Month: February 2017

Ghost Worms

The other day I got an interesting text from Supermom.

[C/D’s bedroom light just came on by itself. (Concerned emoji) I’m kinda freaking out.]

She was sitting on our bed and in the room across the hall the light just came on. No one in the room. Kids were at school. Lady Bug was napping next to Supermom. Creepy.

Later that day I called to let her know that I was on my way home. We were talking about dinner options and I hear the two oldest children run into the room, “MOM, MOM, Our light just turned on by itself!”

“Did you hear that?”

“Yes. Did you tell any of them about it happening earlier?”

“No. Only you.”

I’m disappointed that we have a ghost because I am afraid it will affect resale value. I didn’t tell her about the night I heard a bump in the girl’s room and ignored it until the next morning only to find a picture had fallen off the wall. A picture in a closed room on a night when the kids stayed at my mother’s house.

We had been watching “The Conjuring 2”. That movie is some kinda creepy shit. The Marilyn-Manson-looking demon nun with yellow teeth really brings it home. Don’t watch the movie. You will spend the rest of the night burning sage and watching your cat to see if they are picking up any spirit world vibes.

I don’t personally believe in ghosts but that doesn’t mean that I am taking the garbage out at midnight or looking for random junk in the creepy attic. That nonsense can wait until sunlight is part of the equation.

A second scary trend has been starting. One of our children has taken an interest in scratching her butt. When I say “butt” I mean “butthole”. Aggressive and constant scratching. We tried diaper cream and some sort of drying powder. No help. We then took it upon ourselves to Google the problem and came upon the common condition of pin worms. Pin worms are disturbing so you can skip these last two paragraphs if you are squeamish.

These worms live in the rectum and crawl out at night and lay eggs around the anus. They cause itching and irritation but are physically harmless. Psychological damage is another story. The internet insisted that the only test for an infestation is to wait for your child to be asleep and carry a flashlight into their room to try and sneak a peek at their worm portal. You could also put a piece of packing tape in the butt-crack and check it in the morning for freshly laid eggs. Omg.  Wtf. No thank you.

One day in therapy, under intensive hypnosis, our child will bring up a repressed memory of being awakened from sleep with two parents shining a flashlight up her butt. Her sister will have a fuzzy memory of rolling over and asking with quizzical eyebrows, “What are you doing?” To which I answered gracefully, “Checking your sister for butt worms. Go back to sleep.” The answer was acceptable because she went back to sleep.

It is a wonder that we aren’t all damaged goods. Maybe this is how people get the idea that they were abducted by aliens and experienced probing. Like most horrible parenting requirements, this scarred me every bit as much as it could possibly have scarred her. Also, I learned that there is an Over-The-Counter remedy for pin worms and instead of midnight flash-lighting you can just treat for the worms and move on with your life.

After the worm-check incident I had a thought. Maybe our ghost is not being scary but instead is actually scared of the dark. He might be worried that we will sneak in an check him for ghost butt worms.

If your family is weird enough to scare ghosts, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Serpentine Thoughts

I need an escape from stress from time to time. Tonight wasn’t all that stressful but it had a few fun moments. Blogging helps. I am a little on edge. I am attempting a low-carb assault on my body in an attempt to enjoy my fat-pants once again. I am trying to keep my mind occupied. I could snort a Reese’s cup whole at this very moment. Maybe mainline some Coca-Cola. Maybe television could help.

We watched Dance Moms. Don’t ask me why. Every part of this show is orchestrated right down to the brunette lady with the wandering eye. I try to remain above the fray when it comes to physical afflictions but someone has to call mercy on this poor woman. The camera man keeps the zoom on full tilt while her right eye is darting around like a kid on look-out duty during a middle school drug deal. She has to be 50% chameleon with that ability to control each eye independently. Start showing her in profile or something. Not cool guys.


Science tells us that Subject A (left) would likely be a prey animal because of her wide field of view and nervous nature whereas Subject B would be more predatory due to a more focused field of movement-based vision. Fascinating. 

During this horrible-person moment I heard a lapping sound coming from the bathroom. It was one of those moments when you slowly put the mental puzzle together and have a terrible realization.


A) That is the sound of the dog drinking from the toilet and B) The girls never flush and C) We finished dinner about twenty minutes ago so someone has had a spaghetti induced BM. I jumped from the bed screaming, “NOOOOOO.” It was too late. The poor dog thought I was coming to claim her soul. She ran into the bedroom with stool water dripping from her chin. Supermom knew the risks of Judy Cornbread and her chum-chin. Now the poor dog thinks two people are going to kill her. She bolts into the living room to her box. Her safety zone. I locked her inside and went back to clean the toilet.

How long should you leave a dog alone while you wait for their mouth nastiness to clear?

A week?


I’m not sure science has an answer.


Donna Threeto lost her front tooth tonight. She ran into the room giggling, “Prima pulled my tooth out of my head. Hahaha.” Somehow Prima has managed to pull three teeth by snatching something out of her sister’s mouths. I don’t even know what they have in their mouth in the first place. Oh God… don’t let it be the dog’s chew toy. Moving on. She is so proud of losing her tooth in a hardcore way. She is walking around like Fire Marshall Bill. Her gums will need moisturizer if she doesn’t start putting her lip down soon.


We went to the exotic pet fair this weekend.

Let’s have a quick show of hands by everyone who thinks we made it through without buying something.

We brought a Gecko. A Crested Dalmatian Gecko is what the magic marker on the Tupperware said.


Meet Hermes Vanderwaal. His feet feel really cool when he walks on you.

If you are having a good week this post is for you. Mine is going well too. No really. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Cloud Seeding

As a father I have goals for my children. Mostly those goals include helping the girls avoid drugs and stripping. Naturally, whenever I am presented with evidence of my failure I like to share it here.

A few days ago I was walking from my bedroom into the hallway when one of my daughters looked up from her iPad and said, “Hey Dad! Look what I learned at school.” What do you suppose she showed me? Guess which selection (1-4) is the right answer:

  1. She demonstrated how to properly calculate the square root.
  2. She recited the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet from memory.
  3. She marveled at the nuance of the English language and our variety of silent consonants?
  4. She twerked her butt straight into the air about six inches without moving any other part of her body.

If you are having trouble with the answer it may help to know my response was, “Don’t ever do that again.”

She went back to scanning Kids YouTube on her iPad and I walked into the kitchen in a stupor. Supermom and I finished cooking dinner and I eventually pushed it out of my mind. Until we went to Walmart later the same week.

At Walmart with four kids, I was trying to organize some sort of distraction to keep the kids engaged in our walk through the store. They decided that they were a wolfpack and that each wolf needed a nickname. The first three nicknames that were selected were AlphaWolf, Fire Extinguisher, and Corn Cob. I have zero idea why Corn Cob would be a nickname and, honestly, I don’t care. The fourth nickname came from the same child who demonstrated a twerking ability; Galaxy.


I have a daughter who nicknamed herself Galaxy and is capable of twerking. Two strikes.

Then, adding insult to injury, she asked me another question, “Hey Dad! Look what I learned at school!”

“Young lady we are in a public place. So help me God if you start air humping I am burning your iPad in a bucket in the backyard.”

“You’re so funny Daddy! It’s not a dance. I learned how to do this…”

She proceeded to hold her left hand out in front of her with her palm facing up. Shining to heaven. Under the judgement of countless angels and dead relatives.

Then with her right hand she started moving it back and forth over the left palm. Almost as if she had an invisible stack of playing cards and was distributing them to a group of people crowded around in front of her.


Dear baby Jesus.

She is making it rain…


Of course she looked more like this. 

For my readers who are of a more mature generation allow me to explain what “making it rain” means. When rap stars and athletes go to strip clubs with their new-found fortunes they shower strippers with a barrage of dollar bills. Some much money is trickling down on the naked entertainers that they feel like it is raining. Fun fact – that picture at the top of the article is called a “Cash Cannon” and is for the purpose of shooting one dollar bills at your stripper. It is the most American thing I have ever seen. We even automate payment to our strippers. Merica A.F.!

That’s right. Strike three. Girl who enjoys dancing, calls herself Galaxy, and already understands the universal sign for making it rain. My parenting stock is taking a market hit this week. I think I need to read her more Dr Suess before bed or something.

If you have children who are picking up skills that you are pretty sure they don’t need, this post is for you. You’re welcome. Stay tuned because next time I will be sharing a story that includes looking at a butthole under a blanket with a flashlight. Fun times.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Fifty Shades Darker – A Review

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears.

We went to the movies tonight for the first showing of Fifty Shades Darker. Once again a woman sitting near to us pulled out a bottle of pills before the show and asked the person next to her if they would like to partake. What are these people doing? Ecstasy?


Wait. Wait. I understand now.

Are women of the world not aware that all manner of porn and pictures and love stories are available for free online? A movie about a rich guy being possessive over a girl who likes to bang him is not necessarily cutting edge. I understand being excited to see a premier of a story you like but having a full-on drugged up rave at the Hollywood Cinema seems a bit much.

This showing was not as well attended as the last premier; described here. I thought long and hard about if I should attend the premier since the last one was so questionable. My reasoning landed on the fact that by attending the very first showing I had a good chance of avoiding seat stains from all the crowds that will eventually pass through. I knew Supermom would make me see it so we might as well be first in line.

However, what the movie lacked in depth it recovered in partial frontal nudity. There were abundant scenes of boobs. By boobs I mean exactly two boobs shown many times and not many different sets. I guess they weren’t as much “abundant” as they were “frequent”. There were also a couple of scenes that might have justified a stricter rating than R. Angry bondage is hard to categorize I guess.

The whole story seemed rushed and much like our primate cousins, Bonobos, the tempestuous couple always resolved any confrontation with sex.

Then there were the plot holes. In one confusing series, Christian Grey crashes a helicopter into uncharted wilderness only to show up, unscathed, later that night (4 hours after the crash in the wilderness) at his penthouse in the city. He couldn’t have walked out for help in that time and the news was reporting that he was still missing on the TV in the background. After fifteen minutes of assuring his family that he is okay, they leave so he can have sex with Anna on a marble rug. Sounds legit. Although what brand of narcissist has a rug made of stone? That was truly troubling.


I swear it isn’t carpet.

Other scenes throughout the movie made me giggle. On what planet do any of these scenes work? Why is no one else laughing at this? Then I started think how half of those pretzel positions would made any normal person fart and I started laughing more. I struggled to keep it together.

One scene Christian commands Anna to remove her underwear in a fancy restaurant. They had unprotected sex about five times that day. I doubt she is wearing lace much less passing them under the table. Then he pleasures her in an elevator while other people are present. Tell me someone, in what world do women find this stuff tantalizing?


Lady on the left, “Sweet baby Jesus, get me outta here.”

In another scene, the psychotic billionaire dresses down the quasi-nudist protagonist and they make a good 45 seconds of loving. (which was the only believable part) Then before going to a party he convinces this woman to cram two steel Chinese medicine balls in her lady pocket and attend a ritzy gala. At the same time. After an entire evening of quiet orgasms at every turn, Christian sneaks Anna off to a bedroom and pulls the medicine balls out and she is suddenly ravenous for some love making. All I could conclude at the end of this movie is that Anna must have a vagina made of shoe leather and Christian must have a double jointed penis that makes Espresso.

I know this movie is fiction. I tried to enter the world of suspended disbelief. I couldn’t do it. If I tried any one of his smooth moves, any single attempt, I would be shut down immediately or possibly under investigation by a law enforcement agency.


This is what it would look like if I tried to live that life. 

Supermom assures me that the books did a much better job of creating steamy scenes and dramatic tension. No doubt. While reading you can avoid the reality of what this stuff really looks like. Everyone likes to eat sausage but no one wants to see it made.

If you like weak plots, rich lifestyles, and Anna Steel’s boobs – this is the movie for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Indoor Fishing

I am happy to report that Don Threeto has learned an important lesson in personal responsibility. First though, I have recently discovered that the female form of a mafia Don is Donna. Heretofore Don Threeto shall be known as Donna Threeto or still DT for short. If you are asking “Who is Don Threeto?” then click the link and come back here when you are done.

Okay, so I came home the other day to find Donna happily playing with a yellow bouncy ball that she got from school. Lady Bug was following her around as they bounced it into walls and down the hallway. Jane was giving orders on where to bounce the ball and how hard. After a few moments of giggling I heard a splash followed by a few moments of pregnant silence that eventually gave birth to “Daaadddd!” I walked to the rear of the house and found three children in a semi-circle around the toilet, staring into the depths of the murky water.

It might be worth mentioning that in the world of toilet training the only step that none of my children have mastered is the art of flushing. Just yesterday I came home to find the dog drinking from the toilet. I knew the water might have been tainted so I chased Judy Cornbread from the bathroom and flushed the toilet for good measure. I wasn’t prepared. There was a mountain of milk-dud turds rising from the dark yellow toilet water like a mid-sea volcano. A driftwood line of toilet paper was the only evidence of the previous water level. Judy stood in the hallway licking her lips. Apparently, pee-turd-tea is a canine delicacy. Now back to the story…

Luckily, when the bouncy ball fell into the toilet it found a much cleaner environment. I looked in and the smiley face was sitting on the bottom of the bowl looking up at the four of us.

“Get it daddy”, urges the Donna.

“Oh no. If you want your ball then you have to get it out. I’ll just flush it.”

“But I got it from school! It’s my ball!”, she pleads.

“Exactly. Your ball. Not mine. If you want it then you get it.”

The pleading gets redirected to her sister, “Get it for me Jane! Help me!”

At this point I stepped back and watched the negotiations between the children. I could have just as easily have been watching three superpower countries discussing nuclear disarmament. In the end, all the nations reached the same conclusion; The ball belongs to Donna Threeto so she should retrieve it. I was proud at their learning progress and realization of what skin-in-the-game looks like. I was doubly proud when DT rolled up her sleeve and closed her eyes before plunging her hand into the toilet water. She was not prepared to lose that ball and I was fully prepared to flush it.

We washed the ball and her hands. Her sisters stood silently in awe of her bravery. Donna added to her already impressive list of street-cred.

If you are tired of putting up with crappy situations, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.