Kids are always entertaining. But sometimes their entertaining notions and curiosities result in a facepalm.
Three cases in point:
1) My oldest told me two hours ago that she would be home in an hour. That means she would have been home an hour ago. Instead, she just walked in. One hour late.
My Facebook status read: "'I'll be home in an hour' + 1 hour late = grounding." I used that to break the bad news to her. Her reply?
"I'm grounded?!"
"You're an hour late."
She rationalized with, and this is the best part, "Well, I was gonna leave at the right time!"
2) My second oldest keeps warning us about the dangers of the upcoming "Zombie Apocalypse." I've heard this many times before, since it has pretty much reached meme status. So we laugh.
But then she tells us that we need to start preparing now. And suddenly, we think she's not joking anymore. So, we stare. And we wait for the punchline. But it never comes.
Must be beddy-time!
3) The youngest (almost 14 years old) just asked me, "When you eat something, and it travels all the way through your digestive system, does it come out as pee or poo?" I'm not making this up!
My first reaction is to call the middle school and ask to speak to the science teacher who must've forgotten to mention this little detail of human physiology. But then, it occurs to me that it wasn't the middle school--kids learn that stuff in 3rd grade or earlier. Hmmm.
Poop is leftover food that your body doesn't want. Pee is the stuff that your kidneys think should be taken out of your blood. I'm calling the elementary school tomorrow.
Shoot. They're closed tomorrow. Anyway, I think with a gap like that, it's time to make sure that "The Talk" happens soon. You know, the one where I have to explain the delicate and embarrassing process that separates farts from burps. Her mom can have the "other Talk."
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Checkin' Out
Impulse buys never escape females. Here's the order of additions to the belt that I expect at the checkout every time I take my ladies to the grocery store.
First, the youngest:
and
Then, the oldest, seeing this, yells, "Wait!" and runs off to dig up her treasure.
Although the second oldest generally doesn't go with us, my wife always remembers: "Oh, I forgot that she wanted [one the following]":
or
Gag.
My wife?
And the sister-in-law:
Also gag.
So all the women have ordered up. What about me? You would expect that I would feel left out, or at least a little un-spoiled. But no--they all offer me ideas about the yummy treats I can buy (or a single Diet Dr. Pepper for the road). They are oh, so sweet!
I usually outdo them though, as a I walk back from the candy aisle with at least two bags of:
But don't worry. They're just for decoration.
First, the youngest:
Gag.
My wife?
So all the women have ordered up. What about me? You would expect that I would feel left out, or at least a little un-spoiled. But no--they all offer me ideas about the yummy treats I can buy (or a single Diet Dr. Pepper for the road). They are oh, so sweet!
I usually outdo them though, as a I walk back from the candy aisle with at least two bags of:
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
What if?
My oldest is really on a kick about moving to (or visiting) the majestic lands of Indonesia when she is free. I love that she has taken an interest in new cultures and people, and it's pretty cool to hear her trying to speak in the potpourri of languages that is Indonesian.
The funny part is that she keeps trying to convince her family that it's so cool! The clothes are quaint, the houses are big and cheap, the boys aren't allowed to be seen in public with girls! Interesting stuff, I suppose.
Today, the selling point was the public toilets in Indonesia.
The above photo is actually an "upscale" model.
Directions (for American tourists):
1. Remove pants.
2. Squat over toilet and "let yourself go" (I'm not kidding, it really says that on one sign).
3. Use bucket to collect water from basin. Clean yourself and toilet area with water.
4. Enjoy the rest of your day.
Note the handy ashtrays. The only thing missing is a magazine rack. Suspended from the ceiling to prevent, well, whatever.
The fancy model below has a hose you can use to clean yourself and fill the bucket. Nice!
Being a responsible parent, I had to ask some questions for her to think about. Perhaps you can ponder these as well, as you plan your next vacation to beautiful Jakarta.
My daughter tells me that the houses (some of them) have normal toilets. Let's hope so. Otherwise the flood insurance could get pricey.
The funny part is that she keeps trying to convince her family that it's so cool! The clothes are quaint, the houses are big and cheap, the boys aren't allowed to be seen in public with girls! Interesting stuff, I suppose.
Today, the selling point was the public toilets in Indonesia.
Directions (for American tourists):
1. Remove pants.
2. Squat over toilet and "let yourself go" (I'm not kidding, it really says that on one sign).
3. Use bucket to collect water from basin. Clean yourself and toilet area with water.
4. Enjoy the rest of your day.
The fancy model below has a hose you can use to clean yourself and fill the bucket. Nice!
- What if you have bad knees?
- What if you have the runs?
- What if the person before you didn't do a very good clean-up job?
- Will your pants get wet?
- What if you slip on the mess?
- If you get "stuff" on your clothes, is it okay to use the hose to launder them?
- If so, should you disrobe or wash them as they are?
- Will people laugh at you?
- What is the splash potential?
- What if you are in a wheelchair?
- Does the toilet double as a car wash?
- Can people in the other stalls hear your ordeal?
- What is the maximum amount of time you may spend in a toilet?
- Cause this seems like it would take forever.
My daughter tells me that the houses (some of them) have normal toilets. Let's hope so. Otherwise the flood insurance could get pricey.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
"Why am I not driving yet?"
I'm sure every dad has heard their sixteen year-old utter that frustrating question.
Three simple answers:
And:
And of course:
That pretty much wraps up that argument.
Three simple answers:
That pretty much wraps up that argument.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Strong Enough For a Man...
One man, one face to shave. Inconsistently.
Five women, TEN legs to shave. And ten underarms. And whatever else women try to defoliate. So you can imagine what some of my household budget must be geared toward:
And lots of refill blades.
And don't forget:
These products get a little pricey. I mean they have to cost a lot, because they are SO effective at treating a lady like a lady. Just look at the list of slogans:
Gillette Venus: "Reveal the Goddess In You." There's a goddess in there, ladies, and only Venus can bring her out.
Schick Quattro for Women: "Free Your Skin." Hasn't your skin been held captive long enough?
Bic Soleil: "Feel Fabulous For Less." Ok, well this one is a little antithetical to my point.
Skintimate Shave Cream: "Get Inspired." With products name that include: Flirty, Meadows, Luscious, and Rain.
A year ago, I bought each woman in my household their very own razor and a few cans (now rust-proof!) of moisturizing shaving GEL. Then, I spoiled myself with my Mach 3 razor, some extra cartridges, and a cheap can of Colgate Shave Cream. We were set!
Within a month, I heard the following complaint: "Who took my razor?!"
A week later: "Who took MY razor?!!"
Two weeks later, all razors were gone. Except mine. Until the following week.
That's when my voice bellowed from the bathroom. "Has anyone seen my razor?" My wife replied that I should check the shower. Really? The shower? But there it was. Weird.
Next to kidnap my razor was my 13-year-old. She brought it to me with a smile and a commentary. "Your shaver works really good!"
After the women took my razor for a few more laps through the various showers in the house, I decided it was time to go buy them new razors. (Apparently, women's razors have a set residential limit, where they can only exist in the house for a limited time, because they were gone.)
At Target, there was much discussion and product comparison. I wandered into the electronics section, since that's what guys do. When I came back to see the final decisions, I was a little taken back. In front of me stood three women, smiling brightly, and each holding their very own Mach 3 (for men).
"They work much better than ours," said my wife. "Yeah, they're not as itchy," said my youngest. I'm still not sure what that means, but I've never shaven my legs, or armpits, or whatever.
Well, at least I get mine back. I approved, picked up some replacement cartridges (which cost more than the shaver) and headed toward the register.
"Wait!" they almost said in unison, "we need shaving cream." Okay, let them get their flowery, aromatic, fruity shave gel. After all, they are "luscious" and "meadow-y." But they came back with two cans of Colgate Beard Cream (for men). I didn't ask.
So, I ask the shaving industry for women: Why? Why do you advertise and sell the likes of Venus, and Soleil, and Skintimate, and all the fluffy, smelly stuff when they prefer to use products for men? These women of mine even prefer to smell like a man, rather than to smell like a flirty raspberry or a rainy mountain.
They prefer to use a Mach 3, which is the "best a man can get," for their soft and delicate lady-parts. In fact, they all complained that the lady razors cut them, tore their skin off, and made them "itch" (there's that word again).
I'm beginning to think that shaving truly is a job for a unisex tool. Kind of like mixing pancake batter--there is no set of "just for men" beaters and another set of "spring meadows" mixers for women. Besides, how would the flapjacks taste?
Anyway, here we are, a whole year later, where all of us have our very own Mach 3. And we all share the same can of Barbasol shave cream (for men). Or we did, until this morning, when the women heard me yell from the bathroom, "Where's my razor?"
And I can't find my Barbasol, but the "Sparkling Rain" from Pure Silk sure makes my face feel luscious.
Five women, TEN legs to shave. And ten underarms. And whatever else women try to defoliate. So you can imagine what some of my household budget must be geared toward:
And don't forget:
Gillette Venus: "Reveal the Goddess In You." There's a goddess in there, ladies, and only Venus can bring her out.
Schick Quattro for Women: "Free Your Skin." Hasn't your skin been held captive long enough?
Bic Soleil: "Feel Fabulous For Less." Ok, well this one is a little antithetical to my point.
Skintimate Shave Cream: "Get Inspired." With products name that include: Flirty, Meadows, Luscious, and Rain.
A year ago, I bought each woman in my household their very own razor and a few cans (now rust-proof!) of moisturizing shaving GEL. Then, I spoiled myself with my Mach 3 razor, some extra cartridges, and a cheap can of Colgate Shave Cream. We were set!
Within a month, I heard the following complaint: "Who took my razor?!"
A week later: "Who took MY razor?!!"
Two weeks later, all razors were gone. Except mine. Until the following week.
That's when my voice bellowed from the bathroom. "Has anyone seen my razor?" My wife replied that I should check the shower. Really? The shower? But there it was. Weird.
Next to kidnap my razor was my 13-year-old. She brought it to me with a smile and a commentary. "Your shaver works really good!"
After the women took my razor for a few more laps through the various showers in the house, I decided it was time to go buy them new razors. (Apparently, women's razors have a set residential limit, where they can only exist in the house for a limited time, because they were gone.)
At Target, there was much discussion and product comparison. I wandered into the electronics section, since that's what guys do. When I came back to see the final decisions, I was a little taken back. In front of me stood three women, smiling brightly, and each holding their very own Mach 3 (for men).
"They work much better than ours," said my wife. "Yeah, they're not as itchy," said my youngest. I'm still not sure what that means, but I've never shaven my legs, or armpits, or whatever.
Well, at least I get mine back. I approved, picked up some replacement cartridges (which cost more than the shaver) and headed toward the register.
"Wait!" they almost said in unison, "we need shaving cream." Okay, let them get their flowery, aromatic, fruity shave gel. After all, they are "luscious" and "meadow-y." But they came back with two cans of Colgate Beard Cream (for men). I didn't ask.
So, I ask the shaving industry for women: Why? Why do you advertise and sell the likes of Venus, and Soleil, and Skintimate, and all the fluffy, smelly stuff when they prefer to use products for men? These women of mine even prefer to smell like a man, rather than to smell like a flirty raspberry or a rainy mountain.
They prefer to use a Mach 3, which is the "best a man can get," for their soft and delicate lady-parts. In fact, they all complained that the lady razors cut them, tore their skin off, and made them "itch" (there's that word again).
I'm beginning to think that shaving truly is a job for a unisex tool. Kind of like mixing pancake batter--there is no set of "just for men" beaters and another set of "spring meadows" mixers for women. Besides, how would the flapjacks taste?
Anyway, here we are, a whole year later, where all of us have our very own Mach 3. And we all share the same can of Barbasol shave cream (for men). Or we did, until this morning, when the women heard me yell from the bathroom, "Where's my razor?"
And I can't find my Barbasol, but the "Sparkling Rain" from Pure Silk sure makes my face feel luscious.
"Poor Kris...he lives in Estrogen Hell!"
I'm a guy. I'm 36 and I'm a highly-educated professional who is still trying to save the world. Or, at least trying to make a dent in the backwardness of the American world. That, however, is neither here nor there.
The real purpose for this blog is to serve as my daily debriefing at the end of every fun-filled rotation of the Earth, living under the same roof with five females. That's right: out of a total six residents, I am the only male. And the females with whom I share my home are at prime ages to generate the necessary hormones to qualify the above title as truth (the title was a direct quote from one of my daughters, by the way).
Ages are:
35 - that's my wife. She's perfect.
30 - that's my sister-in-law. I'm not yet qualified to speculate on her.
16 - that's my oldest. She is in full-blown "I can't wait to move outta here" mode.
15 - that's my second oldest. She is in full-blown...everything mode.
13 - that's my youngest. She is the wit, the charm, and the brick wall. Nothing gets by her.
They're all wonderful. But they're also very interesting.
So, here I go. I will not bore my readers (or myself mostly) with details of the entire 24-hour period of Estrogen Hell. I will simply pick and choose one or two "events" that may have turned my head, made me laugh, made me facepalm, or otherwise struck me as newsworthy. I will also not just write to note "interesting" events related to these fascinating women. Because, guys, we all know that there is a whole world of dramatic and eccentric things that come with a woman's world. I will observe and report here.
Last item: I do have a male cat (aptly named "Kitty Boy"), and my family often reminds me that I'm not really the only male in the house, thanks to him. Problem is, he had his juevos lopped off long ago. He no longer has the levels of testosterone necessary to compete with the armies of estrogen. Sorry, Kitty Boy. I still love you, though.
The real purpose for this blog is to serve as my daily debriefing at the end of every fun-filled rotation of the Earth, living under the same roof with five females. That's right: out of a total six residents, I am the only male. And the females with whom I share my home are at prime ages to generate the necessary hormones to qualify the above title as truth (the title was a direct quote from one of my daughters, by the way).
Ages are:
35 - that's my wife. She's perfect.
30 - that's my sister-in-law. I'm not yet qualified to speculate on her.
16 - that's my oldest. She is in full-blown "I can't wait to move outta here" mode.
15 - that's my second oldest. She is in full-blown...everything mode.
13 - that's my youngest. She is the wit, the charm, and the brick wall. Nothing gets by her.
They're all wonderful. But they're also very interesting.
So, here I go. I will not bore my readers (or myself mostly) with details of the entire 24-hour period of Estrogen Hell. I will simply pick and choose one or two "events" that may have turned my head, made me laugh, made me facepalm, or otherwise struck me as newsworthy. I will also not just write to note "interesting" events related to these fascinating women. Because, guys, we all know that there is a whole world of dramatic and eccentric things that come with a woman's world. I will observe and report here.
Last item: I do have a male cat (aptly named "Kitty Boy"), and my family often reminds me that I'm not really the only male in the house, thanks to him. Problem is, he had his juevos lopped off long ago. He no longer has the levels of testosterone necessary to compete with the armies of estrogen. Sorry, Kitty Boy. I still love you, though.
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