Tag Archives: Blogging

A Hard-Attack from Hellcat and the Big J

28 Mar

Perpetual Motion putting a "hard-attack" on Tax Credit #4's face.

Good Monday morning!

Does that qualify as an oxymoron?

Either way, this moron is headed out to shovel six inches of heavy, wet snow off our walk and deck. And I mean wet snow. I’m not sure if I should go at it with a shovel or a ShamWow.

Yesterday was the epitomy of springtime in the Rockies. The pics in today’s post were taken around two in the afternoon; the kids were outside playing in shirtsleeves for most of the day. It was borderline balmy.

By 6 o’clock, you couldn’t see past 15 feet. Flakes as big as P Motion’s head (okay, that’s a little excessive; maybe Slim’s head) were dropping down like crystallized water balloons, literally splashing when they hit the ground.

The weather forecast changes from minute-to-minute this time of year.

What doesn’t change is the funny stuff that comes out of little kids’ mouths from minute-to-minute. Here are a couple of sloppy-wet snowballs of kid humor from the weekend coming right at your head. Duck!

Much more severe than a soft-attack.

We’ve pretty well established on this blog that when P Motion gets an idea in his head, it’s hard to get it out (SEE: Oprah is a man). Thus was the conversation between him from the backseat of the suburban and me driving this weekend.

PM: “Dad, what’s a heart attack?”

Number one: where do kids come up with questions like this? I mean, right before this we’d been talking about McDonald’s, for Ronald’s sake.

Okay, in hindsight I can sort of see the connection between heart attacks and the Golden Arches, but still.

And number two: how do you answer questions like these? I did my best.

Me: “A heart attack is an occlusion or blockage of arteries supplying the muscles of the heart, resulting in injury or necrosis of the heart muscle.”

Obviously I didn’t say that.

Me: “A heart attack is when a person’s heart stops working correctly.”

PM: “No, not a heart attack, a hard-attack.”

Me: “A heart attack?”

PM: “Yeah.”

Me: “It’s when a person’s heart isn’t beating the right–”

PM: “No, a hard-attack!”

At this point I’m squeezing blood out of the steering wheel and wondering where a good dropoff point for a 5 year old might be. Clearly, there was only one way to respond: sarcasm.

Me: “I don’t know! I guess it’s an attack that is more forceful and assertive than a normal attack!” (An alterantive response would have been, “It’s when the Cialis kicks in,” but I didn’t think of that at the time.)

PM: “Oh. I guess I did mean heart attack.”

And if I don’t have one before 40, it will be nothing short of a miracle.

The Hellcat teams up with the Big Guy to crush Dad’s soul.

After getting home from church yesterday, the Hellcat went searching through the cupboards as she is wont to do and found some sort of little potpurri warmer that I had accidentally broken a few weeks ago.

Alright, enough with the accusatory eyes already! In the interest of full disclosure, this item may have broken after I smacked the kitchen countertop in frustration. Unfortunate collateral damage. It was a weekend. You know, peaceful and relaxing.

Hellcat and the Big J double-teamed Dad over the weekend. Painful.

Apparently, the Hellcat, fresh from Sunday school, thought that she would reopen the wound.

Hellcat: “Daddy, did you break this?”

Me: “You know I did. You were standing there when it happened.”

Hellcat: “Why?”

Me: “I didn’t make a very smart decision.”

Hellcat: “That makes Jesus sad.”

Wow. Playing the J-card. Not only did she reopen the wound, then she threw Holy Salt on it.

And if that wasn’t enough, I heard her singing this little ditty to herself as she wandered around the house looking for other items to shame me with (sing in a tiny, offkey voice and repeat the chorus again and again):

“Jesus loves me but he doesn’t love my daddy. Jesus loves me but he doesn’t love my daddy.”

Ouch.

And on that note, I hope that your Monday forecast is calling for clear skies and sunshine.

But I wouldn’t bet on it. There’s only a 20 percent chance of that.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

How Do I Love Thee? Let Me List the Ways

21 Mar

One of the primary ways that I communicate with Kick Ass Wife is through lists. Between kids, work, and watching college basketball, there isn’t much time for actual conversation between the two of us these days, so a couple of bulleted points on a sticky note or random scrap of paper has to suffice.

Typically I make these lists humorous, trying to let her know, Hey, our life is crazy, but I’m thinking of you. And often they have a “hint” of sexual innuendo, to let her know, Hey, I’m REALLY thinking of you. In a bow-chicka-wow-wow sort of way.

KAW has an incredible smile, and these little notes tend to put one on her face. Admittedly, it’s a head-shaking, eye-rolling, “My-God-he-is-an-idiot” sort of smile, but a smile nonetheless.

These little love missives take two forms: lists I create and lists of hers that I “revise.”

Here’s a grocery list that I left for KAW this weekend.

Actually, rabbit is red meat...

 

And here’s a “To Do” list that I found stuck to KAW’s planner. It’s a bad idea to leave those laying around.

Wonder when she's going to cross off that last item...

 

Sometimes, it’s finding humor in the little things in life (and no, that’s not what she said).

(Are you a lister or do you live with a lister? How do you let your loved ones know you’re thinking of them when life gets crazy?)

Tags: , , , , , ,

We Should Know Better

18 Mar

WARNING: To prevent permanent hearing loss, turn down your volume before viewing this clip.

I only wish I had permanent hearing loss.

This footage of Tax Credit #4 demonstrates two important truths regarding young children:

1. There is nothing a child enjoys more than striking something repeatedly in a highly-aggressive manner.

2. But only if doing so produces a God-awful racket.

Have you ever seen (or heard) a child going all whack-a-mole on a block of foam while clutching a feather? Of course not. If hitting something over and over doesn’t produce a sound similar to a cymbal being crushed by a samurai sword, little kids aren’t interested.

So why do we have that thing in our house?

Because he’s our son, and putting him out in the rabbit hutch doesn’t seem fair to Hopper.

But why we have the Xylophone of Misery in our house is a good question.

If Tax Credit #4 was our first child, naively purchasing this type of toy (a laughable term) or willingly accepting it as a gift without punching the giver directly in the face would be understandable. We wouldn’t know any better.

However, as experienced parents, and by “experienced” I mean sleep-deprived, we should know better.

Immediately after our oldest violently struck his first thousand clangy, metallic, twitch-inducing notes on that instrument of terror, it should have been carefully placed beneath the treads of a bulldozer and run over.

 Or regifted to another child. Misery love company.

(What causes your teeth to grind? Have you ever given a gift you knew someone would despise just to be vindictive? Oh, and what’s your address? We have something to send you.)

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

One Humiliating Moment: Why My NCAA Tournament Bracket Sucks. Again.

17 Mar

"Dad, why is your bracket so terrible? And why would you photograph me like this?"

My wedding anniversary. My four children’s birthdays. Free dump day at the landfill.

Momentous occasions celebrated annually, yet each pales in comparison to the greatest event of the year: the opening round of the NCAA basketball tournament, which tips off today at venues around the country.

For me, the passion, energy, and emotion of the 64-team bracket being halved in a 48-hour span is the pinnacle of sports.

And yes, I know there are now 68 teams officially, but I refuse to acknowledge that No. 16 seed NC-Asheville facing off against No. 16 seed Arkansas-Little Rock on a Tuesday to determine which squad earns the right to be overall No. 1 seed Ohio State’s sacrificial lamb three days later is part of the actual tournament.

The first two real days of the NCAA tourney are a basketball junkie’s nirvana, made that much sweeter this year because all 32 opening round games will be televised live on four networks: CBS, TBS, TNT and truTV (whatever the hell that is).

Cue Gus Johnson screaming “UNBELIEVABLE!”

The only downfall of the opening round of the NCAA tourney is gainful employment. The fact that a person must have a job to afford a television with satellite/cable to view the games that he cannot in fact watch because he is at work making money to pay for that television with satellite/cable is borderline sadistic and so incredibly upsetting that a guy might become physically ill on Thursday and Friday and have to call in sick.

No, I don’t have Tourette’s. I’m trying to wink knowingly. Fortunately, we’re on spring break this week, so I won’t have to feign illness. But I haven’t been above that in the past.

However, without work, there would not be a workplace, and without a workplace, we wouldn’t have that most honored of tournament traditions: the workplace tournament pool.

You know, the bracket bonanza where the  people who ”know the game” stand around the break room sipping coffee and carefully scrutinizing their picks, arguing with one another as to whether or not North Carolina’s prolific motion offense will be able to break down the vaunted 2-3 zone of Syracuse in a potential East Regional Semifinal matchup, while the office secretary, Glennis, who thinks Jimmer Fredette was the front man for a late 70’s thrash polka band, sits alone at her desk basing her tournament selections on much more logical criteria: Gonzaga will beat St. Johns because Gonzaga sounds like a type of bean and beans are healthy.

And without fail, Glennis will win the workplace pool, or at the very least finish in the top five, which is a hell of a lot higher than where my picks will rank.

I am likely the single worst prognosticator in the history of NCAA tournament pools, yet I consider myself to have an average to slightly above average knowledge of college basketball. Or I did.

Admittedly, my hoops IQ has dipped dramatically in recent years, steadily decreasing at a rate inversely proportional to the meteoric rise in the number of miniature humans who climb out of our bed each morning demanding apple juice. Time that was once dedicated to pouring myself into the couch and watching hours of regular season college basketball has been replaced by years of staring numbly at more episodes of Dora the Explorer than any one person should be forced to bear while a 2 year old jump stops and reverse pivots on my crotch.

"Let me tell ya, this McFadden guy's picks are atrocious with a capital A, baby!"

Trust me, a couple minutes of Map’s inane, repetitive drivel (“DRIBBLE… PASS… SHOOT!”) will make Dick Vitale’s blather seem lightly playful and nearly coherent.

But my kids are no excuse. Stated plainly, my tourney brackets just suck.

And yet in a family NASCAR pool (yes, NASCAR pool) spanning 36 races, none of which I actually watched, I once finished second. I know even less about auto racing than Glennis knows about college basketball, which is nothing, and anything remotely related to cars or engines or mechanical jargon instantly causes my eyes to glaze over. If I took my 1990 Honda Civic into a garage and they told me that the flux capacitor needed replaced, my first instinct would be to say, “Dammit, how much does one of those cost?”

However, in the tourney pool, dealing with a sport I actually have some understanding of, my ability to not pick the winners is uncanny.

In fact, I’m betting that if I taped a bracket to the wall and had my children randomly throw crayons at it, their picks would do no worse than 20 spots better than my selections. And they’re going to throw crayons at the wall anyway. I may as well try it.

So what’s the real problem with my pool picks?

Simple: I’m a sucker for the underdog.

There must be something in the revitalizing hope-springs-eternal March breezes that convinces me yearly that a No. 16 seed like Mid-Central Southeastern West Virginia Jesuit School for Automotive Technology, proud home of the Chrome Plated Racheteers, is likely to pull off the upset against perennial tournament powerhouse and No. 1 seed Duke, a team consisting of individuals who routinely floss their armpits on the rim and have shooting ranges that extend out to the first level concessionaire stands.

Of course, things could be worse than taking a 158-23 bludgeoning from Duke in the first round. After all, those players from MCSWVJSAT will one day be able to proudly tell their children about playing against the Blue Devils’ formidable squad in the NCAA tourney (granted that they aren’t rendered sterile from being dunked on so often), and how those future NBA stars commended the Fighting Racheteers on their ability to get so thoroughly humiliated and still smile.

Humiliation. I know how those players feel. I just turned in my bracket, which oddly enough had a colorful array of crayon markings all over it.

Hmmm, strange.

Doesn’t matter. Tip off of the first game is nearly here. The best day of the year has arrived.

Time to settle in and watch some Dora.

Go Racheteers!

(So who do you have in the championship game? Hopefully you stayed away from Duke and Louisville because that’s who I penciled in, with the Blue Devils getting the nod to win back-to-back championships.

Now that I picked them, they’re screwed.

For a different type of March Madness, check out the ultimate movie bracket over at educlaytion.com. The first round is underway and your vote counts! Especially if you vote for Legends of the Fall and Tombstone. Check it out.)

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Dads Good

24 Feb

The Oscars are coming up on Sunday night. The Good Men Project Magazine is featuring my take on a special awards show for toddlers and a special award recognizing one of Tax Credit #4′s finer dramatic performances. You can check it out here.

Tags: , , , , , ,

I Bet They Meant “Slovenly Blogger Award”

13 Feb

This weekend, I’ve been busy building on a virtual addition to my virtual mantel, and I can tell you that my virtual carpentry skills are just as abysmal as my actual ones. I must have hit my virtual thumb a half-dozen times already.

That should read "Slovenly."

But I need more virtual space, because last week I was virtually presented with a virtual honor called the “Stylish Blogger Award” five times.

No kidding.

And once that virtual mantel is finished, these five SBAs will be proudly displayed  right alongside my “Nathan’s Famous Fourth of July International Hot Dog Eating Contest Most Congenial Eater” certificate; the trophy I received after finishing third in Barbershop Weekly’s “Best Celebrity Hair” voting (I was narrowly edged out by George Clooney and Dan Patrick,) and my fourth-place tiara from the 2009 Miss Wyoming Pageant thong competition (if those hemmerrhoids don’t flare up at the last minute, I’m easily sliding into the third spot).

Five SBA Awards presented to me by fellow bloggers in one week! I know what many of you are thinking:

1. Recreational drug use among bloggers is much higher than experts once thought.

2. Coupled with the fact that Snooki is a New York Times bestselling author, this proves that standards for American writing are at an all-time low.

3. Did he have to wire a $1000 to an offshore bank in Africa to claim his prize?

4. They must have meant “Slovenly Blogger Award.”

Regardless, I am honored. The five individuals who awarded me the SBA–Amy from Life in the Trenches, Christian at Adventures and Insights, Clay at EduClaytion, Marina at Marina Sleeps, and Renee (whose name is supposed to have one of those little accent mark things above the second-to-last “e,” but I don’t know how to insert those) at Lessons from Teachers and Twits–have kept regular tabs on the Species crew since I started this blog way back in six months ago, and they are some of the people who have led me to believe that writing could be more than a 4 AM to 6 AM hobby for me. I encourage you to visit their blogs. It is a diverse, insightful, creative group. I check out their sites every chance I get.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Wendy at Herding Cats in Hammond River at this point. Wendy is truly Some Species Eat Their Young’s most loyal reader and commenter. There have been times that Wendy has actually commented on my posts before I have posted them. She is a sort of wise Canadian matriarch of the blogging community, introducing bloggers to one another and commenting on everyone’s work; I believe that every blogger in the blogosphere has three degrees of separation from Wendy. She presented me with an award similar to the SBA on her blog soon after I started posting, and I never responded. Wendy, you’re a gem. Thanks for everything.

But it isn’t all fun and games and thongs with the Stylish Blogger Award. As a recipient, I am required to:

1. Link back to the individuals who presented me with the award.

2. Name six other bloggers to receive the reward.

3. Tell seven interesting things about myself.

But I’m going to audible, and by audible I mean steal Kathy’s idea from Reinventing the Event Horizon after she received an SBA from, of all people, Wendy. Kathy modified the SBA rules. Instead of nominating six bloggers and telling seven things about herself, Kathy asked her readers to give themselves some love (in a virtual non-illegal sort of way) by sharing a link in the comments section to one of  the favorite posts they’ve written and to highlight a post from a blogger that they follow and feel deserves recognition. Brilliant.

I couldn’t possibly narrow my list down to six fellow bloggers to present SBAs to anyway: I don’t like to pick favorites except when it comes to my children. And interesting things about myself? Nobody wants that.

So please, repost yourself and post another in the comments section.

Thanks again to Amy, Christian, Clay, Marina, Renee, and Wendy. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and kind words. When I get that mantel finished up, I’ll send you a virtual picture. I might even put on the tiara and thong.

Also, thanks to Kick Ass Wife. Without you, it would have been incredibly difficult to have four kids. And thanks to the Species Spawn themselves–Slim, Perpetual Motion, Hellcat, and Tax Credit #4. Without you guys, I would have had this post done three days ago.

Finally, thanks to everyone who follows the Species crew. There is almost certainly something better that you could do with five minutes of your day, but I’m thankful that you choose to blow those five minutes here.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Sleeper Super Bowl Followed by Small-Scale Rioting

7 Feb

UNITED STATES, Wyoming (AP) To be crowned a champion, it takes hard work, drive, and unrelenting focus.  Such dogged determination can be exhausting.

Just ask Tax Credit #4.

Face-down in Top Ramen: the price of perfection.

The pint-sized prognosticator, age 2, known for his “no”-nonsense approach to picking the winners in this year’s NFL Playoffs, ended this postseason just like he started it: perfect. But it wasn’t without a price.

Shortly after the 3:30 pm (MST) press conference during which he predicted that, “No,” the Pittsburgh Steelers would not win Super Bowl XLV, a near-guarantee that the Green Bay Packers would in fact claim the 4th title in the franchise’s history, Tax Credit #4 was found passed out face-down in his bowl of Top Ramen, the heavy expectation of  perfection having run him down like a Clay Matthews pass rush, literally sacking him in his booster seat.

#4′s brother, Perpetual Motion, wasn’t surprised. “The last two weeks he’s been pouring over statistical data, reviewing game film from each of the Steelers and Packers’ games during the 2010-2011 season, consulting players and coaches from around the league for insider analysis. He just wore himself out. But I tell you what: he called it.”

In a related story, small-scale rioting was reported in the McFadden’s basement just after the Lombardi Trophy was presented to the Packers. Raw footage of the melee was captured by an amateur videographer, including images of a rejuvenated Tax Credit #4 double-fisting two Ligthsabers. Asked whether it was past his bedtime, he enthusiastically yelled, “No.”

Another rioter, Tax Credit #4′s sister, the Hellcat, 3, shouted, “What’s the Super Bowl?” when asked whether the children’s unruly behavior was meant to show support for the Packers’ victory. Her 6-year old brother, Slim, added, “That Darth Vader commercial was awesome!”

According to the children’s father, he was going to have another beer.

(How was your Super Bowl Sunday? What was your favorite advertisement? Any rioting, small-scale or otherwise? Anyone have an idea why they can’t play the Super Bowl on Saturday?)

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Super Bowl and Prop Bets: Will Raji’s Pants Hold?

4 Feb

Watching the Super Bowl is as American as it gets. This Sunday, families, friends, and complete strangers will gather in basements, dens, bars, abandoned parking lots, and funeral parlors to cheer and groan and cry in unison while filling their bodies with enough Lit’l Smokies and Budweiser to kill a football-kicking Clydesdale, sharing in the tradition of baby and reptile commercials, the Buffalo Bills losing, and calling in sick for work on Monday.

And, of course, betting.

The only thing more American than watching the big game is placing some type of wager on it. Maybe it’s as simple putting down 20 bucks with the guy at work who is a lifelong Steelers fan. Or buying one of the spots on those Punnett-square-looking things laying on the table in the office lounge. You know, the deal where if you have the number 3 and at the end of the first quarter the combined score of both teams ends in 3, the lady from accounting who bought the number 5 somehow wins $200?

Sometimes you’ll even see a well-publicized bet between the mayors of the two cities whose teams are playing in the game. Usually it’s a friendly theme bet based on whatever the particular city or state is famous for: a block of fine cheese vs. a case of prime-cut steaks, for example. But occasionally these political wagers become a tad extreme, especially if there is an intense rivalry between the two cities involved:

Mayor #1: “If my team loses, I’ll send my children to your city’s public schools for one year.”

Mayor #2: “Fair enough. And if my team loses, I’ll send my kids to our city’s public schools.”

And if you really want to go against the grain and simply betting on the outcome of the game isn’t enough action, you can delve into “prop” bets, also known as “If-you’re-willing-to-place-$100-on-whether-the-head-coach-is-wearing-boxers-or-briefs-it’s-time-to-seek-professional-help” betting.

Over/under on facial hairs is a bold bet. Stupid, but bold.

Prop betting specifically targets that person who thinks, I have a $100. Now, I could simply burn it. Or I could wipe my rear end with it. Or I could start a college fund for my child with it. Or I could place an over/under wager on the number of hairs in Ben Roethlisberger’s beard.

Following is a partial list of the official prop bets for this year’s Super Bowl, as well as a few unofficial prop bets I’ve added to the list. See if you can tell the difference. (I have taken the liberty of cutting out the odds attached to each bet to protect the integrity of this blog, and because I have no clue what they mean anyway.)

1. How long will it take Christina Aguilera to sing the National Anthem?

2. How long will Christina Aguilera hold the note “Brave” at the end of the National Anthem?

3. Will Christina Aguilera channel her inner Roseanne Barr and sing the National Anthem in the pitch of a juvenile howler monkey being castrated?

4. Will Christina Aguilera wear a cowboy hat while singing the National Anthem?

5. Will Christina Aguilera brand a cow while singing the National Anthem?

6. Will Christina Aguilera’s hair color be anything except completely blonde when she sings the National Anthem?

7. Will Christina Aguilera sing the entire National Anthem without gyrating her pelvis?

8. What will be the result of the Super Bowl XLV coin toss?

Heads
Tails
Seat of B.J. Raji’s Pants Blowing Out

 

9. Will BJ Raji score a touchdown during the game?

10. If BJ Raji scores a touchdown during the game, will his ensuing celebratory dance cause the Cowboys Stadium mega-jumbo Jumbotron to break free, crash to the field, and crush both teams, resulting in the first draw in Super Bowl history?

11. Which of my four children will first run into the room and ask whether the green team has scored a home run yet?

Slim
Perpetual Motion
The Hellcat
Tax Credit #4

 

12. What will Fergie be wearing when she first appears on stage during the Super Bowl halftime show?

Skirt/Dress
Pants (Below Knees)
Shorts (Above Knees)
Thong/G-String/Bikini Bottom
Chainmail Armor
Tuxedo T-shirt

 

13. Will Fergie be dressed as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader at any point during the halftime show?

14. Will I instinctively leap off of the couch and attempt to fist-bump my wife if Fergie is dressed as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader at any point during the halftime show?

15. If Fergie is dressed as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader at any point during the halftime show and I do instinctively leap off of the couch and attempt to fist-bump my wife, will she instead knee-bump my crotch?

16. Who will the FOX announcers say has worse split ends during the game?

Christina Aguilera
Troy Polamalu
Clay Matthews

 

Will those pants hold?

17. What color will the Gatorade be that is dumped on the head coach of the winning Super Bowl team?

18. What color will the juice be that one (or more) of my four children spills on the carpet during the game?

19. Who will President Obama pick to win the game?

20. How long will it take for the Tea Party to blame America’s economic state on President Obama’s pick?

21. Will there be a live remote from Alaska during halftime showing Sara Palin shooting some type of animal?

22. Will either team score 3 unanswered times in the game?

23. Will I score 3 times in the next 6 months after that whole Fergie/wife/fist-bump thing?

24. Who will score the game-winning touchdown?

25.Why will I miss the game-winning touchdown?

Shattered Television Screen Caused by Epic Lightsaber Duel
Changing Blown Out Diaper of 49ers-Broncos-Super-Bowl Proportions
Wife Flips Over to Trading Spaces Marathon as Retaliation for That Whole Fergie/Wife/Fist-bump Thing

 

As you can see, prop bets can be a lot of fun. Or incredibly painful.

So, if you’ve got an extra $100 burning a hole in your pocket, for God’s sake, put it in your kid’s college fund.

Or send it to me so I can get that shattered big screen fixed.

(Any prop bets that I’ve missed here? What type of prop bets would fit your Super Bowl Sunday experience? Anybody have any insider information on Fergie’s wardrobe so I can decide if I should wear a cup or not?)

**Photos courtesy of Getty Images and the Associated Press

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Secret Behind Oprah’s Empire.

2 Feb

Oprah now has her OWN channel. Up next: her OWN currency.

It is common knowledge that Oprah Winfrey is the most powerful woman on the planet. And the second most powerful human, trailing only Facebook creator Mark Zuckerberg. And the third most powerful creature or entity, behind Zuckerberg and Godzilla.

For God’s sake, the woman launched her own television network last month! (By the way, Saturday Night Live creator Lorne Michaels is featured on Oprah Presents Master Class, and it is must-see-TV.) Oprah’s channel should provide a tidy little nest egg for her after she closes up shop on her critically-acclaimed talk show in September, which has aired in every country on Earth for 25 years, as well as the other eight planets in the solar system and 48 of the 63 moons orbiting Jupiter.

(A handful of reputed scientists suggest that Pluto was actually kicked to the galactic curb because it refused to carry Oprah, calling the program “overrated and self-indulgent.” Clearly, that was a poor choice.)

Did I mention that her new television network is called OWN?

So Oprah is crazy wealthy and all-powerful, and by all accounts a generous philanthropist and dignified humanitarian. Hell, I professed my love for the woman back on World Gratitude Day, and I’m sticking to it. She’s the real deal.

What few people realize, though, is how versatile Oprah is. For instance, did you know that she narrated the 11-part Life series which aired on Discovery Channel last year? For those unfamiliar with this program, you are missing out. Just ask Perpetual Motion, our 5-year old resident biologist. We have the entire series recorded on DVR, and he has watched each episode to the point of verbatim memorization.

A few days ago, as P Motion was watching the “Amphibians and Reptiles” episode (again), a segment came on showing incredible footage of an unbelievably tiny toad.

“How much does that toad weigh?” I asked from the kitchen.

“Dad, he said that toad weighs less than a paper clip,” replied P Motion, a bit disgustedly, clicking the quick review button on the DVR remote as proof (sadly, all of our children are capable of that).

“Who is ‘he?’” inquired Kick Ass Wife, who was sitting at the table.

“The guy who is talking on TV,” said P Motion.

“Honey, that’s not a he. It’s a she.”

“No it isn’t. It’s a boy’s voice.”

Besides always moving (you could get motion sickness watching him watch television) and being smart as a whip, P Motion can also be a bit stubborn (not unlike COUGH COUGH his COUGH mother COUGH COUGH). This had the potential to get interesting.

“The person talking on the television is a woman, Reed.”

“How do you know?” The classic kid question. P Motion hit the quick review again, giving his mom a chance to clear up her gender misconceptions.

Kick Ass Wife, through only slightly clenched teeth and in a voice a few decibels below the kids-out-of-bed-for-the-fifth-time roar, said, “I…just…know.”

P Motion watched and listened again. “No. That’s a boy voice.”

“Reed, the person talking on TV is a woman named Oprah Winfrey! She has a talk show and she is probably one of the richest people in the world!” (I was going to add that she has her own television network, as well, but it didn’t seem that important at the time.)

P Motion kind of shrugged and continued watching television, seemingly waving the white flag. Or maybe not.

“Did she get rich because she can talk like a boy?”

Little-known fact: Oprah built at least part of her empire by doing male voice-over work for award-winning nature documentaries.

Who knew?

*Image courtesy of www.oprah.com.

(Any memorable “discussions” with your kids lately? Have you watched OWN yet? Do you think that if Oprah and Mark Zuckerberg teamed up, they could take Godzilla?)

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The 2-year old can’t say “football,” but he can pick winners: Tax Credit #4′s NFL predictions.

23 Jan

Last night, as Tax Credit #4 and I enjoyed a little daddy/toddler recliner time, I flipped over to the NFL Network to see what sort of hard-hitting analysis was taking place less than 24 hours before the NFC and AFC Championship Games. Leading up to kickoff, the entertainment value on those studio shows increases dramatically as the “experts” search for that exclusive little nugget to offer up to viewers.

Let’s send it out to our moderately attractive female reporter, who is in Pittsburgh at the Jets’ team hotel.

Thanks, guys. Earlier today, I examined stool samples from New York’s defensive linemen, and it appears that each ate several whole chickens, bones and all, over the last 12 hours. Clearly, they’re hoping that voracious appetite will help them devour Pittsburgh’s running game.

Also, I talked to Mark Sanchez’s mother in the elevator about 15 minutes ago, and she told me that as a 4-year old, her son threw almost 500 touchdown passes to imaginary receivers in their backyard. Guys, if that’s any indication, the Steelers’ secondary could be in for a long day, and the Jets could be looking at a treat that’s a whole lot sweeter than juice boxes and some of Mrs. Sanchez’s homemade chocolate chip cookies: a trip to Dallas for Super Bowl XLV. From Pittsburgh, I’m moderately attractive. Back to you.

Are you ready for some football? "No."

This was a perfect opportunity to talk a little pigskin with my almost 2-year old. His vocabulary may be limited to one word (“No”), but it does have two meanings (a “No” that means “No” and a “No” that actually means “Yes”). Tax Credit #4 keeps the playbook simple when it comes to conversation, but the kid knows a hell of a lot about football, and pretty much everything else.

“So what do you think: was that reporter moderately attractive?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so either. I’ve only got eyes for one woman who handles fecal matter, and that’s your mom. Which reminds me: did she ever find that Hungry Hungry Hippo marble?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry. It too shall pass. Good one, eh?”

“No.”

“You’re right. Too obvious. Speaking of passing, how about Aaron Rodgers? That guy is on fire. Do you think he’s the best quarterback in the league right now?”

“No.”

“Me, too. He’s just got that sort of moxie to him, you know? Tom Brady-like in a non-Justin Beiber sort of way, and Peyton Manning-like in a non-I-always-look-like-I’m-constipated sort of way. Rodgers doesn’t have the hardware that those two possess, but if he can take Green Bay all the way to the Super Bowl, with the injuries that team has had throughout the season and to do it by winning three playoff games on the road, he’ll have supplanted both of those guys as the premier QB. Plus, Rodgers looks like he’s having fun out there. Don’t you love that?”

“No.”

“I do, too. The guy sitting at home trying to watch the game with four little kids hanging off of him begging him to change the channel to Wonder Pets is the one who should have a grimace on his face, not the guy getting paid millions to play a game. Ironically, Rodgers reminds a lot of another #4 in that regard. When he was wearing the yellow and green, Brett Favre always looked like he was having fun. But man, the last two seasons that guy took a beating; he was a human piñata. At least the purple jersey accentuated all of the bruising. You called it on that Vikings-Favre-Moss thing, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Damn right, you did. That whole thing in Minnesota imploded quicker than one of our family trips to Walmart, just like you predicted. And now I read that the Vikings might be going after Vince Young? Really? That’s a good idea on the heels of the Favre-pocalypse?”

“No.”

“It’s a horrible idea. Alright, let’s get to it. NFC champion: Chicago?”

“No.”

“So the Pack will roll into Soldier Field, rip out the Bears’ collective heart, grind it up, stuff a bratwurst with it, eat it, and then wash it down with a Leinenkugel’s? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No.”

“As much as I love Bill Swerkski’s Super Fans (Da Bears) and the Blues Brothers, I’m with ya. Rodgers, Clay Fabio, and the Cheesehead Nation head south to Dallas in two weeks. Now, I was fully behind the Steelers to take out New York in the AFC, but then I saw that Hulk Hogan endorsed the Jets and trash-talking linebacker Bart Scott, who had two total tackles in last week’s win over New England. How can you pick against the former WWF champ? If I could find something in the news saying that Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka had texted Troy Polamalu telling him and the Steelers to go top turnbuckle on Rex Ryan and company, maybe I could pick Pittsburgh. But you’ve gotta go with the Hulkster, right?”

“No.”

“Pittsburgh?”

“No.”

“Alright, the Steel Curtain overcomes the mojo provided by the veteran of the steel cage match. You usually throw a 35-yard strike to the back of the end zone on these things, #4. Odds are, you’re right. Okay, how about these odds: 100-to-1, I can hold off the four-child blitz long enough to watch one of the two championship games in its entirety.”

“No.”

“1000-to-1?”

“No.”

“1,000,000-to-1?”

“No.”

“So you’re telling me there’s a chance. Yes! Those odds stink, #4, but I’ll take ‘em. Hey, something really does stink. Did you just spike one in your diaper?”

“No.”

“Well, luckily you snuck it in just before the 2-minute warning. Let’s go change that thing before you get hit with an illegal formation penalty. Illegal formation? Funny, huh?”

“No.”

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 2,510 other followers

%d bloggers like this: