Connect Four, The Most Dangerous Game

Monday night I was playing Connect Four with the kids. With a five-year-old you can play by rules and have an actual game. With a five-year-old and a two-year-old, it quickly devolves into a contest to see who can shove as many red and black checkers into the slots as possible to fill up the board. When the checkers are spilled, it also becomes a bare-knuckled, scratching, screaming fight to see who can drag the most checkers into their laps. (I could have gotten the most if I really wanted to.) There was also a little bit of sticking one of the black checkers in my eye and pretending to be a pirate, which the kids then tried to imitate.

That’s not the most dangerous part, though. The most dangerous part comes in the disassembly. Our version of Connect Four is a little different from the version in the above video. As a kid I had the version in that old commercial and that think would fall apart if you breathed on it too hard. The newer version snaps together so it’s sturdier, and has a ring around the base that not only makes it more stable, but makes sure that checkers don’t go rolling all over the place when you slide open the bottom of the board.

I had it all taken apart except for the last side. It didn’t want to come free, but I had to get it off to store it back in the box. I applied a little more pressure (I didn’t want to break anything so I was trying to be careful) and the support leg came away from the board in a sudden jerk. My thumb was in the way and the dull bit of plastic that was sticking out dug in.

I tell you people, watch out for Connect Four, otherwise, this could happen to you!

Adventures in Parenting: Milk Run

The other night I was getting in bed, it was a little after midnight, the missus was at work a little more than an hour into her overnight, and the kids were asleep. I had checked on Ava a couple hours before when she started crying, and I knew she was fine, but I wouldn't be able to sleep again until I checked on her. I got up and crept into the kids' room. Of course as soon as I set one foot inside the room she sat up and said "Daddy, more ba-ba." Tired and ready to fall over in exhaustion, I trudged down the stairs to warm up a little more milk so she'd go back to sleep.

I poured out the milk, which left not enough milk for the next morning. So I sent Brandi a text letting her know she'd have to pick up milk in the morning and laid down, figuring she wouldn't get the message until I was on my way to work and leaving her no option but to stop at the store on the way home. Not my best move, I know. Of course, just a couple minutes later, she texts me back that I'll have to get it. She won't have time in the morning because she has to take Logan to school when she gets home.

I throw on some jeans and a t-shirt and run out for milk. Brandi's dad's up, so I let him know that I'm running out, and I go to find some milk. It's 12:30 by now, so Walgreen's is out of the question. The one by us is only open till 10:00. I run over to Jewel, but that's apparently only open to 12:00. Gas station? Nope, that's closed too. I'm trying to figure out where I can go to get milk this late at night, and decide on going to the 24-hour Wal-Mart in the next town over when I pass by a 7-11 that's still open.

When I get there, there's one car in front of the store, one person pumping gas, and another car off to the side. There's a woman in the car in front of the store waiting for one of the guys inside. As I walk in, a tall skinny guy is leaving. I get the milk and approach the counter where a guy with really short hair but a rat tail about half way down his back is trying to decide between a Hustler and some other hard-core porn mag, which I didn't happen to catch the title to. After looking over the covers, he decided to go with the latter. After he paid, the cashier rang up my milk and rolled his eyes at the guy leaving with his porn.

I exited the store and saw the first guy and his girlfriend hunched over something in the car, concentrating intently on something. I figured it was one of two options, drugs or scratch cards, and really it probably wasn't scratch cards.

I returned home with the milk and crawled back into bed, now completely awake and unable to fall asleep.

Adventures in Parenting: What the Hell is with all the Screaming?

For those of you following along at home, we have a four-year-old and a one-year-old. Sometimes they are quiet and play nice. Sometimes.

Most of the time, though, that isn't the case. I'm sure any of you that have more than one child know what I'm talking about here. One could be playing with a toy and the other has nothing to do with it, and then sees the other one playing with that toy and now they've got to have it.

For example, Ava's playing with a train that Logan hasn't looked at all day. He sees and needs his train back. Or Logan's playing with one of Ava's toys and she wants it back. Since she doesn't understand yet, she screams and hits. Logan knows he's not supposed to hit, so he can't do anything about it and so he cries and tattles and yells. And of course if they're actually playing together, Logan's usually concerned that Ava's going to break or knock over or somehow wreck whatever they're playing with and so he starts getting vocal as soon as she gets near him.

This afternoon they were playing okay. They were at the train table, and as long as I was sitting right there everything seemed to be fine. Sure, Logan would hover protectively over Thomas and the 12 or so train cars he had trailing behind, afraid that Ava would knock them over, but I was able to keep him calm. I went upstairs to check on something and was upstairs for no more than two minutes and there was screams coming from both sides.

Then there's the fact that they just won't listen. Ava understands a surprising amount for her age, but there's a lot she doesn't understand. Plus, when she wants something, she doesn't give a rat's ass what you're trying to tell her. She just wants you to fork over whatever she wants NOW. Logan is a little stir crazy from being inside most of the winter, and he's testing his limits, seeing how far he can push us.

I really don't know what the point of all this is, other than to rant a little bit. Okay. I feel a little better now.

Adventures in Parenting: What Time is the Right Time, for Star Wars?

The other day, Logan and I were in the basement and after some flipping around of TV channels, Logan said "That's just like Star Wars." I don't know exactly what was "just like Star Wars" about changing channels on the TV. Maybe it was something he saw that flashed by on the screen, who knows.

Then I wondered where Logan had come across Star Wars before. I've never really introduced him to Star Wars. It's not that I've tried to keep him away from Star Wars, but it's not something he's really had much exposure to. I have no problem with him enjoying Star Wars, I was quite the Star Wars nerd back in the day.

So for the past couple days now I've been wondering if it's the right time to introduce Logan to Star Wars. Some of you may have seen this before:



All joking aside, is now the right time to introduce Logan to Star Wars? He's four years old, and primarily, I'm worried about him getting scared and then getting turned off from the movies. I would obviously start with A New Hope. We'll save the prequels for another time, perhaps the next time we have a bonfire.

I don't think there's too much in A New Hope that will scare him. Sure there are a variety of aliens in the bar and there's the monster in the trash compactor in the Death Star, but I can't think of anything that's downright scary.

I think Empire with the wompa, the bounty hunters, Han Solo's torture, etc. will have to wait. Likewise, Jedi, with the rancor, sarlac, and other creatures. But I'm really tempted to sit down with him one of these days and watch A New Hope.

I think I'll play it on the safe side, though, and wait until he's at least five. But I don't know, what do you think?

Adventures in Parenting: I've Created a Monster

That's right, I've created a four-year-old, 42+ pound, snap happy monster. And this really, truly is all my fault. Let me 'splain.

Sometimes to get Logan's attention, or to try to get the point across that X needs to happen now, as in right now, I would snap my fingers. A typical exchange might go thusly:

Me: Logan, it's time for bed. Let's go brush your teeth.
Logan: No.
Me: Let's go now. *snap*

or

Me: Logan, what do you want for lunch?
Logan: ...
Me: *snap* Hey, Logan, what do you want for lunch?

Logan was fascinated with the finger snap, the simple application of pressure of the middle finger upon the thumb causing the middle finger to slam into the palm of the hand. He wanted to learn how do to it. At first he just tried to imitate, rubbing his first two fingers together. Then he asked how to do it, so I would show him how, first showing him with my hand and then putting his fingers in the right position and trying to explain so that a four-year-old would understand where the application of pressure should occur. After a week or two of showing him and him trying to get it on his own, one day we're sitting on the couch and he snapped his fingers.

I congratulated him on learning a new skill. That was a few days ago. Now, the boy is punctuating *snap* everything *snap* he says *snap* with a *snap*. He'll even be in bed snapping his fingers as I try to get him to go to sleep; the two of us in the dark, and his little fingers snapping away.

Needless to say, it's gotten old really quickly, and now I'm working on what so far seems to be the more difficult task of explaining to him that it's not necessary to snap his fingers about everything and that it's rude to snap his fingers in someone else's face. At least we haven't gotten any notes from his preschool teachers yet. And, it's made me seriously pause and consider before snapping my fingers when I'm trying to get his attention.

Stripper-in-Training

No, it's not me. I don't know that anyone would want to see that. It's Logan. It all started with me taking his shirt when he would be changing into his pajamas and whipping it across the room, a funny little something while putting a three-year-old to bed. Then it evolved into him wanting to take the shirt and whip it across the room.

I don't know what resources he's been drawing on, but now his technique has evolved. Now, he'll spin the shirt around before tossing it away. His technique it a little off though. He'll spin the shirt around for two whole minutes if I let him. That just won't do.

This is certainly not the profession I would have chosen for him, but if I he has his little mind set on being a stripper, well it's my fatherly duty to help him be the best damn stripper he can be. Therefore, I've got to try and improve the technique. Now, I've never partaken of the stripperly arts, but I've got to think that if you stand there and swing your shirt around for two whole minutes, you're going to lose people's interest. He's got to just swing the shirt around a handful of times and toss it, not whip it across the room. It probably wouldn't hurt if he had a few pelvic thrusts in there too.

We're starting early, and so I'm confident that with a little training, he can come onto the scene when he is of age as the best damn male stripper in the world.

Adventures in Parenting: Hand-Me-Down Genes

Logan has been sick this last week, and so we've had the monitor on in his room a little more than normal to listen for epic coughing fits. So far there has only been one coughing fit this time around that resulted in a reversal of fortune. I won't go into the details other than to say that Saturday was the first time I'd ever smelled vomit that was unmistakable from Little Cesar's.

The other night, we were sitting in the living room, with the monitor on in the dining room when Logan started talking in his sleep. It was kind of creepy. He'd say something kind of loud and then it would sound like he'd whisper a response. Instantly, my over-active imagination would flash to Electronic Voice Phenomenon and the other trappings of the various ghost shows that we watch. We'd also hear him wake up, ask one of us where the other was, when we're both sitting downstairs and he's in the room above us.

I'm a sleep talker. Usually, when I'm really tired and I'm in that half dazed point between wakefulness and sleep, that's when I'll talk the most. I've had long conversations with Brandi that I don't remember one word of the next day. I've also rolled over or gotten up from a dead sleep, said something to Brandi, and then rolled back like nothing happened. I don't remember exactly what I said, but one time I rolled over and said something accusatory and then went back to oblivion.

When I was five or six, I had a pair of Galvatron pajamas where Galvatron's eyes were glow in the dark. I have no memory of this, but my mom told me that one night I wandered into their room in the middle of the night and stood next to their bed. All she could see was the glowing eyes of the Transformer on my chest. I told her I was the dentist and I was going to drill her teeth out. Another time, I remember waking up in the morning at the top of the stairs. When I was a teen and my parents took us on the Cross-Country-Road-Trip-From-Hell, at one of the motels we stayed at, everyone heard me in my sleep telling Superman that he wouldn't be able to save someone.

I can only imagine what Logan might do. Thankfully, we have gates at the top and bottom of the stairs, and we're always sure to lock the top gate when we go up at the end of the night.

My dad would talk in his sleep too when he was really tired and we'd have fun asking him questions and seeing what kind of weird responses he would come up with. I wonder if Logan and Ava will have the same kind of fun with me.

For Want of a Flu Shot

If you live in Cook County, IL and want to get vaccinated against H1N1, good luck. It seems like it's been nothing but lines and problems and people being turned away when trying to get the vaccine that no one can get enough of. I know they've been having trouble, at least around here, getting enough of the vaccine in to fill demand, to the point where even healthcare professionals have had to wait.

Brandi's been pretty worried, understandably so, about getting the shot. We've got a 3-year-old, as well as a 4-week-old at home, not to mention her father, who has a compromised immune system. We do not need this germ in our home period.

It's been in the news that hundreds of people are turned away at the vaccination clinics, and then we found out you have to make an appointment. There are numbers set up, based on where you live to schedule a vaccination appointment. I've been calling. And calling. And when I'm done calling, I call some more.

Last Friday, when I was able to get onto the automated system, I waited on hold for an hour and 45 mintues, being told every couple of minutes that my call would be answered in the order it was received. Finally, I couldn't wait on hold any longer and I had to go. Then Monday, Tuesday and today I've been calling, getting a busy signal every time. Eventually, I called the County's Department of Public Health. The very friendly woman there gave me another couple of numbers to call after taking my address. I would imagine that there are a lot of hysterical people calling into these numbers, so for the woman who answered to be pleasant and polite was very nice, and not what I was expecting. I proceeded to call the numbers she had given me and got back onto another automated system where I sat on hold. I was loathe to leave the phone while on hold, but nonetheless, there were times when I would have to run to another part of the building and drop something off, or check with someone else for something.

After a little over an hour, finally, I got a ring. I snatched the phone off of speaker phone to make sure I didn't miss the person on the other end. I told her that I wanted to get the shot for Brandi, Logan and myself. She asked how old Brandi is, and when I told her, her immediate response was "She doesn't apply, you can't get the shot." Right now the only people getting the shot are in the high-risk category, which, among other factors, includes parents/caregivers with children less than 6 months old, children 6 months to X (I don't remember what age) and people with immunity issues. "Wait, wait, wait," I told her, "we have a four-week-old and a three-year-old at home, we apply."

So she took my information, and now we're all set. What an ordeal. At least now, come Monday afternoon, we won't have to worry so much about H1N1 invading the home any more.

Adventures in Parenting: Three Unfortunate Firsts

Yesterday I was busy at work, sucks to work the Sunday before Labor day, but so it goes. Right now I'm on high alert for the call that says 'It's time to go to the hospital.' So when I saw my phone number pop up on caller ID, I was ready to move. I never imagined we'd have to go to the hospital for another reason.

I pick up the phone, knowing it's Brandi. In the background Logan is wailing at the top of his lungs and I can barely hear Brandi. After putting my finger to my ear, I'm able to hear that Logan has gotten a dog bite. Does he need to go to the hospital? Yes, he does, and I need to get home. I rush to the back and call my assistant manager to come in and finish my shift. She sounds really disappointed that I've called her in, but I really don't have any other options.

I get in the car and call Brandi back. Apparently, her dad and grandparents had just gotten back from the Farm, and Logan was playing hopscotch on the driveway. Her grandparent's dog was near him, they're bussom buddies after all, and Logan fell on her. She reacted as any hurt/startled dog would and snapped at him. She bit him in the mouth and scratched him on the face under his eye. It's not clear if she scratched him with her teeth or claws. Brandi cleaned up the blood and tried to calm him down as best she could while I flew home. I found out later that Brandi's grandfather was telling Logan to stop crying, as if that would work.

Logan starts crying again when he sees me pull into the driveway, and 30 seconds after I get home, we're on the move to the ER. The bleeding's stopped, but he has a decent cut on the outside of his lip, and we're not sure about the inside of his mouth.

At the ER they get us into the room within a few minutes and after a little while, the doctor comes in to give an initial look. He says it should be two stitches on the outside and none on the inside. Then a couple of nurses come in to put some antibiotic/numbing ointment on and then they tell us that after about a half hour they'll come back to do stitches. Over an hour later a nurse comes in with a doctor.

Logan's fallen asleep by this point, but wakes up when we set him down on the table. He's angry and hurt and tired and scared and all he wants to do is go home. Instead, they pull out this padded board with ginormous Velcro straps to hold him down. Brandi and I have to hold down his arms and he's screaming "Help Daddy" "Help Mommy." We watch in stunned silence as the doctor puts multiple injections of a local anesthetic in both sides of his lip and then starts to do the stitches. The nurse his holding his head down and Logan, a big two-year-old is straining with all his might. I try to whisper in his ear that he's being a good boy and that we'll be able to leave soon to little effect. All his straining and moving makes it all the more difficult for the doctor to do his work and the stitches take a few minutes more than they'd need to. When all's said and done, he got six stitches, three outside his lip and three inside. With all the swelling and the scratches on his face, he looks more like he got into a bar brawl than he got bit by a dog.

After the stitches and the prescription for antibiotics, the nurses try to give him some Sesame Street stickers and a dragon Beanie Baby. He wants neither. He just wants to go home and he's crying and pointing at any door that looks like it might lead outside. The whole ER process only took 3 frickin hours.

All the fussing and struggling and crying wore him out and once he's in bed, he sleeps without a peep until 6 this morning and then I get him to go back to bed for another hour and a half.

Brandi's grandparents came over this morning, sans Cujo, and Logan's in high spirits and excited to see them. We'll give it a couple days before he sees Daisy again. It sucks that he had to go through all that and I'm worried that now he'll be scared of dogs, which he never was before. The internal stitches will dissolve, and we'll have to go to his doctor on Friday to get the others removed. Good thing I already had that day off of work. What a weekend.

Adventures in Parenting Day 901

Last night, it took more than two hours to get terribly two Logan to fall asleep.

He had gotten pretty tired out with two walks to the park and a skipped nap in the afternoon and ended up power napping on the couch while I made dinner. Thus when it was time for bed, he was up and ready to go. But I, foolishly, hoped that he would fall asleep quickly since he didn't sleep that long and he'd been pretty tired. I wanted to try and get him to bed in time to watch LOST (didn't happen, but thankfully Brandi taped it (Yes, I said taped. We don't have a Tivo or DVR or any of that fancy shamncy stuff)).

What did happen was I spent over an hour in his room, first reading to him, then laying next to him in bed, then sitting in the glider while he was in bed, then rocking and singing to him. At his point, I'd had about all I could take and I put him in bed, said goodnight and went downstairs. Begin pissed off crying.

Brandi went up to calm him down and that didn't work, so I went back up and as soon as I entered the room, Logan turned to Brandi and said "bye-bye". I sat in the chair for a few minutes more while he laid quietly in bed and then got up and left. Well he started crying again and pounding on the door and shouting for both of us, first one then the other. At some point he must have hit his little fist on the door too hard because when he hurts himself a little he'll say "okay" in a sad, pathetic voice. Well he hit the door and I heard him say okay a couple times and then he screamed it as loud as he could. It wasn't an "I'm hurt come make it better scream" it was more of a "You bastards locked me in here and now I had to hurt my hand on the door so you better get your ass back in here" kind of scream. It was hard not to laugh then and there.

At about that point we just left him to cry and scream and bang on the door. And eventually, he made his way back to be and fell asleep. My night was shot, cause there were things I wanted to do aside from watch LOST. Then, as I was taking a shower this morning at about 6:15, the door opened and I heard a tentative "Daddie?"

Hopefully he won't be too much of a pill for Brandi today.

Oh, and as a side note, today is my third to last double shift day ever!

Changing Alliances

A recent shift in alliances has created a dynamic change within the household. I have been cast aside like some emptied snack trap bowl. That’s right, Logan is, for the time being at least, no longer daddy clingy. He has gone back to mommy as the preferred parent, Thus are the whims of a two year old.

For the first year of life he was more attached to Brandi, which is to be expected, because for much of his first year she provided much of his nourishment. Then around his first birthday there was a sudden change and he wanted to be around me more. Initially, I couldn’t stand up and take a step without him crying and thinking I’ve abandoned him. It slacked off a lot, but I was still the go to guy if we were both around. In some instances, if we’re out and about, I’m still the go to guy (as of Thanksgiving) but that’s not the case around the house.

The last couple nights I’ve gotten the toddler version of the evil eye, which is a really serious stare, sometimes followed by pouting or crying. I believe the change is associated with discipline, but since Brandi disciplines him just as much, more if you consider the time I’m at work, I don’t understand why he isn’t gravitating to me more.

Last night, with both of us home, we gave Logan the option of who he wanted to put him to bed. He choose mommy. I have been putting him to bed every night I’m not at work (typically two nights a week) for more than a year. In a way it was nice for Brandi to do it, but then I also missed sitting with him in his room, reading stories as we sit in the glider.

Now if Brandi isn’t home, I’ll do in a pinch for him, but as sonn as she comes home, it’s all mommy all the time. I can totally understand now why Brandi would sometimes stick out her lip when she had been home with him all day, yet I got the cheers and giggles when I got home from work.

He has also started to broaden his interests. He has been into cars and trains, particularly Thomas the Tank Engine (and we all know how I feel about that), for a long time, but now he’s started to like Bob the Builder more (I have insights on Bob planned for later this week). He has started to go into the junk drawer, pull out a small phillips head screwdriver I have in there, and pretend to fix the brackets for the swing gate in the kitchen. The other day, my father-in-law was doing some work on his room, hanging a shelf, and Logan got excited about the box of tools on the floor. Maybe I should just happen to leave a couple of my D&D manuals out by his train table and see if he takes an interest...

Anyway, I had a good run as the preferred parent, but the interests of a toddler are fleeting, and I bet it wont be long before I don’t get the reaction of running and screaming when I ask for a hug.

On a side note, I did grow a mustache/goatee, which I did last winter too, but I’ve had that going since Halloween, so I don’t think that would be the cause of the change, but I could be wrong.

Adventures in Parenting, Day 740

We have a corner hutch in the dining room that has had 18 small panes of glass in it. No one knows how, because no one heard it or saw it, but Logan must have hit one of the panes with a toy and broken it. Brandi had gone out to her mom's with Logan and my father-in-law was out of the house. When he came home, Brandi's grandma saw the broken glass, and not knowing that Brandi had gone out to her mom's for lunch, they assumed she was at the emergency room. They tried to call her, and Brandi didn't answer her phone. She was at the park at the time.

Eventually, this Three's Company-esque situation was cleared up. Logan only had a small cut on his right pinky finger. After I got home, I got to clean up the glass, and then after he was put to bed, I got to pull the rest of the glass out of the frame.

I got angry with Logan, not because he did it, but because he could have seriously hurt himself. Of course he doesn't recognize this fact. Ugh, just another fun experience in the Adventures in Parenting.