When's The Fun Part?

Packed Up The Kids

2007-05-13T21:35:00.000-05:00

We've moved to the nicer neighborhood over at WordPress.

The schools are better, the crime rate is lower and the property taxes are affordable.

See you there.

My Three Sons

2007-04-30T21:34:00.000-05:00

A request has been made by the mother of these children for the kind patrons to ignore the mostly eaten bowl of Spaghetti-O's that is marring an otherwise fine photograph.

The oldest will be an official teenager in less than a year. This may be the last time we see him smile until he goes off to college. According to his mother, "away at college" means Middle Tennessee State University. To me, it means Universidad Francisco Marroquín in Guatemala City.

The middle child is practicing for either Clown College or a replacement for his "lost" PSP.

The youngest is working on his left jab in order to train for the next "Rocky" sequel.

One Month Report

2007-04-07T13:00:00.000-05:00

As with most things, I look to my Battle Buddy for inspirado in this matter.

Thus, we present this update in SALUTE format.

Size-- Growing at an alarming rate. Currently consuming his body weight in formula a day. I'm having to hold a bottle as I type. It is almost as if he is attempting to catch up to his Bruiser-sized peers.

Activity-- Mainly sleeping, crying, eating and filling diapers. In that order. He consistently resembles John Belushi imitating Joe Cocker at any given moment.

Location-- Never more than a few feet from his Momma. The potential for inadvertent disaster looms on the nights when she places him in the middle of our bed.

Unit Designation-- From what I can see, baby boy clothes come in either Loser Blue or Tweety Bird Yellow. I suspect that these are the colors his Momma feels that are appropriate for an infant to wear. Personally, I feel that all a child needs is a good kilt. (Sporran not pictured).

Time and Date-- Fortunately, I have the alibi of going to work every day. So my interaction with the child is limited to nights and weekends. Like a cell phone plan's free minutes. However, Friday and Saturday nights are my turn in the barrel. The subject receives his bottle of Weight Gain 4000 every three to four hours. Another month of this and I will be ready to institute Operation NyQuil. The boy may be coming down with a cold and Daddy likes to sleep.

Equipment-- The Binky, Pacifier, 1 each, has thus far proven to be a cruel hoax for all involved. The boy is not fooled by the plastic thing that does not provide food. I am at a loss to why we continue to try to shut him up with it when it clearly does not work as advertised.

The one piece of equipment that he seems to sleep well in is his car seat, manufactured by Death Trap Industries. He sleeps well in the car. The unfortunate side effect is when one goes to get him out of the car seat, he looks like Tricia Helfer snapped his neck. If they can send an infant across the galaxy in a chandelier and crash land him in a Kansas pasture, why can't they make a baby seat that doesn't feel like it belongs in a trebuchet?

Drunk Baby

2007-03-12T20:55:00.000-05:00

Everyone remembers their first trip to Hooters.

The Lamest Show On Earth

2007-02-03T09:02:00.000-06:00

Now that I have your attention.

We went to the circus last weekend. I've spent the last seven days shaking off the residual effects. The screaming nightmares have finally subsided. The uncontrollable crying has not.

People have all sorts of reasons to hate the circus. The animal rights people believe the performing animals are treated cruelly. Nativists demand to know why Chinese acrobats are taking jobs that rightfully belong to American acrobats. People like me feel uneasy when the clowns come out to strains of Rock and Roll Part 2 as performed by kiddie-molester Gary Glitter.

The theme for this performance was Circus of Dreams. For those of you old enough to remember when the networks would have Saturday Morning Preview Specials, you may also remember when they would have a showcase where, say, Lee Majors and some kids would be involved in a stupidly contrived adventure where the new kids programming would be premiered. That's about the same level of sophistication as Ringling Brothers now brings to the table.

I will say this, the actual acts were entertaining and amazing. The narrative arc to bring them together really ruined the whole deal. Having some besequined Betty belt out the "Circus of Dreams" theme song for what felt like twenty minutes seemed a little over the top, however. Much like the food served, they really could have done without all the filler.

Needless to say, the boys got the most bang for the entertainment dollar when one of the elephants crapped in the middle of the stage. It may have been the only time the kids laughed out loud.

Unfortunately, they were still pale from the clowns. Either that or the automatic focus on my camera sucks.

Their color soon returned for the Globe of Death. Next to elephants shitting, it was clearly their favorite. It contains both motorcycles and bodily harm. What more could a kid want?

Other, than to get out of there, of course. With the exception of a few truly talented circus performers, I've seen better stuff on Circus of the Stars.

The best part of the day, for my money, was hot dogs after the show at Hot Diggity Dogs. For the kids, it will always be the day they watched an elephant take a dump where the Predators play.

Christmas Cards

2006-12-26T11:38:00.000-06:00

Here are photos pertaining to the boys first Christmas on Sarcastro Mountain.

In a rare moment of truce, the boys help Grandma Sarcastro make Christmas cookies.

Under threat of disinheritance, I am prevented from showing photographic evidence of the existence of Grandma Sarcastro.

Discipline began to break down early. Once the it became obvious that this was a photo-op, all bets were off.

The identity of the woman on the right working in the kitchen remains a mystery.

Soon, this would explode into a dispute regarding who is doing what in the cookie making process.

The camera would have to be put down and the children separated.

Even the normally camera shy 11, was pleased enough with his haul of presents to momentarily look at the camera. Despite all appearances to the contrary, he did not get a Red Ryder BB gun.

He'd shoot his eye out.

By the time we got home and opened more presents, the standard level of malaise and disinterest soon set in.

Besides, there was a game on.

Birthday Boy

2006-12-11T08:35:00.000-06:00

Today is the day that 8 becomes 9.

9 is so much more mature than 8 was. 9 gets up without a fuss and feeds the pets. 9 gets dressed without having to be threatened like his predecessor. 8 was notorious for being uncooperative in the morning. 9 is such an improvement.

At least he is today. We still have another 364 days to see if the changes are permanent.

There was some coercion involved in getting his teeth brushed this morning. He claimed he didn't know how. He forgot how to brush his teeth between this morning and yesterday.

9 will get a new bike this week. Let's hope he doesn't forget how to ride it. It took me half the summer to re-teach him how to swim, so it is possible he forgot how to ride a bike and brush his teeth.

Still, 9 just seems so much more mature and sophisticated compared to 8. It is, however, troublesome how he seems fixated on how much money child actors like Dakota Fanning make. His star making role in the school play is partly to blame. Personally, I think the fault lies with Zach and Cody.

As long as he doesn't turn out like Danny Bonaduce, Todd Bridges, Kirk Cameron, Macaulay Culkin, Corey Feldman, Corey Haim, Edward Furlong, Brad Renfro or Mickey Rooney, I'll be happy.

Toilet Training

2006-12-11T07:39:00.000-06:00

When the baby arrives, I'll be going out of my way to avoid changing diapers. As we all know, baby poop is the worst kind. Whatever I have to do to get out of doing my share of the butt wipin', I'll do. Note from the doctor, called up by the Army for one last secret mission, lost coming back from the Trojan war and stuck on an island full of pigs, cyclops, hot chicks, polar bears, lotus eaters and mysterious hatches--I don't care which. Any excuse will do.

I don't have any specific aversion or phobia related to this desire to not be involved in the baby's crap. Honestly, I just don't want to do it. It reminds me of a conversation I had many years ago with one of my employees. We were discussing slavery. Harold, being black or Afro-American as is apparently the new preferred nomenclature, had a very strong opinion regarding his role in the antebellum South.
"If I was back in slave times, I'd be a house nigger!"
"How come, Harold?"
"I gots allergies!"

That's what I need; an allergy to dirty diapers.

Meanwhile, I'm planning ahead for the toilet training. There are many books and experts with various theories about the best way to go about this.

I have my own ideas about how this will go.

(photo credit:Justin Cook, University of North Carolina)

Thank Heaven for Little Girls

2006-12-01T08:26:00.000-06:00

Walter Jowers has a touching column about his daughter in this week's Scene. Like many men, he wanted a son and settled for a girl. He soon learned that having a daughter was an unexpected delight.

Before Mrs. Sarcastro and I learned the sex of our forthcoming male child, Knucklehead and I were discussing kids over a couple of cold beers. He told me with a gleam in his eye how cool it was to have a daughter. It makes you step up your game a few notches. He wished a daughter upon me.

Now, I don't know nuthin' about raisin' no girl child. I grew up in a house where the men outnumbered the woman three to one. That is the current ratio under my roof as well. The boys and I are able to fart, burp, loudly announce our intentions to go "drop the Browns off at the Super Bowl", and generally be rude, crude and socially unacceptable. Boys will be boys after all.

Wouldn't we have to change our ways if a girl child came into the picture? Gone would be the days of insinuating a weak femininity towards the boys because they whine about their food touching on the plate. No longer could the word "girl" be used in a pejorative sense. As in, "You fight/hit/throw/cry/argue like a little girl."

It may be a genetically encoded deal that we menfolk think we are supposed to produce boys. It continues the bloodline, such as it is. A man without sons is not a man, we are told thanks to the Bible, the history of the world's monarchies and the Chinese government.

What life skills do I have that I could pass on to my daughter? Kicking 35-yard field goals, shooting pool and cheating at cards are areas of expertise that are not considered desirable in young girls. Unless, of course, she's Tatum O'Neal.

When we went to get the ultra-sound that would determine the baby's gender, we had discussed our preferences. First and foremost, as long as the kid isn't born with the heart on the outside or a damn set of fins and a blowhole, we don't care if it is a boy or girl. When the tech showed us the child's little hammer hanging between his legs we were both very happy. Mrs. Sarcastro felt relieved as she had only previously raised male children and wouldn't have to break stride. She probably wasn't looking forward to the years from about 13-21 with a daughter. I also felt that this would be easier as I would not wind up going to jail for shooting teenage boys.

I couldn't help but feel a twinge of melancholy, though. A sort-of feeling of a missed opportunity had passed by. I wouldn't ever know the challenges of girl-raising. That gleam in my eye would be different from the gleam in Knuck's eye.

Having a daughter would have been pretty cool.

What's In A Name?

2006-11-29T15:21:00.000-06:00

We have chosen a name for the forthcoming male child. This was not an easy process.

The elimination criteria was as follows:

Name belonging to a current living relative that would cause confusion.
Name belonging to a current living relative who is a jerk.
Name belonging to a current living relative who would believe the child was namesaked as some sort of tribute or honor when none is intended.
Name belonging to a former relative by marriage.
Name belonging to anyone from either of our pasts who:
picked his nose and ate what he found in the third grade
wet the bed at camp-outs
stood someone up at the prom
grew up to be a mass-murderer
wore an ugly shirt this one time
listened to The Cure
played Dungeons & Dragons
ratted me out for buying the beer for that kick-ass soccer team party after we won the state championship and caused me to get suspended from school for three days.

Names that are also western states and cities.
Names belonging to members of the Rat Pack.
Names belonging to my favorite superheroes.
Names belonging to Bible characters. My revenge for the previous two being off-limits.
and of course,
Names that end in the letter "N".

The letter "N" rule is in full force and non-negotiable. Even 8 and 11 have signed on with that one. Whenever the boys have baseball, inevitably the roster sounds like this:

Jaden
Dylan
Tristan
Austin
Brandon
Cameron
Dylan #2
Chris*
and batting last,
Dylan #3

*The one normal kid. In all likelihood mine. Although he usually bats higher in the order.

Given the prevalence of the above names, especially amongst the gloriously unsophisticated members of our community, I'm sad to see that the trend in the trailer park has moved away from naming boys Donnie, Lonnie, Wayne, Darrell and Lamar. It was always an easy signifier of education level when someone told you their kid's name and it happened to be the same as their favorite NASCAR driver. However, no matter how much you try to "class" up your kid's name, you still live in the trailer park. Kind of like how developers think if they name the subdivision "Buckinghamshire", no one will notice that every home is a vinyl-sided cracker box with substandard framing and a water-logged crawlspace built on top of the swamp that the PCB manufacturer down the road used as an "offsite storage facility".

So, we finally came to a decision after all of that. Or at least we have as of this writing. A lot could change between now and March. As recently as a few weeks ago, the kid's name was Patrick. Or Trent. I forget which. It pretty much came down to a list of names that we didn't both hate.

The kid's actual name will be revealed shortly after he starts breathing air instead of whatever it is that fetuses breathe so as not to jinx it.

A Pair of Jokers

2006-11-13T08:00:00.000-06:00

The boys are turning into real cutups. Their comedic timing is getting sharper and funnier. Being funny comes pretty natural to 8. His older brother has to work at it a little harder. Even so, 11 still gets some good ones in every now and again.

For example, 11 and I were watching the clip of Joe Paterno getting his leg broken by a Wisconsin player last week.

Sarcastro: Joe's been coaching since Jesus died.
Eleven: Which time?

Although not biblically accurate, he nailed that snappy comeback without missing a beat.

On the way to the Titans game yesterday, we were discussing just how badly the Titans were going to get whupped. SuperFan Mrs. Sarcastro wasn't having any of our bad mouthing of her team.

Mrs. Sarcastro: You boys need to be more positive about your team.
Eight: Mom! We are POSITIVE that the Titans are gonna lose!

I'm so proud.

Trick or Treat or Else

2006-11-01T08:47:00.000-06:00

From the Wikipedia:
Libertarians and Classic Liberals have interpreted Robin Hood as a liberty-seeking anti-government independent. In this phrasing, the power structure of the Sheriff and Prince John are representative of the government, while Robin Hood and the Merry Men are the rebellious everymen, with Friar Tuck as an ambivalent Church. Robin Hood returns taxes, confiscated goods and private property to their rightful owners, the common individual citizen in this reading.

This one, not so much.

This Robin Hood went out last night to steal Reese's Peanut Butter Cups from the rich, and give them to himself. His brother, who could charitably be described as wearing a Jay Cutler costume decided he was too old to go trick or treating. So, he opted to stayed home and give out candy.

Here's the haul that brave Sir Robin brought in.

Before we left to raid the Nottingham subdivison, we had a weapons check.

"Wait, where's my trusty bow?"

"Oh, right. Thanks."

Brotherly Love

2006-10-18T13:01:00.000-05:00

The other night we were discussing with 8 how life will be different once the baby arrives.

The conversation turned inevitably towards dirty diapers. It is impossible for 8 to go more than a few minutes without bringing up some kind of bodily function.

"Well, you are going to help change dirty diapers, aren't you?", we asked.

"No way I'm touching those things!"

"Why not?"

"I don't want to get near the baby's poop!"

"Aren't you going to help with the baby?"

"I might pet it."

Goodbye, Mrs. Gloop. Adieu. Aufwiedersehen. Gesundheit. Farewell.

2006-10-09T21:17:00.000-05:00

There are little things in life that give one pause. Sometimes, instead of getting worked up about the economy, the price of gas, kiddie rapers in Congress and the Krazy Koreans getting the bomb there are little moments that restore your faith in all that is good and pure and honest.
Tonight I had one of those moments. To be fair, thanks to the boys I had one of those moments. They made it clear after a few minutes of the Ravens/Broncos game that they were more interested in watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

Just to be clear, they aren't at all interested in the hideous Johnny Depp/Tim Burton crapfest. Here's a lesson for the Hollywood CrassMeisters, if given a choice between whimsical classic and a Michael Jackson allegory with Freudian overtones, they will pick the one that creeps them out the least.

Also, they love midgets. Or little people. Or whatever they prefer to be called now.

So much of what is cranked out for mass consumption today is some kind of bastardized version of something that was perfectly good way back when. Rather than letting kids watch the classic Looney Tunes, they have to spit up something called Loonatics Unleashed. There isn't a kid in America who didn't see through that cheap stunt.

How about the classic Dr. Seuss cartoons that introduced kids to The Grinch and The Cat in the Hat? They have recently been turned into live action offal. The kids today will grow up afraid of Mike Myers and Jim Carrey the same way kids of my generation grew up afraid of clowns.

I'm proud of the kids for having good taste. Not to mention this damn football game is a 3-3 barnburner after three quarters.

Fall Creek Falls: Lessons Learned

2006-10-04T17:20:00.000-05:00

The key part of any After Action Report, is a section called Lessons Learned.

Here is what we learned after a Fall trip to the unimaginatively named Fall Creek Falls.

Lesson #1: The trip down to the base of the falls is far more enjoyable than the trip back up to the top.

Lesson #2: Sibling rivalry occurs regardless of locale, amount of surrounding natural beauty or level of exhaustion from walking back up the damn trail.

Lesson #3: Reading Atlas Shrugge d to your child may have unfortunate consequences. Between striking this pose and railing about not living his life for another man and how we shouldn't sanction our own victimhood, it got a little scary.

Then at dinner, he asked his mommy to cut up his meat for him.

Lesson #4: Making a child watch Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom right before the camping trip isn't a good idea either. Unless you want a child talking like Short Round everytime you come across a swinging bridge over a river full of crocodiles.

Unfortunately, this isn't true. Despite my best efforts, he claims to hate the Indy movies.

I weep for a generation that finds Indiana Jones movies "boring". Although, I think the truth is they might have been too scary, so he has adopted a pose of general disinterest.

Lesson #5: No matter how funny we think it is, Mom gets so nervous when we get near the edge of the scenic overlook, she can't hold the camera steady. Or she learned how to take photos from watching the old Batman TV show.

The funniest bit of her panic attack over us being near the edge, was that it was only a six foot drop.

Lesson #6: Telling ghost stories around the campfire sometimes have unintended consequences.

Luckily, we packed a home exorcism kit. Thanks Department of Homeland Security! Say what you want about Right Wing Fundamentalists running the country, but when your kid gets possessed by demons or gets bitten by one of the walking undead, you'll be damn glad that your tax dollars are at work.

Lesson #7: One of the side effects of the home exorcism kit is the unfortunate tendency to put on a minstrel show when your turn to tell ghost stories comes up.

Lesson #8: No matter what a trooper she may claim to be, NEVER TAKE YOUR PREGNANT WIFE CAMPING.

Unless, you are fine with not sleeping while she describes her discomfort throughout the night and rightly blames you.

Method Acting

2006-09-30T16:43:00.000-05:00

In the first move of his rise to stardom, 8 has won a part in the school Thanksgiving play. He has a fairly big role as one of the Noble Savages in the production of "Pochahontas". He didn't care what part he got, as long as it was one of the Indians.

The conversation went like this:

What part did you get?

Brave Eagle.

So, you are one of the Indians.

I don't know if I'm an Indian or not. All I know is, I'm Brave Eagle.

Mind You Don't Cut Yerself, Mordecai

2006-09-20T21:11:00.000-05:00

In what must be an amazing confluence of events, Mrs. Sarcastro and I will be welcoming a new addition to the family. The new member will be joining us sometime in March. I would like to say that, " ...there was too much love and beauty for just the two of us. Every day we kept a child out of the world was a day he might later regret havin' missed." Those of you who didn't attend rural or religious schools know that it doesn't usually work that way.

Apparently, this woman, who looked as fertile as the Tennessee valley, couId definitely bear chiIdren. The doctor expIained that her insides were not a rocky pIace where my seed could undoubtedly find purchase.

Besides, these are getting too big to cuddle.

We fully expect to be in a blog feud with Lindsay over at Suburban Turmoil. She is due about the same time. We may have to Rochambeau over who gets the hospital bed. It is entirely possible that both women are due on the same day. Must have been a full moon that particular night in June. Or, I think it was June.

"C'mon kids, get away from Mr. Ferrier's car."

Doggerel

2006-09-17T14:56:00.000-05:00

From the pen of 8:

Rose, sweet Rose
For you I would blow my nose
Peace out

The poet and subject at Fall Creek Falls

Beware of Carnies

2006-09-12T10:21:00.000-05:00

Despite their rat-like appearance, carnies are kings among men--Homer Simpson.

We went to the State Fair last night. I haven't been to a State Fair since, I don't know when. It would be fair (heh) to say that if it weren't for the kids, I would have no interest in going to the fair.

Let me say that for State Fair aficionados, the Monday anniversary of a national tragedy is the best time possible for avoiding the crowds. The fairgrounds were deader than Steve Irwin.

A quick survey of what few people there were in attendance showed that no matter what my dismal financial situation is, I was the wealthiest man there last night. It struck me that it might have been Family Night for the carnies. You couldn't really tell who worked there and who was a paying customer. To paraphrase George Orwell, "The creatures outside looked from carny to man, and from man to carny, and from carny to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which."

As far as the attractions went, we had a limited time frame. Our plan was to see the marquee acts, hit the Midway, ride a few rides and get out. No livestock and farm animals, please. We've set the bar of entertainment a little higher, thank you.

The acrobats were passably entertaining. But they had a clown involved. It was hard for the boys to pay attention while keeping a sharp eye on the clown at all times. Perhaps telling them about John Wayne Gacy on the way to the Fairgrounds was an unwise choice.

The white tigers were sluggish and lethargic. Their performance was fun if you have ever gotten a charge from watching a house cat on tranquilizers.

Even more disappointing was the shark tanks. They had lemon and nurse sharks. Or as they are known on the bayou--catfish. We did get a good picture, so it wasn't an entire waste of time.

If only the docile sharks were the least of our troubles. I would gladly get in the shark tank to avoid taking children through the Midway. These kids, especially 8, are drawn to carnival games like Paula Abdul is drawn to Percocet and vodka.

I tried to fight the good fight. My ranting about how carny games were rigged, and that getting the giant stuffed dog was a waste of money fell on deaf ears. So, forty damn dollars and an unbelievable amount of crazy carny banter later, we walked away with three stuffed dogs. Not the gigantic ones, but what could generously be called medium sized. The kids need to work on their hitting balloons with darts skills.

With what little money we had left, we (and by that, I mean they) finally got to the carnival rides. The bumper cars were a bust. Unfortunately for 8, he got a bum car. By that, I mean the car didn't work and the bum attendant had to get in with him to make it go properly. Somewhere in the archives is a photo of me at the age of 8 sitting in a faulty bumper car with a carny having to drive. It's the circle of life, Simba.

Next were the bumper boats. Clearly, this would be much different. It was. This time, 11's boat didn't work properly. The only thing wrong with 8's boat was the copious amount of oil smoke and exhaust blowing in his face. They still had fun once the highly skilled technicians came out and beat on the boats with hammers.

Despite the money spent, the boys had a good time and got some stuffed dogs. That was the point wasn't it? At least the having a good time part.

Not Their First Rodeo

2006-09-11T14:21:00.000-05:00

These two have been to more NFL games than I have. Mommy having season tickets for the last six years may have something to do with that. Sunday was my second trip to a home Titans game. The boys showed me quite a bit that afternoon.

They are skilled at tailgating.

They intently watch the game.

They do not get distracted by cheerleaders.

Or DO they?

Reading Is FUN-damental!

2006-09-03T18:56:00.000-05:00

We took the boys to the Downtown Nashville Public Library. They started out fairly skeptical of the whole enterprise. There was baseball practice and Vanderbilt football on the agenda for later in the day. Was it really responsible of us as parents to risk tampering with the delicate balance of the Universe like that? Demands were made. Deadlines for returning home were agreed to. Bribes were not offered, but kept in reserve just in case. A spirit of adventure gripped the lads, and off to the Bookatorium we went.

Certain downtown landmarks were pointed out. The boys immediately recognized the billboard of Jeremy Duffer on Church St. Even at their young ages, they are wise enough to see something innately creepy about a grown man who works at a Dungeons and Dragons store. We pointed out the building where Uncle XXXX used to have an apartment. The question from 8 was, "Did he live there when he was arrested?" The reference is to an unfortunate downtown drinking incident, which if he did live there at the time, he would not have been arrested.

The first thing the boys noticed when we entered the library, is that it is much bigger than the one at school. The second thing they noticed, is that there is plenty to do other than look at boring old books.

The thrill of riding the plastic whatever was sadly short-lived.

There were rows of computers nearby that were certainly far more alluring than the plastic whatever.

As was to be expected, this was a short-lived distraction as well. Despite the kid-friendly graphics, the computers were mostly of an educational nature with a little electronic card catalog action thrown on for good measure.

Without any other nearby shiny objects to compete for their attentions, the boys were soon able to find books that appealed to them.

One of the mission objectives was to find a suitable book for Mrs. S to read to the Third Grade Class. This offering on the right was immediately vetoed.

The boys soon started a search for books that conformed to the mission objective, as well as piqued their personal interests.

After what seemed like hours of searching and winnowing down the possible books, we were able to settle on 40 or so books that the boys wanted to read. They wildly varied in subject from Tiger Sharks to Great White Sharks. The wide spectrum of interests outside of sharks were also evident. Hence the dozen books about baseball and football. We also picked up the biographies of Sammy Sosa and Michael Vick just to mix it up a bit.

Before we left, we checked out the library's Drifting Along The Nile exhibit.

I found it to be extremely interesting, with cool postcards, photos, stereo-optic geegaws and those old stickers they used to put on luggage, back when you could take a gun on a plane and no one cared.

Children, sad to say, aren't nearly as impressed with a bunch of dumb old photos and boring Egyptian stuff as parents tend to be. So we made our way out the building. But, not before a rhubarb erupted about why 11 got a bookmark and 8 didn't. Once that crisis was resolved, we headed for home. I should have known this dispute was a portent of things to come.

Once the football game was watched and the baseball skills were practiced, it was time to settle in for a while. One of the books was cracked open. I believe it was about sharks. Once that was perused, boredom set in. The boys began to rough-house. It may have been about wedgies, or it may have been about bookmarks. I don't remember. But, I do know this:

It is all fun and games...

...until someone gets hurt.

Important New Parenting Tip #1

2006-09-03T17:38:00.000-05:00

Children don't enjoy swimming in 68 degree weather as much as they enjoy swimming in 98 degree weather.

Although, it is a good opportunity to explain the concept of "shrinkage".

Up The Creek

2006-08-22T07:32:00.000-05:00

If our father had had his say, nobody who did not know how to fish would be allowed to disgrace a fish by catching him. Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It

The boys were chauffered to Sarcastro Mountain this weekend to meet their new grandparents. Despite all predictions of disaster and Apocalypse, the weekend turned out perfect.

New Grandma was inventive enough to stage a scavenger hunt as soon as the boys walked in the door. Though they found the prize somewhat anti-climactic, the thrill of the hunt delighted them. To their credit, the boys were on their best behavior; having been both begged and threatened regarding their comportment.

From what I can tell, children rarely go outside and play anymore. They prefer a fishing simulation game on the PlayStation than actually going fishing. We shifted that paradigm back this weekend. Tromping through the woods, splashing in the creek, throwing the football in the driveway and peeing in the bushes became the anticipated daily itinerary. Give me a few more months, and I'll have these boys drinking out of the hose and catching snakes.

Certainly, during the Driveway Bowl, the boys learned that sibling rivalry continues long after childhood. A play fight I had with my brother, spilled over and caused a riot on the field. I turned around to see the boys throttling each other, just like the big kids. The game brought out the competitor in each of us. It got to the point where my old fat ass was so winded, I couldn't count to "five-Mississippi" without dropping dead from hypoxia.

The boys seemed suitably pleased with the weekend overall and won't put up a fuss when the next trip "over the river and thru the woods" comes up. They aren't ready to hit the golf course, yet. But, there is time enough for that.

Even with the VCR in the car not working for the ride home, the kids were able to keep themselves entertained. If they learn nothing else under my watch, they should at least learn that.

My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things—trout as well as eternal salvation—come by grace and grace comes by art and art does not come easy. Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It.

Everything Has Its Place

2006-08-14T13:29:00.000-05:00

When's The Fun Part will be a (clears throat, shakes head sadly) Daddy Blog. Expect this site to be full of family goodness. Most posts will be about the problems encountered when taking the kids to The Spaghetti Laboratory, Professor P. J. Cornucopia's Fantastic Foodmagorium, The Texas Cheescake Depository and Uncle Moe's Family Feed Bag.

Most of the stuff at my regular blog is not really family oriented. So, for the time being at least, all the Little League, back to school, kids say the darndest things will be here. All the unnecessary profanity and ugly name-calling will be at the other place.

2006-07-19T17:11:00.000-05:00

Under Construction.