Don’t Wake Mama Bear

Today's post is a guest post by MamaBear who tells us a little bit about what it's like to defend one's cubs in the rough and tumble world of suburban Strongsville...

 

Mama Bear- ever vigilent

Hidden deep in the lush forest of the Midwest (the Strongsville Metroparks), lives an elusive creature known for her fierce, loyal, and irrational protection of her cubs.  As her offspring enter into what some consider the golden-years of cubhood (the ages between 6-12 when cubs become interesting and pleasant), there have been increased sightings of this wild protector.  Who is this insane animal, you might ask, and where has she been spotted?  You need only look to a nearby bus stop, playground or library story-time to locate her.  And it is there you will find… The Mama Bear. 

My day started out as any other.  The kids woke, got ready for school, and together we walked to the bus stop where we greeted several other moms and children.  Things were moving along quite nicely, children excitedly planning for the school day ahead, moms chatting about the weather…wait a minute.  Wait just a minute.  Did that kid just push my kid?  DID THAT KID JUST PUSH MY KID?!!  And then it happened.  My grizzly teeth grew sharp, my eyes got wild, my Jamberry nails transformed into claws right there at the bus stop.  I grew to a towering eight feet and broke right through my yoga pants and sweatshirt.   Mama Bear was awake!   I lumbered over to my child (who had moved on from the alleged (possibly misconstrued) pushing incident), and said, “Are you ok?” and then even louder, “Did John just push you?”  My son replied, “No, he tripped and bumped into me.”  Oh, ok.  And just like that, my teeth and eyes returned to their human form, my nails regained their suburban-painted status, and my clothes once again fit my 5’5 frame.  Mama Bear headed back to the cave. 

Returning to the house, my three-year-old and I decided to head out to the library story-time.  Honestly, can you think of a more benign, fun, and educational experience?  We got there a bit early so my kid could get a front and center seat.  He was happy.   And of course, I was happy that he’d reached an age where story-time no longer involved him climbing me like Mt. Everest throughout the entire 20 minutes of painful songs, rhymes, and finger plays.  All was going well as the other children filtered in, and I may have even patted myself on the back for our participation in this enriching activity.  Wait a minute.   Are those kids… ARE THOSE KIDS NUDGING MY KID OUT OF THE FRONT SPOT?!!  A deep growl emerged from me, and Mama Bear was awake!  Very loudly, so the other mothers were sure to hear, I roared, “Ben, don’t let those kids push you!  Batten down the hatches, honey!  Hold your position man!”  Then I glowered my big grizzly eyes at the offending toddlers.  (Did I just swipe my bear paw at that girl?)   I was on full alert, glaring around at the toddlers and parents in a frenzied, rabid sort of way, with a look that I am certain conveyed, “Don’t touch my cub, and you best find another place to sit.”   Thankfully, story-time started and all was well.  Mama Bear once again headed back into the cave.

That night at dinner, my 6-year-old casually mentioned that one of the girls at school was being mean to her.  Smelling danger as any Mama Bear would, I asked her what the girl had said and she responded, “She called me skinny”.  My husband, who rarely gives advice, sat silently.  In fact, I think my whole family was waiting for my reaction.  And there it was.  My face heated, my breathing increased, my finger (paw really) started making that “Z” shape in the air and I heard myself roar, “She said what?  SHE SAID WHAAATTT?!!”  I think I might have seen my husband’s eyebrow raise a bit, but I was just getting started.  Mama Bear was awake!  “Well,” I rabidly howled, “What did you say back?  WHAT DID YOU SAY BACK?!!  Did you say, ‘I’m going to kick your--‘”  My husband shot me a look complete with the throat cut-it-off sign.  My daughter replied, “I don’t want to say that, mom.”  Getting all the more agitated, I crazily responded, “Did you tell her to shut up and mind her own business?  Or how about saying…”  My 8 year old cut me off and sagely stated, “Mom, Jesus tells us to turn the other cheek”.   Again I saw my husband’s eyebrow raise in question.  In full frothing Mama Bear mode I retorted, “Listen, Michael, different context.  Jesus wasn’t talking about mean girls!”  Everyone else at the table pretty much agreed that this was the exact kind of situation that Jesus was apparently referring to, and so one dad, his daughter, and her two brothers decided that the best response was to simply say, “Thanks.”   As a rabid Mama Bear ready and willing to protect her cubs at all costs, I questioned the retort, but all involved assured me that this method would work to curb this kindergarten bully.   “Fine”, I said with a low rumbling growl.  (Actually at this point it is more of a resolute Chewbacca-whine.)  “But maybe you can at least swipe a paw at her when you say it.” 

 

KiddleDad's 50th Blog Post

This happened to somebody else's blog
after 50 posts... you can do it, Mom!

This post marks the 50^th KiddleDad post. I’m amazed, since when it started I thought that I might very well fizzle out after four or five posts. But no, parenting is a treasure trove of humorous events. If you can write 500 words about the eating of oatmeal, there is seemingly endless supply of topics that can be covered.

One thing I have learned in 50 posts is that you can’t just create content; you have to market it if you want people to read it. So I’ve put in place a digital marketing campaign that I summarize as: post it on Facebook. I also have advanced analytics that tell me exactly how many people have read each posts, so I know what topics and what marketing attract the most attention.

I know, for instance, that after 50 posts I have roughly 100 page views. Given that Andrea reads the draft before it is posted (to remove all Pope jokes and curse words), and that I read it one time once posted to make sure it formatted okay, that means I have one person reading my blog – My Mom.

Therefore, in honor of my 50^th post, I called my Mom last night to get a list of her favorites. Here they are:

1.       A Case of the Yucks

2.       Buy High, Sell Low

3.       Ummmm… errrrrr…

That’s right, my Mom couldn’t think of a third. When asked to conjure up even a single memory of another post, she was stuck. Apparently the other 48 posts, which I know she dutifully read, have not made much of an impression. Looks like I shouldn’t be working on a book deal soon. (In fairness to Mom, she’s had a lot of heavy things on her mind lately).

What are my favorites, no one in particular asks? What, you want me to choose, like choosing my favorite child amongst my children? How can I possibly? Actually it’s no problem. Some were truly inspired, others I just mailed in. Here are my favorite 5, in order:

1.       Crime and Punishment

2.       The Brown Badge of Courage

3.       May The Cheese Be With You

4.       Kiddie Capitalism

5.       Captain America and Iron Man Share Wardrobe Tips

The other thing you might not realize is that I get paid to do this blog. Those ads for Irritable Bowel Syndrome at the bottom?  I get paid just for showing those to you. I get paid even more for clicks. So far, I’ve made a whopping $2.32. Would it kill you to click on a darn ad, Mom?

Hence my shameless plugs above to get you to go read old posts. Every view is worth like half a cent. So please – go back and read those old posts and a bunch more. Scroll and click randomly. Share the ones you like with your friends. Make this thing go viral. It’s worth like ten bucks to me – I’ll buy your kid an oatmeal.

I [heart] Obamacare

Ladies and Gentlemen:
The President of Ohio, Manack Banana

When you’re a graduate of Harvard Business School, you have many opportunities to be humbled throughout the rest of your life. Several classmates have made their fortunes many times over and are now writing sagacious blogs about how to be worthy business investors. One classmate’s father ran for president – of the United States, not SECPTA. Sal Khan (Founder of Khan Academy) was in our class for goodness sakes. This guy’s in TV commercials and was on the cover of Fortune! What have you done with the past 10 years, you schlub?

Another of our classmates, who at least still returns our emails (still missing you, Sal!) is running for Congress in California. I bring this up in a (mostly) parenting blog because our kids are really into politics these days. Or at least politics at a 4-year-old level. For example, they both know that the president’s name is Manack Banana, that he lives in the White House, and he is the president of Ohio. He flies around in Air Force one, which is a crumpled up plush doll plane that’s been on the bottom of the toy chest too long. We live in the state of Strongsville, which is part of the United States.

So this classmate is running for congress for the wrong party. Nevertheless, as friends we made a meager donation reflective of our Harvard status – don’t know how much Sal Khan gave, but we donated I think $50.

Big Mistake.

Let me be clear here, if you are ever presented the opportunity to donate to a political campaign, pass. Do not feed the bears. Having given that miniscule donation, I am now bombarded with an average of 5 emails a day with titles like:

Boehner Can’t Believe It!

With breathless text explaining: Boehnercantbelievetheresponsewevegottentothepetitiontooverturntherepublicanbudgetjust13moredonationsbeforenoontomorrowandwellhave200,000donatenowrecommendeddonation$5!!!!!!

Now I even get emails from Nancy Pelosi (shaking my head). Like I said, big mistake.

And the email that caused howls of laughter around our dinner table – I have no idea why I checked this email at the dinner table, but I did – was the one that said for $5 I could get a free bumper sticker saying “I [heart] Obamacare.” The kids absolutely think this is the funniest thing they’ve ever seen, and routinely ask to see that email again. One mention of the word “Obamacare” is now enough to ignite our carload into rapturous laughter.

I think the email’s funny, too, not so much out of any grievance I have with Obamacare, but more at the notion that anyone could [heart] such a thing.

Not that the Dems have the market cornered on this tripe. I have grandparents at the opposite end of the political spectrum, who routinely send me politi-spam bemoaning how school kids don’t sing the Star Spangled Banner anymore and that the democrats want to sell our Bibles to pay for condoms for drug dealers.

So with this constant, competing noise blaring in each ear, I feel I have a unique perspective on this whole political thing. Here are my findings:

1.       John Boehner and Nancy Pelosi are constantly being taken by surprise. Apparently they are not very savvy.

2.       Obamacare is the funniest thing in the world.

So let’s lighten up, people. And whatever you do, do not feed the bears.

Easter Bunny. Perfectly Normal.

RAH RAH RAH Easter!

With Easter coming to a close, I like to reflect on the sweet gullibility, er I mean innocence, of young children. Evidence: Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Elf on the Shelf. This year, we even had a leprechaun visit for St. Patrick’s Day. What with the Tooth Fairy visiting a couple of times a year, we seem to have mythological creatures in and out of the house all the time. But not monsters. Sure, there’s this Fairy out there who for some unknown reason wants to trade money for your teeth. She has free and easy access to your bedroom to come and go as she pleases. Perfectly normal. But Monsters? Monsters aren’t coming in your room. There’s no such thing as monsters - Go to bed!

Chiara, for her part, is too smart not to have figured out all this mythological baloney, I think. But, she plays along since there is money, chocolate and presents involved. If not, it’s reaching the point where I have to question her intelligence. Just look at some of these logical loopholes that should have raised a question or two:

Whenever Santa’s workshop is depicted in a movie or TV show, the elves are working away, merrily building by hand well crafted, wooden toys. In other words, the kind of toys no self-respecting child in 2014 would be caught dead near. What shows up on Christmas day are packaged, branded toys, most of which look like they came out the action end of an injection molding machine. So what gives? Does Santa own the injection molding machines and the packaging lines? Do the elves painstakingly re-create the toys and packaging that they could buy in the store? Why go to that kind of effort? I can just see Jingle the Elf hand-painting the Play-Doh logo on a box to mimic the one at Toys-R-Us. Or does Santa just go to the store? In that case, why are there so many elves building the wooden junk? Have they lost their jobs like so many American factory workers?

Whatever Santa’s illogicalities, it’s nothing compared to the Easter Bunny. Easter night, a bunny hides eggs and puts chocolates in a basket. Now that doesn’t make one darn bit of sense at all. Bunny. Eggs. See what I’m getting at here?

And at least when you see Santa at the mall, it’s a man. Or a Jolly Old Elf. But anyway something that looks reasonably like the thing he is pretending to be. A mall Easter Bunny is a 6-foot-tall college football mascot. He looks nothing like a real rabbit. No one is fooled. “It’s a man in a suit” says my daughter. So who comes Easter night? The mascot or a real-ish bunny?

Today’s Easter Bunny has to be technically savvy to boot. Some of these Leap Pad games don’t even come in cartridge form, so they have to be downloaded directly from the internet. So this rabbit has to sit up late at night making the crummy Leap Pad download application work. Then he has to put the child’s same old Leap Pad in the basket with a note explaining there is a new game on it. Do you know how hard all that is when all you have is paws, floppy ears and a wiggly nose to work with?

On a side note, the person who really raises my Easter ire is Curious George and his egg dyeing ways. Never have the wits of man conceived an activity so well suited to staining clothes than dyeing Easter eggs. A tiny wire dipper carefully lowers an Easter egg into a vat of dye. That’s the theory - a 4-year-old doing this more than once is just tempting fate. But Curious George was curious, so he dipped his eggs in two different colors to see what would happen – you know, yellow and blue make green. So now we have to dip our eggs in two colors, too. Darn you Curious George! Why do you have to be so gosh-darned curious? Can’t you just be curious what it’s like to dip one egg in one color? Can’t you just put a lid on your curiosity, George? Can’t you just get your act together, CURIOUS GEORGE!?!?!?

This Post is Making Me Crazy!

As you may know, we are in the process of selling our house. We knew it was time to sell because we had run out of renovation and redecoration projects. The house has now been redecorated into a state of absolute perfection… rats, time to sell.

Whenever Andrea has her interior decorator over, I know two things are going to happen: I’m going to put in a lot of effort on a project I don’t care about, and life is going to get a lot less convenient. The secret to interior decoration is to pretend no one lives in your house. Of course, four people live in our house, two of whom are small children, so it’s a serious inconvenience to pretend we don’t.

When the decorator re-did our kitchen, all of a sudden everything was off the counter – napkins are now stored in the knife drawer and must be replaced every third day or so. The kitchen table now sits on a textured rug with groves that are perfect for trapping mushed peas and dried Play-Doh. I have the handyman skills of a trained monkey, and break into cold sweats at the thought of hanging a towel bar, but somehow I inevitably end up assembling IKEA shelves with Swedish instructions and three key parts missing.

Andrea moves from room to room in a house and grumbles “we have to do something with this [name of room]. It’s making me crazy.” Andrea is made crazy quite often; in our existing house she worked her way through the kitchen, family room, dining room and basement.  So after months of Andrea saying “we have to do something with this mud room,” I knew I was in trouble.

For the uninitiated, the “mud room” is the small room where we enter the house from the garage. Andrea calls it the “mud room” without irony, which is odd since no mud would ever, ever be allowed in there. Perhaps “mud room” is short for “room for items which formerly had mud on them.” It’s where the washer and dryer sit, a utility sink, our coat closet, and a shoe cubby. There is a crummy white wire shelf above the washer dryer that holds all manner of junk – washing stuff, obviously, along with some tools and wrapping paper, for example.

Basically, the mud room ranks right above the utility room where we keep our old paint cans on my list of places I could give two flips about its appearance. But it’s made Andrea crazy so now it is time for renovation.

And so, despite my apathy about this room, and my aforementioned lack of handyman skills, I’m suddenly hanging pictures and assembling drawers for inside the closet. The wire shelves are still there but are decorated in a sea shell and sand motif. And from now on, to get a hammer, I have to use chopsticks to remove it from a 14^th century Ming Vase.

With the mudroom complete the house is complete and it’s time to sell. The new home is theoretically perfect. But I know that soon enough, Andrea will be grumbling that “this [garage/pantry/walk-in closet] is making me crazy!”

Parenting Advice From KiddleAunt

KiddleAunt explains a few things to KiddleDad

This week's blog post is from KiddleDad's younger sister. She doesn't have kids, but she does have plenty of parenting advice to share:

It’s not uncommon that my older brother needs some guidance, and I thought after years and years of potentially ruining his children, it’s high time I step in to teach him how it’s done. Do I have children? No. Why would that matter? I have a dog, I have a younger sister that I have basically been telling what to do her entire life, and I have only been fired from a couple jobs. Clearly I’m responsible and could show KiddleDad a thing or two about how to raise his children properly.

 

Gastronomic Curiosity

1.       During my visit, the children have asked (and been given) snacks almost every day. Worse even, they weren’t shamed at all for requesting cookies, crackers, and yogurt drinks for these snacks. If you don’t make your children feel guilty about wanting to eat these things, how will they ever learn that they need to spend their later years obsessing over calories and the size of their waists? I am truly worried that my niece and nephew might grow up thinking something ridiculous like beauty comes from the inside.

2.       When it comes to mealtime, Cody’s palate is unrefined. It’s clearly a parent’s role to help his son understand the complexities of flavors, and as far as I can tell there has been no effort here. Chiara on the other hand favors foods like candy, chips, and the like. When we’ve talked about Brussels sprouts, sushi, and fois gras, she referred to them as “yucky,” and she has requested Chipotle for roughly 75% of our meals. There are many approaches to broadening children’s culinary horizons: a treat after each broccoli spear and rubbing their head while saying, “Who’s my good boy? Who’s my good boy?” have always worked well for me.

 

Culture and Worldly Interests

1.       My brother and my lovely sister-in-law are doing a decent job with keeping Chiara well-cultured since they have recently incorporated “Les Misérables” to her bedtime story repertoire. 6-year olds need to spend more time “Examining the nature of law and grace, the history of France, politics, moral philosophy, antimonarchism, justice, religion, and the types and nature of romantic and familial love.” However, I question their dedication. After two weeks, they’re 10 pages in, and my niece reports that “nothing has happened.” Sigh.

2.       Cody on the other hand has been fully neglected in this regard. Looking through his bookshelf you won’t find a single Dickens, Tolstoy, or Dostoyevsky. How they can sleep at night knowing Cody has been in the world for over four years without some proper literary exposure, I have no idea.

3.       Cody also lacks appropriate guidance in world-religions. When I mentioned Shintoism this morning, he looked at me blankly. Not once has any member of the family spent more than 10 minutes in meditation or quiet reflection. I’m considering calling Child Protective Services.

 

Personal Development and Self-Control

1.       During a fieldtrip with the Sweet Kiddles preschool, I was informed by several of the kids that no one was going to win at the bowling alley. This is incomprehensible! Chiara is now 6, and Cody either 4 or 5 depending on who you’re talking to (he says 5, his birth certificate and every other person on Earth says 4 – jury’s still out, I guess). The time has long past since they needed to learn that there are winners and losers in this world. Not everyone gets a blue ribbon, and the sooner we expose our children to that harsh reality, the better.

2.       Having raised a dog since it was a puppy, I think it goes without saying that I could have a child well-disciplined child unquestioningly following my every command within just a few short weeks. My brother and sister-in-law started off without this robust training skill-set when they had children, so I can hardly blame them for any short-comings here. They have gotten wise to the most important elements of behavior modification, but I have a couple recommendations that could help. First, set aside 3-4 hours each day to perfect a whistling routine with the each of the kids. Soon, Chiara will know that three short bursts means it’s time to sit down quietly and await food, Cody will know one long blast means it’s time to put on shoes, grab his backpack, and get in the car. It would be much easier than wrangling the kids every time you want to eat or leave the house. Second, it’s always handy to carry around a baggie of bacon or other treats is useful for when the kiddos get rowdy in public. You’ll have them sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, salivating in no time – eagerly anticipating their reward.

Poor KiddleDad and Andrea need a lot of help, but I think too much guidance at once could get overwhelming. Hopefully my visit will have shed a little light on how parenting should really be done, but I worry these two slackers have already done irreparable damage. If they don’t take action to right the ship soon, I’m afraid Chiara and Cody may be doomed to a life of guilt-free happiness and lack flawless self-control. I only want the best for the children, and it might be better for the kids to be raised by someone like me who is already an expert. Clearly I would know; I do have a dog.

You can follow KiddleAunt on Twitter at @Kalyn_Kimmel or visit her blog: debaclesindating.com

Buy High, Sell Low, Too

Today’s post is a quick follow-up to last week’s parental financial advice titled “Buy High, Sell Low.” In the closing of that post, I mentioned the upcoming resale event in Strongsville that weekend. Well, we attended said event and demonstrated almost immediately our Buy High, Sell Low mantra.

Andrea worked the event while I took the kids to ice skating. While there, she saw a real find: a Barbie Princess Castle. It was a little faded from age, but otherwise was in pristine condition. Retailing at well over $200, she bought it for $50.

After ice skating, I brought the kids to the event, mostly to avail ourselves of leftover bake sale goodies. Andrea showed Chiara her prize. Chiara demonstrated her excitement by almost immediately breaking off one of the clock hands off the tower clock.

Just so I don’t put too fine a point on it, let me re-emphasize. Somehow this other family, with children the same age as ours, had lovingly and carefully maintained this castle doll house in excellent condition for years and we, the Kimmels, couldn’t manage to leave the building without breaking it.

It gets better. We brought the castle home. As I was reassembling the staircase, I broke a piece of the wall off. I super-glued it back on, but it is visibly marred.

In one hour of ownership, we rendered an “excellent” condition toy worth $50 into a “good” condition toy worth $10. We bought the tech stock the day before the market crashed. It was classic Buy High, Sell Low strategy.

There’s an obvious profit opportunity here: short sell the toys that the Kimmel family will buy. Let’s say you know you’ll be in the market for a “good” condition Barbie Castle two years from now. You could buy the castle from the first family, immediately sell it to us for $50 and then buy it back in two years for $10. You’d have your castle (albeit with fewer clock hands and crack-free walls), and you’d have turned a nice $40 profit.