Dadageddon 2012: The Final Night

So, last night was the final night of Dadageddon 2012. The Wife’s conference finished up this morning and they drove back today. I was a machine last night. I fed The Kids, gave all three of them baths, got them all down in bed and was downstairs by 8:05 p.m.

At one point, as I was watching TV at about 10:30 p.m., I heard Slash cough and could instantly tell that he was out of the room. I walked to the bottom of the stairs and saw him squatting at the top of the stairs, half asleep:

Me: What’s wrong Slashie?

Slash: Mumble mumble mumble my legs hurt.

This happens from time to time. He’ll wake up in the middle of the night and say his legs hurt, which we assume is growing pains (insert Kirk Cameron joke here). I put him back in bed, rubbed his back and his leg for a few minutes and went back downstairs. Little did I know that this would mark the beginning of “Night Of The Waking Slash.”

If there was one good thing about The Wife being away, it was that I was able to spend some quality time with my mistress, and by mistress, I mean NHL 97 on my Sega Genesis. I usually play one game every night while The Wife gets ready for bed, and for some reason, it annoys the crap out of her. I don’t know why, but the one 10 minute game I play seems to be some sort of hardship for her. So I was able to play two games a night with no guilt, not to mention the usual dirty looks and grumbles I usually get.

Anyway, I meant to get into bed earlier because I was exhausted from the weekend and the previous night of The Rocket Queen’s sickness and coughing, but somehow got suckered into playing some NHL 97. I finally turned out the light at about midnight, and at 12:30, just as I was falling asleep, Slash shuffled into the room and said something. I’m not sure if he was saying his legs hurt or if he was offering his insights into global warming, but I lifted the covers and asked if he wanted to get into bed and snuggle for a few minutes. He climbed in under the covers and laid down facing me. His breath was awful, so I could only stand it for a minute or two. I got him back into bed, tucked him in, and went back to sleep.

He came in again a little later, though I can’t remember when it was. I have a vague recollection that it was about 1:30 a.m., though it could’ve been 3 a.m., I’m really not sure. All I know is I woke up at 3:20 a.m. and realized that I was spooning him. I don’t remember if I let him into the bed or if he just crawled in, but there he was, snuggled in with my arms around him, snoring away. Except for the 3 a.m. spooning, he could’ve been The Wife.

As soon as I realized that, not only was he in the bed, but that I couldn’t turn over because he was lying on my arm, I told him that it was time for him to go back to bed. However, he just might be the hardest person in the world to wake up:

Me: Slash, let’s put you back in your bed.

Slash: LOUD AGGRESSIVE SNORE!

Me: Come on Slashie, time to go back to bed.

Slash: Snore, snore, SNOOOOOOOOORE.

So I tried to sit up, from lying down position, while still holding him, but it did not go smoothly. I basically had to roll onto my back, fold him in half, and do a sit-up without dropping him. Once I was sitting, I was able to stand, but I was holding him so awkwardly that he was basically folded in half, with his torso straight up and down and his legs bent to his chest. But I got him back into bed and went back to sleep.

At 6 a.m., Axl came into my room, stood next to me and said:

Axl: Daddy, my nose is running.

Me: (Seriously? What the fuck do I need to do to get a little sleep around here? So fucking wipe it!) So wipe it.

Axl: I don’t have any tissues.

Me: (I hand him the box of tissues next to my bed) Here. Go back to sleep.

Sadly, the alarm started going off half an hour later.

At least The Wife is coming back tonight!

Good times.

Dadageddon: Weekend Wrap-up

So, Dadageddon 2012 still has a day and a half to go, but the longest part of it is over.

The highlight of Saturday, which was largely uneventful (except for a trip to the library to pick out a movie for movie night and Wegmans with all 3 kids), was Dessertapalooza. I had told The Boys that we could have brownie sundaes with whatever toppings they wanted after I put The Rocket Queen to bed. They made sundaes that were basically bigger than their faces. The sundaes had a brownie on the bottom, with chocolate ice cream, hot fudge, Redi-Whip, chocolate sprinkles, chocolate chips, and crumbled chocolate chip cookies. I told them (ok, maybe almost begged them) that they did NOT need to eat the whole thing, lest they get a stomach-ache. Thankfully, they each only ate about a quarter of their sundaes.

The main drama at dinner was, once again, Slash and his refusal to try anything new. I had given each of them a bowl of spaghetti and some red kidney beans (in a spearate bowl). Slash immediately informed me that he didn't like the beans and didn't want to try them. I told him that it was part of dinner and he needed to try at least one if he wanted Dessertapalooza. Cue the tears.

We went back and forth and I'll skip over the negotiations. The end result was he PROMISED me, under the threat of severe consequences for breaking the promise, that he would try pizza Sunday night.

We watched "The Sandlot," and they loved it. However, Slash spent most of the movie asking questions, which was insanely annoying. "Daddy, why did he say that?" "Daddy, why did he jump into the deep end if he can't swim?" "Daddy, why do they call it The Beast? Is it a beast? What is it? If it's a dog, why do they call it a beast? Did it REALLY eat those people? Why did it eat those people? Daddy, is the dog big or id it humongous? Daddy, why did they hit the ball over the fence?"

I don't know, Slash, why don't you just shut the f#*k up and watch the movie? Of course, I politely kept telling him to jjust watch the movie and his questions would be answered.

Today was a much more annoying day (mainly because I didn't have the hammer of Dessertapalooza to hold over their heads). I took them both to a birthday party in the afternoon, and we picked up a pizza on the way home at about 6:30. Slash was talking all about how he'd try the pizza and that he might like it but probably wouldn't eat it.

I knew it wouldn't be that easy. As could have been predicted, he refused to try the tiny bite I put on his plate. He asked for a small piece with crust, so I gave him that too. He licked the crust, but wouldn't take a bite. I started to get really mad because I told him that by breaking the promise he made, he was basically just lying to me to get what he wanted the night before (Dessertapalooza). I told him that if he broke the promise, he would lose all sorts of things. After some yelling (mainly by me), I finally got fed up and told him that it was time to go upstairs. I set the timer for 6 minutes and said that when the timer beeped, it was time to go up to bed.

He started to cry:

Slash: Daddy, I don't have enough time to eat the bite!

Me: Slash, there's 4 minutes left. Of course you have enough time. It only takes 5 seconds to put it in your mouth and take a bite.

This went on as the timer wound down. Six minutes came and went without him trying the pizza. As soon as it beeped, he starte screaming and crying. I'll skip the next few minutes of him crying and me not being so nice. Even though I didn;t want to, I gave him one more chance:

Me: Fine Slash, this is it. No shenanigans, no negotiating, just put it in your mouth and take a small bite. I'm going to count to ten and if you don't try it, no more chances. Ten, nine...

Slash: (through tears) Wait Daddy, I'm not ready. Start counting again.

Me: Fine. Ten...

Slash: (he puts the tiniest corner of the piece in his mouth and takes a bite) There, I took a bite.

Me: And? DId you like it?

Slash: It was yummy.

You little motherf...

Me: See?!?!? Didn't I tell you it was yummy? Was that so hard? Was that worth everything we just went through? Do you want to eat some more now?

Slash: No, I'm done.

Meanwhile, The Rocket Queen had been sitting in her high chair and didn't seem too happy. We all went upstairs to get ready for bed. I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, which was the Giants game I was recording. All weekend, I was looking forward to getting the kids into bed and watching the NFC Championship game. I had chips and salsa, Doritos, beer, and half a mini-chocolate cream pie all set to have a party in my stomach.

However, The Rocket Queen had other ideas...

As I was holding The Rocket Queen while she was brushing her teeth, I noticed that her sweet little forehead felt warm. I took her temperature and she had a 101.7. As I was taking her temp, she started to cry and started to gag. After I got her diaper closed, I sat her up and she promptly threw up on her changing table. Weh it seemd like she had stopped, I carried her into the bathroom and she proceeded to throw up, a bunch, on the floor.

Needless to say, I didn't eat a single thing while I watched the Giants win. My stomach was too on edge to enjoy anything.

All of this with The Wife out of town and not due back until Tuesday night.

Good times (until The Rocket Queen got sick).

Dadageddon 2012: Night One

So, The Wife went to NYC this morning for a work conference, leaving me by myself with Axl, Slash and The Rocket Queen until Tuesday night. While The Boys are in school during the day and The Babysitter is with The Rocket Queen during the day, I'm alone with them at night and all weekend.

The Rocket Queen started saying "no" just in time for The Wife to go away. It's adorable, but she now says "no," which is not totally fantastic. She has also started to dislike staying in her bath seat, which is tremendously stressful. I was giving the three of them a bath tonight and The Rocket Queen kept standing up. I finally allowed her to get out of her seat after I was done washing her, but then she started sliding all over. I tried to fill up a cup with clean water to give her a final rinse down and she started to slide down into the water. Axl did a great job helping out by holding her up by her arms while I finshed getting the rinse-down water.

My approach this weekend is to bribe The Boys with dessert and hope they behave until I can get them down to bed on Sunday night so I can watch the Giants game. We have Dessertapalooza planned for tomorrow night and everyone's looking forward to it.

I'm sure there'll be more to report tomorrow, but for now I'm going to finish watching "The Devil's Own," the classic Harrison Ford and Brad Pitt movie about an IRA dude living with an NYPD sergeant and his family.

Number of beers consumed so far this weekend: 1

Number of mini-chocolate cream pies consumed: Half.

Good times.

Confusion

So, winter finally arrived the last two days. We tried to get The Boys outside earlier in the day to go sledding but they just wanted to play with Legos and fight with each other. We finally got out of the house at about 4:30. The Wife looked at the temperature on her iPhone and said:

The Wife: Wow, it's really cold. It says it's 14 degrees outside. But the thermometer in the car says it's 25 degrees.

Me: Are you sure you're looking at the weather for Rochester and not New York?

(There had been one or two times I had looked at the weather on the iPhone and forgotten that I had set it up to see the weather in both Rochester and New York and has inadvertently looked at the New York page instead of the Rochester page. So I didn't think it was that crazy of a question.)

The Wife: Obviously I'm looking at the weather for Rochester, (she switches to spelling so the kids can't hear how she's speaking to heir beloved, sweet father) M-O-R-A-N.

Me: Really? I assume you did that on purpose to be funny.

The Wife: (cracking up, and trying to talk through the laughter) No!

Good times.

Princesses

So, I was in the kitchen with The Boys having breakfast the other morning when the following conversation occurred:

Axl: (completely out of the blue) I hate princesses.

I have absolutely no idea where this came from. We hadn’t been talking about princesses, we hadn’t seen any TV shows or movies involving princesses, and we don’t even really have any princess stuff in the house (though The Rocket Queen has a little Disney Fairies couch). And I don’t think this was a reaction to me calling The Rocket Queen my little princess because Axl LOVES The Rocket Queen and is great with her.

Me: What? No you don’t. Why do you hate princesses?

Axl: I just do.

Me: Why? Princesses are pretty and they’re nice. What’s not to like?

Axl: I don’t like it when they kiss each other.

Me: You might think differently when you’re older.

Axl: What?

Me: (Where in the world has he seen princesses kiss?) Nevermind. Why don’t you like it when princesses kiss?

Axl: It’s yucky.

Me: Again, agree to disagree.

Axl: What does that mean?

Me: Nothing.

Slash: I kissed my friend Seth on the mouth.

Axl: You kissed a princess on the mouth? Ewww.

Slash: No, my friend Seth.

Axl: Your friend Seth kissed a princess on the mouth?

Slash: No, I kissed my friend Seth on the mouth.

Axl: Ha ha, he’s your imaginary girlfriend.

Hmm, I don’t think Axl grasps the concept of imaginary, or girlfriend for that matter.

Slash: No he’s not, he’s my boyfriend!

Good times.

Believe

So, The Rocket Queen has been obsessed with the song “Baby” by Justin Bieber. I blame The Wife for this. I can say that with a clean conscience because it is entirely her fault. See, The Rocket Queen loves babies. Every time she sees a baby, either a real one, a doll, or a picture, she gets excited, points, and says, “Baby.”

We were sitting in the kitchen a few weeks ago, and, for some reason, I started to sing “Push It” by Salt and Pepa, which features the lyrics, “Oooh, baby babeh, ooh baby babeh.”

The Rocket Queen’s cute little face lit up, and then The Wife said something that I think we’ll always regret:

The Wife: We should play “Baby” by Justin Bieber for her.

Perhaps not realizing just how annoying and pervasive the song is, I looked for it on youtube[1]. We played it for her, and she was hooked. As soon as the song finished, she would say “Baby” and do the sign language sign for more. We went through a couple of weeks where we heard that song more than any human should. To the point that Axl, Slash and I know all the words. To the point that The Rocket Queen can now sort of sing the chorus[2].

The Wife then made the even bigger mistake of showing her the music video[3]. Of course, Axl and Slash liked the video and wanted to keep watching it as well[4]. Forgetting for a second that the video is really not appropriate for The Boys since they’re old enough to have an idea what’s going on, seeing the video made me think about the song and about just how unbelievable the song is.

Not unbelievable as in, “Wow, did you see Metallica’s set at Yankee Stadium? That was unbelievable.

No, unbelievable as in, I just do not believe the words or emotions Bieber’s singing. Wasn’t he like 14 when he recorded that song? Are we really to believe that some girl loves him, and that he had any sort of real relationship with Baby? Are we really supposed to believe that at 14, or 16, or however the hell old he was, that she was his love and his heart, and that anyone thought that they’d never be apart? Did he REALLY think she’d always be his. Are we supposed to believe that he’d really buy her any ring?

Not really able to listen to Justin Bieber’s version any more, I decided to see if I could find any rock versions of the song on youtube[5]. I found a version by some band from Virginia[6], and it definitely made the song a bit more palatable.

But then I decided that I would try to find other songs that featured the word baby, so I could maybe get her listening to something else. Someone suggested “Hit Me Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears, and I remembered that I had video of the band Travis doing a version of that song bookmarked on youtube. I played it for The Rocket Queen and she loved it.

This all made me think about two songs in particular and two cover versions of those songs: “Hit Me Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears (Travis) and “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” by Poison (Miley Cyrus).

About a year ago, I happened to hear the Miley Cyrus version of “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.[7]” It was dreadful. Her version has a vaguely techno-ish beat and she just doesn’t sound good singing the song. However, I remember thinking at the time, that one of the reasons I thought it was so bad was because I just didn’t believe the song she was singing.

Look, I know not every song I like is based on something that happened to the singer/songwriter, but when Poison sings “Every Rose Has Its Thorn,” I can believe that Brett Michaels is singing about one of the thousands of women he’s slept with. Maybe he was only 23 when he wrote the song[8], but I always believed that the heartache was real. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but that’s irrelevant. It COULD’VE been real, and that’s why it’s believable. When he sings about hearing a DJ say that love’s a game of easy come and easy go, you can sense that he’s loved and lost. When Bret Michaels sings that he knows she’d be there right now if he’d could’ve let her know somehow, you feel for him.

On the flip side, when Miley Cyrus sang the same words, I just couldn’t picture her lying silently still in the dead of the night, feeling miles apart inside from the dude she’s sleeping next to[9]. While she might have some thorns in her life, I don’t believe any of them have been from busted relationships. It’s not just that she’s singing someone else’s words, it’s that she’s singing someone else’s emotions that are not believable coming from her.

Ironically, the same sort of goes for “Hit Me baby One More Time.” When Britney Spears originally sang it back in 1999, I think she was 16. And while she looked cute in the video[10], the song just wasn’t that believable. Do we really think that the loneliness was killing her and that when she wasn’t with her high school boyfriend, she was losing her mind? And honestly, what the hell does hit me baby one more time mean[11]?

However, when Francis Healy, the lead singer of Travis sings Hit Me Baby One More Time, forget for a second that it just sounds a thousand times better, it just feels more authentic. When he asks how he was supposed to know that something wasn’t right in the relationship, it seems like a perfectly legitimate question. Yet, when Britney sang it, it rang hollow. Considering she’d probably never been in a real relationship, how COULD she know that something wasn’t right here? When he sings “show me how you want it to be, tell me baby cuz I need to know,” it seems like wisdom born from experience. But when she sings it, it just sounds desperate and a little creepy.

Now, I’m not suggesting that 16 year-olds only sing about shopping at the mall and texting[12], but singers should probably stick to singing songs that are believable.

Good times.

Footnotes:
[1] Something like the first 5-10 videos that come up when you search for it are parodies, and most of them are not appropriate to play for kids.
[2] Sort of.
[3] So of course now, The Rocket Queen picks up the remote, walks over to the TV, points the remote at the TV, and says “Baby.”
[4] Though, that’s really not that surprising because they’d watch a test-pattern if it was on TV. They’re addicted.
[5] I figured, if I had to listen to the song, maybe I could listen to version of it that didn’t make me want to jam pencils in my ears.
[6] Send The City
[7] Ok, I saw the CD at the library and, out of curiosity, took it out. I had heard that she recorded Every Rose Has Its Thorn and I wanted to hear what it sounded like. Like Ron Burgundy when he jumped into the polar bear pit at the end of Anchorman, I immediately regretted the decision.
[8] I have no idea how old he was when he wrote it
[9] Has she ever even had a boyfriend with whom she’s stayed?
[10] Though her gang of dancing schoolgirls in schoolgirl uniforms still isn’t as hot as the gang of dancing schoolgirls in schoolgirl uniforms in the video for “Girl School” by Britny Fox. Similar, yet different.
[11] Did she ACTUALLY want him to hit her? That would be strange. Is it a sexual thing?
[12] Because, frankly, that would probably be pretty boring, though I could get behind listening to sings about video games.

Ready

So, here's something I was thinking about the other day:

“Are you ready?”

Depending on the context, this is either one of the most normal, mundane, and appropriate questions you could ask a person, or one of the most ridiculously absurd. To illustrate, allow me to present a few scenarios in which this is an appropriate question:

Scenario 1: A frustrated husband is sitting on the edge of the bed as his wife tries on outfit after outfit, delaying their departure for a night out with friends. The babysitter is downstairs yet they appear to be no closer to leaving than they were 15 minutes ago when the babysitter arrived.

“We really should be going. Are you ready Sweetie?”

Totally appropriate use of the question.

Scenario 2: You are a student and you are waiting outside the room before your final exam of the semester. You have studied for days, making flashcards and outlining the material. Your friend walks up to you minutes before the test is about to begin.

“Man, I’m exhausted, I can’t wait to get this thing over with. You ready bro?

Again, an appropriate use.

Yet, there is one specific situation in which this question is never really appropriate: when speaking to a pregnant woman, or a couple, about to have a first baby.

Now, it’s not an inappropriate question to ask because it’s offensive in any way or because it can be construed as objectionable[1]. It’s inappropriate because there is no possible way the parents to be can a) be ready and b) know if they’re ready.

There is no possible way to know what it is like to have a baby if you’ve never had one before. There is no way to prepare for the sleepless nights[2], the all-consuming nature of a baby, the overwhelming sense of “holy shit, I’M the adult.” There is no way to know what you don’t know until you suddenly realize that you don’t know it. There’s no way to prepare for something you can’t really prepare for.

Here’s another example for the guys. Let’s say you knew that at 3 p.m. on Thursday afternoon, you had an appointment to get kicked in the balls[3]. Maybe, and this is a stretch, you tried to prepare by punching yourself in the nether region. As you show up for your appointment, you know it’s going to hurt and you start mentally preparing yourself for the pain. You try and come up with a strategy for how to deal with the pain at the moment of impact, and you steel yourself for the coming blow. However, when you actually get kicked, it is far worse than anything you imagined.

It’s the same thing with having a baby. Just like you can’t ever truly prepare yourself to get kicked in the nuts, you can’t truly “be ready” to have a baby.

Sure, there are “planners” out there who do as much as they can to prepare for the arrival of their little bundle of joy: they find out the gender[4], they buy all the furniture, paint the nursery, buy clothes and hang them in the closet. All they need is to insert the baby into their habitat. But that gives such a false sense of readiness. You can get THINGS ready, but you can’t really be ready.

Before we had our first son, a few people asked me if I was ready. “I guess,” I replied, “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Intellectually, I knew that a newborn wakes up in the middle of the night to eat. I knew that he would not be able to do anything for himself, nor really communicate to me what he wanted or needed in any sort of meaningful way other than crying. I knew that I would have to change diapers.

I knew all that.

But knowing it and living it are two completely different things. And until you’ve lived it, you can’t really be ready for it.

I know what some people are going to say. There are two arguments from people who think they’ll know what it’s like.

Argument 1: “But we have a dog. We sort of know what it’s like to have a kid.”

No you don’t. Sure, maybe there are some parallels, like the fact that you have to train a puppy not to poop and pee in the house, and they might whine or bark in the middle of the night. But you leave the dog alone in the house when you go to work or go out, right? You put a bowl of food on the floor and the dog just eats it, right? In fact, won’t a dog eat just about anything? Not the same.

Argument 2: “I’ve taken care of my sister’s kids.”

Sure, being an aunt or uncle can help prepare you a little bit, but you get to send the kids home to their parents, right? You get to be the fun one who spoils them with presents and candy without ever really having to discipline them, right? Again, not the same.

The only people who might possibly have an idea what it’s truly like to be a parent without actually having been a parent is a live-in nanny for a really rich family/celebrity. A nanny who basically raises the child for the parents, who wakes up and feeds the baby in the middle of the night, who does almost everything a parent would do in place of the parent, might have an idea.

But considering about 99.999% of the world does NOT fall into that category[5], we’re back to the fact that you just can’t be ready, or know how not ready you are, until you’ve had a baby.

Look, I’ve asked the question before. In fact, a few months ago, I asked this woman at work, who was 8 or 9 months pregnant, if she was ready, which is what made me think about this. Now, she already had a kid, which changes things dramatically. Having a newborn is always rough, whether it’s your first child or not, but having gone through it before is a major help. Sure, you’re still exhausted, you have another kid to deal with in addition to the baby, but you’ve been through it before and you know what to do. You’re not worried about breaking the baby when you change his diaper, and you know what to do so he doesn’t pee all over you. You know that it’s okay when the soft-spot on top of his head throbs while he’s in the bath and that the crying will eventually stop.

Are you ready? Were you ready? Will you be ready?

You never know until you know. You know?

Good times.

Footnotes:
[1] Though, I guess there’s always someone who will find even the most benign things offensive.
[2] Unless you happen to have been captured by a foreign government’s shadowy intelligence service that has subjected you to sleep deprivation as a means of torture
[3] Why one would have such an appointment, I have no idea.
[4] Though that’s not 100% foolproof
[5] That is a very unscientific number I came up with off the top of my head, but I think it’s probably pretty accurate.

Tough

So, today was one of those days that made me feel like a bad parent. That's not wholly unusual because I often have days that make me feel like a bad parent. Often, when I feel bad about my parenting, it's because I yelled at The Boys too much, I was too rigid about something that's not a big deal, I forget that they're 6 and a half and almost 5, I come down too hard on Axl for something, or I just don't have enough patience.

But today was different because The Wife and I were doing (what we're pretty sure is) the right thing. Please feel free to weigh in with your opinions.

I know I've written numerous times about our struggles with Slash's eating. He is extremely picky and almsost unhumanly stubborn. The list of things he'll eat is dwindling (excluding snack foods and desserts) and he almost exclusively eats scrambled eggs, plain dry pasta, green beans, and frozen crinkle cut carrots (what he calls carrot chips. I'm not even really exaggerating. Oh, and he often eats "chocolate spread" sandwiches (Nutella on saltines) for lunch.

Anyway, when it came time for lunch today after his preschool's Hanukkah show and party (obviously, he wouldn't eat the macaroni and cheese they had, and he wouldn't even try a latke even though I tried explaining to him thta it was essentially just a flat french fry), I finally convinced him to eat a pretzel bagel (a soft pretzel) and a cheese stick. He promised he'd eat the cheese stick.

He didn't.

He tried to leave the table and go play, and I told him that he needed to eat the cheese stick. He started to get upset, but I stood firm and told him that if he didn't eat it now, he couldn't eat anything else until he ate it. That meant no snack, no dinner, no breakfast...you get the point. I told him I'd stay at the table as long as I needed to.

He played what he thought was his trump card:

Slash: (upset) Daddy, my tummy hurts.

Me: No it doesn't.

Slash: It does, it really does.

Me: Fine, you can leave the table, but I'm putting this cheese stick in a baggie and it's still the next thing you're going to eat.

Slash: Fine.

We spoke to a teacher of his who deals with kids and food issues, and she told us that, generally, we've given him an inch and he's taken a mile, and what we need to do is get that inch back. She suggested that, instead of making him eat the whole cheese stick, we make him eat just one bite. "Don't worry about the mile right now," she said. "Take back that inch."

With that in mind, we came back from Axl's school's Chanukah party (see what I did there? I spelled Hannukah a different way...ha ha, I did it again) and said that we'd have breakfast dinner. They could have anything they want. Axl said he wanted Life cereal in milk, and Slash said he wanted plain Life cereal. We told Slash that he needed to eat one bite of the cheese stick, and it was on. He started crying, telling us we're not being nice, getting mad. He was crying that he wanted breakfast dinner, not lunch dinner.

We tried a bunch of different things to get him to eat it. Axl, The Wife and I took a bite, high-fived and said that we were all winners in the bite of cheese stick club, but he wouldn't budge. I'll fast forward through the hysterics and let you know that dinner time came and went, and he ate nothing.

As The Wife was nursing The Rocket Queen and I was getting The Boys dressed and ready for bed, Slash asked if he could have breakfast dinner tomorrow and started bawling when I said no. Again, he told me I wasn't being nice.

Part of me really wanted to give in and say, sure, forget about the cheese stick and just eat something else. Part of me wanted to say, sure sweetie, you can have breakfast for dinner tomorrow. But the bigger part of me knew that we needed to put our collective feet down and draw the line. I know that when we say he needs to eat something, he needs ot eat it for "good eating" reasons and he can't just waste it.

He must be hungry because he ate almost nothing today, and as he was getting into bed, he asked if we could have something he likes for dinner tomorrow. He asked if we could make a kind of pasta he likes (definitely NOT ziti...we had some plain ziti the other night and for some reason he didn't like it. I'm not sure why because it TASTES EXACTLY LIKE EVERY FREAKING OTHER KIND OF PASTA!), and I assured him that yes, we would have something he likes.

Good times.

Trouble

So, The Rocket Queen loves to hold our iPhones and walk around with them tapping on the screens. We thought it was harmless until she started erasing some of The Wife's apps and accidentally rearranging things. No problem, I thought, she hasn't really done anything objectionable on my phone. Until yesterday. I caught her researching Budweiser on my beer brands app and trying to e-mail Budweiser info to someone (one of her baby friends who looks old enough to buy beer?) and then she opened the iPod and put on the song "Beer" by Reel Big Gish. And then I realized that she set up her own Twitter account....

You can follow her at @GTRocketQueen

Uh oh, what have we done?

Good times.

Weapons

Weapons​

So, The Wife’s youngest cousin (ok, technically, she’s not the youngest cousin, but the youngest ones are really more like nieces and nephews because they’re THAT much younger) is visiting for a week from Israel, and she was hanging out with us yesterday. Axl and Slash were very excited to meet her because she had been in the army, but once she told them that she didn’t really have much to do with guns, the army excitement faded pretty quickly. But they love her and were very excited to have her stay for dinner, with both of them wanting to sit next to her.

We sat down for dinner and got everyone settled. I don’t remember what we were talking about, or how it came up, but Axl said:

Axl: I know the “B” word.

(Now, this is not the first time Axl has announced that he knows “a word.” He once announced that he knew the “S” word, and as I cringed, waiting for him to say shit, he said “stupid.” With that in mind, one obvious word came to mind but I quickly scanned my mental dictionary trying to think of another one. He must mean something else, right?

Me: What’s the “B” word?

Axl: (smiling) Bitch.

(Great, Cousin must think the worst)

The Wife: No, that’s not a nice word. I don’t want to hear you say it again.

Axl: What does bitch mean?

Me: (man, there are SO many ways I could go with this. This could really be a teachable moment, no matter which way I go with it…) It’s a female dog, but you shouldn’t say it because it’s not nice. Where did you learn that word?

Axl: From [insert boy in his class’ name].

Me: Ok, but I don’t want to hear you say it.

We moved on from there and finished dinner. When we all went upstairs to get The Kids ready for bed, I took The Rocket Queen into her room to start getting her wiped down and into her pajamas. I then heard the following ruckus, I mean, conversation:

The Wife: Slash, go to the potty.

Ruckus, ruckus, ruckus…

Axl: Slash had an accident.

Slash: Axl made me have an accident. He wouldn’t let me get to the bathroom.

The Wife: It’s okay Slash, it doesn’t look like you had an accident, just go to the potty now.

Quiet ensues for a half minute…

Axl: (yelling) Mommy! Slash peed all over my leg.

Slash: He made me have an accident!

Axl: Why would you DO that?

Slash: Because I’m angry at you.

(At least that’s an honest answer)

Me: (I need to contribute SOMETHING to this dialogue) Slash, your penis is not a weapon!

(That should do it)

The Wife: Slash, you are in BIG trouble, that’s really gross.

Slash: I didn’t do it on purpose, it was an accident!

(That’s a less honest answer)

The Wife was now standing in the door to The Rocket Queen’s room, and we were both trying to be stern with Slash without laughing, but it was hard. Slash finally came, buck naked, into The Rocket Queen’s room, and I told him that he would need to have a big punishment. He’s crying and trying to tell me that it was an accident:

Me: Wait a minute. Didn’t you just say that you peed on his leg because you’re mad at him?

Slash: Yes.

Me: So then you did it on purpose!

Slash: (new round of tears) No, it was an accident.

(Obviously, the logical reasoning wasn’t working)

Me: Okay, well, I think your punishment will be you’ll lose the check you would’ve gotten for not having an accident today (it’s a rewards system…enough checks earns him a Star Wars action figure).

Slash: (crying) NOooo! How about, like, I lose TV for a whole week?

Me: Really? Okay, fine, you lose TV for a week.

Slash: Um, wait. No, I don’t want that.

The Wife: Slash, you lose one of your babies for three days.

Slash: Only one baby for three days? Okay.

Good times.