The Mommy Daddy

Potty Training

My youngest son, Matthew, is approaching three years old and the wife and I are ready to go full throttle with his potty training. He already goes pee on the toilet when he wants, but the concept of pooping in it is totally alien to him. He’s seen his brothers and sister do it but the idea of him doing it just doesn’t register. He’s perfectly happy getting the one on one attention that comes with changing his diaper.

We used the reward system with the triplets and it worked really well. Every time they pooped on the potty they received an M&M (Nestles Smarties to those outside the USA). At first my son Joseph didn’t quite understand how the system worked. We told him that every time he pooped in the potty he’d get an M&M. So he would poop in his diaper, walk to the toilet, take off his diaper and dump the contents in. Then he would demand his prize.

It all seemed perfectly right to him. He had fulfilled all the requirements, the poop was in the potty. It took a little while but he eventually got it.

I’m told by other families that the Cherios method works too. They throw a couple of Cherios in the crapper and the boy stands there and does target practice, peeing them under the water.

The most bizarre and funny case of potty training in our house happened when my wife decided that she wanted to train our cat, Chanel, to use the toilet. This was before the kids.

Chanel was our beautiful, extremely feminine , black white and gray, long haired cat. If she had a human counterpart, that human would’ve been Blanch DuBois from “Streetcar Named Desire”. She was delicate in every way, very affectionate and really did rely on the kindness of strangers. Her most endearing quality was her silent mewing.

She would purr and open her mouth to meow but never actually make the sound. It was as if someone turned off the volume. God she was beautiful.

Back to the story. Shannon, my wife, bought this contraption that fit on top of the toilet seat. You were supposed to sprinkle some kitty litter, not a lot but just enough, to give the cat the idea it was supposed to go there. Eventually, after the cat used it a few times, you would tear off a tab and create a hole that would now let the cat poop into the toilet. I told my wife it was ridiculous. Chanel agreed.

She refused to use it. Every time she walked into the bathroom where her litter box used to be and saw the new setup, she would raise her nose, stick up her tail and proudly walk out. This went on for days. She held it for days. Boy was she stubborn.

Then, finally, she walked into the kitchen and meowed, loudly. My wife and I were surprised and looked at her. She turned and started to walk but would stop and look to make sure we were following. We did, we followed her all the way to the bathroom. She stopped, her ears went down, a low, guttural, growl emerged from her such as we’d never heard. She leapt at the kitty toilet cover grasping it in her teeth and violently ripped at it, whipping her head back and forth, until it lay, shredded, in pieces, on the bathroom floor. Then she lifted her nose in the air, perked up her fluffy tail and walked out, past us.

I immediately put back her litter box.

My Sick Kiddies

My kids are all sick , they always get sick together. That’s one of the joys of having children so close in age to each other. I don’t know how many times I’ve taken my children to pre-school, walked them into their classroom and saw one of their friends hacking up hairballs, or run up to greet them with green boogers dripping from their nose. I can then almost guarantee that 48 hours later one of my kids will come down with whatever they had and then the cycle starts. It bounces from one kid to the next until everyone in the house has it.

This year has been extremely brutal on the sickness front. With such a diverse population in Southern California, new viruses pop up all the time. My kids have so many nationalities in their classrooms and all the kids travel to visit relatives in other countries or have the relatives visit them, that it’s a crucible of funky germs. We once received a warning notice from the school about some bug running through the classrooms brought back by a family visiting relatives in Israel. ISRAEL!? I’d never even heard of the “Israeli Flu”.

I suppose, as the world keeps shrinking, and we all become more homogenous as a society, that this will eventually cease. But, when that point will be reached, I don’t know. And, what will surface before that happens, like some sort of kick ass TB, really scares the crap out of me as a parent. All I know is that when I was a kid, I never experienced the kind of stuff that’s going around these days.

When I was a child classmates had occasional colds, maybe the chicken pox, and a rare case of head lice. Now all bets are off as to what will walk through the door of a classroom.

Big Change

I started a new chapter in my life this week. I’m now in a Masters program to get my teaching credential for the state of California. I’ll be a Math teacher. Yup, I’m chucking technology and going into something that can have a lasting impact on society.

Over the past fifteen years I’ve created programs and worked on projects for weeks and months at a time that became obsolete and tossed aside with absolutely nothing to show for the years of work and experience it took to create them in the first place. It kind of leaves you with a WTF feeling about doing it at all.

There is a scene in the Jack Nicholson movie “About Schmidt” where he sees his entire life’s work at an insurance company boxed up and left by the dumpsters after he retires. I don’t want that to happen to me. At least by becoming a teacher I can see what the results of my work will be. If a kid knows more than he did when he started, that will be my lasting legacy.

It’ll also free up time for me to pursue my writing. Instead of constantly retraining to keep up with the latest greatest technology that the world doesn’t really need in the first place, I’ll practice a craft that I can build on. Who knows where I’ll be with it in twenty years.

And for all you jaded teachers out there that read this and think I’m totally naive about what teaching really is like, I’m not naive. I’ve been around one of the world’s best teachers for the last fourteen years, my wife. On what really matters in the world, her score card of achievements for making a better society puts me to shame. She has parents and past students approach her constantly and they thank her and tell her what a difference she’s made in their lives. Let’s see an iPhone, flat screen TV or Xbox do that.

PROFESSOR TURGUSON

I had a professor in college that was like this guy. That’s why I like this movie so much. Enjoy this clip, it’s YouTube night.

Smogged

We got our notice from the DMV, (Division of Motor Vehicles to those outside the USA), that our minivan had to be smogged this year before we could get our new tags. So, as I usually do, I waited till the last minute before we got fined, woke up on a Saturday morning, and drove to the Smog Check place that we use.

This Smog Check business is a ratty little building made of corrugated metal that looks like it would be at home in any third world country. It’s been there for years. The reason I always go to it is, no matter how bad or old my car is, it always passes. I’ve never had a car fail smog check at this business and I’ve had plenty of cars over the last twenty years in Riverside.

So, I got up, threw on some clothes, got a coffee at Starbucks and pulled into it’s parking lot just before 8:30 AM. I got comfortable with my coffee and an Elvis CD and waited for it to open in a few minutes.

Smack in the middle of “A Big Hunk O’ Love” a Toyota Land Cruiser zipped up beside, not behind, me in the parking lot. I looked at this guy thinking, “What the hell? There are only two cars in line, me and him, and he’s trying to butt in front of me?”

Then I noticed that he was oblivious to my presence because his thumbs were tapping away, texting, on a Blackberry that was resting on his steering wheel. I go back to my coffee and Elvis, and waited. And waited, and waited. 8:30 turned to 8:45, no worker showed up. At about 8:55 we both got out of our cars, he was still texting, and stood around.

“Well”, he said, “I guess around here 8:30 really means 9. Where I come from 8:30 means 8:15.”

I thought to myself, “This guy runs a business and all his employees hate his guts.”

He asked, “What kind of business is this anyway?”

I looked at him, then at the sign and said, “It’s a smog shop.”

He continued to rant, “I’m going to complain!”

“I wouldn’t do that,” was my reply. “The guy that works here is probably out of prison or a gang banger.”

Just then we both heard a low, subwoofing, “Thooom, tha thoom…thoom, tha thoom… and into the parking lot rolled a beatup, bondo buggy. It was low to the ground and the driver was sunk into the front seat with one arm on the wheel and the other hanging out of the window holding a cigarette. He parked, got out of the car and walked to the business door with a set of keys. He wore a torn sweat shirt, shorts and a baseball cap turned to the side. From his ankles to his neck he was covered with religious tatoos.

I leaned closer to texter, “My vote’s prison.”

Then I asked, “Are you gonna complain?”

He looked at me frustrated, walked to his car and drove off. The guy running the place watched him go and had this, “I don’t give a shit”, look on his face.

I got my car smogged and talked with him for about fifteen minutes. He was actually a really nice guy.

Passion

When I was younger I did a lot of different things. I could pick up hobbies and get pretty good at them very fast. It used to piss off people I knew. And I just took it for granted. It’s not bragging, I just have many talents. You’d think that it’s a blessing, and it is, but it’s also a curse.

You become a “Jack of all Trades and Master of None.” If something I did became difficult, and it always did, then I casually tossed it aside to pursue something else. My life is littered with half completed projects. Throw in a healthy dose of ADHD and you have a real mess.

I used to wish I had one real love, one real passion, like medicine or science, that I could throw myself into. I’d be much farther along in life. I don’t have a passion.

I don’t have that one thing that I long to do. Yes, when I was younger, I had dreams. Everybody does. My dreams were particularly unrealistic. But I figured, somebody’s gotta do those things so why not me?

I joke with my wife that she’s more of a coach for me than anything else. She really keeps me focused. Or she tries to anyway. God bless her for her patience. She told me a long time ago to develop some kind of passion for something. And if it couldn’t pay the bills, then it would be that one thing I could do for my own enjoyment.

But what is it?

I’ve gone through so many ups and downs in the last several years that I’ve become totally numbed to anything else except raising my kids. I’m sure people in my position have had the same experience. I don’t remember what it was like before. I only remember the short past. What did I do in the past that I enjoyed?

It’s all a blur.

I’m sure that this is the sort of thing that some therapist could spend hours, weeks, and months helping me unravel. I can’t afford the luxury of paying someone to listen to me prattle on. Maybe that’s why I blog? I don’t know.

I Want To Be A Dorf

My wife and I were reading the kids their bedtime stories when my son Michael, out of the blue, decided to engage me in conversation. He told me that he no longer wanted to be a Movie Star when he grew up.

I bit and asked, “OK, what do you want to be?”

“I want to be a Dorf,” was his reply.

My wife and I looked at each other. The other kids were oblivious to the conversation.

“A Dorf?” I asked.

“Yes and I’m going to need Dorf shoes and Dorf clothes.”

I asked, “Where do Dorfs live?”

“In the forest. I’m going to be the eighth Dorf.”

“Ooohhhhh, you mean you want to be a dwarf.”

My wife smiled. “What’s going to be your name?”

“Silly.”

“So there will be Happy, Doc, Grumpy, Bashful, Dopey, Sleepy, Sneezy and Silly?”

“Yes, but I’ll have to cut my hair off my head because Dorfs don’t have hair on their heads where Snow White kisses them.”

“So,” I thought to myself, “my kid has the hots for Snow White. That’s why he wants to be a Dorf.”

“So you want to be a Dorf named Silly?” I smiled and said, ”I think you have a pretty good shot.”

SPONGE BOB SCORCH PANTS

The New Year has started, “Hello 2010”, and it’s already off to a great start here in the USA with “Sponge Bob Scorch Pants” screwing it up for the airline industry.

I tell you, if I hear one more of my friends say, “We should handle our airport security like the Israelis,” I’m gonna puke!

PEOPLE! Israel is about the size of a strip mall! They have two, count em, two airports with international flights and 10 domestic! WE, on the other hand, have about 350 with regularly scheduled flights and the majority of them will handle some kind of international business. The government database of all the airports in the US is over 14,000.

Unless we as a nation get accustomed to the idea of good old PROFILING, like the Israelis do, we are always going to have a problem. It’s just common sense.

“HEY GOVERNMENT GUYS! ARE YOU LISTENING? WHO THE HELL BUYS A ONE WAY TICKET WITHOUT LUGGAGE TO DETROIT!? THAT SHOULD”VE BEEN YOUR FIRST CLUE!”

I can believe a one way ticket out of Detroit, but TO Detroit?! You’ve gotta be kidding!

Suffering For Your Art

I have a lot of musical instruments around the house. I have keyboards, guitars, basses, recorders and harmonicas. I was a musician. I’ll pick one up every now and then and play for myself, my wife or the kids and I also let them plunk around on them too. Usually it’s supervised but we leave the recorders, harmonicas and numerous toy instruments readily available for them to play with.

The other day I decided to play a song idea I had on my Hohner Blues Harp. I found it in the kids play area, took it into the kitchen, and sat down to play. The first note was a blow note (exhaled note) and the second was a draw note (inhale note). I immediately stopped and started to cough and gag. I went to the sink and spit out little chunks of old, dried up, Graham Cracker that had been imbedded inside the harmonica.

Yuck!

Apparently, my son Matthew, who loves playing it, was eating Graham Crackers and blowing into the harmonica while still chewing!

OK, there will now be new rules about playing with Daddy’s musical instruments.

I’m Back!

It’s official, I’ve finished my last class for my degree. Now I’m just waiting for the paperwork, from the college, to process out and graduate. I’ve been working on my final project for the last month. That’s what has been taking up all of my free time, such as it is. It’s done, graded and the class is over.

Can I now rest? No, no, no, no, no. Now I have to finish my MCSE (Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer) certification. That should be about another year. In my opinion the MCSE is harder than getting a degree. Microsoft wants you to know EVERY little detail about their desktop and network operating systems. If you go through a credible training school, which I am, you really know your stuff when it’s finished.

And in the mean time I’ll be writing my stories and working on writing projects. Let’s not forget the kids! I’m sure they’ll make things extra easy for me. Ah yes, there’s also my clients from my consultancy.

Sleep is for pussies.