Financial Pee

Saturday, we went over to my friend Garth’s house to help him make cannoli for a big Italian dinner/”Godfather” viewing party he was having later that night.  I try to expose Elijah and Luca to Garth as much as possible so they will know what a real man looks/acts/smells like.   In the hour we were there the boys learned what a cocktail strainer was for and what a headstone was for.  Had they stayed longer, I’m sure they would have learned what a chest opener was for.

Garth lives an hour way, so we had to cruise out of there well before his guests arrived so the boys could get to sleep before sunup.

Within three minutes of entering highway 290, which links the west suburbs to the city, both boys declared the need to pee.  No no no.  You had your chance before we left.  You are bored.  You don’t have to pee.  This isn’t a great neighborhood and I don’t want to pull over.

Elijah didn’t seem to be lying.  His complaints took on a decidedly damp turn.  I scanned the side streets for a gas station that looked E Coli free (there weren’t any) or an alley that looked Crip or Blood free (there weren’t any).

I saw our turn off for highway 90/94 and the traffic was at a complete standstill.  I swing the car off the exit and headed towards downtown Chicago. 

Eli went critical.  Thankfully, Garth had given us a few Vitamin waters for the road.  I poured a bottle out and handed it to Eli.  Like any good cross country truck driver, he instinctively knew what to do.

Luca, on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure of the concept, so he needed a full stop.  We began to enter the financial district of Chicago.  Board of Trade.  Freshly bailed out banks.  Absence of soul.  Luckily, the streets were empty as well, so I pulled into a relatively crime free alley and opened the door for Luca.

“Daddy, I’m scared, “ Eli said.

“We’re pretty safe,” I said, “The worst that can happen is a cop stops us.  But I think he’ll get a kick out of it.”

I pretended we were waging a small protest against the evils of the 1%.  Take that, I thought.  Completely ignoring my own daily contribution to capitalism and, well, my general overpaid-ness.

Luca protested in his own way, by whizzing all over the inside of the car door.  Take that, fathers!

Comic Store

I have to be very, very careful here folks.  One wrong move and this whole thing could come crumbling down.  I’m talking about Super Heroes.  Elijah and Luca are totally into them.

But I can’t make the same Star Wars mistakes.  I think I pushed too hard.  Came on too strong.  I revealed my pathetic self and it disgusted them.  I was the needy girlfriend.  And it turned them off. 

I gotta be cool. 

Luckily, I have something the boys want:  Information.  I know how Peter Parker became Spider Man (radioactive spider).  I know how Bruce Banner became the Hulk (infected toenail).  On the nights I put Eli and Luca to bed, I allow a short question and answer session. 

A few Sundays ago, I dangled a pretty hefty gift in front of their eyes.  Visiting The Comic Book Store.  Yes, sons.  There is a place you can go where the walls are covered in Comic Books.  All the heroes you love and want to know everything about are there.  There are action figures.  There are posters.  There are dudes with beards and b.o.

Elijah’s response was, “I don’t want to go to the comic book store, dada.”  Damnit! I played it cool and immediately asked Luca the same question. Luca, my beautiful son, was way more excited.  So off we went.

We entered the store and the boys’ eyes went wide.  Unfortunately, I forgot how many half naked women decorate your average comic book store.  Well, what are you gonna do?  They gotta learn sooner or later that comic book girls defy gravity in every way.

I let the boys run wild and I sidled up to the guy at the register.  “Pretty great, huh?  I’m kind of awesome for bringing them here.  Father.  Of.  The.  Year.”

“We don’t got that much kids stuff,” he sniffed.  I mentally told him to shut up and thumbed through some Marvel stuff.

Luca began excitedly pointing to a big Dr. Who display.  And began naming the various Doctors.   Now, I have never watched a Dr. Who in my life (too nerdy for even me).  Hannah apparently introduced them to the good Doctor. 

But the dude behind the counter became very, very impressed with Luca’s knowledge of the Daleks and the Cybermen (thank you Wikipedia).

The students had become the masters. 

Busted

No matter how much TV I sit him in front of, no matter how many video games I force him to play, I can’t seem to ruin Elijah’s memory.  The kid has a mind like a steel trap. 

And he uses it to bust me constantly.  Granted, a lot of my parenting skills involve pushing requests off to eternity with the hopes they’ll forget them.  Can we go to Chuck E Cheese?  Yeah, sure.  Next week.  Can we go get a Star Wars guy from Target?  Not today, but maybe tomorrow. Or the next day.

Anymore, 80% of Eli’s conversations with me start with, “Daddy, remember when you said…”

And then he’ll remember that time I told him I would add Star Wars Angry Birds onto the Poop Kindle.  Or he’ll remember that time I told him I’d buy him Legos if he’d stop screaming in the car.  Or he’ll remember that time I told him I’d teach him to ride without training wheels in February.

Most of the requests I can push off to manana…manana…manana.  And no, I do not know how to type an n with the little squiggle over the top.  And no, I do not know what the little squiggle over the top means. 

But I usually box myself into a corner pretty fast.  I tend to backload all requests to Saturday, which ends up being 24 hours of pink donuts with sprinkles, trips to the comic books store and bowel abusing trips to 5 Guys.

But ask the kid what he did at school three hours earlier? 

“I can’t remember.” 

Fort

A few days ago, I flew back from a big meeting mid morning decided not to go into the office. I mean, who’s gonna know I played hooky?  Really.  It’s not like my boss is going to stumble across my admission on, say, a log of my thoughts and feelings.

Anyhoo, Elijah was at school, so it was a rare chance for Luca and I to hang out.  I asked him what he wanted to do.

“Play Power Rangers.”

“Eh, I kind of hate Power Rangers.  Can we play Legos?  Star Wars?  Fireman Sam? G.I Joe?  My Little Pony? Transformers? He Man?  Basically, what I’m trying to say is I am willing to play anything other than Power Rangers.”

“I want to play Power Rangers.”

Ugh.  I told him to meet me upstairs and get whatever give rangers their power.  I assumed spandex.  When I met him in his room I was hit with a brilliant and perfect moment of inspiration.

“Hey…what if we made a fort?”

Luca’s eyes lit up.  Yes!  A fort.  He would love to make a fort with his dada.  I quickly draped blankets and comforters from the top bunk and they made a perfect little enclosure around his bottom bunk.  We scrambled inside.

Luca wanted to know what we were supposed to play inside said stronghold.

“Oh. Well.  We can hang out and…you know…maybe take a nap or something.  Oh yeah.  A nap.” 

Luca’s eyes scanned the area for Power Ranger to play with.  Luckily, Grover helped us out.  By hating our fort with all his doggy heart.  The fact that we in in there and he was out here drove him nuts.  Grover began attacking the fort, trying to tear down our walls or dig underneath is with furor.  We suddenly had an enemy to defend against.

We fought him off with our gentle pets to his head and loving scratches behind the ears.

After a few minutes I realized it was very hot in our fort.  And incredibly stinky.  I smelled his blankie and pillow.  They just smelled regularly bad.  Not contributing to the awful stink. 

“Do you smell something stinky?”  I asked Luca.

“Yes.  I tooted.”

And then I established the one and only law of our fort.

Ninjas

Selfishly, awfully selfishly, I’ve been trying to keep Elijah and Luca excited about Superheroes.  I missed my window on Star Wars and I was worried they’d get into something I didn’t like.  Sports, for instance.  So I indulge them whenever they want to pretend to be Marvel characters.  I always have to be Hulk because he matches my dad persona and they also get to be thrown around when I’m Hulk.

Last night, I heard the boys and Diana upstairs playing Ninjas.  Ninjas?  Was that something I approved of?  Let’s see.  Violent? Check.  Costumed? Check.  Loved by weird overweight teens?  Check.

I found the guys in a makeshift dojo (our room).  Diana was playing the Ninja Master and instructing the boys in the ancient arts of espionage, infiltration, sabotage and assassination.  Her unflattering Asian accent sounded a lot like Betty Davis, but it worked. 

She would haltingly shout, “Hai!  Kick!  Double Kick!  Jump kick!”  The boys would obey.  Luca seemed to think the secret to being a ninja was falling to the ground after every move.  Kick, fall.  Punch, fall.  Roundhouse, fall.

When she had them stand at attention, it was almost too adorable for words.  Especially since Luca wanted so badly to fall to the ground.

Like the jerk at a party who needs to one up everyone’s story, I announced that I had some moves I’d like to teach the boys.  Diana happily conceded the floor due to her love of watching me physically make a fool of myself.

I demonstrated my secret, ancient praying mantis technique, my deadly lion punch and the undefendible crocodile arms.  The boys took great glee in mimicking my awkward and vaguely racist moves.

I then sparred with Eli, who could not stop my back flip iron monkey move.

Kindle Backfire

Last Saturday night, I was basking in my parental successes.  I had (in my mind) singlehandedly turned the corner on Luca’s potty training with the introduction of Kindle playing on the toilet.  Letting him mess around on my tablet directly resulted in his first ever poop on the potty.  And there were clear signs that my days of spending a billion dollars a month on diapers were coming to a close.

Before retiring for the night, I took one last obsessive look at my email.  I mean, there could be an advertising emergency.  Someone may need an “a” changed to a “the.”

I was surprised to see I had 10 unread messages waiting for me.  Huh.  I looked at the subject lines and they were all identical.  “Your Amazon.com purchase is ready to be shipped.”  Ten times. 

My immediate reaction was, “Dianaaaaaaaaa!” But then I realized the purchase was a Lego Headless Horseman.  Ten little plastic Headless Horsemen were on their way to my house.  No.  The Headless Horsemen army was headed to my Dad’s house.

I looked at the Kindle resting so very innocently next to my phone.  I turned it on and clicked on the Amazon.com app in the electronic carrousel.  Sure enough, when I hit the button, I saw just how easy it was for a tiny poopy hand to order Lego after Lego. 

Luca’s poopy hand.

I spent the next hour canceling orders and emailing my Dad to alert him to the strange packages that may or may not be heading to my house.

The next evening while he was on the potty, I tried to explain which button on the Kindle Luca was never to touch.  This button.  Right here.  The shiny one with all the incredibly cool Lego toys.  And the one touch ordering.

Dad, expect more Legos soon.