get that out of your mouth

amnesiacal

My children suffer from an oblique form of amnesia.

It strikes quickly.

It renders them helpless to complete small tasks.

When the amnesia hits, taking shirts off before a bath
becomes a Helen Keller-like task for them.

They act bewildered, running their little fingers over the fabric
as if they have never felt such a thing before.

They bob aimlessly about, rubber ducks in a carnival trough.
Someone walks into a wall, surprised at it's density and matter.

The amnesia has hit.

The world is strange and unfamiliar.
Words float over their heads.
Confusion reigns.
The everyday has spun into a mystery.

For the love of God, please just get in the bath you knuckleheads.

spiritual scavenger

This morning my oldest informed me his spirit animal was the hyena.

The hyena.
Really?

Why not an eagle or dolphin or something that doesn’t smell like rotten flesh and urine?

No.
He was sticking with the hyena.

I told him hyenas eat anything, and that was counter to how he generally behaved.
He shot back that he wasn’t that kind of hyena.

It must be the haunting laughter then.

hook, line, sinker

Note from my five-year old, the night before I left on a fly-fishing trip:

Have fun fishing.
I love you.
Don’t catch any piranhas.

the glow

Dear makers of Glow in the Dark Galactic Ooze,

Do you think you could send a couple of your employees over to my house
to help me remove your product from my walls
and perhaps aid in the repainting of above-mentioned walls?

While you’re at it, maybe you could also steam-clean my couch?

Kudos on your name, your product is truth in marketing personified.

My couch and walls are indeed glowing and oozing.

You may want to know how your galactic ooze made it into my home.
My children obtained your product through the ill-conceived, distribution channel
known as the "birthday party goody bag."

The children, for your information, are now in “time-out.”
And throwing glow in the dark galactic ooze
is now on the "things you do that lead to adoption" list.

Perhaps your company could use some ooze testers?
I have two.

I look forward to your prompt response.

Respectfully,
Pissed-Off Glow in the Dark Dad.

you, are your own cubicle

Incredibly annoyed lady in Starbucks,

It appears my children broke your train-of-thought
as you pecked away on your computer yesterday.

Yes, they were excited.
They usually cajole a donut or crumb cake out of me when we’re there.

But honestly, they weren’t yelling.
You should hear them when they do that.
I bet you’d really hate them then.

Still, your withering glances and pursed lips were enough to let me know
you disapproved of them being allowed in the same public space as you.

Fortunately, they could give a rat’s ass what you thought of them.

I was tempted to seat them right next you.
But life will throw people like you in their way soon enough.
So, I figured why subject them to you, solely for my own entertainment.

Hope you were able to do a bang-up job on that pie chart.
Next time “take your kid to work day” rolls around
maybe I’ll bring them by the coffee shop
and you can show them what you do that is so important.

I think your double decaf soy latte is getting cold.

this film has not yet been rated

I was the middleman in a complex bartering and goods exchange this weekend.

We went to the movies.

I sat in-between both my lads.

And I spent the entire hour and fifty minutes
passing Twizzlers and Whoppers back and forth between them.

The going rate for one Twizzler was roughly two Whoppers.

When the Twizzler supply ran low it shot up to four Whoppers.
When the Whoppers ran out, my oldest was reduced to begging and pleading.

At one point, he sold his blemished and suspect soul for half a Twizzler.

I have no idea what the movie was about.
I do know that my fingers were coated with a sticky combination of Whoppizzler goop.
And I ended up having a cherry Slurpee spilled on my lap.

Roll the credits.

h2 oh no

My family tree branch evolved from a strain of primates that
held a deep and primordial fear of the water.

We don’t swim, we thrash around and panic.

The dog paddle is the crowning achievement in my arsenal of swimming strokes.

Yesterday my three-year old had a private swim lesson.
And he, true to his genetic makeup, clung to the instructor‘s neck like a remora.

When it was over, we lied to him and told him he did a good job.

He said, “yeah, I didn’t even drown.”

I then realized that seen through the lens of his drowning monkey gene,
we hadn’t lied, and he did splendidly.

Anytime one of us doesn’t drown in water, job well done.

it's people

A conversation I had in my kitchen this weekend.

Five-year old: "Hi Dad, what are you making?"
Me: "These are ribs, I’m going to grill them."
Five-year old: "Are they human?"
Me: "Huh? Oh God, I don't think I can eat these now.

hello prison

My son has stopped eating peanut butter.

This means we are going to be arrested for child abuse.
Because peanut butter is his sole protein source.

We, are going to end up on CNN as the parents of a fourteen-pound, five-year old.

Everyone will think we kept him in a dog crate.

I will get slapped and shanked in jail.

I’m going out and buying a bag of Reese’s cups this afternoon.

This is serious.

no use crying

Sigh.

That has got to be the twelve-thousandth time you’ve spilt your drink all over the place.

Yes, I know it was an accident.

Look at how it runs down off the table, onto your lap, and then the floor.

Soon, I will get up and for the twelve-thousandth time
get a large bunch of paper towels to clean it up with.

They will then go into the garbage and end up in a landfill.

Maybe someday, after many dark millennia, an alien archeologist will dig them up
and conclude the demise of our civilization hinged on how much milk
we knocked over and subsequently had to sop up with paper towel.

What?

You think that’s silly?
You think I should be quiet and get you more milk?

You think everything is going to be okay?

Do you promise?