Shake Your Booty

This has nothing to do with Rachel, but I saw a contest on a website the other day asking for a list of things that would tell you that you're not cut out to be a pirate. The question is inspired by the premiere of "Pirates of the Carribean:Dead Man's Chest."

I was pretty pleased with some of my answers, so without further adieu...

Signs That You're Just Not Cut Out To Be A Pirate

10. There is Blackbeard, Redbeard....your nickname is Peach Fuzz.

9. Forgot combination to Davy Jones' locker.

8. When other pirates ask about your booty, it has nothing to do with treasure.

7. Thanks to lousy exchange rate, pieces of eight now worth only 2 on the black market.

6. Some bully named Popeye keeps beating the crap out of you.

5. Peg leg has termites.

4. Pittsburgh trades you to the Marlins.

3. Hunt for buried treasure is at the shovel machine at Dave & Buster's.

2.You sail the Seven Seas in a Long John Silver's Restaurant!

1. Toilet plunger peg leg keeps sticking to deck.

Miscalculation

When I was born, my father was the children's furniture buyer for Sears, Roebuck and Company. So naturally, my crib was from Sears, Roebuck and Company.

In my childhood photo album is a picture of my dad in my crib. He's showing how sturdy it is. The fact that he had two cloth diapers around his waist should tell you a lot about the way I am today.

Anyhow, flash forward to 2006. Rebecca is in Rachel's room with her back turned to me. I figure, why not? I climb into Rachel's crib. It's quite comfortable. I get Rebecca's attention and she urges me to get out. Apparently, the crib is straining some under my weight. I tell her that before I climb out, I want Rachel to see me in there. I figure she'll find it amusing to see her crazy dad in her crib.

That turned out to be a miscalculation. Rachel comes in from the living room and becomes unglued. She's offended that I'm in her crib.

"That's a girls bed!" she exclaims. "That bed is for girls!"

I climb out.

"That's mean! That's mean!"

Some children have no appreciation of the absurd.

Out of the Mouths of Babes II

One addition to the entry below. Today, Rachel and I walked down the hall to a water fountain while Rebecca sat in the waiting room ready to be called back for her eye appointment.

An elderly gentleman had just come out of the bathroom and we had stepped in front of him. I pulled Rachel away from the water fountain to let the man go first.

Rachel is still a little small to coordinate pressing the button and drinking the water at the same time. So as the elderly gentleman sipped flawlessly, an admiring Rachel exclaimed to him, "Good shot!"

Why Don't You Say What's On Your Mind?

As of this past Tuesday, Rachel is 3 1/2. (At exactly what age do we lose the 1/2 designation? I'm not exactly keen to let people know I'm 48 1/2! I'm 48; that's all people need to know! I'm still trying to come to grips with it!)

And one of the joys of being 3 1/2, or any age up until some time in elementary school, is that children have yet to develop that edit button. They just come right out and say whatever comes to their minds. It's refreshing to hear, though to be truthful, if I was still that way at 48 (1/2), I probably would have a lot more gaps on my resume'.

Here is an example of that candor. I'm working an overnight shift these days. The other day, I knelt down and urged Rachel to "be a good girl for mommy while daddy is gone."

She replied, "I'll be a good girl if you get me a yogurt."

I laughed. "I think you've got that backward," I replied. "You can get a yogurt if you've been a good girl."

Recently, we ate dinner at Steak N' Shake. It is one of Rachel's favorite places. She actually eats the food there, instead of her usual four or five bites followed by "I'm done" and the inclusion of another styrofoam container in the Rachel Museum of Unfinished Meals in the refrigerator.

Anyhoo, I suddenly notice that my wife and I have actually carried on a conversation uninterrupted for a whole three minutes. This has caused our world to wobble on its axis.

I turn to Rachel. "You sure are being a good girl," I praise her.

She replies triumphantly, "When I'm a good girl, I get treats!"

Well, call me Pavlov. If I had said that, I would have followed it with, "Excuse me, did I say that out loud?"

Rachel went back to her chicken fingers.

Sometimes, the honesty is more dramatic.

Rachel is in summer school now. My wife is a teaching assistant. She was with two other teachers while the children played in the indoor playground.

Rachel was playing with her friend Bennett when Bennett picked up a soft object and hit Rachel in the face with it. Rachel stopped what she was doing, mouth contorted, tears flowing and ran to her mommy.

"Bennett hit me!" she wailed.

My wife tried to console her. "It was a love tap," she says.

"Noooo!" sniffs Rachel. "It was a BOP!"

My wife and the other two teachers try to suppress snorts at this emotional rendition. Before they can get Bennett to apologize, Rachel is playing with him again.

Despite this indignity. Rachel apparently has no problems with self-esteem. Before she went to bed last night, I read her one of her stories titled, "I Like Myself." Obviously, it urges children to be themselves, not what they think others want them to be.

Often, I read a page and then pause to let my child fill in the final word of the rhyme. So I read the following passage...

"I like me wild.
I like me tame,
I like me different
and the...."

"Best!" Rachel replied.

I'd like to borrow a cup of that confidence after she wakes up this morning!

Say what?

Here is how I was awakened from a sound sleep this afternoon. A woman called and insisted our house was for sale. I tried to assure it was not.

"It's on a sign on Five Forks Trickum"
"Well, our house is not for sale. The one two homes away is"
"Well, describe your house"
"It's not for sale"
"What's it worth?"
"I have no idea! We've lived here for years."
(Exasperated)
"Thank You"

This is the second bizarre conversation I've had this week. The other night, Rebecca, Rachel and I were leaving Athens Pizza and Kouzzina when Rachel initiated the following conversation.

"Daddy, I want to hear number 4."
She then hummed a tune.
Okay, I have 35 cd's in my car. It's track four on one of them.
"Do you want to hear "Rock N Roll, Part 2 by Gary Glitter?"
I hummed it.
"Noooo! Not the hockey song! That's number 10!"
(Implied: "Geez, Daddy!)
She then hummed her tune again.
"Is that from the Little People?"
In our car, you can't go wrong guessing the Little People...except for this time.
"Nooooo! Not the Little People! Number 4!"
She hummed the song a third time.
"Oh....."
I hummed it back.
She nodded her head yes.
It was the "Wizard Song" from the Trans-Siberian Orchestra Christmas CD. How silly of me! Christmas in July.