Monthly Archives: February 2012

Please Stop!

If there is one phrase I use over, and over, and OVER, AND OVER A MILLION TIMES A DAY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, it’s “please stop.” I like how the “please” makes it sound polite (like, “please, good sir, do pass the croissants,”) even though most times I say it I’m either sighing with despair or hissing through gritted teeth. Here’s a few examples from just the past 24 hours or so:

Please stop licking the wall.

Please stop putting peas down your shirt.

Please stop sticking your finger up your butt.

Please stop hitting Mommy with the baseball bat.

Please stop sticking coffee beans up your nose.

Please stop dunking the chicken in the toilet.

Please stop scaring your brother with the pancakes.

I know that every other parent on Earth says crap like this all the live-long day, too. But I still find it amusing. What’s the weirdest plea you’ve ever made as a parent? 

Brilliant new way to fight childhood obesity

We discovered a brilliant new way to fight childhood obesity. Start with a remote-controlled car, fill it with your kids’ snacks, then make those suckers run for it. Will you feel like a total redneck? Of course. But your kids get exercise, you get to sit on your fat ass, and everyone has a good time all around. Win-win.

Here’s a clip of our dumb fun:  Fast food

Kung Fu and Stomach Flu

For weeks now, my almost-2-year-old son has been obsessed – obsessed! – with Chinese lion dancers. Ever since they came to his preschool to perform for Chinese New Year, it’s practically all he talks about. It’s the first thing he asks for when he wakes up at the crack of dawn. Bouncing in his crib, he squeals, “Lion dancers! Lion dancers!” Although, with his adorable little lisp, it’s more like, “Lion dantherth! Lion dantherth!”

At first I thought, cool, what a cultured little kid. We encouraged his fascination by letting him watch YouTube videos on the iPad. He couldn’t get enough of them. Even after hours upon hours of those clanging cymbals, drums, and gongs, he kept demanding more lion dancers. So then it got old, fast. This particular cultural performance, while spectacular, isn’t exactly the most soothing experience. I mean, if there’s a faster way to induce a migraine, I have yet to find it.

Coincidentally, this week he also got the stomach flu. The poor boy has been plagued with vomiting and diarrhea the last few days, but not for one second has it diminished his demands for lion dancers. Just last night, he woke at midnight, crying, his crib and jammies completely covered in puke. My husband and I cleaned everything up, only to have him wretch all over us a few times more. Once he stopped crying, pooping, and spewing, he looked up with his sweet little eyes, and murmured sadly, “Lion danther! Lion danther!” So of course, my husband and I took turns: one on throw-up cleanup duty, one on YouTube lion dancer duty.

My point is, the last few days have been filled with absolutely nothing except toddler vomit and Chinese lion dancers. To better understand, imagine watching this video about 75 times in 3 days. Now imagine watching it for the 76th time, exhausted in the middle of the night, with chunks of fresh upchuck in your hair.

It’s been a bizarre week. I swear, for the rest of my existence, I will forever associate clanging Chinese drums with hurl. And I’ve learned more about lion dancers than I ever thought I would know – I’ve been reading the histories behind them, and in brief, they’re supposed to ward off evil spirits and bring good luck and great happiness. So if all goes well, hopefully our YouTube lions will ward off the great misfortunes of upset stomachs and loose bowels, and bring our little kingdom good fortune, prosperity, and a decent night’s sleep.

F*ck. My Four-Year-Old Drops Her First F-Bomb.

But not like how you think – she didn’t repeat it after hearing it slip from one of us (although I’m sure that moment is coming sooner than I’d like). It really was an innocent slip-up. More of a tongue-twister, really, although not of your Peter Piper or Woodchuck Chucks variety.

So, we’re at Ho‘omaluhia Botanical Garden for a little family fun, and the first order of business is to feed the ducks. Ella is squirming with excitement as we pull out our stale bread for the hungry flock. Very matter-of-factly, yet loud enough for all to hear, she yells, “LET’S GO FEED THESE FUCKS!”

Aaaaaaand there’s another angelic childhood moment I’ll never f-ing forget.

Lesson #1: Avoid These Guys

This is the first thing I learned when I moved to Hawaii, and I’ll pass along the advice to any newcomers: avoid the centipedes. These guys are gnarly. They’re about 6 inches long and deliver super, super painful bites that can be baseball-sized and may merit a trip to the hospital. I’ve luckily (knock on wood) never been bitten, but my husband has — on his ass, of all places. It was so swollen, he said, he “basically grew a third butt cheek.” Delightful.

Anyway, I ran into this one coming up my stairs today. It was about the size of my hand, and dead, thankfully. And even though I’ve seen hundreds of them, I’m never any less horrified every time. Ugly, evil little bastards!

For more heebie jeebies, click here.

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Tormenting our children, one holiday at a time

Halloween? Christmas? Easter? There’s a waaahhh for that.

Best Manners Award

And the award for Best Manners goes to … it’s a tie! Congratulations to both of my children, who are lapping up their dinners like stray dogs. Their mother must be so proud.