Whyfor why?

The Boy's favorite word lately is "why." I can't even get through a sentence before he blurts out "Why?" It leads to some awkward conversations, like:

"Simon, it's"

"Why?"

"going to be"

"Why?"

"a nice day so let's"

"Why?"

"go to the park."

"Wh--- okay!"


It's also forced me to do some soul searching, since it's not in my nature to just reply with "because." Why shouldn't he just push all his toys onto the floor? Do we really need to keep things up on shelves? It's only more effort to pick them up, and he's going to have them on the floor again soon enough. It's entropy at work, and there's no fighting it. Why dump more energy into a decaying system?

So then I look at him and say, "You're right. The second law of thermodynamics is on your side. The universe is slowly grinding us all to powder and our feeble attempts at stopping it only speed up our eventual return to nothingness."

To which The Wife will respond, "Why did you say that?!"

So you see, there's really no escaping that word.

Thammy the Theal and other thtories

Last time we moved we lost one of The Boy's books, and I was happy to find it last night wedged between two D&D tomes. It's an okay book, but the reason I like it is because I can use my Barry White voice when I read it.

Back when The Boy only had a few books around I developed voices for most of them. Corduroy was read with a British accent, Bubba and Beau had a Texan drawl, and Sammy the Seal was lisping and a wee bit flamboyant. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) Most voices were selected after several readings, some were chosen right from the start. Leonardo the Terrible Monster, for example, is told in a deep, spooky voice despite the premise of the story being a monster who is too cute to actually scare anyone.

All these books are still around, but now we get a regular influx from the library so most of our nighttime reading is too transient for me to decide on a voice. I think The Boy prefers it that way, to be honest. When I tried reading Curious George in a Victorian Englishman's voice I only got as far as, "The curious case of George the monkey" before he demanded I "read it normal."

And no son of mine should know what "normal" means!

Our house, in the middle of our street

When I was young our house was the one where all the other kids would hang out. We had room to run around and my mother would always provide everyone with drinks or snacks.

The way things are looking, I doubt my place will become such a mecca for the neighborhood urchins. The Boy often plays with Christian, who lives next door and is a few years older than he. We made the mistake of feeding him snacks once or twice, and now he's a constant presence at our back door.

I, however, am a selfish bastard and see no reason why I should share my hard-earned grapes with this ragamuffin. So I'll dole out an extra portion when it's obvious The Boy wants something to eat, but there have been plenty of times when I've refused requests for apples or crackers because I could sense the invisible strings of a hungry eight year old puppet master lurking in the shadows.

I'm honestly amazed that Christian tries to mooch off us at all. At his house they get soda and candy bars. If I was him I wouldn't waste my digestive juices on lame old fruits and vegetables.

Day Care Blues

We recently put The Boy into day care. Or, as we optimistically refer to it around him, "play school."

I've got mixed feelings about it, but to be honest he could use the social interaction. The Wife and I have been slacking off with befriending other families in the neighborhood so The Boy hasn't acquired a cadre of friends his own age. With any luck being with a bunch of other boys who are more than willing to hit back when they are hit will help to curb his overly-enthusiastic playing style. Or at least get it out of his system during the day.

The biggest danger with day care is finding one you trust. We looked at a couple and found one nearby that looked good. It wasn't the biggest, or the best organized, but it had some charm to it and the kids looked lively. Unfortunately, the owner has a pretty low opinion of me.

I don't give much verbal feedback when someone is talking, especially if they're strangers. I'll stand and stare at them, waiting for them to finish whatever they're saying. Unfortunately, there are polar opposites to this, people who desperately need feedback during a conversation or they start to panic. And when these people panic, they usually talk even more. So we get stuck in this verbal sink hole from hell where they keep talking more and more and I get quieter and quieter because I'm paying less and less attention to their ramblings. The best case ending, the talker runs out of breath and faints. (Worst case ending, we both get run over by a bus.)

This was one of those sink hole moments, and I didn't have The Wife with me during the tour to provide backup, so the owner just kept going on and on and getting less and less impressed with me. It didn't help when she asked if The Boy could bring a stuffed animal or blanket that he cuddles with to provide security, and I told her that he usually curls up with construction toys. She obviously thinks I'm a typical clueless dad who thinks of his child as an alien pooping creature, but she's not the one who has to keep digging toy trucks and plastic hammers out from the bedsheets.

Anyway, The Boy adjusted well. His first day was great, and the teachers were amazed that he's never been in day care before. The second day wasn't as good, since he realized this wasn't just a one-shot event, so there was some crying. Now, after two weeks, it's hit or miss whether or not he gets upset when The Wife drops him off but he gets over it quickly enough. I give him another week before he's running the place.

All's fair in love and berries

We don't have room for a garden, but a couple months ago I bought a strawberry and a blueberry bush to keep on our back deck. Unfortunately, The Boy is a bit too enthusiastic about picking the berries off so we get a lot of green buds that will never live to see their juicy potential. I've had to keep a careful eye on him whenever he's outside.

Another drawback is I only bought one strawberry bush, and when you only get a single berry every couple of days The Boy is all over it. I swear he's rigged some kind of alarm to that plant, because he always knows when I try to sneak out to forage. I don't blame him, because the one piece of fruit I managed to keep from him was amazingly good. I had to force him to give The Wife a piece one day, practically at gun point.

It looks like strawberry season is over but the blueberries are finally coming in. After teasing us for months with little green balls it finally offered up a single perfectly blue berry just waiting to be picked. Naturally, I seized upon my chance and picked it, and it was amazingly good. (Okay, it could have done with another few days on the stem, but still...)

The rest of the berries are starting to turn blue, which makes me think I should install a cage around the thing to keep eager hands away before it's time. Heck, maybe he and I will even offer a few to The Wife... but don't hold your breath.

Snips and snails and puppy dogs tails

The Boy and I were at the beach the other day when a seagull landed nearby with an eel in its beak. They wrestled for quite a while, with the eel trying to squirm back into the water and the bird dragging it back onto the sand, until finally the seagull got the eel's head in its mouth and swallowed it whole in several gulps. And it wasn't a small eel, either.

You'd think The Boy would be fascinated by this, but he barely looked up from his bucket of seaweed and sand. I admit that as the gruesome scene played out I became less and less sure of my desire to have him watch, but it did amaze me that he and the other kids around didn't seem to care. The adults, on the other hand, were riveted and there was quite a crowd by the time it was over.

I mildly scolded him for not wanting to watch nature at its most disgusting, but maybe it was for the best. The last thing I need is for him to wake up in the middle of the night shouting, "Bird ate eel! Bird ate eel!"

Fair weather muse

Between crappy weather, work stress, and family health issues it hasn't been a great few weeks for me.

Now, a true writer of funny things would channel that angst into creating jokes. I, on the other hand, am no Jack Benny and prefer to wallow in my misery, so my evenings lately have been spent playing spider solitaire and watching Japanese animation on youtube.

But now I've come up for air and should sum up the last few weeks:


My descent into slothitude began when The Wife took The Boy to Florida to visit The In-Laws, leaving me free as a bird for a week. By the end of the first day I had caught up on all my Tivo shows and successfully conquered Alpha Centauri yet again, and for the rest of the week I was actually kinda bored. Not bored enough to do chores around the house, but still. After a week of decadence it was a relief to have the family back.


We brought The Boy to see the movie UP. This was his very first movie theater experience, and I was a little concerned about how he'd react. Would he sit still? Would he talk through the whole thing? Would he freak out at the giant screen? Would he scream when we didn't get him a bunch of snacks, or would he just mug some little girl for her Junior Mints?

Well, he did just fine. He stretched out in his seat, with a big bag of popcorn within reach, and grinned through the whole thing. All during the promos he kept saying, "I like this movie!" but settled down after a while. The only times he got restless was when the action slowed down for that lame "character development" stuff, but fortunately all the other kids in the theater also started to move around and talk during those bits so he wasn't alone. Now I'm wondering what our next theater experience will be. Maybe I'll take him to Wolverine.

Speaking of which, UP was a great film. I recommend it for all ages.


Sleeping has always been a challenge in our household, but I think we've finally come to some sort of arrangement. We have a small mattress for The Boy and it's next to our bed, so he's still within easy reach of cuddles if need be. But he will frequently wake up in the middle of the night and start talking to us. The Wife is also having trouble sleeping, since she's used to wedging herself in the corner with a mountain of pillows. Well, I woke up the other day to find The Boy sleeping next to me and The Wife on his mattress, wedged into the corner. Eh, whatever works.

Although I do wonder, from past experience, how a woman who usually takes up 90% of a queen bed can comfortably lie on a mattress a fraction of that size.


Speaking of sleep, that accursed sun isn't helping matters. All winter long I could reliably use the absence of sunlight to convince The Boy that it was time for bed. Now the wretched sphere is up far too long, and to make matters worse the neighbor kids have been spending more time outside, flagrantly enjoying themselves right outside our bedroom window. How am I supposed to compete with that at bedtime?