Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Babies and Why I Growl at Them

I went to the internet this morning looking for an answer to a question that I had. Knowing the internet as well as I do, I figured there would have to be some line of logic or posting that covered (if only in part) the topic to which I sought answers. To my dismay, I found several entries that were about what I was asking but no real answer to the questions I had. So, being disappointed with the internet I have decided to layout my question here and see if I may find a response in the madness I call my own.

Roughly three months ago my sister by association gave birth to another baby. This one is in the same lineage of Tiny Face but is far tinier than his current face. I will refer to the brother of Tiny Face here as Beany Cakes. Moving on, Beany Cakes being a baby does roughly four things all day. He poops, he eats, he sleeps, and of course he cries. The last of which is at such a pitch that my wolf like ears almost bleed when Beany Cakes decides he is upset about something. I put up with crying to a point because you know he is a baby. Though there are times where even the immortal level of patience I have is pushed to a brink. When I get to that point I regular joke about punching the said baby in the face. Because if anything punching babies is the best form of anger management. Side bar to explain this understanding:

Say someone comes up to me and says they are angry. I would then tell them to hold on to their emotions while I go and get a baby for them to punch. If they are a normal person they will most likely protest to the idea of punching a baby. I then return with said baby (where did I get it, don’t worry about where I got it). I then hold up the baby and say punch it. The angry person will most likely again protest and say that I am crazy for suggesting such a thing. I then put the baby down and ask them if they are still angry. A good deal of the time they say no, they are rather shocked about being asked to punch a baby, and where did I get that baby anyways? I pat them on the head and congratulate them on being cured of their anger. I walk off and they are happy having been cured. The baby I assume goes back to its family and lives a life of love and fortune knowing it helped to cure someone’s anger issues. 
Back on topic, when I find that Beany Cakes is crying at such a rate that my ears are about to explode, and he is unwilling to stop no matter how many times I hit him in his face I find that I start to growl. It rises like a guttural hollow sound from the base of my spine. Gathering strength and resonance from my gut it climbs furiously up the back of my throat. Then it springs forth from my mouth in a cavalcade of bestial understanding. I can tell you that I am unsure where the growl comes from or to as why it shows up like that. I can, however, tell you that when I do growl at Beany Cakes he stops crying.

 Now he does not stop crying because he is scared or because he is shocked at what I have done. It would appear that he likes it when I growl at him. I know this because his crying turns into smiling, and he responds at times with a laugh or a giggle. I, of course, continue to growl at Beany Cakes till either his parents come to tend to him, or he decides it is time to do something else. Normally what he means by doing something else is performing some bodily function that requires an adult like person to check his pants.

So, I have explained the action and now must explain the question. Why is it babies or my nephew (who is a baby) responds to my growling as he does? Does it have something to do with the tone of the growl? Does it mimic a sound that they heard while in the uterus? It is because as our higher brains tell us we are no longer animal we forget that in the base of our genetic code is the memory of animal instincts? Is Beany Cakes some weirdo that enjoys the mimicked tones of a beast? Or is it the look on my face when I growl, which is can only imagine is a mix of anguish and horror. There has to be a reason for it. Hence, that is the reason I went to the internet. It is also the reason I am disappointed with the internet.

When I went out searching, I used the most logical search string “why do babies react to growling?” I got a few posts on dogs growling at babies and parents being freaked out by it. I then made the search string simpler by asking “babies and growling.” What I got for the results here was where I found disappointment with the internet. A good deal of the links Google offered me were moms looking for help because their babies are growling. I thought this was funny, so I decided to see what the posts were about.

Come to find out there are a lot of moms and parents out there that are either annoyed or disturbed by a growl-like noise that their babies make. Mom’s complaining about how it sounds gross and annoying. Other mothers are blaming their husbands or baby daddies for teaching their babies how to do it. And finally there was one mother that complained about it to her doctor only to be told that her tiny dog was not in fact a human child and in this way growling was perfectly normal. As you can see, the internet lets me down. One it did not provide an answer to my question and two it did not do the risk of the growing number of wolfling children justice. Seriously, it is apparent that their number is growing which could lead us to Wolf War III and honestly we don’t have enough silver to survive this one. So, the question I have now is where do I get the answer to my first question, and also where do I go to buy large quantities of silver?

Finally, after my ranting, and taking several hours to write this I think I have come up with an answer. I growl at Beany Face, and he likes it because like his brother, and like myself he is weird. There must be something in my tone when I growl. Or it could be that I am joking as I do it; making faces and whatnot. It could just be that my growl is that good and he finds it funny that a man of my talent lives in the basement of his parents’ house and is not a millionaire. If that truly is the reason he is laughing, then I am making a note now to punch him in his fat baby face when I get home tonight.

All in all, it is a funny interaction between the two of us. He cries, and I growl. It goes back and forth. I find it funny and in this way wanted to know if there was some higher or medical like purpose behind it. Maybe we are all wolves from birth and as we age we are less likely to scratch behind our ears because we are not as flexible as we are at birth. It could just be that the innate beast like instincts we so desperately hide from the world are at our core the reason we have survived as a species. If it howls like a wolf, hunts like a wolf, growls like a wolf, then it might just be human… eventually.

To close, I wanted to make sure and add Tiny Face to this post. This weekend he watched me play Witcher 3, which was just me running around picking up plants and him yelling at me to go find a bear. It was worth mentioning because eventually I had to go and hunt down some spiders. He was not concerned until he saw that there were spider babies. The conversation then went like this:

“Why are you hunting spiders?”

“Because they are eating people and I need to make sure they don’t eat my butts.”

“Oh, is there a mama spider?”

“Yes, she is the big one in the back.”

“Oh…NO! Don’t kill the baby spiders!”

“Why?”

“They are calm, they aren’t doing anything.”

“WHAT? They are biting my butts. See look they are coming right at me.”

“No, Uncle Jeff, they are nice spiders. You are mean and you should not hurt them.”

“Um, no.”

“Um, yes.”

“Um, no.”

“Um, yes…”

It went on like this until he found it funny when I died because the spiders had eat my butts. This ended the argument over whether or not baby spiders are calm. The said spiders are pictured below, judge for yourself.


Friday, May 15, 2015

Random Arguments with a Toddler: T-Rex Politics

Here for you enjoyment is this week’s Random Argument with a Toddler 

Over dinner, I was told by my associated brother (again may or may not be the oldest man in history) that my tiny faced nephew had something interesting to say on his way home from daycare. Apparently he was concerned that when he got home my T-Rex was going to eat all of his cars. It was at this point the argument began.

“Oh, is that, so Tiny Face?” I asked. A look of inquisitive dissonance painted across my face.”

“Yeah, your T-Rex is going to eat all the cars. Your orange T-Rex… will pick them up and eat them…RAAAAAAAAWWWWWR!” answered Tiny Face. He was eating, so most of his words were filled with the sound of chewing food. He is also very animated, meaning that his hand swung around a lot grabbing and crushing imaginary cars out of the air.

“Oh, I see, good to know,” I said.

“RAWR!” retorted Tiny Face.

The argument ended here so that we might all continue with dinner. This is most important for Tiny Face as he likes to play while eating. If I can do my part by not distracting him, then I am properly doing my job as his associated uncle. Not that he cannot distract himself (he is excellent at it) he just needs to focus while he is eating.

As is the habit right now in the house Tiny Face is the first to finish his meal. He is smaller and thus does not eat as much. Though when he does eat he can eat his fill. Point being is that he is done first and thus is the first to leave the table. This typically prompts him to ask this question.

“Can I have a lollipop?”

Now this is a learned behavior. In the house when the Tiny Face finishes dinner he gets either a candy or a lollipop (yes lollypops are candy, shut up, he’s three). This is so familiar that he started to assume that he would get a candy after every meal he finished. Breakfast, “can I have a lollipop!” Lunch, “can I have a candy?” Dinner, “can I have a lollipop and candy?” I do not agree with this practice because a kid does not need to be given a reward for doing something as common as eating. Also giving kids candy as a reward all the time defeats the purpose and can cause bigger issues when they are older. I am not the parent, and thus I cannot set the rules.(I digress, and yes will cover this ideology in another post later next week.)

Moving on, the kid finished his meal and asked for his lollypop. He was told to wait until we were all done. He pretended to be busy with the dog until his mother got up from the table. This action meant to Tiny Face that she was done, and so he again asked for this lollypop (see the connection I am making to my ranting? Sneaky, sneaky). Tiny Face got his lollypop and was immediately told to go sit down in the living room while he ate it.

Later, I finished my dinner and proceeded to clean up the table a little before moving into the living room. When I went to sit down, I found Tiny Face seated in one of the two recliners. His face was grave and a little zoned out as he continued to eat his lollypop. Think of it as someone crossing a road and trying not to step on any cracks out of respect for their mama’s back.

“My T-Rex is going to beat your T-Rex up,” said Tiny Face, still eating his lollipop.

“No, my T-Rex is going to punch your T-Rex in the face,” I said in return.

“My T-Rex has a sword… and, and he is going to cut your T-Rex up,” countered Tiny Face.

“My T-Rex has a laser gun, and he is gonna shoot your T-Rex. PEW PEW PEW PEW!” I argued.

“Well my aliens are going to come down and blow up all your T-Rexes and dinosaurs,” said Tiny Face’s older brother from the corner of the room.

“NO! That’s not fair!” yelled Tiny Face successfully ended the side argument with his brother.

“Okay good to know. My T-Rex is going to use your T-Rex’s sword and cut him up into little pieces,” I said putting the conversation back on track.

“No, you can’t do that,” said Tiny Face, desperately trying to win the fight.

“Oh really, well after my T-Rex cuts your T-Rex to pieces with a snick, snack, JEDI! My T-Rex is going to your T-Rex’s house, and he is going to eat your T-Rex’s car. Then he is going to take over his house. Then he is going to steal your T-Rex’s girlfriend,” I said trying to drive the point home.

“NO, YOU CAN’T!” cried Tiny Face. “My T-Rex is going to turn into a plane and blow your T-Rex up.”

“ now? Fine, my T-Rex is a bunch of Velociraptors in a T-Rex suit. They break free of their disguise and start to swarm your T-Rex in a pack.”

“No!”

 “They pounce on him.”

“No!”

“They rend the flesh from his bones.”

“NO!”

“They feast upon his guts and eat all his candy.”

“NOOOO!”

“They marry his girlfriend.”

“No.”

“They buy her a beautiful house and have six kids.”

“No!”

“They celebrate him on his birthday with a cake made from his bones!”

“NOOOOOO!”

“They… END HIM!”

“Nooooooooooooo!”

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

I tend to get worked up when I know I have him beaten. This, however, allows for Tiny Face to move without being noticed. This case was no different. I shouted out my victory for all in the house to hear so that they may know how mighty I am. Tiny Face used this to his advantage.

He somehow used telepathy to connect to the mind of his father calling out for help. I don’t have kids, so I don’t know how this works. I do know that my associated brother had entered the living room with a collection of bags he was preparing for Tiny Face’s upcoming overnight. Tiny Face himself had gotten out of his seat and was slowly creeping around me. I did not see this as I tend to throw back my head with evil laughter after defeating a child in a game of words.

“Hey Tiny Face, I think I know why you can’t find your screwdriver,” my associated brother said as he pulled from Tiny Face’s backpack a plastic screwdriver.

This is how Tiny Face tried to win the argument. He knew he did not have the words nor the knowledge of dinosaur society to defeat me. He did, however, understand the simple concept of fear. Seeing the plastic tool in my brother’s hand and the wicked smile on Tiny Face’s face I knew what was coming.

“Don’t you give that to him!” I cried out.

“Why not?” said my brother.

“Cause you know why!” I shouted back.

Tiny Face however had already taken the tool and now was moving in my general direction with a quickness. I being an adult got up from the chair and covered my bellybutton. I took the needed number of steps to the stairs, nodded an imaginary hat, and started making my decent to safety.

As I reached the bottom level I could hear the collective laughter of both Tiny Face and his father. It sounded like jerks, no judgement, but it did sound like two jerks. They laughed at what they had done. I went to my room. Argument over.


This ends this week’s Random Arguments with a Toddler. Join me next week as I most likely will write about how punching babies is this generation’s new anger management tool. Till then keep your kids happy, and your bellybuttons attached. 

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Random Conversations with a Toddler

As I have been sick due to the germ factories in my house I have lacked in my post consistency. To correct that I now present to you a random conversation with a toddler. 

Morning Encounter – Entryway stairs

I typically head out of the house around 7:00 AM. I leave my living room area and close the door. I turn the hallway light off as I exit my area. I head up the small staircase to the front landing to get my shoes.

(A side note:  In Alaska it is customary for any entering into a house to remove their shoes. Most houses have a mud room or entry way that allow for those coming in to take their coats and hats off as well as their shoes. This is done to keep the snow or mud or whatnot from getting on carpets and nicer flooring. Does not matter if it is winter, this custom is a year around affair. It is something you will deal with if you ever come to Alaska. Be aware now if you have foot issues.)


This particular morning my tiny faced nephew was getting dressed by his father in the living room at the top of the stairs. I am not a small man, nor do I tread up stairs like a ninja early in the morning. Being as such the sound of clomping up the stairs was heard by all.

“Hey Tiny Face, who is that?” said my associated brother (who may or may not be the oldest man in history).

“UNCLE JEFF!” exclaimed Tiny Face.

He was not dressed. He frequently is not dressed as nudity in the household is something used to make Uncle Jeff feel uncomfortable. Please note there is never really any actual nudity. Diapers and underpants are the norms. There was one time, but I try not to recall it as I throw up in my mouth a little.

“I’m gonna punch you in the face,” I said as it is my customary greeting to Tiny Face.

He looked at me with a mix of false anger and goofy silliness; He raised his left hand in a fist to show me that he was ready to return my punch.

“Why don’t you show Uncle Jeff your screwdriver?” said my associated brother.
He used this distraction to leave the room and attend to the task of finding clothes and whatnot for Tiny Face.

Tiny Face moved toward the stairs and began to descend them with the pointer finger of his right hand extended. I had not heard what my associated brother had said. I was expecting a punch in the guts or something along those lines. I knew that something was coming because the tiny face of Tiny Face was wearing the trickster’s grim of Loki himself.

I prepared for the punch but was taken off guard when Tiny Face started to lift up my shirt. Lucky for me I wear an undershirt almost all the time. Seeing his task was not completed Tiny Face began to tug at my undershirt. I pushed down on my shirt to impede Tiny Face from getting any further. It is a little weird to have to fight a three-year-old for control of your clothing. I am sure parents everywhere understand this. If not, then please put clothes on you nudists. Unless of course you are a hot, single, lady looking for an educated, funny, gentleman to spend the rest of your life with. You can stay naked, I won’t judge.

“Hey! What are you doing? That’s my shirt,” I said batting his tiny hand away.

“I need to use my screwdriver,” he said while pointing his finger in the general direction of my belly button. At this stage, I had to stop and laugh due to the cold hand of fear beginning to climb the back of my neck.

This tiny SOB was going for my bellybutton to unscrew my legs. His small brain has worked out the concept of the threat, and he was actively willing to fire the first shot. I could see the events unfolding before me. My belly button was popping out of my torso causing my legs to loosen from my frame.  My legless body was crashing to the floor of the landing and wheedle wobble its way down the lower stairs to the basement. The worse fears of ages 5 – 9 of my life flashed before my eyes. I had to act quickly to bring my rational mind back into the present timeline.

“He is going to end me…” a tiny voice in my head whispered. “Quick man! Defend yourself before he manages a killing blow!”

I pointed my finger at the Tiny Face and pushed gently against his stomach. Being that I am much larger and far stronger than he is my push was enough to disable him. He fell back against the stairs and began to laugh. I poked at him a few more times to draw out laughter. Though it was effective because he laughed, it was more efficient because it re-established dominance between the two of us. I am bigger, and he should know that.

“I am going to use my screwdriver,” I said as I poked Tiny Face further.

“NO, I’m going to use my screwdriver!” returned Tiny Face.

This banter continued for a few moments. Tiny Face attempted to get at my shirt again but was swatted away like so many flies before him. He laughed, I laughed, and it was a grand ole’ time for the few moment we battled. Being the adult, I became aware of my need to get to work. I began to move away placing my feet into my shoes.

“Let’s play FIGHT,” said Tiny Face. His tiny fist raised up at me as if we were going to recreate a fight from the video game Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out.

“I can’t, I have to go to work,” I explained.

“Let’s play… hide and seek,” he whispered in my ear as I knelt down to fix my shoe.

“I can’t, I have to go to work,” I explained again.

At this point, he stood up from the stairs and tried to play with my shirt again. I took his tiny hand and gave him a hug goodbye. He looked at my shirt and started to trace the large X of my shirt’s design. He looked like he was thinking about stabbing me in the belly button again. I waited to react to his attack when he spoke.

“You should go to the moon,” he said finishing his tracing.

“What do you mean go to the moon?” I asked.

“You should go to the moon, so you can see the moon,” spoke Tiny Face very plainly as if it made perfect sense.

“Um, well that would be nice, and I would like to go to the moon,” I said. “But I have to go to work.”
“Okay,” he said returning my hug.

I hugged him back. Turning toward the door I opened it enough to get out without the chance of Poseidon “Dog of the Sea” to escape. I walked out the door and began to close it when I hear this.

“Okay, I’ll see you this morning!”

“Okay, I’ll see you this evening,” I corrected.

“Okay, whatever, bye,” he returned making his tiny way back up the stairs.

I closed the door and walked to my car. I got in and started it up still trying to figure out where he had gotten the idea of going to the moon. I looked down and checked my shirt. That day I was wearing my 13PAX shirt. A shirt I had bought when my friends and I had made the awesome trip down to Seattle for PAX Prime 2013. I looked carefully at the picture and found that the X was designed to look like the D pad of a video game controller. In the middle of that X is a round white circle. A circle that looks a lot like how a toddler would image the moon.

“Huh. Clever devil,” I said as I turned the key in the ignition.



Monday, May 4, 2015

Screwdrivers and their use on the removal of bellybuttons...

Over the years I have either been a part of or been in proximity to conversations with kids. The conversations themselves run a wide gambit of topics such as dirty diapers or cleaning a room. Conversations on why candy cannot be had after breakfast. Interjections of how it is not practical to stand on a chair. Quips over thoughts on what color dinosaurs are and why they are trying to eat us. Both compliments and complaints for which ever food dish is sitting on the table at that moment. Conversations of any type, topic, or length. Talking with your kids, and to kid in general, is something of great importance. Talking to a baby in baby talk does not really help them learn how to properly say widdle, I mean little. 

The point is talking to kids helps them learn how to speak. Helps them to decipher understanding and reasoning. Helps them know that there is a difference between a question and an argument (the difference is not the use of a question mark). Point for point talk to your kids. But what things were we told as kids that somehow have worked into the conversations we are having with children now? An example of this something my grandfather, Dr. David K. Spindle M.D., used to say to me. 

“Jeff, if you don’t behave I am going to go get my screwdriver. Then I am going to unscrew your bellybutton and make your legs fall off.” 

Now from a medical standpoint any layman knows that the bellybutton has nothing to do with how your legs are attached to your body.  We know that the leg is broken into five parts; upper leg, knee, lower leg, ankle, and foot. None of which are directly linked to the bellybutton. The legs themselves stretch from the hip which connects below the abdomen. There is a whole section of the body between where your legs and your bellybutton exist. The flesh of the legs does stretch into the skin of the abdomen but only by passing through the groin and pelvic areas. 

The bellybutton is the keepsake we take with us from birth. It is the location of the umbilical cord, which was used to feed us in utero. The belly button forms after the umbilical cord is cut. Some of us have inward developed bellybuttons, or inies. Others have outward developed bellybuttons, or outies. Neither part of the body has to do with the other except for that period of time we developed in utero. Also as there is nothing for the screwdriver to take hold of other than naked flesh the use of such a device would be ineffective in the removal of a leg.
It is far too small and at times not pointy enough to get the job. Unless of course you are very, very small and your attacker is the size of a large townhouse. Anyhow, no matter how you claim it the science is not yet sound enough for one to use a screwdriver to remove their own or another person’s legs.

The counterpoint my inner child has the reasoning I have given goes as such. My grandfather was for close to 50 years a neurosurgeon. That means he was a brain surgeon. When people say, “it’s not brain surgery,” nine times out of ten to my grandfather it actually was. He had a medical degree that set him apart from the common know it all or today’s WebMD sites. So to a small child like myself at the time it made perfect sense. Grandpa was a doctor, he knew things about the body I could not even comprehend. Even as I got older it still scared me a little because I could easily see the connection between the legs and belly button when I pulled part GI Joe figures. Their legs literally were attached to their body by a rubber band. That rubber band could in fact be removed from the body with a screwdriver. The first time I did it I believe ended up running around the house yelling, “GRANDPA WAS RIGHT! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL HOLY AND GOOD IN THE WORLD GRANDPA WAS RIGHT!” I mean when I was 6 how in the hell was I to know that I was not just a rubber band connected to a hook in my stomach. (Yes, there were many ways to know that. Shut up, brain. I am trying to write.) 

As you can see what I was told as kid affected me greatly, so much so that recently I used the same phony treat on my own nephew. Out of nowhere we were talking about me punching him in the face and him retuning said punch to my own face. This is no reason to call child services. It is a rarity if either of us is actually punched in the face. When it does happen it is only hard enough to rattle teeth, not loosen them. The point is while I we were having this perfectly normal argument I inadvertently said out loud, “I am going to go get my screwdriver and then use it to unscrew your belly button and make your legs fall off.” The shared look of surprise on both my nephew’s and I’s faces was rather haunting. He had never heard me say such a thing. I had never intended to say such a thing to him. Like any time a child cusses it just slipped out. 

So, you can only imagine now the images running through my nephew’s head. For reference his favorite show is Disney’s Doc McStuffins.
A show about a young girl who can bring toys to life so that she may diagnose and treat their aliments. The show is a good one but because it uses the power of imagination my nephew had probable cause to both understand and enact my threat. His little mind could see the practical application of a screwdriver being used to remove the legs of a person or toy. I mean honestly Doc McStuffins does such things all the times. One of the medical tools her playset comes with is a screwdriver. As I watched him process what I said I thought to myself, “oh crap, he is going to believe and even use the threat against me.” Nothing came from the conversation. Everything passed without conflict or loss of life and/or limb. I figured it was a onetime thing and there was no further need to worry. I was by all accounts the guy from a horror film who knows the monster on the loose and still goes out to check on a noise. No worries, I’ll be right back. Yeah, that guy.

A week or so passed and again my nephew and I were playing. I told him he needed to clean up and go to the dinner table. He, being three, started to whine and fake cry (two skills he has mastered). Out of nowhere again I made the bellybutton threat. My nephew stopped whining, looked me in the eye, and laughed. He then proceeded to go to his doctor station and remove his screwdriver. He walked over to me and proceeded to attack my bellybutton. I being bigger and strong quickly took the screw driver out of his hand and turned the attack on him. This went on for short while until we were both told to come to the table. The point is that he had put two and two together and figured out that it was equal to any threat I made, he could use himself. He could use a screwdriver to remove my bellybutton just as I could do it to him. The kid, as always, is too damn smart for his own good. 
This back and forth bellybutton war did not end with the one incident. 

Later in the week when my nephew did not like what I had to say at the table pointed at me and proceeded to make claims on my bellybutton. We went back and forth in a normal argumentative fashion. I was going to get my screwdriver, he was going to get his screwdriver. I was going to remove his bellybutton, he was going to remove my bellybutton. I was going to make his legs fall off, he was going to make my legs fall off. It went on and on for some time. We spoke at large volumes with pointed fingers and a smile most of the time. 

All and all the point I am making is that we need to be careful with what he talk to kids about. Not so much in the way to shield or protect them, but more so that we don’t wake up in the middle of the night with a plastic screwdriver hovering about our midsections and a small child laughing wickedly in the dark. Something like that will disprove to your kids that you are not supposed to pee in the bed. 


Please be aware of what you talk to your talks about. Be aware of the silly jokes you were told when you were young. Remember and reuse the odd ball facts and stories you were regaled with. The only reason we know so much about where we came from is because for generations we shared the stories of where we had been. 

Make a habit to share with your kids or the kids you are around the most. They will laugh as you once did. They might even prove to be smarter that you were at age. It depends on how much imagination you pour into the batch. You can never use too much, the purpose is to share not to perfect. Talk with your kids, even if it is to remind them you still have screwdriver and you still know how to remove belly buttons. 

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Tiny Faces = Germ Warfare

As I write this I am sick and have been sick for the past three days. In the time that I have lived in my current residence I have been sick on and off almost every other week. The sickness spans the map from runny nose to don’t go into the bathroom right now. I have been to the doc as many times as I need to and in most cases I am told it is just a cold or a bug. After this last sickness I have come to a dramatic conclusion; tiny faces are also tiny biological weapons factories. Any parent at this point would comment on how this is a known fact. I however see a more devious design in the works. Let me take you on a semi-science faulty logic understanding of why kids get you sick. Take some time now to get a pen and paper because you are going to want to take notes. Okay, got your pen? Got your paper? Good, good now on to a wonderful journey of discovery and understanding. 

So, kids get sick all the time. This I feel is due to the concept of shared spaces. Kids share the space of everyone around them. They cling and are carried. They are cleaned, and they are wiped. All the time sharing the spaces of every adult around them. Add to this the shared space of other kids if they have siblings or if they attend daycare or school. Everywhere they go, every place they are is shared with other beings. Now take that tiny face and give them a simple cold. That cold now goes with them into every instance of shared space. The germs that are causing the cold have been given a free pass to ride a fleshy monorail. They are carried over on the good ship gooey snot. They take their first steps in slow motion on the crater laden faces of teenage babysitters and siblings. They register their entry at the Elis Island of adult hands patting on backs and holding tissues. All the while the tiny faces continue to feel sick and literally make those around them sick. It is a vicious cycle of renew, rinse, and repeat. Though anyone would say it is just the order or things, or it is just nature. I say, “oh hell no!” 
To me I see a master plan of command and conquer going on. Think about it. What does a tiny face require? They need someone to provide them with food. They need someone to give them a warm place to sleep. They need someone to bend to every whine and request because their tiny forms are unable to reach things high on the counter. They need someone to pay for things like juice or cookies. They just need someone to tell them they are the best and the cutest kid in the whole world. They just need a larger set of hands and feet to get them what they want.  Here is the connection, how best to tame and control a larger member of the species then to weaken them with biological warfare? Think of it in relative terms of survival. A pony is born and within a few minutes after it stands up and starts to walk. A human child slides out and has to be made aware that breathing now requires effort. A baby shark emerges from the purse swims off and begins to seek out food. A human child is born and then has to be held in place to suckle at its mother’s breast. A baby spider is born with the knowledge of how to build a web to catch food. They also eat their mothers. A newborn human child is not even able to tie their own shoes let alone catch anything. Seriously, how have we become the dominant species on the plant? After this sickness I feel that I have an answer. Children intentionally get sick so that they can get us sick so that we are unable as adults to deny them their survival. It is a true master work of evolution and genius. We get sick because they are sick and end up saying it is nothing more than them building immunities. I blame science for not seeing this sooner. 

The shear mastery of the plan these germ factories have come up with is astounding. We are adult and we know best. We tell them this on a daily basis. They try to touch a hot stove we remind them it is hot and we know better. They say they only want to eat candy and we make them eat something else because we know better. We even tuck them in at night saying they need sleep. Then we go back to watching TV because we want alone time and of course we know better. So, in an effort to subjugate the subjugators they bring us down to their level with a simple sneeze. All of a sudden we are on our knees with a tissue and a thermometer. That is when they have us right where they want us. We tend to every whim they have because they are sick. That is a good thing because they are kids and we need to take care of them. If your kid is sick and you push them aside for a football game then you and I need to have a face to face conversation. The point I am making is that it is not their sickness that breaks us, it is when we get sick that they have us. 

We get sick and they get better. They know this is what will happen and so it is okay. The problem is that when we are sick, like them, we whim and moan about being sick. Kids know that when Mom and Dad are like this they will not be able to say no for very long. We may get frustrated or we may yell but we always give in because we just want to rest. They ask us for some food and we give it to them. They want something else to eat and we give it to them. They just want some chocolate milk and candy so we give it to them. All the while we are buried in snot rags and dirty diapers. The kid pushes and pushes just enough to make sure that Mom and/or Dad will give in, never enough to really get them upset. But they do enough to make sure that we stay sick as long as they need us to be sick. It is a maddening endeavor for both parties but only works out for one in the end. The germ factories keep making germs so that they can wear us down to survive. Oh, I am sure that parents out there are saying, “No it is about caring for your kids, and loving, and stuff.” Fair enough I love kids and I am sure that you do as well. The question is how many times in the last year did you get sick? How many of those times were your kids first? And how many times during that sickness did you give in and let the tiny faces run rampant across the homestead like they owned the place? If I had to guess I would say that your answers are lots, yes, and all the time. AH HA! You see the tiny faces are using germ warfare to keep up down so that they can survive this harsh world. Nature planned this they just enact it. It’s a mad world, a mad, mad world.


In all honesty I am sick because the tiny faces in the house are sick. It is a way of life for parents and adults that tend to the livelihoods of kids. Talk to any daycare worker and they will confirm that they get sick all the time because of the kids. I worked in childcare for close to elven years and told every employee I managed to expect to be sick for the first month you work here. It is honestly a way of life. We as adult try out best not to get kids sick. They are tiny and do not deal well with being sick. Not to say that as large adults we do any better, but it is a close second at times. It is funny that we go out of our ways to not get kids sick, but they do everything they can to whip all the boogers on us. A runny nose is a reason to wear a green shirt when it comes to sick kids and their parental care takers. We get sick, we deal, and we make sure not to cough into the shoulder that is burping the baby. It is a way of life. Though I am pretty sure it is more of a master plan. An evil, evil master plan. 

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Random Arguments with a Toddler

Here is this week’s Random Arguments with a Toddler: 

“So, what do you want to eat? Do you want a burrito or a taco?” said I waiting to order our food.

“I want a burrito,” said Tiny Face sitting in the back of the truck.

“Okay then I will get you a burrito,” I replied.

“Annnd, I want a blue drink,” said Tiny Face. A gleeful look of excitement pressed evenly across his face.

“What blue drink?” I asked expecting a clear answer but really hoping for just a simple clue to drink brand, type, or name.

“You know the blue drink, I want a blue drink,” Tiny Face answered now more stern rather than excited. His brow furrowed slightly as if I was the three year old and he was the adult who should know everything ever.

“Stinky, I don’t know what the blue drink is. What blue drink and what is its name?” I asked.

“The blue drink right there,” he said pointing out the side window.

I turned and looked but saw no blue drink, just the sign listing this month’s promotional menu items. “Um, I don’t think they have a blue drink here.”

His small mouth turned downward making a very definitive frown. He squinted his eyes at me to show that he was angry with me. He growled a little in the back of his throat before he spoke, “THEY DO, THEY HAVE THE BLUE DRINK, I WANT THE BLUE DRINK!”

“TINY FACE! There is no need to yell, I am just telling you I don’t see a blue drink and I don’t think they have a blue drink,” I explained holding back frustration. The car in front of us drove past the speaker on the menu. I turned away from the child and proceeded to pull forward.

“Hi, what would you like today?” said the voice from the speaker box.

“Hi, can I have three burritos and three tacos…”

“I WANT A BLUE DRINK!”

“I’m sorry, I did not hear that. What would you like again?” asked the speaker box voice.

“Tiny Face SHHHHH,” I pleaded. “Sorry, sorry I would like three burritos and three tacos please.”

“Uncle Jeff, blue drink, blue drink, blue drink!” said Tiny Face in a very big voice. The words BLUE DRINK continued until I had confirmed our order and driven past the speaker. The continued echoes I’m sure were being heard several cars away. I expected a pedestrian to walk up and tell me to just get a damn blue drink already.

“Stinky, I told you there is no blue drink. I got you a milk is that okay?” I asked knowing full well it was not going to be okay.

     “FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!” repeated the Tiny Face. His hand jutted forward with on finger pointed at my face. His skill was impressive but luckily he does not know magic. Should he have the gift I am sure my ashes would have been long strew across an empty parking lot by now.

       I acted quickly to try and rally my nerves and keep the child entertained enough to forget the blue drink. I looked back across the seat into his tiny eyes and said, “WATER! WATER! WATER!” Again, it was good that neither of us know magic or there would be one less fast food restaurant and a huge spike in the Ark market. It was on, on like a donkey named Kong.

“DINOSAUR!”

“COW!”

“PICKLE!”

“SANDWICH!”

“LIGHTING BLOT!”

“Blocked! Your socks are now chickens.”

“My socks are chickens?” he questioned in amazement. “The car is a chicken!”

“Oh NO, we’re driving a giant chicken! AHHHHH, CHICKENS!” I yelled imagining the horrible mess it would have been to be inside a giant chicken.

“Ha ha ha, you’re funny. That’s funny,” he said with a smile returning to his tiny face.

“Excused me, um here is your food,” a voice next to me said.

“Oh, thanks. Here is your money.”

“Uncle Jeff, blue drink please,” said Tiny Face.

“I told you they don’t have a blue drink…”

“Yes we do, it is right here,” said the employee while handing me our food. “Would you like to add one to your order?”

“YAY!” came a joyous high pitched voice.

         I had been defeated.  My argument flayed out before me like so much sand in a wind storm. How the Tiny Face had known about the drink or even had remembered which restaurant it was located was astounding. He had known all along that they had a blue drink. He could not name it or even really describe it, yet he had known.

“Gods dammit,” I said into the vast logic of my mind. “Okay, go ahead and add it please.”

“YAY!”

      The employee handed over what looked like a heavily sugared ICEE. I could smell the future 10 minutes from now wafting off the concoction. High pitched screaming blurring through rooms. Heavy hastened footfalls leaving flame trails as if they had just hit 88 miles per hour. It would be madness, chaotic madness. But wait, I was not the child’s parent. I am the Uncle. I could easily make an escape downstairs after handing off the food and child to his parents.

“MUAHAHAHA!” I thought as I paid for the food and the drink. “Here you go Tiny, enjoy.” 

“YAY!” he said.

“Who is the best Uncle in the whole world?” I asked.

“UNCLE JEFF!”

Yay, that’s how you win an argument with a toddler. Sugar them up, and hand them back to their parents.




Monday, April 20, 2015

Shooting Ducks

After reading the title you might have thought this post was about hunting or maybe an analysis of the shows to watch with kids. If that is indeed what you thought then you are wrong, and you should feel bad about that. It’s okay I’ll wait…

Okay now on to the matter at hand, which is not hunting, but video game play with kids. One of my young nephews lives in the same house that I currently reside in. Every once and awhile he asks if he can come downstairs to hang out with me. A good deal of the time we end up watching Bubble Guppies or Paw Patrol. I know all the characters and have issues with a 10 year old boy running an entire city’s emergency services with a bunch of talking dogs. I will cover that logical concern in a later post. However when I am already playing a video game the resident Tiny Face will want to play along. As a good deal of gamer parents will tell you it is very hard to play a video game with a Tiny Face. They want to help out and play along. When my nephew first asked to play video games with me I handed him a controller without a connection or batteries. He took it and started to hit the buttons, then proceeded to complain about nothing happening. Kid is a little too smart for his own good.
After a few tries I figured out that he was okay playing the video game if he thought he was doing the silly stuff. For instance driving cars. He found it hilarious if he was causing the car to crash into buildings or knocking over light poles. (Note here: most games have codes or controls to make sure there are no people walking around the cities, so no need to explain why that person just flew fifteen feet in the air.)He also enjoyed controlling the bridges so we could see how far we could jump across them. Hours on end the conversation would go like this.
“Drive the red car,” said Tiny Face
“This red car, or the red truck?” I would answer.
“The red truck, go get it, drive it,” he would yell.
“Okay, here we go,” I would say as I got into the truck. We would drive around for a while hitting buildings and other cars. Then he would get bored or see another car or another color. Likely he would get bored and this would happen.
“BRIDGGGGGGGGGEEEEEEEE! JUMP IT! JUMP IT! JUMP IT NOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!” he would yell, on average no more than an inch from my ear.
We would of course jump the bridge, then jump it again, and then a hundred times more. The issue would eventually become the time spent entertaining my nephew in lieu of progressing through the game itself. How much time do I spend jumping the same bridge verse just doing the next mission in the game? For this type of situation I came up with a creative answer; play a different game.
Farcry 3 and Farcry 4 produced by Ubisoft, are two great games with a big open world rich with beautiful scenes capes, animals, and story. But both games are rated M or mature because of the blood and gore as well as graphic language. Funny thing is in these two games you can go and hunt animals to either make money, or advance your character’s defense and skills. I can hear parents yelling at the screen right now, “BUT YOU ARE KILLING THINGS!” Yes, I get that and I understand there are concerns. Though why do you have to say they are dead, why not say they are asleep?

     For example in Farcry 3, there are emus which honestly are pretty nasty birds. My nephew did not understand emu so he called them ducks. So, when I would go out and hunt emus I was shooting ducks. When I shot them it was because I wanted to get their candy, and they did not die they just fell asleep due to eating too much candy. I was helping them stay awake by taking their candy. On the converse when the ducks punched me I too had eaten a large quantity of candy causing me to fall asleep. Hence the title of this post “Shooting Ducks”, which was what Tiny Face and I would do roaming the wide expanses of Far Cry 3. It was much the same with Farcry 4, though there were now both cars to drive and elephants to ride. All the while we would punch an animal and they would go to sleep so we could take their candy. It helped a lot that once you find one animal there is another in that area a good deal of the time. If one bear “goes to sleep” another one in the area would show up. To my nephew it is the same bear who has woken and now is upset that we took its candy. No killing, just animals falling asleep and us taking their candy. There are people in the games but it I easy enough to avoid them.
   
Also it was funny to interject myself freaking out when the animals would come after us to make it less intense for the kiddo. Saying things like, “it’s going to bite our butts.” Yes, seems odd to say butts, but for a three year old it is funny and distracts from the idea that the animal is about to maul us and most likely feast upon our corpse. It is also really funny to hear a three year yelling about butts.
Now traditional parent concerns aside there are plenty of games to play with younger kids that do not need as much sleight of hand. Games like Minecraft by Mojang. A wonderfully creative game now available on all gaming consoles. My nephew does not play Minecraft with me but does play it very often with his Dad. He especially loves
the animals and chasing them around. The simple nature of the game allows for easy progression between toddler requested activities. Though there are no cars and that is a huge no-no for my nephew. Every game must have cars, no exceptions.
Finally, some of the best games to play with kids are the classic games being re-mastered for newer systems. Recently my nephew and I spent three days hanging out with each other waiting for his parents to return home with his baby brother. Three days is far too long to watch the same episodes of shows over and over. So, I put on a game I had downloaded called Oddworld: Abe’s Oddysee by GT interactive. This game is an older side scrolling game featuring Abe, a green funny looking alien trying to free his people. In the game there are plenty of explosions and places to fall down. These two factors were funny to my nephew because I feigned frustration as if he has made me fall and/or explode when he hit buttons on his controller. It was also great to replay a game I had as a kid with my nephew for the first time. A shared experience of enjoyment across two generations.

The best part was a feature on the loading screen where you can test Abe’s ability to talk and make noises. My nephew found this to be hilarious because Abe was talking to him sayings things like hello, follow me, and of course farting. Tiny face would repeat after Abe, whistle at him, and make farting noises. Seems pretty simple and dumb, but really it ate up a bunch of time and was a good distraction while his parents were away. Tiny face would even get mad when Abe would not talk back to him and really there is nothing better than a three year old arguing with a video game character. Imagination kids, imagination.
All and all if you are a parent or a relative and are also a gamer then there is no reason you should argue over gaming and kids. Find a way to make the game fun to watch and interact with for your kids. Give them an old controller and have them drive the cars bumping into walls. Or find a way for them to laugh at your folly while you are still progressing through the game. They will enjoy it and hopefully ask to do it again. Gamers for life are not born, they are bred, play on.