Cheeky's Hideaway

Weekend Update (w/ Celebrity Guest Star!)

it's amazing what we can accomplish when we're motivated.

It's amazing how motivating the prospect of four days trapped in your apartment can be.

Unlike every living biped on the planet, we didn't make plans to get away this weekend.  While New York City emptied out like water through a strainer, we stuck around, trading in a leisurely drive to an exotic destination for rare, unfettered access to restaurants and parking in our own city.

With so much time, so few barriers, and the kind of weather that makes me tell Californians to "suck it," we did what any other shockingly good-looking family would do?  We went to the zoo.

I love zoos.  Not the cramped, cagey zoos where the polar bears swim laps for hours because suicide isn't an alternative.  I'm talking the big, sprawling, leafy zoos that feel like jungles and have enough space to move so you don't want to punch the fat, ignorant people zig-zagging slowly in front of you in the back of the head. 

So we packed up snacks, said goodbye to our kick-ass parking space, and headed to the Bronx so Cheeky could see wildlife that for once wasn't collecting cans or swearing in Russian.

There was much to recommend about the excursion, from the great weather to the otters having sex, but by far the best part was that we killed five hours on a Saturday.  We usually define a successful weekend by the amount of Lexapro and Wellbrutin left in the bottles Monday morning, so any opportunity to distract ourselves from the endless drudgery of our meager existence I embrace with the enthusiasm of Cookie Monster at an Oreo factory.

And our weekend motivation didn't stop there!  I distracted Cheeky for a few hours on Sunday while Oodgie rifled through her toys, seeking contributions to the local landfill charity.  Afterwards it was like our scruffy, overweight apartment had gone on an intense diet and exercise regimen and emerged as a trim, dashing stallion, complete with obligatory montage. 

We even retired Cheeky's crib and assembled her $79 "big girl bed."  (That's right, $79! Toys R Us, baby!)  We thought it would be some monumental occasion, but it turned out to be just another day in the life for the Cheekster.  Who knows how long it will take her to figure out the ground is just a couple inches beneath, but for now she's staying put, as if the edge of the bed is a sonic barrier...

Finally, to top the whole adventure off, we went to the amusement park on Memorial Day.  Because Oodgie and I are both really into nausea, compressed vertebrae, and heatstroke.  Not that any of that mattered to Cheeky, who gamely waited in line for 20 minutes to ride on a faux plane no bigger than a St. Bernard for 120 seconds.

But while we were there we were yet again reminded that stars, indeed, are just like us...

In case you can't tell, that is Jon Stewart.  Even celebrities have to drag their kids to the playground on weekends.

Looking back, I still can't believe we did all that.  It's almost like we have "energy" and "inspiration."  I don't want you to get the wrong impression; I'm sure we'll be back to lying exhausted on the living room floor while Cheeky riverdances on our heads again within a couple days.

Just Another 'Parents Night' in New York

I rushed into the school cafeteria, late, scanning the heads of the seated parents for Oodgie.  It was our first "parent night" at Cheeky's new school, and work had kept me later than I'd planned.  It was an important milestone and I wanted to be there for it.

"Behind you!"

It's Oodgie, who I had nearly decapitated with my laptop bag mere moments before.  She was already sitting at a table with parents from Cheeky's class.

"It's OK...we'll make room," everyone says, as chairs slide apart to expose a corner of the table.

"Hi everyone.  Sorry I'm late"

Instinctually I reach across the table to the nearest mother to introduce myself.  There's a strange sense of familiarity to her.

"Hi, I'm Tony."

"Hi, I'm Hope."

That's what her name tag said.  "Hope"  Plus the names of her two kids, one of whom is in Cheeky's class this fall.

I can't decide if that means we've inadvertently put Cheeky into a fancy school, or if that's just New York for you.  After all, we did pass Sigourney Weaver on the street last week, and I just happened to walk past a meeting with George Pataki just hours before.  But I also heard a rumor that "Bob" sent his kids to Cheeky's school, too.

No wonder we feel poor, if that's the local crowd we compete against...

Anyway, she's super nice and totally normal.  We talked about the school, the success of our diet, and growing up in New Jersey.  But before I got there, Oodgie (who hated American Splendor but neglected to mention this to Hope) got to witness a funnier and more awkward conversational moment:

Guy sitting next to Hope:  "Do I know you from somewhere?"
Hope:  "Um, I don't know"
Guy sitting next to Hope:  "Really, I'm sure I know you from somewhere."
Hope:  Long pause.  Shrug.
Guy sitting next to Hope: Struggling to think of where he's seen her before
Hope:  Leaning forward, in almost a whisper, "I'm an actress."
Guy sitting next to Hope:  Pause.  Quizzical look.  "No, that's not it.  Where did you go to high school?"

It's On, But Not 'Til After Blues Clues

(Cross-posted on DadCentric, 'cause it's just that funny to me)

Hydro-Avoidance Syndrome

There are many things I don't understand about my child.

I don't understand why she insists on going outside during monsoon season, but when the sun is out for the first time in two months she wants to lock us all inside for a Zingo marathon.

I don't understand why her tongue can't pronounce L's or SP's in words.

I don't understand why she hates chocolate.

I don't understand why she only poops every three days.

But most of all I don't understand why she treats bathwater like it's acid.

Some couples compete for the affection of their children or the remote control on Thursday nights.  We compete to see who can avoid giving Cheeky a bath.

I'm no expert, but I thought kids loved the tub.  You've got toys!  You've got bubbles!  You can splash!  You can float upside down until you parents freak out!  What's not to love?

The tub-givin' process must be started early in our home, as there are multiple phases through which one must methodically progress to reach the Altar of Desoilification.  These phases include:

• Reality Manipulation, in which Cheeky declares certain facts to be self-evident, even though scientific evidence contradicts them.  Examples:  "No, I'm not dirty!" "It's not bed time!"  "That's not Daddy!"  "The world is flat and is supported by four elephants standing on the back of a giant turtle!"  "Mission Accomplished!"
• Acute Stress Response, in which Cheeky uses a combination of maneuvers to evade and escape us, presumably in hopes of wearing us out so we collapse and she can go back to Little Bear.
• Tympanic Overload, in which Cheeky manipulates her larynx to emit heretofore unknown screeches and wails to call social services, emergency medical personnel, or perhaps Hawkman or her mothership to come to her aid.

What's particularly aggravating is that once she's in the tub it's like it's the GREATEST PLACE EVER and she doesn't want to leave.  She can remember us promising her candy hours after we thought she'd moved on...I KNOW she remembers that baths can be fun.

There.  I think I've spent enough time typing up this post.  By now it should take just enough time to get home so that Oodgie has to give Cheeky her bath.   MWAH HA HAAAA! 

Employment does have it's advantages. ...