Friday, June 01, 2007

Naming Conventions

I’m not the smartest man on the planet. We all know that. I have moments of cleverness, but these bits are few and far between. Most times I’m a dullard from too many video games in my youth and from staring at radiation spewing computer monitors for over half my life.

So it won’t surprise anyone when I say that it took me about twelve years to figure out that I had very little to do with naming our children. It’s true! I was there and made some suggestions, but Reha did it all.

Carrie Elizabeth — Named for Reha’s maternal great-grandmother. I chose Elizabeth, because back in the day, I liked stuffy sounding Victorian names. She goes by Carrie. Never been called Elizabeth. Ever. Beth? Nyet. Liz? Nien.

Edward Lucas — Reha liked Lucas for a boy back before we had Carrie, so this one was in her back pocket. I pulled the name Edward out of my booty and today he wouldn’t answer to it, unless you added “Lucas” into the mix. But then you are usually mad at him so he’s going ignore the name for a while anyway.

Robert Jonah — We saw some movie with a little boy character named Jonah in it and Reha fell in love with the name. I tacked on Robert so we’d have something official to call him when we were yelling at him. People call him Robert and he stares at them blankly. Kind of the same way he does when you say “Jonah,” but when you say “Robert” he not just ignoring you while he thinks about Legos and PlayStation; he has no clue who you are talking to.

Ellis Katherine — Technically Ellis is a male name, but Reha really liked it. It’s cute and it fits Ellis’ personality. She’s a princess, no question, but she’s a boy when it comes to beating the crap out of her family members, for example. I don’t think she’s ever heard her middle name, even in anger/frustration/other-things-like-that-which-happen-all-the-time-with-her. Since I still exist with a big ol’ stick up my butt, I tossed Katherine into the mix.

Are you noticing a trend? Reha chooses the name we call them. I choose the “throwaway” name. Basically, Reha got to do all the “good” naming. I got shafted. True, we gave each other veto power, but that was just to prevent me from naming babies “Bob the Duck,” “Slagathor,” “Cromulent,” “Harvey” (that one would have been AWESOME for Ellis), “Habakkuk” (was feeling Biblical that day) and “Obi-Wan.” Did I realize I was getting shafted at the time? Nope, not a bit.

OK, that’s not really quite true. After the third kid I figured out what was going on. See how bright I am? My role was sperm donor and toss off name guy, it seems.

But you need to understand that not only am I terribly dumb, but that Reha is also pretty crafty. Somehow she made it through three kids before woke up from my stupor and said, “Hey! How come you always choose the ‘good’ name?” And honestly, I have to say that it is my esteemed opinion that she KNEW what was happening. And she also probably figured there was a good chance I’d never catch on. The odds of me not finding a clue were high. Because when I finally got around to asking that question, she got all coy and sheepish, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I just realized that I always end up picking the name we DON’T end up calling the kid. You are really doing the naming.”

“No. We pick the names together. We agree on the name. Names. We agree on the names.”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not exactly the case. You came up with the names for all of them and those are the names everyone calls them.”

“Well, you could have come up with something, you know. And you had veto power on all of them. Plus you choose names for them, too.”

“Right, I got to choose the disposable names. After you had essentially filled out the birth certificate in your head.”

You can begin to see why she’s so very good at her job as an attorney, can’t you? I rarely “win” an argument with her. She gets all logical and stuff.

Though in the end I’m pretty happy with her choices. They fit the kids nicely. Plus, she had to go through the pain, purgatory and puking of pregnancy, she should get to name them anything she wants. Remind me to tell you some birthing stories. Let’s just say this: She did NO drugs or epidural and went completely au natural when Ellis was born and they made us move to another area, because the noises she was making were terrifying the other birthing moms on the floor. So after all that she can call the little beast anything.

Though “Slagathor” would have just been wicked cool. “Slaggy” for short.

Jon scribbled this mess on 06/01/07 at 12:50 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Thursday, May 31, 2007

Cause, Meet Effect

I woke up yesterday morning and it looked like my right eye had exploded. It was totally bloody on one side of my eyeball. Since I essentially have no hair, I have zero need to ever look at myself in the mirror, so the kids noticed it first while I was driving them to school.

“Eeeewww! Dad, what’s wrong with your eye?”

“Ummm, I don’t know?”

It didn’t hurt, I hadn’t smashed into anything, or rubbed it excessively. My eye feels completely normal. Seems like maybe a blood vessel just burst on its own and that makes me look like an extra from a zombie movie. I’ve been incredibly busy at work and since it doesn’t bother me, I’ve kind of ignored it. But it is a little strange and disconcerting.

Co-worker: What happened to your eye?

Me: No idea, I just woke up and it was like this. Kind freaky, huh?

Co-worker: That used to happen to my grandpa. He had high blood pressure. Do you have high blood pressure?

Me: Well, now I do.

Take a gander. 

Jon scribbled this mess on 05/31/07 at 12:03 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

I Drive a Mini-Van and I’m Proud of It

Well, OK, technically, I don’t drive the mini-van. At all. Reha drives it as her daily commuter. And when we pile everyone into the thing for a trip to the store or to the gypsies to try and off-load one of the kids, I tend to “let” Reha drive more often than not.

I do this by a number of somewhat underhanded means. I “forget” my keys in the house. “Oh crap, I left my wallet at work. Again. Nuts. Guess you’ll have to drive, babe.” And the best one, “The Dark Lord took away my ability to drive in exchange for the power of flight. I’ll meet you there, though.” Since I rarely launch into the air toward the T.G.I.Fridays, she may be on to me.

But I was thinking the other day, What’s the big hairy deal about the mini-van? Why does it have such a stigma associated with it in my teeny head? Am I ashamed that I have so many kids that I need to have an 18 passenger monster careening down the suburb streets? Do I secretly wish that I didn’t need the beast? Do I wish we could have something “sexier” to drive than a big stupid mini-van?

The answers to these questions are:

So why does the min-van have this awful presence in our minds? Just about everyone I know, and certainly everyone I work with at my pretentious design firm, would rather DIE than have to drive a mini-van. Even the guy with five kids would rather have two SUVs than one van. It’s like admitting that you are no longer cool are something. I’m “just” a parent now. The process of transformation from young, hip and über-cool to frumpy, pedestrian, and un-cool is complete. You drive a mini-van and you are one wee step away from pulling yours pants all the up to your sternum and yelling at those dratted kids to stay the hell off your lawn.

Now, it’s true, that the aesthetics of the mini-van aren’t really all that great. The gaping maws of the sliding doors don’t lend themselves to clean and lovely lines. They usually have long, swoop-y noses; kind of like Jimmy Durante. Not pretty. You sit high up, like you would in an SUV or truck, but you have none of the macho goodness those vehicles provide. Probably you get a V-6, the proverbial cop out of a motor. “Yes, we know a four cylinder won’t cut it, but there is not way we are wasting a good V-8 on mini-van. Nu-uh. So here, have this wimpy V-6. Good luck running the A/C going up that hill.”

When you drive a mini-van you are also essentially admitting that your life is no longer your own. You have so many people and crap to ferry around that you need all that extra seating and storage. “Mom’s Taxi,” “Mom’s Limo” and “Haulin’ Kids” are all license plate frames I have seen on mini-vans. So the person (usually Mom), who has to drive the thing is at the bidding of someone else’s life schedule. So the mini-van is symbolic of a loss of freedom.

But what about the SUV? I know PLENTY of people who opt not for the chains of the mini-van, instead preferring to shackle themselves to an SUV and its thirst for petrol. A good sized SUV can haul the same number of munchkins to soccer practice and usually carry even more goods ands sundries than your average mini-van. (Our Toyota Sienna, for example, has crap for storage in the “way back.")

Plus, an SUV has one thing going for it:

IT IS ABSOLUTELY NOT A MINI-VAN.

You would never ever look at an SUV and think it looks frumpy or featureless. On the contrary, an SUV says, “I can go ANYWHERE I want, thank you very much. Hell, I don’t even need a road! I can just pop this bad boy into 4WD and go hunt bears in the wild, dude.” Never mind that like .03% of all SUVs are ever taken off-road. The only off road most SUVs see is when Mom dips into the cooking sherry and hops the curb into the neighbors yard after completely missing the entrance to the garage.

Which is, I think the essence of why the SUV caught on. The SUV says, “I’m powerful. I’m potent. I can do anything I damn well please. I’m an American, by god, it’s my constitutionally protected right to drive this beast!” The mini-van says you are a slave to your kids and the family and all the other things that control you. An SUV reverses that and gives you the illusion of control. An SUV is an epic poem in embryo and the mini-van is a limerick scrawled on the bathroom wall.

Now as a red-blooded American dude, I can tell you which kind of vehicle I’d rather tool around in. (Neither, frankly, I like my car, just fine). But given the choice, I’d much rather drive a big ol’ road terrorist than something that says “soccer practice is @ 5:30, don’t forget, honey!” I would never, ever buy a Hummer H2, but I will admit that they look kind of cool. There’s something unmistakably alluring about driving something with more raw horsepower than all of the cars I’ve ever owned, put together.

One thing the car companies have excelled at is selling the car/truck/moped as a fashion accessory. The kind of car you drive says a whole lot about you, of course. I won’t list everything I could think of, but here are few off the top of my head (I’m sure you could come up with your own as well):

Obviously, I’m playing on stereotypes, but I’ve never known a redneck who drove a Volvo. But what the car companies seem to have been able to do is inject something into the water that makes SUVs into desirable objects. Maybe not on their own, but sitting next to a mini-van, an SUV is just sexier.

Which is odd, really. Because in order to get to the level of parenthood where you require the services of an 18 passenger mini-van, you and your spouse have to have been doing the wild thing a whole lot. I think this is where the advertising for mini-vans should go frankly. Forget touting the safety features and the built-in DVD player. Just one big ol’ headline in 72pt. Futura Bold Condensed: “This is what Sexy is about”

And of course, the mini-van is a far smarter choice for almost everyone who needs a plus-sized vehicle. Better gas mileage. Better handling. Safer in an accident (sheer mass isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know). Safer for other cars involved in an accident. Have I mentioned better gas mileage? I could be way off, but it seems like gas prices won’t be coming down to earth anytime soon. (Hovering at around $3.40/gallon here in Salt Lake right now)

For all of the reason enumerated above guys are not keen on the mini-van. No macho there. Some would even go so far as to call a mini-van emasculating. But what’s seems even more insidious is how well the auto companies have also indoctrinated the ladies as well. Many women I know have said, “we looked at the Honda Odyssey, but in the end, I just couldn’t see myself in a mini-van, so we got the Tahoe, instead.” And the disdain and disgust in their voices when they utter “mini-van” It’s like a child molester just moved into their basement and set up shop as their full time nanny.

But what everyone who drives a mini-van should be thinking is that they have earned it. They are sexy and confident in their own right. They have the kids and the stretch marks to prove it. They don’t need a hulking behemoth of a vehicle to prove their allure to anyone. Obviously, mini-van drivers know ALL about sex.

Or at least they know all about the consequences of sex.

Namely, kids.

Jon scribbled this mess on 05/29/07 at 12:35 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Friday, May 25, 2007

How to Potty Train a Kid

A friend of mine and his delightful wife are currently starting to potty train their daughter. I’m sure at some point the whole internet will get the inside scoop on how it is going and I’m also sure that Heather’s account will leave the rest of us in puddles of tears from the laughter. Then we’ll probably get the real story from Jon. :-]

Anyway, since I have successfully negotiated the diaper to underwear transition for all nine of my children, he asked and I offered him a few tips the other day. And I’d like to share them with you. And yes, I was the one who did all the potty training at the Deal Family Compound. Reha had nothing to do with it.

Not true in the slightest way, but this is my site; she wants to tell her side, she can get herself to GoDaddy and get her own site.

We did read a book on how to do “properly” potty train a kid, but I’m pretty sure none of those techniques worked at all. Our kids are stubborn and goofy and can see through “book learnin’ crap” [no pun intended] in a heartbeat.

First off, how do you know the little guy/gal is ready to step up to big person undies?

Is she dry when she wakes up? You pick her up from the crib and the diaper isn’t totally soaked. That a very good sign that she can handle it. Also, if she tells you soon after she’s “laid some brown pipe” that she needs to be changed, that’s a good sign as well.

The trick really, is getting the kid to recognize the cause and effect of needing to evacuate and what happens when he lets the sphincter muscles fly. It’s like a switch in them, I think. Suddenly they realize that they have some control of what’s happening in their southern hemisphere.

Also, if possible, I highly recommend that you being training in the summer months so the kid can wear as little clothing as possible. You do NOT want clothes getting between them and getting to the toilet.

And speaking of toilets, get the child their own little potty thing. This helps for a few reasons. One, the kid recognizes it as HERS. It’s her possession. It’s also portable, which I will say more about later. And, many kids can be a-scared of the GIANT SWIRLY monster that is the modern toilet.

Seriously, as a kid, I remember some apartment I lived in had the LOUDEST and SWIRLIEST toilets ever made. You’d press on the lever and there’d be a huge “PHOOOOSH!” and water would pour into the bowl like Niagra Falls. Those things scared me so bad. I was petrified to use them. Horrifying. I used to sneak over to a friend’s house to do my business. Or just wait and do my deeds at school in between Calculus and English. Ahh… high school memories.

So the personal potty is a must. I recommend against a device that fits over a normal toilet. It needs to be a portable thing. They need to have instant access to it when nature calls and not have to run down the hall or whatever. You don’t need anything anything fancy, really. It’s basically a pot with a seat after all. But take the kid shopping for it. Maybe let him decorate it with stickers or paint the thing. You are trying to get them comfortable on it, after all. Also, try and get the child in the habit of carrying it around with her. She walks in the kitchen and you say, “Hey! Where’s your potty? Let’s get it!” Hopefully they can get on board and it’ll be like a favorite toy. Or at least a favorite chair. Lucas used to sit on his and watch movies all the time.

Let’s talk about clothes for a moment. Don’t need ‘em. We generally had a “nudity is beautiful” policy while training was going on. None of our kids had a problem with this. Your mileage may vary. But you don’t want a lot of buttons and snaps and doo-hickeys between the child and the potty. Sun-dresses work great for girls and boys are usually OK with elastic waisted pants.

Which brings us to skivvies. It seems to me that great technological leaps have been made in diaper/training pants designs. They have the ability to soak up the liquid, but at the same time, irritate the child so they don’t like being wet. It’s like magic or something. The other nice thing is that those transition diapers/training pants are über-easy to get into. They rip off like nobody’s business. I remember playing “chase” with Jonah and grabbing at him and coming up with nothing but diaper and his little nekkid booty was “whooshing” down the hallway. We had great luck in convincing our brood that big boy/girl undies were a worthy reward. (Kids are gullible). Try to show the child the difference between the training pants and the undies. “See how cool these are? They have princesses!”

Which reminds me, take the child shopping for her undies. Helps to get them in the potty frame of mind. But use the undies as a reward. “Go in the potty and then you can wear these!” Depending on how cool the underwear, this can be a huge motivation. Spare no expense. But stay away from panties with sequins. Those chaffs. Found that out the hard way, I did. I have scars from the rash.

And you are going to have to get used to saying to the kidlet, “Do you need to go potty?” A LOT. Since the kid is probably in the 2-4 range, be prepared for them to lie like a rug ALL THE TIME. You won’t believe how many times you’ll ask THE QUESTION, the little angel says “Nope” and then pees all over your imported Persian rug. Try subtle/firm suggestions like, “How about you sit on the potty and try to go for TWO minutes?” In my opinion small rewards merely for sitting are reasonable, especially at the beginning stages.

Since the little cretin doll is dry when he gets up, they are going to need to go. Soon. Now is the time to plop that little guy on the potty and DON’T LET HIM GET UP until he does his thing. I’m not talking duct tape or super glue, but park the potty in front of his favorite show. Sit there and read him a book. Feed him breakfast, as gross as that sounds to eat while evacuating (yuck!). But he should sit there until something happens. And his little body should co-operate. Now if he’s being a persnickety three year old and being stubborn, now is the time to pour on the parental charm. Bribery. Trips to the zoo. Toys. Whatever.

Assuming that she goes, launch fireworks and throw a parade. When Carrie (now almost 17) did her thing for the first time, we called everyone we knew and let her tell them the good news. Corny, but the kid was into it and she should be proud of herself, right? Healthy bit of self-esteem never hurt anyone.

Now if you have a whippersnapper who isn’t always dry in the AM, try waking the kid earlier. Most of the time, they have an “accident” while they are first waking. But if you can snatch them before that happens and get them in the habit of going first thing after they get up, it seems to help. Set an alarm and wake them. I know this is a REALLY hard thing, because for us at least, anytime the kids are asleep is precious time, when we could be sleeping, for example. But hopefully they’ll get in the habit soon enough.

What about the stubborn pee-er/pooper?

Whenever you go, bring the munchkin and his potty into the bathroom with you. “Mommy’s going in her potty [the big scary swirly monster of DOOM!], come on in and try to go!” Most kids like to imitate their parents, which is why most of our kids have nasty online gambling habits, but that’s a whole ‘nother story for ‘nother time.

Running the water a wee trickle can sometimes coax a shy bladder into action. Works for me EVERY TIME. Was just thinking about a babbling brook right now and I had to make a small pit stop.

This is an old trick and it never worked on our kids, but while the kid is sitting on the potty, dribble a bit of water (warm) on their inner thigh. It’s like priming the carburetor or something.

Actually it worked a little too well. I was sitting on the throne one day and Ellis barged in and poured a cup of water on me. “To help you pee, Daddy!” Yeah, thanks, I’m not the one with the problem, babe.

Grab the potty and go outside as much as you can. No real trick, but it saves your furniture and flooring from the inevitable accidents.

As I recall, it took about a week or so for each of our kids to begin to get the hang of it. As a parent, treat that week of training a bit like a full time job. (As if raising a child wasn’t already essentially a full time job). Sadly, your every thought will be about the state of your little angel’s bladder. You’ll be obsessed and loving and supportive and with a little luck the child’s evacuation systems will cooperate.

We bribed the little weenies SHAMELESSLY during this period. Jonah for example, loved those little puffy cars from Chevron. Every time he went in the potty, he got one of those. I bet we spent $15,000 on those little cars. Totally worth it. Still paying off that Chevron gas/credit card.

Most importantly, you, the parental unit, MUST relax. Odds are very high the child will get the hang of it pretty quickly. You’ll have some accidents. Hell, I still do! But whatever you do, try NOT to introduce stress into the situation. Kids can sense that and their little sphincters tighten up in direct proportion to your stress level, in my opinion. I don’t know about permanent psychological damage from Nazi-esque potty training, but you probably don’t want to find out, either.

We didn’t figure this out until later kids, but NO DRINKS just before bed. You want to take a round or two out of the chamber. Better chance to be dry when he wakes up if he didn’t down a liter of apple juice before bed.

And you probably know this already, but praise like crazy for successes. The smallest drop of urine is cause for celebration. woohoo!

Let’s recap:

GOOD LUCK!

Anyone else have any tips or tricks or suggestions? Get thee to the comments!

Jon scribbled this mess on 05/25/07 at 12:10 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Thursday, May 24, 2007

He RULES!

To all the other Third Graders, from Jonah:

I ROCK!

Jon scribbled this mess on 05/24/07 at 04:22 PM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Photos Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link
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