Chickens in the Bathtub update

Just a quick update on Daughter and the origin of Chickens in the Bathtub. There seems to be a little disagreement in the house.

Wife claims it's from a line in the song "Silly Lullaby" by Natasha Richardson. She says she can prove this by simply playing the song and settling this once and for all. I'm not sold on that solution.

I happen to think Daughter picked it up by watching a particular low-budget 1970s movie about fighting chickens. I'm not including the name of the movie because I don't really want the perv demographic on my blog. But read the Wikipedia description. It's hilarious.

No one in our house has seen this movie, so I'm a little dumbfounded as to how she would have had access to it. But then again, I'm not there to observe everything that goes on at our church preschool. Maybe that's where she saw it.

The bottom line is, upon reading the Wikipedia description, I have decided that my three year-old Daughter should not be allowed to watch this movie anymore, even if it is the inspiration behind her original, chart-topping song of the future.

What's next? Geese in our closets?

Daughter has a little book of prayers that she will sometimes allow me to read to her. The back page is the "Now I lay me down to sleep" prayer, printed with music. Just in case you want to sing it.

The music occupies three lines, which Daughter thinks are three separate songs. So I asked her what three songs were on the page:

1. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
2. ABCs
3. Chickens in the Bathtub

The first two songs I knew, but I didn't immediately recognize Chickens in the Bathtub as one of the traditional tunes of American folklore. Thinking she was trying to fool me into thinking the third one was real, I asked her to sing each of the three songs, and sure enough, she gave an enthusiastic rendition of Chickens in the Bathtub (although she totally phoned in Twinkle Twinkle and ABCs).

It was pretty good, and actually had a lot more thought put into it than about 40% of what is on the radio today. Allow me to enter the song Chicken Noodle Soup as evidence to support this claim. Seriously, go to iTunes and look up Chicken Noodle Soup and then come tell me my 3 year-old's made up song Chickens in the Bathtub doesn't have promise.

Until we get a recording contract hammered out, you can forward royalty checks to my attention. And if you happen to know Clive Davis or Quincy Jones, please have one of them call me. Pretty soon, my child's recording career will be one of my best investments.

Daddy's got a new ride

I broke up with my Jeep this week. She may try to tell you it was mutual, but it was all me.

I was afraid last week's repairs (all $700 worth) were the beginning of the end, like when a little old lady falls and breaks her hip. So I held off on investing an additional small fortune into the eight year-old Jeep to elope with a 2007 Honda Accord EX-L V6.

Once again, like when I bought the Odyssey for the Wife, I used my car guy to find the best deal, handle all the haggling and take care of the trade. As a result, I got a fair value for the Jeep and a nice discount on the Accord.

Using my car guy is pretty cool. He sends a lot of business to this particular Honda dealer, so when he shows up with a customer, the customer gets rock star treatment. When we rolled up, they had my new Honda shined up and waiting front and center at the front door. While my car guy did my haggling, the owner of the dealership chatted with me, got me a Coke and gave me some Honda swag.

From the time we arrived to the time I rolled out in my new Accord, only about 90 minutes elapsed. Contrast that with the typical 4-5 hours it normally takes, and you see why I like having this guy work for me.

So the new lady and I are bonding. She's got my music loaded up, mirrors are just right, and the seat is slowly but surely sculpting itself to my hind end.

The real me

This portrait of me brought to you by my 3 year-old Daughter. It's remarkably accurate.

A quick check-in

Once again, I find myself with very little time for the important things in life, like blogging, because of my "responsibilities" to my family, work and school. But to catch up a little bit, here are a few morsels:

• If you've had the news on at any time during the last week, you know that Anna Nicole Smith is dead, and that Britney Spears has shaved her head. With Anna Nicole's passing, Britney apparently spotted an opportunity to become our nation's Redneck Laureate.
• I also caught an item on the news that said Sylvester Stallone's hotel room and private jet had both been searched for illegal substances in Australia. Or Austria. I get them confused. Anyhow, I think the most shocking part of this story is that Sylvester Stallone has a freakin' private jet! Are they just giving those things away these days?
• The mechanic put what amounts to a $700 band-aid on my Jeep yesterday while I mull over investing an additional $700 for them to study another problem. Studying this other problem is not a guaranteed fix, and could lead to an additional $1,500 repair. All of this on a car I'm planning to trade in a year anyway. Looks like my trading schedule could get moved up.
• I have been a world champion procrastinator when it comes to working on the 20-page research paper that is due in my Statistical Analysis class next week. The professor kills us with 2 hours of homework a night and expects us to find time to write a 20-page paper during an 8-week course.
• My love for bulleted lists has grown from an innocent flirtation into a torrid, boil-a-rabbit-on-your-stove love affair.

More to follow later. In the meantime, I'll be lurking and commenting on your blogs.

The new gig

Thursday and Friday were, without exception, two of the best days of my life. In the grand scheme of things, there have been just a handful of moments that truly matter:

• Seeing Wife walk down the aisle at our wedding
  
• Learning that Wife was pregnant, both times
• Watching Wife give birth, both times
• Eating a bacon cheese Krystal for the first time
• Thursday and Friday

Okay, so Thursday and Friday don't really belong in that list (Krystal stays!) but they were pretty cool days. They were great because I got paid to sit around and do jack squat. And I got paid for said jack squatting by not one, but two companies - New Company and the Old Company. How sweet is that?

All of that is to say I started work with a new company Thursday, and so far, things are going great. There's excitement in the air and an energy among the people that is cool to experience. New Company is literally a new company, and for regulatory reasons, the doors can't open until certain pieces are in place.

We're a week away from everything being ready, so for those of us who are not the senior management of New Company, we're a week away from being able to do what we were hired to do, which is to solicit business for New Company.

It's just a strange feeling to know that - for right now - nothing is expected of me. Now I know what it's like to be a farmer who gets a subsidy to not grow things. Or what it's like to
work in the Atlanta airport.

So for now, we spend a lot of time laying odds on what the final body count - the number of people who leave Old Company to come work for New Company - will be. Seven of us have moved over so far, and New Company has offers out to a few more. We also try to assess the impact that losing seven key employees will have on Old Company. I'd say it will be significant. The last time there was an opening in a position similar to mine, it took six months to make a hire.

What I'm enjoying most about New Company is the quality of the people. Without exception, everyone is pleasant, upbeat and professional. At some places in the past, I've found myself asking, "Where'd they find this guy?" or "Where does this lady get the idea it's okay to act like that?". Not the case here.

The only thing that could make the place better would be a sackful of bacon cheese Krystals.

Work is getting in the way of my blogging

I went back to work on Thursday, so the blogging has slowed down a bit. But you all had time to marinate in my China post, so I don't feel too bad. A couple quick hits until I can catch up:

• My statistics professor speaks through a thick accent. When he talks about "residuals" he calls them "re-jijus"
• My car is sitting in the shop waiting for a transmission tech to look at it. I have a bad feeling that I'm about to be separated from a lot of money to fix the thing.
• Had fondue in a restaurant for the first time tonight. Tasty, but I don't have much of a sweet tooth. Wife loved it, so it was worth ordering.
• The body count at my former employer continues to grow. And no, I didn't work for the U.S. Army, so it's not literally a body count. More details on this to follow.
• I left behind an expenses-paid trip to a popular resort when I left my previous employer
  
• Son said "Daddy" for the first time yesterday. Music to a man's ears.
• Daughter nows says, "Goodnight, I love you too!" when I tell her "Goodnight, I love you!"

More to follow tomorrow.

Going global with this thing

I'm huge in China.

Or, more precisely, this blog is huge in China. (Although at 5'10" you could make the argument that I literally am huge in China.)

I know what you're thinking. That's a big claim, especially for a dude so new to this blogging thing. But what I'll tell you, my friends, is that you've either got international appeal or you don't. Plain and simple. And I've got international appeal falling off of me. It oozes out of my pores. It flakes off of my scalp. I have chunks of it in my...well, you get the idea.

And when you've got international appeal, the world will beat a path to your door. Or in this case, the world will click their way to your blog.

So how can I sit here, a month into this blog, and claim to be one of the most widely-read blogs in the Pacific Rim? Read on, readers.

In my statistics class, we have learned that you can make judgments about a population by observing small samples of that population. Yesterday, I had not 1, not 2, but THREE visits from China in a 20-minute period.

(Pause to let that sink in.)

From there, I can extrapolate that if three people in 20 minutes were reading, it's fair to say that the vast majority (if not all) of the 1.3 billion people in China have read, or will read, this blog.

There it is. Sitemeter doesn't lie, folks.

So if you want a piece of the action, a piece of what I now consider to be the most widely read blog on the planet, get in line. Quick. Link to me. Comment a lot. Visit here often. You can come along on what I know will be a historic ride.

And to my boy in Shandong and my two dudes in Beijing: keep spreading the message about the monumental things I'm doing here. You're part of one of the great stories (that being this blog) of human civilization.

Early retirement

I ain't got no job.

We have an entire stay-at-home family this week while Dad is without work. The beauty part is that as I sit here blogging (do I sound cool when I use "blogging" as a verb?) I'm getting paid pretty well. Aww-yeeah.

I actually do have a job, but I don't start there until this Thursday. And in my line of work, when you give two weeks notice, they politely thank you and send a guy to your office to throw your belongings out on the sidewalk. I guess they think you'll spend the two lame-duck weeks copying files or running up your company credit card, which is ludicrous. Anyone with half a brain would do all that stuff before giving their notice.

So last Thursday (when I gave my two weeks notice) was my last day with my previous employer. This week off has been a nice break, as I have had a chance to do some things for which I'm not normally around. Son's haircut today, for example. I also picked Daughter up from preschool today and will take her to ballet tomorrow. I've also been a helping hand for Wife, who has been able to run an extra errand or two unencumbered by my progeny.

But I think it's time to get back to work. I say this for two reasons:

1. My workplace habits don't work around here
2. I keep hurting myself

You remember how in The Shawshank Redemption anytime one of the old-timers got out of the slammer they didn't know how to handle being on the outside? That's where I am. I'm still getting up at 5:45 and getting dressed and thinking I need to be somewhere at 8. And all my, "Where are we on this?" and "How is this coming?" doesn't get me too far with a 3-year old and 16-month old.

I also keep finding new ways to hurt myself. You've read about the Viet Cong Death Camp splinter I got. Last night, on the very night Son learned how to walk down two steps without holding on, I learned that I can not walk up the same two steps without holding on. I hit the ground hard, landing on my knee, hip and elbow and doing a tuck-and-roll after to prevent further injury.

I was pretty sure I had killed myself when it happened, and I think Wife was thinking the same thing. I think she had even started dialing the life insurance company's 1-800 number when we realized that I was not hurt, just an idiot.

Anyhow, I've got another day to lay around and get fat while my old company pays me, so I'm going to make the most of it. I'm getting in all the play time and minivan shuttle service I can.

Urgent plea for help

** UPDATE **
Little Man was an absolute CHAMP! He rose to the occasion in a big way. He sat there in my lap, with both of us draped, and laid his head on my chest while the stylist did her thing. It was very, very sweet. I almost didn't want it to end, except I had a sippy cup of cold apple juice nestled in the crotchal region. Thanks for the suggestions!!

Since I'm a stay at home dad this week (see post later today), I've got the task of taking my little man to get a haircut this morning. That's where I need your help, moms and dads.

My understanding of this task is this:

• Get my 16-month old boy to be still
• In a chair
• While a lady goes at his head with scissors

Should be no problem.

Any tips from the seasoned pros out there? I'm taking a big snack and some books to keep him occupied.

How about checking in with a comment if you've got wisdom to share.

So much to learn

If I were a good blogger, I would have the coolest picture on this blog right now. Since I am only a month into this, I am not yet conditioned to think the way I should: blog first, everything else a distant second.

Yesterday I got a crazy splinter. Not just a little sliver under the surface of my skin. This was a deep, Guantanamo (sic?) Bay style plank of wood that slithered about a quarter of an inch beneath my fingernail.

It hurt like poop.

And it would have made an AWESOME picture. But alas, I have much to learn about blogging. I need to train myself to judge everything on its blogworthiness. Thus, no more missed opportunities like the nasty, prison camp splinter.

Time to grow up, Dad

Heard in our house on Sunday:

"When do we die, Daddy?"

What did you say, Daughter?

"When do we die?"

Amidst the frenzied lunchtime that typically follows church, she stopped my world for a minute with a question that she has long since forgotten but that still echoes in my head.

You know in the movies where the outsider walks into the biker bar and the jukebox needle scratches and the music stops? That's what it felt like.

I asked her why she wanted to know, but as is characteristic of a child her age, getting an answer was more important. Then I tried to ignore her, and walked into the kitchen to get Son's peanut butter and jelly sandwich. (Ignoring something will make it go away, right?)

"When do we die and go live in heaven?"

My word. What are they teaching these kids in Sunday School? Did they swap the adult curriculum with the kid curriculum?

I truly couldn't tell you what kind of lame explanation I spit out for her, if I even came up with one at all.

What Daughter doesn't know is that I'm barely to the point in my life where I can accept the fact that I won't be around forever. In the fantasy world in which I live, I can eat all the junk I want, get zero exercise and share all the needles I want without fear of the lasting detriment to my health. (Kidding about the needles. I don't share.)

Thinking beyond that, I can't even begin to imagine a world without her in it.

So until I can grow up a little bit, and be a man, and be the daddy that she really needs me to be, all I know to do is dodge these questions and pray that I'll be ready next time.

Turn off the Internet

All the good ideas have been had. We can fold this Internet thing up and move on to something else. In a move of sheer brilliance, William at Poop and Boogies is asking for help composing the 100 Things About Me portion of his blog.

I pondered the idea of blatantly ripping off the concept and doing the same thing here, but it would take both of you a couple months to finish.

His list is coming along very nicely. Run over there and see.

I wish I could quit you

Since I am a octogenarian trapped in a 30-something year old body, I was asleep on the couch long before SNL hit the airwaves last Saturday. But I woke up a few times while it was on and caught a few minutes here and there. A few minutes of a lame skit. A few minutes where they make fun of President Bush. A few minutes of a good skit. A few minutes of the musical guest.

The musical guest this week was a girl named Lily Allen. In my slumbery haze, I couldn't really tell if she was doing well or not. My first impression was that she kinda sucked, but something about her music was catchy.

Sunday morning rolled around and Son (who is bound to be a Marine, or a co-host of the Today show based on his early wake-ups) got me up at the crack of Are You Kidding?
It was early enough that TV was still a big infomercialfest, so I rolled the Tivo of SNL.

For the next hour or so, while Son played and ate, I skipped back and forth between the two Lily Allen songs. I literally could not stop listening/watching.

And the thing is, the music isn't all that great. But so catchy.

So if you dare having something stuck in your head for the next week, go check her out on iTunes.

The ultimate test of parenting prowess

As you know from an earlier post, Wife had me fly solo with the kids this weekend while she, her mom and sister went to a spa for the weekend. I’m happy to report that Child Protective Services did not come get my kids. It seems I was only a mild hazard to their health and welfare.

The shining moment of the weekend came about 10 a.m. on Sunday, when I hit the doors of the church with:

1. The kids in matching outfits
2. Their hair and teeth brushed
3. No tears or tantrums (from them or me)

How about me?

What that moment signified was that I had survived the crucible that is Getting Ready for Church. The parents in the audience know what I mean. For you not-yet-parents or never-want-to-be-parents out there, the closest comparison is the cliché of herding cats. Blind, deaf, drunken cats. Cats that look awfully stinkin’ cute in their church clothes.

Anyhow, I was a little underwhelmed by the reception I received when I arrived at church. To have overcome Getting Ready for Church, on my own no less, deserved a little fanfare. I wasn’t wanting too much – maybe a just a big tunnel like football players run through and the “Let’s Get Ready to Rumble” song on loudspeakers.

But I got nothing. Just a passing glance from a lady I don’t really know while she refilled her coffee in the lobby.

Oh yeah, and the reward of knowing that I can handle this stuff on my own. And that as sharp as Wife is at all this – and she’s mighty sharp – I can come through in a pinch.

Blogiversary

If you smelled smoke on February 1, that was me. Sorry about that. Candles.

February 1 was the one month blogiversary of My Best Investments, so I cooked up some food, had a few thousand friends over to the house and decked out the dining room. Wife baked a cake for the blog and we put a big, fat candle in the middle.

I think the blog enjoyed the party, although the crash after the big sugar high was pretty rough!

T minus crazy

How great is this story? From the AP:

Astronaut charged with attempted murder

ORLANDO, Fla. - She was the Robochick. He was Billy-O. According to police, her obsession with him led her to drive 900 miles from Houston to Orlando, bringing with her a trenchcoat and wig, armed with a BB gun and pepper spray, and wearing a diaper to avoid bathroom breaks on the arduous drive.

Once in Florida, Lisa "Robochick" Nowak apparently confronted the woman she believed was her rival for the affections of William "Billy-O" Oefelein. And this tawdry love triangle has one more twist — it involves two astronauts.

Nowak, 43, a married mother of three who flew on a space shuttle in July, was charged with attempted murder, accused of hatching an extraordinary plot to kidnap Colleen Shipman, who she believed was romantically involved with Oefelein, a space shuttle pilot.

Isn't that, like, the first thing they teach you at astronaut school? The whole first day of class is, "Okay, here are the bathrooms. The coffee is down the hall. Always wear your space suit. And, whatever you do, NO LOVE TRIANGLES!"

How Honda will win the war in Iraq

So I think we should have bought a bright red minivan.

And I think our van needs some kind of perpetual blinking light on it. Maybe something a little more eye-catching than a hazard light or brake lamp. Something more elaborate...like the Golden Nugget in Las Vegas.

It would probably also help to have some kind of siren. A siren loud enough that you could hear it with noise-cancelling earphones while shooting a gun from a low-flying helicopter during a tornado at a Nascar race.

The car should also have some sort of odor cloud that hovers over its exterior. An odor foul enough to gross out a coroner.

So why do we need to trick out the van with all this stuff?

Because currently, our vehicle is an unassuming shade that Honda calls Sage Brush Pearl. Sage Brush Pearl is a lot like Wife and I - understatedly stylish while at the same time capable of blending in with the scenery.

Our rental van is also a color very similar to Sage Brush Pearl. And today I learned why Sage Brush Pearl was a mistake. Because when you have Sage Brush Pearl:

Your car. Gets hit. In parking lots.

That's right. The bluish minivan we are driving because our bluish minivan got hit in a parking lot...

...wait for it...

GOT HIT IN A PARKING LOT TODAY!

THAT'S why I think the bright red paint, Vegas style lighting, ear-splitting sirens and rotten odor are in order. Because apparently, it's very difficult for drivers to distinguish between a parking space that's totally empty and a space that's occupied by a ton of sheet metal, leather, rubber and glass. We need some other way to warn these drivers that they are in danger of hitting a sedentary object. Maybe all the blinking and wailing and stinking will do it.

If there is a silver lining to all this it's this: since Sage Brush Pearl lies outside the range of colors visible to the human eye, we could probably use it to paint all those Humvees and armored personnel carriers that are going to be sent over in The Surge in Iraq. Those Iraqis will never know we're there.

Missing our minivan

Both of my steady readers already know that a few weeks back, our prized Honda Odyssey was nailed by an old lady in the grocery store parking lot.

This week, I handed over our beloved beauty to the body shop to restore her to her former glory. Since we were lucky (closest word I could find) enough to have been hit by 1) a legal U.S. resident and 2) an upstanding woman who pays her insurance premiums, we have been furnished with a replacement vehicle.

The replacement vehicle has been a bit of a sore subject from the very get-go. There's apparently a little dance that insurance companies and car rental companies do when it comes to situations like this:

Step 1: Insurance company approves an iPod-sized car for the claimant (that's me)
Step 2: Rental car company has claimant call the insurance company to request a bigger vehicle
Step 3: Insurance company hems, then haws, then approves a larger vehicle
Step 4: Rental car company sends 5 dudes out to go smoke in the car you're about to rent

I ultimately got the car I needed, but having to haggle for it seemed a little silly. Why the insurance company can't look in their own file to match up the type of car damaged to the type of car you'll need, I don't know.

Moving on, I guess we've been a little spoiled by some of the features on our Odyssey, because we're not finding this thing to be very user-friendly. On top of that, Daughter fires off the same batch of questions/statements every time she gets in the thing:

"This car is stinky."
"Who smoked in this car?"
"Why do people smoke?"
"I don't want Kiki (her plush duck) to ride in here and get stinky!"

Oh well. Our van should be back in fighting shape on Monday. Until then, we'll cruise through town in our smokemobile.

Probably not going to happen

Heard in our house today:

Daddy, I want to be on a hangglider with you.

Sorry babe. I don't really see Mommy going for that.

You mean this can make them sick?

From the looks of things, I may actually be able to earn a passing grade on my weekend with the kids simply by keeping them from drinking the hand sanitizer.

I, for one, was totally blindsided by learning that the same gel that kills the germs on my children's hands can make them sick inside too. Now I am having to re-evaluate everything I know about parenting.

Do I now take away their cigarettes? The oily rags they like to slap each other with? Should I have thought twice before applying that extra layer of lead-based paint to the crib? Do I have to quit hauling them around town on my moped? Was it wrong to let the drifter from the bus station babysit?

Should I switch to a 529 Plan instead of state lottery tickets? Maybe they should share a loaded handgun rather than each having their own? Start refrigerating their food? Bathe them?

All it takes is one bit of bad news to totally change the way you look at things. Now if you'll excuse me, some guys I met standing outside the methadone clinic are coming over to organize all the clutter inside the family safe.

Child Protective Services...

...is probably idling in my driveway right now. Wife loaded up this afternoon and left for a weekend spa trip with her mother and sister, so it's just me and the kiddos for the weekend.

It's during times like these when the disparity in parenting/home management skills between myself and Wife becomes painfully obvious. Wife is able to dress, feed, entertain and stimulate our children and wash clothes, cook dinner, pay bills and literally everything else.

I am able, sometimes, to dress the kids. Other times, the pajamas stay on.

I am good at feeding them. This may be because they get very vocal when they're hungry. (These kids expect to be fed every day.)

As for educating and stimulating them and getting anything else done, forget it. Most often it's just survival mode.

SAHD's, I don't know how you do it. Standing slow-clap for you guys. Clap............clap............clap...............(you get the idea.)

Anyhow, pray for me this weekend. But more importantly, pray for these sweet children. They didn't do anything to deserve this!