Annoying Crap My Kids Do

Hey, how's everybody doing?

We're tired.

Yours truly and the artist-formerly-known-as-Preggosaurus get no sleep these days. Our newest addition is, by all accounts, nocturnal, and prefers to hang out at 2am instead of 2pm. This makes operating at full capacity during the daylight hours next to impossible, and that's when we have to be putting forth our 'A' game in order to handle the Cannonball's shenanigans.

Over the course of the last couple of weeks, since Kris pissed out our second child, Alayna's been one, giant hurricane of defiance and sass. Not directed to me, so much, but very much so to her Mom. I'm not sure if this is because Kris constantly has a life form attached to her breast or not. Who knows.

She openly defies orders, ignores warnings, and 'talks' back so frequently that 'time-outs' are becoming an almost hourly occurrence. Acting out in anger has become a problem, too. For example, Kris' cell phone was busted. We're not about to point fingers at who did it or anything, but it definitely wasn't Kris or myself. And I highly doubt Abby was able to destroy it, as she can't lift anything weighing more than a cotton ball. But we're not pointing fingers, here. Anyway, since niether Kris nor myself have gotten that publication deal for our Parenting 101: A Guide for Idiots Who Shouldn't Make Babies in the First Place book we've been compiling* yet, we're tackling toddler-wrangling on a day-to-day basis and awaiting that blessed day when Alayna and Abby are both out of the house and off to college.

September of 2028, baby. Start the countdown.

Now, if our days with Raffi taught us anything, its that there lies vast potential in the power of Television. Alayna has becomed obsessed with Yo Gabba Gabba, which is cat nip for two year olds. She loves it, and the DVDs we have of it are on constant rotation in the DVD player. Sure, I'd rather watch Yo Gabba Gabba than, say, Barney or the Unmentionable Sesame Street Character That Sabotaged Grover's Career, but its still a strain on one's sanity when one has to watch it on a daily basis.

Alas, for the time being, watching an episode of hip-hoppin' robots at 6am is way better than dealing with a toddler freak out at 6am.

Say what you will. Dad treasures his sanity.

- Brian

* = We're not writing this. That's a joke. We'd be the last people who should be writing a book like this.

In the Mood (for Raffi)

the cannonball has entered that hell-phase of "terrible twos." hooray for us, right?

she's getting an early start to it, too... which we're absolutely loving at this point. tantrums, whining for no apparent reason, unrelenting getting-in-to-stuff-ishness, etc. the only thing - and believe me, we've tried finding something else - to calm this kid down when she gets all worked up is the raffster (see, "Original Gangster (for Kids").

when she first showed interest in this ol' troubadour, it was cute. "hey, our kid likes the same kid's musician that we did when we were super little - that's awesome."

yeah, well...

its been a few weeks since then... and this kid watches this concert movie every. single. day. i'm not even kidding. its gotten so bad that i'm whistling "peanut butter sandwich" and "baby beluga" at work. it gets looks, folks - nobody wants to see a grown man whistle kid tunes. its creepy.

this VHS tape has gotten so played out that its literally beginning to fall apart. adjusting the tracking on the VCR hasn't been enough to clear up the picture on the screen - its worn down from excessive use. i suppose, though, that it being on its last leg and all is a blessing of sorts... i'm just nervous what awaits us when this tape dies and we're left raffi-less (of course, we could buy the DVD, but i'm not quite willing to bite the bullet on this one yet). i'm sure 'super parents' out there might balk at the houghs using television as a means of calming down our screaming toddler; is it bad of us to sit our kid down in front of a TV for twenty eight acoustic minutes when she's in the middle of a freak-out? maybe.

...but maybe you smell bad. so shut up.

...

do they make cat nip for toddlers?

Original Gangster (for Kids)

let's try something:

name a children's musician who isn't featured prominently on television. any children's musician, i don't care.

go ahead, think about it. i'll wait.

...

did you answer 'raffi'? you did? good for you! that makes a lot of sense.

now... if you answered someone else other than the raffster, then, alas, you're probably in need of some serious culturing.

raffi. this guy's custom-tailored kiddie jams are the equivelent of ford introducing the Model T: sure, there were other cars out there in 1912, but ford invented the frickin' assembly line, and therefore everybody wanted the model T. they were better made, cheaper, and snazzier (technical term, folks). a similar conclusion can be drawn up for raffi's music compared with that of his competitors: sure, other folks have sung wacky, silly songs for kids, but no one's come close to matching the dude's prowess, creativity, and jammification level.

...and, if they did, then they were straight-up copying raffi. (as a jam-master in a somewhat legendary music affiliation (McGillicutty, 2003), i get the same treatment from haters and the like).

if you have kids, and don't have any of raffi's music, do yourself a favor and go buy some. right now.

furthermore, if you're a teenager and in a crappy, little punk rock band, you can take any one of these songs, amplify them, speed them up a smidge, and - voila! - you have yourself a ready-to-go, punk rock gem.

(you can essentially do the same thing with dr. seuss books, too... but that's a whole other can o' worms.)

i know it seems ridiculous to get this forcible about a children's musician, but lately i've been watching a lot of raffi on an old VHS tape we own. not me so much as my daughter, actually - this kid has become enamored with this G-rated, culinarily-obsessed, canadian thunderforce. randomly, one day, while kris was cleaning the house and i was typing up yet another crap-tastic paper for school, the aforementioned, well-worn tape was dusted off and popped into the VCR. within a matter of seconds, the walking disaster bomb that is our daughter stopped seeking out destruction of all things valuable around our house and, miraculously, was sitting down in her chair in front of the TV... dancing and clapping along to this obscure, musical reference.

she's fifteen months old. this has never happened before.

now, we've tried getting her into all kinds of crap since the day she was born - muppets, baby einsteins, you name it - but so far she's been resilient to the onslaughts of children's programming... until now. she's always had an affection for music, and i attribute this to the fact that her old man is a licensed JamMaster (McGillicutty, 2003). i don't know for sure if its the song-singin', the throwback '80s footage of audience members and their outdated tastes in fashion, or, simply, the star attraction's imam-ish beard.

whatever it is, though, one thing's for certain: this kid is hooked on raffi. and not that that's bad either, folks - kris and i were both raised on the guy's music, as i'm sure a ton of you folks out there were as well. having a little kid captivated by the guy who wrote bananaphone is, in my opinion, way better than having a kid take interest in a certain, fuzzy red character - who's name i will purposely not mention - who is only famous because it stole grover's career out from under him.

...and so now, as we speak, kris and i are desperately searching out other raffi DVDs. in all honesty, if i have to listen to this 30 minute concert tape of his one more, Goddamn time - brush your teeth, the more we get together, down by the bay, wheels on the bus, baby beluga, repeat repeat repeat repeat - i'm going to drive a screwdriver into my ear.

word to your moms,

- brian

McGillicutty, Officer (2003). Badtastical jammologists in adventure music: a study of official jammasters in correlation with total jam-sweetness in the adventure genre. Kalamazoo, MI: Jambox Publishing.