College Life

Six months after the birth of our son, Darth Spoilboy, my wife and I were playing with him on the floor of our den. It was early morning with various toys scattered about along with a couple of sippy cups that somehow could appear out of no where and then disappear again. What I remember most though was a casual but off the wall comment my wife made at the time.

“Well,” she said, “it's been six months and we haven't killed him yet.” Nuance being the key here what she meant was that as brand new and totally inexperienced parents neither of us had done anything stupid yet that could have harmed our son. I, of course, agreed especially since a couple of weeks before that I had seen a new dad actually drop his baby. I just happened to be looking in the right direction when this person placed his child into one of those baby carriers without properly securing him. When the father picked up the carrier the child slipped out and plopped on the grass an overly large and floppy doll.

Luckily, that baby was fine, although I think the dad probably came close to having a heart attack once he realized what happened. The incident scared me as well to the point I spent years making sure neither of my children ever had to suffer through a similar event because of some careless action on my part. It's has been eighteen years since then but I have now reached a point where I can't look after my oldest child.

Yesterday we loaded up his car and mine and along with Dragonwife and Darth Wiggles we followed him up to Clemson University to help him set up his new residence in one of the dorms. It was a simple chore compared to some of the other parents I saw there. They seemed to have brought along everything from home including the kitchen sink for their kids.

As we drove away leaving Spoilboy to begin his own life I couldn't help but remember that father who didn't have the baby carrier secured correctly for his child. All I can hope is that my wife and I have prepared him fully for this new phase in his life.

Darth Wiggles at her acting recital

In an attempt to channel some of Darth Wiggles' excessive energy my wife found an acting class for her to attend back in January. During the first couple of classes Wiggles was very shy around her fellow students to the point she meekly asked my wife and I if she could drop out. Of course, we answered that question with a huge no even though for several more classes she went through the motions of protesting the activity.

Once she arrived at the class and got around her fellow students and new friends her attitude changed completely. So much that Wiggles would come running back towards the small waiting area and demand the parent that had come with her leave so she would not be embarrassed. That was fine with me, the waiting area only had four seats and I am terrible at small talk, so once she had settled in I would retreat to my car outsude in the parking lot. But not before standing in the hallway and watching her and the other children for a few minutes.

Watching her classes were amazing, kids as young as five years-old were acting with real emotion and energy. While I can at least watch a movie and know when the actors are good, I have never understood the mechanics of how they crafted feeling and sincerity into a play or movie. Even watching Wiggles class for a short time I saw how the instructor guided mere kids into becoming serious performers.

The class recital was this afternoon at a local church with Wiggles and the rest of the group performing short skits. The older kids, those twelve and up, took on some serious subject like parental divorce, school bullies, and suicide. The regular class session is over until September but Wiggles will be attending an acting summer camp. Here is a short video of her monologue, and yes, I am very proud, 

I would have included some of the other performances but I do not want to open a can of potential internet worms by showing other peoples children on video.

Beach Bum's Amphibious Kids

Way back in the ancient 1980's your truly was flush with money stationed at Fort Carson, Colorado while serving in the United States Army. At the time I was living in the barracks and when my fellow peacetime soldiers and I were not on some field exercise preparing for the Soviet invasion of western Europe we were looking for something to do. While I had more than my share of embarrassing escapades involving the fairer sex I did try and participate in a  few constructive activities. One of them was getting a PADI open water SCUBA certification, yes after living most of my life on the coast of South Carolina it took me moving to the middle of the North American continent to learn to scuba dive.  Life being what it is after leaving the active army, and no longer flush with money, I fell out of scuba diving but now with the kiddies getting a little older I'm looking to get back into it. Today both Darth Spoilboy and the newly minted Sith Lord Darth Wiggles took a "Discover SCUBA" class at a local pool. The above picture is Spoilboy with his gear on and getting ready to follow the instructor underwater. He is the one actually old enough for a formal certification and in a few months both of us will be in the open water class, for me it will be a refresher but I have not dived since 1992. I am so stoked right now I cannot describe it.      

As I mentioned Wiggles is quickly coming of age and I went ahead and awarded her the Sith title of Darth Wiggles. Her recent behavior has been "questionable" with me about ready a few times to go screaming off into the night over how frustrating she can be at the age of eight, God help me when she becomes a teenager. I actually believe she enjoyed the scuba class a little more than Spoilboy but she has to wait one more year before she can even begin to take lessons and even then she will be greatly restricted as to when and where she can dive.

I was actually rather surprised at how well both performed in the small class, Wiggles had some trouble with water entering her mask but cleared it underwater without any help, now that was rather spooky but she has always been a fish having learned to swim underwater before on the surface.  Spoilboy has a strong gag reflex like me but had no problem with keeping the regulator in his mouth. His one problem were the fins provided by the local scuba shop, they were a bit small for him. Needless to say I am already looking forward to some scuba trips down to Key West and other places, its going to be a blast!

A Milestone in the Road of Life

The incessant banging on my bedroom door last Tuesday afternoon forcing me back to consciousness from a deep sleep was the signal that my son, Darth Spoilboy, had returned from his last formal driving lesson with a professional instructor. It was also the indication he was more than ready to take the driving test at the local department of motor vehicles office, which unfortunately for me meant I would have to go with him.

For a few moments I continued to lay in bed struggling to find the motivation to go visit a place that even the most radical atheists often described as hell, despite the fact my son’s pounding threaten to shatter the door into a million pieces sending a swarm of deadly wooden splinters my way. The thought did cross my mind that such a fate might just possibly be preferable than having to spend time dealing with low paid and irate civil servants along with the hordes of spoiled civilians with bad attitudes.

In the end for my son, I did get up, slip on my sandals, and get out of the room before any real damage was done. I owed Spoilboy that much, Monday marked the last day of a desperate six-month waiting period after taking the written examination for his driver’s permit allowing him to take the road test and get his restricted license. Aside from a horrible condition, he suffered from back in 2005 resulting in massive surgery to his intestines and several weeks of painful recuperation, the six-month period waiting for his driver’s license was the most anguished time in his young life.

The driver’s permit allowed Spoilboy at the wheel of a car only while accompanied by an adult, which was problematic when we came anywhere near his friends resulting in severe embarrassment for him being seen with his parents. Several times Spoilboy asked my wife or me to slump down in the car in an attempt not to be seen as we passed close by someone he knew. He stopped making this request after I started picking my nose and eating phantom buggers in clear view of anyone nearby in their own cars. So you can understand how he viewed his driver’s license as a form of personal liberation for his young soul.

Now our battle plan was to arrive at the DMV around 1:00pm, the time we theorized the least amount of people would be there trying to get business done that particular weekday. Walking into the confines of the building, a glorious testament to bureaucratic architecture, we were first assaulted by the heat from the lack of air conditioning and then by the sight of long lines at the counters and the unwashed masses sitting in uncomfortable chairs certainly designed by one of Satan’s minions. After grabbing the ubiquitous slip of paper with a number printed on it signifying our place in line and the greater scheme of things we joined the sad group with me wondering if we would leave before Doomsday arrived.

As we waited I could not but help wonder why such a pro-business and free enterprise state like South Carolina had not installed a bar in every DMV office not only as a money making venture but a way to alleviate the depressing mind funk that hang over every building like it. I figured after hanging a few tropical posters showing beautiful Caribbean islands the hypothetical bar could sell non-alcoholic beer, low sodium pretzels, and hypoallergenic peanuts at exaggerated prices. The marketing of those items could certainly offset the salaries of many of the civil servants and possibly make the state a little money. And I will not even mention the cash bonanza corporate endorsements of beer, tourism, and snacks would bring.

Going further on making the DMV friendlier, I figured they could throw in a little steel-drum music over the intercom, place several fake palm trees in strategic locations, and have the staff wear Hawaiian shirts complete with colorful leis. Of course, its common knowledge that all DVMs are run by Nazis, ever eager to inflict suffering on people, as well as being gateways to hell so any attempt to humanize such places is simply impossible.

Just as misery from waiting threatened to overwhelm me my son’s number was called and we quickly jumped toward the counter with the smiling clerk waiting to serve us. The clerk was very life-like, almost as good as the automatons in the hall of presidents at Disney World and after checking the various forms to assure the state that Spoilboy was who he was we promptly sat back down to wait for the examiner who would test my son.

With my usual luck, right as I struck up a conversation with a redneck MILF (imagine a 40-something, chain smoking Kate Middleton dressed in an AC/DC t-shirt and tight jeans) there with her daughter the examiner called Spoilboy for the test and wanted to speak to me for a moment. The examiner just wanted to inform me what he was going to test my son on and how long it would take. It was an extremely professional thing to do but annoyed the shit out me since my spot next the hot redneck lady was lost the second I vacated the seat. Looking back, I saw two generic bubbas competing for her attentions and the possibility to join her list of boyfriends with the chance to vie for the grand prize of being her fourth husband.

After a mandatory check of the vehicle by the examiner, he and Spoilboy drove off for the test leaving me waiting outside. Without sounding too much like the proud father I figured my son had the test in the bag, along with several sessions with a professional driving instructor, Spoilboy and I had spent many hours just driving around. I found him a careful and considerate driver, which was good for my heart given how teenagers usually are when they first start driving.

During this time what was funny was seeing his intense focus on getting the parallel parking portion of the test right. A few times during these practices, I started feeling the first symptoms of motion sickness as he repeatedly ran through the maneuvers it would take to get him inside the assigned space. So, when he and the instructor pulled back into the DMV area and drove up towards the barriers that served as the parallel parking test site I was sure he would make it but I still found myself holding my breath.

With a deftness and skill I admired, Spoilboy whipped the car inside the required space completing and passing the test. Soon afterwards, my usually levelheaded and calm son was clearly walking amongst the clouds as we waited for his driver’s license to be made. Out of all the uncomfortable waiting in a place I almost would not wish on my worst enemy it was totally worth it to see him pass this milestone on the way to adulthood.

The only problem now is that Dragonwife and I are feeling the pressure by Spoilboy to purchase him his own car. I just wish his driver’s education had included a lesson on how insuring teenage boys cost their parents several body parts along with the pawning of younger siblings. That reminds me, I have only seven years before Miss Wiggles gets her license, any prayers and funds sent my way would be greatly appreciated.

Call the Bolshoi Ballet

Just because I really have no interest in hearing the assorted suburbanite moms discuss their trials and tribulations while Miss Wiggles and their daughters are practicing ballet I usually haul ass to the nearby library and cool my heels in some way. This time though their practice was open and I remembered to bring my video camera and get some of the action recorded. While this segment is not the best of their performance the instructor this year has done wonders with the girls and I expect they will be awesome for the recital in May.

The funny part about my aversion to staying at the dance studio has to do with the time Wiggles and I arrived extra early and while I was around the corner of the hallway waiting for her to finish changing into her outfit. During that brief time two moms came in, not seeing me, and continued with their discussion comparing the sexual performance and habits of their husbands. It was far more information than I ever wanted to know and I yelled loudly to Wiggles in the restroom to hurry up even though I was right outside the door. It should be easy to guess I increased the volume in my voice strictly to alert the two ladies of my presence and that I was hearing their conversation. Since I am now somewhat uncomfortable around the waiting moms I quickly turned Wiggles over to the instructor and got the Hell out of Dodge. Which is a real bummer since the deli next door has an awesome WiFi bandwidth which can be picked up inside the dance studio waiting area while the library blocks most videos feeds.

Snow in South Carolina

Leaving work Friday morning I passed a buddy who suggested that I immediately go to the grocery store and pick up enough milk and bread to last through the weekend. That the expected storm moving into our area was going to hammer us a lot earlier than people thought. When I asked my friend how he knew this he said that his grandmother had called before he had left for work saying her arthritis was acting up far worse than normal.

The weather report I had seen the night before said we would only get half an inch to an inch of snow. The highly paid weatherman I watch at that time in his nice suit and smiling a few thousands dollars of serious dental work assured us that the snow would only start late into the night. Can anyone guess who I believed of the two?

Miss Wiggles had a school play Friday morning so I really didn't have enough time to stop, pick up what might be needed, and then get cleaned up in time to make her play so I just drove straight home. Not long later as I walked into the school the sky was cloudy but there nothing to suggest the snow would arrive early like my buddy's grandmother claimed. But the play hadn't been going for five minutes when the intercom broke in saying that the school would be closing a couple of hours early to get the kids home before things got bad. Many of the parents groaned probably figuring the same thing I did as I walked into the school.

By the time Dragonwife and I got to the grocery store the place was a madhouse with everyone rushing to grab what they needed and get home before the kids and the snow which even the weather people were now saying would arrive far sooner.

Sure enough, the snow started about 3:30pm and didn't let up until early Saturday morning. The picture above was taken at 4:00pm with the ground already covered. I wish I had gone outside and walked around enjoying the only part of snow I really like but after Wiggles school play we had to rush around getting the house ready for the Chinese New Year party the next day. So I was completely crapped out by the time the snow was coming down.




The next morning the same weatherman who had claimed we wouldn't get very much in the way of accumulation was now smiling about the four to eight inches of snow on the ground. This storm turned out to be the worst "blizzard" for South Carolina since 1973. Now in truth the expected half an inch to inch of snow would have sent the state into a major spasm had it occurred during a regular workday but with it being a Saturday much of the disruption, even with the far greater amount of snow predicted to having fallen, was blunted.










That morning Miss Wiggles and I slipped outside to enjoy the snow before the crazy rush of getting everything ready for her Chinese New Year party. Matters were complicated even more when Dragonwife got a phone call from the parents of one of Wiggles classmates saying that the birthday party for their child was still on for that day. The party was at a "nearby" skating rink and guess who got to drive Wiggles to the party? For me the fun part was following the direction whose most detailed part was that I had to "turn left after the sign with the cow on it."

When she and I got back we went straight into DEFCON one for her party with her guests arriving right after she changed in her Chinese dress. Sorry, I got only a couple of pictures since I was literally pushed into kitchen duty cooking up the dumplings and getting the rest of the food ready as Dragonwife and a few moms kept the kids busy with crafts and storytelling.






This picture was taken right after the previous one above but just out of sight Darth Spoilboy and a couple of his friends had loaded up on snowballs and mere seconds after Wiggles snapped this photo I was brutally attacked. The attack was so savage I was left on the ground and by the time I recovered my attackers were back inside laughing their sorry asses off.

Its Sunday now and most of the snow from Friday has melted. Rather large patches of white can still be found but the roads are clear and its pretty much business as usual for us here now. While we missed the usual snow spasm that afflicts South Carolina when a few flakes hit the ground the last weather report I listened to mention another storm heading our way. The smiling weather guys are all hedging their bets on this one saying it will most likely just be a cold rain but possibly mixed with some snow or sleet. If we do get more in the way of snow and ice with being the start of a work week this state will seriously have a rough couple of days.

Master of the Sith and ultimate coolness

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Tangible discourse with teenage boys is a difficult thing to achieve in the best of times. But as I listened to the video game gun and laser fire coming from the upstairs family room last Saturday mingling with the cacophonous strains of an electric guitar I didn’t even try to tell them to turn the volume down. A few hours earlier as the stream of teenagers raced upstairs carrying everything from sleeping bags, stacks of video games, and the ubiquitous snack food items I had accidentally overheard one of the boys say that Darth Spoilboy, my son, had the “cool dad.” Being that none in the small group heading upstairs openly disagreed or laughed made my day.

How such a title had come my way was a little beyond my understanding since I had never allowed much in the way of outrageous behavior and in fact had shut the breaker off one time to the family room after repeated yells for the guys to tone things down were ignored. Never the less I did take a sort of sanctimonious pride in hearing that I had been award such a title as compared to the other nearby dads who are far more conventional or, dare I say, boring being caught up in the near Stalinist conformity and regimented lifestyle of Southern suburbia.

While other dads are willingly tied down by indentured servitude to manicured lawns forever demanding more and expensive fertilizers and maintenance equipment I shrug off such bourgeois mindsets and do my best to let my lawn grow wild and free. I refuse to be condemned to mindless serfdom, forever tied to a tiny piece of land praying to the gods of mortgage brokers and real estate that my piece of the pallid and stale American Dream never declines in value. Only my lovely and charming wife forces me at least twice a summer to trim the curb and pick up the limbs from our trees that have fallen off. As for the leaves that fall from the trees during autumn I let my ally the wind blow them happily down the street and into other people yards. After all the anal retentive ones with the high tech riding lawnmowers with the super suction vacuum attachments might as well have the chance to enjoy their toys even more.

As much as it might irritate those around me I revel in my non-conformity happily embracing the liberal/tree hugging/anti-capitalist/gay marriage supporting mantle declaring my opposition to those for whom Rush “Oxycontin addicted lard ass” Limbaugh and Glenn “ insane corporate lackey” Beck are intellectual heroes. On more than a few occasions I have walked past such people and heard them whisper, “Yeah, he’s a liberal, and he was in the military, I wonder how he could have gone so bad.”

So why does this make me the “cool dad”? Because I believe the younger generation understands that the residual traits from an even earlier period, which today are called modern political Conservatism, are the dying embers of a fading fire flaring up one last time before the more tolerant and progressive younger generation and simple demographics assign them to the dustbin of history.

Never the less as Saturday went on I did have to run interference for the various young Sith Lords saving or maybe enslaving the galaxy. My daughter, Miss Wiggles, had a few friends of hers over and they took an interest in what the boys were doing upstairs. Several times I had to pull the girls out after they snuck up to where the boys were and tried to stage a coup by grabbing the controllers for the X-Box360 wanting to play the games themselves.

Only using the ultimate, urbane coolness of the “Cool Dad” was I able to play the peacemaker separating the two groups and restoring balance to the house. Well, ultimate coolness and the fact that I agreed to play tea party with them, complete with me wearing a seriously floppy hat, plastic jewelry, and day-glo pink feather boa. I drew the line at the matching pink tutu, even though I was shocked that my daughter had one I could even wear. Oh yeah, any pictures that might surface of me attending such an event dressed in floppy hat, plastic jewelry, or feather boa are pure fabrications created on the computer by my enemies….or my wife.

However the day was climaxed late in the evening when I decided to go to bed early. Nothing was on television that I wanted to see, the boys were in full swing with their activities, Miss Wiggles was in bed and I figured I would read until I dozed off. Though sometime after 11:00pm I was awakened by voices in my room.

“Dad?” I heard my son say in the darkness next to me.

“What’s up dudes?” I responded using the ultimate coolness lingo to him and his cohorts lingering in the background. Now I was a little worried. The last time my son had woke me up on a weekend while he had friends over was when he had broken the two month old 40” high-definition LCD by banging into it with the controller from his last X-Box360. That legendary calamity will be remembered alongside my wife turning the wrong way down a crowded one-way street in Washington DC, me gouging a four-inch strip on the bumper of the brand new Corolla by bringing the garage door down too early, and Miss Wiggles taking a bottle of red hair dye to the dog.

“Dad, someone coming to the door in a few minutes, can you let him in? We’re in the middle of an important part of the game.” My loyal son said with such earnest. But I was tired and didn’t want to be disturbed. So what did these fine examples of young men do? They all grabbed my feet and arms and bodily lifted me out of the bed carrying me to the couch. Only such a Cool Dad would receive such treatment and I was honored, except for the part when the tossed me the last couple of feet. However, when duties calls I have always been one to answer.

I didn’t really have to ask about, or wait very long for, the person they wanted me to let in. I saw the pizza guy coming up the steps and intercepted him before he had a chance to knock or ring the doorbell alerting the boys. This wasn’t the first time for such an occurrence, last summer the boys had ordered food without telling me and its wasn’t until I had an irritated delivery guy on my doorstep demanding money for the six pizzas he was holding did I know anything about it.

This time it was only two large pizzas and a couple of sodas, which I paid for and then hid after grabbing three slices for myself. Being caught up in the game it was a good while before the boys realized they should have long since received their pizzas.

They apparently suspended their efforts to save or enslave the galaxy and raucous guitar playing long enough to come down in mass searching for their delivered booty. Shock flashed across their faces as they saw me finishing the last of my three slices and gulping down their precious soda.

“Dad, when did the pizza guy come?” My Sith Lord son Darth Spoilboy asked. I actually heard a few grumbles from his friends who over the years I had given Sith titles to as well. Which is something they thought was a laugh riot.

“Oh, almost an hour ago,” I said smiling knowing what I was going to make them do for pulling the pizza trick again.

They didn’t like it but I made them bow down and declare their allegiance to the ultimate master of the Sith, Darth Cooldad, and to forever abandon all attempts to order pizza unless I have a chance to add to my own pizza to the purchase. After they all agreed and I received the tribute of another slice and more soda I then released my young Sith apprentices and started watching Saturday Night Live and reveling in my greatness and power.

High Impact Wiggles

My daughter, Miss Wiggles, is to say the least a tough little girl. I have seen her get in the middle of my son and his friends wrestling on the floor and come away laughing. Our trips to the beach no matter how overall relaxing always has moments of sheer terror. I have caught my daughter trying to wandering into rough surf alone believing she can handle it; running up to strange dogs constantly thinking they will want to play with her as much as she wants to play them; and the real terror episode was when she was desperate to swim next to a jellyfish going about its merry and oblivious way. Many times only divine protection and sheer luck has prevented disaster.

My daughter dynamism does spill over back home and in school resulting in many notes from her teachers sometimes writing of something akin to a tiny revolutionary out to squash the established order. At daycare one time I came to pick her up after work only to have a talk with a very tired and frustrated college girl majoring in education about how upset Wiggles got when she found out that vanilla pudding was going to be served for the afternoon snack instead of chocolate. If the description of the events described by the young lady were true my daughter staged something close to a strike getting other children to refuse to accept what she called that nasty stuff. Still though, she does have moments where the little girl stands out and not some extra concentrated package of "blood and guts" out to conquer the world.

When I picked her up Wednesday she had the usual look of having done something that would result in a talking to back home. Examining her daily papers back at the house my wife and I did find a note from her teacher stating that she had kicked a little boy in the nuts that day. Wiggles was not at all responsive about why she had done such a thing, refusing to talk about it at all. After dinner though when she was tired and sleepy she did open up about what had happened.

The troubles started at recess-don't they always-when the little boy in question for some reason came up and hit her. Wiggles started crying when she said that the teacher didn't really listen to her when she went to go tell and when the boy came back before he could get at her again she kicked him, apparently making the little shit run off to the teachers screaming foul.

While it might be naive I believed my daughter and wrote a "nice" note back to the teacher explaining Wiggles side and how when she went to tell a teacher they didn't listen to her. I also dropped a line or two wondering how this happened and how it might be better if they spend a little more time getting the whole story.

Thursday afternoon we found a note from Wiggles' teacher apologizing for not finding out the whole story and that the little boy in question had gotten a note sent home for his actions and was forced to apologize to my daughter. Now this story should end here but like so many things in life nothing ever really ends. Late Friday afternoon we decided to grab a quick dinner at the fast food chicken sandwich place then hit a movie. My wife and I were at the table watching Wiggles play with a little boy in the enclosed playground and after refusing several times to come eat her food I was forced to go inside and physically bring her to the table. Much to my surprise she was followed by her playmate and when I started to talk with him I was very surprised to learn that her playmate was none other than the little boy that had hit her and that she had kicked in the nuts. The two continued to talk while she ate and upon Dragonwife and I briefly exchanged greeting with the boys parents.

Walking out the door the boy yelled out, "I'm sorry I hit you the other day." Clearly heard by everyone in the place.

With my daughter yelling back even louder, "I'm sorry I kicked you in the nuts." The place fell silent as we left with me wishing that things could be this easy for grownups.

Wild Blue Raspberry Explosion

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Every parent specializes in some sort of activities with their children. Some share the playing of musical instruments, the love of gardening, the joys of cooking, the action of sports, the pleasures of the arts, or any number of other events that strengthen the bonds of parent and child.

My wife has always enjoyed the quiet and controlled pleasures of simple crafts with both our son when he was younger and now our daughter. Untold numbers of Popsicle stick picture frames or birdhouses have been glued together in our house as well as homemade scrapbooks and jewelry, and my favorite, butterfly garden kits that have you raising caterpillars to fully grown butterflies’. The activities I have pursued with my children have always been less structured. Simply put I am an explorer with an ingrained need to be away from the confines of home. I never get tired strolling down the zoo pathways and looking at the historical exhibits in museums. Much to my surprise my daughter, who is six years old, continues to enjoy our frequent visits as much as I do. When my son was the same age I had to bride him with some form of expensive treat.

The explorations of my daughter and I are not restricted to just the zoo and museum. She and I escape from home as quickly as possible whenever chores have been completed to my wife’s satisfaction. Only the restrictions of time and money would limit our desire to “boldly go”. Unfortunately, not every weekend allows us to leave the house and it is then that I have to move into activities that do not necessarily play to my strengths.

Most attempts for me to edge into my wife’s territory have resulted in a less than satisfactory outcome. Today was one of those days in which I had to spend more time on the cleanup than the actual craft which curiously enough were suppose to be idiot proof.

I had to go into work this morning leaving Dragonwife and Miss Wiggles alone. Darth Spoilboy was thankfully spending the night over at a friend’s house. I write thankfully because I have already had my fill of boy sleepovers which have evolved to the point that sleep is not only optional but I believe discouraged. My son usually volunteers his house resulting in a trashed family room, loud music until very late, and occasionally being forcibly pressed into a Taco Bell run or having to pay for a pizza that someone other than me mysteriously ordered. Therefore, it was nice that some other parent had to deal with their antics.

When I returned home several chores were yet to be completed and Dragonwife had developed a seriously bad sinus headache leaving her stranded on the couch. However, Miss Wiggles felt no need to allow us some leeway and needed something to keep her occupied while I wiped down the inside of the oven and put away dishes.

The craft I chose should have been several levels of parent idiot proof. All that was involved was a packet of powdered Wild Blue Raspberry gummi worm mix, a squeeze bottle, and some insect molds for her to squeeze the mix into resulting in the chewy treats after thirty minutes. Following the directions I poured the powdered mix into the squeeze bottle along with adding the required amount of water. After mixing the stuff I left it to my daughter who was eager to take the squeeze bottle and fill up the candy mold. I went back to work on the oven which needed to me wiped clean.

Immediately I started hearing my daughter complain about the gummi mix not coming out despite the effort she was using to squeeze it from the bottle. Like a good dad I inspected the situation and figured that maybe I had not added enough water. A little more water and more mixing later I went back to the oven.

As with other disastrous events just as I got back over to the oven everything went into slow motion. My daughter gripped the bottle and started squeezing before she turned it over. The bottle was not a very strong or well constructed item and the pressure my daughter applied was just enough to cause the much thinner mix to first explode out of the tip like a blue geyser shooting high up into the air and falling back like rain. Then the top of the squeeze bottle exploded off sending blue tendrils of both watery candy mix and a more solid sticky fluid all over the kitchen table, chairs, walls, and even windows of the room. Needless to say my daughter was drenched with the stuff as well.

As to be expected other issues complicated the disaster. I did not recognize my wife had laid out her expensive table cloth on the table earlier along with the brand new place mats. The kitchen floor had just been mopped a few hours before I got home. Lastly as I rushed to the scene my concerns were that the sticky candy mix might not cleanly wipe off the walls forcing me to repaint. Trust me, been there after Spoilboy went and got all Van Gogh with a similar substance in his room when he was about four or five.

Clean up began right away and as expected took on the looks of a HAZMAT exercise. Wiggles was draped in several beach towels and dropped into the bathtub. A tub of warm soapy water, a few rags, and elbow grease allowed me to wipe down and clean up the sugary fallout before it harden. The floor was partially cleaned by the Great Dog Sparky who enjoyed licking up the wild raspberry mix. I’m not too concerned about Sparky having a digestive issue over that particular mix since a few weeks before I caught Wiggles sharing a far more successful candy making session with the dog. The only after affects appear to be my blue stained fingers and a dog whose tongue freaked my wife out after she most of the clean up was done.

All things considered I figure I’ll just plop my daughter back in front of the television to watch SpongeBob next time I’m caught up in house cleaning chores. I could try some other craft like a Popsicle picture frame or birdhouse but that would require glue and that is a whole other scary story since it got out of hand for me once and I do not want to repeat it.

Miss Wiggles is six

Reports from the outer edge of sanity.



We entered the kid's play house for Wiggles' birthday party and I hadn't walked ten feet in the place when I could already feel the noise of at least two hundred other sugared up rugrats echoing off the walls then reaching down into the core of my tiny brain and ripping my synapses to shreds. The place where we were at is a steel building in which small versions of a Ferris wheel, merry-go-round, and twirl-a-whirl in which only small children can ride were mounted, securely I hoped, all through the building. Along with that were several of those huge inflatable jumping pits and slides that have once again confirmed my belief in God since I saw several rugrats, not attending Wiggles party, bounce up and out onto the concrete floor without being hurt. One kid climbed to the top of the inflatable slide, gave the best Tarzan yell since Johnny Weissmuller then jumped straight to the bouncy landing area of the slide, bounced up again and landed on top of the inflatable ball pit next to the slide. This kid then slid back down to the concrete floor laughing his butt off screaming he would do it again. Just a few minutes later I got peed on by one of the pet monkeys the owners kept in a large cage when I told Wiggles it was time for her head to the room where her cake and presents were located. The monkey appeared to take offense at me taking Wiggles who was feeding it popcorn. Then again the monkey cage was right across from the inflatable ball pit and slide and if I had to put up with such noise on a daily basis I would pee on whomever made the mistake to come close enough to me.

Now throw in FREE cotton candy, which the kids snatched up and ran off with as soon as one was spun up and the entire scene could have devolved into a tiny version of "Lord of the Flies" if by chance the cake and ice cream had not been there. It was clear to me that no matter how cute and innocent these five, six, and seven year olds acted, down below were savage beasts looking only for a sugar fix.

My daughter, once she was hogtied to her seat, clearly enjoyed being in the spotlight and relished the attention to the point she could have rivaled Brittany Spears with her antics. Prayers for my sanity and soul will be greatly appreciated as she gets older by the way. But Wiggles surrounded herself with her inner clique and her and the three others of the Ya-ya sisterhood openly talked about which of the several boys attending her party they wanted to kiss. The boys in turn looked confused and worried that the girls might try and actually chase them down, they think cooties is a real disease. I briefly considered warning them that it wasn't until you were married a few years that you had to worry about cooties and how it took the form of your wife denying most aspects of fun with you holding their purse as she shops. But I held back, I saw no need to crush their young minds with nasty details they won't have to worry about for years.

The party finally did end at some point. But not until the swarm of rugrats went running off again to the various kid sized attraction dripping melted ice cream and smears of cake icing. As Darth Spoilboy, Dragonwife's parents Mr. and Mrs. Sunshine, and myself loaded up the loot I noticed a new set of parents bringing their children into the place holding boxes for another party. They noticed my dazed look and asked if everything went okay since the kid's play house had been open for only a couple of weeks. All I could say was that they should abandon all hope once they enter this place. Later that night as I recovered drinking my first of many beers to flush away my shredded synapses I concluded that if such kid's play houses were the norm for birthday parties for the children of affluence in America that in itself may be the reason there are so many families with only one child. I simply could not see myself doing that again on purpose. Although, Dragonwife and I had done the same thing for our son, Darth Spoilboy, at Chucky Cheese for his fourth birthday and promised ourselves never to darken that doorway again, a promise we have actually kept. Next year Wiggles better only expect a quiet game of pin the tail on the donkey.

Doing the Sunday night hokey pokey

Strangeness and overwhelming confusion seem to permeate my life and honestly at times I just find its just best for me to sit back and go with the flow. Adding to the confusion is how some around me, while driving themselves crazy trying to keep up, seem to get upset with me for not doing the same myself. Now I bounce from one bizarre and confusing situation to another concerning my wife and kids hoping someone will fill me in with the details at some point.

My son finally got a cell phone this weekend but much to my surprise after months of whining he gazed upon the thing he most wanted in the world and said he couldn't show his face while using it because it was a pre-paid cell phone. None the less when asked if it would be best for us just to return it he quickly grabbed it and ran upstairs. A few hours later he was begging for more time since he had already used what time we bought texting.

After being told by Dragonwife that it was going to be a low budget weekend with no eating out or mad rushes to the grocery store for chips, beer, ice cream, and a can of whip cream (wait that was just me fantasizing) after Miss Wiggles throw a fit saying she has no clothes that look nice she and Dragonwife ran off to the nearest upper end department store and come back with multiple bags fill with bright fancy new clothes.

I in turn now sit upstairs drinking some fine ice tea wondering when I can just get out of this town just for a weekend. Luckily one is coming real soon. I still can't get over the nagging feeling with a world going crazy on almost every level maybe the hokey pokey is really what its all about.

A visit to Patriot’s Point at Mount Pleasant, South Carolina

Back in 1977 after many hours of begging I talked my grandfather into my first trip to visit Patriot's Point where the USS Yorktown was on display as a museum. Back then a trip to the Charleston area was almost an epic journey to a far away place we went to only for a major event like buying a new car, purchasing of serious formal wear like a suit or fancy dress, or sending someone off at the only nearby major airport. Just getting up and going to see something for fun just, at that time, did not seem to make sense to my grandfather. But we did and my grandfather later admitted it was worth the trip. Many years later when my son Darth Spoilboy was about five he and I traveled down and spent the day crawling through the ship. At that time I wasn't into photography and I didn't take a camera so our adventures are lost. This time we had my daughter Miss Wiggles with us as we explored that proud lady. Each time I have come to visit her I'm awed by her size. I understand that many of her later sisters are far bigger in size but what do I know, I'm just an old army fart.

I did notice that during each visit I saw many older guys walking around telling their kids, grandkids, and now great grandkids about their time serving aboard that ship. The only time I got a good chance to hear some stories was my first visit. Since then I have had to keep watch over my kids while trying to listen to one of those fellows tell some of their history on the ship. I hope I have a chance to listen first hand to one of those sailors before they all move on. While these ships, active and retired, are steel the people serving aboard them give them a life all their own.

This is a halfway decent picture of the USCGC Ingham. She served in WW2 protecting ships ferrying supplies to Britain. In 1942 she sank the German U-boat U626. She went to serve in both Korea and Vietnam before being retired in 1988.

The torpedo repair room aboard the Yorktown. A nearby sign displayed at a cutaway torpedo display says that these things carried 75 pounds of explosives. Talk about a place to observe all the safety rules to the letter.

I would love to see some of the chickenhawks flocking around the country being so gung-ho about others fighting having to put up with such tight quarters. Click on the picture to read the sign. For those who may not know for many, many years sailors had LESS personal space than inmates in prison. The ships are larger now and I have heard that they do have a little more space and privacy but serving on a naval warship is not a cruise ship. The duty is long, hard, with many hours to wonder how your family is doing back home. This is true of the army as well but there is an old saying that some people use to explain why they joined army and not the navy. It goes something to the effect: "I can walk far longer than I can swim", meaning if the ship goes down you are in serious deep poop.

Just one shot of the engine room and all the dials and seriously old fashioned controls they used. Dear God, not one computer display in the entire engine room.

One of the anti-aircraft guns now on display on the hanger deck. My first visit there they left old steel pot helmets on the chairs the gun crews used. During that time kids could wear the helmets as they used the manual controls to turn the gun some. Simply, it was a blast imagining Japanese fighters buzzing around as some WW2 battle raged.

I think this is a Grumman F6F Hellcat, thanks Colonel, on the hanger deck. The planes on display in the hanger deck were awesome but my camera, and the operator, were not up to the task top take decent pictures in the low light.

The bridge of the Yorktown. Its hard to imagine all the history that was made and all the courage that was displayed right there as Japanese planes attacked.

One Beach Bum sitting in the captain's chair wondering if I could throw my son in the brig. No, the lower portion of my sweatshirt is NOT my stomach sticking out. Miss Wiggles had ditched her jacket and I stuffed it into my pocket on the front.

The flight very close to the point where the planes left the carrier. On my first visit to the Yorktown with my grandfather they didn't have anything to stop someone from just falling off the flight deck into the water below. In fact I almost gave them a reason that day but my grandfather pulled me back before I did it. Never the less sometime not long later someone did fall off and into the marsh resulting in a chain link fence being installed

F-14 Tomcat. No, I have no idea if that is the one Tom Cruise flew in the movie.

F-18 Hornet.

I hate that small sailboat that screwed up my shot. The old girl has never changed since that first visit but I do think she needs a coat of paint. While we were there a bunch of guys were very busy putting up a McCain campaign platform with many of his suited flunkies floating around making things ready for the senator because the South Carolina Republican primary was the next day. Since I have a bad habit of speaking my political thoughts I did have a small concern that McCain might drop in early and somehow see my daughter and try and do the old political baby kissing routine on her. She has heard enough of me talking about McCain that if she let something slip it wouldn't have been good. I respect the man's service and what he went through during his time as a POW but on international affairs right now he is almost nuts.

The USS Clamagore. She saw a great deal of duty in the Caribbean in the late 40's. Damn, I bet that was some sweet duty.

Miss Wiggles inside the sub. I could not have served on a submarine. I am just to big and just walking through that boat was hard.

Patriot's Point has a model of a Vietnam river operations base complete with a swiftboat. I believe like the one John Kerry served on during his time there. One of the many weird things I saw during the 2004 presidential campaign was how a bunch of non-serving lowlifes had the gaul to say a word against a man that served in a combat zone while many in the Republican party had dad fix them a slot in the safe confines of the Texas National Guard or somehow was able swing several deferments to avoid serve all together. Sure Kerry may have not been Rambo but just serving one day in Vietnam was lightyears ahead of the sacrifice many other did.

Just had to throw this one of a jeep in for shits and giggles. For those that may not know the new hummers now being used have automatic transmissions. The reason was that many kids going into the service back when the need for a faster vehicle was being developed were tearing the poop out of the straight drive transmissions in these old things. It ended up cheaper to buy automatics and deal with their maintenance and repairs instead of teaching the kids to drive a stick and sending the jeeps to a depot repair time and time again to have the transmission overhauled. And yes, I grounded my fair share of gears before I got the hang of it.