"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.