Big Daddy Paul

One of the best aspects of parenting is creating little traditions that you enjoy every with your kids. Most of the time, these traditions are quite enjoyable for us, with the notable exception of the mighty redwood tree that we burn to the ground every year on arbor day (not sure how that one got started, but I sure wish we could quit it!)

One of the traditions that I actually like is attending the Alameda County fair, which Malcolm and I went to last week. We had gone to the fair the previous two years and really enjoyed ourselves. If you want to read about it, click here or here (but don’t click here!) You’ll notice that Amy has never gone with us to the fair, owing mainly to her fear of carnies and desire to avoid somehow getting caught between me and the giant corndog shack. I can’t say I really blame her.

Not even these cute little racing pigs could stop Malcolm's vicious downward spiral.

For some reason, this year was different. Malcolm had a tantrum over my failure to buy him a stupid, crappy inflatable airplane at the souvenir stand. Malcolm wandered off, twice (the last time being for a sufficiently long period of time that I was afraid he had already become a carnies’ new pet.) Malcolm lost his Giants hat. Malcolm also lost some ride tickets, which was difficult considering he had them in his hands while standing in line, but somehow ceased to have them anymore when he got to the front of the line.  I found the experience totally and utterly exasperating.

At the end, I knew it just wasn’t his day, and no manner of pleading, threatening and bribing was going to change that. I felt bad for his friends, who had to endure several hours of noticeably poor behavior and my corresponding lecturing. No kid is perfect, but you always feel a little troubled when your kid is a complete shitbird while other kids are around. I think we’ll probably go again next year, as I try to never miss situations where rival food vendors try to vie for your business by deep fat frying weird and wonderful foods. I just won’t look forward to it as much as I have previously.

I have been watching the World Cup. It is always entertaining to watch the referees interact with the players, as they never seem to speak the same language, but yet are able to have knock-down, drag-out arguments. Is this referee happy or sad about the player’s behavior?

This got me thinking, what if Malcolm were a World Cup Referee? What would he look like? Through the joys of technology, we can find out. Take a look!

Malcolm the referee let’s a player know that he saw the foul. “You didn’t think I saw you, but I did. Foul!”

My Popeye face and my pooping face are the same!

“Diving is for fishes. Don’t dive. Get up and play the game.”

Do these jammies make me look thin?

Offsides! I can’t believe how far offsides you are.

I can't believe how much stuff there is in my pants right now, either.

“Did I get a call right? Everyone’s complaining about the calls at the World Cup. I got a call right. Woo Hoo!!!”

I'm so pleased with myself that I'm actually constipated!

“You suck at soccer. Or football. Whatever it is, you suck at it.”

You're getting a red card. Not because of anything you did, it's just that my balls are itchy.

GGGGGGGOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!

Don't bother brown nosing me. I already got a brown nose. (And chin. And cheeks.)

I'm pretty bad ass at my school, but I can be badass anywhere...

Malcolm is graduating from his preschool today, and I am very excited. Well, since he isn’t going to kindergarten next year, he really isn’t graduating so much as just moving on to a different school next fall. His school is calling it a graduation, however, and I for one am jumping on the bandwagon. We have invited his grandparents to the event at the school and I am sufficiently motivated to mark the occasion that I am making ribs for the potluck following the ceremony. Mmm ribs. You know I am geeked up over something when I break out the pork.

Curious to see what he thinks about the milestone, I have been talking to him about what this means and asking him how it makes him feel. His response up ’til now has been nonchalance to the point where I am seriously irritated. I am not sure if he doesn’t get the fact that he is losing his primary source of education for the last two years (my function has now been limited to chauffeur, cook and batting practice pitcher), doesn’t want to think about it, or just honestly doesn’t give a fuck, but he will not show any sort of emotion over this rather large change to his schedule. “Hey Malcolm, after June 17, you’re not going to be going to your school anymore. Will you be sad?” His answer, “No.” I asked him what he would miss most about his preschool, and he said, “Nothing.” I even tried to point out that he wasn’t ever going to see most of his friends ever again (in a blatant attempt to go Barbara Walters on his ass and make him cry,) but he quickly pointed out that he’ll make new friends at his new school. WHY ARE YOU SUCH A ROBOT ABOUT THIS? Can’t you even show the slightest bit of emotion?! Damn your indifference!!!

Mind you, this is the kid that shows emotion every day over being told to stop watching Giants’ highlights and eat breakfast. He told me he hated my guts when I took a plastic golf ball away from him yesterday because he kept hitting it at the TV. He will absolutely melt down if I have the temerity to suggest that we race to see who can get their seat belt on first. I asked him to stay on his step stool while he brushed his teeth the other day, and he reacted with enough ferocity to suggest that I had just stepped on his nuts. Oh, but leaving your teachers and most of your friends behind to go to a brand new school where he doesn’t know anyone? Hardly a second thought.

Maybe I am getting worked up over nothing, as I would feel pretty bad if he was truly saddened by the fact that his time at this school was ending. I guess I just want him to realize that he should cherish the things in life that he likes, because they may not last forever. My only hope is that when he sees that I have made ribs tonight, he’ll finally realize that he is passing a significant milestone and react accordingly. Then again, he may just tell me that he hates me…

I went to Malcolm’s end-of-the-year gymnastics performance today. He’s shown us some things they teach in class, but I was keenly interested in seeing the whole package: if he actually enjoys himself, how he relates to his teachers, and whether he shows any more coordination in class than he does at home (he is a bit of a klutz, displaying as much grace as a drunk guy trying to take off his pants.)

The first thing I noticed was that his gymnastics instructor was a bit of a nightmare. Her arms were cut like an elite body builder and her eyes bulged out as if she were trying to pass a kidney stone at all times. If she was looking to scare the kids into submission, she was definitely on the right path. During the presentation she strutted around the mat barking orders at the kids loudly, “Eva, get those feet together. Malcolm, arch your back! Maddie, tuck in your arms. EVA, GET THOSE GOD DAMN FEET TOGETHER!!!” I thought for a moment that she was an out of work football coach, but when she saw me daydreaming she sneered at me so intensely that I peed myself a little bit.

I’m sad to say that Malcolm was not very good at what he was doing. I chalked it up to starting slowly because he was nervous about all the parents being there watching. When he failed to even walk across the balance beam without assistance (all the other kids glided seamlessly across it) I realized that it wasn’t nerves. He just sucks at gymnastics. While all the other parents smiled and remarked on how well each other’s kids were doing, I nervously stared at my feet hoping he doesn’t suffer from vertigo. The program finally ended, I rushed to Malcolm and told him that he was my hero. I didn’t lie and say, “good job” or “you’re awesome,” I’ll save comments like that for when he actually does well at something. Instead, I asked him if he had fun and that I enjoyed watching him (which was true except for the parts where he was actually doing the gymnastics.)

I can’t really say that I am totally disappointed, as I don’t like gymnastics and loathe the idea of watching recitals for the rest of his childhood. It’s probably because of the close connection between gymnastics and jazz hands. Since his class is more about balance and flexibility though, I will continue to enroll him in classes and hope that Frau Fitness In Transit will be able to get him past “drunk guy taking off his pants.” Come to think about it, I may know where he gets that…