Candy Program Scuttled in Committee

I previously discussed negotiating with Benjamin ("Negotiations with a Preschooler"). Well, Benjamin still tends to propose deals that don't quite have a "carrot" in them for those on the other side of the table.

Yesterday he said to his mom, "Let's start doing this. How about every day when you come from work, you bring me candy?"

He doesn't even eat that much candy. If you give him a big piece, a little bag of something, a lollipop, or a popsicle, he doesn't even finish it. We have candy hoarded from a few parades and holidays back, which we must cull as it gets stale. Maybe he's a candy collector. The end result is that I eat too much candy.

We like that he rations his own candy for whatever reason, so were not about to upset the balance — or the overflowing candy basket — by delivering. The daily candy program is a no-go.

Friends and the Fuzz

While I'm doing housework or driving, etc., I like to listen to radio, internet radio or podcasts. Here's a story I heard the other day that's kind of sweet. It poses the question how long until you're an "old friend." The answer? Two years, unless . . . . . .

If you're a libertarian, parts of this story about the court case of "United States of America v. $124,700, in U.S. Currency" may anger you, but I like the funny bits. You have to listen to the audio for those.

Magic Cats

The other day Benjamin, apparently out of nowhere, said, "Tigger is a Guernsey." (Tigger is the corn-on-the-cob-eating cat.) I don't know where he got 'Guernsey' from, but I didn't bat a proverbial eyelash. Holstein, Guernsey ... this is Wisconsin; these words are in the air.

Me: Tigger is a Guernsey?
Benjamin: Yeah!
Me: How do you know?
B: He does Guernsey kind of stuff.
Me: Like what?
B: He's moos.
Me: He's moos?
B: Yeah, he moos.

Now our cat has many unique abilities, but to date I've not heard him moo.

What abilities? Well, he his very sympathetic. Whenever someone is crying, he rushes over, wide-eyed, to offer his assistance, or at least to sniff them a little bit. This happened a number of times in these past few days, what with the hoof-and-mouth and all. Unfortunately, a cat in your face doesn't do much for painful sores in the mouth. (If anything it annoyed the boy more.)

I think I mentioned this before, but Tigger can catch food in his mouth like a dog, but only if it's shrimp. Sometimes he even catches it with his paws.

We also have magic cats, though their abilities seem limited to opening doors when no one is around. We discovered this ability not long after we acquired Tigger.

We had a friend who had found this very friendly cat she called "Tigger." The friend lived in the country and had to leave the cat outside much of the time because Tigger and her German Shepherd had personal differences. Every time we went to see her, Tigger would run up and purr and rub on us. We often asked our friend if she would let us take Tigger, since she had to leave him outside anyway. At a Halloween party she had, when she was a little tipsy, she conceded.

Though we were scheduled to leave town overnight the next day, we thought we'd better take Tigger home with us right away lest she change her mind when sober. We had another male house cat at the time, and of course they hissed and growled like crazy when they met. Unfortunately, we couldn't stay to help them acclimate. Instead we closed them in separate rooms with separate food and facilities.

When we come back they both walked up to us together at the door purring, shoulder-to-shoulder, like they'd been friends their whole lives. I should be wondering at their amazing ability at unaided reconciliation, and actually I often have. Diplomats around the world today could probably benefit from their abilities. But what keeps bothering me is, how did they get that door open? Either they can use door knobs, or they're magic cats.

They have done it since and they will do it again. But never when we're watching.

Me: Tigger, moo.
Tigger: Meow.
Me: Can you moo, Tigger? Moo?
Tigger: PurrrrrrrrRowww.
Me: Moo, Tigger. Can you moo?
Tigger: Meow.

Well, there's only so much you can expect from magic cats. They're still cats, after all.

Electric Shock Game

"Electric Shock Game" for sale at C. Crane.

Uhhhhhh . . . . . . How  is this fun?

Hoof-and-Mouth

Benjamin has been crying, shrieking and moaning a lot these last few days since he got "hoof-and-mouth."

OK, well it's not really "hoof-and-mouth" and I know that because when the first kid-of-a-friend got "hand foot and mouth disease" and his mom emailed us, she included a link about the virus. The article had a prominent clarifier that it is different than the "hoof-and-mouth disease" (or "foot-and-mouth disease") contracted by cattle. It's a good thing she did that, because in the minutes before I got to the link I nervously thought, "Is that the human version of that 'hoof-and-mouth disease'? Did they get that at the petting zoo? We were at the petting zoo . . ."

So, anyway, "hand, foot and mouth disease." Apparently it's a common childhood illness; symptoms include painful sores on the hands, (yeah, that's right), feet and mouth.

Benjamin's tongue hurt and at first we thought he had bitten it. But when we looked, we saw the 3 or 4 nasty-looking blisters. And that's how the 4 days of him shrieking or moaning in pain sometimes only when he tried to eat or drink, other times every few minutes. The poor little guy. Even on alternating doses of ibuprofen and acetaminophen, he would complain of lots of pain and had a horrible time eating and drinking.

We don't know for sure that it was "hand, foot and mouth" virus. Some of the clues, however, are hard to argue with. We avoided contact with the first child we knew with the virus. We did, however, spend an evening with a second kid friend who had it but was not supposed to be contagious. We were all in very close contact with him. Maybe he was still contagious after all. It's obviously been going around town, though, so maybe we got it from a grocery cart handle; who knows?

Another clue were the sores in my mouth. I recalled that I had some unexplained sores on my cheek just recently and 3 or 4 canker-like sores were forming on my gums. I also had a strange little blister on my hand, a sore throat and headaches for a while (other symptoms). Usually, only kids get this disease, but adults can get it. And I was in a lot of close contact with cute little suspected vector number one.

Anyway, the shrieking, moaning and crying made the last several days a challenge. And that was just me. (Kidding.) Of course, one of the hardest parts is not being able to do anything else to take the pain away from Benjamin. In my experience, pain relievers don't do too much for throat or mouth pain. We tried a local numbing medication on his tongue sores, but the initial stinging was too much for him to bear.

Benjamin is a slow, distracted eater to begin with. With every bite feeling like a stab in the tongue, each attempt at a meal became a major project, from finding foods that wouldn't sting or scrape, to breaking them into little bits, to coaxing him to actually eat it.

Nights too have been rough (rough mostly for Mrs. OccupationDad who is the light sleeper and the one Benjamin wants to snuggle up to when he wakes up hurting and, moreover, the one has to go to work in the morning). Since we "co-sleep" with Ben, we all awake together and wish we could do something to make the pain go away. (If you're shocked by the co-sleeping, you probably didn't notice the "Attachment Parenting" links in the sidebar. Worry not; it's a good thing.) I do get up for medicine or water or whatever might be needed.

Basically, when you have a sick child, life largely reverts back to when you had a baby. Night waking, holding, frequent comforting and reassuring, more loud "preverbal communication," often bodily fluids need to be removed from clothing and bedding. And, again, that was just dealing with me. Kidding!

Finally yesterday, the shrieking dwindled, and Benjamin ate a relatively normal solid-food meal without tears. So things are looking up!

Moral: If it comes to your town, beware the "hoof-and-mouth."

May I Ask What You Paid for This Piece?

The other day I came downstairs to find Mrs. OccupationDad and my son sitting at the table eating and "playing 'Antiques Roadshow.'"

My wife was in the middle of considering an early 21st Century toy "Hello Kitty" toaster "from Japan" that Benjamin had brought in for her to appraise. She showed my son the maker's mark on the bottom, and gave him a little information about it. It appraised at about $100 - $120 because of "condition issues" and because it did not have the "original toasts."

When she stated the value of the object Benjamin made the "brrrrrring" sound and called out, "Bring out that treasure box" (indicating the graphic that comes up on the show with the appraisal amount).

Benjamin brought a number of other artifacts for my wife or I to appraise that day. Never have kids' meal toys fetched such high prices!

(Disclaimer: These appraisals were for play purposes only and therefore pretend. Your "Hello Kitty" toaster may not be worth $100. Please see a qualified appraiser or memorabilia specialist.)

When 4-year-olds talk, . . .

At "DadBloggers", I posted "When 4-year-olds talk, . . ."

Our Cat Eats Corn on the Cob

Our cat eats corn on the cob. Simple and to the point. Some set-up or fluke? Well, there is butter on it, but he was not just licking the butter off. (Our other cat was doing that, trying to figure out what the corn-eating cat was after.) No, the cat was chewing the kernels off and eating them.

We left the room, not having cleared the table, and returned to find the cat had stolen the cob and had taken it down to the floor for consumption.

Actually, knowing this cat, I wasn't that surprised. Before we got him, I thought cats ate meat (including fish and seafood) and drank milk and water. Period. (Garfield and his lasagna notwithstanding; he is, after all, a cartoon cat.)

Our corn-eating cat's favorite food is shrimp. He can smell it frozen at 50 yards and goes so wild for it that he'll catch a little piece in his mouth like a dog. His broader set of food preferences, though, are somewhat diverse and strange. Like his cartoon counterpart, he likes pasta, though he prefers it plain. If you drop a piece of spaghetti near him he'll eat it, but he backs away first then paws it, to make sure it's dead.

If we break out the canteloupe he'll start meowing and meowing — not quite the shrimp meow — but persistent. He'll eat several small pieces at a time. If denied and a rind is left accessible, he'll dig it out and eat whatever "meat" he can scrape off of it.

He's not quite as agressive about cucumber, but he will ask. Again, if peelings are around he sample them.

We've learned not to leave bread or buns out. He'll just claw a little hole in the bag and just have a little snack, making a 2-inch crater in the crust, but usually managing to render at least 3 pieces inedible.

He can't be the only feline who has odd cravings. What cats (or other pets) do you know with unusual appetites?

Speak Softly but Carry a Big Pillow

The other day Mrs. OccupationDad was trying to get Benjamin down for a nap. She read him a story and then had him lie down, staying with him. He was kind of antsy, wiggling around and talking. My wife told him that he should try to close his eyes and rest.

He responded by saying, "No, you have to get me to sleep like Dada does it."

"Oh," my wife answered calmly, "What does Dada do?"

Then my son slandered me, "He yells at me."

You will allow me to defend myself, yes? I do not yell at my son. If I did, I would have to be pretty dense to do it at naptime. I stay with Benjamin until he falls asleep. Most of the time he just lies quietly and eventually falls asleep; he such a good little guy. Sometimes he needs to snuggle or bury himself under a mountain of pillows or something. Sometimes I doze off before he does. Occasionally, he will be all restless and he'll be playing with something on the bed, while I'm there falling asleep. Whether my catnap is intentional or not, when Benjamin's flopping on the bed, or digging his feet into my side, I wake up and crankily whisper, "Please just try to lie still" or "I can't make you sleep, but it's not time to play." But even this crabby-Dada scenario is fairly rare.

Now back to the story. My wife knows I don't yell, so she asked our son, incredulously, "Dad yells at you?"

Benjamin lowered his voice; in fact, he whispered, "Yeah, … but he does it very, very quietly."

Legal Emigrants

Benjamin and I were reading the book Honkers.   In it, a girl, staying at her grandparents farm for a time, helps them hatch and raise some goslings from abandoned Canada Goose eggs.

We've read it a few times, so Benjamin is very familiar with the story. On one of the pages, the grandparents first show the eggs to the girl in a barn. In the picture, some white geese are standing near the Canada Goose eggs.

Now, I must mention that I told Benjamin (regarding the migration part of the story) that the Canada Geese, flying south, are off to spend the winter in Mexico. I now realize this is not accurate. Maybe I was thinking about many songbirds and Monarch butterflies (eastern populations). It turns out most Canada Geese only migrate to the central and southern U.S., though some do go as far as Mexico.

Anyway, Benjamin looked at the picture of the white geese and the eggs and said to me, "Those farm geese can keep those Mexican geese's eggs warm until they hatch."

¡Muy bien!

Say Nothing

It's funny I should mention my "answering service" (in the last post). Today Benjamin answered the phone and shortly thereafter announced that his dada was going poo and that I could talk after I was done going poo. Gosh, I sure hope the window was open wide enough. I wouldn't want to keep the neighbors out of the loop.

So we're working on "can't come to the phone" or "not available" a little more. I also threw in a brief discussion of traditional ideas about privacy, what information people may or may not want to have, etc.

Now, Benjamin has watched a "Bob the Builder" episode (from a library DVD) a lot lately. It's one where Mr. Bentley has an anniversary surprise for Mrs. Bentley, and the machines must "say nothing" to preserve the surprise.

When my wife was home for lunch, I told her today's telephone story. "That's really funny," was her addition to the "teachable moment." By contrast, I quizzed Benjamin, "So if someone calls and one of us is on the potty, what could you say?" (Yeah, I know. I'm no fun.)

Benjamin grinned and responded, "Always say nothing."

That, indeed, was Muck's summation of the lesson for that "Bob the Builder" episode.

I propose a modified version: "When it comes to surprises [and poo], always say nothing."

Very Affordable Answering Service

Our son likes to answer the telephone. Not only do I enjoy listening to him answer — in his cute little, 4-year-old, but educated way—, I'm not above taking advantage of it . . . a little.

He easily learned, "Who's calling, please?" and to tell us whom it is. (Also, he is now learning to not be quite so candid when he answers and I'm indisposed. "He's in the bathroom; he needs privacy" [or more vivid descriptions] are being replaced by, "He's not available right now.")

Anyway, when telemarketers call, Benjamin can come in quite handy. He is fully in the habit of asking who it is. And, stickler that he can be, he'll keep asking until he understands sufficiently to repeat to my wife or me what the caller has said.

I haven't had the heart, yet, to have him lie to them. It's not that I feel that guilty about fibbing to the solicitor. It just seems sad to have an innocent child do your dirty work. I've thought a number of times of telling Benjamin to tell the friendly new caller all  about our trip to Disney world, about how his train set works, or about what happened in our last game of Candyland. Benjamin has become remarkably long-winded in his descriptions and storytelling of late (don't know where he gets that from), so I'm sure he'd have a lot  of interesting things to say. But, again, I don't want to exploit his good-natured interest in sharing with others, nor do I want to have to unteach this strange phone etiquette.

Nevertheless, I savor some of Benjamin's natural phone interactions with telemarketers. Sometimes businesses call and representatives either can't hear Benjamin (perhaps because of a bad connection somewhere between here and Bangalore); or they mistake his cute little voice for that of a 2 year old; or maybe they just don’t want to give the upper hand to a child. Whatever the reason, they insist on speaking to Benjamin in a slow, loud, condescending voice: "I need to talk to your mommy. Please get your mommy."

Meanwhile he's been trying to nicely ask, "Who's calling, please?" He answers their request politely, but firmly, "My mom's at work; my dad's here. I need to know who's calling, please."

"Can I talk to your daddy?"

Benjamin now becomes, louder and slower, realizing he's dealing with someone not quite at his level, "WHO'S CALLING, PLEASE?"

After a few exchanges back and forth, the caller finally identifies her/himself, "Well, … MY . . . NAME . . . IS 'MARY.'"

Of course, I don't know "Mary," so I must whisper to Benjamin, "Ask them, 'From where?'"

Usually they revert to "I need to talk to your daddy" a few more times. Then they give in, "OK . . . I'm from 'Cap - i - tol One.' Will you be able to say that?"

"Dada," he turns to me, "It's Mary from Capitol One. She wants to talk to you."

"Thank you," I politely respond. Then and only then is the helpful representative permitted to speak with me.

'How do I know what the caller is saying to him?' you ask. I'm listening on speakerphone, of course. But far be it from me  to rudely interrupt the cordial conversation my son is trying to have.

Why do I thus allow telemarketers to waste even more of our time by going through all of this? I guess I take a secret formerly-secret pleasure in the whole thing, especially with the ones who talk to him like he's 1-1/2 years old. Yeah, I know, it's a sad state of affairs. I'm far too easily amused and have too much time on my hands act like I have too much time on my hands.

Out of the Closet, Finally

We spent quite a while today closed inside a little closet.

I had Benjamin pick out his shirt today. He chose a campground
shirt that, as he quickly reminded me, glows in the dark.

He wanted to see it glow, so we "charged it up" next to the light bulb and closed the closet door. "It's glowing!" Glowing stars, fireflies, a lantern and a moon.

He wanted to do it again. And again. And again. Our closet light has a pull-string switch. He had a hard time finding it in the dark, so he began asking the fireflies to help him find the string. (I helped the fireflies.)

He wanted to do it again. And again. And again. I could see that I — literally — needed an exit strategy.

I could just say, "All right, enough of this. We're done." I could if I wanted to hang out with an angry 4-year-old for the next half hour. It always works better to ask something like, "How many more times?"

In this case the answer was, "Three." I could deal with that. We charged up the shirt one last time and he got to wear it . . . glowing. And out we went.

Finally, out of closet. With a few stretches I've almost got all the kinks out of my back, legs and neck.

Heaven of Peace Tower

Benjamin: "Dada, this is one of the tallest towers in the world. "
Dad: "Wow! What is it called?"
Benjamin: "Well, it's called the 'Heaven of Peace Tower'"

Memories

I think our recent trip may have had an impact on our son.

When he woke up from his nap today, he just lay there pensively for at least 15 minutes.

Then out of the blue he said, "Excuse me, Dada. I have a question for you."

"Yes?"

"Do you know where I can get a Disney map?"

I dug out a "Magic Kingdom" map from the trip. He opened it up and shouted, "There's the monorail!!!" He liked the monorail a lot.

I would tell you more, but I have to go. He needs to show me something "really interesting" on the map. Something about "Main Street USA" and a "steam train."

Assigned Reading

Another backdated entry is up: "Geek in Paradise or 'Honey, I Shrunk Your Self-Image'"

Also, I posted an entry — "Negotiations with a Preschooler"
— at Dadbloggers.

Returned from the World — Back Down to Earth

We're back from Disney World. I wrote some entries on the vacation, but chose not to go on-line there due to Disney's magically high Internet access rates. (We were fortunate to be able to stay at one of the budget Disney hotels.) What about dial-up? Well, Disney has magically turned any phone number not on their property into a long distance call from the hotel.

To fill in the gaps, I'll post these entries backdated to when I wrote them. "Disney Daze," dated May 17th, is now up.

Geek in Paradise or "Honey, I Shrunk Your Self-Image"

One of the things that contributed to my staying up much of the night before our trip was the fact that I lost my eyeglasses. Now, I've lost a contact lens before (putting one in or taking one out, cleaning one and even walking into a tree branch). I've even lost a whole pair of contact lenses in their case. But I've never before lost a pair of glasses.

It all comes of vanity and greed for comfort. These demons compelled me get new contacts and promptly lose my glasses. ¹

I looked in the house, the car, called the optician's office, turned several little bags inside out and even dug through the garbage. No luck. And we were leaving the next morning.

I found an old pair of my glasses from 8 years ago (or so). The prescription is not strong enough and they are bigger and dorky-looking.

When we left, I saved my "contact time" for later. In the car, plane, bus, etc.: glasses.

By the time we got to the gate at the airport from which we departed, I'd forgotten about the glasses. So I walked into the restroom at the airport and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. With my current hair style configuration, my tired, unshaven face (that saved me 8 minutes earlier) and those hideous glasses, I did a double take. I looked like a washed-up Rick Moranis impersonator on a bender.

Why should I care? 'Tis it not dandy vanity? Well, I did care: enough to complain about it to my wife. She took a few seconds to really have the good look at me that our running around that morning had not afforded her and gave an amused snort.

Vain self-consciousness quickly deteriorated into humiliation after that when, every time my wife — who, in our 12 years of marriage, has seen me in all manner of states of disrepair — commenced to laugh  at me every time she looked at me for more than 2 seconds.

While this sad state of affairs is perhaps the culmination of the ill karma for the vanity and lust-for-comfort that began this whole thing, it has also compelled me to wear the contacts whenever possible. I'm also handling them more carefully than I would handle precious jewels.

Vanity: deadly sin. Ridicule: powerful motivator.
______



¹ I haven't worn contacts for a year or so. (I had worn gas-permeable ones. My eyes had grown drier, so they became uncomfortable. I wore them less and less. Then that pair became the pair I lost in their case.) Lately I've been thinking that I'm ready to try some of the newer types of soft lenses.

As the trip approached, I thought about I look lots better in contacts, plus I don't like glasses constantly sliding down nose when I sweat, as I will in the Florida heat. Contacts would fix that, too.

So I made a last minute appointment. It was the day before we left. I got new contacts; they were great! I wore them home. I stored my glasses in the small shopping bag with the solutions, etc. That's the last I saw of them. Fine, but I'm not supposed to wear the contacts full-time yet. [Click to return to text where footnote link was.]

Disney Daze

We made it to Disney World! Healthy and happy! And almost awake!

We had to get up at about 4am to prepare to go catch our flight. I know, it could be a lot worse. Really, if you go to bed a little early, like Benjamin did was coaxed into doing, you're fine.

If you're a fool and you procrastinate, manage your time poorly and stay up until 2am the night before still getting ready (even though you started packing days earlier), like me, then you're not fine. You get weird symptoms like a sore throat and weird headaches and you fear you're getting sick again and it'll ruin everyone's trip. You know, though, that it's all just your own damn sleep-deprived fault.

I could just take a nap on the plane. But we flew affordably. Coach on a 717 is nothing to complain about when your destination is Disney World!!! Nevertheless, the 5 degrees that the seat reclines isn't that conducive to sweet repose.

So after checking in, a little lunch and a little fun, a nap saves the day for the whole family. Unless the Disney Magic Express (due to postponing the trip) isn't quite as magic as could be in delivering the luggage. It was coming, no doubt, but during naptime. Did I wait for them? Are you kidding? I hit the hotel bed like Donald Duck landing on Goofy's head. Yes, I did it knowing full-well I would soon wake up going, "Wha'!? Wha'!? Wha's goin' on!!?" and proceed to open the door, throttle the caller, take the bags, leave a tip on the unconscious "cast member" and go directly back to bed. And that's what happened. Except the bellhop, she was a cute kid, so she was spared.

Oh, and in my semi-awake stupor, I . . . uh . . . forgot the tip. So Julie or Kelly or Caitlyn or Courtney or whatever your name is, if you read my blog, stop back at the room; we have a shiny Sacagawea dollar with your name on it.

Life Lessons in Advance of a Florida Trip

A friend whom we will see when we go on our Disney World trip tomorrow sent me the link to this article, perhaps to get me "psyched" for the trip: Alligators

Now, I think it is part human nature and part American denial-of-death and hope-of-banishing-all-risk-of-danger to hear about tragedy and start thinking, "Now why couldn't this be me?" Or, "How could I avoid this fate?"

In that spirit, I take away the following life lessons from the aforementioned article.

• Don't snorkel alone in an alligator-infested swamp.
  
  
• Don't hang out with alligators while on drugs. They may impair your ability to run for your life.
  
  
• Don't jog alone in ethnically-alligator neighborhoods.
  

OK that was callous. I do feel the horror and sympathy. Many of us deal with it using humor.

And I take the caution to heart as well, especially after the following exchange with a travel agent and Disney specialist.

My question:

Are there any sand beaches along any of the lakes on the Disney property that are open us as Disney guests? I'm wondering about a place we might be able to take a break and just sit on the beach, perhaps wade into the water?

Response:

... there are nice beaches at the resorts around the Magic Kingdom resorts (Contemporary, Polynesian, Grand Floridian and at Fort Wilderness) as well as Caribbean Beach. Anyone can go on those beaches, but you don't want to get in the water. First of all, it's not allowed, and secondly, it could be contaminated water (and most water in Florida contains some size of alligators). You're welcome to hang out on the beach and play in the sand.

Got it. We'll stay out of the water.