Spaceballs! or Funny, she doesn’t look Druish…

Jake’s new favorite movie is Spaceballs. It is also one of my favorite movies, but watching it together can be challenging. There are three primary problems. One is that he repeats his favorite lines – usually lines he does not really understand. Sometimes he asks what things mean. Like, “I love when the dog guy says holy shit! What does holy shit mean?”

Then there is the name of the Rick Moranis character, Dark Helmet. When Jake first got interested in Star Wars a few months ago, it was many weeks before he accepted that Darth Vader was not actually called Dark Vader. Now he keeps calling the bad guy in Spaceballs Darth Helmet.

The last problem is, as always, the never ending questions. Not just when we watch the movie, but throughout the day, during meals, in the bath/shower, A quick recent sampling (and yes, these are accurate, word-for-word quotes):

“Is Yogurt made out of yogurt?”
“Is his place made out of yogurt?”
“Then what’s made out of yogurt?”
“Will they ever see Yogurt and the Dinks again?”
“Are they said that they have to leave?”
“How come they’re not sad?” 
“Is the guy with the mustache a bad guy?”
“Why is he a bad guy?”
“Have they always been bad guys?”
“Will they stop being bad guys?”
“Why do they say ‘suck, suck, suck’ – is it because they want to steal the air from their neighbor Druidia?”
“How does Barf know what a Transformer is?

Practicing With Socks & Baby Powder

I’m a little concerned this morning. Parenting is the most important job in the world, and we have to take our responsibilities very seriously. With global threats of abrupt climate change, terrorism, and the paparazzi always in our periphery, we really have to be on our toes. So when I encounter a particular news story and notice certain behaviors in my boys, I have to pay attention.

Both of my children have expressed a particular interest in footwear. At almost 5 and almost 2, they have both been caught on film in Mom’s high heels, my slippers. Hell, Noah has made a regular habit of tucking into a pair of Jake’s sneakers, then putting on one of Carol’s sandals and one of my oxfords. Jake in Carol’s calf-high boots (thigh-high for him) is a regular Winter sight. And socks. My, my, my. The socks. Both of them have been known to wear upwards of 5 pairs on a good day. Not every day, mind you. Just once in a while. One of them gets a little too close to a basket of fresh laundry and suddenly you see layers of white cotton, navy argyle, rainbow lycra covering tiny, tiny ankles. Egads.

Add to this an affection for baby powder. That’s right. A recently renewed delight for Jake in recent weeks. His post-shower “snow storm” is a favorite pleasure. And I don’t have to mention lotion. they love lotion. Skin care everywhere.

“What does this all mean?” I hear you ask. Honestly, I thought nothing of it until I came across this story. A 20 year old New Mexico woman in police custody was able to slip out of leg irons thanks to 6 pairs of socks and some lubricating cocoa butter. She threw baby powder in a guard’s face and made a run for it.

So, are my kids just exploring their boundaries? Are they just playing dress-up? Do they really have a thing for feet? Or are they thinking about what the future holds? Are they devilish and clever and planning for the inevitable?

People, please. Be safe out there. And watch your kids. Sure they’re cute. But they may also be practicing. 

Jesus On My Cell

Yesterday, Sunday, dubbed ‘Family Day’ in our house because it’s the one day we are always all together from dawn until dusk, I received the most egregious telemarketing call ever. It was around 12:30 in the afternoon on my cell phone. Caller ID showed an 800 number. Hmmmm. I answered and it was one of those pre-recorded messages that sounds like a real live person.

“Hi there. This is Bobby Graham,” and then a pause for me to reply “Hi, Bobby, what can I do for you today.” Except I, like most people, have developed that reserved, cynical, suspicious tone when answering the phone, so I offered no pleasant greeting to my new buddy Bobby.

Bobby went on to tell me that he represented the Billy Graham Ministries and was calling to see if I was one of the many people whose life was touched by ‘Grampa’ Billy. Wow. That was just so wrong. Where does Billy Graham (or the Billy Graham Ministries empire) get off calling me on my CELL PHONE to solicit saccharine nonsense and, ultimately, cash.

No, Bobby Graham. I have no tale of the miracle of faith in Grampa Billy answering my prayers and delivering that new used car downpayment in the form of a Pick Six ticket. And not for nothing, get the fuck off my cell phone. I’m not donating to your cause, and your unsolicited call of questionable legality (you will never convince me that this is a non-profit organization and I have never done business with you, so read your Do Not Call Registry guidelines a little closer, Bobby) is costing me money.

Look, I got about 4 hours of sleep last night and I’ve been up since 5 so I’m a little punchy, but come on. Bobby’s religious views are not mine, and my views are none of his business. This call really pissed me off. I don’t want email telling me my girl thinks my penis is too small and I better get going on some ‘natural male enhancement.’ I don’t want faxes urging me to secure a line of credit at incredible sub-prime rates. And I don’t want the God Squad bugging me for donations on Family Day. My time is my own. My faith is my own. 

And anyway, when the Almighty communicates with me he prefers to burn a bush.

Lake George

So we went to Lake George for a couple days. This is a regular one or two-nighter for us every year or so. The Lake is lovely, the tourist population is suitably large and Springer-lovin’ to make me feel trim and bright, and the kids are always entertained and entertaining. We’ve stayed at the same hotel on our last 3 visits (spanning 4 or 5 years). They have a decent little pool, and a playground. Jake and Noah spent a good bit of time at the latter. I kept taking pictures, but they’re hard to find because of the damn camo shirts Mommy bought them. Look hard, you’ll find them.

Actually, we had a good time playing the “I can’t see you in your camo shirt” game with Jake. Great fun. Of course, Noah is not allowed in public for the next few months because he’s going through a bit of a phase. No stroller, no high chair in restaurants, doesn’t want to hold hands walking in public. Oh yeah, and when you walk in a direction he considers unfavorable, he drops on his butt in the middle of the floor/sidewalk/road/parking lot and screams know.

I remember Jake around the age. One time when he didn’t want to hold my hand in Target on a crowded Saturday he screamed “Take your hands off me you freak!” I forget what show he heard that on, but I got some great looks. I was like, “No really, I’m his father. I’m not really freaky. Just ask his mother.”

Rrrrrright.

Double Decapitating Daddy Booty

OK, I’m lame. I never even mentioned my incredibly awesome Father’s Day. It’s been a busy week. We’re going to Lake George for a couple days next week, which means I have to do double work every where to make sure I am not too sorely missed. Then we had a couple showings scheduled and the house was kind of a mess on a day I was home. And Noah’s been getting up at like 4 am every day, and I have been doing that thing where I can’t fall asleep at night so I’m really tired and cranky. Oh yeah, and Carol’s laptop had something like 1200 viruses, trojans, and other nasties that required several days of struggle resulting in a complete reformat.

And then, when I was finally going to write about my awesome Father’s Day, I got all distracted by big dick tequila. It happens.

So, in a pathetic attempt to make up for my negligence let me just mention that we had a lovely picnic at the Big Red Hook Park (Jake’s name for it – I don’t know what it’s really called, but it is big and it is in Red Hook, so…) and I got a supercool gift. Mommy helped Jake and Noah pick out a very nice Nikon digital camera for me that takes high quality pics, and it is relatively idiot-proof. I am just starting to play with my new toy.

That leads me to the second part of this post – justifying my double booty designation. I recently won the first ever caption over at Decapitating Shadows. A great honor and thrill. I received my prize last night and simply had to share – and I am now doing so with a picture taken with my awesome Father’s Day camera.

Let me say, this was a really cool prize package and I’m quite pleased. Thanks flygrrl!

Here’s the rundown of Booty 2 (as photographed by Booty 1):

• 1 completely wacky San Rio folded diner placemat type thing that is entirely unreadable to my hopelessly monolingual eyes. And it made Noah scream for Wow Wow Wubbzy! (though just about everything makes him scream for Wubbzy these days).
• 1 cool pink envelope that Noah already ‘addressed’ to someone, though I don’t know who. I am also not Baby-lingual – at least not in writing. But I pretty sure it’s going to someone in Scribble Town.
• 1 Sugar CD, Besides. Excellent collection of b-sides, alternative mixes and such from Bob Mould & co.
• I Bettie Serveert CD, Dust Bunnies. I love this album. I always really like Bettie Serveert. They had some great mid-90s indie rock.
• 1 Low Pop Suicide CD, The Death of Excellence. I used to play thse guys on the radio all the time but have never owned one of their records. Rock on!
• 3 pieces of yummy chocolate. Yes, only 2 are pictured because I needed one last night. And in the interest of full disclosure, the number of remaining chocolate squares has dwindled to 1 since the picture was taken. Yum. Yum. Yum.