No, the other kind. Company coming, so I did some cooking. Politically Incorrect Dog is always up for camera time:

My yard looks like shit. The crab grass is still winning.

But some perfect ribs:

I hear some folks like the baby backs. Not me. I like my ribs to have enough meat that you bite into them and taste, you know, meat. So, I use plain old pork ribs. Actually, I personally prefer beef ribs but I am apparently the only one on the planet that does so I make concessions for guests.

Yeah, they’re good too. I’ll take the Pepsi challenge with any of ya.

Update: Junior concurs:

Each of these pictures was taking roughly one month after birth, wearing the same robe. So, which one’s junior and which one’s the second?

My kids look a lot like each other. And they both look like me. Poor things.

Read the rest of this entry »

Out of town on travel and at a hotel. This means tonight will be the first full night’s sleep I’ve had in over 6 weeks.

Zzzzzz.

WKM in comments:

How sad society has become that the well mannered kids are the ones that stand out now.

Ayup.

Took The Second Child to the doctor this week. He’s healthy, which is great. He’s also in the 75th percentile on height (compared to junior who is 25% – together, they’re average). He’ll be tall and she’ll be small. Also, his head was in the 100th percentile, meaning his head is bigger than just about all other kids’ heads. That explains the longer labor this time.

Other people’s children, that is.

Me and the Mrs. took Junior to Splash Country yesterday. For you non-local folks, it’s a water park operated by Dollywood. We had a good time. Now, not all kids can be perfect like mine so let’s talk about your kids and how I hate them. Well, OK, not you specifically but you in the general sense. And not your kids that I hate, really, but your parenting or lack thereof. And not hate so much as generally annoyed by them.

First thing I noticed about your kids is they can’t read. We were at the water park and they have this special section for small kids (think toddlers) that is about 1.5 feet deep max. There are also a various water guns set up to squirt other folks and little fountains that shoot out of the water. This is not the place you should take a kid who is starting to grow whiskers. He should be wearing his big-boy pants and riding the big boy rides. There are signs with the height requirements and some of the features say anyone above a certain height must be accompanied by a kid. But pimply faced, hairy kids with cracking voices were every where. As my dad would say You’re big enough to whip a bear with a flyswatter. You don’t need to be in the kiddie pool.

Second thing I noticed about your kids is that, well, they’re fat. Not sure why it is but there were a lot of morbidly obese kids at the water park. I don’t mean obese as in baby fat and kinda cute. I mean I saw an eight year old with stretchmarks. I saw two sisters who were maybe nine years old and both were rather rotund. Seriously, I think if about four specific kids had simultaneously gotten out of pool area, the shift in water volume would have created a small scale tidal wave.

The third thing I noticed about your kids is that they’re inconsiderate shits. There’s a water slide at the kiddie pool and Junior and I would ascend the ladder, wait our turn, and go down the slide together (remember, I had to be accompanied by her). Now, quite a few of the other kids (who were all unsupervised) would just run to the front, cut in, and hop on the slide. The lifeguard lady tried to stop this at the start but eventually just gave up. Learned helplessness I suppose. On our last trip up, there was another father there with his little girl. He mentioned to me that one particular inconsiderate shit had gone down the slide three times while he waited. He pointed her out. Then, she came for the fourth cut in. This particular father had a jarhead haircut and a USMC tattoo and he’d had enough. He gently grabbed the kid’s arm and told her she needed to wait her turn like everyone else. She did and other parents applauded. Now, Junior was starting to catch on to the line-cutting thing and kept trying to run up to the slide. I’d pull her back and say Let’s wait our turn, honey. I’m trying to teach her a lesson and it is don’t be an asshole.

The fourth thing is your kids are kinda dumb. There were rocks and things on the edges that were slick and they kept climbing up there. The lifeguard would shoo them away. And they’d do it again. One kid fell. Also, there are various water cannons stationed at various spots. You can grab one and shoot away at other folks. This is fine if you want to shoot me, after all I came to get a bit wet. However, shooting at a mother carrying a baby that is just a few months old or shooting at a toddler who can barely walk is just fucking stupid.

So, generally speaking, I don’t like your kids much.

We got this 7 pack of onesies from some one as a gift for the new kid. They’re labeled for each day of the week (we have one for Monday, Tuesday, etc.). These are useless in terms of getting a week’s wear out of them because babies go through about 4 outfits per day. My big money idea is to sell a 12 pack that starts with 1:00. 2:00, etc.

Junior has gone up until recently without ever having her bottom spanked. Well, that changed when she threw one of my big size 10 1/2 shoes and almost hit the new baby. This was after my verbal warnings to her to stop doing that near the baby. I picked her up and gave her a little pop on her butt. She laughed. I popped her butt just a bit harder. She laughed again. Third time, I connected and go her attention. Now, whenever I tell her no and get out of my seat, she puts her little hands over her butt and runs. She does this whether I plan on spanking her or not.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled light blogging.

Rich has a must read with the Tale of Two Daughters. Good for Rich on being a helluva guy. Of course, I already knew he was.

Today, Junior learned two valuable lessons. Lesson 1: Don’t stick your fingers in the automatic bubble making machine. Lesson 2: Don’t eat sand.

The not so valuable lesson she learned is that, when it rains, the dog poops closer to the back porch.

While pregnant, the Mrs. wasn’t drinking (of course). But she did have a hankering for the refreshing taste of an ice cold beer on occassion. So, she’d been sipping on O’Doul’s non-alcoholic brew. Well, she’d been giving a sip or two to Junior now and then since it wasn’t alcoholic and Junior asked for it and seemed to like it. Well, being no longer pregnant, I bought her some real beer. Junior walked up and made a motion for it and, out of reflex, the Mrs. hands her the bottle and Junior takes two big gulps. That’s when the Mrs. says aloud Oh crap realizing she just gave Junior a real beer. Oops.

Junior’s taking to her little brother quite well. Mommy and daddy’s little helper:

Seen at Terry Frank’s:

When Artie was four, five years old I’d try to get him to play with dolls. He’d play with them, sure, just not the way I meant. He’d take the biggest one, make it into a gun, and blast away at the others!”

Well, here’s hoping.

The Second Child is considerably larger than Junior was. He’s pretty big. Whats’ more is he’s rather large and was 11 days early. He has all his fingers and toes and is in good health. Mom’s doing OK as well. He’s a very content baby.

Now, I knew that certain things would be filled with fluid when he was born but I didn’t realize exactly how large his, err, package would be (I’m sure his boys account for more than the three ounces). Good thing the swelling will go down because it’d be difficult to go through life with your dudes knocking your knees.

Any way, we’re doing well. Thanks for the comments and emails. I’m heading back to the hospital. More later (like tomorrow later).

The Mrs. will be induced tomorrow morning and our son should arrive later later in the day. So, blogging will be, err, light.

Kinda funny the difference from the first kid to the next. With the first one, you run out and spend tons of money on books, gizmos, strollers, bottles, and doodads; then you dedicate yourself to learning about babies; then you childproof the house; then you build a nursery; then you get some affairs in order; then you stock up on diapers; then the wife has baby showers; then all your friends are gaga and congratulatory; etc., etc. With the second one, you just put a post-it note on the fridge that says baby thursday.

In a post called bullying, I noted that kids today aren’t treated like kids were treated in my day. Here are couple more examples of how folks treat kids today and why it’s, well, stupid. Firsts up is this AP story:

A high school student was suspended for five days after singing a spoof of “On Top of Ol’ Smokey” that includes lyrics about shooting a teacher.

Beth Ann Cox, 16, a junior at Peachtree Ridge High School, said she had been humming the song during German class but denied singing loudly or directing the lyrics at her teacher, Phil Carroll.

OMG! Cue hysteria. Gangsta rap? Death Metal? Nope:

The song includes the lyrics: “On top of Ol’ Smokey, all covered with blood, I shot my poor teacher with a .44 slug.”

When I was a pup, I recall singing that very song with other kids. We were told to knock it off if we were being disruptive but no one ever got suspended for it. Oh, and when we sang it, we were 6 not 16. I’m trying to figure out why the press felt the need to tell us that she had been humming the song during German class but denied singing loudly or directing the lyrics at her teacher. That seems unimportant. What’s important is that for singing a stupid kid’s song that has been around forever Administrators pulled Cox out of class later Friday and asked why she had threatened her teacher. She was suspended Monday. Have we lost our minds? And here’s a better one:

Climbing, swinging and sliding was once a rite of passage during recess, a time for adventure, to see how high, how far and how fast we could go as a kid.

Today, kids find themselves grounded, victims of a culture of fear and injury litigation.

A growing number of school districts are going so far as to ban the game of tag and are even posting signs that read “no running on the playground.”

Is there real danger on the modern playground?

Safety advocates say yes and want to eliminate it.

Their first target: swing sets.

They’ve convinced Portland Public Schools to remove all swings from elementary schools playgrounds.

That’s right, boys and girls, the world can be a dangerous place. So, it is better to shield kids from any possible danger to themselves. So, at recess, do the kids just stand around? I fear for the future. I fear we’re raising a nation of pansies.

Bullies serve a purpose. Sure, they’re a pain in the ass but they teach valuable life lessons. One of those is that some folks will use their size or physical prowess to intimidate others to bend to their will. It’s good that kids learn that there are folks like that in the world. It can also be a bad experience for kids, of course, but it’s something we all have to go through. Take comfort in the fact that someday you’ll be at your high school reunion and you’ll realize the high school bully is still driving the same car, living at home, and working at the same job he had in high school. Or you’ll be like me and start making fun of the bully to other people at the reunion and they’ll tell you he died in a tragic car accident a few years ago. Awkward.

When I was about seven, there was this other second grader named Neddie (no, it’s not the guy from high school I was talking about). He was kind of a prick and he was the class bully. I guess he was angry his parents named him Neddie because I would have been.

For the longest time, I never had a problem with Neddie but that ended and I became the target Neddie’s dorky-name-induced aggression. One day after school (I walked home), for no good reason I could fathom, he started calling me names. I didn’t really react to it then he hit me in the stomach and I went home crying. It was tough being a seven year old and having been beaten up. And tough to go home to your drill sergeant dad and tell him you’d gotten punked but that’s only because in 1978, we didn’t really use the word punked. When I got home, my dad asked me what was wrong. I told him about Neddie and me getting picked on, that I had been hit and that I wasn’t going back to school, which is a perfectly reasonable solution when you’re 7 years old. He asked me what I did and I said that I just sort of took it as I was unsure what to do. That’s when dad got on the phone and called the school principal to yell at him; and the called the school administrators and told them it was all their fault that I was getting picked on. He demanded something be done and the school established guidelines to eliminate bullying. And the teachers were given anti-bullying courses. It worked and we all smoked dope and sang Kumbaya my Lord the next day. They even passed a law banning bullying.

Nah, I’m fuckin’ with ya. Dad took my little hand in his big hand and said This is how you make a fist. No, don’t put your thumb in your hand or you’ll break your thumb when you hit someone. I looked up and made a swinging motion like I was going to hit someone. He corrected my form and told me when I hit someone, to aim at some place that hurts such as the face, nose, stomach, or head. He also told me that once you’re swinging, you’re committed to that fight so don’t swing unless you mean it or someone will call your bluff. He also said that once you hit someone to keep hitting them until they give up. He then held out his hands to let me practice punching on his palms. He said that if Neddie came up and threatened me that I should just haul off and knock the living shit out of the little bastard and not to stop hitting him until he gave up or ran off. Then my mom (oh how I love her) chimed in with: And if you get your ass whipped again, expect to get another ass-whippin’ when you get home.

The next day, I did just as dad said. Neddie started shit and I punched him square in his stomach. Apparently, Neddie wasn’t used to kids fighting back. When I punched him in his gut, he fell down and I jumped on him and kept hitting him. Then Neddie started to cry and I got up. He ran off crying. I expected more of a fight. Neddie never bothered me again and I learned that you should stand up for yourself.

I told dad about it. He laughed and told me I did right. And no one called any school administrator. In that time, judging from the stories my parents and their friends talk about, every kid got that exact same lesson. Kids were told to stand up to bullies and to fight back. We were also told not to start fights but to damn-sure stick up for ourselves. In today’s world, I don’t know of any parents that would offer that advice to kids. But in today’s world, you see kids on bikes who look like they’re wearing armor. When I was a kid only the goofy kid up the street who was kinda slow had to wear a helmet. Of course, kids don’t walk home from school these days either.

With the second child due roughly next week, we need more vehicle. The Mrs. needs a SUV with third row seating. We were looking at the Lincoln Aviator because we like our friend’s Navigator but don’t like fact it is gigantic. But, the Aviator gets some crappy reviews from Consumer Reports (of course, the Navigator does too). Plus, I’m not real keen on spending $40K on a ride.

We want third row seating, leather interior, roomy and smooth ride. Optional features we want include V8 and 4WD. Anyone have a recommendation?

Update: Thanks for all the comments. But we’re simply not gettting a minivan nor a station wagon. I suggested a van but the Mrs. absolutely refuses and station wagons aren’t practical.

My brain is turning to mush. It’s true. If you don’t have exposure to an activity that requires attention, you sort of lose focus. At home with Junior, I spend my day watching Noggin’ and having great philosophical discussions that consist of:

So, during the day the only thing remotely mentally stimulating is surfing Al Gore’s Internets. Because of this lack of mental stimulation, I’ve even gone on some job interviews for jobs I’m not really interested in just to interact with the occasional adult other than my wife. I think this mental mushiness from lack of adult interaction is common. After all how many times do you hear of some business sort who retires only to go insane or die shortly thereafter? I think the reason is they lack a challenge.

Also, recruiters and headhunters are almost completely useless human beings. Of the several interviews I’ve been on, only one was arranged by a headhunter. And these recruiting firms make shit up. They post jobs they don’t have in an effort to get you to send them your résumé. I’ve even confirmed this with a headhunter friend of mine. I have basically written off one local firm because they have nothing but made up jobs. Seriously. I contact a local firm and tell them I saw a particular ad they had in the paper and express my interest. Should be no problem setting me up since they have my info. But they don’t have a job. I ask about the ad and they tell me it’s already been filled. Really? You filled it in 20 fucking minutes? I should have figured that out since they probably wouldn’t run ads if they already have candidates who were qualified.

Also, a special note to headhunters: When I send you my résumé, that’s what you should work with (and maybe a list of references). Do not call me into your office when you have my résumé and ask me to waste a couple of hours (counting driving time) filling out your proprietary paperwork that is a complete duplicate of information that is already contained on my résumé. Don’t ask me to take some proficiency exam either, particularly when said proficiency exam is targeted towards, say, a clerk and I’m there on the premise that you have a director level, upper management job. Then, don’t act all surprised and patronizing when I score in the 99th percentile on said exam. Of course, a CPA is going to score high on an exam that targets clerks. And why are you asking me to fill out tax info when you don’t have a job for me.

I’ve even had a couple that have called me in on the pretense that they have a job I may be interested in and they want to discuss it with me. So, I arrange babysitting, put on a monkey suit, drive the 40 minutes to their office, fill out their paperwork, take some stupid test, then finally meet the recruiter, who promptly implies (without actually coming out and saying) that they don’t have anything for me now but I’m on file while making vague references to jobs I know they don’t have orders for.

I don’t have dollar amount but I’m certain me and the Mrs. have spent well into the thousands of dollars on toys for Junior. But Saturday night, she and I were piddling in the garage (making a stand alone target stand, if you must know) when we started playing a game. We’d take two small pieces of PVC pipe and set them at the top of the driveway and release them. They’d roll down the driveway. We were racing PVC pipe. When then go to the bottom of the driveway to retrieve the pipe and do it again. We did this for about two hours. $1.50 worth of PVC pipe was more entertaining than all of our toys.

Almost time for the big girl pants. On Saturday, Junior did number 1 in her potty. On Sunday, she did number 2 in her potty. Woohoo.

The day is shaping up to be pretty nice. Me, Junior, and her Radio Flyer Wagon are heading to the zoo. Later, you crazy kids.

Junior has recently discovered that she can come and go as she pleases. We have two dog doors, one from the kitchen to the screened in porch and one from said porch to our yard. Sitting in the den, I heard the distinctive flap and, sure enough, she was outside. No big deal since the yard is fenced in but we’ve had to start shutting the door. This has politically incorrect dog a bit distraught now that he can’t come and go as he pleases.

Friday, I was home alone with Junior. Went out to give the dog food and water. As I was gathering the bowls I hear click. Junior had locked me out of the house. I pleaded with her to unlock the door. She just laughed, sat in the floor and took her pants off (yes, she’s still doing that). Fortunately, we have a keypad on the garage that opens the garage door so all I had to do was walk around the house to get in. In the event I hadn’t had said keypad, not sure what I would have done. Call the police? A locksmith? Tell them my 20 month old locked me out of the house?

Still, I found the whole situation hysterically funny. And she did it to me again on Saturday.

She’d been playing with the locks on bedroom doors. Never a big deal because we have those pointy push pins that open up our interior door locks. However, it never occurred to me she’d lock me out of the house. So, for all you parents out there, don’t walk out of the house unless you’re guaranteed access back in. That could have been bad.

Junior likes to play on the book shelf. For some reason, she always grabs this book. I’m in trouble.

Dr. Helen looks at the impact of daycare on kids’ behavior and cognition. Interesting to me since we’re pondering Junior’s potential enrollment. Well, assuming I land a job some time soon.

I mean it.

I love the spicy food. I also happen to have a pretty high tolerance for it. I’ve apparently passed that on to Junior. Last night, we went to a local Ameri-Mexican place (this stuff isn’t real Mexican food) and she started dipping her chips in the salsa, which I would classify as mildly spicy but for a 19 month old was probably more spicy. She eventually bypassed the chips altogether and started eating the salsa with a spoon, pausing occasionally to take a drink of her water which implied she realized it was spicy. Glad she got that bit of DNA from me because the Mrs.’ family are kind of wimps when it comes to anything remotely spicy.

Junior has this habit now of taking off her clothes. I hope she outgrows it soon or at least before she’s a teenager. She sleeps in jammies that have a zipper and got into the habit of unzipping them before bedtime. The solution to this was a safety pin inserted into the hole of the zipper’s pull tab and attaching it to the fabric of her jammies.

The night before last, I was putting on her jammies when she started flailing about. I was stabbed in the index finger by the safety pin. It hurt and I said quite loudly:

Ow, shit!

Now, I (like most parents) avoid cussing in front of my child. But in this case, I couldn’t help it. See, the safety pin went through one side of my index finger and came out the other. It really, really hurt. And it looked bad. Junior, almost without hesitation, smiled and said quite loudly:

Shit

Actually, she struggles with her Sh sound at this age so it sounded more like Sthit. I thought What have I done? She only said it once and the Mrs. and I didn’t acknowledge that I said it and that she repeated it. So, she didn’t really get too excited about her new word and has not said it since. Good.

It’s 3:00 and Junior’s still in jammies!

Does your kid have a blog? If so, read this. If they do, you may want to make sure they’re not giving out too much information.