Teaching My Kids What I Don't Know About Toys

They say that everything old is new again and for me that proved true on a recent Saturday afternoon with my boys. While playing with some new toys, the almost-6 year old Little Dude started asking me questions to which I held no answers. For most people my age, they would have probably been no-brainers, but I was baffled in a way that I was not used to.

Opening the big brown box to discover adventures waiting to happen from Jurassic World, Transformers and Marvel I felt a twinge of unease in my stomach. I pride myself on being a pop culture aficionado, but these were items to which I held virtually no knowledge. Sure, I’d played with Transformers when I was a kid – THIRTY YEARS AGO; but I had no clue who the Rescuebots were or what they are about. Same goes for the Jurassic universe, where I had never made the journey until seeing the new film over the past summer. And as for the super heroes, I can admit (though I probably shouldn’t) that I still don’t instinctively always recall whether characters are from the Marvel universe or its alternative, let alone their origin stories.  

What’s weird about this is that these are three ginormous watercooler-type properties and I felt like a dunce in front of my children. I’m sure they didn’t notice, but I had no clue what the alternate blue suit Iron Man could dress up in was about. That did not stop them, however from having a great time exploring the characters and blurring the lines between these three respective universes.

Who cares if Iron Man doesn’t usually ride a T-Rex, or if that same T-Rex was hanging out on a big boat? Certainly not my boys. They played the afternoon away as I stealthily searched for Iron Man factoids on my iPhone. We learned together, which turned out to be a fabulous methodology. 

The one thing that was most familiar to me that day was Playskool, the classic brand behind these Playskool Heroes sets designed to introduce kids to some franchises they may not have been typically exposed to. Intended for kids 3 to 7, sometimes even kids older than 37 can benefit from the creative play they afford.

I remember seeing the first Iron Man movie shortly after its release about 6 years ago. Mrs. Dude was pregnant and I thought the movie was a lot of fun, which is not my typical take on superhero movies but I dug the snark from Mr. Stark. Flash forward a half dozen years and two births and we just never quite made it to see any of the sequels. Tony Stark’s lair was memorable, and this set was a great introduction for my boys into the world of Stark Industries, or at least the cool house you can have if you work hard enough and have a rad goatee.

The Rescuebots set was actually an area where the boys taught me, having been slightly familiar with the brand from playing with their cousin, a big Transformers guru, and I dug the refresher given my slight frame of reference went back to the original

late ‘80s Transformers cartoon. Let’s just say that I thought they were more than meets the eye THEN, so I was quite impressed by what they are now.

And as for good-old T-Rex? Everyone can relate to him, whether familiar with the Jurassic world or not, including even the trainer who joins him in the set and who will inevitably get eaten by Rex roughly a thousand times per play session.

So where does this leave us? Well, now that we all have a base-level feel for these three franchises, a great launch point for my sons and me to learn about them together.

I received compensation & toys from Hasbro, makers of Playskool Heroes, in exchange for this post, but all opinions contained within are mine alone, for better or worse lest I be eaten by a T-Rex.

Want more pics from our Playskool and other adventures? 

Follow me on Instagram: @DudeOfTheHouse

Bonding

It’s early. An hour at which no one should be awake and moving except paperboys and roosters. I’m lying in a small bed with my 3 year old Little Dude and the invisible flu bug he brought home from preschool, which he kindly and unintentionally shared with me.

He's tired, hot and achy but doesn't know how to express what his body is feeling. Facing each other, I notice he’s grasping one of his beloved Hot Wheels tightly in each hand. For strength or comfort, they are with him. As am I. I subtly turn on the white noise machine again, hoping it will coax a few more minutes of sleep out of him for his weary body. And mine, as well. I’ve gotten used to running on empty, but doing so while fighting off illness is a different battle. Another hour of sleep right now would be better than winning the lottery. And I could really use the money.

As the sound of artificial waves crashing upon a distant artificial beach repeats, I pick up my iPhone and sigh as I look at the ridiculously low numbers its clock is displaying.  It's so early that my friends 3 hours ahead on the East Coast haven’t yet begun sharing their pictures of omelets or tales of getting stuck in traffic on Facebook to entertain me.

Resting our stuffy heads on fluffy adjoining pillows, I hope that the source of the flu was at least fun for him while being an evil conduit. Was it the swings on the playground or the school’s lunchroom? Or the grocery store cart’s handle?  We’ll never know.

Though I hope for more rest, as I was just up feeding his newborn brother an hour ago, I know it's unlikely any time in the foreseeable future. As my eyelids bounce heavily, simultaneously trying to sleep and stay awake, I feel something rolling up slowly up my neck like a tarantula in a bad horror movie would. Thankfully it’s only a Hot Wheels monster truck cruising before parking on my congested scalp.

I put down my iPhone, as it needs rest too, and watch my son. He looks at me as we cough together.

This is bonding.

What Are You Up To This Weekend?

“What are you up to this weekend?” she asked with an ambivalent smile as she grabbed some cheese puffs from my cart.  I’m sure she was expecting me to say something like “watching the game” or “mowing the lawn”.  I’m also sure it was a canned question she was instructed to ask everyone who reached her cash register as the work week came to a close.  From the look on her face, I knew that my response was one she’d never heard before.

I was battling the clock as I raced to Trader Joe’s after work to pick up some of the Little Dude’s essential items.  I had to be home at 5:00pm sharp and it was already just past 4:30. It would take me 15 minutes to get home which left me barely 10 minutes to get into the store, find everything on Mrs. Dude’s list, and get back in the car.  It was a steamy 99 degrees outside, which made everyone drag a little more than normal, but I had no time to spare.  

I pulled out my iPhone and searched my notes for the needed items. Even though the list contained only a dozen or so items, I could barely remember my name that day let alone what flavor of yogurt I needed to find. My mind was understandably elsewhere.

I headed up the first aisle, grabbing the strawberry yogurt and some fruit snacks, then made a U-turn into the frozen aisle. Grabbing a few items without stopping the cart, I made another quick turn to find a few of the Little Dude’s favorite items were out of stock. The clock was ticking so I headed to the last aisle to find the last two items on the list were also out of stock. I could feel my palms moisten as the anxiety caused by realizing I was out of time kicked in.  The Little Dude would have to get by without his carrot applesauce for a few days.

I raced home for our last family dinner as we knew it. Everything seemed normal, but there was stress in the air.  And Egg Drop Soup. We tried to keep things as normal as possible for the Little Dude that night. He knew what was going on, at least technically, but the extent to which he was able to process it is a mystery. After dinner, we took the dog for a walk, gave our almost-3-year-old his bath, read him some stories and put him to bed. 

Mrs. Dude and I had a lot to finish and the clock was ticking. Would we have enough time?  As I noticed a mountain of unfolded laundry, I realized that we never quite do. We did our best to get everything in order before finally falling asleep around 1:00 AM.

When the alarm clock buzzed just shy of five hours later, I wanted to hit snooze so badly that I would have given my first born for another 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep. But that couldn’t happen, we had an appointment and had to be on time. I felt nervous but excited as I looked across our spacious bed at Mrs. Dude and said “Let’s go have a baby”.

And so we did.

After a few weeks away, I'm excitedly rejoining the YW crew this week.

Dude of the Week: iPhone 5

This week’s Dude of the Week is the most robotic selection yet. No, it’s not Plex from Yo Gabba Gabba.  The just announced iPhone 5 is Dudely because women want it and men want to be like it. Having caused millions of people to wait eagerly for a year is a pretty hardcore Dude. 

The size difference is, uh, almost noticeable. 

So what if the screen is just half an inch bigger than the previous iPhones. Who cares if Apple has to create ridiculous statements like “iPhone 5 is 20% thinner than iPhone 4S”.  That sounds much more impressive than saying it’s 1.4 millimeters thinner, which pretty much no one without a ruler would probably notice.  It’s also better than saying it’s 0.055118 inches thinner, or roughly the thickness of a stick of Juicy Fruit.  

Analysts have already predicted Apple will sell ten million iPhone 5s in the first 10 days and potentially 50 million by the end of the year.  Perhaps that will lead to greater profits which might someday allow an Apple executive to buy a pair of pants that aren’t jeans.

I’m not bitter because I bought an iPhone 4S when it was released a year ago. I’ll soon have basically the same software. I’ll just see it a little smaller than people with new ones, or one less Angry Bird at a time. Either way, people have been dying for this product, so now they can all finally be happy to buy one.  Until the even-better iPhone 6 comes out . . . 

Do you plan to get an iPhone 5?  Why or Why Not?

If you would like to nominate a Dude that you think would make a good 

Dude of the Week please email me. 

Remember, it doesn't have to be a man or even a person & 

could be a graphic, sign or other Dudely interpretation.   

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 64^th 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.

Back to the Future

As the weeks keep rolling toward the arrival of our second child, I can’t help wonder what the future holds as our family of three grows into four.  I’ve read articles, talked to people whose parenting styles I respect and speculated endlessly but still have no clue how #2 will turn out.  And how his almost-3-year-old brother will handle his arrival.

I don’t sleep as well as I used to and frequently when I wake up in the middle of the night I look to the glowing beacon beside me for comfort. (You might refer to said beacon as my iPhone.) A few weeks ago, on a night that my bladder cursed me for drinking tea before bed, I found myself awake at 3:52am. As I laid in bed, trying to fall asleep, the antidote to my uncertainty suddenly appeared in a form I never expected. An email from LivingSocial. 

The subject nonchalantly said “1-hour Psychic Reading” and when I opened the message to find a price of $13 at a place very close by, I knew it had to be the answer.  So I bought it right then, for I didn’t want to miss out on this rare opportunity that must have come direct from the online coupon gods to assuage me.

Weeks went by and I was still stressed out. What seemed like a great idea when I bought it now made me nervous to actually redeem. The whole thing seemed kind of spooky, actually. But if she was a psychic surely she had greater insight into the workings of the future or my brain or something. When I got an email reminder to use it or lose it, I called to make an appointment. As you might expect, the recording told me to go to the psychic’s website and book my appointment there.  

With precious few slots open, I grabbed one and eagerly waited for all of life’s mysteries to be revealed to me. On the day of the appointment, I left my office at a quarter til 5:00, knowing that it would only take 10 minutes to get there for my spot at the top of the hour.  When I pulled into the strip mall parking lot, I realized that I’d driven by this place a million times. How had I never noticed the psychic nook in the corner? Probably because I was focused on the pizza place in the middle.

I nervously entered the bungalow at the end of the parking lot. I looked at the woman. She looked at me. My heart was racing. Then she asked me a question that put everything into perspective.

“Do you have an appointment?”

Ummm, wasn’t she supposed to be psychic? How could I trust her to tell me about the future when she didn’t even know why I was there?  I reluctantly sat in the chair opposite her.

She looked at me and asked what I wanted to know about. Strike 2.  I assumed this was her wheelhouse, but she had to ask?  While I contemplated asking her to predict the World Series champion, instead I suggested discussing my career.  While staring through me, she gave a few vague comments that pretty much anyone off the street could have. If my career was currently headed toward a Zuckerberg-esque ascent, I probably wouldn’t be there.  She told me that things weren’t great for me now, but would improve if I was patient and assertive.  Was she a psychic or a high school guidance counselor?

She looked to a shelf beside her and pulled out a Ziploc sandwich bag filled with green crystals. On it was a white address-label sticker with the word “career” written on it. She told me to take a hot bath two nights in a row and use half the bag in it each night. She also mentioned that she normally charged people $50 for these crystals, but wouldn’t charge me.  I’m not a psychic or anything, but something about that sounded fishy. And when I say something, I mean everything.

I noticed that approximately every 30 seconds during our session, she would break her stare and gaze downward reflectively. Perhaps that is where her true insight into my chakras came from. Like how Fernando Valenzuela used to look to the sky while pitching, instead of at the hitter or catcher.  

While she spoke, I noticed she was holding something orange in her hand and twirling it within her palm.  I assumed that it must be some sort of magic trinket. My eyes bounced around the room to see if I could figure out what it was. I saw shrines with stones and statues like I’d never seen before. I saw jars of crystals and bottles of elixirs.  Then in the corner I saw a flat-screen TV with an XBOX below it. Perhaps part of her inspiration came from playing Grand Theft Auto.

She asked me what else I wanted to know and I was at a loss. So many things I’d worried about late at night and my mind was suddenly blank. I should have written them down in advance.  It’s not like I’m psychic and expected to forget.

I asked if Mrs. Dude’s pregnancy would be OK and was assured it would. I asked if the Little Dude should go to school this year and she replied “of course!” Though both of those responses really seemed more of a Jewish grandmother-type than psychic, from what I know.

Finally, at 22 past the hour, she thanked me for coming and wished me well. I told her that I thought it was an hour long session and she said it was. She also said that I’d arrived at a quarter-til, which was obviously not accurate as that’s when I left my office.  I assumed that space and time were part of the quantum nature of her art (science?), but she couldn’t even calculate an hour correctly.

As I stood to leave, not too thrilled by the future that had been predicted, I saw the object of her frequent downward gaze. A freakin’ Blackberry. Not only could she not communicate through space and time, she needed 4G to talk to her friends. And that shiny orange object in her hand: a clear plastic lighter like you’ve seen for sale on every gas station counter ever.   

So her secret helpers were not mystical beings or spirits, but rather butane and Verizon.  Not quite as mysterious as I’d hoped for.

As I drove away, I still wondered what the future held for my family. And was now $13 poorer for having tried to find out in advance.

 Have you ever had an experience with a Psychic? What was it like?

What Judd Apatow Taught Me About Parenting

There’s a scene in the 2007 movie Knocked Up where Paul Rudd’s character Pete (a married father of 2) and Seth Rogen’s character Ben (unwed father-to-be from a one-night-stand) are watching Pete’s two daughters playing excitedly at a park as the older one blows bubbles. The girls and some friends are laughing and having a great time.  Ben and Pete have this exchange:  

BEN

They seem to love bubbles.

PETE

They go ape-shit over bubbles.

BEN

They’re really going ape-shit.

PETE

That’s an incredible thing about a child. What’s so great about bubbles?

BEN

They float. You can pop them. I mean, I get it. I get it.

PETE

I wish I liked anything as much as my kids like bubbles.

BEN

That’s sad.

PETE

It’s totally sad. Their smiling faces just point out your inability to enjoy anything.

When Knocked Up was originally released in 2007, I was a few weeks from getting married and 2+ years from becoming a parent. Yet the quoted interaction that I mentioned from the movie has stuck with me for 5 years, even though it wasn’t really relevant to me at the time of my first viewing.

Now that I’m 2 ½ years into this parenting gig, I know that what both Pete and Ben said is very true.  Kids are amazing because they can find joy in just about any situation presented to them. Whether chasing bubbles in the wind, pushing a grocery cart or receiving a balloon while at a store or restaurant, kids manage to find sheer bliss in what most adults generally consider to be mundane activities.

When I go to the grocery store it’s usually to get milk, cereal or whatever else we need for the house. It’s a task, not a party. But for my Little Dude going to Ralphs is an adventure. An opportunity to steer a massive steel robot on wheels through narrow aisles while avoiding bumping into old ladies (usually). 

So when does one’s focus shift? When does that simple bliss become a mindless task? I don’t know that there’s any event that can be easily pinpointed as the culprit, but I do know that it’s easy to get lost in a world of work, hectic schedules and “Draw Something”.  But the key is to figure out what is really important? Is it that Triple Word Score in Words with Friends? Or taking a 2 year old for an ice cream cone? (Believe me, I am guilty of the former more than I’ve eagerly done the latter.)

As hard as the mindset change has been, I have been trying to be more present with my Little Dude.  And I mean present figuratively, literally isn’t a problem. When he’s running up and down the hallway, I am chasing him. Not just checking out baseball scores on my iPhone until he makes a return lap to where I’m standing.   If he’s having a great time then I want to, too.  For he’ll remember that when he’s older, when he has a family of his own, much more than I’ll remember whether the Cleveland Indians won or lost a meaningless game.

So during this Father’s Day season, maybe we should be taking lessons from our little ones when thinking about what really makes us happy and not think about it. Just let it be.
And don’t forget to blow some bubbles. 

Are You Husband Enough?

Given the recent controversy spawned by TIME magazine’s sensationalistic cover story “Are You Mom Enough?” there has been a lot of public discourse on the merits of the cover photo. Perhaps even more than the article itself, which most pundits have claimed to have not read. Since I fit that criteria, I thought I’d chime in with my list of “10 Things Husbands Should Do”, or “Are You Husband Enough?”.  I realize that not all husbands are fathers and not all fathers are husbands, but I am both so here’s my list.  

10 Things Husbands Should Do

1)      Support their Spouses: In traditional contexts, this meant financially. Period. But it today’s society it means so much more. It means staying home with the kids while wives work. It means grocery shopping. It means a lot of things that would make Ward Cleaver roll over in his grave. But this is the year 2012 and as Bob Dylan said, “The Times, They Are A-Changing”.  

2)      Cooking: It may not be Wolfgang Puck quality, but as long as it’s better than Ronald McDonald makes, it’s probably good enough for at least once a week.

3)      Fix Stuff:  I’m Jewish, so I take a flier on this one. But on every TV show, it seems like the thing that husbands do. I’ll take their word for it.

4)      Negotiate Car Deals: We just need to coordinate that our wives wear appropriately low-cut tops while we do so. If car salesmen can play games with no rules, why can’t we?

5)      Hold Their Hands During Childbirth: We may be looking the other direction, and possibly checking game scores frantically texting relatives on our iPhones at the time, but we’ll be there.

6)      Share in childcare fun: Both parents should be able and willing to give their kids baths and change their diapers. For if they don’t, who knows how the reciprocity will work in 50 years?

7)      Kill Bugs: They might be big and nasty looking but it is our sworn responsibility to slaughter the creepy-crawlies that the Mrs. discovers crawling on the ceiling, inevitably just as you are about to go to bed. Otherwise she will be convinced that the almost-invisible-to-the-naked-eye arachnid she just spotted will leap from above to take a giant munch out of her neck like Dracula. (Note:  husbands are sometimes reluctant to do this in hopes that it’s the spider that bit Peter Parker and we may soon acquire Spidey Senses.)  

8)      Remember important dates: If you can’t remember your wife’s birthday, your anniversary or other key dates, you are an idiot.

9)      Be willing to alternate preferred entertainment with spouse’s:  I may sit through an awful romantic comedy every so often, but I will not be afraid to play Words With Friends while doing so.  

10)   Communicate: You may not always be together due to work or other commitments, so even when you can’t be there, be there. I have three different ways to videoconference with my wife on my iPhone. I think it can even make phone calls, too. Plus texting, email, etc. Just saying hello can sometimes make both your days. Especially if you are standing outside a strip club at the time away on business while she’s home with the kids.

The Dude Gives Thanks

With Thanksgiving upon us, I’ve been thinking  about some of the things I’m most thankful for. All of us, no matter how fantastic or awful our lives may be have much to be thankful for.  Even though the backstory of this holiday with the turkeys and Indians and all that jazz is a bit politically incorrect these days, it’s still a great time to be with friends and family. And, more importantly, plan trips to Best Buy at 3am for a $199 HD TV that will probably be both outdated and broken by New Years Eve.

My little family and a new friend.

Here are just a few things I am very thankful for:

·         My son, The Little Dude.  He is the reason I get up in the morning & I don’t just mean because he climbs on me while I sleep.  He has an infectious laugh, fantastic curls and his mother’s patient personality.  And people say he looks like me, which doesn’t hurt his case.

·         My wife, The Dudette.   Her willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty, including while changing all types of doody, really set her apart as a person, wife &  mother.   And her banana bread could bring the Pope to tears.  

·         The rest of my family. All terrific, no matter the situation. Life hasn’t always been a piece of cake for us, and from the look of us you can tell we’ve obviously eaten our share of cakes.  Through good and bad, we have survived. Much like Gloria Gaynor, but actually quite different.

·         Five Guys Hamburgers.  Having lived for 12 years in a city where In’N’Out is hailed as the second coming, it’s nice to have a place that actually makes good food hit the west coast.  And extra thanks to Five Guys for not opening too close to where I live, or else I might weigh 500 pounds.

·         Parks and Recreation. The funniest show on TV always brings a smile to my face, no matter the mood or how late at night I watch it.  Bonus thanks to Nick Offerman’s mustache and Jim O’Heir’s sweaters for pretty accurately reminding me of life growing up in the Midwest even though the show films 2500 miles away from there, coincidentally just a few miles from where I now live. 

·         Los Angeles Traffic.  Though I completely despise you, you make a great excuse for being late that is always accepted unconditionally by other locals. Even if you are stuck on the 405 for 3 hours at 2am on a Wednesday people don’t flinch when you tell them, for they have their own war stories to share of the 101 gone wrong.

·         Southern California Weather.   You can wear a t-shirt and shorts outside in most places in the US during July.  (Except San Francisco.) It’s great living in a place where you can do the same in January.

·         iPhone 4S. Though I was reluctant to get it, kudos to my wife for both pushing me into it and buying it for my birthday and Hannukah gifts.  For the next 3 years.  

·         Diet Mountain Dew. Without you, I would probably fall asleep at 9:30 every night and this blog wouldn’t exist.  Also, my bloodstream would contain a lot less aspartame.  

·         The Penn State Scandal.  While what happened is obviously horrible, it has made the misdeeds by those at my alma mater seem much more palatable in context. 

And last, but not least, I’m thankful for all of you who take time to procrastinate at work and read this blog. Sometimes I wonder if anyone actually reads what I write and then you surprise me with great comments and emails.  I’m very thankful for those of you who have told your friends about me. It’s your support that keeps me going.  Cash helps, too.  Sincerely wishing you  a very Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanks for reading The Dude of the House! Tell your friends... 

--JJ aka The Dude of the House

How many months?

My wife works in the education world which is ironic, as I was never a big fan of school.  As a result, she often has a funky work schedule that does not always jive with our son's schedule.  Some days I spend a couple hours watching him by myself, some days it's 10-12 hours.  Her schedule varies day to day and week to week, which is sort of apropos as every day with a child is definitely different.  He's not old enough to make decisions yet and unlike many of the other sub-2 year old kids I see around LA, he doesn't have his own iPhone yet.

As a result, I usually have to come up with some sort of activity to keep him busy before dinner and the evening fun begins.  There is often an errand that needs to be run, whether it's the grocery store, bank, or a quick stop at the park when I can't think of anything else.  

Everywhere we go, my son (we'll call him BC)  flirts with the ladies and they flirt back.  I must admit, he is a very cute kid and I don't just say that because everyone says he looks like me.  Only my wife's family doesn't agree with that statement, but we'll get to that at another time.  

Anyway, as BC is smiling and playing coy with the woman in line at Ralphs, they invariably ask me how old he is.  He's not quite 2 yet but I've learned it's best to just round his age up (to 2) or down to (1.5), based on the preceding interaction.  Once he passed his first birthday, it seemed that most people were incapable of calculating how many years 13 or 14 months equals.  You might say that people who go where I go are not intelligent, but obviously that can't be true since I go to them myself.  I'm certainly not a math teacher, but it's pretty obvious by the baffled looks on their faces that this is a complicated equation for them to figure out.   Once he hit 19 months, whew that one really threw people for a loop.  You'd think I said he was 842 months old as they pull out their fingers and start calculating.   

So to stop these random people from accidentally hurting themselves with math, I usually just say he's one and a half.  Of course, if they make a rude comment maybe I'll say he's 1.7 years old and just make them wonder.

OK, I need to go feed BC his dinner.  After all, tomorrow is his last full day as a (baby) teenager.  Thursday he'll be 20 months old.

-JJ

When did you stop listing your child's age in months?

Check out my older posts: http://dudeofthehouse.blogspot.com/

PS By the way, 842 months is 70 years, 2 months.