Frozen. God. And, Santa. Also, The Tooth Fairy.

(Give this post a chance to grow. It gets much lighter, yet more human, as it goes… )

Driving home from gymnastics with Isabella (she’s 7):

Iz: Daddy, I’m going to entertain you.

Me: Really? How?

Iz: I’m going to sing!

Me (cringing): Really? Do you have to?

Iz: Yes. I will sing the songs from “Frozen.”

Me: Oh, God. No! You said “entertain.” Not terrorize.

Iz: I don’t know what that means. But, I will sing all of the songs. “Elsa! Do you want to build a snowman?” … “Let it Go! Let it Go!” … “For the first time in Forever” … “Love is an open doooooor!”

20 minutes later, after the fourth pass-through:

Me: Yay, that was great. Ok, actual radio, now? Yes?

Iz: No, one more time! “Do you want to build a snowman?”

She pauses.

Iz: Why am I singing this again?

Me: Only God knows. I guess.


The mood suddenly shifts and gets much deeper.

Iz: Daddy…. How does God know everything?

Me (thinking): Jesus Christ (no pun, by the way). It is the worst rush-hour for LA traffic. There’s a HumVee wrapped around a pick-up. A few bumpers have already been intimate with each other.

And, I have more than a couple opinions and questions which I don’t generally publicize. (Let’s start with Matthew 6:6. But, that’s just for starters.)

Me: I don’t know, Sweetie. I can’t do a theological analysis in traffic like this.

Iz: Then, where did Santa Claus come from?

Me: Crap, Honey. I don’t know, either.

Iz: What about the Tooth Fairy?

Me: Someone is cutting me off in traffic! Mother!

Iz: Mommy is the Tooth Fairy?

Me: Honey, No!

Iz: I knew it!

Me: No, not you, Sweetie. Um, Mommy just cut me off!

Iz: So, she’s the Tooth Fairy?!

Me: I didn’t say that.


Father’s Day

I have to admit, Father’s Day is stressful. I know it’s not supposed to be that way, because everyone tells you how much of a perfect father you are and all of that. It’s a celebration!

The truth is, I think I am a pretty Ok daddy, but, yeah, I scream too much. No one listens to me. I’ll spend three hours in the car to get you to and from piano lessons, but No, we are not getting ice cream at McDonald’s (even though I already promised it.) Cry all you want.

You see, I am a liar.

I do try to engage with my daughters, though. So, I created this very blog and discovered that, generally speaking, I either mock their stupidity or they insult me. It’s a two-way street. It’s about a 50/50 split. I won’t dispense with any advice to other fathers because I’m also figuring it out as I go. There are other Daddy Blogs that will “help” you.

(By the way, I’m really not fat. And, if I were, who cares? … I am old, however.)

This year, I’ve had to field the question: Why isn’t there a Kids’ Day? And, the standard answer (you know it): Every day is Kids’ Day.

And, I guess, my point is that this Father’s Day is really, truly about my daughters. Yeah, I’ll volunteer 100 hours at school for you. And, I don’t care that your dance class is in the middle of my work day, we’ll go. And, yes. We’ll get ice cream at McDonald’s.

So, every day really is Kids’ Day.

Now, go clean up your room. And, get me a beer. It’s Father’s Day for crying out loud. (I’m horrible.)

Famous Faces

Julianna (she’s 9): Daddy, who is the most famous person that you look like?

Me: Well, Honey, people have said that I look a little like George Clooney, with some Cary Grant thrown in. Maybe, Brad Pitt’s cheeks. And, and a hint of Peter Sellers’ irony. Also, John Wayne’s grit.

J: No, Daddy. In today’s world.

Me: I don’t know, Sweetie. A vampire guy. One Direction. A Bieber, or something…?

J: This is because you are old.*

(*Note: actual insult.)

50 Shades, Part Two

I’m bleary-eyed after a week of relentless preparations for my daughters’ school Annual Auction… Forgive me if I ramble.

Some of you are intrigued by the “Who Won That?” sweepstakes for the “50 Shades of Grey” gift basket. Yes, there was such an item. It included a Riding Crop. If you are lost, see my earlier post.

Funny story. (But, then, all of my stories are funny, aren’t they?)

There was a computer glitch at check-in (I take all of the blame.) A few people ended up with the same Silent Auction bidder number. (If you don’t know, at a silent auction the items are displayed on tables, and you write your secret number next to the item you want. In this case, two different people had the same number. Oops. My bad.)


When we were closing out the auction, I discovered that two different people had won the “50 Shades of Grey” basket.

And, I thought… This is Awesome! That’s my Fourth Grade daughter’s teacher!

But. When she came to my table, surprisingly, she is Not Adamant, is Not Embarrassed, is a Still-Knowing person, is Matter-of-Factor-ly, and is Jovial:

“I didn’t bid on that. Ha.” (“Ha.” Not “Ha!”)

I explained the double-number issue. She was: “It happens.”

I’ve got to admit, I’m a tiny bit disappointed.

But, honestly, if a French Tickler is the most dangerous weapon you’re going to bring to school, I’m Ok with that.

(And, no. I will not tell you who the actual winner is. Totally confidential… But, let me check… Who’s going to crack the whip tonight, Honey?… Um… What’s my number? Oww!)

50 Shades

I have been dragged (once again) into dealing with my daughters’ annual school fundraiser auction. It is my database design and my wife’s organizing skills and both of our countless hours of pain.

But, some family has just donated a “50 Shades of Grey” gift basket. Bondage. These people do this for a living. Seriously. This is LA. And, best of all… They donated it to the Kindergarten class’s movie-night Basket.

I kid you not.

It contains, no-joking: a riding crop, hand-cuffs, and a “leather slapper” (yeah, I don’t know what that is either…) The basket is actually worth about $500. It’s a donation. There are batteries involved. I’m making no judgements. No judgements at all… Hell, I’ll be bidding….

But, among the people behind the school auction, this is the one item destined to get the highest bid. This is LA, after all.

Funny… guess who had to enter that into the database? Hint: Not me….