If you know what a onesie is, odds are you are either a father or a woman. Men who have no kids, don’t know what these contraptions are, primarily because onesies in and of themselves are not particularly manly. For those men out there who still cling to their manhood, let me define the term onesie for you. A onesie is a baby t-shirt that snaps together between the legs to help hold the shirt in place while simultaneously concealing the diaper. Ahhh, now you understand, don’t you? You have most likely seen such a thing, but you just didn’t know that there was such a feminine sounding name for an article of clothing that can be worn by anyone in the male cluster of society. Understand that this term was probably coined by a woman who was enamored with the idea that one thing could do the job of two. (Kinda like she may be enamored with a husband who can both pick up his chonies and close the toilet seat on the same day.)
Needless to say, the onesie is about the most feminine thing a baby boy can wear, but it is still commonly accepted by the great majority of motherhood. This bit of background leads us to a comment my wife made to me yesterday. After returning from a day-long shopping trip with her mom, my wife was showing me some of the purchases she had made for the new baby. The first item to make its way down the home fashion runway was a pair of light blue pajamas with the phrase, “I love my mom” emblazoned on the front. “Look!” my sweet wife exclaimed. “It has a zipper and no buttons.” She had a point there. Have you ever tried to button all 12 buttons on a pair of infant PJs? That alone is the main reason parents are up all night.
Regardless of the zipper, I still wanted something manly for my son. Knowing this, the next item my wife produced was another set of pajamas, only these were pinstriped and resembled a baseball uniform. The team name on the front said “Dad’s Team.”
“Now that’s more like it,” I said. Then I leaned in for a closer look. “What does it say in that little blue circle,” I wondered aloud. With my eyes slightly squinted, I read the little logo and was disappointed to find that right after the words “Dad’s Team” in fine print were the words “Approved by mom.” “What is this world coming too?” I asked. “Even the manly PJs have to be approved by mom? Where are the men?”
“Don’t worry honey,” my wife said trying to reassure me. “My mom got him a onesie, but she made sure it was a manly one.”
“She did what?” I stammered.
“She got him a manly onesie,” she replied. Does such a thing exist, I thought to myself. So I decided to find out.
“Would I look manly if I showed up at a construction site with no pants and my manly flannel shirt pinned together in the crotch? Does any onesie look manly? Did I just say the word onesie out loud?” My mind was swirling trying to absorb the fact that I lived in a society that thought a onesie could be made manly. Why let it stop at babies? Why not have manly toddler onesies and manly third grader onesies?
“That’s it!” I said to myself. “I’ll start a line of clothing for men called “Workplace Onesies.” We can have special onesies for men of all professions. Suits are too expensive anyway and with the price of gas lately, we need to save money. Who wouldn’t appreciate a dentist with no pants and his lab coat fastened safely between his legs? Or maybe a lawyer whose perfectly tanned legs extended out from the Oxford Onesie? What about the orange Home Depot Apron Onesie? The possibilities are endless.
Now that I am looking to start a business, does anyone out there know how to sew?
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
Nasal Passing
At some point in every parent's parenting career, a curious child comes to the realization that of all the cracks, crevices, and orifices in his body, the one that is in most need of a foreign object is the nose. I recall an incident from my own childhood when my younger brother conducted an experiment involving his nose and a bean. Other parents have similar stories, I'm sure.
This morning the nose incident invaded our family. If you notice the date, it is the first Monday in September, better known as Labor Day. Here is how our holiday began:
As with most mornings, the kids emerged from their rooms right at 6:30. My wife and I were still in bed, drifting in and out of sleep as we listened to them playing peacefully with each other. I thought about getting up, but had no reason to yet, so I continued with my fake sleep for a while longer. Around 6:40, my six-year-old son began sneezing. It was unusual because the sneezes were coming one at a time with about ten seconds between each. This is unusual because Zach's typical sneeze pattern is the double sneeze. (Think Ah-choo, Ah-choo without even the slightest pause in between.) The ten-second pause caught my attention just because it was a variation from the norm. Moments later, I heard another sound: the sound of footsteps approaching our bedroom.
"Uh, mom," the voice began. "Ah-choo!" Sniffle, sniffle. "I put one of those rolled up barrette things in my nose and I can't get it out." Both of us are instantly awake at this announcement, envisioning a barrette jammed into our son's nose, hooks and clips digging into his sensitive nasal passages, blood dripping out.
"You did what?" I asked jumping up and turning on the lights.
"I put a rolled up barrette thing in my nose and I can't breathe," he said very matter-of-factly.
I looked at his nose and didn't see anything except for some very moist drippage forming about a fingernail length up the passage. "Show me what you put in there," I said. Being the obedient kid that he is, he went to bathroom where the girls keep their hair things and came back out with a very small blue rubber band. "That makes more sense," I said slightly relieved as he showed me the offending item. "Let's look again," I continued very calmly on the outside while the inside of me was screaming, "We've got to get that thing out of there! Our ER co-pay is a hundred bucks!"
This time I got a flashlight and illuminated the nasal cavern to try to catch a glimpse of rubber but there was still too much drippage. "Get a tissue and blow hard," I said. He blew for several minutes without much progress, so I sent him over to Mom since she is the one who is really good at saving money. "Try holding the other side closed," I suggested. And the blowing resumed.
"We're getting some movement!" Mom exclaimed.
"Yes!" I shouted. "If that snot comes out, it is worth its weight in gold. Keep blowing."
And the blowing continued. "I see it!" Mom shouted. "Get me some tweezers!"
"Where are they?" I asked.
"I don't know," she replied.
"Breathe through your mouth, Zach. Don't sniff it up," I yelled as I frantically dug through bathroom drawers and cabinets looking for tweezers. "I have needle nose pliers in the garage," I suggested.
"Too big," my wife replied. "He's got a little nose."
"I think I saw some tweezers in the trailer when we were camping last month," I said. "Breathe through your mouth!" I hollered once more as I sprinted out into the yard to retrieve the camping tweezers. Moments later I returned with the tweezers and handed them to my wife.
Zach's eyes instantly doubled in size and panic seized him upon seeing the shiny metallic object. "You can't put those in my nose," he stammered.
"Just hold still. You won't feel a thing," I said. Even so, the panic grew and the noise level increased. "I'll hold him, you dig the rubber band out," I said to my wife. With a very professional headlock and arm hold, poor little Zach was immobilized.
"I got it!" Mom shouted holding up the small blue band still pinched in the tweezers.
I breathed a sigh of relief and looked around the room for my daughter. It only took a moment to find her hiding behind the chair in the corner of the room, hands over her ears, eyes closed, and a very concerned look on her face. I'll bet neither of them will every try that activity again.
This morning the nose incident invaded our family. If you notice the date, it is the first Monday in September, better known as Labor Day. Here is how our holiday began:
As with most mornings, the kids emerged from their rooms right at 6:30. My wife and I were still in bed, drifting in and out of sleep as we listened to them playing peacefully with each other. I thought about getting up, but had no reason to yet, so I continued with my fake sleep for a while longer. Around 6:40, my six-year-old son began sneezing. It was unusual because the sneezes were coming one at a time with about ten seconds between each. This is unusual because Zach's typical sneeze pattern is the double sneeze. (Think Ah-choo, Ah-choo without even the slightest pause in between.) The ten-second pause caught my attention just because it was a variation from the norm. Moments later, I heard another sound: the sound of footsteps approaching our bedroom.
"Uh, mom," the voice began. "Ah-choo!" Sniffle, sniffle. "I put one of those rolled up barrette things in my nose and I can't get it out." Both of us are instantly awake at this announcement, envisioning a barrette jammed into our son's nose, hooks and clips digging into his sensitive nasal passages, blood dripping out.
"You did what?" I asked jumping up and turning on the lights.
"I put a rolled up barrette thing in my nose and I can't breathe," he said very matter-of-factly.
I looked at his nose and didn't see anything except for some very moist drippage forming about a fingernail length up the passage. "Show me what you put in there," I said. Being the obedient kid that he is, he went to bathroom where the girls keep their hair things and came back out with a very small blue rubber band. "That makes more sense," I said slightly relieved as he showed me the offending item. "Let's look again," I continued very calmly on the outside while the inside of me was screaming, "We've got to get that thing out of there! Our ER co-pay is a hundred bucks!"
This time I got a flashlight and illuminated the nasal cavern to try to catch a glimpse of rubber but there was still too much drippage. "Get a tissue and blow hard," I said. He blew for several minutes without much progress, so I sent him over to Mom since she is the one who is really good at saving money. "Try holding the other side closed," I suggested. And the blowing resumed.
"We're getting some movement!" Mom exclaimed.
"Yes!" I shouted. "If that snot comes out, it is worth its weight in gold. Keep blowing."
And the blowing continued. "I see it!" Mom shouted. "Get me some tweezers!"
"Where are they?" I asked.
"I don't know," she replied.
"Breathe through your mouth, Zach. Don't sniff it up," I yelled as I frantically dug through bathroom drawers and cabinets looking for tweezers. "I have needle nose pliers in the garage," I suggested.
"Too big," my wife replied. "He's got a little nose."
"I think I saw some tweezers in the trailer when we were camping last month," I said. "Breathe through your mouth!" I hollered once more as I sprinted out into the yard to retrieve the camping tweezers. Moments later I returned with the tweezers and handed them to my wife.
Zach's eyes instantly doubled in size and panic seized him upon seeing the shiny metallic object. "You can't put those in my nose," he stammered.
"Just hold still. You won't feel a thing," I said. Even so, the panic grew and the noise level increased. "I'll hold him, you dig the rubber band out," I said to my wife. With a very professional headlock and arm hold, poor little Zach was immobilized.
"I got it!" Mom shouted holding up the small blue band still pinched in the tweezers.
I breathed a sigh of relief and looked around the room for my daughter. It only took a moment to find her hiding behind the chair in the corner of the room, hands over her ears, eyes closed, and a very concerned look on her face. I'll bet neither of them will every try that activity again.
Corn on the Cob
Do you remember when you were a child and the very act of eating was fun? It had nothing to do with the particular food that was being consumed, but rather it had everything to do with the manner in which it was eaten. This must be a learned behavior that we teach our children from the time they first learn to chew. You've seen it with babies before. They refuse and refuse to open wide until the food suddenly travels to their mouths via a spoon that has magically morphed into an airplane that is ready to park in hangar. (As if a one-year-old even knows what a hangar is.) Once the food can fly, the child is ready to try anything.
As the child grows and learns to feed himself, he may try playing the same mental games with himself. My two daughters are clearly in this stage. I'm not sure how they got caught up in the corn on the cob fetish, but they did. They must have taken such a strong liking to the yellow veggie when they were young that they can now attack any food item from a corn perspective and enjoy it thoroughly.
I first noticed this the other day when we were out on a Daddy/Daughter day. Mommy was in need of some time without the girls and, since I happened to be the only other adult in the house at the time, I took the hint and offered to take them on a brief outing. After spending several minutes visiting our local herd of sheep and goats, we headed to the donut shop. It was there that the whole corn on the cob theory formulated in my mind. Maddie, the older of the two girls, was staring at the colorful donuts behind the glass. In my mind, I was willing her to choose the unglazed round donut. You know the one that I am talking about. It’s the one donut in the whole shop that has the lowest probability of making a mess all over a child's clothes. The absence of frosting, sprinkles, or sugar ensures that the only clean up necessary will be a quick brushing off of a few crumbs.
"Look at that pretty round one," I suggested. "It looks like a silly bald man." No response as she continued to peruse the rack.
Then her eyes lit up as she exclaimed, "Oooh! Look at that sugary one!"
"You mean the twisted one with all that messy sugar covering it?"
"Yeah. I like sugar," she replied with an unbeatable smile and a twinkle in her four-year-old eyes. How could I resist? So I placed an order for her sugary twisted mess and a plain, round donut for myself. As I took her donut out of the bag, I gave her several napkins to catch the sugar. This is where the corn theory comes in. With one hand on each end of the sugar twist, Maddie proceeded to nibble into the middle of the donut as if it were corn. She then twisted the donut slowly as she worked her way around, eating the top layer of the donut and leaving the "cob" behind.
"Maddie?" I asked. "What are you doing?"
"I'm eating all the sugar. Yummmmmm!" she said. And that was mostly true because she was indeed trying to eat all the sugar, but an equal amount had spread all over her face and clothes, just as I had expected. After observing her attack the donut like corn that day, I began to notice that this was not a one-time event. Nor was it limited to this particular daughter.
What else can be eaten like corn? I'll give you a quick list of some of the things I have seen my girls eat in this way. Use your imagination as you envision a young child attack these items as if they too had grown on a cob. If any of these things make you think of a mess, you must be a parent.
Tacos: First bite on the bottom, dead center.
Popsicle: Hold sideways and start in the middle
Tortillas: Roll it up, start in the middle. Unroll and peek through the hole.
Hamburger/Sandwich: Choose your point of entry and stick with it. Never eat anything to the left or right of that point of entry.
Ice Cream Cone: Turn sideways, skip the ice cream, and start with the flavorless, air-filled cone.
What else have you seen cobbified?
As the child grows and learns to feed himself, he may try playing the same mental games with himself. My two daughters are clearly in this stage. I'm not sure how they got caught up in the corn on the cob fetish, but they did. They must have taken such a strong liking to the yellow veggie when they were young that they can now attack any food item from a corn perspective and enjoy it thoroughly.
I first noticed this the other day when we were out on a Daddy/Daughter day. Mommy was in need of some time without the girls and, since I happened to be the only other adult in the house at the time, I took the hint and offered to take them on a brief outing. After spending several minutes visiting our local herd of sheep and goats, we headed to the donut shop. It was there that the whole corn on the cob theory formulated in my mind. Maddie, the older of the two girls, was staring at the colorful donuts behind the glass. In my mind, I was willing her to choose the unglazed round donut. You know the one that I am talking about. It’s the one donut in the whole shop that has the lowest probability of making a mess all over a child's clothes. The absence of frosting, sprinkles, or sugar ensures that the only clean up necessary will be a quick brushing off of a few crumbs.
"Look at that pretty round one," I suggested. "It looks like a silly bald man." No response as she continued to peruse the rack.
Then her eyes lit up as she exclaimed, "Oooh! Look at that sugary one!"
"You mean the twisted one with all that messy sugar covering it?"
"Yeah. I like sugar," she replied with an unbeatable smile and a twinkle in her four-year-old eyes. How could I resist? So I placed an order for her sugary twisted mess and a plain, round donut for myself. As I took her donut out of the bag, I gave her several napkins to catch the sugar. This is where the corn theory comes in. With one hand on each end of the sugar twist, Maddie proceeded to nibble into the middle of the donut as if it were corn. She then twisted the donut slowly as she worked her way around, eating the top layer of the donut and leaving the "cob" behind.
"Maddie?" I asked. "What are you doing?"
"I'm eating all the sugar. Yummmmmm!" she said. And that was mostly true because she was indeed trying to eat all the sugar, but an equal amount had spread all over her face and clothes, just as I had expected. After observing her attack the donut like corn that day, I began to notice that this was not a one-time event. Nor was it limited to this particular daughter.
What else can be eaten like corn? I'll give you a quick list of some of the things I have seen my girls eat in this way. Use your imagination as you envision a young child attack these items as if they too had grown on a cob. If any of these things make you think of a mess, you must be a parent.
Tacos: First bite on the bottom, dead center.
Popsicle: Hold sideways and start in the middle
Tortillas: Roll it up, start in the middle. Unroll and peek through the hole.
Hamburger/Sandwich: Choose your point of entry and stick with it. Never eat anything to the left or right of that point of entry.
Ice Cream Cone: Turn sideways, skip the ice cream, and start with the flavorless, air-filled cone.
What else have you seen cobbified?
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