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Archive for the ‘family’ Category

A break from insanity.

I started a post last night about the only Senator worth talking about – you know the one – and his stand against the notion that US drones could be used against US citizens.  Well, it didn’t get written.  And you know what?  I had nothing to say that wasn’t completely say-able by anyone else with two ounces of brains in their heads, which amounted to “How could Holder have possibly thought to answer other than simply ‘Oh hell, no.’?”

veeshir over at DPUD is doing more than enough ranting and he’s doing a better job of it, so go here, here, here, and here.  Don’t read his links though, because that pisses him off when you ignore his links and that makes me happy when he gets pissed off.

Pissing veeshir off reminds me… who needs to rotate their owl?

The two have nothing in common, I just thought of them around the same time.

So, since I’ve got nothing to add to my paranoia list from a few days ago other than another paranoia data point, I’ll tell you about last night instead.

I read to my daughter Lemurita nightly.  Some nights we do Girl Genius, other nights Swiss Family Robinson… Poe, Rowling, books about hotels, billionaire kids, girls who go on road-trips with their grandparents… lately it is a story about a mouse, Mrs. Frisby, and her quest to keep her son alive in spite of pneumonia.  She’s a nice mouse, Mrs. Frisby.

On the way, Mrs. Frisby meets up with a rat.  A bunch of them, actually, but the leader is a very smart rat (several are very smart).  The rat got scarily intelligent after he was captured and had experiments done on him that altered his DNA.

I stopped and mentioned to Lemurita that the implication is that the experiments in genetics made permanent changes to these rats, not just like taking antihistamines that only last for hours or maybe a day.  I explained how I think DNA is really really cool… helical, folded on itself many times, copies in every single cell, longer than snot, etc.

Lemurita asked me “So DNA is the stuff that colors your eyes and hair and stuff, right?”

“Oh yeah… height, face, fingers, all that stuff.  And what is so cool is that it is the blueprint that makes you who you are… the blueprint you have in you, some of that genetic material is stuff from Mom, and there is stuff from me there, too.  And that means you have some from your grandparents on both sides and so on.”

Lemurita looks at me curiously and says “I thought I have Mom’s DNA because she gave birth to me…”  (DANGER! DANGER! screamed my feverish brain)  The gears were very obviously turning pretty fast as she processed a whole bunch of bits of information from different sources.  (ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!  Oh Dear Lord… too late… far too late…)

You can see where she was going with this, right?  I wasn’t expecting that one to come up for some time because I keep forgetting that Lemurita is a dangerous quantity.

(BAIL… EJECT… RUUUUUUNNNNN!)

“Uh… yeah… and you have some from me, too… uh.  Ok, look, this is something you really are probably going to want to discuss with MOM, okay?  I really think that you’ll be happier that way.”

My story is “Guys talk to boys about this stuff and broads talk to girls about this stuff”.  I’m sticking to that.  Because down that path lies all sorts of questions Dads just don’t want to contemplate their daughters being old enough to ask.

Ok, tell you what… have a baby chameleon that Cruel Wife sent me:small_chameleon

Ok, now have a dragonlizardthing.

dragonlizardthing

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Childrearing can be fun.

The kids are of an age to teach about guns.   At their age I was already shooting several boxes of .22’s daily.  Here they cannot do that.

So I got out various weapons and showed them the proper way to point them, when to consider them loaded (all the time), showed them how any one of them could easily kill a person.

Moved on to the “sound” portion.  I racked the Mossberg 500 – you know that formidable sound it makes.  I said “Kids when you hear that sound what do you do?”

“Run away” was one answer.  Another was “Hide in such-and-such location”.  I told them “No, what you do when you hear that sound is hit the floor.   “Let’s see how fast you can hit the floor when I rack this gun”

And so we made a game out of a very serious thing, which is get the kids out of the equation.   “How long do you stay there?”    “Until you say we can get up.”    They were slamming themselves into the floor to see who could be quickest.

It was a great start.    And I made it clear to them that if I ever have to choose between their safety and the safety of an intruder in our home we will not hesitate to send the intruder to his maker in the most expedient way possible.  I disabused them of the silly notion of “aiming for the leg” that so many liberals would love – if you mean to aim a gun at someone you should only have done so thinking that you or yours were in terrible danger, and if your situation is that extreme then the idea of only trying to wound someone is ludicrous.

****

Given the latest round of testing done to look at Lemurita and where she falls on the ASD continuum, they reversed her diagnosis to a lesser but still real diagnosis and then said “She tests just under 140 on her IQ.  Get her into robotics or something.”   Well, I KNOW she’s bright… why did y’all think I have been throwing latin and classics and music at her all this time?

She and I are so alike that the worst disservice we could give her is to not give her free reign to run as far as she can go in any field of learning.  With the right mentor, vast swathes of my childhood would have been infinitely more interesting.

So last night Lemurita and I built a galvanic response circuit you can use as a VERY simplified lie-detector circuit if you have appropriate leads.  She swears she does not sweat when she lies so now we must prove the point one way or another.  I’ll also take the opportunity to teach her how to flip the emotional switch off and see if that makes a difference.   Doing scientific projects with Lemurita is fun – a vast huge amazing amount of fun.

Wait until Lemurita and I make thermite and put it on a remote ignition.  Oh this will be such fun.

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Good Grief #379

Today was flu shot day for the kids.

They both have kind of an issue about getting shots so I called upon Daddy Prophylactic Maneuver #379, the threat of Dire Consequences should any bullsh*t be shoveled in the doctor’s office.  Driving down the road I used that captive audience forum so favored by fathers everywhere.

Kids, listen up… If I hear even one little bit of hassle in the doctor’s office when it comes time for your flu shot, I will immediately negate any and all chore money you have stored up over the last week.  I will flat-out take it away and there will be zero chance to earn it back.  The brief sting of a shot is far far easier than a full bout of the flu.  Even if you don’t mind getting the flu, your mom and I aren’t interested in the notion of taking care of you for a week for something that can be prevented.

So.

We got into the doctor’s office and Hacker Boy was a compliant and helpful boy and even relaxed perfectly.  Didn’t even grimace over it.

Lemurita on the other hand, dove for the corner of the room saying “I don’t want your shot.  You can’t make me.  I won’t do it.”

I took the stern tack again. “Lemurita, you are going to get this shot.  It is for your own good.  Hacker Boy didn’t feel a thing.  It’s not that bad.  You’re still going to get it.  Fight this and you will lose your $6.00 chore money and you will still get that shot.  We can do this the hard way or we can do this the easy way, it is going to happen either way, so the amount of pain and suffering is up to you.”

She agreed to come over and sit on my lap but then changed her mind immediately after sitting down.  Instantly I had my arms around her to prevent her gazelle-like flight.

Then it got pretty awful bad.

“NO, I DON’T WANT THAT SHOT!  LET ME GO, NOW!  I WILL NOT HAVE THAT SHOT.  YOU CANNOT MAKE ME!”

And punctuating her every word was violent thrashing and whipping of her head.  The nurse left for a bit for us to get her calmed down and her arm shirt-free.  We had to forcibly get her arm out of her shirt.  By now, I had each of her wrists, right wrist in my left hand, left wrist in my right hand, both legs around her, and my head was up against the back of her neck so she could not pop my teeth or nose with the head-whips.

I said reasonably quietly and calmly, “You already lost your $6.00 but you’re still getting this shot.”

She started bucking even harder – full-body undulations.  The force of her movements moved me and the chair.

At the top of her lungs she was screaming:  “NO YOU CAN’T MAKE ME DO THIS!  OW, YOU BROKE MY ARM!  YOU’RE HURTING ME!  YOU LET ME GO RIGHT NOW!  I’M NOT GETTING THIS SHOT AND YOU BROKE MY ARM LET ME GO I WON’T DO IT OW!!!”

“Relax or the shot will actually hurt, and yes, you are still getting it.  No your arm isn’t broken.  Now just relax.”  I manacled her wrists and pulled her arms tight against her sides to minimize the flailing.

In went the needle with a quick jab.

Shot done.

Bit more kicking and screaming and hollering went on and then stopped as she realized that struggling after the shot just seemed silly.

We walked out to the car.  I told her that I wasn’t embarrassed by her behavior but that she probably should be.

“I don’t care,” she said.

“Okay.  I’m okay with that.”

We rode home in utter silence.  Not a word was spoken.  I had traction control turned off

As we pulled into the driveway she said

And Dad, I don’t feel any grief about the $6.00.

There is no doubt that it was the equivalent of a sneer and two extended middle fingers.

I laughed so hard I think I pissed her off a bit.

Cruel Wife looked at me and said “If you had even a tiny bit of doubt that she’s your daughter, it should no longer exist.  She is your girl.”

Apparently that is a classic trait of my personality, to tell someone to f*ck right off even if it destroys me in the process of doing it.  One time I was fired and re-hired in the space of ten minutes.  I was in the right but my handling of it could have been better.

I’m so proud of Lemurita’s wording when she’s pissed off.  She is going to be such a force to be reckoned with.

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Day 5 of Sustained In-Law Loud Yammering (AKA “Operation SILLY”).

Must leave tactical tomahawk where it is…must leave tactical tomahawk where it is… must…

My MiL is a bat-crap crazy Food Nazi (BCCFN).

I had just gotten done with making a german potato salad and since she can’t eat a lot of salt I pointed her to a bowl of it that I made just for her, and mentioned that the only salt in it was the the bacon crumbles. She said “You know, you can get salt-free bacon at Lostco.”

I looked at her blankly and said “Huh.”  Then I went somewhere else.

Now, it’s just this sort of judgmental thing that really steams my clams.  You could poo-poo it away and say it is not a judgment but it totally is.  I notice she hasn’t said a think about the inadequacy of my cast iron skillets, truck tires, choice in shoes, etc.   What she DOES comment on is things that I do that she might not agree with.  I use salt.  I don’t give a rat’s tushy about bacon grease, and dammit, I cook for flavor.  I am not about to go buy 32lbs of salt-free bacon for my MiL.  Sorry.

I do not like my choices put on display or to have to rationalize or defend my choices.  This has created some stress/tension between Cruel Wife and myself because they are her parents.  After a “discussion” we decided that she would try to deflect and I am allowed to say something if it comes up.

Not even five minutes later I’m taking the chicken off the smoker and BCCFN stops and says “You know, I did some looking online and found some bullion that has no salt in it.  I said, “BCCFN, if you find this stuff online and you want some, let me know and I can get it ordered for you with no shipping costs.”

She said, “No, I already have some, I meant for you.”

I turned around slowly, stared at her with my most soul-less smile – the one that doesn’t reach my eyes and makes the cats incontinent – and said in the best imitation of Clint Eastwood scorn that I could dredge up,  “But BCCFN, I don’t have even the slightest interest in low salt foodsNone.”  and then just as slowly, with the smile still in place, I turned back to my chicken extraction.

Shut her right up and she went right into the house w/o another word.

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