Daddy Pants

Alayna's REALLY excited for St. Patrick's 
Day.  This is who she seems to think
the day is named after. . .

What's up, players.


How's everybody doin'?  Good?  That's cool.  We're good, too.

So lately the Cannonball has been getting herself into trouble at school.  Hard to imagine, I know.  Evidently, she's assumed that ever-sacred mantle of 'Class Clown,' and has been havin' herself a gay ol' time wearing it in.  Runnin' her mouth when she's not supposed to, not following teacher instruction, leading other students towards disruptive behavior, etc. 

Not surprised, given the attitude of this particular three-year old.  Nevertheless, its still aggravating to have teachers refer to your child as a 'ringleader' when pick them up from school.  The last thing I want to hear from my kid's teacher after spending eight hours dealing with the consequences of other people's poor parenting skills is being confronted about the consequence of my poor parenting skills. 

Not cool.

Pfft.

For example, as we all know, the terms poop, fart, booger, and butt are all rip-roaring hilarious.  As I progress into my adult years, these words can always be counted on for much-needed chuckles.  Obviously.  Yet, as we all know, there's a time and a place for these hilarious words... say, the bathroom.  That's a good place, since it somehow has something to do with poop.  And butts.  Or when you're playing out of ear-shot of meddling adults... as adults will bust you for using such words inappropriately.

Alayna hasn't mastered such rules of thumb, and has been lately using her newly-acquired vocabulary to get laughs from other students in her classroom.  Leading students in loud chants of 'booger butt,' 'stinky poops,' etc., in direct defiance of teachers' directions to cease and desist.

You can imagine how much I've enjoyed picking up my kid from school lately.

I guarantee Bart Simpson's a better drummer than Meg White...

But, before all of you readers out there in cyber space throw me to the wolves for my sub-par parenting skills, it should be noted that my daughter is acquiring an excellent taste in music.  She's lately been obsessed with the White Stripes song 'Little Ghost' off their Get Behind Me Satan album. 

Not sure why that song, really, but her jammin' out to the White Stripes sure beats the hell out of listening to any of those shitty kid covers of Now That's What I Call Music! songs some parents play for their kids.

Anyway, in other news, we recently decided to bite the bullet and replace the TV remote that magically disappeared from our living room. . .  FOUR MONTHS AGO.  Why did we wait so long to replace something so simple as a remote?

Plunder of Gnomes

Well, readers, I'll tell you why:  remotes can't be returned, and the second you open up an item that can't be returned - like a remote control - the original magically resurfaces.  We were attempting to avoid that at all costs this time around, as it's happened to us before. 

Months ago, we assumed that sooner or later our missing remote would re-materialize from the random, cross-dimensional wormhole it had somehow slid into... or else the house gnomes had grown weary of constantly watching us get up from our couch to change the channel or source input on the side of our TV, and decided to give it back.

Alas, that elusive remote never did resurface like we had wanted it to. . . even after four months of patiently waiting for it.  So, we decided to bite the bullet.  Kris went out and bought a super-duper universal remote that not only controls the TV, but also the surround sound system, and the DVD/VCR player. 

Its awesome, and, of course, un-returnable.


. . . which is why later that afternoon, after opening the new remote, programming it, and throwing away the packaging, our beloved house gnomes decided to give us back our original, long-lost TV remote.

Thanks a lot, gnomes. 

- Brian