DadCentric

Oh, The Glory/Hell Of It All

One of the hot-button topics among parent bloggers is this: when our kids eventually read our blogs, how much will the therapy cost?

Regular readers of this site, and those who read my other blog, have probably noticed that I rarely offer up a whole lot of dirt on the kid. It's not that he's not funny or interesting or "awwww"-inducing, and it's not like he doesn't, on a near-hourly basis, provide enough fodder to write a work of Proustian proportions. Truth be told - I keep the personal tales to a minimum because a)there are a lot of other bloggers out there who do a much better job of capturing the often mortifying episodes of three-year-old behavior and b)I really don't want to embarrass 16-year-old Lucas (and forthcoming daughter who will also eventually be able to read and use Google). Part of the parent's job is to, whenever possible, protect the child from pain and humiliation. And the stuff that we find hysterically funny might not seem that way to a kid trying to make his or her way through an often cruel and demeaning world.

So this morning, I find myself faced with a moral dilemma, a conundrum, if you will. Do I write about Lucas walking - strutting, actually - into the room, holding his plastic toy sword between his legs and yelling "I HAVE A GIANT PENIS!!! LOOK AT MY GIANT PENIS, DADDY!!!", or not?

We Can't All Be Brad Pitt in "Cool World"

It wasn't long after my last post that my daughter tired of Dora and started demanding her constantly -yelling cousin Diego at nap time.  I'd dreaded this, partially because he has empty, soulless eyes (like a shark) and partially because every time Rescue Pack starts singing I'd wish he'd transform into an explosive device and blow himself up.

Despite our efforts to insert the occasional Backyardigan* or Wonderpet into her diet, though, she's committed herself body and soul to rescuing obscure animals like spectacle bears and pygmy marmosets with Diego.   Early on, as I was watching with Cheeky and pining for the good old days when elephants and horses were cool enough animals, I had a startling and mildly uncomfortable realization.

Diego's sister Alicia is kinda hot.

This isn't the first time I've thought this about a hand-drawn character.  Judy Jetson and Daphne both played important roles in my pre-pubescent development.  Angelina Jolie's got nothing on Jessica Rabbit.  And don't even get me started on the entire female cast of Heavy Metal.  Hell, I'll bet there's more than a couple readers who smurfed to pictures of Smurfette in their day (I'm not one of them, but I know they're out there). 

But I'm old now, and I couldn't help but thinking there's something a little "off" about this fascination with Alicia. 

First of all, she's supposed to be an 11-year old.  I know kids are tarting up younger nowadays, but that's definitely not good.  Then I noticed she drives a car!  The driving age may be different in whatever tropical country they're living in, but come on!  That's some mixed signals you're sending, Nick Jr.

And then there's the fact that it's a children's show.  That I'm watching with my daughter.  Having naughty thoughts about Laurie Berkner is one thing, but the leap from her to Alicia seemed like a chasm too wide to cross.

Then last week I was talking with my brother-in-law while Cheeky was helping Diego and an armadillo win some jungle race.  He glanced up from our conversation at the TV and asked, "Who's that?"

"That's Alicia, Diego's sister," I responded.

"She's kinda hot."

Yes!  Redemption!

Maybe I'll put that poster of Alicia on my bedroom ceiling after all...

* While we're at it, can someone please tell me what the hell Uniqua is?  She looks like a undeveloped pig fetus to me.

"Some People Out There in Our Nation Don't Have Maps"

Nothing makes me swell with pride in America more than the cracker-jack job our educational system is doing with our most valuable national resource:  beauty queens.  Almost brings a tear to your eye.

Better not be a bird in there

As the pregnancy rolls along, my son seems to be getting more and more interested in the bulge that's growing out of my wife's tummy. He points to it, touches it, pats it, and has even kissed it a few times, which is just so ridiculously cute and sweet that I'm sure the kid must be manipulating me in some way. Because that's what kids do.

So we've started trying to get across to our son that the growth in his mom's tummy is in fact not the result of too much Cherry Garcia, but rather home to a baby that will eventually come out and be his little brother. And we might be getting somewhere with it. Take, for example, this recent conversation (or paraphrase of it anyway) held not long after the little guy came home from his grandparent's house where, it must be noted, they have upon their wall a cuckoo clock that he is totally fascinated by:

Us: Mama's got a baby in her belly.

Him: Mama. Belly.

Us: Mama's belly has a baby in it.

Him: Mama. Baby.

Us: That's right, there's a baby.

Him (pointing to belly): Baby.

Us: There's a baby in there. It's gonna come out.

Him: Baby?

Us: That's right. It's gonna come out.

Him (wide-eyed): Like cuckoo?

Us: Uuuuh, yeah! Like cuckoo!

Learning The Essentials

The kid wanted to help. I get all verklempt watching this.

Friday Fun (and kind of creepy)

Charlie the Unicorn.  Gotta stick it through to the end.

The Painfully Obvious Reason Why Letting Your Impressionable 3-Year-Old Boy Watch The New Reality Show "L.A. Ink" Is Not A Good Idea

The boy was having one of his increasingly frequent putting-off-sleep-for-as-long-as-possible evenings, Beth was watching L.A. Ink, I had fallen asleep to same about 5 minutes after the show had started. Then he posed the question. "Hey Mommy! Can I get a tattoo on my back?"

DadCentric Review: "Little Einsteins: Rocket's Firebird Rescue"

I suppose if the kiddies are going to watch TV, they could do worse than to watch a show that features famous artists and composers and their works, and gets the kiddies all geeked out over them. Beth and I can't help but wonder what The Factory gang would think of our kid doing The Wave on the couch, yelling "Andyyyy WARHOL!" at the top of his lungs.

I received a copy of Disney's Little Einsteins: Rocket's Firebird Rescue DVD for review a couple of days ago. In this movie - actually, an hour-long episode of the show - the Little Einsteins go to Russia, something to do with Stravinsky's ("Igorrrrr STRAVINSKY!!!") famed flaming bird. I asked Lucas for a plot summary. According to him, and I quote, "there's an ogre named Catcheye and he has bears and mosquitoes and they do magic". He seems to like it, judging by the fact that he's watched it some 215 times over the past three days*. To me, the show's saving grace has always been that it may get kids excited about art and music; the animation is colorful and occasionally creative, but the plots are often formulaic and occasionally incomprehensible. Still, if you're looking for a decent DVD for the kids, this isn't a bad choice.

*DISCLAIMER FOR DISNEY MARKETING PEOPLE AND CONCERNED PARENTS: The phrase "watched it some 215 times" is an exaggeration, for comedic effect; please don't send me letters expressing your concern that my kid watches too much TV, and please, Disney people, for God's sake, don't use that as a blurb on the cover of the next release of the DVD. I can see it now: "DECENT...ISN'T...BAD...WATCHED IT 215 TIMES!!!" - DadCentric

The Sunday Still

Puppy Love

Yes, But He DID Drink His Own Piss While Trekking Through the Outback.

Man Versus Wild is a big hit in our home. And Bear Grylls is a Certified Badass, what with time spent in the British SAS and having the balls to name his son Marmaduke. But after watching this video, I'm not sure if his televised adventures are really all that death-defying...in fact, I think that's Don Ho driving the Kia Sedona...