Category Archives: What Not to Do!

Cash for Crap (Payment for Poop)

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The art of negotiation is alive and well in my house. Both GWE and I heavily rely on our negotiating skills on a daily basis both personally and professionally. So, it should come as no surprise that our sons have absorbed all of our conversations, tactics, (and some cases) my ‘colorful’ language and attempted to use their new-found skills against us.

Justin is figuring out how to negotiate, but he does not understand the concept of ‘leverage.’ He needs to have something I want in order to begin a negotiation with me….specifically for the Nintendo Wii U he has so anxiously craved for the past year. Many of his conversations have begun with, “Daddy. You will get me a Wii U if I’m nice to my brother for a year, right?” I then have to (again) explain to him that there are certain things I require him to do without expecting any form of gratitude in return. These include: be nice to your brother, clean your room, flush the potty after EVERY use, etc. I have told him that ‘if’ I see grades that I’m pleased with, then we can begin the Nintendo negotiation.

Garrett not only figured out the art of negotiation, but he also recognizes the power of cold….hard…cash! No more Legos. No more stuffed animals. He wants cash so he can get his own toys!

In Garrett’s kitchen, he has a cash register filled with fake money. The more he accumulates, the happier he is. (Smart kid.) However, as we continue to work on his potty training, I need to make sure that he’s actually doing something while sitting on the potty. Like any good negotiator, Garrett recognized that I wanted something…and that he wanted something…and so, he began to negotiate.

“Daddy! Here’s the deal,” he announces, like he’s doing me a favor. “I’ll let you look at my poopoo, but I want money.” See – he’s got the leverage on me because I need to make sure he did something in the toilet before he gets off. And, he’s specific about what he wants – CASH! What he doesn’t realize is that I’m robbing his cash register and paying him with his own money. So, it’s a win for both of us! (Except for last week when Justin caught Garrett taking my debit card out of my wallet and trying to hide it in his ‘secret drawer.’ That’s another story.)

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I’ve paid thousands of (fake) dollars over the past few weeks for the honor of seeing my son’s poop. I don’t know what the going rate for poop viewing is, but I suspect I’ve raised the limit!

 

 

Don’t Eat The Shrimp Cocktail

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ShrimpThanks to Alton Brown and my son (Justin,) I am not allowed to eat shrimp cocktails when I travel. Truth be told, I wasn’t eating shrimp cocktails BEFORE I was told not to eat them. However, I am defiant and rebellious by nature and feel compelled to do things I’m told not to do. (Don’t play in traffic? Why not! It’s just like Frogger – but the stakes are bigger!) So, on my last trip, I chose to defy a culinary television personality and my concerned son. I ate the shrimp cocktail.

A few months ago, GWE got tickets for me and Justin to see Alton Brown at the Pantages Theater in Hollywood. We were both excited and had no idea what he was going to do. Was he going to cook for everyone? Was he going to mock someone else as they cooked? What was going to happen? We didn’t know. However, due to an unexpected event, I had to go out of town and I was not able to attend the show. Instead, MoGWE (Mother of Greatest Wife Ever) took my place. She and Justin had a great time.

During the show, Alton Brown told the audience a story about one time when he ate a ‘bad’ shrimp cocktail and then boarded a cross country flight. The story left an impression on Justin.

Now, whenever I travel, Justin is concerned about my consumption of crustaceans prior to boarding a plane. Like a TSA inspector at an airport, he asks, “Daddy, did you eat a shrimp cocktail?” with the same accusatory tone I get when asked, “Did you pack your own luggage?” And, once again, I normally don’t eat shrimp cocktails…especially in airports!

Over the past few weeks, I’ve had to do an unusual amount of traveling. And, with my travel schedule came a renewed concern from Justin about my pre-flight shrimp digestion. I assured him that I would not be eating shrimp.

On the last leg of my journey, I happened to get to the airport an hour early and had some time to kill. I had a lot of restaurant options because I was flying out of Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta. With plenty of time to spare, I found a pub with several TVs showing the golf tournament and I began to review the menu. There, on the top of the appetizer list, was ‘Shrimp Cocktail.’ Normally, I would have ignored it and made a different choice….but….SHRIMP COCKTAIL!

As I began to eat the last shrimp, my phone rang….and it was GWE. I asked to speak with Justin and the first thing I said to him was, “I’m eating the shrimp cocktail.”

“NNOOOOO,” he yelled (while laughing at the same time) “Don’t do it!”

“Too late!” I told him. “The shrimp (munch…munch…munch) is gone!”

“NNNNOOOOOOOO!!!!”

Despite the warnings from Alton Brown and Justin – I ate the food I normally wouldn’t have eaten and it still did not kill me.

Naked Pee-Pee Red Fart Butt

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Never before in the history of the world has a piece of art been so accurately described by its own name: “Naked Pee-Pee Red Fart Butt.” This masterful piece of art (and the honor of naming it) came from the imaginative mind of my 3 year old son.

While at an early Father’s Day Brunch, Garrett was presented with a little packet of art supplies. Once he was finished with his ½ bagel, 6 whole strawberries, 8 donut holes, juice, and then MY ½ bagel, Garrett decided to let his creative juices flow. We opened the packet of art supplies and he started to place them on a Superhero certificate.

Garrett insisted that the clothes be glued to the cardboard first and then he wanted the person’s naked body to be glued on top of the clothing. Afterwards, he applied the mask, cape, and lightning bolt. One final piece fell out of the supply bag…a red, curved thing. Honestly, I had no idea where it was supposed to go. Garrett make the creative decision for the both of us.

When the project was done, I held it up and asked Garrett to name it. With a furrowed brow and his fingers gently tapping his chin, he assessed the artistic merits of his work. Finally, I could see that he had an epiphany. He turned to me and said, “I’m calling it “Naked Pee-Pee Red Fart Butt.””

I now present to you, “Naked Pee-Pee Red Fart Butt.”

Seat Belt or No Seat Belt?

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Car-1Justin and Garrett have perfected the art of pissing each other off. It’s amazing to watch them aggravate each other to the point of “Apocalypse.” What starts out slow with either a comment or a nudge, turns into all-out war within moments.

 

While in the car (why is it always in the car???), Justin and Garrett began to bother each other. I don’t know if it started with Justin taking one of Garrett’s toys or Garrett throwing something at Justin out of frustration, but it escalated quickly. I remember pulling the car over, turning around, and yelling at both of them to cut it out – OR ELSE!! (I don’t have an “or else.” If I had one, I wouldn’t have to say “or else.”)

 

Both of them stopped what they were doing to each other, became silent, and we resumed our drive to wherever we were going.

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After a few moments of silence, I heard a click followed by one of the boys saying, “Don’t do that.” And then, another click.

 

Then, I heard another click…followed by the other boy saying, “Don’t do that!” And then, another click.

 

I was driving and it was hard for me to turn around at that particular moment, but I heard this conversation and clicking go on three or four more times. I finally got a chance to look in the rear view mirror and what I saw made me laugh….until I realized how I was involved!

 

Justin and Garrett began playing a game of “Chicken” with their seat belts. One child would lean over and unclick the other one’s seatbelt. The victim would then tell the perpetrator to stop. Then, the victim would fix his own seat belt…and then lean over to unclick the other one’s seat belt.

 

It wasn’t just the unclicking each other’s seat belts. I realized it was more of a game of “Who’s Seat Belt Would Be Undone When Daddy Stops Short (or Gets Into An Accident???)” In retrospect, I think they both won because I had to unclick my seat belt to turn around to yell at them again.

 

So, based on my experience, I have a new slogan for seat belt safety: “Click, Click, or Daddy Will Become A DICK!!”

Going Out for Cigarettes

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Picture-of-kid-smoking-a-cigarette-293x300GWE and I have had a running joke since Justin was born. When the stress of parenthood becomes too much and we can’t take it anymore, one of us will look at the other and say, “I’m going out for cigarettes.”

 

Neither of us smokes.

 

It’s a half-hearted poke at the stories you hear about parents leaving their families in the middle of the night with excuses of “I’m going out for milk” or “I’m going to walk the dog….at 3am!” For us it means, if I don’t walk away right now – something bad will happen.

 

This morning, I took care of Garrett while GWE took Justin to his swim lesson plus a few additional errands. When they returned, I was standing in the front doorway and I looked ‘displeased.’ Garrett spent the morning destroying everything in his path and then throwing a fit when I wouldn’t rebuild (for the fourth time) Lego cars and trucks he had smashed.

 

Justin took one look at me and then turned around to GWE who was still standing the driveway. At the top of his lungs (and certainly loud enough for the neighbors to hear) he yelled, “Mommy!! Daddy’s going out for cigarettes!!!!”

 

Two thoughts immediately came to mind: 1) Justin has a tendency to repeat what he hears at home. I really hope he doesn’t get frustrated by something in school, announce that he’s “going out for some cigarettes,” and then simply walks out of the  classroom. And, 2) Considering my son has never seen a cigarette, I would still consider this a parenting fail.

Are You Eating My Muffin???

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Muffin-1

That’s the muffin in his left hand reflected in the mirror.

One morning last week, Garrett convinced me to get him a muffin for breakfast from “Sexy Starbucks.” We’ve given this nickname to one particular Starbucks because it’s below a yoga studio and another gym that hosts spinning classes. Needless to say, it’s a very good place to do some people watching in the morning! (Especially when Garrett introduces himself to strange women with “Heyyo, Yadies!”)

 

I finally caved and bought him a muffin. He quietly munched on it while we headed off to school. Once we got to the school’s parking lot, Garrett unbuckled himself and came up to the front passenger seat. He then handed me his muffin so he could play with all the buttons and knobs in my car. While he played with the stereo, the lights, the sunroof, and the glove compartment – I patiently held his muffin.

 

Periodically, I would take my eyes off of him to look at the muffin. It looked pretty good since I hadn’t had breakfast yet. And then I thought, “He’s not going to miss this little piece on the end.” I pulled off a tiny bit of muffin and ate it. As I was chewing, Garrett turned his head towards me and ask, “Did you eat my muffin?”

 

“No,” I lied, as I held up the muffin to his face. “It’s your muffin. Why would I eat it?”

 

He looked at me skeptically, but turned his attention back to the knobs on the car. Once again, I saw another piece of muffin I did not think he would miss. So, I quickly pulled it off and ate it. Again, he turned towards me, looked down at the muffin, and asked, “Are you eating my muffin?”

 

“No,” I lied again. He gave me the look of “I don’t trust you, but I don’t have proof either.” And again, he went back to playing with my car.

 

This time, I took a big bite. He turned around to see a chunk missing from the side of his muffin. He could also see the missing chunk in my open mouth.

 

“DADDY!!!!! YOU ARE EATING MY MUFFIN!!!” he shouted accusingly.

 

“MOW” I explained with a mouthful of semi-chewed muffin. I swallowed as much as I could as I continued my lie (knowing full-well he was on to me.) “Of course I’m not eating your muffin.”

 

“BUT… BUT….BUT…I SEE YOU EATING MY MUFFIN!!!!” he stammered in an agitated manner. He was very, very angry…..and then there was a moment of calm.

 

He pushed his glasses back up his nose, turned towards me, and said, “That’s ok, daddy! You can eat it. I dropped it in the back seat and then stepped on it.”