Tag Archives: holidays

Happy New Year! Now, here’s something you could work on

I’ve never made a New Year’s resolution. This year, I am going to break tradition and make some resolutions I think would make me a happier person. They may be difficult and take a lot of hard work to accomplish, but that makes them worthwhile, right? I am committed to these resolutions, foremost because they are not for me. They’re for my family.

Let’s all pitch in and make the world a better place for Daddy. Here is one thing that each of you could focus on to make Daddy happier, bust most of all, to make yourselves more fulfilled people.

The Five-year-old

Eliminate “But I really want to!” as your standard response every time Daddy tells you you’re not allowed to do something. Daddy knows you really want to, at least he functions under the assumption that you don’t ask for things you don’t want just for the thrill of seeking permission. Daddy has reasons for not allowing you to do everything you want to do, and none of those reasons is that he didn’t know how much you wanted to do them. Over time, you’ll begin to understand these reasons, if you really want to.

Corollary: That little whiny sound you make in your nose, after Daddy says no the second time, has to go as well.

The One-year-old

Can you refrain from saving up all your sweet, I Love You So Much, Daddy moments for the last minute before Daddy has to leave for work? Yes, Daddy loves those times when you want to cling to him and rest your head on his shoulder, but he’s going to be late for work. Maybe if you would take a short break from hitting people and throwing stuff in the evenings, you could give Daddy a nice, drawn-out hug when he has time to enjoy it, rather than breaking his heart and endangering the family finances every morning.

Corollary: A break from the hitting people and throwing stuff would probably be good, no matter how you otherwise use that time.

Heart and soul throw

Always with the throwing.

Mr. Cool

When you’re not hitting or throwing, you’re too cool to show Daddy a little tenderness when he’s free to enjoy it.

The Minus-four-month-old

This is a big year for you. You’ll get to come out and play with your brothers. We’re all looking forward to that. Along those lines, maybe you could resolve to go a little easier on your mother than your brothers did when they were trying to get out. See, when Mommy has it rough, Daddy pays a price for it too. That’s what we’re trying to avoid here.

The Mommy

I know you want your children to grow up rich in experiences, but in 2014 could we please resolve to miss just one family-friendly, free event. You unearth a lot of free events, a damned lot of them. Would it be so bad to just stay home a let one of them slip by without hunting it down like a dog? I agree, free is good, but you know what else if free? Rest.

Does your goat bite?

Like it! It’s free!

That seems like a healthy set of resolutions. I feel better already.

 

2013: The year in reruns

You know those sitcom episodes where they don’t have any new shows ready but they need to air something, so they dig up old clips and the writers show up to bang out a few sentences of intro for each old segment on the way to pick up their paychecks? If there were any paychecks involved with my blog, this “episode” would be exactly like that.

The year 2013 corresponds to what would be Season 2 of Snoozing on the Sofa. When the timing works out like that, it seems a shame not to bow to fate and put on a year-end clip show. Here are some of my favorite posts from Season 2.

My son reminded me of my own mortality when he began telling his friend the story of how I died. It was rather disturbing to hear such a tale. My loved ones would be shocked at the news. The air was cleared, at last, when I was able to assure everyone that Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.

I was worried that the boy might be getting a little too creative for his britches. But when he asked me the riddle, Why are cows so smart?, it renewed my faith that he uses his powers of imagination for good rather than evil.

That’s not to say I never mistook him for an evil spirit. His unnatural ability to glide to the side of my bed in the middle of the night reaffirmed a belief he first instilled in me when he was a toddler. I was able to report that some things never change, because Kids are STILL creepy: a horror story sequel.

2013 was a year filled with love, and even romance. It’s fortunate for parents that most childhood romance is purely theoretical, as in the age-old philosophical question, Dad, can I have a Sugar Mama?

Even little brother had his brush with heartache. Now, that special girl is just a bittersweet memory of toddler bliss. Oh, what a heart wrenching affair it is To have loved and lost in the mall play area.

But little boys bounce back from their brushes with girls. Their thoughts soon turn to vital interests, like McDonald’s and army vehicles. When they get together with their friends to chat about important topics, their conversations can take fascinating turns, as I discovered when I found myself Eavesdropping on the class of 2026.

A look back at 2013 wouldn’t be complete without input from my wife. We had some interesting conversations this year, some of which were tame enough to share. This one in particular won her many fans: Conversations with my wife: Boob on fire.

I hope you enjoyed this walk down memory lane. Now it’s time to look forward to the fun and excitement of 2014. I’ll do that right after I swing by and pick up my paycheck.

Whadaya mean this is volunteer work?

That can’t be right.

Who’d be daft enough to do this for fun?

1907 is gonna be a great year!

Happy New Year! And since this post is all about the past, get out there and party like it’s 1907!

Our Christmas with PEZidents Lincoln and Garfield

Regular readers of this blog may recall that our five-year-old holds a certain reverence for Abraham Lincoln. The boy was affected by our visit to Ford’s Theater and has since speculated upon the secret burial place of the 16th U.S. president.

I bought a PEZ candy dispenser collection of five presidents. PEZ has many presidents, in groups of five, but I was lucky enough to find the group spanning Lincoln to Garfield. I gave it to my son for Christmas.

before the storm

Opening presents together in the calm before the overstimulation.

The boy doesn’t know the other gentlemen behind the plastic cover with Mr. Lincoln, but I thought this might inspire him to learn. His one-year-old brother doesn’t know any of them, but one thing Buster does know is a PEZ candy wrapper when he sees one. He also knows that he enjoys PEZ pellets, regardless of what stranger’s neck they’re issuing from.

Likewise, the five-year-old enjoys a PEZ pellet or two (or an entire sleeve), so by mutual agreement (rare for them), they decided to forgo any collectors’ item value of the set and break out the precious ingots of candy.

They each chose a dispenser. The big boy chose his favorite, Mr. Lincoln. The little boy chose the nearest, Mr. Garfield. I filled each with half a sleeve of candy and off they went to extract treats from the neck and chest areas of former chief executives.

choosing a PEZ

In a show of good sportsmanship, Mr. Garfield hugs the runners-up before accepting the honor of victory.

I was relieved that nobody chose Mr. Grant. It would have added insult to injury to have children pull lumps from his throat.

PEZident Garfield

“I’m James A. Garfield, dammit! Fill me full of candy!”

The big boy wields a PEZ dispenser with ease, but Buster had to work to get his candy. That’s probably why toddlers don’t use the phrase, Like taking candy from a former president, when describing something easy to do. Buster worked hard and was rewarded with PEZ. At length, the candy was gone and the two dispensers set down, their beneficiaries little imagining the tragic link between the two figures.

Digging into Garfield

Probing Garfield’s innards. The child has no idea how history repeats itself.

That was the apex of our Christmas peace. The strife began when the big boy kept wanting to play with the little boy’s favorite new toys. Being that the little boy’s favorite toy is whichever one the big boy happens to be holding, this was difficult to rectify. We steered Big Brother on to other playthings; each time, Little Brother was vexed at being left with a cast-off toy.

At last we hit the point known to parents of toddlers as TMC: Too Much Christmas. This is when the sensory overload of the day causes a tiny tot to go completely off the rails. It is at this moment when my wife annually declares that we are converting to Judaism before the next Season of Joy to avoid it’s screaming fits.

A good nap often alleviates the symptoms of TMC, unless Big Brother jades Little Brother’s fresh, well-rested outlook by accidentally flying his new RC helicopter into Little Brother’s head. Then, even Abraham Lincoln, with a gullet full of PEZ, can’t emancipate us from tears.

Easter enjoyed by all, despite egg infestation

Easter was never a big Holiday to me when I was growing up. I was at the tail end of a large brood of children, so by the time I came along, the festivities associated with eggs and baskets had pretty much worn thin around my house.

That’s why I was so happy that I remembered to run to the store and get some things to make a basket for the kids on Saturday night. It wasn’t a lot of stuff, just enough to make it a bit more special than your average Sunday.

On Easter morning, I called the four-year-old over to where I had stashed the basket. “Look what I found!” I shouted to him. “Somebody must have left this for you and your brother during the night.”

boy with chocolate bunnies

Proving that you are what you eat, the boy’s head morphs into ebony and ivory bunnies. We are big on diversity in the animal-shaped confections we devour.

He came over and examined the contents carefully. He was pleased at the discovery.

“Oh my goodness,” I said. “This must mean it’s Easter. Who would have left this candy for you?”

“Did you see anybody around here?” he asked.

“I just saw a big, round, fluffy, cotton tail running through the bushes outside.”

He nodded as my description fell in line with the profile he was concocting in his head.  His eyes narrowed as the pieces fell into place. “The Easter Bunny,” he announced, in the same tone that Batman uses to identify The Joker as the culprit.

We hadn’t planned anything else, but at the last moment, my wife decided to hide some eggs. Aspiring hoarder that she is, she just happened to have some plastic eggs hanging around waiting to justify their existence. She rounded up some stickers and restaurant mints, but mostly she filled the eggs with pennies and nickels.

A minute later, my son came running to me. “Eggs!” he exclaimed. And then, as if eggs were as shocking a discovery as scorpions, he clarified the gravity of the situation, “In this house!”

His mother told him she wanted to see what the Easter Bunny had put inside the eggs, so he opened one up. When a couple of coins fell out, his eyes grew wide. “Money!” he cheered. “I didn’t see that coming!”

There were 14 eggs to find, and when he’d found about 11, he asked for my help. This was not so much fun for me, because I hadn’t seen where my wife hid them, and I already spend enough time looking for things around my house.

When we had finally found all the eggs, he pulled out the coins from his collection of loot and fed them to his piggy bank. The stickers and hard candy were soon forgotten. He’ll probably see the same ones again next year. Altogether, he probably raked in upwards of a dollar in cash. That, plus the fresh chocolate rabbits in his basket, made it an excellent Easter.

As for his little brother, he had some milk in his belly and a warm, soft mommy to cuddle up with. When you are barely one year old, that makes for just about the perfect Holiday.