The Chronicles of Skip-Bo, Volume I

Standing in the kitchen drying sippy cups while we wait for a Biblical, rise-from-the dead revival miracle out of our busted dishwasher and I hear some of the best and worst words from a small voice from another room.

"Daddy, wanna play Skip-Bo with us?"

"Well, I have some things I need to do..."

"...I already have it set up."

From the makers of Waterboarding? Too much?

Skip-Bo is a tedious, torturous slogfest of a card game where you try to rid yourself of your pile of cards by playing them in sequential order in the middle along with your opponents. Games typically take 30-45 minutes unless you have my kids and a restless mind. Then they take 16 hours while your mind volleys back and forth between yardwork, paperwork, bills, broken down appliances, projects and other things you need to get done. When will that stuff get done? Who will

"Da-DDDDDYYYYY??!!"

"I'm coming...just, give me..."

"Do you want to play with 30, 20, or..."

"FIFTEEN. Twelve if we can, or ten...I thought you had it set up already?"

Games are more palatable when the piles are 15 cards. More palatable like Kraft Mac & Cheese versus Velveeta. It's still better than folding kids' laundry.

"OK, let's go."

Anal retentive card players get tested when they play with kids. The game has already been set up, and while I totally believe my daughter has not "set the deck" in her favor, I wonder if her small hands and erratic shuffling were enough to sufficiently randomize the cards. In a game where sequences are made, an unshuffled deck could result in too many natural sequences which increases the luck factor and decreases the skill factor. However, if it will make the game go quicker, I'll let it go. But then I see three random cards lying off to the side.

"What are those three cards? No, don't LOOK at them! Just put them on the bottom of the big pile, or in the middle, or put them in different places in the middle..."

Kids take winning and losing seriously. and any kid will tell you that the key to winning is going first. As if the game is the 100-meter dash in the Olympics and someone gets an undeserved head start. Sometimes going first is actually more important than the final result. And yet these kids can't understand the concept of a good, thorough shuffle? Kids, I tells ya...

Luckily my daughter is a born rules follower. and it was written that the youngest player goes first. So every time we play this game our 5-year-old son goes first. We've erased at least 10-15 minutes of infighting, intense negotiations, deal-making, deal-breaking, bribery, and hurt feelings just by following the rules.

The problem though, is in who goes SECOND. If the youngest goes first, it stands to the reason that the second-youngest goes second, right? Unfortunately, we have sat our butts such that our oldest child is to the right of her younger brother.

"Stop. There is no game in civilization where play runs counter-clockwise."

"What's counter-clockwise mean?"

"Like this," (makes a swirling motion)

??

"Instead of like a clock, which goes this way." (swirls in the other direction)

??

"Like a clock. Except backwards..."

Of course every clock they've encountered has been digital. Microwaves, phones, iPads...

"Here. We'll switch places."

We aren't playing counter-clockwise. And in games of four or more, we are not playing in some ridiculous star pattern. Just gives the kids one more thing to fight about when we all lose track of whose turn it is.

All that said, I think we're ready to play. Stay tuned for Volume II...

Get on the Pot!! A Tale of Perseverance and Poop

The top of the refrigerator is where all the good stuff is. Ceramic pots holding keys that don't open anything. Bills that never go away. Important tax information that we pray doesn't slide off the back. Occasionally, a seasonal elf.

And potty bribes. Always display the potty bribe on top of the refrigerator, for all (kids) to see.

Earlier in the year, our world was jolted when we learned our oldest child had scoliosis, until we then learned she'd handle it way better than we would. Then a different situation involving a kid's backside took over and threatened to divide our house.

After boldly foolishly predicting (jinxing) in August I had exactly 13 diapers left to change in my lifetime, it soon became evident that those of you betting the "over" could redeem your winning, poop-stained tickets at a changing table nearest you. Somebody refused to cooperate, even though our diaper budget had officially run out after 7 consecutive years and more money than we spent on cars.

We tried to sweeten the pot for our 2-year-old to sit on the pot by buying a couple of $6 trucks and setting them--guess where-- on top of the refrigerator. Turns out we could have placed the trucks in the attic, the other dead-end destination for overly curious children, back behind the Apple IIe monitors, bowling balls, and broken humidifiers and dehumidifiers. The little guy had less interest in toy trucks than in sitting in a pile of his own mess. Sounds reasonable, amiright, 2-year-olds?

Kids present challenges at all ages. But there are few more painful times than when you're expected to predict exactly when a toddler in underpants is about to crap himself. More painful than watching them try to butter, add syrup to, and slice a waffle. More painful than when other people's kids introduce yours to pop music.

The scene of many crimes lately.

The kid doesn't know when it's time to go. You used to know. He'd grab hold of the biggest piece of furniture in the house, cross his eyes, and turn his face a magenta you haven't seen since the 64 crayons. Now, he disappears into your shoe closet and as you notice he's is missing, you have to fetch a mask and a shovel and hurry to save your favorite slippers.

"I have to POOP!" he beams. Your closet smells like chemical warfare.

One particularly bad evening saw us unwittingly involved in a game of hide and seek with a cold-blooded menace. As my wife innocently called out, "Where arrrrre you?" he answered back in a sing-songy voice, "behind the couuuuuuch!"

"What are you dooooooing?"

"Poooping my paaaaaants!"

And we both scrambled to our feet, pre-empted the game, moved the couch, located the perpetrator and frowned as he smiled, another lost opportunity to get the kid on the pot.

Our life had turned into the first 20 minutes of a kidnapping movie, except our kid was the bad guy instead of the victim. And instead of refusing to bargain with the bad guy, we offered him anything he wanted. Toy trucks? Yours. Mickey Mouse pancakes every night for two weeks? Fire up the that god-awful Griddle. And instead of slamming the phone down and/or hanging up and laughing maniacally, he'd stay on his Fisher Price and pretend to talk to Grandma, then throw it down the stairs and laugh maniacally.

Our wits usually have no end, but they were appearing in plain view as we almost went Tony Hayward on each other. We got out the potty chart in an attempt to get our lives back. Nothing worked.

One day it clicked. Just as a routine visit to the dentist miraculously coaxed our co-sleeping 4-year-old into his own bed, a routine trip to the barber shop convinced our 2-year-old to stop soiling himself. As he was waiting his turn to sit in the chair, once again our star decided he had to go to the bathroom, except he never told anyone of his intentions, and so...

"Well, you can't get your hair cut with poopy pants," his rankled mother told him as she carried the boy, quite literally kicking and undoubtedly screaming, out of the barber shop, his hair still shaggy and unruly.

Trucks be damned. Pancakes be damned. All the kid wanted was a haircut, and when he didn't get one because of a bad set of underpants, he realized he needed to change course, soon, before his bangs covered his eyes.

So he went home and immediately sat on the toilet. But this is a tale of perseverance; the happy ending does not come quickly. He had just done the deed a few minutes earlier, so he sat and sat and pushed and crossed his eyes and turned that eggplant/deviled egg/magenta we were used to, and...nothing.

Bummer.

But the precedent had been set. The potty chart was out, and after filling up his chart with 10 stickers roughly 10 days later, he had his trucks from the top of the fridge and clean underwear on his bottom. And we had our lives back.

To be sure, sometimes it's still a struggle...when he announces he has to poop, he's moved up the deadline from 5 seconds too late to 5 seconds early. So there's no "hold on, buddy...right after I send out this email/I finish this page/this play/etc." "I need to poop" means "I need to poop. Now." And there have been accidents, but mostly when he's been "helping" with the dishes and forgets what he's doing.

So the top of the fridge is back to old mail and wallets. For us it's on to a new phase of frivolous spending...tell us, oh parents whose kids are out of diapers, what will we spend our money on next?

Bracing Ourselves

A simple well visit to the pediatrician from July 2014 will stick with us for a while. Well visits are supposed to be pretty low-maintenance-- in and out, everything's great, cover your eye and read the 4th line, ok try the 5th line, breathe in, breathe out, breathe deeply, see you in a year, maybe try eating some vegetables for a change.

This time it was different - and not just because all three kids were actually in the Well Room at the same time. The middle child was shown to not have any muscles at all based on some seriously gross gross motor skills, but my daughter also received some significant, routine-altering news at the same visit.

I'll admit, when I got home from work, and my wife informed me that our daughter may have scoliosis. at first I may have laughed a little. When I was in junior high, every single one of us was diagnosed with scoliosis, or its distant cousin "possible scoliosis."


Our universal sign for "the bathroom is in use."

This came after getting our annual physical which involved having an 85-year-old man grab our scrotum, us turning our heads, coughing, then contorting our bodies into the shape of a lower-case "n." Pretty sure only the last part was used in the "possible scoliosis"diagnosis. But we ALL had possible scoliosis. I knew kids were advanced these days--I didn't learn my multiplication tables nearly as early as my daughter is-- but receiving the "possible scoliosis" treatment six years in front of her Daddy? Unheard of.

Still, in the interest of due diligence, we accompanied our daughter to the children's hospital just to make sure. Sure enough, the x-rays revealed a 33-degree curvature of the spine. Textbook scoliosis. (How could we as parents not see it? Draw an imaginary line from one shoulder blade to another, you get a cliff the Price Is Right yodeler is afraid to scale. How do we NOT see that? What kind of parents are we?)

What does this mean? It means to avoid surgery later in life, my daughter would need to wear a brace for the balance of her growing years. 22 hours a day, every day until she's done growing. Nobody does anything for 22 hours a day, especially 7-year-olds, without a crying fit or a nearly unlawful amount in bribery. This was going to be a challenge. Not sure if we were ready for it.

At first our daughter embraced it. The back brace she'd wear like a giant Band-Aid. Kids love Band-Aids because they bring an disproportionate amount of attention to its bearer, so when you have a plastic Band-aid the size of your torso, you probably get to sit in the queen chair for a week and win Teacher's Pet status indefinitely.



A little before and after.

But then stark reality started to set in. 22 hours with that thing on. A tight piece of plastic, wrapped around your back, while you sleep, while you sit in school, while you live. This thing and its larger versions will grow with you and be a part of you for the rest of your childhood. And you KNOW your parents will nag you about it. You may take it off to shower, to play your violin, to go to gym class. That's it. So, yeah, a little apprehension.

But in yet another example of kids proving more resilient than their parents, she's killing this brace thing. Soon after receiving the brace, my daughter's teacher had her stand up in the front of the class and explain just what was going on (show-and-tell style.) She explained why she got to sit "in the spinny chair" with a pillow when the rest of the kids are sitting on the floor, and why she has to run down to the school nurse every Tuesday before gym class. She explained that her spine was "crooked" and the brace would help keep it from getting worse.


And that's why second-grade kids are awesome-- they get it. Maybe not right away, but eventually they get it. They're curious but innocent. They seek answers but don't judge. They think everything is cool and are so willing and able to adapt. We should all be so smartly naive.

Within weeks, the brace became virtually a non-issue, and now it's part of who she is and who she will be. She may never get to the 22-hour plateau, but close enough. There are so many reasons to be thankful in this situation: To the hospital, for giving my daughter the best attention you can give a girl and for talking us through the options, pros and cons, and for talking us down off the ledge. To our daughter's teacher, who made her feel so comfortable and let her educate her own classmates. And to our pediatrician, who first suspected trouble at a routine well visit...without that heads-up, we may never have known until surgery was the only option. (Go to your well visits folks!)

And most thankful for a brave little girl who understands what she needs to do to get better. This potential game-changer then turns out to be just a bump in the road. Just a part of life. There was, however, a time when my daughter wanted to commemorate the whole thing with a family video to show we were "all about that brace (that brace)." We poiltely declined. Besides, that's been done already I think. Done better than we can.



She can still do this with a brace on. I never could.

The Night Before the Night Before the Night Before the Night Before the Night Before Christmas

Adopt a new family tradition...or else.

In our house this year, Santa Claus came on the night of Saturday, December 21. The celebration thus starts early and doesn’t end until sometime after Christmas, or until the only method of communication between my wife and me is flipping the lower lip repeatedly with the index finger, making constant “blih blih blih” sounds, whichever comes first.

Thus, our meager preparations for Santa’s early arrival are catalogued below, through the voice of a timeless classic:

Twas the night before the night before the night before the night before the night before Christmas, and the house is a mess.
We’re wishing we were less like us, and more like the family Holderness.
Some stockings we’ve hung by the chimney with care
With hopes that they don’t catch fire, since the flames shoot right there.

The children are nestled, all snug in my bed,
Pile of half-eaten Saltine crumbs up by their head.
Idiot parents are we to allow this each night,
We do have a kitchen in this house somewhere, right?

Mamma wears no kerchief; I don no cap.
It ain't 1824 no more. Nobody wears all that crap.
We aim to “settle our brains,” (is that a euphemism for dying?)
But we can’t “settle our brains” til we remember where we hid the gifts, or die trying.

“They’re out in the garage,” Mamma says “or maybe the nursery,
Just remember to disable the alarm. The code is our anniversary.”
“Enough with the impossible riddles; just tell me the code,” I plead with her now.
“We must get these gifts under the tree before the kids wake somehow.”

I disable the alarm with some clutch memory; my wife should be proud
But then trip over a garbage can lid, Jesus LORD those things are loud.
Next thing I hear are tiny footsteps upstairs,
Quickly I drop all the presents of theirs.

“Daddy, is that you?” my daughter whispers down
In the moment of truth, I lie with a frown.
"Ho, ho,…uhh, no. Now off to bed, uhhh, good night!”
A piss poor rendering of Santa, sounded more like Barry White.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Neighborhood teens beat the mailbox again with a ladder?
Didn’t bother to look, didn’t bother to care.
Little did I know Santa’s sleigh was parked right out there.

“Now Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on Donner and Blitzen!
Lauren, Catherine, Lana too,
Bette Davis… We love you!”

A full dozen reindeer these days Santa employs
Needing more horsepower for all the extra toys
And mixing in some females, Santa thought it best
To keep the long trip from becoming a total reindeer sausage fest.

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
Of course they did; I guess that’s what “coursers” do?
How did everyone fit up there, intact and all?
Not like we live in the damned Taj Mahal.

Someone then began the trek down the chimney
Next time just use the wide open doors, buddy.
Or, do whatever, try as you might.
Just whatever you do, don’t put out the pilot light.

He was dressed all in fur, at my in-laws’ he’d not freeze.
For inside their house it’s always 86 degrees.
But inside our abode, where fresh meat can be stored
He’d need every layer and perhaps three layers more.

He was everything I’d imagined: big boots, big belt, big beard, big hat.
No need for details of the shaking belly and all that.
I stood there in awe, my thoughts all inverted.
Poor kid who “saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus” – ew, how perverted.

 He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then started to twerk turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And blew a giant snot rocket giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

As he struggled to leave the ground, he noticed the wide open door
And decided “the hell with this, this year I’ve got 10 million chimneys more.”
Then he looked back at me and paused, dazed and confused.
When he saw who was atop the toilet, he was not amused.

“Buddy, is that you? Or Jingle, or Snowball, or Mike?
What the hell is your name? You elves all look alike.”
“His name is Holly,” I said with a shrug.
"Look, my daughter named him, I was leaning toward Doug.”

“Holly?” he asked. “Kids these days haven’t a clue.
Anyway, whatever, HOLLY, get off the can, you’re coming with me, too.”
And there went my elf, who sat upon our shelf.
Not gonna lie, I smiled when he left, in spite of myself.

His butt was so thin, too hard to place anywhere.
Would that I had such a compact derriere.
My kids would shout, “Don’t touch him! You’ll take away his magic!”
“Shove your brother in the laundry hamper one more time; the results will be tragic.”

Then Santa sprang to his sleigh, as much as a fat man can.
But before he got in, I wanted a word with the man.
“Where’s Rudolph?” I asked, pointing to the 12. “And what’s up with these guys?”
“Rudolph’s nose was bright, but that one right there, she’s got Bette Davis eyes.”

I assumed the boys all thought her a spy,
With her Greta Garbo standoff sigh,
But just went inside and settled my brain,
Shook my head, and thought “this will probably never happen again.”

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
As I turned to Momma to give her a kiss,
She said, “That elf…now that is something we will not miss.”

Happy Christmas!






  

Christmas Vacation Countdown, Part 2

We're ready to unveil our family's Top Five lines from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, based on use within the household and extended family. The first half of the Top Ten are here.

Once again, the requisite photo. Because in 2014, adults need stories with pictures.

Once again these aren't necessarily the best or funniest lines, otherwise we would have found a spot for "Last year he was a pixie dust spreader on the Tilt-A-Whirl. He thinks that maybe next year he'll be guessing people's weights or barking for the Yak woman. Did you ever see her, Clark? She's got these horns coming out of her head...ugly as sin, but a sweet gal. And a helluva good cook" or "That ain't the friggin' Christmas star, Griz, that's the light of the sewage treatment plant" or, of course, "Shitter was full," which, given the flush rates in our household, is a phrase to keep an eye on in the future.

But those have no real practical use in the real world. Instead, our #5 and #4 lines have been used in various forms.

#5.  This is a surprise, Clark. This is just a real nice surprise. Just a Real. Nice. Surpriiiiise.

You can hear Clark's back cracking in the bear hug as you read it. Or if you can't, you can hear it here. We've used this set of lines on Christmas presents, in thank you cards, on custom-made T-shirts, and even in wedding proposals. And it's gaining momentum. We get some weird looks from the kids when we say it, but we're used to that. Won't be the last time. Most of the surprises we have as parents aren't of the pleasant variety, so anytime    

#4.  If this isn't the biggest bag over the head, punch in the face I ever got , Goddammit! Accompanied by swift kicking motions to bags of Christmas presents accumulated under the Christmas tree, this versatile phrase can be applied to any sense of wrongdoing perpetrated against a member of the family. It's basically an adult version of the standard temper tantrum my kids throw when they don't get their onw way.

But this one gets used in all seetings...familial, corporate, societal, DMV, sports teams losing, Fantasy Football teams losing (especially Fantasy Football teams losing) you name it.

See also: #7: It's all part of the experience, honey. If you overuse "bag over the head" you're likely to get hit with an "It's all part of the experience, honey." So stop whining, get the bag off your head, buck up, press on, and have the hap-hap-happiest...wait, we're getting them all confused now.

#3: You serious, Clark?
If you're a fan of the movie, you've said it. Over anything. The more mundane the topic, the better. But it's genuine. Just as Eddie stopped to confirm Clark's playful announcement that "an airline pilot spotted Santa's sleigh on its way in from New York," you can confirm any piece of useful information you receive by saying the same thing.

Though I'd keep it playful, and not use it when you hear a family member is having quadruple-bypass surgery or has just lost his job. Jury's still out on whether you can use it if you hear a loved one is "in the clinic, gettin' cured off the Wild Turkey." I say yes. Go ahead.

#2. I don't KNOW, Margo. 
Our daughter has thought on occasion that her name is Margo, as she is usually on the receiving end of this well-worn phrase. We may have called her Margo even when not using this phrase just because.

To be fair, she's usually the one in the house asking the impossible questions that invite eye-rolling and sarcastic answers. Questions such as "Where's my dress?" "Where are my shoes?" or "Where's my hairbrush?" She has yet to ask why the carpet is all wet, though if she does, you can rest assured the answer will be, "Because you forgot to tuck the shower curtain in again, Margo," For all other questions, however, "I don't KNOW, Margo" is the go-to response.

You also have to wonder if the guy who played Todd "gets that" a lot. Does anyone recognize him in the street? Because if so, I can imagine a cadre of less sophisticated people flocking to him saying, "I don't KNOW, Margo," and asking him to sign the backs of their T-shirts. Poor guy.

Before we reveal the most used Christmas Vacation phrase in our family, let's take one more timeout to recognize three characters who came up empty in our countdown despite numerous laughs generated. Art, Bethany, and Uncle Louis all got shut out and that's a shame. Here then is a mini Top 15 of lines just by them that you can break out when the mood strikes or the situation calls for it:

15. "The little lights are not twinkling."
14. "Damn it, Bethany, he guessed it."
13. "I need to eat, so I can take my back pills." (Got my mom with that one once.)
12. "This house is bigger than your old one."
11. "Grace? She passed away 30 years ago."
10. "What are you gonna bawl all over it or ya gonna open it?"
9. "Don't throw me down, Clark."
8. "Hey Griz, you're not doing anything constructive. Run into the living room, get my stogie."
7. "It was an ugly tree anyway."
6. "What is it? A letter confirming your reservation at the nuthouse?"
5. "So what's the matter with you?"
4. "At least it's out of its misery."
3. "Oh dear, did I break wind?"
2. "Da BLES-SING!"
1. " I should say it? I should say it? Hello, everybody!"

And now on to the #1 most used phrase from Christmas Vacation:

#1. "I don't know what to say except it's Christmas and we're all in misery."

This one has picked up a ton of momentum in recent years as we've become adults and discovered that the magic of Christmas is purely man-made. We use it as a funny way to explain away the stress of the holiday season, although at times the phrase "Much truth is said in jest" applies.

This is a phrase I'd like to eradicate from our speech in future years but we'll see. Christmas is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year so why all the misery? What's the cause of the stress? Is it the pursuit of perfection? (If so I blame Lexus and their "cars with bows" ads.) Is it the cookies? Are we trying to do too much?

Of course we're all trying to do too much. It's Christmas! That's what Christmas is all about! This is why New Year's Resolution season comes so soon afterwards...so we can dial ourselves back from the excesses of the most recent holiday season.

We can't do it all. This year we didn't put the toy train around the Christmas Tree, (forgot) didn't build the gingerbread house, (ran out of time) or do the Christmas cookie puzzle (forgot and ran out of time.) And so what? Christmas was still magical. I think? Let me go ask the kids. OK yeah, it was magical. Hopefully not solely because of that damned elf either.

Take a look back at your Christmas. Did you claim to be in misery at any point? Can you do without the thing that you were doing at the time when you said it? Then see if you can not do it next year.

But if you're a parent and your kids still believe in the magic of Christmas, and you connected with all the people who are important to you, then it was a good holiday. No misery required.

And that's the list. We hope it "enhanced your holiday spirit."