Jenna's Quote of the Day

We were sitting downstairs, still revelling in our post-Yuletide haze, opening selections from the mountain of toys that has collapsed in our living room. I decided to open one present for each of the kids: for Riley, I chose his 1:18 scale Abrams tank, for Mason his Twist and Learn Monkey dumbbells, and for Jenna, her Baby Dora the Explorer.

I opened each, ignoring the dull ache in my fingertips (an injury of repetition, from continuously untwisting those metal wire ties that hold the toys unnecessarily snugly into their packaging), and giving the toys to each child. When I finished the Dora, I announced, "Here's your Dora Baby, Jen."

Her reply: "I not Baby Jen!"

That's My Girl!

Anyone who knows me well knows I've been a  huge Star Trek fan for years. When I was a teenager I lived for "Star Trek: The Next Generation," just about wet myself every time a new Trek movie came out, and watched the shows (mostly TNG and its contemporaries) religiously.

I've managed to sneak "Trek" into the lives of my kids over my wife's objections (mostly to Jenna, about whom she said "let her be a little girl! Ease up on the sci fi stuff!" to which I retorted "she IS a little girl. There's room in her life for Star Trek and My Little Pony and baby dolls.").

Anyway, it's my daughter who has latched onto the new Star Trek movie. She especially likes the beginning, where Captain Kirk is born at the moment his father is sacrificing his life to save him. She always says "Mommy's tummy!" while his mother is giving birth.


If you know your sci fi, you know there's a bit of a rivalry between Star Trek fans and Star Wars fans. I of course fall heartily on the Trek side of things.


Riley and Jenna have drawn their lines in the sci fi sand as well. Riley likes to taunt his sister (and father) by asking "Are we watching Starwors?" knowing that it's Star Trek coming on.


Jenna popped back at him, "No, it Car Cack!"


That's my girl.

Christmas Shopping in the Digital Age

This year marks a change of sorts for us when it comes to Christmas shopping.

Living in Noblesville, relatively isolated from our trusted family, along with a schedule that leaves us little open time, we've taken to doing our Christmas shopping this year guerrilla style, one at a time, at odd hours, and have taken advantage of the technology at our fingertips.

Of course we've done some shopping online, but that's not exactly what I'm talking about (and there's still nothing like the tactile sensation of loading a shopping cart with presents). For instance, last night a late-evening trip to Wal-Mart for bottle inserts turned into an impromptu gift-buying excursion.

Crystal was at home with the kids, who were asleep at 10:30 when I left, and while we have something of an idea of what we want for our munchkins, of course there is still some element of spontenaeity to gift giving.

My chief tool (other than my trusty PayPal card, loaded with cash specifically set aside for Christmas shopping) was my new cell phone. I was able to check my PayPal balance, which was handy, but of course I really took advantage by texting Crystal ideas with photographic accompanyment.

We were able to pick out a few things for Mason, and I could get real-time input, where she was able to see what I bought and offer feedback.

And she even got to share in some of my signature snarky asides, specifically that a I saw a doll that looked exactly like one of Crystal's friend's daughter, and the fact that being in the "Christmas patio" (actually the repurposed lawn and garden center) is awfully creepy to be at 11 p.m., alone, with an army of dolls staring at you with their dead glass eyes, waiting to blurt out their evil baby talk at random intervals.

All in all, it was almost as fun and adventrous as shopping with the wife, and in some ways moreso.

Do I still wish we had a few hours to get some shopping done ourselves? Absolutely.

But these Christmas memories spend just the same as any other.

Random Pre-Black Friday Thought

I'm guessing anyone with three young kids like I do knows how difficult going shopping is with kids. For those who don't, on the scale of difficulty it ranks ahead of creating a house of cards using the entire deck after 6 Red Bulls and a handful of No-Doze, but just behind juggling razor-blade-handled flaming torches while sitting on a running jackhammer.

So here's my random thought as I get ready to retire for the night, knowing Black Friday will be staring at me in the morning when I wake up at a way-too-early hour:

What if we took the three kids out at 4 a.m. for Black Friday shopping? I think neither Crystal nor I would make it out alive, much less get any shopping done at all.

And no, this picture isn't blurry. That's just the frequency Mason vibrates at inside any retail outlet.

One shining bit of optimism, though: We struck first in the Battle for Christmas Present Supremacy by picking up our first major item for one of the kids. I won't say what it is, but it starts with Deva and ends with Stator, and we'll just say Christmas is set for Daddy AND Riley. And it was 30 bucks off and we didn't have to get into a fistfight with a chick wearing Sarah Palin glasses to get it.

Playland fun

Last Sunday my wife had a "spa day" with a friend of hers, so I accepted an invitation from my cousin and his wife to go to the play area at the local mall to let the kids blow off some steam.

Of course, if you've ever been to one of these indoor mini parks, you're aware of the various hazards. First off, it's a simmering cesspool of bacteria like none other, with contagions literally coming out of each pore of every child in the enclosed area, which at peak times has to be around at least 30 or so.

And then my kids show up and all hell breaks loose.

We got there to see a full house, of course, and the kids leapt head-first into the raging waters of mall playland. Mikey, my cousin's son, was already there, so Riley and Jenna had some catching up to do.

It was a typical rush out the door, coordinating dress (including shoes) for the three kids by myself, so it was a bit of a surprise to me when we arrived and Jenna's jeans seemed a little, well, loose. In my haste I'd neglected to notice they were a bit saggy around the waist, and of course with her dodging, ducking, dipping, diving and dodging, it was soon apparent that a half moon was going to be out at 3:00 indoors.

Riley was having no such issues and was hopping from obstacle to obstacle, taking breaks in the big stationary cars, climbing, rolling, and vaulting over his fallen peers, Mikey right there with him the whole way.

Mason on the other hand was simply content to visit his relatives, showing off his newfound abilities to coo, laugh, and bounce on their lap.

Jenna's affinity for visiting public restrooms (but not actually using them) is well documented, and the food court restrooms at Castleton Square Mall are perhaps her (and consequently my) main nemesis when it comes to lavatories.

Jenna has flush anxiety, getting spooked when a toilet flushes. In a busy restroom with automatic flushers, she really gets nervous and usually ends up filling the restroom with shrieks that would make Vincent Price jump.

This time was no different. Her screams bounced off the white tile walls like a truck full of rubber balls the moment I pulled down her pants, so I pulled them back up and quickly ushered her out amid her own sobs and the puzzled glares of my fellow patrons.

But once we got out, in true 2-year-old style, she was ready for another round with her porcelain tormentors as soon as we got back to the playland. Soon she was skipping the asking to go to the bathroom part, deciding instead to skip to the pants-dropping part, which was doubly easy given her pants were so loose.

I decided in the end to tuck her sweatshirt in and give her the 80-year-old-man look with the waist of her jeans inching up perilously close to her armpits.

Making things more fun was Mason, who decided he wanted in on the action and started to squirm, making watching the two older kids, who have in the past established a penchant for sneaking out of the park at random intervals, a dicey proposition.

Riley, on the other hand, had taken to running with three other boys, sitting around like a gang of hoods, missing only their leather jackets and a pack of smokes folded in the arms of their t-shirts. They were sitting body-to-body as if they'd been friends for years, leaning against the giant caterpillar, watching as the other kids played.

Soon it was time to go, so I gathered up my brood over their protestations. I'm not sure how I got them to get their shoes back on.

Then came the next step: "Daddy, can we have ice cream?"

Random Riley line of the week

We were at Burger King a few weeks back, eating dinner. We were finished eating, and pulled the toy out of Riley's Kids' Meal bag to give him.

As always, he was exicted to get his toy, but when we sat it on the table, he looked at the box for a moment, puzzled, then asked, "is it band-aids?"

He was almost disappointed that it was not.

Wal-Mart Paranoia

Parents sometimes sure can be paranoid, can't they?

We took a trip to Wal-Mart last night and were sitting at the Subway in the back when a guy of about 50 or so came and sat near us.

He started talking in Mason, which of course isn't unusual. He asked how old he was and Crystal told him, and we went back to eating.

The guy continued to talk to Mason and ask questions-the usual-"where'd you get that blond hair?" "You want some dinner, don't you?"-that sort of stuff.

Soon, Riley felt the need to chime in. "His name is Mason," Riley said. Crystal glared at Riley and shushed him.

"Eat your dinner," I said.

But Riley couldn't resist the attention. "I'm 4," he said, holding up 4 fingers. The man seemed to ignore Riley.

Crystal looked at me. "That guy freaks me out," she murmured.

I nodded in agreement, then glanced at him again, sizing him up a little. He had white hair and a mustache to match, wearing a somewhat ratty sweatshirt and a baseball hat, and lisped when he spoke. He didn't seem, as Crystal might say, "all there."

We finished our sandwiches as the guy continued to randomly comment about things, and soon my mind kicked into gear. I made a mental note to keep a close eye on the three kids, especially Mason, who seemed to be the the object of the man's affections.

As we went through the store, we were indeed doubly sure that we closely watched the kids, and Mason, sitting in the cart's basket, was buckled in, and Crystal or I were always standing with him.

When the time came to leave, our usual routine is that I take the kids to the car while Crystal checks out. Jenna didn't have any shoes on, so I had to carry her out, leaving me an arm short of taking all three. I took Riley and Jenna, loaded them in the car, and pulled up near the door.

It took only a few seconds for me to imagine the man running out of Wal-Mart with Mason cradled in his arms, and Crystal unloading the cart, oblivious to the fact her youngest was gone. I imagined TV reporters and missing persons reports, and police scouring dumpsters and landfills looking for my son. I also imagined myself seeing the guy with Mason, and pummeling him within an inch of his life.

I watched both entrances like a hawk. Surely I'd be able to see if someone came running out with him, right?

Finally Crystal came out of the store, Mason still strapped safely in the cart. I took him, and sat him in his seat as if he were made of glass.

I suppose it's instinct to be protective of your children, but I wonder why this sudden wave of paranoia swept over me. It's something parents live with, and is something that serves them well I suppose, if you want to include the better-safe-than-sorry theory of parenting.

But you also suffer from the "you never know" school of thought. What if that guy was totally harmless? Or what if he had been plotting to abduct Mason and do terrible things to him? Will he victimize some other child? Or will he go on just being harmless, freaking out parents with his interest in kids?