That was the question posed to me by my two year old daughter as I washed the chlorine off of her in the JCC shower following her swim lesson. It was one of those parenting moments that no one can really prepare you for. Parents have to develop skills on the fly, and the ability to stifle laughter while handling a delicate teachable moment is one of the most crucial.
My sweet little angel spent 30 minutes working on her floating technique and the first thing she wanted to ask me was “Why does everybody have a penis?”. I would’ve preferred something like “Daddy, did I do a good job?” or “Can we go get ice cream?”.
Of course, not everyone has a penis, but apparently she doesn’t know that. Perhaps that’s a parenting fail on my part, but probably not. The only naked person she’s seen with any regularity is her five year old brother. Yep, he has a penis. Just ask him, he’ll tell you all about it. Odds are he’ll have his hand on, or at least adjacent to, it when you quiz him. Like most all dudes it is his favorite appendage.
My guess is that my wild haired toddler princess is feeling a little shut out in the genitalia department. She looks at her brother, and then at herself, and notices something is missing. Only not really. “Why does everybody have a penis?”. I did my part to adequately answer the question and she did her part to let it pass, thank Christ. It’s all a matter of perception my dear.Tweet
If you had told me ten years ago that I would now be writing an unpaid movie review for “Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chipwrecked” I would have likely punched you in the throat and called you a nasty name that involved some combination of douche and bag. Well, here I am.
I took my daughter to see “Chipwrecked” on Sunday. It was a daddy/daughter date and she got to pick whatever she wanted to do. I suggested a trip to the Whitaker Center in Harrisburg or the Turkey Hill Experience in Columbia, Pa. but she insisted on seeing a movie and eating M&Ms. Hard to argue with that.
The problem was that the pickings were pretty slim when it came to kids movies. The only choice was “Chipwrecked” which was playing at the $2 theater in South York. I was a bit worried because my little princess has never seen a movie that was not animated. I wasn’t certain that Jason Lee and some computer generated rodents would hold her attention for 90 minutes. I was sure that the M&Ms would help.
On the ride to the theater she asked if we could get popcorn instead of M&Ms. I was fine with the switch. Popcorn wouldn’t result in a sugar high and would probably last for a good 45 minutes. If you haven’t taken your youngster to the movies yet because you’re worried about how they’ll behave just remember that popcorn is your friend. It works great at the ballpark too.
A few minutes later we passed a billboard for Jimmy John’s. My kids freaking love Jimmy John’s. Of course she asked if we could go to Jimmy John’s for lunch, which I was totally cool with because I freaking love Jimmy John’s. I’m a total slut for fresh baked bread.
So yeah, eventually we made it to the theater and watched the movie. It was generally what I expected. The chipmunks, there are six of them now which I was unaware of because I missed “The Sqequel”, are on a cruise ship for some reason. Alvin acts like an insolent prick and ends up getting the crew into a serious bind. Jason Lee grimaces, screams “Alvin!” and hilarity ensues. It wasn’t totally unwatchable, though the dad in front of me did fall asleep (full on snoring) for a solid 10 minutes. His kids either didn’t notice, didn’t care, or have been numbed by Daddy’s chronic cinematic napping.
The movie held my daughter’s interest for a solid hour or so. We ran out of popcorn at about the 45 minute mark. She spent the next 20 minutes repeatedly asking me why Jeanette, the chubby one, fell down and hurt her foot. I love my girl, but she has no volume recognition of her own voice. Her inquiries became increasingly louder until she finally said “Can we go to Jimmy John’s now?”. The movie was about to crescendo to a thrilling conclusion so we stuck around for a surprisingly entertaining ending.
Baby girl was happy. Who wouldn’t be with a belly full of popcorn? I was happy because I actually got to have her sit quietly on my lap for the better part of an hour. She doesn’t sit still much. We left the theater to head to the beloved Jimmy John’s. As we drove out of the parking lot a tiny voice said “Daddy, can we go to McDonald’s? I don’t like Jimmy John’s anymore.”Tweet
We went out for a family dinner last weekend with my in-laws. About halfway thru the meal my two year old daughter said that she needed to use the potty. She’s making great progress but any time she sounds the potty alarm we get to steppin’. My wife and I exchanged quick glances. The look in her eyes clearly stated “Your turn!” I quickly wiped the barbecue sauce from my hands and whisked Princess Poopypants to the men’s room.
I absolutely hate taking my daughter into a public men’s room. I’m a 35 year old man and I am routinely disgusted by the bathroom habits of my brethren. I’m not crazy about taking my five year old son to the men’s room either but he has a penis so he better get used to it.
Anyway, we entered the restroom and I quickly ducked into the first open stall. I was greeted by the gastrointestinal leavins of a prior patron, or a large farm animal. Frankly, it was tough to tell. I blurted “Oh my lord!”, which is the parent censored version of “Holy shit some neanderthal just ruined the toilet. People are fucking animals!”
I dashed my little princess to the next stall and got her situated on the potty. Then the questions started, “Daddy, why did you said ‘Oh my yord’?”
“Use the potty honey.”
She persisted. I tried to be evasive. No luck. I tried to be vague. She wasn’t buying. Finally I said “Someone used the potty and didn’t clean up.”
That set off another round of questioning. She finished her business and we got her hands washed and dried. I thought I was in the clear. As we returned to the table to resume our dinner she informed the rest of our party, “Daddy opened the door and said ‘Oh my yord!’. Daddy, why did you said ‘Oh my yord’?”Tweet
I was stunned today when I heard of a football player named Guy Whimper. Yes, that’s his real name. I was even more shocked to to learn that he’s been in the NFL for six years. How the hell did I not know this?
I’m certain that Guy Whimper is a 6’2”, 300 lb. mound of manly ferocity, an uncaged animal, a mountain of beastly aggression who could not doubt rip me in half; but holy hell that is a terrible name for a football player. He’s stuck with the last name Whimper but at least pick a nickname to use in place of Guy. T-Bone Whimper works. Maybe Axel Whimper. Night Train? Adolph? Something! Short of adopting a bad ass nickname Guy Whimper is no doubt pining for the NFL arrival of Pierre Pushover or Bruce Thumbsucker.Tweet
My five year old son and I tell jokes every night at bed time. The tradition started about a year ago after he watched a DVD of “I Spy”, an HBO produced kid’s show. The show’s lead character “Spyler” pauses the action every few minutes to drop some supremely corny jokes. I must admit that my son’s act hasn’t matured much in the past year. He’s pretty much a one trick pony. Regardless of the setup his punchline usually involves someone farting or having their hair fall out.
Example: Why did the cow cross the road? Because he didn’t have any hair!
He’s no Louis CK but he has good instincts and isn’t lacking in confidence.
Here is the G rated joke we worked out this week:
Why did they stop playing cards at the zoo?
Too many cheetahs
We were gathered around the kitchen table this evening enjoying a late dinner. The kids had swim lessons and we didn’t get home until 6:30. We’re normally finished dinner by that time but with the recent springing forward of the clocks we planned on keeping the kids up a little late anyway. About halfway thru the meal my beautiful two year old daughter farted.
Boy howdy did she fart! It lasted a good 8 seconds, no lie. What began as a low rumble ended with the four of us laughing hysterically around the dinner table. Please understand that my Wife and I don’t norrmally encourage, or even tolerate, passing gas at the table. This was a special circumstance. We tried our best to wait out my daughter’s accoustical performance but once she was 5 seconds into it, with no sign of slowing down, we shed our veil of parental scorn and just lost it. We were practically screaming with laughter. Tears filled our eyes. My son laughed uncontrollably and my daughter couldn’t have been more proud.
We quickly regained our composure and informed our little princess that it’s rude to fart at the table. My Wife tried to get her to say “excuse me” but our girl was more interested in yelling “Ha,ha, I farted!” She may be our princess, but she’s no lady. Not yet anyway.Tweet
When I saw the poster in the movie theater for “Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter” I assumed it was a either a joke or the latest opus from the Wayans Brothers. A little research revealed that “Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter” is a new film produced by Tim Burton. The basic premise is that Abraham Lincoln discovers that vampires are plotting to take over the United States and he must eliminate them. Sounds reasonable enough. No, it sounds ridiculous but the trailer looks pretty cool. I’m not a fan of the recent obsession with all things vampires kicked off by the Twilight nonsense. However, Robert Pattinson’s rise to fame now seems like small price to pay in order to see Abraham Lincoln fight vampires in 3D.
Also, with any luck this will start a series of movies featuring past presidents fighting mythical creatures. I’d pay good money to see FDR vs Centaur, Herbert Hoover Unicorn Slayer, Taft vs Mothra, and a “Harry and the Hendersons” remake with a deranged Teddy Roosevelt stalking the lovable Harry.Tweet
We’ve all had parenting moments that didn’t fill us with pride. Whether it’s overreacting to a temper tantrum at the mall, responding angrily to a 3 AM wake up call, or punching our daughter’s basketball coach into a coma…what? You’ve never beaten a middle school basketball coach to a bloody pulp? Well this douche has.
I’m pretty sure this puts him out of the running for father of the year which moves me one spot closer to the top. I can only assume that much of his frustration comes from being named Shelly. Shelly isn’t even a good name for a chick.Tweet
Bad tattoo of the week: I could maybe see giving this a pass if the concert date was in 1994, but who the hell was still seeing Green Day in concert in 2009? What’s worse is that I can only assume that this disaster is on the arm of an alleged adult who is rapidly approaching 40.Pin It Tweet