No jokes tonight.
A tornado directly hit an elementary school in Oklahoma.
Nothing but tragedy. Nothing but tears.
Moore, Oklahoma
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Monthly Archives: May 2013
Laundry Duty
Simply put, I am incapable of understanding how laundry works: In my head, I hear: That will shrink, that needs to be pre-treated, this needs bleach, that has to be dry-cleaned only, that will set the stain, don’t bleach that, dry on hangers-only, cold: not hot, hot: not cold. Delicate Cycle. DELICATE CYCLE, Moron!
And, I freeze.
I am, admittedly, woefully incompetent in the ways of laundry. Woefully.
To compound my difficulty, Isabella, the 6-year-old, is rummaging through my latest efforts.
Iz: What’s this?
Me: A T-shirt.
Iz: And this?
Me: Underwear. Please stop.
Oh, God. We’re going there?
Iz: Hahahaha!
Not gonna stop.
Iz: And this?
Me: A bra. It helps support boobs.
Iz (with a demonic grin): Boobs?
Me: Yes, girls develop breasts, which we sometime call “Boobs.” I don’t understand the snaps or the clasps or the laces or the embroidery. But, bras support a girl’s boobs when she jumps and runs.
Iz: Hee Hee. But… You kinda have boobs, too, Daddy. You’re gonna need one.
Crap.
Me: I’m really not that fat, Honey. But, thanks for your concern.
Iz: Why does Mommy’s have polka-dots?
Me: I don’t know. She likes polka dots, I guess.
Iz Does yours?
Me: Again. I don’t have one.
Iz: Not yet….
Mother’s Day
Note to self: Don’t dare post any political rants, travel schedules, meal plans, pictures from Disneyland, religious aphorisms, or humorous anecdotes to Facebook or your blog on Mother’s Day. Unless they are Mother’s Day related. Because, they will be BURIED in the countless tributes to Mothers. By the way: Mom, I love you. And, thank you for everything.
Kids’ Day
Isabella (she’s 6) is holding Mommy’s Mother’s Day flowers in the check out line.
Iz: Daddy, is there such a thing as Childrens’ Day?
Me (trotting out an old warhorse): You think there should be a Kids’ Day? No, Honey. Every day is Kids’ Day.
The guy in front of us is humored by our exchange. He turns around.
Guy: Well, you know, I think it’s a Bank holiday.
Me: Really? I didn’t get the memo.
Guy: Yeah. The reason it’s a Bank holiday is so children get a special day, but they can’t ask you for money.
Me: You, sir, have been blogged.
Links
There are 6 sausage links left over from yesterday.
I take them out of the fridge, and, like a shark smelling blood in water, Isabella (the six-year-old) appears out of nowhere.
Iz: Daddy, what’s that?
Me: Sausage.
Iz: Ooo! Can I have some?
Me: Well, you can have two.
Iz: But, that means you get four. That’s not fair.
Me: It’s fair enough.
Iz: Well, why don’t I get four and you get two?
Me: Because, I’m bigger than you. And, taller. I need more food than you.
Iz. Yes, you’re taller than me right now. Well, but… That won’t last long. Hahahaha!
Me: Smarty-Pants.
Ouch. A Daddy-Is-Short joke. Haven’t had one of those lately.
Naughty and Nice
Overheard the other day: Mommy and Isabella (the 6-year-old) are in a deep discussion. I wasn’t really listening. But, this caught my ear…
Mommy: blah, blah, blah.
Iz: How do you know that?
Mommy: Sweety, I know EVERYTHING.
Iz: No you don’t. You don’t know everything.
Mommy (matter-of-factly): Yes… I do.
Iz: You don’t know everything!… You’re not SANTA.
Mommy: Well … Um… Honey… Actually….
Turns out, Mommy does, in fact, know everything.
(P.S. Mommy, the diplomat, didn’t quite burst the bubble. But, she does, in fact, know everything. Don’t screw with her.)
Costco Dogs
I took the girls to Costco the other day here in Los Angeles. They have a fast-food-style Pizza/Hot Dog/Chicken Wrap window.
It’s truly the best deal in town by far: the Quarter Pound Hot Dog with toppings and unlimited soft drinks for $1.50.
At Dodger Stadium, that will run you easily, like, 12 bucks.
And, like at Dodger Stadium, you aren’t likely to see much quality baseball.
(I’m up to Leno-quality jokes, at least… Yes?)
Breaking the Law
Through no fault of my own, this morning I find myself cuddling a 6-year-old while an 8-year-old is purring on my back. It’s part of what we call “Snuggle Mondays.”
But, it’s after 7am, and we have to fully wake up.
Me: Girls… Gotta gettie up now…. Gotta go to school.
Julianna (the 8-year-old): No, Daddy. Why?
Me: Because, I’m looking forward to hauling children across the city, and through the traffic, with the kids bickering in the back seat, with my blood pressure rising, and to yet another 12-hour work day. That’s why. I LOVE Mondays. GOD! I love them!
Isabella (6): But, Daddy. You have to keep snuggling. If we don’t keep snuggling, it will be illegal.
Me: Illegal? Wow. Really?… I’m OK with that.
——
Dear Mr. Boss Man:
In order to comply with Federal, State, and Local laws and regulations, I will likely be late.
Thank you for understanding,
Darren
And, I’ll Scratch Yours.
Snuggling down with Julianna (she’s 8):
J: People don’t actually sleep on nails. Do they?
Me: Well. No, Honey. It’s kind of a circus trick. People don’t really sleep on nails.
J: But, you always scratch my back with your Finger-Nails.
Me: Yes, Honey. I am always happy to scratch your back at bedtime. Different type of nail.
J: I like that.
Me: In fact, I’m somewhat known for my back-scratching nails. I have MAD back-scratching skills. I’m actually rated.
J: Can you sing me a lullaby?
Me: Of course. Twinkle Twinkle?
J: Yes… Just scratch my legs.
Me: Ok. (Scratching. And, singing.) Twinkle, Twinkle….
J: Ow! You have a sharp nail! Daddy! Really, you’re known for this?!
Me: Um. Yes… Sorry? Everyone has an “off” day.
Dissed. Ladies. You be the judge… And by that, I mean the wife, Daughter Number 1, and Daughter Number 2. Any others will need to file an application. The wife will judge your application. The deadline to enter is soon.
(Though, seriously… World-rated.)
Sacagawea
Quoting from Julianna’s Third Grade class report, My American Hero: Sacagawea… (And, yes, I checked the spelling many times.)
“Sacagawea had many difficult struggles to overcome. One struggle was being kidnapped. Sacagawea overcame this problem by giving it a chance.”
Because, if you give kidnapping a “chance,” it’s actually not so bad. Seriously, I mean, there’s all that free travel. See America!
[By the way, I’m not condoning kidnapping here. Usually, very bad things happen from kidnapping. Tragic things. Things the father of a Daddy Blog doesn’t want to hear about. But, Amtrak has a great deal to tour America on rails! To the Pacific!]