24 Dec

Dad and Buried Posted in Drinking 8 comments

Christmas Heave

My wife worships Christmas.

Once the Thanksgiving dishes are done, it’s all Yule all the time. Nothing but Christmas music in the car, nothing but Christmas movies on the television, nothing but Christmas shopping on the weekends.

And she was like this BEFORE we had the kid. Now that he’s here, and he’s alive enough to begin to understand Santa and presents and cookies and the tree and all that, not only has Mom and Buried’s Christmas-loving resolve strengthened, but I no longer have a Scroogey cane to stand on.

Especially on Christmas Eve, when there’s work to do!

Woe, Christmas Tree

Back when my wife and I had a cat (never again, thanks to my son!), installing the yearly Christmas tree could be quite problematic. There are a lot of ways a cat can wreak havoc on a tree, and a lot of ways a tree might kill a cat – all of which would be the cat’s fault, but still.

With Rilo running around, we had to take a lot of precautions. If there were ornaments we were particularly sentimental about, we had to make sure they were placed high enough on the tree to be out of the cat’s reach. If we didn’t want the tree to die prematurely, we had to water it regularly, and if wanted to make sure the tree stayed watered – while also avoiding giving our vet an unexpectedly hefty Christmas gift – we had to make sure Rilo did not drink said water.

We don’t have a cat anymore; we traded up for a son. And yet, the same exact rules apply. Though it would be kinda messed up if we took our son to the vet.

The Boy Who Cried Gibberish

A few people have mentioned to Mom and Buried and me that Detective Munch has a good vocabulary for a kid his age. I don’t disagree, I mean, I’ve got him speaking jive, singing Christmas (and Beastie Boys) songs, and telling people “See ya later, alligator!” He can say some solid stuff.

Of course, he’s only two, so his vocabulary isn’t that good. Plus, a lot of the things he says are barely recognizable as English, and are probably only decipherable by me and Mom and Buried, if at all. And that so-called good vocabulary gets a lot worse when he’s distraught.

When he’s upset, whether it’s because he’s being a brat or because he got a boo-boo, words go out the window. Which can make solving – or even identifying – the problem quite tricky.

14 Dec

Dad and Buried Posted in Uncategorized 5 comments

HUG YOUR KIDS

I joke a lot about how difficult parenting is & how much of a hassle children can be, but there’s not a parent among us who wouldn’t rather suffer 5000 more tantrums than endure what the parents of the lost in Newtown are going through today. My heart goes out to all of them. HugRead more about HUG YOUR KIDS[…]

14 Dec

Dad and Buried Posted in discipline 6 comments

How To Control Your Children

Earlier this week I wrote about the ways my son is my puppet master. He often literally controls my body, forcing me to watch what he wants to watch, go where he wants to go, dance when he wants to dance, etc. It can be frustrating.

But I’m an adult and he’s a toddler. So while he gets a fair amount of leeway, since he’s both the cutest child of all time and the likely future of humanity (or its ruin, as indicated by the shadow he’s casting in this photo), he is really only able to control me when I let him control me.

Otherwise, I control him.

Dad and Buried

Christmas Heave

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Woe, Christmas Tree

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The Boy Who Cried Gibberish

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HUG YOUR KIDS

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How To Control Your Children

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