Buzz kill

An e-mail from Pat sent Sept. 5, 2008:

There are several sounds in this house that will send a chill through me. The crash of whatever Conner is playing with. The sound of Maggie whining or crying about something Conner or Abbey has done. In the interest of equality, Abbey telling us that we "just don’t understand."

There is also the sound of the water dripping in the bathroom sink. Yes, I will fix that at some point. The dogs barking at nothing at all. The sound of the fridge or the front door opening and then the lack of sound because they didn’t shut it. The sound of the flies that came in because of the door being left open. The sound of SpongeBob Squarepants and Scooby-Doo.

All of these sounds are bad and drive me insane, but there is only one that will take the wind right out of my sails. It is the sound of the buzzer on the dryer telling me there is ANOTHER damn load of clothes that needs to folded.

I need a big dog

When a father has a pre-teen daughter, there is a point when a very large dog becomes a valid purchase. When I say large, I mean a dog the size of Hagrid's dog, Fang. A dog that is so big that feeding it will require a second job.

I have come to this day because of several things. The bras and panties in the laundry that are not my wife's. For all that is holy, can clothing manufacturers not make pre-teen panties with a little more coverage? The low-rider jeans that are entirely too tight. But the thing that drives me the most insane is the wandering eyes of the boys. Nothing to date has made me more likely to whack the boy du jour in the head than the wandering eyes. It was bad enough when the chest started showing up. I realize that this can't be stopped and she going to become a woman whether I like it or not. Since it is poor taste to harm the boys of the present and future, I think that a dog the size of a cougar would be the best idea.

Conner's Christmas List

Batman (the person)
A monkey (a real one - not legal in this state, so not happening)
Legos
A real chainsaw (not happening)
A real train (not happening either)
A camera that works like Mom's
Eggs (because he just broke one on my pillow - don't ask, it's a story for another day)
My own remote for the TV
A cow
Steak (obviously the cow will not be a pet)
Doughnuts (everybody needs dessert, I guess)
A date with a girl in my class

Meltdown Wednesdays

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to what we call Meltdown Wednesday. The children of the house are tired and generally in crappy moods on Wednesday. Since it has been raining for the last three days, they have been in the house and not able to go outside. This has not helped. Abbey is in middle school and is up early in the morning and doing homework as soon as she gets home. Pre-teen hormones are at a simmer for a couple of days early in the week, but between the hormones, the lack of sleep, homework and studying, she boils over on Wednesday. Conner is just into everything, and by mid-week he's bored and starts annoying Abbey. Most of the time I am good with this because this pre-teen nonsense is annoying, and her suffering means I'm not ... for now.
This glorious day has many great phrases in it, as well. One of my personal favorites is "There is no food in this house." In the interest of full disclosure, Cathy goes to the grocery store every single weekend. There's food; it's just not junk food. Another one is, "Are you going to do anything about Conner annoying me?" No, I am not going to stop it. Your mother and I kept having children until we had one to make your life completely miserable. Maggie don't have the stamina to annoy you all day, so we had Conner. Mission accomplished. I have never said this out loud, but damn it I want to.
This brings us to Maggie. This kid watches all of this happen around her and just soaks it in. She is the reason we have no food. While Abbey is complaining about the lack of food, Maggie is hunting and finding it. She watches the whining, moaning and the "You don't understand what it's like to be a kid" that goes on and just sits there. Maybe she's just waiting her turn to be a pre-teen and perfecting her 'tude.
You see, the rest of the world looks at Wednesday as hump day. The day that gets them that much closer to the weekend. We couldn't care less about the weekend. We just want get to bedtime without irrational crying or injuries.

Where did you hear that?

From Maggie:

"Last one on the couch is road kill."

What happened to rotten eggs?

I got home from work late last night and found this:


All I could think was, " 'Cause that's what you're supposed to do with Play-Doh and crayons."

The game's over

I just found another stuffed animal, a chocolate Lab, in the cabinet under the kitchen sink.

We declared the Lab the winner of hide and seek.

PETA watch list

My son is on the PETA watch list. The reason, you ask? It has nothing to do with his abuse of live animals or bad intentions toward live animals. It has to do with what he does to the stuffed animals in his room. Or so I thought.

Currently he has Tigger stuffed under the chair in the living room. Several of Maggie's Webkinz are in the freezer. Ord, from "Dragon Tales," is in the dishwasher. He has taken a very large panda bear and tied its hands together sitting in the living room (this one I helped with). He took his favorite bear in the world and put it on the ceiling fan (it wasn't running). Sadly, I didn't help with this one, and I am very interested in how it got there.

After I had located all the stuffed animals in their precarious places, I figured it would be a good time to have a talk about being nice to animals. I called him and he came out from the laundry room. I sat him down and told him that this is not how we treat animals, real or not. One of those father/son talks. I asked him why he was doing that to the animals, and he responded, "We were playing hide and seek." I asked about the animals' hiding places and the panda. Conner's response: "Stuffed animals can't walk, so I helped them, and the panda was it, silly." The reason for tying panda's hands: "To make it fair. He's bigger than them."



From Cathy:
What Pat didn't know when he wrote this was that earlier in the morning, Conner was making plans to cut the panda's head off with his chain saw. He settled for giving the bear a buzz cut and then cramming his much-too-small baseball helmet on its head.

BFD

It is officially time to make a better effort at watching what I say around the boy. The girls have learned that when Dad says certain phrases or starts ranting like a sailor on leave, they probably shouldn't repeat that. I have made a great error with Conner. He was in the living room, and he had left his shoes and clothes in a pile after changing - something he no doubt learned from Abbey. I explained to him that they needed to be in the laundry room. When I say that I explained, I mean that I used a loud tone of voice. The tone that makes the neighbors feel that they need to call DSS. He looked at me without moving off the couch and said, "BFD, Dad, they are fine right there." Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Father of the Year.

Yuck

A text message from Pat:

Maggie just wet willied Abbey. I'm going to pee on myself.

One guess who taught them how to do it. Hint: It wasn't me.

The dentist sucks

In order to make a new mother happy, I have a story for ya.

A couple of days ago I took the girls to the dentist for their check-ups. There are a few things that drive me nuts about a dentist's office. The first thing is that the decor in the waiting room just looks expensive. The chairs are very comfortable, the paintings and artwork are stunning. The carpet always looks brand new. The bar where the receptionists sit has a granite countertop. You just get the feeling that this going to an expensive visit every time you walk in. The least they could do is make it look like you might get out of there for less than a grand.

The next is that they could have just a little something for the kids. I realize that they hand out toothbrushes, but they claim that they are a family dentist office. A TV wouldn't kill anyone. The auto repair shop has one and it's not a family auto repair shop. No, they have nothing, so when the Category 4 hurricane that is my son made landfall at the office (with no TV), it was not a good thing. The upside is that they will get you in and out in a hurry.

The girls were the only ones getting teeth cleanings and X-rays done, so they took them at the same time. These are not dumb people. Conner had crawled under a chair and reappeared in between some high school girl's legs, popped his head up and just said "Hello." After that incident, it was all about getting the storm to move on.

Abbey's appointment went well. No cavities, but some fragments of baby teeth hanging around. They will be pulled next week. The dentist, receptionist and her parents have told her that it will be very little pain before, during and after. When this is proven to be a load of crap, which it is, look out Winston-Salem.

Maggie's appointment sucked. This is not a term that you will hear a dentist use. They should, but they don't. Not a lot of humor in a dentist's office. Maggie has no cavities but is missing 7 adult teeth. I saw the X-ray and the damn things just aren't there. So when the baby teeth fall out, she is out of luck for a natural replacement. She will be in braces early to move some teeth forward and will have implants for the spaces that can't filled.

I talked to the dentist for several minutes about this, and I asked him to ballpark the overall cost. He was thinking 12 grand give or take. For the love of god, our car and van aren't worth that.

The last thing that you do before you leave is write the check. It's normally a big check, and to make matters worse, they insist on making another apppointment for the girls so that they can get another check-up. Someone has to pay for the Queen Anne chair and one-of-a-kind Andy Warhol.

One of our kids had better be a dentist or we have to find a dentist willing to do work at cost.

Abbey's prediction

When Abbey got up this morning, she came into our room, sat down at the computer and looked at ESPN.com.

"Yes! The Steelers won."

Why is that good, I asked?

"Because every time the Redskins lose the night before an election, the White House changes parties."

Guess we know which candidate she's pulling for.

Point Taken

An e-mail from Feb. 15, 2008.
It seems that you are trying to make a point to me. You have left your shoes in the dining room for the last few days. At first I thought that this was just that you were tired from work. Second I thought that you were just being lazy. Both very valid but not it. It finally hit me what your point is. You are trying to tell me to get my golf clubs out of the dining room, aren't you? Personally I think that they lend themselves to the decor. I keep them clean, and the bag is colorful. I was going for the golf/traditional home look. Hey, this is thought for a magazine. We could get the cover story. The reason I leave them there is that the kids leave their stuff everywhere and I am sick of fighting it, so I am joining them. Just remember that it is clean under the clutter. The more stuff we leave in the floor, the less we have to sweep the floor.
Also, it helps me because when I clean this crap off the floor, the kids are always yelling that they can't find their stuff.

Milestone not reached yet

Over the last 11 years, we have seen may milestones in our children's lives. Learning to sleep through the night, walk, talk (a little overrated), use the potty, run, get dressed on their own (very underrated), read, write and various other things. One that is very important to me is learning to swing without being pushed. There is nothing that drives me more nuts than the pushing of the swing. This boy can ride a scooter, hit a baseball, punt a football, climb a tree and jump off the countertop. Conner has not mastered swinging yet. He will, but in the meantime the girls and I have tried everything. Maggie has tried swinging next to him to visually teach him. He just sits there and stares and then calls me to push. Abbey, being the smart one, has tried to explain it to him by using scientific terms. This didn't work. Hell, I didn't even understand it, but it sounded very intelligent. I am pretty sure he is just lazy about this. Once they learn to swing, there is a whole world of things that open up for the parent. I have seen other parents at the playground talking to each other while their kids swing on their own. I'm not real sure I want to talk to them, but the option would be nice. You can mow more than 30 feet of the yard at one time. For God's sake, I could actually sit down. It wouldn't happen, but I have a goal.

Conner's trip

An e-mail from Pat from Nov. 5, 2007 (Conner had just turned 3):
Your son decided that he needed a little adventure trip today. On this trip he experienced new friends, obstacles, darkness and danger. He traveled under our bed.
The new friends that he met are the dust bunnies, and there were a whole colony. Bunnies multiply quickly even if they are dust bunnies. He found several golf balls and, a few pairs of winter gloves that belong to someone outside this house 'cause I have never seen them before.
He got to travel around all the forgotten shoes you and I have. I think I had 1 pair and you, of course, had 15. He obviously experienced darkness because I could hear his head hitting the box springs 10 or 15 times. No one said that he was going to be bright.
Finally he got to meet danger head on because somehow he got in a sitting position that only a yoga master could do and got stuck. His head was inside the box spring and he was very calmly yelling at the top of his lungs, " I AM STUCK DADDY, HELP ME NOW!"
I had to get under the bed and make sure that his head was not next to a spring or if he was already hurt. I am sure that I looked like the witch in the "Wizard of Oz."
After I got a picture of the situation underneath I lifted the bed up and he came out pretty easily. He then decreeded to all that "I not going to do that again."
In the words of the oldest child, Conner learned yet another life lesson. Time will tell if he has much of a long-term memory.

Dad's helper

I have the great fortune to be at home most of the day with Conner. He and I do a lot of stuff in and out of the house. This afternoon, he and I cleaned the gutters. Usually it's just me, the ladder and him talking to me. Today was a little different. I was on the roof, in the back of the house, cleaning the gutters and sweeping off the shingles. This section of the roof is easily walked on, and I can see the whole backyard while he plays. It takes about 10 minutes. After I finished, I turned around and Conner was on the roof. It seems that a 4-year-old can scale a ladder without much noise. In order to not scare him, I just said "Hi." Make no mistake, I was scared enough for both of us. He replied, "I'm here to help." I told him that I was finished, but he was not having it. He wanted to help, and I was not interested in a blue-balled hissy-fit 15 feet off the ground. I told him he had to sit on his butt to clean out the gutter, and I held on to his pants with all I had. We cleaned a leaf or two out of the gutters. It seemed to pacify him, and he was ready to get down. I went first, and he very effortlessly got on the ladder and climbed down in front of me. When we got on the ground, I told him not to do that again. He replied, "It's not a problem. I got up and I got down." From this day forward, cleaning the gutters will have to involve at least two adults on site.

Conner is "Calvin"

This is what it's like trying to get Conner to go to bed every night. Just repeat four or five times.

http://www.gocomics.com/calvinandhobbes/2008/10/08/

All soccer, all the time

The girls had three games, plus we went to the UNC-Wake women's game. It was a good weekend - the girls won all of their games, and so did UNC. I'm exhausted.

The estrogen ocean

This e-mail is from Aug. 22, 2008. In addition to our kids, our 9-year-old niece, Emma, was here, and so was Abbey's best friend, Elisabeth, who's 11.

Thank God we can’t have any more kids. There are several reasons. I just cooked 3 packs of hot dogs and 2 boxes of mac and cheese. I swear to you it was like a pack of wolves attacking an antelope. They are talking and shoveling food at the same time. I am not getting into the dishes that were used.
The next reason is that if we had more kids they would be girls. Here comes the soapbox section.
I am in a house with 4 pre-teen girls and the boy; two of these are not ours, but they are here. I have listened to fashion, which Jonas Brother is cutest, and something about it seems that Miley Cyrus is a little trashy these days. Conner is packing his stuff as we speak. The level of female hormones in this house is critically high. A truck just arrived with people in spacesuits to rope off the house. It’s like a scene from "ET." Duke Energy just called and would like to harness the hormones as alternative power for the city. I was just notified that our house is restricted airspace because of hormone glow. It is causing problems for Air Care and commuter flights.
Girls are nuts. They will run and play rough, and when someone gets hurt they are soft and compassionate. Boys will knock you on your butt and stand over you waiting for the next opportunity to knock you on your butt.
These girls don’t want to called kids; they’re pre-teens. Also, make sure that you say pre-teen with the exact amount of attitude. I liked it better when there were only two categories of people: adult and children. Now you can be an infant, baby, toddler, preschooler, pre-k, child, pre-teen, teenager, young adult, almost adult, adult, DINK, middle age, over the hill, retired, senior and finally old as an apostle. From this day forward you are a kid or an adult in this house. I realize that this mandate carries no weight, but I like the sound of my own voice sometimes.
I need to go. I just heard Conner yell for help. Mind you, I am not helping him. I am just going to watch them torture him. It’s his own damn fault. He put his head into the lion's mouth by getting too close. Typical pre-k mistake.

Tough as nails

Just for the record, our children are 50% tough and 50% drama queens and king. On this day, Maggie is 100% tough. She has been complaining that her front tooth is loose and it hurts. Today she just couldn't take it anymore. Being the sensitive one of the house, I suggested that she lie on the ground and I would take a 3-wood and remove it for her. When that was nixed, I came up with letting Conner take it out with his shovel. She was not impressed with my ideas. She was not amused at all. All I got was, "Dad. Fine, I'll just do it." She sat in the living room and placed her finger in her mouth, and with one jerk she removed it. She didn't cry at all. She went to the kitchen, got a paper towel and stopped the bleeding. Maggie placed it in our room and went back to playing in the yard. When she told Abbey that she pulled her tooth, Abbey just said, "Cool." She is not as impressed with this display as I am. Abbey is in one of her "pissed off at the world" moods today. Forunately for the world, it is all directed at me.

"Oh, waiter ..."

Here's an e-mail that Pat sent me on Feb. 27, 2008:

Your son just came into the kitchen and announced that he is ready to order his lunch. Yes, he literally walked into the kitchen and said, "I want to order my lunch." So I proceeded like any good server and asked what he would like. His order was clear and precise. "I would like peanut butter sandwich, no peanut butter, chips and fruit loops. Apple juice in a cup with a blue straw." He sat down at the table and waited for his order to be filled. Let's just add that this is nicest he has been since school ended this morning.

I made his order to his exact specs and brought it to the table. He sat quietly and ate his lunch. He finished and walked up to me and reached into his pocket and gave me a quarter. He said," This is for you." After I got my day's wages, I asked him to clean up the table, and he reached into his pocket and gave me a penny and said, "You do it." We really have to stop eating out so much.

Target practice

Conner is in the living room practicing to become a quarterback. It is not going well at all. He went into Abbey's room and got 7 golf clubs. (Entering her room is something he will pay for later. I won't have to tell her; she'll know.) He jammed them between the seat cushions on the couch and loveseat and placed his miniature football helmets on top of the golf clubs. He has all of his footballs in a pile (4 of them), says " Set, GO!" and starts throwing them at his targets. The targets, the TV and the windows are safe. On the other hand, 2 lamps, 3 picture frames, 6 magazines and a bottle of water were hit. Maybe the golf club/football helmets were fans. Either way, his quarterback rating is a touch low for now, but it's a long season.

Looking for a beach with snow

Conner walked into the living room with this outfit on (he dressed himself, as you might have guessed) and said, "I'm ready to play in the snow!" The funny thing is, I have no doubt he would go outside like this if there were snow on the ground right now.

"Not"

Here's another "archive" e-mail that Pat sent me on Dec. 19, 2007:
Your son is disgusting. The entire ride home from getting the girls from school he kept saying he has "not." He repeated it over and over. Neither the girls nor I could figure it out. After we got home we got it. I unbuckled him from his carseat and he proceeded to run his nasty running nose across the front of my sweater. He then told me that I have "not." The Rugrats have not been on Nick much so I am not up on Chuckie lingo these days. I have introduced him to the tissues. I suggest wearing an apron when you arrive this evening because who knows if he will use the tissues.
By the way, Abbey is not feeling good, and I am sure that we will all pay for this at some point. Conner has already been subjected to the wrath of the sick one. Maggie and I have flipped a coin to see who has to talk to her next. She lost, so I am hiding.

Ryder Cup Addiction

Nothing from me this weekend. I am completely involved in the Ryder Cup. You gotta love 11 straight hours of golf for 3 days. Boo Weekley is completely addictive. As for the kids, I am paying Abbey to watch them. Maybe she will have something to post.

The best what?

"Mom, can I help you make brownies?"
"Not today, Conner."
"But I want some private time with you."

There's just no saying no to that. The next exchange:

"I'm the best stirrer."
"Yes you are, Conner."
"And you're the best dumper, Mom."

I'm not so sure I want that title. (For the record, that's because I dumped all the ingredients into the bowl.)

Hide and Seek

Conner is fixing things around the house this afternoon. He has his hard hat on, his toolbox open and tools in his pockets. He doesn't have a toolbelt mostly because I have seen the butt crack for 4 years and he doesn't need help displaying it. He has been outside fixing things as well. Only moments ago he presented me with 8 screws. As I am sure anyone else would be, I was a touch concerned. I asked him where they came from and he told me, "I don't know." (The "I don't know" is also followed by a shoulder shrug. This is a stock answer and act that has been passed down from Abbey to the other two kids.) I searched the house for anything that could be missing screws and found nothing. I decided that they must have been in his toolbox. I asked him again, and he told me they came from outside. Now I am in an advanced game of hide and seek. We looked the lawnmower over, the picnic table, the storm door and the grill. I asked him about a few more things, and he would either say "No" or "I don't know." I found out as I sat down in disgust. They came from the bench in the front yard. Sitting on it and having the left side collapse as I crashed to the ground was a whole heap of fun. Conner is still laughing in the front yard.

Who's the adult?

An e-mail from Pat, sent July 16, 2007:
You son just pantsed me. He loved it. He actually laughed until he fell down - one of those belly laughs. Neither of the girls are taking credit for his new knowledge. Being the adult of the house and the level-headed person that I am, I pantsed him back. He ran into the other room and told Abbey, like a good little snitch. Abbey came to me and told me not to do that anymore and it is not fair to do that to him since he is little. I actually felt bad even though I explained that he did it first. Apparently the adult of the house when you are not here is Abbey.

Give it back!

For the past few years, Pat has sent me e-mails at work to tell me what's going on at home. We ran many of those e-mails in the News & Record on Father's Day 2007. I'm going to post some of those here and add others that no one has seen. They're just too funny to keep to myself.

This was one of my favorites. It was dated June 3, 2008.

As I am sure you know, we have bulky item pickup this week. We have our usual pile of assorted crap, or so I think until it is gone through by the ladies of the house. Conner, on the other hand, did not seem to care about any of the items until today.

The garbage men had arrived and were taking the stuff and throwing it into the truck. Conner was watching at the window. He had his lunch and his drink. He was settled in for some serious man time. It all changed when they took the beanbag chair and tossed into the truck. He jumped from his couch and tore out the door. He is only wearing shorts. He ran to the back of the truck and yelled at the guys. They could not hear him at first so he bent down and he yelled, "THAT'S MINE, I WANT IT BACK."

The garbage man looked confused and asked another man what to do. The other man looked him in the face and told him "If the boy wants his chair back, get in there and get it.” He got in and threw it out, and they gave it to Conner and he dragged it back into the house.

Just for the record, he did say thank you. You are also three Diet Cokes short from this morning. He tried to give them a couple of beers. He walked in the house and explained to me that it was his and not to throw it away. He is sitting on it in the living room with his lunch.

Wasn't part of the plan

Conner just took all the cushions off the couch and placed them on the floor in front of the ottoman. He also took all the clean clothes out of the laundry basket and piled them on top of the cushions. I came around the corner from the kitchen to find this display. He was on the back of the couch, standing, and yelling 1-2-3 go. He jumped very gracefully to the springs on the couch and that was where the grace ended. He hit the springs clean with both feet. He was not counting on the massive air he got from jumping from 3 feet to couch springs. Honestly he could have gotten back to his original position on the back of the couch. He actually flipped in the air and landed on the ottoman, butt 1st, and bounced into the clothes-cushion safety area he created. This all happened in about 2 seconds. It was not pretty to watch. It was nothing but arms and legs flapping and a very loud "WWOOOOWWOOO." After looking him over and with all my years of med school I determined that he was fine. I asked him what he was thinking and he replied "Not that, I just wanted to bounce." I asked him if he was going to do it again and he said "Not today, maybe tomorrow." Cathy needs a job at home 'cause I'm gonna need help with this one.

We're UNC, too

Pat may love Notre Dame, but the rest of us are saying "Go Heels!"

We are Notre Dame

During the Notre Dame game this afternoon I explained to Abbey one of the family rules. We are a Notre Dame football family. This is not a negotiable rule. I get to make so few rules. Cathy went to UNC and I just don't care. I told Abbey that it didn't matter what college or university she went to. She isn't going to Notre Dame. I work part-time and Cathy is a journalist. State universities are in her future. Believe me though, if ND football comes to any school one of my kids goes to, I will be a card-carrying, sweatshirt-wearing, pulling-for-the-Irish homer. If I could get away with it the kids would have a "Play Like a Champion" sign at the door and they would have to touch it before school everyday. Abbey immediately says, "What happens if Conner is playing football for UNC or State and the Irish come to town?" I just sat there and said, "That would be different, maybe." I really hate that the girl gets height from me and brains from Cathy.

Believe me I know

First of all, I am Pat Frail. I'm the father of the clan of children. I work part-time in the morning and hang out with the kids in the afternoon. I have done this since our 1st was born. For several years I have asked for and taken truck loads of advice and statements on parenting. I have even been open to the advice and statements I didn't ask for. Some of the advice is good and some not so much. I, however, would like to ask for relief from one thing. I have had enough of the "it gets worse" advice from the parents that have children older than whatever child I am with at the time. I know it gets worse. I know that the raging hormones of Abbey's (11) are only at the beginning and it gets worse. I know that Maggie (7) is going to be a diva and it gets worse. I know that Conner (4) wants to play baseball and it gets worse. I was not dropped into this family this morning. I have not been on an 11 year vacation. I have been around these kids since their birth. I know that it gets worse. I realize that parents with older children are trying to make conversation, be sarcastic or are just enjoying your pain. Please, for the love of all that is holy, stop telling me it gets worse. I got it. Just once I would like to hear "it gets better." Just those three words, not "you're gonna miss this." I am not going to miss the hormones, buying clothes and baseball equipment.

What is Camp Frail?

Camp Frail was an acronym we created for our family using the first letter of each of our names: Cathy, Abbey, Maggie and Pat. (It also reflects what our house is like a lot of the time.) When Conner came along, we decided the C would pull double duty. But no, we didn't choose his name based on the first letter.