Not Above Bribery

What does it take to get a three-year old to finish his cereal? Bribery. What will finally get your five-year old to stop sucking his thumb? Bribery. Parents are the mob, only our commodity is food and toys instead of blood money.

Sure, in the beginning I tried to adhere to what child psychologists and experts said about not using food for leverage but they've never had to deal with Samu - he's the three-year old. When Samu doesn't want to finish his food, he stores it in his mouth. Grrr-ROSS! He's kept food in his mouth for half an hour rather than swallow it. He's been doing it a lot less lately when I made him spit it out and re-eat it. Oh yes I did!

But breakfast was short on time, so I tried a different plan. I said, "Samu, if you finish your bowl of cereal, then I'll get you the box of donuts at the coffee shop."

"OKAY!" He said, happily.

He did finish his cereal - drank the milk and everything. As for the donuts, all I can say is, fucking Entemann's man - $4.69 for a box of sugar and flour? And ma' boy polished off his white donut in 42 seconds. I brought the rest of the box when I picked up big brother from After School and much to the dismay of their parents, all of kids were happy to shove a complete donut in their mouth.

Speaking of big brother, when he came home with a Sad Face on his Behavior Report for sucking his thumb, I decided to give him some incentive.

"As long as you suck your thumb, we won't be taking you to the movies and that's going to suck for you because "Iron Man 2" comes out next week."


He looked as if he just saw a puppy get run over - he was hysterical. It was when he tried to rip off his thumb that I told him that perhaps it would be easier if he just tried to stop stuffing it into his mouth.

That night, he was like a smack junkie going cold turkey. He was practically climbing the ceiling trying to get at his thumb. Finally he said to himself, "I wanna see Iron Man, I wanna see Iron Man."

The little man actually went to sleep without sucking his thumb.

Now, do I thank Iron Man or Robert Downey Jr.?

The Library Banter

Working at home has it's distractions: food staring in my face, chores staring in my face, my mother staring in my face. So I got this bright idea to go to the local library to get some work done. Too bad every busybody with plenty of time on their hands had the same idea.

I thought libraries were supposed to be quiet. I mean the babies and kids that occasionally escape the Children's room into the reading area don't bother me. It's the non-stop chatter that goes on at the information desk that drives me insane. I can't get far enough away. It wouldn't make a difference anyway, because once I listen to a tale of geriatric misfortune, I am tempted to see what the fool looks like.

I feel like asking them how they could be seventy-two years old and make such a dumb mistake. Hasn't life taught them anything? Like, how to have a quiet conversation? Who puts off returning books for seven months simply because she was told she had to upgrade her library card to a new electronic one? I was ready for the old woman to say she couldn't pay the penalty because her money was tied up in her savings passbook.

But what did I expect? Books are old school. Nobody sits and reads an actual book anymore. Not with Kindles and movies butchering a story with their own interpretation. I should have known all the stubborn old folks who refuse to upgrade would be perusing the aisles and holding the librarian hostage with their senility.

The seven-month-overdue lady took twenty-five minutes to resolve her case. That's record time if you ask me. The librarian took the next customer, a tall, dark skinned man with white hair - probably in his sixties.

"Wow, you got some real talkers today, huh?" He tells the librarian.

"Well, you know th-"

"Some people just don't realize that this is a library and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah..." He goes on for about five minutes about "inappropriate manners" in a library.

HELLOOOOW?

Needless to say, my 'working at the library' days are over. Besides, their Internet connection is slow and get this - for some websites that contain curse words, I have to go to the librarian and prove that I'm over eighteen to be granted access. WTF? I almost went up there and said that at full volume.

Would have loved to see the reaction to that from tall-dark-man-who-waited-too-long-to-log-on-the-library-computer-and-has-to-sign-up-and-wait-again.

A Scabies Kind Of Day

Doing housework, I feel like Hunter S. Thompson in Fear And Loathing. Out of the side of my mouth I curse the dregs I clean up after, utter a string of profanities and nervously check the clock to see how long it's taking. Every minute I am cleaning is a minute away from writing and there is just so much work piled up, it could constipate an elephant.

Naturally, the thirty minutes I allotted to vacuum the bedrooms went totally awry. Not only did it turn into an all morning event, it became a scabies kind of day. It all happened when I made the mistake of moving the bed in my husband's man cave. I discovered a colony of ants. Apparently, two peanuts that fell under the bed were serving as food central - an Ant Costco if you will.

Bugs get my nerves on edge - a lot of bugs send me through the roof.  Armed with my no-nonsense, trustworthy, workhorse of a Dyson, I vacuumed ferociously leaving no invader a chance to go home. The Hunter S. Thompson mode gave way to a more combative character. Say, Ripley in Aliens (2). Especially when I started cleaning the mudroom that led to the Man Cave where I found more ants, a cockroach carcass and a HUGE spider.

"Take that, you Bitch!" I yelled at every insect-looking-thing.

And then my Dyson jammed up. Yes, the manufacturer touts it doesn't happen with a Dyson but obviously they never dealt with kids socks before. The only option was to dump out the canister with all the invaders in it - possibly still alive. I decided to make it harder on myself and said, heck why not haul out all this junk in the mudroom too, while you're at it? So I did.

Eventually, this brought me into the garage, where some of this shit was to be stored and thus commenced a whole new level of my scabies kind of day. By the end, my clothes were covered in dust, dirt, squirrel shit, ant shit that I wanted to burn them with me still in them. Instead, I peeled them off in the mudroom, with the door open. Fuck what the neighbors thought - I was damn itchy.

After a Karen Silkwood shower, I washed my clothes in hot water, double rinse cycle. I'm still contemplating throwing them out altogether - that's how scarred I am. Tomorrow, I'm not cleaning shit.

The 40th Birthday Nuggy

Today is my husband's fortieth birthday. A lot is expected of someone turning forty - turning gray, getting fat. I have to say, I'm proud my husband did otherwise. No, he went bald years ago and has been consistently working out for the past seven months. Turning forty was a wake up call. It's getting a new lease on life - like a license to become Pee Wee Herman or Spongebob.

To celebrate, my husband took the day off from work. He was probably hoping to sleep late but our three-year old had other plans for Daddy. I asked Samu if he'd like to join me and walk his big brother to school, let Daddy sleep but he shook his head no.

"Then you're okay watching TV by yourself?" I asked him.

"No, I'm gonna wake up Daddy and make him watch TV with me."

He had a little demonic tone to his voice so I had to remind him that it was Daddy's birthday. "Be nice or else. You got me?" I told him.

"I got me." He answered.

I came back home to find my husband on the couch watching TV with Samu. "What is it with that kid?" He says pointing to the angel-faced Samu. "He just came up to my bed while I was sleeping and punched me in the nuts!"

Poor Daddy. His birthday was off to a painful start. I guess I didn't make things any better when I announced that after breakfast we had to take Samu back to the store where he stole two Charms Blowpops last week to make him apologize and pay for it.

At least Daddy had a little vindication for the morning assault when he saw his little assailant squirming in front of the store owner. Holding up the contraband, Samu whimpered out a barely audible apology.

"I'm sorry," he said with his chin tucked into his chest and his eyes looking upward, large and glassy with tears. He could have won an Oscar with that performance. Instead, the owner decided to let him have it.

Daddy intervened. If the kid was going to keep it, he must pay for it lest he never learn his lesson.

"Pay for it with the money Grammy gave you," Daddy commanded. So Samu pulled out a dollar from his pocket and stood on his tippy toes to place it on the counter. The owner gladly accepted it and gave him his change. Samu looked at his lollipop, ecstatic that they were legally united. He started to unwrap it.

"You can't eat that now!" Daddy yelled. Samu stopped dead in his tracks. He's told he has to wait until after lunch. Somehow I knew, at that moment Samu regretted having punched his dad in the groin earlier. Payback's a bitch.


By the time 11:30 am rolled around, Daddy cracked open a beer instead of having a second cup of coffee. I couldn't blame him. Besides, you're only forty once.

Happy birthday, love-of-my-life-pain-in-ass. Guess I should've bought you a jockstrap.

Bright As An 80 Watt Bulb

Yesterday we received the results for the "Gifted And Talented" test my five-year-old took back in January. The test consists of the Otis-Lennon School Ability and the Bracken School Readiness Assessment, which basically gauges how well your child listens and follows instructions. Having said that, I think it's no surprise that Zuki didn't qualify - the cheeky, little monkey.

I took comfort in the fact that Zuki's buddies took the test too and failed to qualify. We moms pounded fists in solidarity. Not that we had any delusions - if any of them passed, we would probably chalk it up to Divine Intervention. Of course, I would never tell my son that. He's got enough confidence issues having to deal with his dad's potty-mouth remarks. What kind of person taunts his five-year old son by calling him a "pussy"? And daddy wonders why the boys always punch him in the nuts. Good for them.

So, I let my son know how proud I was of him for taking the test without crapping his pants. I couldn't imagine having to take a test like that at his age (he took it last year, too). Of course, he didn't know what the heck I was talking about, which just makes me wonder if he even really scored 82 percent - how could he forget?

If nothing else, the fact that he took the test will somehow remain an experience for him. He's got a whole life of test-taking ahead of him and I know he's going to hit the nail on the head, one of these days - just like one of these days he's going to know what shoe goes on which foot.

Six Red Power Rangers

I'm afraid it was my bright idea to have four boys over for a movie playdate last Sunday. Unlike my husband, I survived with all my fingers intact and no new bruises although my ears are still ringing. What is it with boys and yelling louder than Billy Mays?

When I watch little girls play, I'm amazed how they understand hierarchy and fall right in.  Yes, at times I've seen some bitch slapping, backstabbing claws drawn cat fights but all in all, girls listen to the voice of reason. But in a pack of boys, everybody wants to be the "good guy" or the Red Power Ranger or wield the Blue Light Saber and nobody gives in, they just want to fight the bad guy!

Of course, my husband understood this better than I did and knew what to do to protect himself. He just stood in one spot, hunched over and took their blows made with tiny, bare fists. I, on the other hand,  would run from the potential of pain inflicting plastic. Naturally, their response was to strike - hard. The older kids whacked me in the knees as if they were Tonya Harding's boyfriend, while the two little brothers ran their Diego trikes over my foot.

"Excuse me, am I on holiday in Cambodia?" I'm thinking. Just in time, the pizza arrived. A minute later and I would have been drawn and quartered.

I did learn a couple of things in my ever-surveying mind. Kids love Papa John's pizza over authentic New York pizza for some reason. They prefer original Dorito's over any other flavor, with Cool Ranch coming in second and Capri Sun wins over Apple n' Eve, hands down. If you have at least one of these items stocked at home, you can host a party for six Red Power Rangers, too.

Clash Of The Titans Weekend

When my good friend suggested we hook up at the beer garden in Astoria, my old tour coordinating senses went into gear. I concocted a fool-proof plan of taking the kids to the movies before the party since the two places were only a block apart. We made a 4:30pm show at the UA Kaufman theater to see Clash Of The Titans in 3D. The timing worked out beautifully, the movie was another matter.

My husband hated it and I guess I could have too if it didn't cost us $59 just to get in. No, for that amount I forced myself to like it - even if the only bit I enjoyed was watching English actors playing Greek men in short skirts and braided hair. The only merit to the remake is that it made me truly appreciate the original made in 1981. For some reason, I thought it was even older than that - what with the claymation Medusa and all. But at least the original was all around endearing.

The remake by Louis Leterrier made a fatal mistake in casting Sam Worthington as Perseus. He may as well have cast Jason Stratham and called it Transporter Of The Titans. His gangster British accent didn't correlate with his character and he made Perseus seem like a stuck up idiot. First he's moping, then he's in denial of being a warrior and then all the sudden he's bad ass. Plus, his legs were too skinny to be sporting a mini-skirt. He would have redeemed himself if his balls popped out - in 3D.

I should have realized the "suck" potential by looking at the director's other movies, The Incredible Hulk, Transporter  and Transporter II. All of these movies have one thing in common for me, I hate the protagonist. Oh, well. What else could I do?

After a while, I just let it go and resolved to get lost in the 3D scenery - fuck Perseus and the brown-eyed chick. Although I admit, I loved the giant scorpions and Medusa's headless body clawing for her killer but the Kraken - it was a HUGE disappointment. It was just too big. You couldn't relate to anything that large, there's just no comparison. The original movie had the right idea. They made the Kraken the size of Godzilla. That, I can relate to. As a matter of fact, the remake should have just made the Kraken, Godzilla.

But I can't say anything bad about Liam Neeson or Ralph Fiennes, who played Zeus and Hades respectively. They could have and should have switched roles midway just to fuck with the audience. I never realized how much they look alike.

So, if you're thinking about seeing Clash Of The Titans, my recommendation is this - go see it but not in 3D. And if you want to have a great time instead of just a good one, maybe you should smoke some pot before you go.