Tag Archives: socks

Before the coffee kicks in- the “it has mostly replaced my blood” edition

I haven’t done one of these in a while. My kindergartener is off to school. Her little sister is busy being three years old. The cat it hiding and my wife is getting ready for a pre-work appointment. I am trying to plan out the day’s errands and finding my brain is uncooperative. So the time has come once again to sit my ass down with more coffee, open up this blog, and write down the thought poops that drop out. So here we go.

Sometimes I think the cat is part owl.

Sometimes I think my children are part Chihuahua.

When did being intelligent start becoming a liability?

I need more fun socks.

I want to know why I have dreams about fighting for my life.

Where can I learn how to sew?

My wife looks really cute with glasses. And without glasses.

If my feet were hairy I would actually be a hobbit.

Has anyone actually tried to use a banana as a boomerang?

As a kid I wanted superpowers. As an adult nothing has changed.

If another species develops opposable thumbs and higher reasoning we’re screwed.

Someone should bring me pie.

What age will my kids be when they realize I have no idea what I’m doing?

I think my country should be called the Dysfunctional States of America. I’ve never known it to be united and doubt I ever will. Not necessarily a bad thing.

A hovercraft really isn’t practical for everyday use.

Am I going mad or is this just me getting old?

This is where I am going to stop. My thoughts are starting to become more coherent and that signals the end. Plus, I need to get my daughter ready to go buy some cat food. For the cat, not for my daughter. Though both my children have tasted cat food at one point. It was a learning experience. Enjoy your day.

 

Sock rebellion

The weather is (happily) becoming cooler. Now, even though I am pleased when it starts to get colder there are some people who wish it would stay warm. I can only assume these people are connected to some infernal bloodline which thrives on fire. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

Of course, I still have to dress differently for the cooler weather which is fine. Long pants, long sleeves, and socks. Preferably Smartwool socks, when I have a clean pair. But I notice that my children seem to differ in opinion, particularly Zoe. She seems to hate socks. We put them on her, but the get pulled off pretty quickly. Phoebe used to do this too, but she seems to have largely stopped. It could have something to do with the fact that she’s old enough to want to have socks with Disney princesses and My Little Ponies on them. But once in a while, she joins her little sister in combined sock rebellion.

Don’t get me wrong, the girls have cute little feet. But I worry that they will become cold little feet. Not that it seems to bug either of them. I’ll touch Zoe’s bare foot and it will be ice-cold. I ask why she keeps taking her socks off. Because she’s two, she pretty much just laughs at me. And the additional frustration comes from the fact that once taken off, the offending socks may disappear. If not collected quickly enough, they can get sucked into some kind of vortex in the multiverse. Or possibly Narnia. I’m not sure because we still have missing socks and the ones that do turn up offer no clues. As you know, socks don’t talk. Not unless you make them into sock puppets, but then they only know what you know which often isn’t much.

I don’t get it. Is this something that all little kids do? I don’t remember doing this. Neither of my parents ever told me that I did. Is this a new thing? Did some kind of psychic memo start to circulate between toddlers of the world? Do they consider socks a tool of the parental establishment? Or are my kids just a pair of sock-hating goofballs? Maybe this is an omen of things to come. What if the girls slowly rebel against all clothes and join a nudist community? What if they start trying to wear gloves on their feet and hats as pants? I just don’t know where this ends.

Weird trees and their apples

My wife and I are two people who have been called weird at different points in our life. In fact, we have called each other weird. This is one of those words, along with geek and nerd, that has taken on different meanings. I tend to think of it as a good thing, but I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t caused a struggle or two.

My kids are weird. I say this with every ounce of love I have for them. Holy crap, are Phoebe and Zoe two weird little girls.

Phoebe has barely reached the levels of weirdness I know she’s capable of evolving. She has Disney princess dolls who spend most of their time naked, because it’s apparently summer and that’s what you do. She has dipped a toy or two into applesauce to use like a spoon, leaving a perfectly functional spoon untouched next to her. The other day, Phoebe walked across the house with a pile of socks on her head so she could see what it looked like in the mirror. She likes to point out the cat’s snowflake bum, which she has for poopoos. Phoebe has also been know to pretend she’s a pirate while using the potty.

Zoe isn’t even two yet, but we are starting to scratch the surface with her. She will throw Cheerios on the floor like she doesn’t want them, but as soon as she is out of her chair she begins to forage for what is now known as “Floorios” in our house. She loves to grab anything she can get her hands on, then run off giggling like she has committed the crime of the century and she must flee Batman. She likes to put the dress-up crowns they have on her head backwards. Who knows what she’ll be doing by the time she’s her sister’s age?

Now of course, I say all these things about my girls being weird with full certainty that the term “normal” is pretty loose and subjective. The weirdness is also very entertaining. Phoebe is a lot of fun and Zoe is just a pile of cuteness and sweetness. I think they are wonderful, even if they are occasionally buttheads. I’m very happy to be their daddy. And it’s not like the weirdness came out of nowhere. This is a guy who starts singing whatever pops into his head when he’s bored. My wife once took the dress off a stuffed animal and had a fashion show with the cat.

Genetics. It’s not just eye color anymore.