And the eye rolling begins

I tend to think of young school age children as still being part of the parental fan club. It's not supposed to be until they reach the teen or at lest tween years before they no longer believe we are cool. Or at least that is what I've been fooled into believing. I think this may come sooner than we had anticipated.

This week after one of his ever multiplying number of soccer practices (that's a whole other topic I should write about, but just not right now) Big Dog was excitedly telling Mr. Dog about the drills they ran. In one of the games, Big Dog was explaining that each of the boys involved had balls and that he would kick the other guy's balls then the other guy would kick his balls. (I think you see where this is going, right? If not, you are a better person that either o the so-called adults in this family.) Mr. Dog listened attentively but I can only imagine the grin that was working the way across his face. Finally after listening to the mutual ball-kicking explanation for longer than any man with a slightly absurd sense of humor should be asked to endure without comment, Mr. Dog said, "Wow, that sounds painful!"

Big Dog paused, and in his best exasperated with the nonsense of the adults he is forced to live with voice said, "Papa, what kind of balls do you think I'm talking about? Soccer balls!" Then rolled his eyes in a way that silently but effectively conveyed  "You are a buffoon, your joke isn't funny and I can't believe you have once again dragged me down to this level. Your humor is beneath me."

Between that and the recent spate of dramatic tantrums, I think we have a glimpse of what's to come.  And let me tell you, at least the annoying your own kid part of it is kind of addictive.

Happy Father's Day, Mr. Dog

You're the best papa ever, from the very first moment. We love you.











with Big Dog 10/2003











with Little Dog 2/2006

Fear of a crustacean nation.

Nothing wakes a mother with a start like a child crying out in fear in the middle of the night. And maybe I thought I wasn't hearing him right. I mean, how many 2 year olds wake up demanding that I get the crab off his bed?

It seems that lately, Little Dog has developed a fear of crab. Not sure why, but he has. In the past week, I've had to check his bed for crab before he gets in, I've had to get up and get rid of the crab when he wakes in the middle of the night, and if I put him in our bed, I must first remove the crab. It's just strange.

I think the fear was first implanted in his brain by Dora the Explorer, I vaguely remember some adventure with pinchy crabs as an obstacle. Why is this coming up for him now? No idea.

So the other night, when Mr. Dog was putting Little Dog to bed, and Little Dog asked if Mr. Dog had crabs in his shirt, it was pretty damn stupid for him to say yes. He explained that the crab in his shirt only come out if Little Dog doesn't go to sleep. Little Dog quickly closed his eyes and tried his best to feign slumber, then peeked warily toward Mr. Dog's shirt. Mr. Dog thought this was hilarious.

The next night, as Little Dog sat eating his bedtime snack, refusing to get off his chair because there were crab on the floor I tried to calm him. I promised him there were no crab in our house. He rebuked my assurances and told me "Yes there are," pointed toward Mr. Dog and said, "in there!"

Thanks Mr. Dog. I just hope you can stand up to the scorn when Little Dog announces to his new friends and family that you have crabs.

Let's be clear now, Mr. Dog does not have that kind of crabs. Or any other kind. Just a big mouth and a strange sense of humor.

Why I love my husband, reason #4,762

And for the curious:

He is fending off a brutal attack by pirates wielding balloon swords.

His fancy hat? Yes, it is a shipping envelope.

He is amazing.

And he will probably be divorcing me for posting this photo on my blog