes turned my way, and the big, retro headphones, pulled askew for the purposes of having a quick conversation, came all the way off with a sigh. “What?” he said. “Why?”

“It’s probably going to be a while,” I said gesturing toward the computer he sat behind. “You might want to tell your friends. I need you to help me with something for Grandpa.”

Handsome sat up straighter in his chair. “What? Why?”

“I just got off the phone with him,” I said, moving into the room to lean on the bed’s footboard. “He has some big stuff he wants to get upstairs into his workshop, and he asked if we’d help him. I don’t know how long it’ll be, but I assume you won’t be home for a while—we even have to make a side-trip to Home Depot on the way there to pick up some two-by-fours to use as runners on the stairs.”

“What are we moving?”

“I’m not sure. Grandpa tried to explain on the phone but . . . well, it’s my dad.”

He shot me a look of understanding. His grandfather—my father—is not the most communicative of men. Then he pointed to the computer. “But I was—we were . . .” He paused a moment, then sighed. “Fine.”

I knew what the issue was: I’d ordered him go to the store with me earlier, to do some grocery shopping and run some other errands. He’s thirteen now, and ordering him is one of the only ways to get him to spend time with me anymore. He’d been pretty good about it then, and we’d had a fine time; but now he was online with his friends, and here I was interrupting him again.

“Look,” I said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how long we’ll be, but hurry up and get some shoes and a jacket and I’ll try to have us back as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, turning back to the computer to let his buddies know he was leaving for a while—maybe for the night. “Fine. I’ll be right there.”

A bare minute later he was out of his room and moving fast. He’d gotten his sneakers on in record time and was wrestling his way into a big red-and-black hoodie as he led me out to the car. I hustled around to the driver's seat and got us rolling.

“We have to stop at Home Depot, like I said.” I took a right without slowing, trying to just get where I was going and get it done. “I’ll stop in the one at the mall, ’cause it’s on the way.”

“There’s a Home Depot at the mall?”

“Yep,” I said. “But I never use it. I hate going to the mall in general, and less than a week before Christmas the place is going to be a madhouse. But it’s the one on the way, and I’m trying to have you back home as soon as possible so—”

We exchanged a glance.

“To the mall!” I said.

Four minutes later we were in the mall parking lot and circling.

“I hate this,” I said. “Tell you what: I’ll just park far away and we can walk in, okay? I’ll just try to get close to the entrance nearest Home Depot.”

I yanked the Mini into a spot and we hopped out and started hot-footing it through the parking lot. We got to the entrance and I pulled the door open letting the boy lead the way into the back of the AMC Loews theater that's attached to the mall. Going through this door, you have to cross the corridors leading to the theaters, where the ticket-takers sit, then go through the lobby and out past the ticket booth to enter the rest of the mall. The boy blew past the ticket-takers and was halfway across the lobby already when I whistled him back.

“What?” he said, throwing a thumb over one shoulder, toward the waiting Home Depot. “Don’t we have to—”

“I give this to you, right?” I said, holding my smartphone out to one of the ticket-takers. “Two online tickets to see Star Wars: The Force Awakens?”

He took my phone to scan the QR code on the screen, and his machine spat out our paper tickets. He handed them over and I looked at Handsome, who had dropped the thumb and was squinting at me in dawning comprehension.

“You told your friends you were gonna be a while,” I said. “Right?”

Because that’s the other way to get the boy to spend time with me now: lying, deceitful trickery. I should probably feel bad about lying to him like that, just to get him out of the house. Part of me does, I think.

Halfway down the hall to our theater he gave me a quick hug, and said “I love you, Dad.”

I changed my mind. I don’t feel bad at all.

Talk to you later!

~ ~ * * ~ ~

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Where's the downside?

Happy holidays!

Splash... Goooooaaaaallll!

Note: Please don't forget about my Reader's Poll up there in the upper right corner of this web page. For more information about the poll, the 'why' of it, so to speak, please read  my post explaining the whole thing by clicking  HERE.  

...and on with the blog!

You've all been to kids' soccer games, right? And if not, you've seen them on television or in the movies. They've become such a staple of all our lives here in America that we even have the phrase 'soccer mom'. So we all know what a children's soccer game looks like: happy,smiling kids, all of them athletically inclined (with the possible exception of one heavy kid, who always plays goalie, right?) running about on an emerald-green, sun-drenched field, while excited parents, other family members and friends all either line the fields or fill the stands, cheering happily, applauding excitedly, everyone involved just having the time of their lives.

Right?

That's in TV and movies. Today was Handsome's first game of the new season, his first time out with his new team, and my first time meeting his new coaches. I got him ready, in the car and on the way by 1:30 this afternoon -- the game was scheduled to start at 2:15.

Unfortunately, God is on the team's mailing list, so he knew the game was scheduled for 2:15.  That's why he scheduled the rain to start at 1:45.

Ha! That Celestial Practical Joker! He cracks me up every time! I was just slapping my thigh and wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes when the game began as scheduled. Or was that rainwater in my eyes? it was so hard to tell...

 

So there we were. Cold, wet kids, some of them athletically inclined (the kids playing goal were just as athletically inclined as anyone else out there - they just looked a little chubby since they were all layered up with extra sweatshirts and jackets trying to keep warm out there) slogging about on a rain-slick, just-plain-drenched field, while umbrella'd parents and rain-coated family members and friends all lined the field, cheering somewhat listlessly, applauding to keep their hands warm, everyone involved constantly checking their watches and wondering when they were going to call this thing off.

This was not a time that Life was imitating Art. Art had apparently taken the weekend off, and Life was throwing a tantrum about it, and it was taking us along for the ride.

Terrific.

On the plus side, Handsome had a great game, scoring two if his team's five goals (yes, they won) and making some serious defensive plays as well. He was soaked the whole time, and his wet shoelaces would not stay tied. He might have had an even better game if he hadn't spent nearly one-third of his time in the game crouching down to retie his shoes! I think I'll tie his shoes with some really tight knots and then hose him down with cold water right before next week's game, see if I can get a streak going.

Of course... I'm not going to tell him about the hose idea.  Do me a favor, would you? Keep it under your hat...

Talk to you later!

Whitewashing is Fun!

"Dad? I need your help."
My chest puffed up with pride at his words.
You see that? I thought, never mind all that time he spends playing Minecraft now. When the chips are down and he needs help with something, he comes to dear old Dad!
I got up from my desk, here, where I was sitting, and headed out to see what the problem was.
Yeah, I thought. It's not always all about Minecraft!
"What's the problem, Handsome?"
"I can't figure out how to make a Minecraft server, so I can host a game."
Oh.  Nuts.
Oh well,  I thought loudly, more loudly then the sound of Life laughing at me which had begun to fill my head. I can spend time with him working on this, I guess. Yup... the two of us, working side-by-side... yeah. Could be worse...
"Okay," I said, motioning for him to surrender the chair in front of his computer to me. "Let's see what you've got so far."
We got to work.
Ten minutes later I looked up from the screen. I was going to ask Handsome a question -I can't remember exactly what, now, - to see that the boy was gone.
"Handsome?"
I heard noise coming from my room, where handsome had gone to do... something. Whatever he was doing, it was less boring than trying to figure out how to create a Minecraft server.
Son of a gun! He 'Tom Sawyered' me! 
Well that thought made me laugh out loud, one quick barking sound. At the happy noise, he popped back into the room.
"Are we done?" he asked, then looked puzzled as I laughed some more.

Talk to you later!


P.S. - please don't forget about my Reader's Poll up there in the upper right corner of this web page. For more information about the poll, the 'why' of it, so to speak, please read  yesterday's post by clicking HERE.

Thank you.

Teen Tropes

There are things about Handsome growing up that I'm not looking forward to, and quite a few of them are usually associated with teen-agers. We see TV and movies pointing these things out all the time, so we've all seen them, whether we have kids or not.

 They are things like the kid wanting to do anything in the world besides spending time with the parents; deciding vocally and publicly that adults are doddering old wrecks who never actually did know their asses  from their elbows; and that old teen standby of monopolizing the phone to the point of screaming 'Don't get it! I've got it!' every time the thing rings.

Recently my boy's discovered an online game called Minecraft, and he'd become just slightly addicted. What this game has done, I've noticed, is speed up the growing up process in my son. Here are some recent conversations we've had while he was sitting, glassy-eyed in front of the computer screen.

"You want to go out and play catch?"
"No thanks."

"I'm cutting down that tree in the yard, you want to see it come down?"
"No thanks."

(Now for the one he normally would have jumped at even if he was in a coma)
"I'm running that tree I took down through the chimenea in the back yard, a chunk at a time. It's really blazing back there. Want to help keep the fire going?"
"No thanks."

And then tonight.
"You want to go for a little ride? I just got the motorcycle back on the road, we still have some time before the sun goes down and it rains..."
"No thanks."

It's like having a teen-ager already! And it happened so fast it's freaking me out! And, as if to drive the point home for me, he's started exchanging phone numbers with other kids in his school who also play Minecraft so they can get a little organized and play at the same time, hooking up with each other in the game. Thus, twice last night I heard:

Ring... ring...ri- "I got it! Don't pick it up, I got it! I got- Hello? Yeah, it's me...",

Then the sound of the door closing.

My boy. 9 going on 19. It brings a tear to my eye.

If anybody wants me, I'll be the doddering old wreck over here in the corner trying to figure out which one's my elbow.

Talk to you later!

Checklist: Check!

Safety Goggles: Check.

Face Shield: Check.

Leather Throat Cover: Check.

Catcher’s Chest Protector: Check
.

Padded Coveralls: Check.

Leather Apron: Check.

Athletic Cup: Check.

Heavy Duty Leather Work Gloves: Check.

Clippers, Snippers, Bolt Cutters, Coping Saw, Hand-held Power Planer, and Orbital Sander with 50 Grit Paper: Check.

1- 80 oz Powerade Sports Drink, with Replenishing Electrolytes: Check.

We are go.

Okay. Time to cut Handsome’s toenails before he ruins yet another pair of shoes.

Honestly, the kid’s like some mutant from the movies or a comic book!

I’m going in!

Talk to you later!

Free Circus. Sweet.

Yesterday the Piccadilly Circus was playing in Massachusetts. One day, three shows.

I had passes. Free passes for children 13 and under, and one pass for an adult.

Free circus. Sweet.

Handsome's mother wanted to come see the show and watch Handsome having fun, so we'd have to buy one ticket. No worries - regular tickets were listed at $30.

Two adults, two children (Handsome brought a friend), all getting to see the circus for $30. Still pretty damn sweet.

So we drove the to Tsongas Arena, Handsome and his best friend MM in the backseat all happy to be going to the circus. We'd fed them before we left, so we didn't have to worry about buying $18 hot dogs once we were there, so I was all happy about going to see the circus, 4 for $30.

$10 for Event Parking.

Okay... 4 people for $40. Still pretty sweet.

At the door we found that not only was Wife's ticket $34 rather than the expected $30, I had to pay a $6 'entry fee' to use my 'pass'.  Luckily, the boys were still free.

$50

We got inside, and immediately ran into the souvenir/toy booths outside the Event Floor. Both boys wanted these light-up swords they were selling the looked a lot like light sabers. $12 each, for $24.

$74

When we finally got inside the Event Floor proper, there was a kind of pre-show kiddie world thing going on down on the floor. Pony rides, a slide, an elephant ride and face-painting. Handsome wanted his face painted like a tiger. MM just wanted to watch, so Handsome got a $12 paint job.

$86

The show started, and though it was no Ringling Bros, it was a pretty decent little one-ring circus. Motorcycle riders in the Cage of Death.  A good clown with a bad car. A magician turning a woman into a tiger. A good old-fashioned whip and lariat act. More clowns, and they were pretty good!

After about an hour of acts, they had an intermission. Kiddie Land opened up again, but this time there was an added bonus - you could go down there and get your picture taken with certain performers! Wit-woo! Handsome announced that he just had to have a picture with the motorcycle guys from the first act.

I sighed. We went back down to the floor. I checked with MM, but he didn't want anything, he just wanted to hang out with Handsome. I love this kid. Handsome got his picture sitting on one of the motorcycles inside the Cage of Death and walked out all smiles. For just $10.

$96

MM finally came up with something he wanted. Cotton candy. We could see kids walking around with the stuff, but we weren't sure where to buy it. When we got back to our seats, Handsome happened to spot a booth selling cotton candy, but it was way on the other side of the arena, and informed me that he too wished to have some of the wispy spun-sugar treat. I left them in their seats and hustled over to the booth, trying to be back to my seat before the intermission ended.

By the time I got there I'd decided that I wanted some too, so I quickly asked for three bags. There was no price sign of any kind that I could see, so i had to wait for the girl running the booth to tell me what I owed her. When she said "Eighteen dollars, please," I found myself repeating her words as if I hadn't heard them and was asking for clarification. Oh, I'd heard her alright, but her words had driven all thought from my head, and all I could do was repeat the last words I'd heard as I scrambled to come up with some of my own.

"Yeah, they're six dollars apiece," she said, actually looking a little embarrassed at the admission. I grumbled, sounding a lot like an angry Fred Flintstone, but I forked over the cash and hustled back around the arena to my seat, arriving just as the intermission ended.

$114

The next hour of acts passed uneventfully, at least monetarily. We watched the rest of the show and hustled the boys out to the car before anyone could buy anything else, including me. We dropped MM off, then dropped Wife off at her house and Handsome came home with me, getting to bed sometime after 11:00 and passing out swiftly thereafter.

And that's how going to the circus for free cost me $114.

Huzzah.

And actually, as I write this, I'm finally getting around to eating my cotton candy. I'd almost forgotten it, but then I saw it over here by my desk and snatched it right up. For six bucks I'm not going to miss a shred of this blue crap.

And you know what? It's not bad.

Talk to you later!

Rough and Tumble

Today was my day off, so this afternoon I was there behind Handsome's school to pick him up when he got out of class. There were children running this way and that, heading for their parents or simply playing with one another, and there I was in the middle of all that trying to find my boy. I finally spotted him as the crowd was thinning out, standing and talking to one of his classmates. As I walked over to get his attention, I heard a voice behind me cry out Handsome's name. Handsome turned and looked past me, and I turned about to find the source of the cry. 

Standing on the edge of the parking lot was a boy. A big boy. Bigger than Handsome, and he's pretty big. I found out later that this boy is a 7th grader who used to go to school with Handsome, who is in the 4th grade. This boy was just here with his father to pick up his younger brother, but apparently he remembered Handsome from a couple of years ago and he wanted to play. He was calling him over to the parking lot, hands spread, fingers beckoning in a "c'mon, lets go" gesture.

Handsome walked by me and dropped his book bag with me.

"I'll be right back, Dad," he said as he walked by. As Handsome approached the boy dropped into a kind of fighting crouch, hands up and ready. Handsome looked at how close to the cars they were.

"Come out here," he gestured toward the grassy field. "We need more room."

What I found out later, but had not a clue about at the time, was that way back when Handsome was in the 2nd grade and this boy was in the 5th grade, they used to go at it rough-and-tumble a lot. I also found out that, because of their disparity in age, Handsome lost in his shoving-pushing-wrestling matches with this boy with stunning regularity. This may have had something to do with the other boy's eagerness to go a round or two with my son.

They squared off. The older boy was slapping at Handsome, trying to get him to react and make an opening, but Handsome just covered up and took the blows to his arm. They circled a bit, then the other boy's father called out that they had to go. The boy turned to tell his father he'd be there in a minute, and while he was turned away Handsome gave him a stinging slap to the arm, much like the blows he had already received. The older boy got a little mad at this, and charged Handsome. They clinched, and the boy tried to use his greater size to bowl Handsome over.

Now, I've already mentioned a few things that I didn't know at the time, but there was something the boy didn't know, that I did. Something that was about to become pretty important.

Handsome recently trained as a wrestler for a season.

When they clinched, Handsome swept the boy's leg out, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Handsome was ready for it, however, and got to his knees in a flash. He got a grip on the older boy and, very systematically, as he had been taught, maneuvered around him, locking up his arms and rolling him to his back. The 7th grader wound up lying on his back with one arm completely useless and the other only able to flail ineffectually at Handsome's back, unable to get up, move Handsome, or do anything at all useful.

They stayed that way until the other boy's father came to get him, at which time Handsome simply released him and rolled to his feet. The boy's father helped him up (actually finding this situation pretty funny himself) and told him it was time to go. The boy, frustrated and, I have to think, a bit embarrassed about the ease with which he had just been handled by a kid three years younger, spun away from his dad, dashed around him, and went at Handsome like a runaway train.

Handsome didn't flinch or run away. He ducked slightly and stepped into the charge. He caught the boy under one arm and turned away from him in what some martial arts call a 'wraparound hip throw', while others call it a 'front sweep take-down'. Whatever you want to call it, Handsome easily put the bigger kid face down on the ground and wound up sitting on his back, holding the boy in a double hammer lock. 

For those of you who don't know what a hammer lock is, put your hands behind you as if you're being handcuffed. Now slide your hands up your spine towards the back of your neck. At some point they stop (unless you are unusually flexible), and you've reached as high as you can go - any higher and it will hurt your shoulders. The higher you go beyond that point, the more it hurts, until, at some point (again, unless you are unusually flexible), one or both of your shoulders dislocate. This is a very controlling arm lock when applied by someone who knows what they are doing, as there is plenty of opportunity to provide immobility or pain without actual damage.

And here was Handsome, calmly sitting on the older boy's back keeping him completely helpless with this hold. Not hurting him, simply holding him until his father could come collect him again.

Now, I was watching this whole thing and listening to the impressed murmurings of the other dads who were there to collect their kids. Their mutterings were summed up by one of Handsome's smaller classmates who spoke to Handsome in a tone filled with wonder.

"Wow. You just whipped a 7th grader!"

My favorite thing about the whole scene was Handsome's attitude and control. He never lost his temper, even when the other boy switched from slapping hands to closed fists. He used only the necessary force to control the situation, and made the kid completely helpless twice without ever actually hurting him. He did exactly what his wrestling coaches trained  him to do, and it was as effective as could be.

But besides that, there was this little voice in my head that kept saying "Wow. He just whipped a 7th grader!"

Talk to you later!

Swimming and Bleeding and Stuff.

I'm supposed to be the adult. I mean, when Handsome and I get together and we start to roughhouse, I'm the one who's supposed to have the ability to see when things start getting out of hand. I'm the one who's supposed to reign things in before someone gets hurt, right?

When will I start actually start doing that? Before someone gets hurt?

Because better than half the time, it's me. You think I would learn after all this 'negative reinforcement'.

But no.

We went to the YMCA for free swim this afternoon. It was a last-minute thing, and we got there almost half-way through the 2 hours the pool was open for today. We suited up, lockered our belongings, and hit the water.

That's when things started to go wrong.

We started out playing tag in the water, just the two of us. That was going just fine, until it developed into a little wrestling over who was currently 'it'. It was during the wrestling that I got kicked in the jimmies.

I should have taken that as a warning. I should have.

We grabbed a couple of those flotation noodles, you know, the 6' long foam tubes you can use to float on... or whack each other with, at your discretion. We, of course, chose the 'whacking' application. Half-way through our foam-beating splashing battle, Handsome picked up a different pool toy. It was something like a barbell, if the weights were big chunks of foam, the same material as the noodles were made of. It had a certain rigidity from the 'bar' portion, as that appeared to be a plastic tube.

This was the beginning of the end.

"I am so Darth Maul with this," he said, spinning the floaty barbell thingie about like a quarterstaff.

He hit me with it. It hurt. He hit me with it again, and it hurt again, and I realized that the ends of the plastic tube were open, rather than capped.

This was the middle of the end.

I decided to use the length of the noodle I was still using to my advantage, and began to lay about his head and shoulders with it from a good seven feet away. He charged in, trying to cut the distance and get inside the effective reach of my weapon, at the same time coming to well within the effective range of his own. he brought the thing down on my face like a club, 'swinging for the bleachers' as they say.

This was the end.

Remember that tube I said appeared to be plastic? I think I was wrong. I think it was metal, probably aluminum or something else light, but I was right enough about the ends not being capped. That open edge whacked down on the bridge of my nose, right where my glasses usually sit.

Wasn't wearing them. Lucky break.

As Handsome continued the swing the edge scraped down my nose, taking a good strip of skin with it.

I spent the rest of Free Swim pressing paper towels to my face trying to stop the bleeding.

Like my face doesn't have enough troubles?

Someday I'll learn. Maybe.

I hope it happens soon.

Talk to you later!

P.S. - Handsome was very apologetic, and no, I didn't even yell at him. Like I said, it was at least half my fault. He's 9. I'm 42. If one of us should know better, I guess that would be me.

Maybe I am starting to learn.

Popcorn

This evening Handsome and I watched a movie before he went to bed. As I was putting the DVD into the machine, I made the mistake of asking him "So, you want popcorn with the movie?"

I couldn't help it. It was reflex. Movies and popcorn, I mean they go together like franks and beans, Calvin and Hobbes, movies and popcorn... wait, I've just done that one...

Anyway, like I said, it was reflex. I asked without thinking. I know this, because what I would have been thinking, had I been thinking, was okay you dufus, you are about to ask Handsome to eat popcorn in your bed!


"Yes, sure," was his answer.

So I, still unthinking and working entirely on autopilot, went downstairs and popped up two bags of microwave popcorn. That way we can each have our own, I reasoned, and avoid fighting over the bag during the movie.


You see, I was thinking, on some level. But not all of them. I was thinking on the mental level of a guy watching a movie, not on the mental level where I'm the father of a boy who occasionally makes the Peanuts character of Pig-Pen look like the 'after' portion of a soap commercial. I was all the way back upstairs and handing him the steaming bag of discharged kernels when I began to realize my mistake.

"Okay, I am asking you to try, to try mind you, not to make a mess in my bed with the popcorn, alright?"

In one's lifetime there are a finite number of breaths one draws. When these run out, your number's up, so, in essence, each breath we take is a digit in the countdown that is our life, and each one is thus more precious than we can say.

So why, oh why, did I waste one asking that question?

For the record, I'd like to say that he did try. When the movie was over it only took 5-6 minutes of picking with my fingertips to get up all the parts and specks of popcorn that I could see. Of course, that was only the specks that I could see. I'm sure I'll be finding little edible white chunks in my bed for a long time to come.

Since I shower at night before bed, I just hope that I don't get to work in the morning and have someone find a little popcorn that managed to stick itself to the back of my head in the night.

That might be embarrassing.

Talk to you later!

Roundball

Since today was my day off I was at the school this afternoon picking up Handsome when he got out. It being a beautiful day, and me being able to pop the liftgate on the back of the jeep and make myself a shelter from the  sun where I could keep relatively cool, he got to stay and play with the other kids for a couple of hours before we actually had to go. I sat in my little man-made cave with my laptop and worked on my novel while he played.

I was sitting there, with my legs hanging out over the rear bumper, when Handsome joined into a game of basketball on the playground. I took immediate interest. I play basketball with Handsome sometimes, and we've developed some rules to make things a little more 'even', and make up for the fact that I'm a head and a half taller than him. Keep in mind that I'm only  head and a half taller than him, and he's nine.

• I have to dribble the ball while he does not; he claims he can't, not while moving at all, so that gets rid of traveling, double-dribbling, etc, for him . For me these rules still apply, and I have to dribble.
  
• He is allowed to practically mug me to get the ball, claiming he has no idea how to guard another player. He hugs me, pushes me, wraps up my arms, and clubs my hands all in an effort to gain possession of the ball. I can do none of these things, and if there's any accidental contact there is an immediate cry of "Foul!", and he maintains possession of the ball.
  
• Rather than guard me and try to either scoop the ball or block my shot (he claims he does not know how), Handsome will simply push me at the moment I try to make the shot during a lay-up. He was wrestling at 120 lbs, and somewhere along the way he learned how to really throw himself into a push. He comes at me from the side, and I have found myself stumbling, if not outright flying, across the court time after time.
  
• I am not allowed to grab the ball out of the air. All missed shots, rebounds, etc, must hit the ground at least once and I have to grab them on the bounce. If I snag the ball out of the air, even if all I do is toss it up against the bottom of the hoop or backboard and grab it as it comes back at my face, possession of the ball goes to Handsome. This was my idea, and it helps negate my height advantage.

Well, these boys would not be playing by the Handsome rules, and I was interested to see how Handsome would cope when all the rules applied to him as well. Some of the boys he was playing with looked quite comfortable with the ball, and I knew they'd take no nonsense about the rules.

Handsome dribbled the ball. He made rebounds. He passed and shot. He guarded other players, blocking the occasional shot and stealing the occasional ball from someone performing a lay-up. He set picks to let the ball go out of bounds on the other players and give the ball to his team's best shooter.

I sat in the back of the jeep and kept repeating "Holy $#!%!! Holy $#!%!!"

He's no Harlem Globetrotter, but apparently, Handsome can play.

Seems we have to have a little talk about the 'rules', the next time we play....

Talk to you later!

Invisible

So since all I did today was lie in bed, read, doze and try to breathe, I don't have a hell of a lot to blog about. I've lost 6 lbs since yesterday morning... but that won't carry the day. Instead, I think I'll tell you a quick little story about Handsome.

Now, this was way back when the boy was only 2 years old. I was doing whatever I was doing out in the kitchen, and he came toddling out with a concerned look on his face.

"Daddy, help."

"What'sa matter, Little Man? (we used to call him Little Man)"

"The TV's invisible."

"What?"

"The TV's invisible."

Now, I was surprised that he could even pronounce 'invisible', and I have no idea where he had gotten the word, but I was pretty sure I had never explained it to him. Besides, how could the TV be invisible? I was pretty sure this was just some little game he was playing, but he was quite serious as he took me by the hand and led me into the TV room. He pointed to the set and said "See? Invisible."

According to the sounds coming from the TV, one of Handsome's favorite shows at the time was on, something called "Little Einsteins". What was on the screen, however, was the Comcast 'Guide' function. he must have hit the button on the remote by accident, and now didn't know how to fix it.

What he did know, however, was that his show was there, and he could hear it, he just couldn't see it.

It was invisible.

Damn.

Talk to you later!

It’s a Derby, Dude!

So a couple of days ago Handsome competed in his 1st ever Pine Wood Derby with the Cub Scouts. He had a blast, running about playing with the other kids as I stood with the other parents and watched the races. Handsome and I didn’t do very well our first time out; we had built a car that looked good, and went by nice and slow so you had plenty of time to admire it.

Whoops!

Well, I thought, I guess I’ll have to cheer him up. You know, tell him ‘Better luck next time’, and all that. Little did I know…

After the race I asked Handsome if he had fun.

“Yup.”

“Well, that’s terrific,” I said. “I’m sorry you didn’t win, but at least you had a good time! That’s the spirit!”

“Besides,” he said, very nonchalantly, “I plan to win next year.”

Now, I was all kinds of impressed with this attitude. I was proud of the way he was taking the loss, and blown away that the Scouts could have such a positive effect on my son. That night, in fact, he got out some paper and began to sketch designs for the car he wants to run next year. A Bugs Bunny car.

Then he mentioned a Lightning McQueen car. And a Tasmanian Devil car, then another, and another.

“Waitaminute!” I said. “Aren’t you going to settle on one car to work on?”

Nope. The new plan is to make all of his ideas, then see which runs the fastest. Over the course of the year. This is why he needs to start now.

“Where can we get the wood?” he said.

“I don’t know,” I said, “I’ll have to look it up.”

He beat me to it. He used his own Google-foo. I went upstairs to find him on my computer checking out a website where we can get whole Pinewood Derby Car kits.

In lots of 10.

It’s gonna be a long year.

Talk to you later!

What’s Carbonite?

Handsome has a couple of game systems in the house. For each of them he has some version of a Star Wars game, possibly more than one for each. He’ll be in his room for hours, and all I can hear coming through the door is light saber sounds and R2-D2 squeaks and squawks. His friends come over, and they sit in there playing the games, and I hear them yelling out things like “Look out for the stormtroopers!”, and “Careful, that’s Darth Vader!” he has opinions on who is the coolest in the Star Wars universe ( I think he’s partial to Aniken Skywalker, though he seems to play as Yoda an awful lot too.) Sometimes he asks me to come in the room and play with him, and if he’s not playing Mario Bros. or Mario Karts, then it’s some form of Star Wars game.

It seems to me that he’s very into Star Wars.

So this afternoon we were working on his Pinewood Derby car, and we actually got to the point where we primed it for paint. Now, I was lazy, and in a hurry, so I got him spray paint to use on it. I know it says to use ‘outdoors or in a well-ventilated space’, but it’s early March in New England and it was bloody cold outside. I set up some cardboard in the basement and we primed the heck out of it. Then I opened a small window, and he and I, slightly dizzy, went back upstairs and started looking at some very cool pinewood derby car photos on the internet.

There was a car that looked like a Model-T Ford. There as one that looked like a skateboard. One that looked like a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups on wheels. One that looked like a Hershey’s Chocolate bar, partially unwrapped and with a bite taken out of it. There were some truly amazing Pinewood car photos, and then I saw a very cool one. Looking like a bronze flattened off rectangle, there were fingertips and a screaming face, also bronze, protruding slightly from the surface of the top of the car.

“That’s awesome,” I said, “Han Solo in the carbonite!”

Handsome looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

“What’s carbonite?”

“Carbonite, you know, when the bounty hunters captured Han and were transporting him back to Jabba…”

I trailed off as I saw that not only was Handsome’s eyebrow not going down, his other eye was squinting up as well, indicating that I was making absolutely no sense to him whatsoever.

“Remember? When Han was captured, and they dropped him in the pit, and then the carbonite went all Fssshhht! Remember? No?”

His look was unchanging.

And then it hit me.

He’s never seen all the movies! And by all, I mean the first three! Oh my God!

Well, Star Wars marathon at my house this weekend! Original three movies only! I don’t have a lot against the newer three movies, I actually liked parts of them a lot, but I don’t want to take a chance on Handsome having to call 911 because I thrust a fork into my own eye when Jar Jar Binks strolled across the screen!

Talk to you later!

Mach 5

This Saturday, Handsome has his Cub Scout Pinewood Derby. You know, the race with the little cars they carve from blocks of wood, sand, paint, slap some wheels on the sides, and run on a track in little tiny 6-man dead heats. Wednesday (that's two days from now, for those of you paying attention) we have the official weigh-in. There's a 5 ounce maximum to race.  I have a problem.

What the heck does five ounces of carved pine look like? I don't have a postal scale handy, despite my job.

Besides, we are a little behind on this project. We still need to seal the wood (which will affect the weight), paint it (which will affect the weight) and mount the wheels (which will, yup, you guessed it, affect the weight!)!

All this after I finish shaping the car body, which I am not quite done with.

Now, Handsome is pretty relaxed about this.

"We need to work on your car," I say, and he's right there with me, looking at it.

"Yup," he says. "I know." And he goes to watch television.

It actually is quite my fault that we're this far behind, since I do keep forgetting about it.  I did start working on it with him recently, and his den leader gave us quite a jump on the project by cutting the block into the basic shape with a band saw and power sander.

The only thing is, here are some pretty basic Pinewood Derby cars:

And here are some more fancy ones, most likely made by experienced racers and wood-workers:

And here's the car Handsome decided he wants for his, make that our, first Pinewood Derby car:

The Mach 5? What am I, @#$%ing  Geppetto? Seriously? Does any parent out there wonder why I'm freaking out here?

I haven't got time to talk, I have to get sanding!

Talk to you later!

Dude!

Handsome had a play date this afternoon. Unusually, it was one that I set up rather than his mom. I went to pick the boy up (I'll call him TF for the remainder of this blog) while Handsome was finishing up his lunch, and brought him over to Handsome's house like the World's Lowest Paid Chauffeur. TF came with me, and when I opened the door to the house for  him and stood aside for him to enter he did so without hesitation, unerringly threading his way through the house to Handsome's room though, to my knowledge, it was his first time in the house.

Maybe it was the astonishingly loud sounds of a video game blasting through the house that did it.

Anyway, they spent almost 4 hours in Handsome's room playing video games. They were animated, talking (shouting) the whole time, and I was able to overhear much of their conversation.

Actually, I was unable to avoid overhearing almost all of their conversation. Even after I closed his bedroom door. All of it was at full volume, and Handsome's amps go to 11 (See This is Spinal Tap). Since I couldn't help but hear it, I managed to make a short list of some of the common words used by the boys, as well as definitions gleaned from hearing the word or phrase used in context.

Ready?

• Dude!
• "Greetings, TF, so good to see you, glad you're here!"
  
• Dude!
• "Thank you Handsome, glad to be here. Thank you for having me."
  (No, he did not actually call him 'Handsome', but if he did I would have laughed my @$$ off!)
  
• Dude!
• "Would you care to care to join me in this video game I am currently playing?"
  
• Dude!
• "Why, yes, I would! Thank you for asking!"
  
• Dude!
• "Excellent maneuver, my friend!"
  
• Dude!
• "Thank you."
  
• Dad, can we have some Cheeze-its?
• "Dad, can we have some Cheeze-its?"
  
• Dude?
• "I say, TF, would you care to partake of these Cheeze-its I managed to procure from my wonderful and generous father?"
  
• Dude!
• "I most certainly would. Thank you very much."
  

Things went on in this vein for the duration of the visit, until Handsome and I were dropping TF off at his home  when the play date was over. They parted thusly:

• Dude.
• "Thank you for coming, TF, I certainly enjoyed having you over."
  
• Dude!
• "Thank you for having me. I had a wonderful time. We must do this again sometime! Next week, perhaps?"
  
• Dude!
• "Excellent! I'll check my schedule and pencil you in!"
  

Honestly, it brought a tear to my eye.

Talk to you later, Dudes!

Say What?

The other night when I got to Handsome's house, he was all excited and needed to show me something on his computer. I sat down to take a look and saw a pair of walkie-talkies, the kind that are built to look like wrist watches.

"I want to get these for me and MM," he said, naming his best friend. "Are they any good? Will they reach his house from here? I've been trying to figure it out, and it's in English, but I still can't understand it."

So I sat there and looked at the specs list and all the technical data they had about the talkies, and they looked pretty good. They had more than enough range for him, I thought.

"But they're trying to get you to buy them," I told Handsome. "It's not like they're going to put out an advertisement pointing out that they're crap. I'd like to read some customer reviews or something."

"I was reading the other stuff, where they tell you about the walkie-talkies," he said, "but that's the part I couldn't understand."

So I looked at the product descriptions, where they told you, in plain English, all about the product you were looking at. Or, at least, they were supposed to.

I started laughing.

I laughed some more.

When I was done laughing, I explained to Handsome that it wasn't his fault he couldn't understand the descriptions. I couldn't understand them either.

"I think these were written in Chinese," I said. "Then they were translated into English. By someone who doesn't speak English."

Here are some examples of their 'description'. See if they make sense to you...

• Civil Walkie Talkie refers to those Walkie Talkies that their transmit power is 0.5-1w, their power ranges are 400-480MHz.
• Huh?
•  Also this Walkie Talkie is usually a short communicating distance.
• What?
  
• The Civil Walkie Talkie is the wireless communicating equipment approved by the country and can be used without license. The Civil Walkie Talkie features a small volume, varied of colors and low price, is suitable for individual business trip, travel and hotel use
• Okay, look, you lost me at 'The Civil Walkie Talkie is"!

Okay, obviously this is a company that doesn't pay a hell of a lot for translations. I kind of picture them making the guy from the mail room sit down with a Cantonese/English dictionary and whipping him into a frenzy!

Here are some other little gems I found while perusing this and other products available on their website:

• It's normal that squeaking may be heard on the channel when two radios is several meters near or closer. 
  
• If there is difference between required communication distance and practical distance, the communication can be realized through adjustment of radio RF power or squelch level.
  
• Wii is an innovative system and part of the 7th generation of video game systems. Gaming always has the power to bring us so many unforgettable moments, which has become a part of life. At the moment, you have no refusal reasons for perfecting your Nintendo Wii system. The Wii Accessories is here for meeting your various needs, which includes Controllers, Batteries & Chargers, Memory, Adapters & Cables, Cases, and Accessory Kits. These nintendo wii accessories come with excellent operation performance that ensures great Wii playing motions. Get what you need to make your Wii games more enjoyable.

Is it any wonder Handsome was having trouble understanding just what those walkie-talkies could do? That passage above about the Wii gaming system threw me for a loop, and I'm an adult college graduate with a degree in English who has been working on sharpening my language skills for the past 18 months. Plus, we actually own a Wii!

I'd like to take this opportunity to offer my services as a copy editor to the company in question. Seriously people, how can someone buy anything from you when all they can do is laugh?

*Sigh*

Talk to you later!

Questions - Part 5 - "Dirt Magnet"

Okay, I know I've mentioned this before, but that was a specific instance of it happening, rather than just asking the broad question: How, and I guess why is dirt so attracted to my son?

Okay, I know it's not just my son that exhibits this phenomenon, but he's the only one I can speak of about it with any kind of assurance. Any time I try to closely observe another child to see how they interact with dirt, say at the park or out on the street, for some reason there's a lot of screaming and the police become involved. I'm 42 years old, and I think my days of blithely vaulting fences just ahead of the police, like some COPS warm-up act are just about over. The only way to get me to vault a fence now would be to set my ass on fire, and this blog doesn't mean that much to me!

So: the phenomenon.
Every time there is the slightest probablilty -- no, make that the slightest possibility of Handsome somehow getting some sort of dirt to stick to him somewhere, it does!

Just got dressed up, on the way somewhere? Mud on the pants.

The floor was just swept but the pile is still on the floor waiting for you to return with the dust pan? He walks by without his shoes on, his new socks, the blindingly white ones I just bought -- suddenly dirty to the knees. To the knees! How in the hell does one suddenly pick up dust all over socks to the knees inside his pants-legs? I mean, the pants-legs get dirty as well, I can almost understand that; they're there, the dust is there, it's like... Fate. But up by his knees on the inside of the pants? Houdini probably couldn't have figured out how my kid's doing it, and he's doing it by accident!

Anyone, upon walking onto the house, can tell at at glance what was the last thing, if not the last few things Handsome has eaten. There's no trick to it, no mumbo-jumbo. All you have to do is look at the front of my son's shirt, and the whole menu is on display!

Food seems to leap upon him! He doesn't even have to eat the food, he can just carry a dish into the other room for me and wham, he's wearing the mark of  the meal. And before anyone out there suggests something so mundane as a bib, I'd like to point out the strange, I guess almost frenzied way Handsome eats. I've seen him eat, and I'm not sure exactly how he does this, because I've never seen him eat at all violently while I've been there, but somehow the food gets everywhere! I mean, on his shirt, his pants, the floor, the furniture, nearby walls... I mean, is it normal for someone to get mashed potato in their eyebrow? It is in Handsome's world. It happens with surprising regularity.

Let me repeat that, just in case you weren't paying attention, and I'll enunciate for those of you sitting way back in the cheap seats: "Mashed potato... in his... eyebrow!"

Why?

Now, with all this dirt magnetism going on, you'd think that Handsome could use his powers for Good, right? You'd imagine that he could walk through a room and leave the floor sparkling in his wake. That he could eat a meal and then walk away from the table leaving behind not one crumb or smear of food on the table behind him, much less scattered across the floor about the legs of his chair. That he could, possibly, watch television for a half hour or so, then get up and walk outside on the deck to shake like a dog coming in from the rain, scattering dirt and dust from the TV room about the yard, where it damn well belongs!

Right?

Right?

No.

Again, I don't know why it works this way, but some dirt, including food, is attracted to the boy, sticking to him no matter what, even finding its way through protective clothing if it must. But other dirt seems to be repelled by him, sloughing off him as he moves about the house like Pig-Pen in that old Charlie Brown comic strip. Unlike Pig Pen, however, my boy doesn't simply spread dirt and dust in his wake.

Oh no.

My boy leaves a trail of dirt, dust, food items, trash items, plates, cups, bottles of water both empty and not, discarded coats, hats, schoolbags, shoes, most of his clothes, and one sock.

Why?

That's another question I have... what's the deal with the one sock? I walk in and find the kid sitting at his computer, or in front of the television, and he's wearing one shoe and sock, the other foot bare, toes wiggling in the wind created by the front door he left open... and he can't explain the state of the door, shoe, or sock! How does this... no... no... I can't rant about that, I'm busy ranting about the dirt magnet thing... one moment...

*deep breathing sounds*

Okay, I'm back. And I'm okay. I'm calm. I'm okay.

So what we have here is a boy to whom some dirt sticks no matter what we do, and other dirt comes out of like a grubby Johnny Appleseed leaving a trail of filth behind him. If anyone out there had any idea as to why this happens, please, let me know.

I'm going to go lie down now.

Talk to you later!

Everything's Better With Bacon!

Today the local chapter of the Loyal Order of Moose (of which my father is one of the Mucky-Mucks) ran a pancake breakfast, as they do every 3rd Sunday of the month. Dad reminded me a couple of days ago, as well as mentioning it to Handsome yesterday.

This morning, hungry, I asked Handsome if he wanted to go go the Moose Lodge for breakfast or if he'd rather I just made pancakes. he was watching television at the time, but he threw a thumb sideways at me and said "Your pancakes."

"There's going to be lots of bacon at the Moose..." I hinted.

"Yes!" he said.

"Yes, what?" I said.

"Yes bacon!" he said.

"So, it's breakfast at the Moose?" I said.

"Yes!"

It's like I've said before. Everything is better with bacon.

So off to the Moose we went. We were greeted on the way in as my father's son and grandson, I payed my charge at the door (Handsome is still young enough to eat for free - Booya!), and we claimed a table near the door. After working our way through the breakfast line, we sat down to eat.

True to his word, Handsome's plate contained nothing but bacon.

Now, I was seated with my back to the door, but Handsome was sitting across from me facing the door and the line of people waiting to pay and eat. After a minute I noticed that rather than eating Handsome was staring past me toward the door.

People watching, I assumed, and turned mt attention back to my food.

A minute or two, Handsome was still not eating. I realized he was not merely staring past me, but past me and upward, at something behind and above me. I turned to look, following his line of sight to the space above the entry door.  The space that was filled with the huge stuffed moose head mounted on the wall.

"What are you looking at?" I said.

"The moose," he said. "It's big!"

"Yep," I said. "Moose are pretty big animals. Huge, up close."

I kept eating, but Handsome kept staring.

"You going to eat that?" I said, pointing at the bacon still lying on his plate.

"It's looking at me," he replied.

"What?"

Handsome was rocking in his chair, leaning from side-to-side, staring up at the moose on the wall.

"It's looking at me," he repeated. "The eyes keep following me."

"Yup," I said. "They'll do that."

Now, I could have told him to ignore the moose and finish his breakfast, but there were more and more children showing up as he sat there, and some of them were starting to run about and play. Plus there was that plate of bacon. The allure, I knew, would prove too great; it was only a matter of time.

A minute later Handsome was turned sideways in his chair, eyeballing the running children. Almost of its own volition his hand stole out to the bacon plate to retrieve a crisp, tasty slice.

Then another.

And another.

A minute later he was out there running and playing with the other children, his plate lying on the table where he'd left it covered with nothing but a little bacon grease.

See? I was right.

Everything is better with bacon!

Talk to you later!

Small Fry

So this afternoon I was running a bit late trying to get Handsome somewhere. Handsome said he was hungry, and I realized I had neglected to make the boys lunch. The worst part is that one of the 'boys' in that equation was me! I subsequently pulled a sharp left turn out of traffic and into the McDonald's drive-through.

Now, what I got for myself is pretty much immaterial to this story. This is about what Handsome got when we drove up to the second window, the one where they hand out the hot, mostly edible objects hereafter referred to as 'the food'. When I paused at the ordering speaker, the one where they scream out something unintelligible at you as a signal that you are to then give them your order, and then you bellow your order back at them while silently praying that their microphone system is better than their speaker. You have to keep an eye on the 'Your Order' screen they type on, because McDonald's has become much like the Chinese food restaurant downtown; you say what you want, and they repeat it back to you, and what they say doesn't sound anything like what you just ordered. I just shout out my order and roll up the window, reading the screen through the glass. Listening to them only seems to confuse me anyway.

But on to the 'food'. I ordered Handsome the same thing he always gets - a Chicken McNugget Happy Meal, with a side of chicken nuggets and an extra small fries. By that I mean an additional small fries. At least, I thought I did.

We got the food. We drove away. Handsome opened his Happy Meal, complained about the toy (without actually knowing what the heck it was) and pulled out his fries. And stared.

He brought them to my attention. I also stared.

Inside the Happy Meal there is usually a small order of french fries. Apparently, that will no longer be the case. In Handsome's hand was a tiny order of french fries. Rather than the usual small order in a paper bag, there was a cardboard box that looked like a large order of fries, but it was tiny. Minute. Infinitesimal. 


The little tiny box held approximately ten, yes, ten french fries. I saved the box. It looks like this:

And just in case you are thinking I simply have huge hands, here's a regular old pair of sunglasses for scale.

Not much bigger than the lens, is it?

And there you have it. The extra small fries. It's about half the size of an actual small order.

But twice as cute.

My favorite part of all this was Handsome's reaction to it. When I saw the tiny box I opened my mouth to ask a question, the only thing that popped into my mind. I head my question but it was in Handsome's voice, as he'd beaten me to the punch with my own word.

"Seriously?"

He looked from the fries to me.

"Seriously?"

Then back to the fries.

"Seriously..."

Yup. Seriously.

So, if you're looking to simply get the smell and taste of french fries, without the actual fries, head out to McDonald's.

They've got what you're looking for.

Talk to you later!