Archive for October, 2006

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Nice Underwear

October 30, 2006

So one day I’m taking a shower. A guy can take a shower in his own master bath in privacy, right? So I freshen up, splash on my favorite Eau de Toilette, slip on my clean drawers, and open the door to see Goonie standing there.

“Nice underwear, Daddy.”

“Uh, thanks, sweetie.”

I no wear whitey-tighties. I prefer seamless cotton-lycra thigh-length boxer briefs that provide personal support and a luxurious, comfortable fit. So I was somewhat embarrassed that my oldest daughter caught me in my draw’s, but it was like I was wearing shorts so I wasn’t streakin’ or nothin’. These particular draw’s had a prominent classic TH red-white-blue logo flag embroidered on the front.

“I like the flag. It’s pretty,” she smiled.

“Uh, thanks, dear,” I said, trying to contort myself into a position where my daughter could not view my crotch area. “I shan’t be wearing these out in public, though. The flag will be hidden under my trousers. That’s why we call them ‘underwear’. Hehe. Now excuse me while I find my trousers.” I jumped into the walk-in closet and grabbed the nearest jeans and slipped one leg into them. Damn! My wife’s jeans. I slipped them off.

“Can I wear them in public, Daddy?” She snuck inside the walk-in, trapping me.

“NO! I mean…no, Dear. These are men’s underwear. I don’t think Tommy makes little girls underwear with this kind of logo on it.”

“Who’s Tommy?”

“Oh, uh, Tommy Hilfiger. It’s his underwear.”

“Why are you wearing Tommy’s underwear?”

Oy! 5 year olds and all their questions! “I’m not…these aren’t…He makes men’s clothes dear. It’s a brand, like the logo on your shoes.”

“Oh. Ok.” With that answer she seemed satisfied and skipped out of the closet, humming the ‘My Little Pony’ theme.

I thought I had successfully put the “my daughter saw me in my underwear” fiasco behind me (no pun intended), but Goonie has a memory like a sponge. Her retention and recollection are impeccable. Nothin’ gets past this girl. Recently we went to the mall and entered through the JCPenny department store. It just so happened that the men’s clothing was nearest the door to the parking lot. We entered and started walking when Goonie spied the underwear section.

Without a hesitation nor a volume censor she blurted out for the entire store and half the mall to hear, “I see your underwear, Daddy! Isn’t that Tommy’s underwear?”

I love my kid I love my kid I love my kid…

She’s the greatest. We’re still workin’ on the self-censor lessons.

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T’anks Mom

October 25, 2006

Little Bobo the Klingon is finally learning English as a second language. Although she throws in a healthy dose of Klingon-ese in every sentence still, she is coming along great. We understand what she wants with words like, “’nana”, and “joooooce!” Now she has learned, through repetitive repeating from her mother, of course, to say “T’anks Mom” after she receives something asked for, like the Big Gulp size 32 ouncer of joooooce.

She also is becoming quite adept at communicating what she doesn’t want. Every evening when it’s nearly time for all little Klingons to go to bed I say “Jammies!” Bobo’s eyes widen and she shouts, “no jimmies!” and bolts in the opposite direction in her little waddling fashion. Klingons are so cute when they waddle. She is no match for my speed and agility, plus I know a few secret shortcuts through the house. But even so, catching and then hanging on to a tiny Klingon are two different ball games with two very different set of rules. If she could speak, it would go something like this: “catch me if you can, but, oh, just TRY, dear Father, to confine me. I DARE YA!” She’s gonna be hell to keep up with as a teenager.

I firmly believe that they should add Klingon ropin’ & ‘restlin’ to the annual Pendleton Roundup Rodeo events. Or at least replace the greased pig chase at the state fair. This little 30 pound wiggly mass of muscle & mucus is one slippery critter! Once grabbed she can twist and maneuver into dozens of yoga poses in efforts to elude her captor. Never mind that she may be 6 feet from the ground and could fall on top of her head. She has no worries! She’ll bounce and just start running again.

Single handedly holding her down while changing her diaper and dressing her in the proper night time attire is a feat worthy of a Reality TV show. But each night I prove my superior strength & determination and succeed in preparing my youngest child for a restful slumber. After all the squirming, all the crying, the wiggling, the “NOOOOOO!”, when that’s all done she becomes completely calm, smiles as if there was no trauma for the past half hour, and goes happily about her business as if the screaming & eluding was all part of the “Jammie Game”.

So I follow her into the kitchen for our ritual preparation of the bottle of milk. I hand it to her. She looks me in the eyes and says,

“T’anks, Mom.”

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Just Don’t Ask Her Age

October 3, 2006

Happy Birthday, Goonie!

What is it with women and their age? The Goon, for the past week, has been pining about turning yet another year older. With tears welting in her eyes she says, “I don’t want to be 5! I want to be four and a half FOREVER!”

So, to calm her fears about turning prematurely gray, I tell her to just lie about her age. Like all women, she’ll be doing it eventually anyway. She’s just starting…a few years before most women. For instance, her mother is…AHEM…29 (give or take 4 years). She doesn’t feel fully acclimated to being practically in her mid-thirties, so she prefers to say she feels like she is still 29.

Sure. I’d like to think I’m still 20-something and can party all night. In fact, I was 31 when I last attempted an all-nighter, partying with a group of younger college peers in celebration of a successful final presentation of our business class project. ‘Course, we started the party BEFORE the evening presentation, so we were lubed up pretty good during our speeches. I think we got the vote for “Most Entertaining Group of Drunken Schmucks” award for our sales pitch. Then we ended up at a nearby nightclub with live music ‘til 4 am. This was a Tuesday. I called in sick to work on Wednesday. I will never stay out drinking ‘til 4 am ever again. Having children has pretty much sidelined any desire for nighttime weekend shenanigans anyway.

So tonight, instead of going out the a local karaoke klub, or blues bar, and getting smashed, I’m going to Chuck E. Cheese and smash a few of those damn pop-up rodents, snarf some yummy ‘zza, and play my favorite video game, Galaga! Hey, who says we can’t still party in our 30’s?