Friday, December 24, 2004
--
FROM THE ANNALS OF BADNESS
The Things had been at each other all day. Complaining, carping, and tattletaleing had escalated to yelling, pushing and hitting. Their errant behavior even continued in the bath as they jockeyed for position, grabbed toys, and splashed indiscriminately.
I reached one of my many breaking points.
"You know," I said. "it's like I don't even have two nice little girls anymore. What I have are two snarling biting rats."
They stopped for a minute and took stock.
Then in a low pitched snarl that reminded me of Jack Palance in Shane, One replied, "You have one rat daddy. One rat only."
And she fixed her sister with a baleful stare.
Two stared right back.
And under her breath, she hissed "That's right, there's just one rat in this house. One rat."
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I continued the conversation with One a short time later.
"Do you see how I am sitting?" I asked.
"Yes," One replied warily.
"Well in the old days, parents would take misbehaving children and put them right over their knees, right like this. Then they would whack them, with their hand, or maybe with a hairbrush, until the child cried."
One has never heard of such a thing.
"Is that true?" she asks.
"Very true," I replied. "It was called a good spanking."
One doesn't like the term.
"It is not good to hit children," she says.
"Well," I said, "that is the current thinking. But, I was wondering, do you think your behavior would improve if you were afraid of being spanked?"
"Yes," One blurts out. Then, realizing she has fallen into trap, she bolts for her room.
I hear her yelling at Two as I walk down the stairs.
FROM THE ANNALS OF BADNESS
The Things had been at each other all day. Complaining, carping, and tattletaleing had escalated to yelling, pushing and hitting. Their errant behavior even continued in the bath as they jockeyed for position, grabbed toys, and splashed indiscriminately.
I reached one of my many breaking points.
"You know," I said. "it's like I don't even have two nice little girls anymore. What I have are two snarling biting rats."
They stopped for a minute and took stock.
Then in a low pitched snarl that reminded me of Jack Palance in Shane, One replied, "You have one rat daddy. One rat only."
And she fixed her sister with a baleful stare.
Two stared right back.
And under her breath, she hissed "That's right, there's just one rat in this house. One rat."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
I continued the conversation with One a short time later.
"Do you see how I am sitting?" I asked.
"Yes," One replied warily.
"Well in the old days, parents would take misbehaving children and put them right over their knees, right like this. Then they would whack them, with their hand, or maybe with a hairbrush, until the child cried."
One has never heard of such a thing.
"Is that true?" she asks.
"Very true," I replied. "It was called a good spanking."
One doesn't like the term.
"It is not good to hit children," she says.
"Well," I said, "that is the current thinking. But, I was wondering, do you think your behavior would improve if you were afraid of being spanked?"
"Yes," One blurts out. Then, realizing she has fallen into trap, she bolts for her room.
I hear her yelling at Two as I walk down the stairs.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
FAMILY MAN
Since LZ has reentered the labor force, my own hiatus from the quotidian has been ended rather rudely. No more hiding out for me. It's back to running errands, back to the mall on weekends, back to way too much enforced contact with my fellow drones.
"I know you have a lot to do," I said to LZ. "I can help out with the Christmas shopping today, or babysit, or do anything whatever you need."
"Won't you be watching the Eagles?" she asked.
"How can you bring up football?" I said. "Christmas is coming. We have a lot to do. I'm committed to this family, not to a bunch of hopped up homicidal lunatics."
So off we went. It was typical, brutal.
And after a long day of shopping, we had a quick dinner, chased the kids to bed and sat down in front of the television.
"I'm exhausted, but still wired," LZ said. "I hope there's something funny on, something not too challenging, so I can just unwind."
"Oh," I said as I paged through the tv section, "look at this. Seems the Eagles play tonight; they're the Sunday night game. And it's just about ready to start. What a stroke of luck."
Since LZ has reentered the labor force, my own hiatus from the quotidian has been ended rather rudely. No more hiding out for me. It's back to running errands, back to the mall on weekends, back to way too much enforced contact with my fellow drones.
"I know you have a lot to do," I said to LZ. "I can help out with the Christmas shopping today, or babysit, or do anything whatever you need."
"Won't you be watching the Eagles?" she asked.
"How can you bring up football?" I said. "Christmas is coming. We have a lot to do. I'm committed to this family, not to a bunch of hopped up homicidal lunatics."
So off we went. It was typical, brutal.
And after a long day of shopping, we had a quick dinner, chased the kids to bed and sat down in front of the television.
"I'm exhausted, but still wired," LZ said. "I hope there's something funny on, something not too challenging, so I can just unwind."
"Oh," I said as I paged through the tv section, "look at this. Seems the Eagles play tonight; they're the Sunday night game. And it's just about ready to start. What a stroke of luck."
Thursday, December 16, 2004
SORRY, WRONG NUMBER
"Anyone call for me while I was out?" I asked LZ.
"No, no messages," she said.
Somebody called me on the phone
Said, "Hey is Dee Dee home?
Do you wanna take a walk?
Do you wanna go cop?
DO you wanna go get some Chinese Rocks?"
"Anyone call for me while I was out?" I asked LZ.
"No, no messages," she said.
Somebody called me on the phone
Said, "Hey is Dee Dee home?
Do you wanna take a walk?
Do you wanna go cop?
DO you wanna go get some Chinese Rocks?"
Monday, December 13, 2004
FOUR SHORT SCENES
Afternoon.
The girls are pummelling each other.
LZ: Girls, stop that! I can't believe what I just saw. Don't you know that Christmas is almost here? Santa Claus is watching everything you do.
The girls look around. T1 looks out the front windows. They look at each other and shrug. T2 goes up the stairs to her room, then calls down to her sister:
T2: Come up here. He can't see in our room.
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Bedtime.
T2 has a question:
T2: Can Santa see colors?
Me: What do you mean?
T1: She means can Santa see colors. Or can Santa just see gray and black and white.
Me: You mean is Santa color blind?
T2: What do you mean?
T1: She means can Santa see like a regular person or like an animal.
Me: I'm pretty sure Santa can see colors. He saw Rudolph's red nose, didn't he?
T2: But dogs can see red. Gray and red.
T1: She means, when Santa looks, he sees like a dog sees.
Me: Oh.
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Getting in the car.
T1: Daddy is Rudolph real?
Me: Everybody buckle up.
T2: She said, is Rudolph real.
Me: What do you think?
T1: I think he is real.
Me: Good. I think so too.
T2: Rudolph is not real!
T1: Yes he is. Even Daddy said so.
T2: There are no reindeers with red noses.
T1: Rudolph had a red nose and he is real.
T2: No!
The commence pummelling each other.
LZ: Girls, stop that this minute. Santa is watching.
They stop, look out the car windows, look at each other, shrug, and continue pummelling.
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First thing the next morning.
T1: Daddy, can we go to the North Pole?
Me: It's too far too drive.
T1: We could take a plane.
Me: It's very cold there.
T1: We have coats, and our new gloves.
Me: I don't think they have any hotels there. Where would we stay?
T2: She wants to go to Santa's house.
Me: I don't think Santa allows visitors. He's very busy.
T1: We could go after Christmas. Then Santa won't be busy.
Me: I wanted to go somewhere warm, with hotels, for our vacation.
T1: I just want to stay at the North Pole for a minute, then we could go on a regular vacation.
Me: It's OK with me if it's OK with Mommy. Ask her after school today, when I am at work.
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Afternoon.
The girls are pummelling each other.
LZ: Girls, stop that! I can't believe what I just saw. Don't you know that Christmas is almost here? Santa Claus is watching everything you do.
The girls look around. T1 looks out the front windows. They look at each other and shrug. T2 goes up the stairs to her room, then calls down to her sister:
T2: Come up here. He can't see in our room.
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Bedtime.
T2 has a question:
T2: Can Santa see colors?
Me: What do you mean?
T1: She means can Santa see colors. Or can Santa just see gray and black and white.
Me: You mean is Santa color blind?
T2: What do you mean?
T1: She means can Santa see like a regular person or like an animal.
Me: I'm pretty sure Santa can see colors. He saw Rudolph's red nose, didn't he?
T2: But dogs can see red. Gray and red.
T1: She means, when Santa looks, he sees like a dog sees.
Me: Oh.
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Getting in the car.
T1: Daddy is Rudolph real?
Me: Everybody buckle up.
T2: She said, is Rudolph real.
Me: What do you think?
T1: I think he is real.
Me: Good. I think so too.
T2: Rudolph is not real!
T1: Yes he is. Even Daddy said so.
T2: There are no reindeers with red noses.
T1: Rudolph had a red nose and he is real.
T2: No!
The commence pummelling each other.
LZ: Girls, stop that this minute. Santa is watching.
They stop, look out the car windows, look at each other, shrug, and continue pummelling.
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First thing the next morning.
T1: Daddy, can we go to the North Pole?
Me: It's too far too drive.
T1: We could take a plane.
Me: It's very cold there.
T1: We have coats, and our new gloves.
Me: I don't think they have any hotels there. Where would we stay?
T2: She wants to go to Santa's house.
Me: I don't think Santa allows visitors. He's very busy.
T1: We could go after Christmas. Then Santa won't be busy.
Me: I wanted to go somewhere warm, with hotels, for our vacation.
T1: I just want to stay at the North Pole for a minute, then we could go on a regular vacation.
Me: It's OK with me if it's OK with Mommy. Ask her after school today, when I am at work.
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Saturday, December 04, 2004
WHAT DO I GET?
When FW and I decided to split up, officially and for real, there came the ritual known formally as The Dividing Up Of The Stuff.
For the most part, this went pretty well. FW had always had a pretty good handle on our stuff. She knew where everything came from, she knew who bought what for whom. She also had (somewhat presciently, it seemed) always insisted that we keep our books and our music collection unmerged. One Buzzcocks CD of unknown provenance was disputed, but I commandeered it.
As for the rest: There was enough furniture to go around. And there were enough extras, duplicates, or different versions of the common household stuff to forestall any problems. She wanted the espresso machine, I took the regular coffee maker. I wanted the toaster oven, she was happy with just the toaster. And so it went, down through the dishes, the mugs, even the cutlery.
It was one of the more civilized afternoons we had spent together in quite some time.
There was one final matter.
"Who gets the friends?" FW asked.
I'm sorry," I said. "But I'll be keeping them."
"That hardly seems fair," FW said.
"You've got a whole new crowd," I said. "You have them."
"But you want nothing to do with them," FW said. "I'm talking about all the friends we made in common, over the years."
I thought on this for a minute.
"You can take Jurvoz," I said. "I've had enough of him."
"How do I go about it?" FW asked.
"I'm not sure," I said. "Maybe you can have your lawyer send him a letter."
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I guess the lawyer never got around to it. I'm stuck with Jurvoz to this day.
When FW and I decided to split up, officially and for real, there came the ritual known formally as The Dividing Up Of The Stuff.
For the most part, this went pretty well. FW had always had a pretty good handle on our stuff. She knew where everything came from, she knew who bought what for whom. She also had (somewhat presciently, it seemed) always insisted that we keep our books and our music collection unmerged. One Buzzcocks CD of unknown provenance was disputed, but I commandeered it.
As for the rest: There was enough furniture to go around. And there were enough extras, duplicates, or different versions of the common household stuff to forestall any problems. She wanted the espresso machine, I took the regular coffee maker. I wanted the toaster oven, she was happy with just the toaster. And so it went, down through the dishes, the mugs, even the cutlery.
It was one of the more civilized afternoons we had spent together in quite some time.
There was one final matter.
"Who gets the friends?" FW asked.
I'm sorry," I said. "But I'll be keeping them."
"That hardly seems fair," FW said.
"You've got a whole new crowd," I said. "You have them."
"But you want nothing to do with them," FW said. "I'm talking about all the friends we made in common, over the years."
I thought on this for a minute.
"You can take Jurvoz," I said. "I've had enough of him."
"How do I go about it?" FW asked.
"I'm not sure," I said. "Maybe you can have your lawyer send him a letter."
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I guess the lawyer never got around to it. I'm stuck with Jurvoz to this day.
