Tooth Fairy Revisited

The tooth fairy has not visited our household in a long, long time. In addition to the kids' baby teeth just not wanting to exit their mouths, the few that have made a break for freedom have been ignored. I think Rose's last three teeth have netted a total of $0 for her. So when Calvin lost his tooth yesterday, he was naturally concerned.

Calvin: I finally lost a tooth.

David: Great.

C: Do you think the tooth fairy will visit? I know he hasn't visited Rose for her last few teeth.

D: Maybe he's dead.

C: Dad!

Me: He's not dead. It's probably more like the Dread Pirate Roberts.

C: I really want my money, though. How do I make sure he visits tonight?

D: Put it under your pillow.

Me: (shaking head vigorously in the background)

D: Or, uh, put it on the counter in the kitchen.

C: The kitchen?

Me: Yeah, he can find a tooth anywhere.

The next day . . .

C: Dad, the tooth fairy didn't come!

D: Yes, he did.

C: No, he didn't. At least I don't think he did. There's no money there, but my tooth is gone.

D: I am positive the tooth fairy visited last night. Check again.

C: There is nothing there.

Me: Um . . .

D: What?

Me: The money was on the counter?

D: Yes.

Me: I believe I know why the money isn't there now.

D: Why?

Me: Well, I saw the money on the counter this morning and thought, "Oh, goody, a free latte."

C: My tooth money bought you a coffee???

Me: Yes, and it was very delicious. Thank you.

Wild Palms

Last week while traveling for business, David stayed at the Wild Palms Hotel and Bar.

Wild Palms Hotel and Bar ...

After a particularly hard day, David decided to make use of the bar. But where was it? All he could find was this.

No bar, but lots of bad pictures of palms

He went to the front desk.

David: Where is the bar?

Clerk: We don't have one.

David: You don't have a bar at the Wild Palms Hotel and Bar?

Clerk: I know, right? We used to have one, but it is being rebuilt. But I have some wine in the cupboard here. Would you like some?

David: Sure, I would.

Here is his complimentary wine

Which he drank in his room.

Because of no bar.

The end.

P.S. David is going back there again next week. Apparently, they have a lot of availability compared to other hotels in the area.

Two out of three.

The other day we heard a story about a family who had three sons, two of whom were gay.

Me: That's statistically unlikely, don't you think?

David: Unlikely, but not that improbable. Look at our family.We have three kids, and two of them are smart.

Sabrina: (laughs) Wait. Which one . . . ?

Calvin: Sorry, Sabrina.

A different kind of cool.

Me: Sabrina, you're such a cool person.

Sabrina: That's not surprising considering who I come from.

David: (laughing) I think that's the first time either one of us has ever been described that way. Cool doesn't exactly run in our family.

Sabrina: No, other people just have the wrong standard of cool.

He only looks cherubic.

Calvin: Dad, did you know there are people who can't read a clock?

David: Yes, I am aware of this fact.

C: Some of the kids in my class can't read the clock in our room. One kid who sits next to me is always asking me the time. "What time is it? Is it time for recess? When's lunch? " It gets pretty annoying.

D: So what do you do?

C: Well, I tell them the time, but I don't give them the right time.

D: What?

C: Yeah. If they say, "What time is it? Is lunch soon?" I'll look at the clock. It may be only 20 minutes away, but I will tell them it's not for two hours. Then they say, "Oh, man," and look really disappointed.

D: If you want them to stop asking you the time, why wouldn't you just teach them how to read a clock?

C: Because this is much more fun.

A continuation of last night's science conversation

David: When I was a kid, I experimented with physics and chemistry.

Calvin: How did you do that, Dad?

D: Well, my friends and I would work in my garage and make hydrogen and fill a balloon with it. Then we'd tie a string around it, take it outside, and let it go. But as we let it go, we'd set the string on fire. Once the string burned through, the balloon would explode.

C: That is so cool! I want to do that. And how was that chemistry AND physics?

D: Well, the creation of hydrogen was chemistry, and the explosion was physics.

Me: Did your mother know you were conducting these "experiments"?

D: Um ....

Me: Calvin, you are not allowed to do that. I do not want my house or garage to be accidentally blown up.

D: Your mother's right. You shouldn't do that without adult supervision.

C: Would we consider you an adult in this situation, Dad?

Inquiring minds want to know

I just endured another family dinner where the conversation around the table once again devolved to science topics. During the course of the evening they covered everything from the difference between chemistry and physics (life sciences being fairly obvious) to the differences between theoretical and particle physics, the six kinds of quarks, and how to create a really great explosion in your own front yard.

Me: I'm getting really bored. Can I request that at least one conversation in ten pertain to literature or history? We can talk about books or perhaps have a lively discussion on the implications of the Inquisition.

Calvin:  Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!

David:  Fetch the comfy chair! There, are you happy?

Me:  Sigh.

I grudgingly accept your right to exist

Rosie's first boyfriend broke up with her a couple of weeks ago. Since then we've all suffered: Rose because her heart was broken; the rest of the family because we have been subjected to Justin Bieber's "Baby" over and over and over again. But there have been signs she might be coming out of her funk. Instead of silent tears pouring down her face, she's been really angry and snapping and snarling at everyone in the family. This evening she had the following conversation with her father:

Rose: Dad, it doesn't bother me as much to be around "Brick" anymore. My friend said I should talk to him and tell him that so it won't be as awkward when we have to do stuff at school together.

David: So you are ready to tell him that you are done wishing him a horrible death in a pit of fire, and you acknowledge that he has a right to exist on the planet?

Rose: Yes! Can I actually tell him that?

David: It's not my business.

Rose: (smiles)

The needle wasn't the only thing that was sharp today.

(guest post from my husband)

Dear BloodSource,

As a long time reasonably-regular whole blood donor, I would like to comment on the on-line rewards program:

I certainly don't donate for the gifts. But there is a nice touch about being handed a little something along with a sincere "thank you" from an engaged employee after they have poked your finger and stuck a big needle in your arm. Or getting a personal acknowledgement when you hit a "big" milestone - 5 pints, 10, 20, whatever.

Having just donated my 19th with BloodSource, I was directed to the rewards site, where I see that I get zero credit for my last however-many-donations in the last few years, but I got 200 points for this one and starting now I can get another T-shirt with just 700 more points.

Great. My donation now earns me a buck or two of credit towards eventually earning a cheap "thank you" gift, which I now have to log in and order myself. As if I needed another errand to do. It's not enough that I take an hour to donate in the first place, and have to skip the gym for a couple days after, now I have to go shop, too?

I feel like someone's not only insultingly trying to incent my donation with a ridiculously small amount of cheap crap, but is actually giving a specific value to my donation of precisely 200 points worth of said cheap crap. If you are trying to enhance the idea that my donation is worth "a lot" in the subjective sense, 200 points on the cheap-crap-scale pretty much  undermines that message. "Yes, You do save lives. Save six more and you can order a coffee mug!" If I save 60 lives, I'll be up to something nice!

Or my donation isn't worth an actual token of thanks from a person, but you'll let me take another half-hour of my time to go on line and order an ice cream certificate if I really want to. "Please, pretty please, won't you take my blood today? I REALLY need a new mouse pad, and I only have three more pints to go!!!"

So I doubt I'll be visiting the rewards site again anytime soon. Don't worry, I still strongly believe in donating blood and I am happy to do so as often as I am able. But I'm not going to go spend a bunch of my time every third donation to check in and order my own $5 thank you gift.

How about this instead: I'll pretend my donation is still worth "a lot" to you, you keep the 200 "reward points", and I'll just take an extra pack of Oreos and a 2nd bottle of water on my way out of the van.

Yours truly,

David George, A-negative

(cynicism is in my blood)

See how much fun we're having?

We're on a family vacation, driving through the desert in Nevada. The girls and I are gritting our teeth and doing the best we can to endure. David and Calvin are having a grand old time. David gave our son an atlas of the 50 states and showed him the route. Calvin instantly fell in love with this concept and has been keeping us informed with regular updates as to where we are and how far we have to go. When not poring over the map, he's been looking out the window and peppering David with questions.

Calvin: Look, Dad! Did you see that?

(a few minutes later)

C: What about that, Dad? Did you see that?

(a few minutes later)

C: Did you see that? Did you? Did you?

Sabrina: It's dirt, Calvin. Just dirt. It's ALL dirt.

David: Hey, guys, we're over halfway there!

S: We're almost there?

D: No, I said we're over halfway there. We still have five hours to go.

S: So. Much. Dirt.

Trouble in High Heels

David:  Sabrina, you'll need to change out of your dress and put on pants so we can go soccer shopping.

Sabrina:  I'm fine.

D:  No, really, please change.

S:  I don't want to. I like my dress.

D:  I'm just thinking it would be easier for you.

S:  Dad, stop.

D:  So you're really going to run with a dress on?

S:  I'm not going to change.

D:  Or how about trying on shoes and pulling the socks up above your knees? I'm thinking that might be a little embarrassing.

S:  Dad, please. I did martial arts in P.E. today in this dress. I think I can handle some shoe shopping.

Winter Blues

I hate this time of year. It has nothing to do with the lack of sun or dismal weather. It has nothing to do with the post-holiday letdown. It doesn't even have to do with the fact that every year around this time I find myself one year closer to Metamucil and pill boxes with slots for every day of the week. No, I hate this time of year because of two words.

Science. Fair.

For those of you who are parents out there, I am sure you understand why those two words evoke loathing and dread in my heart. Why do I hate the science fair? There are many, many reasons. Mostly it is because under the glossy surface it is simply the clever way teachers have devised to get revenge on "involved" parents. Science projects are entirely in addition to all the other schoolwork the kids have and -- they are done completely at home.

This means I have to teach the scientific method (again). It means I am involved in knockdown, drag-out fights over what constitutes a valid scientific question to answer by way of experiment, as opposed to "How many boogers can I pick in 30 minutes?" It means realizing that our parental division of homework (I monitor everyday homework; David helps with the projects) is a farce, and it's really only me all the way. And it means that for six to eight weeks I encourage, cajole, prod, push, nag, and finally downright drag our children toward the goal of having a poster board littered with information, glitter, and a photo of a dead plant displayed on science fair night. Good grief! It makes me sick to my stomach even thinking about it.

Then, the other day while I'm having a conversation with Sabrina, she informs me that she loves science fair, thinks it's really fun. And I will confess to you right here and now that my first thought was not, "How wonderful! All that hard work has paid off. She loves science and the science fair!" My first thought was entirely inappropriate for family reading or sailing vessels. But it roughly translates as, "That's not right. She should be miserable, too!"

My fear and loathing has pushed me over to the dark side of the force (and forever will it dominate my destiny). I have discovered that I do not really care that my kid likes science. In fact, I think if she truly liked science, I would not have to do all the prodding, pushing, and nagging, taking photos of dead plants, and applying glitter to the tri-fold poster board I bought at Target in the "School Science Fair seasonal display" for $19.99.

So I believe that next year we will do things a little differently. Sabrina can prod, push, and nag herself to the finish, and I will sit back and enjoy a margarita or two. She may not like science by the end of the project, and her plants may not be as dead as they would be with my help, but at least that will be a true negative rather than a false positive. And my mental health will be all the better for it. I believe that's what we call a win-win.

Not for kids under 17

The latest episode of "Modern Family" cracked me up. Of course, it always cracks me up. But the whole storyline of Claire and Phil with their role playing going slightly awry had me on the floor.

Still the idea was intriguing, and it got me thinking. What would happen in our household . . . ?

Me: David, want to try some role playing?

D: No.

Me: Come on. It'd be fun.

D: No.

Me: Okay, you're the lord of the manor, and your eye is caught by the earthy milkmaid.

D: A milkmaid? You hate cows.

Me: Forget the cows. It's pretend. Let's start again. You're the lusty lord of the manor, and the earthy milkmaid has caught your eye. But you can't have me because I'm too far below your station.

D: My station?

Me: It means we come from different classes.

D: I know what it means. But come on, my station? The only station I could be in is Grand Central, or maybe South Kensington if you're insisting on this whole lord of the manor England thing.

Me: (quickly changing gears) Okay, then you're a shy shoe shiner working on one of the platforms in Grand Central Station. You've seen me almost every day, but haven't been able to bring yourself to talk to me.

D: Why can't I talk to you? Is this another station thing?

Me: No, we're separated by the tracks. You work on one side shining shoes, I work on the other selling baked goods.

D: Baked goods? Do you mean doughnuts?

Me: If you want.

D: Because you know I'd only be interested in the doughnuts, not the person selling them. And besides, you'd probably be a little on the chubby side. Or is that what you mean by earthy?

Me: Did you just call me fat?

D: Well, you would be if you were selling doughnuts. Did I ever tell you about the time I worked in a doughnut shop when I was a teenager? Fifteen pounds in three weeks. But maybe you have good teeth.

Me: I think I'm going to throw myself on the tracks.

D: There aren't any tracks around here.

Me: FINE! I hear the garbage truck coming down the street. I'll go throw myself in front of it.

D: Now you're a sanitation worker? That's even worse than the whole station thing.

Me: ARRRRGH!

A Typical Conversation in the George Household

S: Mom, look! I can inhale my upper lip!

Me: What?

S: I can inhale my lip. I can almost suck it into my nostril. I'll have to work on that.

Me: Well, everybody needs a goal in life, sweetie. Nice to see you have one.

D: Sabrina, that's disgusting! I can't believe you're doing that! Calvin, stop that! Quit imitating her.


a short while later . . .

Me: David, what are you doing?

D: Nothing.

Me: Because it looks like you're pushing your lip up with your fingers and breathing very deeply.

D: Uh --

Me: Harder than it looks, huh, dear?