The old saw that one man's trash is another man's treasure has NOTHING on my grandsons' parade to present birthday presents to me a couple of days back.
Melissa let each of the lads choose the bling he wanted to give me for my 39th.
Luke approached excitedly and pushed the small package toward me. I carefully undid the ribbon and peeled back the wrapping paper he had helped put on the gift.
BeHOLD: Flarp.
Continuing to ride his wave of excitement, the 3-year-old said, "Can I PLAY with it, Papa Mike?"
"Of course, you can," I said. "Just don't spill it on the floor."
If you're wondering what Flarp Noise Putty is, be prepared for a whiplashed "What'll they think of NEXT?" response, followed quickly by "I wish I'D have thought of that!" Maybe.
Flarp, for the uninitiated, is a Play-Doh-like substance that comes in a little canister. With practice, you can learn how to thrust your fingers into it JUST SO, so that it makes armpit noises, also known as whoopy cushion sounds, also known, in flatulent circles, as farts.
For my money, I favor the armpit technique, if for no other reason than the fact that it doesn't stain anything, while Flarp in a kid's hands is like a fart on a griddle and there will be stains EVERYWHERE. (I won't demonstrate MY technique, because I've got too much class, and I'm opting not to present one from YouTube, but they abound there.)
Of course, I avoided the Flarp stains because I let Luke take it home, and sure 'nuf, his dad was able to show me stains in three places on their carpet next time I visited.
Next in the loot line was Jack, who presented me with his bag and grinned when I withdrew the little stuffed alien figure. Not like the one that terrorized Sig Weaver, but rather the wide-eyed variety of Roswell, N.M.
As I admired it, he suggested, "Maybe you could give me that back for my graduation present."
"GREAT idea," I thought. After ALL, I'd been lying awake nights trying to figure out what to get a 5-year-old for his preschool graduation. That's a milestone, right?
Then came Vincent, the most mature of us (yes, some people say he's more mature than I) when we're out and about. The 7-year-old showed his practical side here, too, as he gave me a little garden rake because he knew I might need one.
And HE didn't ask to use it right away or to get it back.
Patrick, the youngest, at a tad over nine months, didn't give me anything except that odd look he gives me, trying to figure out for SURE whether he trusts me, before he breaks out in that grin and burrows into his mom's or dad's shoulder.
But that look was a gift worth a canister of Flarp any day. But like Luke and Jack, Patrick took the smile home with him.
Fortunately, Melissa also brought a new picture of him for the refrigerator, so the Fab Four are smiling on me, along with their drawings. (Well, obviously, Patrick doesn't have any drawings and, actually, he's got a quizzical look on his face, as if he just dirtied his diapers.)
But the boys, and their photos, are treasures. (And I'm glad Luke took the Flarp home and trashed his own house.)
P.S.: As long as we're on the topics of gastronomical phenomena and education (Jack's graduation day, remember?), I might as well tell you the joke he learned from his Uncle Chris the other day.
Question: What do you call a person who won't fart in public?
Answer: A private tooter.
Ba-da-BUMP!
P.P.S.: As it turned out, I probably spent more on Jack's preschool graduation than my parents did on my high-school graduation. I snagged him enough alien stuff to start his own sector of Roswell.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
God made moms for special reasons
I confess to being a little lackadaisical of late, not posting an entry in this space for a couple of weeks. I suppose I could blame it on the boys, saying they just haven't done, or said, anything clever, or mischievous. But that would be a lie; they're ALWAYS clever. And, of course, frequently mischievous.
It's just that I have forgotten to chronicle their capers, so my mind is blank when it comes time to connect the dots of their lives. And even though Jack had me in stitches at the pool the other day, who takes a notepad to the pool? And even if I had, I don't have a pen that writes under the water, where I spend most of my time because of my lack of swimming acumen.
Although I feel like I should write something for Mother's Day, I face a conundrum: Put away the fishing poles and park the lads in front of the TV while I turn to the keyboard, or STEAL something somebody else has written.
The clouds parted and the solution beamed down: The column is about the grandkids, so take 'em fishing and let somebody ELSE do the work. The kids won't give a rip some day about whether I've written a blog entry. But, when I'm long dead and buried, the kids will remember that I took 'em fishing.
And they'll realize it's a good memory, so they'll stop what they're doing and take kids fishing, and those kids someday will take the next generation out to drown some worms, and those kids, the next, and pretty soon, the whole damn world will be one big fishing camp instead of camps warring against each other. (And SOME day, even worms and fish will be spared when all lures are artificial and don't have hooks so it will be a sporting exercise signaling that humanity and animals finally are at peace, too.)
I figure peace among all creatures of the is a case of the end justifying the means, so I went fishing to keep that tradition going for awhile, anyway.
Then I turned down the road to perdition, stealing these kid comments from whoever first compiled them for the Web, not to mention those who have irritated family, friends, and foes by forwarding them all over the globe.
The comments are represented as answers second-graders gave to questions about what God had in mind in creating moms. I don't know whether that's true or somebody made them up, but at least I'm being upfront about it:
Why did God make mothers?
1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. Mostly to clean the house.
3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.
How did God make mothers?
1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3. God made my mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.
What ingredients are mothers made of?
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world — and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.
Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom?
1. We're related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.
What kind of a little girl was your mom?
1. My mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.
What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?
1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?
Why did your mom marry your dad?
1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my mom eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that mom didn't have her thinking cap on.
Who's the boss at your house?
1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.
What's the difference between moms and dads?
1. Moms work at work and work at home and dads just go to work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
3. Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friends..
4. Moms have magic — they make you feel better without medicine.
What does your mom do in her spare time?
1. Mothers don't do spare time.
2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.
What would it take to make your mom perfect?
1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue.
If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be?
1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.
2. I'd make my mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it not me.
3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head.
I find it kind of amazing that, although many of those observations are gut-busters, many are spot on.
With that, I'll say: Happy Mother's Day to all you moms out there.
Let's end it with a message from comedian Jeff Dunham:
It's just that I have forgotten to chronicle their capers, so my mind is blank when it comes time to connect the dots of their lives. And even though Jack had me in stitches at the pool the other day, who takes a notepad to the pool? And even if I had, I don't have a pen that writes under the water, where I spend most of my time because of my lack of swimming acumen.
Although I feel like I should write something for Mother's Day, I face a conundrum: Put away the fishing poles and park the lads in front of the TV while I turn to the keyboard, or STEAL something somebody else has written.
The clouds parted and the solution beamed down: The column is about the grandkids, so take 'em fishing and let somebody ELSE do the work. The kids won't give a rip some day about whether I've written a blog entry. But, when I'm long dead and buried, the kids will remember that I took 'em fishing.
And they'll realize it's a good memory, so they'll stop what they're doing and take kids fishing, and those kids someday will take the next generation out to drown some worms, and those kids, the next, and pretty soon, the whole damn world will be one big fishing camp instead of camps warring against each other. (And SOME day, even worms and fish will be spared when all lures are artificial and don't have hooks so it will be a sporting exercise signaling that humanity and animals finally are at peace, too.)
I figure peace among all creatures of the is a case of the end justifying the means, so I went fishing to keep that tradition going for awhile, anyway.
Then I turned down the road to perdition, stealing these kid comments from whoever first compiled them for the Web, not to mention those who have irritated family, friends, and foes by forwarding them all over the globe.
The comments are represented as answers second-graders gave to questions about what God had in mind in creating moms. I don't know whether that's true or somebody made them up, but at least I'm being upfront about it:
Why did God make mothers?
1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. Mostly to clean the house.
3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.
How did God make mothers?
1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3. God made my mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.
What ingredients are mothers made of?
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world — and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.
Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom?
1. We're related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.
What kind of a little girl was your mom?
1. My mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.
What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?
1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?
Why did your mom marry your dad?
1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my mom eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that mom didn't have her thinking cap on.
Who's the boss at your house?
1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.
What's the difference between moms and dads?
1. Moms work at work and work at home and dads just go to work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
3. Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friends..
4. Moms have magic — they make you feel better without medicine.
What does your mom do in her spare time?
1. Mothers don't do spare time.
2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.
What would it take to make your mom perfect?
1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue.
If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be?
1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.
2. I'd make my mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it not me.
3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head.
I find it kind of amazing that, although many of those observations are gut-busters, many are spot on.
With that, I'll say: Happy Mother's Day to all you moms out there.
Let's end it with a message from comedian Jeff Dunham:
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