Daddy Scratches

We all fall down

By Daddy Scratches | Published: November 9, 2009

Wonder Woman set off Friday morning for a girls’ weekend with some of her out-of-state friends, leaving me to care for the kiddos until late Sunday afternoon. My mom took them for a good part of Saturday, but yesterday, it was just me and them, from sunup till almost sundown … and I’m beyond thrilled to report that we had a great time.

It was unseasonably warm — almost 70 — and all of our neighbors used the day to rake, bag and dispose of the leaves blanketing every inch of ground in the neighborhood. I did some raking, too. Yeah, I raked a big pile of leaves at the bottom of our little slide, and let the kids barrel into it, over and over again. That’s enough yard work for me, thanks.

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OK, so I guess I won’t write about meeting the doubleyoo i gee gee ell e esses after all

By Daddy Scratches | Published: November 6, 2009

I was working on this great post about our encounter earlier this week with a certain group of Aussie performers who wear yellow, red, blue and purple shirts (hereafter referred to as They Who Must Not Be Named), and I’m telling you, it was going to entertain you to the point of sheer delirium. Unfortunately, a couple of hours ago, the publicist who had arranged for my family to meet They Who Must Not Be Named emailed me to say that the circumstances of our encounter — and the details of the encounter itself — were to remain unpublicized.

Well, balls.

So, since I can’t tell you about what happened before the show, let me tell you a bit about the show itself … starting with this:

That there, my friends, is The Big Red Car. They drive it near …

… and they drive it far …

… and if you have kids who are fans of They Who Must Not Be Named, the mere act of reading that vehicle’s moniker likely has resulted in your brain serenading you with a rousing chorus of “Toot toot, chugga chugga” … which shall now continue to play in your head repeatedly for at least the next several days. You’re welcome!

But, hey, let me help you out; since seeing They Who Must Not Be Named perform earlier this week, I have discovered just one reliable way to temporarily stop “Big Red Car” from looping through my brain … and that is to inadvertently replace “Toot toot, chugga chugga” with a jaunty little chorus of “Fruit salad … yummy yummy … fruit salad … yummy yummy … fruit salad … yummy yummy … yummy yummy, yummy yummy fruit sal-AAAAD!” There you go. Problem solved. You’re welcome!

Of course, as some of you know, this isn’t the first time I’ve sacrificed my sanity on the alter of They Who Must Not Be Named. No, in fact, it was three-and-a-half years ago that I gave up seeing my favorite band in concert so that Wonder Woman and I could take the then-2-years-and-8-months-old Zan to see his favorite band in concert.

Speaking of which, here’s a little something that broke my heart this week: It’s been a long time since Zan was into They Who Must Not Be Named … but he was still very excited to get to meet them and attend their performance. And when I asked him, “Hey, buddy, do you want me to print you a copy of the picture so that you can take it to school and show your friends?,” he replied, “No.”

“No? How come?” I asked.

“Because they’d probably just make fun of me.”

Oh, yeah, that’s right: he’s reached the ripe old age of six now … so, of course, he has to worry about being made fun of for sharing with his classmates a really unique and special experience that he was fortunate enough to have. And that kinda makes me wanna take him to school with the picture, and show it to his class, and then punch right in the fucking face as hard as I can the first little shit who makes fun of him.

OK, that’s probably a bit drastic and over-the-top. I guess what I really want to attack is the ever-encroaching outside world, which daily is chipping away at his innocence and his sweetness and the illusion that his mother and I have for so long tried to maintain for him of the world as a happy and safe and fun place devoid of the cruel, mean-spirited, “Lord of the Flies”-like bullshit he’s already having to deal with (and, hey, wait a minute, now … are those actual tears welling up in my eyes as I think about my little boy being forced to harden his heart at age six in order to fit in? Wow … I sure as hell didn’t see this coming when I first started writing this post).

Which is why I so greatly enjoyed seeing him smiling and singing and clapping and dancing and having a great time during our adventure the other day …

… and why I’m really cherishing the fact that his sister is still mostly sheltered by the protective bubble in which we, like all parents, wish we could keep her indefinitely.

Well, shit, who knew this post was going to get so heavy? Not me. But that’s how this writing thing works sometimes; you just have to go where it takes you.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that my family and I had a really special day this week … and for that, I am truly grateful.

Oh, and They Who Must Not Be Named? Super, super nice guys who put on a really terrific show that is so perfectly geared toward young children … which, I recently learned, has largely to do with the fact that three of the founding members started the group as a school project while pursuing their degrees in early childhood education; they actually were interested in helping young children first, and stumbled into a career entertaining them second.

Zan decided he wanted to purchase one of their CDs as a souvenir, and I was more than happy to buy it for him. Yes, having those damn songs stuck in my head is a bitch … but seeing my son remain as childlike as possible for a little while longer is well worth it.

Toot toot, chugga chugga.

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Gettin’ Wiggly

By Daddy Scratches | Published: November 5, 2009

When I say, “I’m takin’ my kids to The Wiggles,” I mean I’m literally taking my kids to The Wiggles.

~~Story to come. Daddy be illin’. Hang tight.~~ Story here.

(And, yes, my daughter went all shy on us. That is what happens with 4-year-olds. She actually was very excited, and has now spent the past three days saying “I should have smiled!”)

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Grave situation

By Daddy Scratches | Published: November 4, 2009

Have I mentioned that I love Halloween? OK, just checking.

Meanwhile, this picture reminds me that I still need to pull down the cobwebs, remove the giant spider and spiderweb, and put away the full-size coffin replica that remain strewn about the front yard. (Yeah, I’m that neighbor.)

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Be afraid. Be very afraid (that I’m allowed to raise children, that is).

By Daddy Scratches | Published: November 4, 2009

Is it possible that this man’s children could ever grow up to be normal? Because I’m hopeful, but not very optimistic.

I’ve already documented how nuts I get on Halloween, but the photo above really demonstrates the extent of my Halloween-induced insanity.

I paint my face. Like The Crow. For no apparent reason. You know, other than the fact that it’s just what I do on Halloween. Because, when it comes to Halloween, I’m a freak. (Actually, when it comes to most things, I’m a freak … but particularly when it comes to Halloween.)

Perhaps the most glaring bit of evidence that speaks to just how freakish is my decision to paint my face like this is the fact that, thanks to my whole geeked-out rig of remote-controlled Halloween mayhem, the Trick-or-Treaters never even see me. I’m hidden inside the house. So, basically, I do it just to get in the mood. It’s like Halloween-geek lingerie.

Of course, this year was a bit different … because, as if pulling together my entire Disneyworld-esque Halloween extravaganza isn’t enough of a herculean task, Wonder Woman decided to kick things up a notch by allowing the kids to have a pre-Trick-or-Treating party inside our house. So, basically, what went down was, we had, like, a dozen super-amped-up, costume-clad kids and their parents cavorting through our home, all of them wondering who the freakazoid in the white-and-black face paint was, and why he was setting up a microphone, and a remote-controlled fog machine and flood lamp and strobe light and spooky-sound-emitting boombox, and a video monitor that surveilled the front yard (all the while swilling down Sam Adams). The fact that no one seems to have reported me to Child Protective Services is a relief (and, simultaneously, extremely disconcerting).

Zan — who has seen his father do this for six of the seven Halloweens during which he’s been alive — put his friends at ease.

“Oh, that’s just my Dad,” he informed them. “He’s The Crow … again.” Zan thinks I should come up with a new costume … but the sheer simplicity of wearing black and painting my face has not yet lost its allure, for the spontaneity it affords me is unparalleled. To wit: after contemplating not donning a costume this year, I decided 15 minutes before the Halloween party began that I would stick with tradition … and, thankfully, had just barely enough makeup left to pull it off.

The party culminated in the ceremonial waking of Mr. Bones, which Zan had been anxiously awaiting for the entire month of October. He had, in fact, busted out the Bones for a test run weeks in advance, and had lobbied to man the microphone when the official Waking of The Bones took place.

So Wonder Woman and the other parents ushered the kids outside and had them surround Mr. Bones’ pseudo-coffin while Zan and I huddled around the video monitor, him clutching the microphone in his white-gloved hand. Wonder Woman then guided the children through the script Zan had devised.

“Mommy,” he had instructed her earlier in the day, “the first time you have the kids say ‘Wake up, Mr. Bones!,’ I won’t do anything; the second time, I’ll make him yawn; the third time, I’ll make him wake up.”

True to his word, Zan did just that, and earned big laughs for the yawn.

From there, the kiddos went off to loot and pillage …

… while I commenced to putting on the Mr. Bones show …

… aided by my mother and brother-in-law …

… (the latter of whom instigated several cardiac episodes by standing stock-still and fooling people into believing he was a scarecrow, then suddenly moving and causing those people to drop several years off their lives).

Also coming through with the assist was my mother-in-law, who traveled all the way from Philadelphia to be part of this freakshow:

Now, I have to admit, when it finally came time to call it a night and tear down the whole production, I felt, for the first time that I can recall, like all of the work required to pull this off might be more than I can continue to justify. The thought of toning it down next year came to mind.

A few days later, I’m still sort of on the fence … but, if I was a betting man, I’d bet that the wackadoo pictured at the beginning of this entry will be back at it again next Halloween. Because that’s just what I do.

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One big blur of Halloween fun

By Daddy Scratches | Published: October 30, 2009

Zan’s class had its Halloween parade today, and his Mario costume was a huge hit. Amazingly, in a group of three kindergarten classes and three 1st-grade classes, he was the only kid dressed as the ever-popular Italian video-game character … and when his class marched past the formation of 2nd-through-5th graders who were camped alongside the parade route, there was a robust chorus of excited “Mario!” cheers. Yeah, my kid’s the cool one. Go figure.

At the end of the parade, Zan’s teacher grouped all the kids together so that the press pool — I mean, the parents — could snap some pix. Many of the parents were calling their respective children’s names, which resulted in kids looking all over the place, willy nilly. Chaos reigned.

When there was a brief second of silence, I pounced.

“HEY EVERYBODY LOOK AT ME!”

Snap. Perfect picture. Every single kid looking right at my camera, no one blinking, no one’s face hidden. Best of all: Zan’s not old enough yet to get overly embarrassed by, or super pissed at, me for being the loud, dorky parent.

The picture was so good, I wanted to use it for Photo of the Day. Only problem was, I couldn’t really go and plaster everyone else’s kids up for all of the Internet to see, now, could I?

And then it occurred to me that I could use this opportunity to get jiggy with my new copy of Photoshop CS4. (The “Magnetic Lasso Tool”? They should have named it “The Coolest-Thing-Ever Tool.”)

Voila! Problem solved.

Which reminds me: I’m thinking about posting the occasional Photoshop tutorial. Anyone interested?

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