Nuclear Family Warhead

Strange things have been happening at our house.  Things have been disappearing, only to reappear somewhere else hours or even days later.  Items that once belonged to one person have now become the property of another.  The exchange usually takes place without the original owner even being aware that their property has been pilfered.  One example of this phenomenon appeared just recently in our garage.  Here is the photographic forensic evidence.

I lined up the usual suspects and began my line of questioning.  First up: Nukeboy1.  “Nukeboy1, do you know how this butt pad ended up on Nukegirl’s bike?”  “I don’t know Dad, I just live here”, he said.  The funny thing is; Nukeboy1 had recently acquired the butt pad in question from NukeMom.  It was a “loaner”, an “I swear I’ll give it back”, it was dangerously close to being a “well, you never use it anyway.”  Nukeboy1 was of the opinion that it was a borrow/lien/possession equation: if you don’t ask for it back within the time period that he thinks is sufficient, then ownership defaults to him.  “Possession is 9/10ths of the law, you know.”  Touche, Columbo.

Nukeboy2 was rounded up just so we’d have enough suspects for the line up.  He had an airtight alibi.  He was on a moon of Endor conquering Lego stormtroopers.  I set my sights on Nukegirl.  The little Svengali had a standard M.O.; deny, deny, deny; and then, reason with hypotheticals.  “It wasn’t me Daddy, I was just drawing with my chalk.”  Little did she know that I had already noticed the pale blue and pink traces of chalk dust glaring from the surface of the jet black bike seat.  I would save this for later.  Just when she thought she’d be making bail, I’d drop the bomb shell and we’d move on to the plea-bargaining.  It would be awesome; just like the last 4 1/2 minutes of CSI.  Besides, she was already under suspicion for aiding and abetting in the disappearance of an entire family of chalk people.  You can read my case file here.

“Are you sure you don’t know how the butt pad got on your bike?” I asked her again.  “It was just there, Dada, I’m serious!”  Denial number two; she was playing right into my hands.  “But it couldn’t just get there by itself, honey, someone had to put it there” I good copped.  “Maybe it fell off of Nukeboy1’s bike and landed on my seat” she offered.  Plausible?  Maybe on the Wonder Pets, but not on my beat.  “And it would just land perfectly on your bike seat on the other side of the garage?” I asked.  “Yeah! That’s what happened; and then, it told me to sit on it.”   She was good, but I wouldn’t be taken off task.  “Do you see all of this chalk on the seat?” I asked her.  “Yes” was all she could muster.  The head went down, the lip pouted and she knew she’d been caught.  “I’m sorry Daddy, I just wanted to use it so my hiney would be nice and fluffy.”  I had to give her credit for motive, at least.

She pleaded guilty to larceny and possession of stolen goods.  She was sentenced to 15 to 20 minutes without television, and will be on chalk probation for 3 weeks.  With good behavior, she could be out in 5 minutes. Case Closed.

We had finally made it to the clearing.  After a grueling trek through the space display, and battling 2 busloads of day campers in the “Make Your Own Kind of Music” exhibit, we found ourselves in Dentopia.  Nukeboy2 stood frozen in his tracks, eyes fixated on the wonder of it all.  Before him stood the interactive tooth table (with real drill action!), the “How Braces Work” display and; in the corner, the floor to ceiling mouth.

“Whoa!, Dad! Check it out!”  Nukeboy2 has seen this exhibit at the museum many times before, but it never fails to amaze him.  That’s part of the fun of bringing him back.  Where else can a kid climb inside a mouth without getting plaque all over him?  “I wonder how much the tooth fairy would give me for one of these!” he said, as he held a chair sized molar over his head.  “Buddy” I said, “If we could get 3 or 4 of those to the car without being noticed, we could put all 3 of you through college and fund our retirement.”

We couldn’t hang around, the day campers were hot on our trail.  We broke for the planetarium as the day campers swooped down into “Anatomyland” and began yanking the innards out of Squeaky.  Squeaky is the larger than life stuffed doll with a navel to sternum incision (with real surgery action!).  Poor Squeaky.  As we made the turn I heard a young Surgeon yell; “Hey, look at this!”  It’s ok, though; a museum volunteer will return Squeaky’s pancreas to him once the mob has moved on.  He’ll live to teach another day.

Helen comes to our house every month.  She only stays for a week, or so, but the effects of her visits can usually be felt a few days before she gets here, and for a few days after she leaves.  She grates on NukeMom the most.  It’s no skin off my back, cause I can just leave the room if I don’t want to be around her, but whenever she’s here,  she won’t give NukeMom a moments rest.

I do my best to support NukeMom when Helen visits.  It’s a relationship that started when they were teenagers.  They met in junior high and they’ve been inseparable ever since.  Can’t say that it’s ever been a good relationship, just one of those relationships that you tolerate because you have to.  I mean, it’s not like they’re best friends or anything.  In fact, I think if NukeMom had it her way, she’d just as soon not have to deal with Helen at all anymore. 

Helen is getting ready to leave and we couldn’t be happier.  The kids will get more time with NukeMom, I’ll get more time with NukeMom and most importantly; NukeMom will get more time to herself.  She won’t have to deal with “The Helen Issue” again until next month.  I swear, that woman shows up like clockwork.  Uninvited.  Like she’s on some cycle, or something.

*This post pre-screened, pre-approved and endorsed by NukeMom* (I’m not a total idiot)

The Mother-In-Law arrives tomorrow…

…need I say more?

After church today the Nuclear Family went out to eat.  During the course of the meal I looked over at Nukeboy1 and saw the biggest OMG expression ever.  In his hand he was holding one of his molars.  It wasn’t a total surprise, the tooth had been doing the Macarena in his mouth for a few days, the surprise came when he chomped down on it.  Ouch!  Luckily, none of the other molars sustained any damage in the enamel pile-up.  I asked him to let me see it, but he didn’t want to give it up.  He was a little upset because last week Nukeboy2 lost a tooth, and Grandma and Grandpa were here.  When Grandma and Grandpa visit, a lost tooth is worth 500%  more than usual.  They bring their tooth fairy with them.  

Nukeboy2 was excited, as he has lost 4 teeth in the last 9 weeks and knows that there is a monetary reward involved.  “I hope I lose some more teeth, Dad” he said,  “Why?” I asked him.  “Because I could use the money.”  I told him that if you lose more than 6 teeth in a year that you have to pay taxes on them, but he wasn’t buying it.  I also told him I had a friend who got audited by the tooth fairy once.  Over the course of 4 years he had turned in 24 teeth for redemption, but since God only gave him 20, he had some explaining to do.  He kinda bought that one.  Note to self:go to the shop and hide the pliers.

When Nukegirl saw the tooth she became very excited as well, because her pre-school class had studied dental hygiene on Friday (I’m not making this up, it’s right there on the calendar next to “Meet the letter L”), and she was ready to make a contribution.  “You can borrow my tooth pouch, Nukeboy1!” she said.  They had made “tooth pouches” to put their teeth in once they start falling out, thus saving the Tooth Fairy the hassle of searching inside pillow cases or under beds.  Dare I say, she was actually committed to this contribution?  Time will tell.  

We are pleased to announce the grand opening of the NFW Diaper Disposal Facility.

With the Nurse hailing from New Orleans, the food in the chow hall sometimes gets a bit “flavorful”.  This causes problems several hours later when little Beaker needs to be changed before hitting the cot.  After trying several containment measures like leftover grocery bags, zip lock sandwich bags, and lead-lined 55 gallon drums, it was obvious that drastic action was needed.

Behold!  A 43,000 acre state-of-the-art facility! 

Trucks will begin arriving tomorrow.  My highly trained and dedicated minions will then start the process of turning these previously useless pampers into a renewable energy source capable of powering the Lair and therefore removing us from the main power grid.  All surplus energy will be sold at extortion rates to countries with the highest bids. To be placed on the pick up route, please phone us at 1-888-555-LAIR.  A helpful, courteous henchman is waiting to handle your call.

They roamed the hills and valleys of the driveway for days.  Three days, to be exact.  The tall pastel pink female was their leader.  She kept them all in line.  Fuchsia was her name.  She ruled with an iron stick fist.  She led her people through the windiest March 22nd they had ever seen.  The only March 22nd they had ever seen, actually.  And their last.  For even though Fuchsia held them together through the long, windy night of the 22nd, and all the way through the balminess of the 23rd, there would be no 24th.  In what would later be dubbed  “The Great 20 Minute Drizzle Of March 23rd”, the Chalk People, like the Mayans before them, vanished from the face of the earth.  Fuchsia, her first lieutenant Magenta, and the children; the poor children: Robins Egg Yellow and Columbia Blue all perished that evening.  An event that will last in the memory of Nukegirl for hours.  Minutes, even.  May they rest in peace.

They made it!  They finally got here!  Well, most of them; anyway.  Nukeboy2 had his heart set on an ant farm, so with the $6,000 in Toys R Us gift cards he got at Christmas, we were off.   The purchase was painless, the wait for the actual ants was excruciating.   See, Uncle Milton (The Ant Farm Makers) failed to mention that on the outside of the box.  I didn’t expect for there to be live ants in it, but I didn’t expect to have to wait almost 3 months for them either. 

Nukeboy2 purchased his ant farm back at the end of December.  We filled out the card for the ants (please enclose $6) and sent it off.  Strangely, there was no option on the card to pay with a Toys R Us gift card.  No matter.  The card read: Allow 3 to 6 weeks for delivery. That’s quite the delivery window, isn’t it?  Anyway, right after that the card read: Weather permitting.  Hmmm.  Upon further review of the e-mail we received, it seems that harvester ants have an aversion to trips through the U.S. Postal Service in sub-freezing temperatures.  Makes sense.  But there is this thing called full disclosure….

The day had finally arrived; the ants were here!  Nukeboy2 came in the door after school and I immediately told him: “Go get your ant farm, the ants finally got here!”  His reply? “What ant farm?”  I had forgotten.  Kids live in dog-time.  1 day seems like 7, so for Nukeboy2, ordering ants two and a half months ago may as well have been 2 years ago.  I could see his Axon’s fluxing and he said “Oh, yeah!  The ant farm!  I’ll be right back!”  It took him almost 5 minutes, but he finally found it under his bed.  “Here it is Dad!”  he said.  Homework would just have to wait a few minutes, I was almost as excited as he was.

We had waited so long for the ants, that in our haste we didn’t read the instructions again.  We knew we had to put them in the refrigerator (Not the freezer!) for 15 minutes to calm them and avoid flesh wounds; what we forgot was the “starter holes”.  They sent a little jabby thingy to make starter holes in the gel, but it was still under the bed.  Along with one of the hole plugs, but that’s another story.  We poured in the “25 to 30″ harvester ants and put the lid on.  What actually came out was 24 ants, several thoraxes, a few heads, some mandibles and lots and lots of legs.

In 24 to 48 hours our little guys were supposed to be digging up a storm, but all they had done is sit there with their faces plugged in the gel sucking in water and “nutrients”.  “Why aren’t they doing anything, Dad?” Nukeboy2 asked.  I didn’t have an answer for him.  “Maybe they’re on strike” I said.  Well, two nights ago, miracle of miracles happened.  They had sucked so much water and “nutrients” from the gel that they actually sucked it away from the walls of the case.  One or two of the poor saps fell into the crevasse, and had to eat their way back to the surface.  Now they’re tunneling like crazy.  Last night they completed their version of  “The Chunnel”.  If you look close, you can see from the bottom right the tunnel is skinny, but from the top down it is like an 8 lane interstate.  I believe the English ants tunneled down, and the French ants were tunneling up.  Just a theory.

Is it just me or are these things everywhere, like Captain Kirk’s Tribbles?

If every little white sock that I have picked up in the last 8 years had a nickle in the bottom of it I could have long since bought that 40′ Chris Craft I want and headed off to Trinidad and Tobago. 

At first it was just a minor irritation, but as the years have worn on, I am now convinced that they are responsible for my shattered L7 disc, occasional migraines, and the fall of the dollar.  Sometimes you find them behind the recliner, or under the couch, maybe even stuffed next to the T.V.  That’s normal.  Finding them in the dishwasher, the toilet, or the pantry, lead me to believe that there was something more sinister at work.  

I recently decided to indulge my suspicions.  After doing the normal evening routine of setting the coffee, locking the doors and turning off most of the lights, I ducked behind the couch and kept and eye on one of the larger white socks in the herd.  He’s been around the block; a little thread-bare in the heel, with a few grass stains that won’t come out anymore.  After about 20 minutes, he moved.  Just a little, but he moved for sure.  I held my position.  Then like an inch worm he began to make for the kitchen, pausing occasionally to listen for predators, like a cautious jack rabbit.  He made better time across the smooth tile until he made it to the laundry room where he proceeded to climb the ironing board with all the dexterity of a Navy Seal.  He wasted no time in making his way to the lint trap and pulling the screen out.  That’s when I saw them; 13 white socks of all sizes pouring out of the lint trap.  Not a matching pair among them.  I hit the lights!  They scattered like roaches and dove for cover under the washing machine, the broom closet, any place they could find.  I managed to get a few of them, maybe 4 or 5.  I took them to the boy’s room and opened the drawer, hoping against hope to mate them up with their partner, but it was not to be.  Just another drawer of single mis-matched little white socks.

Now I know their secret.  I am no longer safe here.  I sleep with a loaded bottle of Febreze, safety off.

Ask some people what a “Nuclear Family” is, and the responses will vary from a family that lives entirely too close to the cooling towers,  to a family of really smart scientist-like folk.  Ask most anybody what a “Nuclear Warhead” is, and 99% will be able to tell you that it’s the thingy on the end of a missle that makes things go “KABOOM”.  No one, however, will be able to tell you what a Nuclear Family Warhead is. 

For the record, here is how dictionary.com defines them: Nuclear Family: “A social unit composed of father, mother and children.”

Nuclear family. (n.d.). Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Retrieved March 15, 2008, from Dictionary.com website: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/Nuclear family

and: Nuclear Warhead: “A warhead containing a fission or fusion bomb.”

Nuclear warhead. (n.d.). Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Retrieved March 16, 2008, from Dictionary.com website: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/Nuclear warhead

For our purposes, we will define a Nuclear Family Warhead as: “The bombs that are unleashed when detente fails between Father and child, resulting in mutually assured destruction.”

This is the story of two Stay at Home Dads on a mission: raise the kids while Mom is off earning the big bucks while simultaneously doing all of the cleaning, cooking, bathing, laundry, shopping, etc.  You know, all of the things that Dad’s are wired for.  It is a big mission, one that we don’t enter into lightly.  We understand that diplomacy, while effective, is usually lost on terrorists and those under the age of 8, but we are always willing to try it first.  When negotiation fails, however, we are fully prepared to unleash the Wrath of Dad and turn the playroom into a parking lot.

Strategy is important.  Sometimes all that is required is a low yield NFW to  quell an uprising between brother and sister.  Other times call for a pre-emptive NFW strike in the 1 kiloton range strategically exploded above the heads of the advancing troops.  There are times, however, when both sides are pushed to the brink, and there is no red phone to pick up.  These are the times that Parent and child realize they can’t even pronounce “Glasnost” and both sides unleash a torrent of NFW’s that shatter the landscape.  Or at least the living room.

This journey will prove to you that the cold war isn’t over.  You’ll find out what really happens behind The Juice Box Curtain, what motivates the Secretary of Allowance to behave the way he does and that Redeployment is not an option.  So if you’re ready, lace up your boots and enlist in The Army of Dad.  The only way to sustained peace is through overwhelming strength.  Oh, and nap time helps too.