Month: January 2016

Lady Dragon Hammer

Raising a supervillain isn’t easy. Our third child, lady gangster Don Threeto, is dedicated to her dream of world domination and I’m coasting through how to guide her. Don’t get me wrong, I am against her decision for a life of crime but I think support from parents is important. Father figures are so pivotal in childhood development. Plus, I don’t want to be on her bad side when her powers are fully primed. You may not remember all the previous evidence but I have some recent evidence for the record books.

Item #1) We were having a story night and Threeto retold the story of the three little pigs. She placed herself in the role of the big bad wolf and somehow she never got to the brick house. In her version, she smashed the houses and ate the pigs… the end. I realize that she is probably serious because her favorite food is bacon.

Item #2) She totally wants to create weapons of mass destruction. I walked into the living room and found her assembling something out of wooden blocks and threaded rod. “What do you have there?” I inquired. She smiled and held it up proudly, “It is a Dragon Hammer!”. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe there was hope for her to be a valiant defender of the weak. Rushing into battle with her Dragon Hammer! I wanted to be sure of her change of heart so I asked a quick follow up question, “Oh so you have a hammer to fight dragons?” She shot me a blank stare and curled her upper lip a little. “No daddy. It is a hammer to help make dragons. Duh. A Dragon Hammer.” she looked at her tool and said thoughtfully, “He’s going to eat people.”

Item #3) She is powered by ice water in her veins. After the loss of Toby, she was wise enough to not talk too much about him for a couple of days. Then she had this conversation with her mother:

“Can I say the word Toby?” she asked innocently.
Supermom replied tenderly, “Yes honey, you can say his name.”
She looked at the floor and spilled out a weeks worth of stored up, “Toby toby toby toby toby”
“Maybe not constantly.” Her mother chided.
She looked Supermom in the eye. “I didn’t cry.”
“Okay well we all handle sadness differently.”
“I didn’t like him much.” She shrugged her shoulders.
Supermom glared and wisely warned her to, “Go play…”

Sometimes winning at parenting is knowing that the urge to punch your child is a misguided instinct.

If you are the kind of parent that wants their child to be the best at whatever their heart desires, this post is for you. Screw it, you go out there and be the best damned Sith Lord you can be. Build some dragons. Eat some pigs. Ignore your sadness. Who am I to say that isn’t the best choice?

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Great Pumpkin War of 2015

The mark of any good marriage is knowing how to pick your battles. I have selected mine. Luckily she doesn’t realize I have made an issue nor does she probably care. But I don’t let details like people caring get in my way. Let the battle of the pumpkins begin! Or continue actually. I have probably mentioned these things before but we have four pumpkins on our porch from mid-October. Aunt and Uncle to our little cherubs bought them each a pumpkin and they all got to decorate them in different ways.


They were beautiful pumpkins and each were as unique as the children who made them but this story is not about that. This story begins about a year earlier at the discovery museum. It is the weekend after Halloween and we have grandparents visiting from out of town so we decided to visit a really cool museum. The museum had a pumpkin display with thousands of different kinds of pumpkins in all kinds of colors and sizes.

A benevolent museum worker informed us that since Halloween had passed, the museum was now allowing visitors to take home as many pumpkins as they could carry. We had a minivan and that meant we could carry home about nine. As a general rule I don’t like doing things that require me to do anything so I don’t think I was to blame for the pile of “Festive Decorations” that we brought home and dumped in a pile on our washed concrete sidewalk. To be fair, it probably would have been a festive decoration if our bushes weren’t overgrown and missing half of the lower leaves. You can’t sprinkle some pumpkins on top of a neglected suburban home and expect miracles.

The pumpkins sat in a slowly degrading pile until about Christmas when I (against my will) cleaned the pumpkins and dumped them in the back corner of the backyard. I should also note that I had the thought, “This will be a good start to a compost pile” and I piled up some leaves to kickstart the action. Apparently composting requires some effort and what I had was actually a covert pile of shit flavored gourds. Anyway… I felt that perhaps the pumpkin cleaning was not my duty. I never made an issue of my opinion but now you know part A of the story.


Fast forward to Halloween 2015 and we have some two-week-old pumpkins starting to break down. I have made a silent oath to myself to not be responsible for these particular pumpkins. The passive aggressive volley begins.

“Those pumpkins are looking rough.”

“Aren’t they.”

“I don’t know if they will make it much past Halloween.”

“Oh I bet they will make it longer than you think.”

October gave way to November and nature sucked the life out of the poor pumpkins. Actually the fourth pumpkin has fared really well and it is because it only got Sharpie’d.


Skin is an amazing thing and I tried to make the rotting pumpkins a life lesson for the girls on how modified bodies will age over time versus things that are allowed to be natural. No one is buying it.

“My God those pumpkins are disgusting.”

“I know. Someone should do something.”


November gives way to December. We are well beyond needing to clean them up and easing into a morbid curiosity as to how far this thing might go. Supermom had some concern that our nativity of rotting orange might be off-putting for our Christmas spirited neighbors. So I found a genius solution…


Perfect solution. I mean…what pumpkins? Am I right?

It is January 1st and the pumpkins are holding strong. They have become a fixture of the front sidewalk and I mean that more than metaphorically – I think one of the piles of dried residue has paper mache’d itself to the concrete. I think if I just paint everything red it will buy me another month until Valentine’s Day.

If you fight the little unspoken wars, this post is for you. I’m not even sure my opponent knows there is an issue. She has accepted defeat of an attractive front lawn as much as I have at this point. If you are my neighbor, I’m sorry and you’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.