One of the things that really annoyed my wife on our wedding day was, err, me. Moreover, my interaction with our photographer. She was a nice enough lady but she asked me to do some pose that, in addition to being difficult for me to actually pull off and look comfortable, was unnatural looking. Now, I’d had a few adult beverages but I think I said something like I’m not doing that because it looks gay (and I meant gay in the young urban slang way as a synonym for stupid as well as the stereotypical way of effeminate).

This morning was cat herding err family picture day. I hate picture day. Really. I mean, I hate it a lot. If there’s a Hell, it will be me at Portrait Innovations having fake candid shots taken of me and Stone Phillips (I’m sure he’s a fine man but there’s just something about him that gives me the willies). Where was I? Oh, yeah. Hating picture day. I hate it because these pictures are unnatural looking. There’s fake smiling, fake posing, fake background, fake interest, fake everything. The only thing authentic is the kids’ expressions because they’ve not learned to fake smile yet. So, the photographer uses stuffed animals, whistles, toys, tricks and a clown to get them to smile. And kids don’t sit still for pictures. Once you get the kids situated, you have a window of opportunity to take the shot that is measured in nanoseconds. And the photographer misses that window roughly four out of five times, so you have to do it again.

So, we had that. Then, the other thing I really hate is fake poses. Today, the photographer dude asked me to sit on the ground with one leg outstretched and one knee raised. I said No. I do not sit like that because I am a man. So, we did a different pose that was fine. Then, I was asked to lay with my belly on the ground and both feet up in the air. Again: No, I will not lay like that because I am a man. And it’s hard to do with a Kel-Tec poking you in the hip bone. The wife was a bit annoyed. Now, this is not some masculine, macho thing where I don’t want to be captured on film looking gay. My thinking is that photographs should capture a natural state and not some contrived, fake scene. That’s what the news is for. And, well, people just don’t sit that way.

No blog for you. Come back later. Maybe. Taking the rugrats here.

Seems that’s the buzz here lately, so we’ll do more. Via NIT, comes this:

So I have no fear of indoctrination. I’m afraid of people who allow themselves to be indoctrinated. Grape Flavor-Aid, anyone?

Indeed. However, I think the best thing for students and your kids is for them to be made aware that disagreement (polite, of course) with their academics is acceptable, if presented well. I personally had two political confrontations with teachers. Once, I wrote a paper. I took the opposing view than the one taught in class. I was given a D. I’d never before (or since) received a D on anything. I thought it was a decent paper. I took it to the department head, who concurred. I received an A. Then a story that I’ve written about before wherein I told my professor that I would use real words and not made up hippie words like ne and give peace a chance. In a post on Speaking Ill of the Dead:

This professor was an ideologue. For example, he had the class watch a movie on abortion that was blatantly biased toward the pro-choice side. People left in the middle of it (it was particularly offensive to any pro-lifers who may have been there) and reported him to the department head.

He also told us that when we turned in a paper, we couldn’t use the words he or she. We had to use the non-sexist word ne. I forgot the rule for his and her. Obviously, ne wasn’t an English teacher. I had written a paper and turned it in and I, while referring to a specific person who was matter-of-factly female, used the word she and her quite often. Ne tried to ding me some points for doing so but I sought out the department head and created a stink about how teachers shouldn’t allow their preferences to affect proper English.

Now, ne wasn’t an asshole. He add (sic*) various little socio-political idiosyncrasies that were annoying. Ne was ideologically obtuse. Ne allowed his ideology to consume his professional life and ne wanted to exert his influence on his students and mandate they be exposed to his worldview and that they comply.

To his benefit, ne encouraged me to think by pissing me off.

Coincidentally, the department head agreed with me again. And, you see, there’s the rub. I had no issue with these guys making me think or challenging me. I took issue with the notion that I was being punished for not going along. That’s where it is dangerous. Address ideas, make your case, but be fair. That goes for the students too.

I am happy to report I was never asked to undergo counseling.

* See AC, I even sic myself.

Outside just now.

A while back, I noted:

In the middle of the night when you’re not quite conscious and attempting to soothe a fussy baby with a bottle, a bottle of Similac looks an awful lot like a bottle of International Delight Chocolate Caramel Coffee Creamer.

Well, the other day the Mrs. noticed a distinct similarity between these two product labels:

Poor Junior. Yuck.

If you were at The Dairy Queen in Maryville last night and heard a three-year-old yell I’m wearing panties today, that would have been us. However, the lady decked out in her Harley Davidson gear who said I am too was not us.

I had just gotten my drivers license. Dad, now a beat cop for a couple years just before becoming a federale, says of drinking and driving (paraphrased, it has been 19 years):

There’s nothing like coming up to a car wreck and seeing some barely moving piece of hamburger meat begging please, help me, please and knowing there is nothing you can do. Not a thing. You feel helpless and they die. It gets worse when you realize it’s some guy’s boy and you gotta go tell him. Don’t ever put a cop through that, son. Ever.

What reminded my of that is this post by The Ambulance Driver.

Drug testing in schools:

And with the full weight of the federal government pushing mandatory random suspicion-less drug testing in schools as being nothing more intrusive than a health inoculation, it’s almost surprising that anyone is willing to step up and discuss the real facts about student drug testing.

So it’s heartening that, despite the losses, there are school districts all over the country who are standing up to the drug czar, that are listening to SSDP and DPA and NORML representatives at drug testing summits, and that there are newspapers willing to editorialize (even if not perfectly) against a massive testing regime.

Good. This kinda got me to thinking about my kids. They’re gonna have it rough, I think, growing up in a world where, increasingly, schools are becoming authoritarian and they’ll have a father not afraid to tell a school administration when it crosses the line. No, you’re not drug-testing them. No, they’re not wearing a uniform. No, you will not arbitrarily search their personal belongings without good reason. Etc. I wonder at what age I should have the little l libertarian conversation with them. And explain to them that, no, daddy isn’t just a contrary prick. He just doesn’t like to see public officials cross the line and has no problem telling them when to knock it off. I wouldn’t be trying to convert them as much as letting them know where I came from.

Conversely, I wouldn’t want my kids to take my views so much to heart that they generally become oppositional to authority just for the sake of being oppositional.

In an update to this and this, it costs about $60 to have a cell phone removed from the toilet.

For some reason, my toilet is now broken. It worked for a good couple of flushes but no more. Seems the plumber has to come and remove the whole toilet to dig out one Verizon LG phone.

Hmmm, I wonder if you can flush a cell phone down the toilet.

WOOOOSHHH!!

Why, yes, you can.

Well, at least there are no plumbing problems. Who knew?

Today, The Second turned one year old. It’s amazing watching those little buckets of crying, who do nothing but turn perfectly good food into poop, become toddlers. In one year, they learn to crawl, stand, walk, communicate, feed themselves (though we’re not real good at that one yet), and a host of other things. Good times and it still amazes me.

Wow, where did that year ago?

I see you:

In other news, we know how doors work.

Speaking of kid’s activities, we’re going to get Junior started on swimming lessons. It occurred to me that I have no idea how to teach someone to swim.

The Second, who took his first steps a bit back, is getting around quite a bit now. He’s not quite running amok but getting around wherever he needs to get.

Last night, Junior started gymnastics. She had a big time. She did flips, jumped on trampolines and did some stretching. We’d tried this about a year ago but she couldn’t quite pay attention long enough to participate (she gets that from me). Now, she’s good about staying focused and only wanders off occasionally.

Here, the uncle family is doing that:

See, when we get on our road, we let junior move to the front seat while I drive 10MPH for about 100 yards. I think that’s child abuse. She thinks it’s fun. The Second is oblivious.

These past couple of weeks have been big for The Second. I mentioned he’s taken a few steps and had his first haircut. He is also, as of now, off of formula and drinking whole milk. Now, The Second is a big boy. And he eats a lot. He’d go through about 1.5 cans of Similac Isomil Advance in a week. And, with tax, they run about $25 each. In a month, it’s about the same amount I make off of Google Ads.

Up next: purging my house of bottles.

The Second is now mulletless. This weekend, he had his first haircut. I told the wife that I didn’t mind if he had long hair but no son of mine would have a mullet. And, unfortunately for little boys, that’s just kinda how their hair grows.

Also, we took our first steps this weekend. He took two full steps (though there are differing accounts with one reporter on the scene stating it was three).

For the fact that Junior said nappy headed hos last night. Remind me to turn off the TeeVee. Conversely, now that I’ve seen it written a lot, I think the consensus is that it is spelled hos and not hoes.

Jonathan asks:

What is the must-have baby gear? What should I not bother with? Any advice?

We’ve seriously considered getting a second dishwasher. But we don’t know where she’d sleep*.

Start buying diapers now. Seriously, pick up one box whenever you’re at the store.

* Kidding, the dishes are my job.

Update: Not relevant now, but don’t bother with child proof locks on your cabinets. By the time you need them, they can figure them out. And they’re a pain.

I was putting up the Easter decorations. I looked at Junior and asked her: Would you hand me that bag?

Without hesitation, she proceeds to take every thing in the bag out of it and hands me the empty bag.

The Second now has forward-facing car seats!

Homemade bubble recipes.

Well, The Second just had his first, err, well . . . let’s just say his lipstick was out.

As told to me by Junior:

Junior: Knock, knock

Me: Who’s there?

Junior: Orange

Me: Orange who?

Junior: [runs away laughing hysterically]

It made my day.

I know they got it rough due to bureaucracy and red tape from our alleged health care system but at least kiss me first. In the past, I’d go to the doc and he’d see me. On the way out, they’d ask for their money. Now, the want it in advance. The Second is having a very minor procedure (ear tubes) and the Dr.’s office called today to say they’ll need payment ($500, btw, that’s with insurance). But they haven’t even scheduled the procedure yet.

I was the luckiest man on Earth. Me and the Mrs. exchanged vows. It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long but it really has. We have a good life with two wonderful kids, a beautiful home and a slightly annoying Politically Incorrect Dog. I wouldn’t trade it for any thing.

I love you, honey.

And no jokes about five years being the wood anniversary.

We have some cute photos of Junior in the bathtub. And she’s just adorable. These photos decorate our downstairs bathroom wall. Last night, I had The Second in the tub and was trying to get some cute photos of him to match. Trouble is that boys have dangling junk and it’s hard to take a photo where it’s not visible when they stand in the tub.

And baby boys crawling nude: not cute.

Sick Kids + Mrs. at Conference = Light Blogging

Each kid has it coming out of a different end. Not fun.

Self,

In the middle of the night when you’re not quite conscious and attempting to soothe a fussy baby with a bottle, a bottle of Similac looks an awful lot like a bottle of International Delight Chocolate Caramel Coffee Creamer.