Story Timing

We had a cat named Theo. Each night he would jump into bed, plop against Daphne, and purr her to sleep. When Charlotte was born, Theo made room for our baby at nap time.

Theo passed away almost exactly two years ago, and you might suspect that Charlotte has forgotten him: she was only two and a half when he died. But that isn't the case. Theo has become one of Char's favorite story characters.

The Theo stories started last fall when his name came up during a car ride. Charlotte wanted to know more about him, and Daphne told a true story about that "crazy cat". Since then, Charlotte constantly asks for a "crazy Theo story" when we are in the car. Although he was a cool pet, there are only so many anecdotes that you recall about a cat, so now we have to make them up. Theo makes dinner, goes to school, and drives a car.

When Daphne makes up a story about Theo it ends with a moral that Charlotte can learn. When I tell a story about it ends with a body function. For instance, Daphne told a story about sharing and making sure everyone takes their turn. When she finished she smiled at me - proud of the lesson she provided. I could tell that Charlotte wasn't quite happy with that conclusion, so I added one more line:
"And then Theo went to his room, closed the door, and ripped a huge fart!"

Charlotte squealed with laughter, and Daphne turned and punched me squarely in the shoulder, "You just hijacked my story!"

"No I didn't!" I laughed, "I just made it a tiny bit better..."

"You did not make it better! I was using this opportunity to make a point about being nice to others, and you ruined it."

"Oh c'mon! Despite my superior ending, I'm sure she learned your lesson."

From the back seat Charlotte chimed in, "And then he ripped a huuuuuge fart!"

Daphne shot me a look, "Oh yeah, she learned something, all right."

The moral of this story for me:
Comedy is all about timing. Save the fart jokes for Daddy-Daughter nights.

Photo Album Memories: The Audio Selfie Edition

I've got a large container full of my parents' old photo albums in our basement. The family pictures were taken approximately from 1970 to 1980.

If Mom had given me the albums a decade ago, there's a good chance I might have "misplaced" them. But after losing family members, I have realized the power of photography. Our memories can be skewed, subject to prejudices, or simply faded. But a photograph is a memory you can hold in your hands. A family picture is the best shot you have of seeing the past as it really was. And if you lose the photo, that accuracy is gone for good. Thank goodness Mom held onto these photo albums for so long. To me, they're a treasure.

But that doesn't mean I can't have fun with them.

Here's a photo from Thanksgiving, 1974. I'm the five-year-old in the bottom left of the photo and my sister Michelle - second from the right - was seven.

In case you don't recognize the technology we were huddled around, it's a cassette recorder. Kids today might not have much use for an old tape recorder, but they were so much fun back then. It was quite remarkable to press record, say a few lines, and then actually hear what you sounded like to other people. Those home recordings were the audio equivalent to taking a selfie.

I remember recording myself singing along with songs on the radio, or in groups like the one above. I'll bet someone up there just sang the chorus to "Sunshine on My Shoulders" onto the tape.

VCRs didn't exist in the early 70s, but you could hold the recorder up to the TV's speaker and record a whole Scooby Doo episode. Later you could reenact the cartoon with Barbie dolls and Star Wars action figures, not that I ever did that. And I don't know how many times I tried to record the theme music for M.A.S.H., only to have it "Ruined!" by Mom yelling in the background that it was time for dinner.

My favorite story about tape recorders came from a guy I teach with. He had a childhood buddy who hid the recorder behind the family's toilet so he could record his father in the bathroom. Later he'd play the tape for friends on the big stereo in the living room. He called the tape, "Dad's Greatest Hits".

Oh man, that's funny.

A Dog Named Phew

My daughter's bedtime is between 8:00 and 8:30 pm, and before the lights are turned off Daphne typically tucks Char in bed and reads her a few books.

A few nights ago it was past 8:00, and I could hear peals of laugher coming from Char's room. I walked upstairs to find Char and her mom reading on Char's bed, as usual, but Char was rolling on the covers and laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

This is the book they had just finished reading.

Daphne found Walter the Farting Dog at the library. I swear it wasn't me. And before she read it to Char she simply told her, "This is a story about a dog named Walter." As soon as they turned the page and got to Walter's first fart, it was all over. Charlotte was bustin' a gut.

I can't say that I blame her. Char asked to read the book "Again!" And I volunteered. But I couldn't get through this paragraph. I was laughing so hard I was crying.

I'm sure we were punchy, but seriously, everyone likes fart jokes, even if they wouldn't ever admit it. There's a reason this book reached the top of the The New York Times children's best seller list, spawned four sequels, and was in the office of White House Chief of Staff Josh Bolten who reportedly kept it as a "conversation starter". For a while the Jonas Brothers wanted to make a Walter the Farting Dog movie. (wikipedia).

We had so much fun with that book I had to check the library's web page for one of the sequels. Did you know that flatulence has it's own category in the system's search engine?

See? Everyone likes fart jokes. The Des Moines Public Library has twelve different books about them. I better head over there. 

Beware The Farty Forest: A Parenting Story

The one aspect of her nightly routine that Char "hates" is when Mom brushes her hair. There's usually a lot of tears and cries of pain, real and imagined.

Tonight I went upstairs to see how things were going, and when I walked into the bedroom I heard Daphne announce, "C'mon, Char. We're going to the bathroom. And while you stand on your turtle stool, Dad's gonna sing you a funny song!"

Surprised, I ask the obvious question, "I am?"

"Yep," Daphne patted my arm as she led Charlotte out of the room, "You're the creative one. You can sing the funny song."

I followed them into the bathroom and wondered what I was supposed to do, "Okaaaay, what kind of a funny song?"

"You know. A funny song. Make up something with farts and poop in it."

Okay, now I know what my role is. Daphne's tired and she needs me to be a distraction while Charlotte gets her hair brushed. I mentally rubbed my hands together. Fart song? No problem! I can do that.

I then dramatically cleared my throat and declared, "This song is called 'Beware the Farty Forest', and it goes a little like this..."

The Farty Forest is a smelly place

The animals all like to toot

The squirrels rip ‘em in the trees

And in the sky the birds pollute

The air is thick and sticky

The tree bark’s all turned brown

The bears plug their ears at night

And that protects them from the sound

The hunters’ guns are rusting

They no longer hunt in "there"

The oxen fart runny poop

(And it stains their underwear)

The turtles bubble in the water

The fish swim in streams of pee

This song was your mom’s idea

And she can’t get mad at me

These woods don’t stink a little
The Farty Forest reeks alottle

The showers spray urine water

And there's shampoop in that bottle

So when you visit Farty Forest

Hold your nose and look around

You know what’s in that fog bank

And that’s not mud pie on the ground

No, it's not "You are My Sunshine", but I would like to point out that Char's hair was thoroughly brushed, and not one tear was shed.

Score one for Dad and his juvenile sense of humor.