Tag Archives: marriage

Date night with a baby and a lizard

You should know what you’re getting when you sit down to watch a behemoth, radioactive lizard frolic around the Pacific rim. I had a hunch; I should have listened to it.

My wife and I hadn’t been out on a date in months. She wanted to see the new Godzilla movie, mostly because of Bryan Cranston. He wouldn’t jump from Breaking Bad into a ridiculously stupid movie, right? Right?

We dropped the big boys at the neighbor’s, but we kept the baby because my wife has a strange fetish with movie theaters. She’s not happy unless she can sneak in McDonald’s food or brazenly walk in with a tiny human who could go off at any moment. I drew the line at McDonald’s being part of our date.

The baby was incredibly quiet through the movie, except for a brief period when his foot got stuck under the arm rest. He did not infringe on anyone’s enjoyment of the film. I wish I could say the same thing for the film.

I don’t know why people are always trying to make a better Godzilla movie. I don’t know why we need a better Godzilla movie. A man in a lizard suit stomping on model army tanks is all I’ve ever wanted from Godzilla, and that was accomplished to perfection 60 years ago.

real Godzilla

Just roll in some toy army vehicles and we’ve got ourselves a movie.

I would issue a spoiler alert for what comes next, but the real spoiler will be seeing the movie theater charge show up on the credit card statement.

My wife felt cheated that Mr. Cranston was in less than half of the movie. She figured they must have run out of money to pay his huge salary at that point. My theory is that he saw the rest of the script and bailed. I have yet to figure out what his character added to the plot anyway, other than a crazy old man who turned out to be right, but so what? Crazy people are always right in movies.

Cranston cameo

“Oh my God! Is that the rest of the script? Run!” (Image: Warner Bros.)

My wife is much more charitable toward films than I am, but when the lights came up, her first words were, “Want to know all the problems I have with that movie?”

I don’t even remember all the problems. I do recall that after an EMP wave fried all the electronics in San Francisco, preventing the heroes from driving into the city, they were able to hotwire a boat at the dock with no problem. Yup, it fired right up, with spotlights on and everything.

Oh, and then there was the ultra-powerful atomic weapon that was detonated about 10 feet beyond the Golden Gate Bridge with no consequences to the city. Too bad they dragged all those puny Cold War atom bombs all the way out to remote islands. They could have used those for a fireworks show at Candlestick Park.

This would have been the worst Bryan Cranston movie ever, had he actually been in it. But that’s okay; we’ll probably have another date night next year.

Reading, writing, and romance

Our son has learned a lot in kindergarten. His reading skills are pretty good, and his math knowledge is growing. And then there’s everything about love and romance he’s picked up in the past year.

In the fall, it became clear that he had a crush on one little girl. Whenever I mentioned her name he would blush and get that secretive smile on his face. It embarrassed him to answer questions about her. My wife would scold me for making him squirm, but then she doesn’t fully understand a father’s job.

Mid-year, he traded this crush for a new one. In fact, he traded it for two new ones. I really can’t argue with the boy showing this sort of ambition, but I was taken aback about how open he was about them.

By the sounds of it, everybody in his class has a crush on somebody else, and then maybe somebody else after that. Once this conspiracy of crushes came to light, crushes became cool. All the kids are having them.

Suddenly, he likes to talk about his crushes. Here’s what he’s got worked out:

He’s going to marry his #1 crush. Except, she has a crush on somebody else. He’s not completely sure how this will affect his plan, but he does recognize it as a minor complication. He still fully intends to marry crush #1, but if it turns out she’s carrying too much external baggage, he always has crush #2 in reserve. Crush #2 may actually have a small crush on him too, making this a solid contingency plan.

The situation has completely reversed itself since last fall. Now I have to rib him by referring obliquely to Crush #1. When I hint that I’m speaking about her, he demands that I say her name, right out loud, in front of Mommy and everybody.

This change from a boy shy about girls to Rico Suave has been an eye-opener. I’m afraid some day he’s going to open his mouth and Barry White’s voice will come out of it. But it seems like these kids have also been following current events as they apply to the legal aspects of romance. I guess it’s good that they’re learning about the world around them, but if I were in kindergarten, I think I’d rather just play on the swings a while longer.

Last week he told me one of the boys wanted to marry him.

This was a new development. “One of the boys?”

“Yeah.” Then he went on to educate his backward, old dad. “Boys can marry boys, but only in New York,” he told me. “And girls can marry girls, in New York.”

“Do you want to marry him?” I asked.

He shook his head at me and gave me a look that asked if I had been paying any attention at all over the past several months. “No. I got other people I’m in love with.”

I ship out with Admiral Dewey in the morning, baby.

Kids sure do grow up fast these days. And by “these days” I mean since 1898.

Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a bear attack

Valentine’s Day isn’t my favorite holiday. It’s like a yearly final exam of love, and I never liked being tested. If you don’t have someone special in your life, you fail. And if you’re lucky enough to have a special someone, you probably fail anyway, because you used up your reserve of romance during those early days when you actually imagined you could top yourself year after year.

If you’re that guy who doesn’t do little things for your love whenever you see the chance, Valentine’s Day is your opportunity to make one grand gesture that you hope will sustain you through another year. I try not to be that guy, so I can’t say if it works, but it is a potential upside to the holiday.

If you do rely upon a yearly gesture, the fine folks over at Vermont Teddy Bear have just the trick for you. It’s a six-foot-tall stuffed bear that your lady love is sure to love appreciate be unable to ignore.

I’ve seen several commercials for the Big Hunka Love Bear in the buildup to Valentine’s Day. They are, to say the least, eye-opening.

All out of love

Oh no! Sold out! Now what kind of monstrosity can we buy to express our love? (Image: Vermont Teddy Bear Company)

If the commercials can be believed, and we all know they couldn’t put it on TV if it weren’t true, women go gaga over Big Hunka. That is to say, women who resemble supermodels go gaga over him. There were no women not resembling supermodels in the ad, so there’s no telling how ordinary gals will react.

But, on this special day, you want your woman to feel like a supermodel, right? When you flop this behemoth bear over her shoulders, she will know, if she has not suffered a concussion in the attack, that you still think she’s awesome sexy after all these years. Because nobody’s ever seen a Plain Jane hunker down under the weight of such a gargantuan plush toy.

According to the TV, your woman will adore this bear enough to frolic with him while dressed only in her most sensuous underthings, thus taking the pressure off you to cuddle with the half-dressed love of your life. In business, they call that a win-win.

I’m not getting my wife a Big Hunka Love Bear. She already knows I think she’s a supermodel. Plus, she’s not a large person and I’m afraid she could not stand the mauling. Moreover, I’d be crushed to discover that her other man is a stuffed bear. He may be physically appealing, with his hairy chest and whatnot, but I’d hope to rate well intellectually against such a rival.

The boys would like the bear, though I’m not sure I want them strutting around like supermodels. Little Buster would have a blast, alternating between petting the bear and punching him, because that’s just the kind of emotional psychopaths boys can be at his age. But Buster has me for punching, so we’ll skip the bear this year.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all, but especially to my supermodel wife. I love you more than a bear ever could, sweetheart.

Conversations with my wife: Boob on fire

I was in the dining room, helping my son with a school project, when my wife hurried up to me and grabbed my hand. She clamped my hand over her left breast. She was clearly alarmed.

WIFE: “Feel that. My boob feels like it’s on fire!”

She had on a sweater over her shirt, but I could still feel that it was hot. It was very hot, chemical reaction hot.

ME: “Is it just the one?”

WIFE: “Yes. The other one’s fine.”

She lifted up her shirt and put my hand on top of her bra. We’re married and everything, so there was no danger of this act leading to anything sexual.

WIFE: “What’s going on with my boob?”

I could see a wet spot on her bra.

ME: “Is it sweating?”

WIFE: “I don’t think so.”

She stretched her bra and sniffed the wet spot.

WIFE: “It doesn’t smell like sweat.”

I sniffed it.

ME: “No. It kinda smells like pork.”

I pulled her sweater back down and noticed that the wet spot went through.

ME: “Did you spill something hot on yourself?”

WIFE: “I don’t think so. I was just cutting up an apple for the baby.”

ME: “Show me what you did.”

She led me into the kitchen and pointed to the fruit bowl on the shelf above the counter.

WIFE: “I just got an apple out and started cutting it up.”

In front of the fruit bowl, the crock pot sat on the counter, gurgling hot little bubbles in the condensed water around the edge of its rattling lid as it slow cooked a pork roast.

ME: “You leaned over the crock pot to reach the apple, didn’t you?”

WIFE: (Relieved) “But why didn’t I get burned right away?”

ME: “It took a minute for it to soak through to the skin. Your boob got slow cooked.”

WIFE: “That’s why my bra smells like pork.”

ME: “I sure hope so.”

crock pot

The culprit. My wife wouldn’t let me post a photo of the victim.