1-2-3 Magic Can Suck It!

Well, truthfully…three years ago I wanted to make love to the inventor of 1-2-3 Magic.

It saved our asses from many many a bad habit. But I have to admit…we never actually read it. We just read the title and immediately said, “oh shit we’ve got this down pat. You say one…then two…and if they haven’t stopped by three they’re in time out. Let’s do this!!!!”

And, low-and-behold, with just the quick, yet stern, announcement of the number “one” children within our household would immediately stop the madness.

Then, their tiny little minds started developing. They moved from just barely being able to walk, to flying around corners, to kicking the cat when you weren’t looking, to trying to open your bedroom door while you and the Mrs. were making whoopie.

That’s when they realize, “why in the hell am I stopping at one? I have a whole other second to continue my madness right in front of my parents and get away with it!”

And so we watched as the daughter gave our boy a wedgie as we slowly counted, “one!!!!!.....two!!!!!!” and by then everything she’d come here to do had been accomplished.

So…we did what we imagined the book would strongly recommend…we sped-up our counting. The numbers one and two quickly became one word, “Grayson!!! Onetwo…”

“Daddy you didn’t even pause between the numbers!!! That’s no fair!!!”

Then it dawned on me. My kids are about to be six and eight-year-old. I shouldn’t be 1-2-3 Magicing their asses. They should respect and obey me damn it!!!

So, I downed a beer, slammed the empty to the ground, and called a family meeting.

“Kids!,” I said as I put my arm around the wife to seem as though we were united in this epic announcement. “No more 1-2-3!! From now on, if you don’t do what we say the first time, you go to your rooms without toys. Your mother and I stand firm on this. Now….be-gone and go be children!”

3.8 seconds later the boy was the first to challenge this new rule by standing between his sister and the TV. It was at that very second that I realized how engrained 1-2-3 had become in my life. And it was at that very second I wanted to set a date for my first of a dozen 1-2-3 Magic book-burning parties.

I couldn’t count anymore. I just simply had to lay the law down and end it.

But I catch myself all the time wanting to count to stop things that annoy me.

Behind a slow-ass driver on the interstate – “move damn it!!!! One!!! Two!!!!”

Trying like hell to get my insanely fast and agile puppy to come to me at 11 p.m. at night – “Marty HERE!!!! HERE MARTY!!!! One!!! Two!!!!”

The wife hoping that I last at least three seconds tonight – “OK honey, you ready to start? You can do this. I know you can. I believe in you. OK…GO!!!! One….tw….oh honey it’s OK, it happens to everyone.”

So, yeah! I never read the book. And I used to believe in the awesomeness of its title and what it did for our beloved family.

But now, I’ve come to realize 1-2-3 isn’t “Magic,” it’s a freakin’ “Lifestyle!” And I really really miss it.



The Teaching Of The 5-Second Rule

It’s one of the top 5 most epic rules of all time. And, I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to teach it to my boy.

I spent the first 6 years of my fatherhood watching the kids crumble into tears and tantrums after fumbling a delicious goodie from their hands.

“Quick! Pick it up, pick the dirt off and eat it!”

“NNNNNOOOOOOO!!!!!!” was always the tearful response. And there it laid.

To make it worse, my obsessive cleaning of my hands in their classrooms as a volunteer has taught them that the outside world is nothing but a smoking germ factory. This only fueled their desire to consider their popsicle kaput.

We tried it all, “What? Dirt on it? Awesome!!!! Eat it quick, that stuff’s like a magical crispy awesomeness or something!!!”

“You’re not gonna eat that?” Then I’d reach down, snatch the popsicle up and cram it down my throat to show it was OK. I only did that once. It was like throwing gasoline on a match next to a paper factory.

Then, a few weeks ago, a light bulb went off. I remembered that I have the short-lived “my daddy knows everything and walks on water” powers.

So, in my most confident, happenstance voice I said to my son, “dude, you don’t know about the coveted 5-second rule?”

“The what?”

“Son!!!? Seriously? After all this time? Oh my…oh my.”

“Daddy, what!!?! Tell me!! What about the five…ummm”

“The 5-second rule Grayson!! It’s vitally important. Are you sure you’re ready? Are you sure you can handle this?”

“Daddy tell me!!! Please!”

“OK my son. If you should happen to accidentally drop a piece of food on the ground for a length of less than 5 seconds that doesn’t touch pee, poop, dead animals, your sister, or anything else that may cause death, you can simply blow it off, and eat it. That is all.”

“What do you mean that is all?”

“I mean, that is all. Drop an ice cream cone, quickly grab it, blow it off and keep chowing.”

“Really? That’s a rule?”

“I won’t lie, it’s saved me from being hungry many a-time. But keep in mind! It doesn’t work for gum, candy, etc… that’s been laying around for days. It has to have fallen within the 5-second time period.”

Immediately the boy dropped his pretzel stick on the ground and looked up at me.

I started counting, “One-one thousand, two-one thousand…”

The boy quickly snatched the pretzel stick back up, blew on it, then looked up at me again. I smiled at him and waited.

He took a bite, slowly chewing it to make sure it didn’t explode his jaw or cause him to clutch his chest and fall to the ground riddled with impending death. Then a huge smile came across his face and he mumbled, “so awesome.”

My job here is done.

This Oughta Help You Through The Holidays

If you’re anything like me, you experience a shit-ton of questions around the holiday time.

I know, I know…it’s only September. But you know what? Target already has its Halloween candy out and my kids are obsessively talking about what they’re going to wear for this coveted candy-filled nightmare of a holiday, so deal!

The holidays always bring a slew of questions from the little ankle biters that leave us scratching our heads, looking around the room for an escape trap, or diversions like “hey!!! Who wants a $5 bill?!!!”

So, since I love you all from the bottom of my heart, I thought I’d go ahead and tackle some of the tough questions you’re bound to get from a young excited child, and provide what I believe to be the best answer you could give if I were to be drunk, speaking truthfully and the worst parent on Earth.

These Q & As have been approved by the parental guidance committee of the great United States of America.

Q: Why is Santa so fat?

A: Because Santa eats the elves that are assholes.

Q: Why do the Pilgrims wear such funny hats?

A: Why are you wearing a douchey Izod t-shirt? Are you scared to be a clothing trend setter? Are you really my child, cause if so I’m very disappointed.

Q: What are you gonna wear for Halloween this year dad?

A: Well, if I get enough beers in her, your mother. But we know how those cards will fall, so I’m just gonna probably throw a sheet over my head, go to parties as a ghost and randomly bump into scantily-clad women for my shits and giggles.

Q: Why do we eat turkey at Thanksgiving?

A: The pilgrims and Indians originally had ice cream and cake. But then they finished and jointly decided they wanted every kid in the world to be miserable every fourth Thursday of November. So shut your pie-hole, eat and let daddy finish watching Dallas get their asses beat!

Q: If we’re at grandma’s house for Christmas how will Santa know where to deliver the presents.

A: He won’t. Now go to bed and cover your head with your pillow so I don’t have to listen to you cry.

Q: Why doesn’t Santa bring mommy and you presents?

A: The longer you live the worse life becomes. One day you’re opening presents and singing Christmas carols to strangers, the next day you’re steeling wi-fi from the next door neighbor while drinking Jack Daniels and cussing the electric company for turning your power off on Christmas Eve. Now open your damn present and get daddy some more ice for his drink.

Q: Daddy? Why does your stocking smell like poo?

A: Because your mother put dog shit in it.

Q: Did that man who you went into the garage with you for five minutes show you the smoke machine he plans on using for Halloween? Is that why the garage smells like that?

A: Yeah….yeah, that’s what it was. Now who’s got the munchies?

Q: When you were a kid did you used to get what you wanted for Christmas?

A: Yeah…cause I’d go to bed praying I’d wake-up to my dad passed out in a pool of puke under the tree surrounded by empties of Miller Lite and a stocking full of Lark cigarettes. Now run go get me another beer and stop asking so many damn questions.

I honestly hope these help you through the holidays. It’s a tough time! Money’s tight, everyone’s on edge and children’s heads are running rampant with questions about it all.

So, next time you hear that high-pitched voice start tossing out a holiday question that’s sure to have you looking for the next liquor store…know I’m here for you and always willing to help.

I Got Interviewed!

A few days ago I got a kick-ass email from Ms. Sarah Fader (@Osnsmom on Twitter.)

She said, “I want to Q & A you dude!!”

How in the hell could I say no?

So, I plowed through some questions, dug through a few digital albums of photos, and here we have it, my response to her questions.

I hope you enjoy, learn more about this brother, and start following her badass blog!

Here’s the Q & A! Enjoy!



Words That End In "Yuuah"

It’s gotten to the point where I go to work and am all, “I know, but I called him two days ago-yuuah!!” in a really whiney voice.

That’s what our seven-year-old has done to not only me, but the wifey and daughter.

Take a walk back to non-kid days with me.

It’s Saturday in our 850-square-foot apartment we comfortable fit into. It’s 10:30 a.m. and the wife and I have woken at the same time. Tossing bad-breathe in the air like it’s Chernobyl on crack we laugh and remember back to when we were kids.

Wife: “You remember when you’d be all, ‘fiiiiiiinnnnneeeeyyuuuuahh!!’ at your mom?”

Me: “Are you kidding? I was the king at adding the ‘yuuah’ to the end of anything. Essentially it’s the closest a kid can get to ‘fuck you’ without getting jack-slapped into the next century.”

And so it became our “thing.”

Example Numero Uno:

Me: “So, you uhhh….you wanna fool around a little?”

Wife: “FIIINNNEEEEyuuah!!!”

Example Numero Dos:

Wife: “Honey, please take the garbage out before I cut you!”

Me: “FIINNNEEEEEyuuah!!!!”

I’d toss out example number three but Google’s being a bitch in telling me how to say “three” i.e. “tres” in Spanish.

Didn’t you hate when your professors used to say “i.e.” in college? I’d use it all the time with the wife and friends and I won’t lie, I almost got stabbed at a party one time using “i.e.” as part of my fighting vocabulary.

But I digress. And holy shit I’ve gotten off track.

The bottom line, all that “fiiiinnneeeyuuahh” stuff’s gotten us in to one hell of trouble. It’s the boy’s new favorite ending to every sentence.

Even so much so that our neighbor’s kick-ass kid who’s three calls my five year-old “Macy-yuuuuah.”

So, our family has embraced it. The other day we spent the day ending all our sentences with “yuuah.”

Daughter: “I gotta go boom boom daddyyuuaahh”

Me: “Hey look honey! If I see you naked, then jump up and down I can make three parts of my body clap at once-yuuuah”

Wife: “You scare me-yyuuuahhh”

Sure, we’re teaching out kids the improper use of language.

But in the end, it was so freakin’ awesome to see my son use his sense of humor to laugh at himself, which in turn will cause him to stop doing it.

At least that's what the book How To Parent Like A Champion said would happen.