The How-Not-To Guide to Parenting and Marriage (9 page)

36. I LOVE YOU OR HIGHWAY TO HELL

The song that your child will voluntarily sing at kindergarten show and tell
, will not be "I Love You, You Love Me" that they had heard and sang a hundred times while watching Barney. . . . . . It will be "Highway To Hell", which they had heard for only the five seconds it took you to vault over clutter in the garage to change the station on the radio.

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37.
THE ONE THING YOU CAN NOT FORCE A CHILD TO DO

There is one thing that you cannot force a child to do, and that is to look at you when you are talking to them. You can force them to "come here" or "sit down" or "stand up", but you cannot make them look at you.

You can grasp their head like a volley ball, and try to turn it in synch with the movement of their beady little eyes, but you will always be a split second too late. You can even try to use the tips of your thumbs to keep their eyeballs from moving, but they are far too slippery . . . . . Not that I've ever tried such a ridiculous thing.

38.
WHAT GOES ON IN THE BATHROOM

I live in a house with three females, and I can come to only one conclusion about what goes on in the bathroom when someone other than myself is in there. . . . . they are turning massive quantities of toilet paper into massive quantities of hair, and throwing it in the shower.

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39. MYSTERY

One of two things is happening. Either my mind is starting to slip gears, and I'm forgetting to zip up my pants, or the jeans that I get such great deals on at The Salvation Army, are donated because of mechanical defects..... Until I figure out which it is, I'm not taking any chances on total exposure. I've started wearing two pairs of underwear.

40. IN YOUR FACE (BOOK)!

One evening after dinner, my wife and I settled into our respective spots on the couch and easy chair. As normal, we began to unwind from the day’s work by watching TV and checking our Facebooks.

The first post in my newsfeed was from Dennis, a friend of mine, announcing his new daughter’s dedication on this coming Sunday. In my usual attempt to be funny, I left a comment that read, "I'll see you there if I can get approval from her highness" and then I moved on to the rest of the newsfeed.

A few moments later, a notification popped up telling me that my wife, who was sitting across the room from me, had commented on the same post. When I clicked back to Dennis's page, she had posted a response under my comment that read, "Why do you always have to make me sound like a nag or a party pooper?"

"I was just being funny" I answered via comment, annoyed at her lacking a sense of humor about it.

"You are always trying to be funny, but a lot of times you're just a jerk"

Before I could respond, a comment popped up from Jill, a mutual friend of ours and Dennis’s, which read, "We are honored to be able to share this blessed day with you and your family"

Getting angry, I typed, "Do you mind not butting in Jill? And @wife: you think everything I say is being a jerk! You have NO sense of humor!!!"

The next comment came from Dennis, whose page we were on, "Could you guys go fight on someone else's baby dedication announcement post?"

And then my wife, "I used to have a sense of humor til YOU wore it out with your STUUUUUPPPIIIIIIDDD "jokes"!!!"

Having had enough, I hit "like" on my wife's last statement, and exited the page.

I was still stewing when the little scrolling account of what everyone is doing on Facebook, showed that my daughter had commented on a status from her iPhone. So wanting to move past the argument with the wife, I clicked to see what she had said.

My daughter’s friend, Nikki (with a little heart before and after her name) had posted that she had the flu and wasn't feeling good. My daughter had then commented that she was sorry, and hoped she would feel better soon. Being proud of my daughter's kindness, I "liked" her comment.

I then paused for a moment to take a bite of the sandwich that I had been working on while Facebooking. Before I could move on from my daughter's friend's page, a comment popped up from my wife that read, "Don't you dare "like" me and then walk away!"

She had obviously seen in the same scrolling, privacy-invasion box, that I had liked our daughter's comment and followed me there.

"I'm not continuing this conversation if you are going to be unreasonable!" I answered.

"Oh that's you, leave whenever you know you're WRONG!"

Then a comment from Nikki, who neither my wife nor I were actually "friends" with, saying, "Who are you guys, and why are you on my page?"

Followed by a comment from my daughter that said, “YOU GUYS ARE RUINING MY LIFE!!! GO AWAY!"    

"@Wife: I'm not wrong! @daughter: Oh yeah! Did I ruin your life when I bought you two new pairs of jeans last week? @ Nikki: sorry, we'll be done here in a minute."

Meanwhile, I saw that the wife had left a comment back on Dennis's page that read, "Sorry Dennis, he thinks only of himself"

But before I could respond to that, my daughter commented, "That doesn't give you the right to ruin my life!"

Nikki wrote, "Will you all please go away"

My other daughter popped up in the "chat" box, "YOU BOUGHT NATALIE JEANS? WHY DIDN'T I GET ANY"

Another notification chirp let me know that my wife was tweeting @me that #MyHusbandIsAJerk.

I was now FURIOUS!! I began firing back responses.

@Nikki: TURN OFF THE COMPUTER IF WE ARE BOTHERING YOU!

@Daughter 2: I BOUGHT YOU A CAGE AND FOOD FOR YOUR STINKING RODENT, WHO KEEPS US ALL AWAKE RUNNING ON HIS WHEEL ALL NIGHT!

@Wife: I'M NOT THE ONE BEING A JERK!

I then tried to go back to the dedication post to get the last word in, but discovered that Dennis had "unfriended" us. And he wouldn't answer my call to see if he would at least let me dictate my response to the wife's last remark.

So I set my cyber sights on daughter 1, and fired off a comment that read, "WHY DON'T YOU BUY YOUR OWN CLOTHES AND FOOD, YOU SELFISH BRAT!"

But at the exact moment I hit the send button, I noticed that the comment above mine didn't look familiar. It wasn't from my daughter, my wife, or Nikki. Scrolling up, I realized I wasn't even on the right post.

Somehow in my angered frenzy, I had hit the wrong notification and had just commented on a link our pastor had posted, that featured a starving child from Somalia's heartbreaking plea for
help........ I had just called a starving child from Somalia a selfish brat, and told him to buy his own food and clothing.

It took several sweaty minutes for me to figure out how to delete my comment to the Somalian child. After which I called every Facebook friend that I thought had been witness to the whole debacle, and apologized.

Then I gathered the wife and daughters all together in the same room, and we had an all-out, old fashioned, face to face blowout ...... comple
te with shouting and arm waving.

And just to make sure everything was good, I made a large (by my standards) donation to the charity who's video the So
malian boy had been featured in.

41.
HORSE FREAK

To say that my daughter loves horses, is an understatement similar to saying that I like bacon. She is a certified horse freak. Every Christmas and birthday list she has ever made, had a horse as the number one item.

I hate having to decline her request to own a horse since she loves them so much, but our yard isn’t big enough for the horse, me, and large piles of manure. Not to mention, my wallet is not big enough for a horse and all its food and accessories. And on top of all that, I just know that it would be me that kept the beast from starving, or freezing to death, or getting the mange (or whatever it is that horses get).

But instead of just saying no, and listing all of those reasons, I try to "creatively" discourage her desire for horse ownership . . . . . and I must say that I have failed miserably up to this point.

My first attempt was when she was quite young, and had just discovered horses. Having only seen them on TV, books
, or in parades, I figured I could end her relentless begging for one, by telling her that many horses have been known to eat small children whole. Snatching them up in their dragon-like jaws, leaving only socks and shoes where a child once stood.

I may have underestimated her gullibility, and a few discussions with less "creative" thinking adults over the next few weeks, confirmed to her that I may have been exaggerating a tiny bit.

During our next "I want a horse" argument, I tried to knock her off balance by telling her she could have one, but it would have to live in her room with her. She then looked up at me with no expression on her face, and then silently walked away.

I once again thought I had ended the horse debate by outsmarting her . . . . until I went upstairs later that same night. She had not only cleaned her room, but had also managed to get a large pile of freshly picked grass, and a large bucket of water for the arrival of the horse. I was both annoyed and amazed at her resolve.

Feeling cornered by my own genius, I then had to resort to "researching" the local building codes, where I found that all houses that had livestock living on the second floor were required to have 48 inch wide stairs. Since our stairs were only 32 inches wide, we would have to wait until we could afford to widen the stairs. This seemed be an acceptable, although disappointing answer to her.

The problem with most kids, is they get smarter as they get older. And then they start rehashing in their little brains, everything you've ever told them.

We happened to be vacationing at Niagara Falls when she realized that the whole 'horse in her room' was just a diversion tactic. This realization led to an impromptu horse argument as we stood overlooking the falls.

But the mounting fear that I would spend my afterlife being roasted for lying to my daughter, led me to switch tactics. I told her that she could have a horse if she swam over the falls, and survived. Once again, she looked at me and quietly walked away. I assumed her silence was due to her anger towards me, but at least there was silence.

Less than half an hour later, I was hailed by a park ranger who soundly chastised me for suggesting that my daughter should swim over the falls. Apparently she had cornered him and inquired what type of accommodations the park provided for getting someone back up to the top of the observation area after going over the falls.

So now, I am reduced to being that mean dad who just says "no" whenever the horse argument comes up, which is about every other week. However, as a consolation for my misguided attempts to discourage her horse freakness, we do now pay for her to take riding lessons.

42. COOL DAD

 
The other day, while driving my daughter’s home from school, I heard them talking about one of their friends. The discussion was centered on how much fun it was to stay at this girl’s house.

"What makes it so fun to stay at Christina's house?" I had to ask.

"They let us watch horror movies" Natalie answered.

"Christina's parents are cool, too" Hannah added.

"Yeah, her parents ARE cool" agreed Natalie.

The horror movie answer was a bit concerning to me, but had not nearly the sting of the cool
parent’s statement. What made her parents cool? . . . . . I thought I was a cool parent. I've never worn dark socks pulled up to my knees while wearing shorts. And I was always doing fun and entertaining things when they had friends over. Like playing my DVD of Star Trek episodes with the talking dubbed over in German, or performing my famous word-for-word reenactment of Walter Cronkite's moon landing newscast, using a high falsetto voice. But apparently, it takes something far less substantial to be considered cool.

In the days that followed, it would bother me every time I thought about it. I remembered when I was a teenager, and how some of my friend’s parents were so much cooler than
others. I couldn't stand it . . . . I had to be a cool dad.

That Friday, I pulled up to the front of the school ready to impress. I knew that the first thing needed was some loud bumping music.

I would have preferred to have picked out one of my daughters CD's to blast, but since the ol' 1986 Chevy Impala that I had acquired for $700, came equipped with a cassette deck, this was not an option. Luckily, I still had a few tapes in a shoebox in the garage, and luckier yet, some of my sisters old tapes had gotten mixed in with mine....teenage girl music is teenage girl music, I figured.

As I slowly drove along the student lined sidewalk in front of the school, I put in my sisters tape that I had picked out, a band called Menudo, and let it rip. The music was loud and had a catchy beat, but apparently teeny bopper music in my sister’s day wasn't any better than what my daughters listen to, because I couldn't understand a word they were singing. It was almost like they were singing in Spanish or some other language.

I had my hat on sideways, and despite the pain in my back, I was leaned way over into the middle of the car like I had seen other cool young people doing, and I tried my best to bob my head in time with the catchy, loud music.

I spotted my girls standing in the row of students, and stopped in front of them. Wanting to fully display my new found coolness, I cranked the poorly vocalized music even louder, and got out to
escort my daughters over to the car. As I approached the sidewalk, I noticed quite a few students laughing and pointing in my general direction. There was a particularly criminal looking group of teen boys began yelling things like "turn that crap down, grandpa!” My oldest daughter seemed to be upset, and possibly crying. The youngest daughter marched up to me and screamed, "DAD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"What?" I said calmly, "Do the rules of coolness not apply to guys over 40?"

"Why are you blasting 60's Spanish music loud enough for the whole town to hear?" She shrieked.

"It’s not from the 60's, it’s from th-- wait, that really is Spanish?" I mumbled.

"And why would you walk around in public like that?" she demanded, sounding even angrier.

I assumed she was talking about my hat being sideways, and my underwear showing a bit, like I had seen every other boy at the school wearing.

"Dads can't sport a little sag?" I asked.

"You have your underwear pulled up, not your pants sagged down!" (By now she was yelling) "And they are white fruit of the looms with the elastic band half ripped off!!!"

Unconvinced that hiking the undergarments up was any different than pulling the pants down, I turned to walk back to the car. As I stepped off the sidewalk the pain caused from leaning over in the seat intensified, and my back went out, causing me to collapse down on all fours. The violence of the fall tore my underwear band the rest of the way, so that they were completely detached. And although I couldn't turn around to look, it felt like there might now be some crack showing.

Meanwhile, a boy with purple hair from the group of criminals, had broken off one of the Impala's windshield wipers, and was using it to whip me across the buttocks as I crawled back to the car and into the
driver’s seat. With a bit of difficulty, I managed to get the car door closed and drove away with agonizing back pain, two sobbing daughters, and a pair of stinging butt cheeks.

In the end, it was decided by my daughter's, my wife, and the principal that I would no longer be picking the kids up from school. My oldest daughter Hannah has started talking to me again, and hopefully Natalie will follow. I have decided that my level of coolness is what it is, and like nature, shouldn't be messed with.