Showing posts with label Elmo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Elmo. Show all posts

Sunday, April 19, 2015

The Time My Preschooler Fell in Love

On a recent school-free weekday not long ago, Mrs. Dude took our boys to a nearby park to burn some of their seemingly endless supply of fuel. As I was working in my pleasant 72-degree office, thinking about chasing them around the vast mecca of molded plastic chutes and ladders slowly baking under the 85-degree California sun, I can’t say I was completely disappointed to miss that scorching outing. But a key lesson I’ve learned about parenting, and life in general, is that we often never know what we are missing out on by not doing something. As it turned out, I missed something seemingly big that day. How big? was the real question.

I can see out to the driveway from my home office’s shaded window and usually jump up excitedly, in a way that would make Pavlov proud, when I see Mrs. Dude and the boys return each afternoon. On this day, however, my 5-year-old made a beeline inside before I could even stand up. When the Little Dude bounded into the house he was beyond excited to tell me that he’d had an unplanned rendezvous at the park that day.

Dada, guess who I saw at the park today?

Elmo?

No, guess again…

Buzz Lightyear?

No! I saw Ethan, Braden and Jack from my school!

Oh, that’s awesome.

And guess who else?!

Lightning McQueen?

Come on, Dada. He’s in Radiator Springs. No, I saw Julie from my class.

(I was happy that he mentioned someone I actually knew, as the boys he’d mentioned first are in other classes and strangers to me.)

How exciting! What’d you all do?

We played on the swings and rode bikes and ran for a super long time! And guess what else?!

Ummm, you went down the slides?

Wrong! Slides are for babies. Guess what: Julie is my girlfriend now.

::The sound of a record player screeching to a halt engulfs my mind::

This was not at all what I was expecting from my almost 5 ½ year old’s day out. Thoughts of an imminent wedding rushed into my head before I realized that was highly improbable because neither the bride nor groom would be able to sign the marriage license because they don’t know how to write their names yet.  
Look before you leap
As he smiled his widest grin I’d seen in a while, I thought about how I hadn’t expected to hear about girlfriends for at least another half-dozen years. I know people say that kids are growing up faster these days due to technology and other societal changes, but explaining the birds and bees was not on my immediate radar, nor should it be.

I’m a planner. I’m not into surprises and have the kind of (cursed) mind which races through every possible outcome of a situation before it even begins to unfold. Whether my suppositions are right or wrong is another matter, I just don’t want to be left unprepared with an agape mouth.
So flying without my well-broken-in net, I asked my son what he thought having a girlfriend meant. I anticipated an answer somewhere along the lines of love or kissing or, at the bare minimum, hand-holding. Plus, whatever the reply, I had to be ready with a quip or an anecdote or something brilliant to suppress my suddenly queasy gut about these uncharted waters we were about to dive into.

My son looked at me, still beaming, and I watched his expression shift as he looked for an explanation that he could easily express. No words came out of his mouth for what felt like an eternity before he finally said something that shouldn’t have seemed as unexpected as it did.

I don’t know.

::Exhale::

And just like that I knew my little boy was back, as my nerves began to slowly unwind and return to their normal operating functions.

Him:  Can I go play now?

Me:  Of course. Go have fun.


And thankfully he never mentioned it again. 

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Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Up in the Air


One of my favorite bloggers and also a good friend, You Know It Happens At Your House, Too, kindly asked me to write a guest post for her short series featuring Dad Bloggers this month & here it is. Thanks, Tara!  
You should follow her on Facebook and Twitter, too. Especially if you like pictures of Johnny Depp. 


Before I was married, I used to travel a lot for business. Connecting flights to random airports were the norm for me. If I was lucky I got upgraded to First Class. If not, I usually tried to sit in the quiet part of the plane, i.e. away from the parents traveling with little kids.

It’s not that I didn’t like kids, it’s just that I was invariably seated next to a mother traveling with screaming triplets and no other adults to help. I really think it must have been a similar experience that inspired the invention of noise-cancelling headphones.

Yes, I had no sympathy. I just wanted quiet so I could read in peace watch my DVDs of Anchorman or Old School for the 64th time.  Do you know anyone who likes being kicked in the back for 3 straight hours?  I walked off of many flights feeling like a soccer ball after the World Cup.

That all changed when I became a parent and started flying with the Little Dude. He was 7 months old and it was our first trip as a family of 3. We’d pre-boarded our aisle and middle seats in the bulkhead of the plane. A few minutes later, a woman approached and noticed us. The look of disgust on her face resembled Morgan Spurlock’s after he ate at McDonalds every day for a month.  I watched her complain to the flight attendant before ultimately taking her seat. Let’s just say that my kid is so charming that within 30 minutes of departure she wanted to hold him.  It wasn’t lost on me that the way I’d long felt about kids on planes was being forced to evolve now that I was on the other side of the equation.


Traveling solo, I was thrilled to board a recent flight before most of the cabin. I staked out my carryon space in the overhead compartment and watched the huddled masses squeeze down the aisle, silently guessing who I would get stuck with. As I was getting settled in my aisle seat, I saw a woman with a screaming newborn baby headed in my direction.  I cringed and empathized concurrently.

They slowed down and sat across the aisle from me. I thought to myself that it was going to be a long 90 minutes. But then my parental instinct kicked in and told me to chill. I watched as they got settled and the baby calmed down a little.  It’s not a stretch to say I’ve mellowed over the last 2 ½ years.  But I felt much more at ease than I anticipated given the situation was compounded by my lack of sleep and change of time zones. As I was trying to get comfortable, a man claimed the window seat to my right and I stood up to let him pass.

I sat back down and was checking email on my iPhone when I heard someone say “excuse me, sir”. I looked up to see a woman with a boy who was probably 7 or 8 years old. “That’s his seat.”

Caught off guard, I stood up and let the boy pass. He had an Elmo backpack slung over his shoulders and was clutching a teddy bear tightly. He sat nervously between me and the window-seat man.

I looked around, expecting his mother to be headed off the plane after having dropped him off. Maybe to see his grandparents or his father, I wondered to myself.  Instead, she was headed 4 rows behind me to her own middle seat.

It was my turn in a heated game of Words with Friends, but I was suddenly distracted despite an available Triple Word space.  I started to feel badly for the young boy stuck alone between two strangers.  It wasn’t that long of a flight and he had things to occupy him, but I wondered how he was feeling. Was he scared? Should I say something to put him at ease? And it made me wonder how I would feel if my own young son was in his position.

I looked to my left and suddenly that baby didn’t seem to be crying so loud anymore.

I stood up and turned around. I spotted the boy’s mother and asked her if she wanted to switch seats.  With a look of joy and a tear in her eye, she happily said yes.

So I grabbed my things, headed down the aisle and crammed into a middle seat for 90 minutes. It was totally worth it.


Monday, March 19, 2012

See Mama Again


INT. MAMA & DADA’S ROOM:  SUNDAY MORNING – 5:54am

A dog snores in the distance. Everyone in the house is asleep. Or should be.
Suddenly 2-year-old TODDLER's wail pours through a baby monitor.

5:54am:
TODDLER “MAMA!” (pause) “Ma-maaaaaaaaaa!”

5:57am:
DADA: What the --?  What was that?

MAMA: I think you know.

DADA: The apocalypse?

MAMA: We should be so lucky.

DADA: An hour and a half early? I guess he doesn't know it was St. Patrick's Day last night. 

MAMA: We haven’t celebrated St. Patty’s Day since the Little Dude was born.

DADA: I know, but after only 4 hours of sleep I feel almost as wiped out as if I’d had 10 Guinness’s last night.

5:59am: 
DADA: I'll get him. 

MAMA: Good idea -- zzzzzzzzzz

INT. TODDLER'S ROOM: 6:02am

Tired DADA shuffles in to find TODDLER standing at attention. Whimpering ensues. From Dudes both Big and Little.

6:02am:
DADA: What's the problem, little man?

TODDLER: See Mama?

DADA: She’s resting, but it's OK, Dada's here. What's wrong? 

TODDLER: See Mama?

DADA: Mama's sleeping, like most of L.A.; did you have a bad dream?

TODDLER: See Mama Again! 

DADA: So, tell me, what do you really want?

(Crying ensues. TODDLER is extracted from crib.)

6:05am
DADA: Here's the deal: you can stay in your crib and sleep, we can rest in your rocking chair or (under his breath) you can rest in Mama and Dada's bed. 

TODDLER: Mama Dada Bed!

DADA: You can only go in there if you are going to rest. Are you going to close your eyes and go back to sleep? 

TODDLER: (Emphatically) Yes! Yes!

DADA: Yeah, you seem tired.

INT. MAMA & DADA'S BED: 6:10am

6:10am
MAMA:  Are you sleepy, Little Dude? 

TODDLER: Yes, me rest eyes.

MAMA: OK, Mama rest eyes, too. 

DADA: Goodnight everyone.

(TODDLER lies down and closes eyes. The room goes silent. Out of fear, MAMA & DADA don't make a sound.)

6:20am
TODDLER: See Buzz and Woody! 

DADA: Buzz and Woody are sleeping now. Probably because they know that they’ll be blown up by Sid if they don’t. Let's go back to sleep, dude. 

TODDLER: See Mickey Mouse? 

DADA: Mickey and Minnie were out late last night for St. Patrick's Day. They threw a big bash at the Clubhouse. They're sleeping, too.

TODDLER: See Mama Again! 

MAMA (from 6 inches away): I'm right here.

(For 5 minutes a game of pinball occurs in the bed. MAMA on one side. DADA on the other. Both semi-comatose. TODDLER bounces back and forth between them, as though he’d just chugged a case of Red Bull)

6:30am
MAMA: Do you want to sleep or play?

TODDLER: PLAY!

DADA: OK, I'll take this one. Then you'll only be up 600 morning shifts on me. 

MAMA:  600? You're getting warm...

INT. TODDLER'S ROOM – 6:35am:

Lights are low, toys are flying. TODDLER is squealing with delight. DADA is catatonic.

6:35am:
DADA: DADA is going to play “sleep in the rocking chair”. Do you want to play, too?

TODDLER: No sleep. Read books. 

DADA: OK, you read and I'll watch you. With my eyes closed. 

TODDLER: No, Dada read books!

DADA: (grumbles) OK, pick ONE book.

TODDLER: Dis one--

DADA: NOT that one. It has, uh, too many words. 

TODDLER (frowning): See Mama Again!

DADA: In a little bit. She’s resting.

TODDLER: Choo Choo time? 

DADA: OK, Dada is going to lie down & you can drive the trains on my back. 

TODDLER: Dada is train track?

DADA: Yup. Wake me up, I mean, let me know when you are finished. Hopefully in an hour or two.

7 minutes later, DADA is woken up by Thomas the Train plowing into his ear canal.

6:45am:
TODDLER: See Mama Again?

DADA: Let's, uh, play with your dinosaurs.

TODDLER: No dinosaurs!

DADA: Elmo?

TODDLER: No Elmo!

DADA: Aren't you tired? 

TODDLER: No tired! 

After a few more minutes of negotiation, TODDLER lets out a bellowing yawn.

7:04am:
DADA: Are you sure you don't want to rest your eyes for a few minutes?

TODDLER: No rest!

DADA: Since you are up, do you want to go clean the bathroom? If so, go light on the bleach.

TODDLER: No clean!

DADA: So what do you want to do? 

TODDLER: PLAY!

DADA: See Mama Again?


                                                                                  


I'm linked up this week with Erica and the great crew of Yeah Write. 
Come check us out and vote for your 3 favorites this week, even if I'm not one of them:

Monday, January 2, 2012

New Year & Six Months

As the beginning of the last year of civilization begins (at least according to the Mayans. And my friend Maya), I guess we have a lot to get through in these next 11+ months. I still haven't even seen Moneyball.

2011 was a very up and down year for me personally, but I guess that's how they all go for most people who aren't George Clooney. As the calendar turns, though, I'd be remiss if I didn't reflect on the last 6 months writing this blog.  What started as a suggestion from my friend Karen has turned into something way beyond anything I ever imagined when I sat down at the computer on July 4th while my son napped. 

I had some random ideas bouncing around the right side of my brain, which I hadn't used much in the last few years. I am thankful for each and every one of you who has taken the time to read my posts, comment on them or share them with friends. I appreciate the emails you send me and Tweets you RT.  Without you, this site would just be me talking to myself. And I already do enough of that as it is. So thank you. 

As many people do this time of year, I've been reflecting on the year that passed. As I've been reviewing Dude of the House, I wanted to spotlight a few of my favorite blog moments from the last 6 months. If you've read these before, check them out again. They get better with age, like a fine wine or Betty White. 

My Favorite Post:    Poo On You  I just think it's pretty funny. Several of you have said the same. 

Most Autobiographical Post:  What a Long Strange Trip It's Been How I got to be where I am today. Wherever that is.

Most Popular Post:  From Deadhead to Elmo Addict Growing up is hard to do. 

Most Commented On Post:   Your Name is What??  People are dumb. 

Most Egoecentric Post: My Mini-me It's true, he looks like me. Check the picture. 

Most Educational Post:  What is a Dude?  If you think you know, you probably don't.

Most Serious Post:  9/11: A New Hope  A shiny silver lining. 

Scariest Post:  Lost at the Zoo  It was a freaky experience and it wasn't even my kid. 

First Post: Independence Day Means I'm Free to Work on This First, but certainly not my best.

Most Disney filled Post: Small World? Yeah Right I'm glad the tickets were free.

I love all of my posts. Even a few lame ones I've ignored since posting. But check them out and leave a comment if you feel like it. And click the ads on the right. Google just might send me a nickel if you do and that will really help pay for pre-school. When the Little Dude turns 34. 


Thank you again for your support. Best wishes for a happy and healthy new year!


Me & the Little Dude





Tuesday, December 20, 2011

All I Want for Christmas is Jews

I have to admit it’s hard for me to get excited about Christmas.  I guess at least a small part of that has to do with me being Jewish.  And believe me when I tell you that Hanukkah is not nearly as exciting as you might guess.  Wooden spinning toys, greasy potato pancakes that make your house reek like an onion factory exploded in it & obligatory daily prayers are not nearly as thrilling as they sound.  If you don’t know much about Hanukkah, let me tell you a few key details.

I grew up in a place where Jews were by far the minority: America.  When I was a kid there was no real public promotion of Hanukkah anywhere outside of a synagogue gift shop. Now, even Target has a dedicated Hanukkah section. Sure it’s about 1/1000th the size of their Christmas section, but I think it’s still a bit larger than their Festivus and Boxing Day (Canada) areas.  It’s in this section where you can buy holiday classics like this book about Elmo.  I actually never realized he was Jewish.  Especially since he looks like a giant 
piece of lint from Santa’s clothing. 

The one big thing that most people associate with Hanukkah is not the rededication of the temple in Jerusalem or the Maccabees rebellion or even that the oil managed to stay lit for 8 days.  Nope, it’s presents.

Some enterprising Americans (obviously Jewish) in the early 20th century realized that they could capitalize on the seasonal timing of this minor Jewish holiday and turned it into a Jewish companion to Christmas. For that I am thankful.  Otherwise I would have been forced to watch all the kids at school playing with their new Ewoks and GI Joes while I was carrying my floppy yellow net-bag filled with gooey chocolate coins.  I was always amazed by how those things melted when it was 42 degrees outside. 

Hanukkah is also known as The Festival of Lights.  The major symbol of the holiday is the Menorah, the simple 9 branched candelabra which we light candles on every night during the celebration.  So if it’s the Jewish festival of lights why is it that non-Jews are the people who cover their homes with enough bright lights that you could spot them from Uranus?  Are their lights supposed to symbolize the number of candles that would be on Jesus’ birthday cake? 

Since we are celebrating the miracle that the oil lasted for 8 days, we are supposed to eat foods that are fried in oil in commemoration. I just realized that I effectively honor this facet of Hanukkah year round.  Perhaps the greater miracle is that my cholesterol number was 151 at my recent physical.

In addition to Latkes (potato pancakes) another fried food that people eat on Hanukkah is Sufganiyot (Jelly Donuts). One of my favorite Hanukkah traditions comes from my wife’s family. They introduced me to the mass consumption of donuts during the holiday period.  When we get together for the annual family celebration, rather than frying fresh donuts (as some people allegedly do, but none I’ve ever known) we crack open a couple pink boxes and have our way with Winchell’s finest.  The last couple of years I’ve taken it upon myself to be the donut selector. It’s a difficult job, but someone has to do it.  And I don’t want to get stuck with a box full of Crullers.  

As the Little Dude grows up, it is my wife’s and my responsibility to teach him about our Jewish heritage.  We need to make sure he carries on the customs and traditions that our people have practiced since way back in the Truman administration.  With cultural advances like Hershey’s Kisses being sold in blue and white packages, we are making an impact on society. I guess what it comes down to is my hope that he’ll grow up in a time and place where people won’t look at him strangely for playing with his Dreidel in public.   

If you celebrate, Happy Hanukkah!  If you don't, you are this week's "Other 99%".

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Monday, November 21, 2011

Traveling for Turkey

With a long way to go and a lot to see and do, we departed L.A. a few days early for Thanksgiving this year.  Though BC has been to Ohio several times before, his most recent journey was almost a year ago and before he could walk and talk. So we had no idea what was in store for this 4+ hour flight with the Little Dude, but hoped for the best.

A lot of people suggested we use Benadryl or some other sedative to help make it through the flight. But the thing I didn’t understand was if we tried one of those and it worked, who would watch BC for the duration of the flight? We decided to just hope for the best. And bring a lot of candy.


We left the house early and arrived at LAX 90 minutes before our flight.  We checked our bags and headed to security.  With a slew of lines, we were quickly pointed in one direction by the lead TSA agent. After not moving for a few minutes, I looked ahead to see what the problem was. It was then that I noticed that we’d been profiled by security. As parents. We’d been directed into some sort of “family line”, which I guess is intended for people who’ve never been to an airport before and don’t understand how metal detectors work.  After we made it through the line, one of our bags was flagged by the x-ray machine and had to be searched.  The Little Dude’s Elmo sippy cup appeared threatening to the TSA agents.  Fortunately the water inside was non-lethal, which isn’t always guaranteed in Los Angeles.  

For several months, the Little Dude has been obsessed with airplanes.  Any time we see one, whether in the sky, on TV, or even in a book he feels compelled to point it out.  So taking him to the airport was like leaving Kirstie Alley unattended at The Cheesecake Factory. He went nuts.  Roughly every 7 seconds we heard exclamations of “Airplane! Airplane!”.  I tried to explain to him that we were actually going on to be on an airplane shortly, but the excitement continued even after we boarded.  Good thing the flight was only supposed to be 4 hours.

Once we found our row it was a thrill to notice that there was a 3-month old sitting right behind us and a 6-month old 2 rows in front of us.  For a change we could be the dirty look givers, not receivers.   

BC had a good time once he was reunited with an old friend: Elmo on the portable DVD player. Like a lot of parents, I don’t think using TV as a babysitter is a great idea.  More like fantastic! We got to watch several episodes of Elmo’s World and afterward I figured we were almost to our destination. I checked my watch and it had only been 2 hours, with 2 more to go.  Where’s that Benadryl… 

We played games, colored, ate and it was only another half an hour. What to do next? I volunteered for every traveler’s favorite activity: walking the kid up and down the aisle.  Either people are much larger than they used to be or those aisles are more narrow, for even the Little Dude had a hard time wedging through some of the herd who opted to clog up the passageway.

We finally arrived in sunny (I mean grey and cloudy) Cleveland. Since BC had been cooped up for quite a while, we wanted him to get some exercise.  Fortunately, the fine folks at Continental Airlines helped us out by taking 40 minutes to spit our bags onto the conveyor belt.  After a shuttle bus ride that would have reminded me of Space Mountain if it had been a little more smooth, we arrived at the car rental station. Again, we had great cooperation from the Budget agent who unsuccessfully tried all kinds of shenanigans to get me to “upgrade” and overpay for an unimpressive Dodge SUV, so BC got another 45 minutes to run around the rental area.  He got so much exercise that if he ran any more, people might have confused him with Forrest Gump.  

All in all, it was quite a day.  BC behaved very well and we all survived the journey. Even better was right after leaving the car rental place, I had the foresight to order my favorite hometown food to be delivered to our destination and the driver arrived about 5 minutes after we did. Check out this pic of the world’s best fried chicken from Rizzi’s in Copley, Ohio. If you’ve never had it, you are missing out.  And probably much thinner than me.  I’m not a big turkey fan, so now I can honestly say that I ate a terrific bird while on this trip.  Let’s just hope the next few days go as smoothly as getting here.  

Happy Thanksgiving! What are you Thankful for this year?


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--JJ aka The Dude of the House