Cheeky's Hideaway

Stuff Your Face Everybody!

I've been on a diet since last January, and I'm pleased to report that, despite many run-ins with rogue quesadillas and pale ales, I've actually managed to keep off a good 15-20 lbs since I first kicked carbs to the curb.

Tomorrow I predict I'll be starting over. 

We're on the road to a feast as we speak, passing cars on the Mass Pike and crossing our fingers that most of the worst drivers left a day before us.  I'm starving, but afraid to eat anything since I'll likely have stuffing and pie splattered all over my face in a couple of hours.  And don't even get me started on the mashed potatoes...that stuff is like white, fluffy crack.  Face it...this if there's a holiday that encourages excess, this is it.  (OK, well, maybe St. Patty's Day, too....)

So let me take this opportunity to wish you all the best this Turkey Day!  May your family skirmishes be brief and blood-free, may the elastic on your pants surpass it's load-tested limit, and may the Seahawks beat the living hell out of the Cowboys.  A boy can dream, can't he?

Gobble gobble!

The Force is Strong in This One

Our parental anxiety was at its peak last week as we stepped into Cheeky's pre-school classroom.  It was our first "parent-teacher conference," our preliminary exposure to the outside world's view of our child.  Having forcefully removed a wailing Cheeky from my leg when I dropped her off at school that morning, my expectations were low.

It should be of no surprise that we think Cheeky is the smartest, cutest, funniest child to ever grace this grim planet, and that the overpowering warmth of her personality will lift millions out of poverty and eventually lead to our collective ascension to a higher plane of existence.  We also suspect that we're smokin' crack, and that as first time parents it's entirely possible we've inflicted so much permanent damage that she'll be curled up in fetal position under her therapists' couch before she graduates high school. 

As we stepped into Cheeky's classroom, we took note of the art projects on the wall, most of which looked like bloody handprints or mustard stains, and nervously observed that few (if any) pictures of the kids showed Cheeky playing with anybody else.  Our level of angst intensified, and we wondered if she was off in a corner plotting world domination or just suffering from acute social retardation. 

The teachers beckoned us to take our seats.  We lowered ourselves down onto the tiny chairs, and with our knees resting against our earlobes began the discussion.

Topic	Our Expectation	The Reality
Cognitive development	Cheeky has been using differential equations to calculate the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow (African).  She can write at a tenth grade level and may have telepathic powers.	Cheeky is very focused, good at puzzles and building things, and likes to help out whenever she can.  She can spell her name, which is pretty good for someone her age.
Vocabulary enrichment	Cheeky has memorized the entire Webster's dictionary, assembled all the words in random order, and put them on an infinite streaming loop that we can't turn off.  Also, she speaks with a Ukrainian accent.	Cheeky does indeed have a very strong vocabulary and puts together incredibly advanced sentences for her age.  She reverses her L's and Y's, but that's cute and we should enjoy it before it goes away.
Interpersonal skills	Cheeky is a pariah. Her emotional instability is feared by her classmates, and while they're off making plans for the prom she'll be in the basement sawing the barrel off a shotgun.	Cheeky plays very well with others, often using her imagination to create magical lands or mythical professions for her and her playmates.  Kids miss her when she's not there.
Motor skills	Cheeky is strong and fast, but runs like a girl and probably inherited her parents' athletic skills.  In other words, she's screwed.	Cheeky's minor and major motor skills are just fine.  She creatively assembles blocks and other toys, and is enthusiastic at the playground.
Artistic talent	"Um, yeah…that definitely looks like a cat, sweety.  I'm sorry I thought it was an octopus, or maybe purple tree on fire."	Cheeky not only loves art, but draws or paints frames around her art, which is a sign of a particularly advanced skill level.

 

In other words we should chill out and stop worrying so much.  You could see the look in the teachers' eyes as we checked and double-checked all our assumptions; it said, "Please consider a steady regimen of Quaaludes before you give your child a complex that WE are going to have to deal with." 

We breathed a sigh of relief as we left the meeting, picked up Cheeky and took her out to buy a cookie.  So far, so good. 

Meanwhile, back in the classroom, Cheeky's teachers filled a report card on Oodgie and I.  "Hilariously funny, charming and attractive people, but highly stressed and easily prone to fits of irrational concern.  Continue to monitor and prep for potential intervention.  Consider holding back a grade and putting them into Cheeky's custody."

Maybe I Don't Like Parties After All

For a couple with virtually no friends save three plants and a remote control, we’ve had a pretty nice run of social activities lately.

Instead of the usual evening ritual—two hours of disappointing television and ineffective attempts to use the Jedi mind trick to send Oodgie to bed early enough for me to squeeze in a little Madden or Civ—we’ve actually found ourselves interacting with real live adults in settings other than public bathrooms and subway cars. I was starting to think adult conversation was a myth like unicorns and Atlantis, but it turns out other people are doing it all the time.

Weird.

The impetus for all this comes from, of course, Cheeky’s friends. Since we’re incapable of engaging in spontaneous conversation we’ve maintained an unhealthy proximity to other neighborhood parents, lingering at playgrounds and staring at them until they’re so uncomfortable that they feel forced to talk to us (link to “you guys playing cards”). It takes time, and after a couple of restraining orders it’s finally paying off.

So last Thursday night we found ourselves in Dumbo eating black bean and goat cheese quesadillas, watching Burt Sugarman’s Midnight Special, and staring in shock at the celebration of “The Penis in Film” so visibly on display across the street with two dozen parents from Cheeky’s school. (No, Hope couldn’t make it, apparently having some Charlie Kaufman alternate reality to attend). Two nights later, we were dressed as Bender and Clair and dancing to Erasure at a famous local blogger’s bar mitzvah 40^th birthday party. We aggressively mingled at both, dazzling people with our dry wit and charming them with our eloquent fart jokes. We judged everyone, rating their conversational skills and assessing their worthiness to join our club.  We stayed just late enough to milk the hosts for free booze while leaving just in time to avoid having to clean up. 

We felt so popular!

Fast forward two days and we’ve got yet another party on the agenda. This one, however, had no open bar. It had pony rides.

Oodgie, Cheeky and I trudged to a birthday party for one of Cheeky’s friends, something which on paper seemed like a great afternoon activity (after three continuous hours of “The Ladybug Game” sawing linoleum knives between your toes would seem like a ‘great afternoon activity’). It was there the stark reality of our existence was cast into high relief.

Instead of an easy-going vibe and meandering conversations about politics and art, it was a cold, soulless event. While dozens of kids, shoved awkwardly into their new winter coats, spun around us in a glucose-fueled storm of noise, glassy-eyed parents shouldered each other for position in the pony line (the ponies, for their part, looked like they’d been kept awake for three weeks and would have gladly committed hara-kiri if they had opposable thumbs).  Worse, most of the attendees were people who hire other people to relate to their children (a common species in our neighborhood) and they’d occasionally condescend to talk to us while their kids shoved street garbage in their mouths.  And when they did speak it felt faintly, uncomfortably familiar....

(Granted, I’m sure that’s what most of them were thinking about me, but suspension of belief in my own flaws is essential to my self-esteem)

Perhaps I'm overreacting to the vast difference in tone, but I couldn't shake the feeling that THAT is the typical social activity of our near future, not the boozy shindigs of last week.  Maybe not that exactly, but we're far more likely to be someplace serving cupcakes and apple juice than gin and tonics.  I like to pretend that I’m only a babysitter away from intriguing people and non-stop excitement, but in reality that babysitter costs $80 (plus car service) and is fencing Oodgie's jewelry as we speak.  And when we DO get one it usually means a crappy movie and forced drinks, just to make it "worth it." 

And kids parties should be fun, right?  All those happy faces and the games and the presents, right?  And how many adult parties have I been to where picking nose hairs would be more fun?  More than I can count.

This is the part where I should say, "I wouldn't change a thing."  But deep down, don't we all wish we could change it just a little?

So thanks to all the parents who collectively came together last week to give us--and each other--a respite from Dora-themed napkins and Laurie Berkner tunes.  Next time, it's our turn to host.

Got any babysitter numbers we can borrow?

Turn the Clock to Zero

It's a brand new day, and I'm dancing like the Ewoks at the end of Jedi.

So NOW what the hell are we supposed to talk about?

Is There Something I'm Supposed to Do Today?

Some event or something important I'm supposed to take care of...can't seem to remember....

Oh yeah!

I don't care who you vote for as long as you vote. 

Just don't be an idiot and vote for the wrong guy.  Again.

Also, don't forget that we have a robust democracy, and if you're not comfortable with the major party candidates there are numerous third-party candidates worth your consideration. 

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

The Obligatory Halloween Pictures: 2008 Edition

It's hard to believe that this is the fourth year we've forced Cheeky to mimic some anthropomorphic character for a night of loud noises, fake blood, and sucrose-induced hysteria.  It seems like just yesterday when she was a baby duck shoved helplessly into her exer-saucer, but the photographic evidence indeed shows that we've already been through bumblebee and kitty cat iterations.  This year, she wanted to do something different, and in a not so bold move insisted on being princess.  As long as she could be a ladybug, too. 

"Cupcake in hand" was a common theme in all our Halloween pictures. 

Not visible in this picture:  the searing pain in my shoulders from holding the world's heaviest ladybug over my head long enough for a good picture.

Generally I don't let bugs this size land on my head.  It reminds me too much of King Kong.

Not the perkiest princess I've ever seen.  Perhaps she's been stunned by the intense collage of colors in her outfit.

Before you make any comments on how her mouth looks a little too much like the Joker's, it's worth noting she has about 17 oz. of Tootsie Roll in her left cheek, presumably being stored there for the winter.

Of course these pictures do little justice to my costume, which was that of an aging dork trying to awkwardly recapture a hip youth he never actually had by wearing a hoodie, and Oodgie's costume of a bored, lonely housewife masking the emptiness of her existence with bunny ears.  I think we pulled both off fairly well.

I hope everyone had a great Halloween!  Now I have to rummage through the leftovers for any remaining peanut butter cups and Butterfingers...