The other day I wrote about my "not so Zen" children who were baffled at the concept of one hand clapping. In one of those moments where I like to say "The universe is small", I see a news story about a company called Zen Babies. I did not go looking for it, it just fell in my lap. There ya go.

Buddha Boy has returned. This is the story of a 17yr old boy who sat down to meditate and apparently didn't eat for 10 months. This prompted people to claim miracle, and start speaking of him as the reincarnation of the Buddha. Then, he disappeared. The logical joke being that he went to get a sandwich, but of course no one can prove that.

He returned carrying a sword, which is interesting, and also speaking of himself in comparison to Buddha ("Buddha had to arrange security for himself"), something that he was very much against during his first meditation where he would say, "Tell them not to call me Buddha."

So, the story of the day is about the woman who put a baby through the x-ray scanner at the airport. The baby was quickly extracted from the machine, taken to the hospital (something she apparently did not want), and it was confirmed that the baby's fine, no damaging exposure was sustained.

But man, the fodder for Incredible Hulk jokes is just outstanding! The kid's got a new nickname for the rest of his life.

Don't make that baby angry. You wouldn't like him when he's angry.

Baby smash!

He's turning green! Oh, wait, no, that's strained peas.

On Monday I was watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I'd stayed home to help Kerry with the kids, all of whom have the stomach bug. There is a scene in Harry Potter where Voldemort's wand becomes locked with Harry's, and the ghosts of everyone Voldemort has ever killed start issuing out of it - backward in the order from most recently killed.

This is the scene that came to mind late Tuesday evening when I came home from work and Brendan decided that he was not done with his stomach bug yet. Apparently he'd had formula most recently, and before that something green, and before that something orange....

(Yes, I know it's a disgusting story, but you didn't have to clean it up.)

Taking the cue from Hugh Macleod at gapingvoid, Rebel Dad is calling for 500-word manifestos on "any parenting/balance topic you can think of."

Here's mine:

Educate your kids. At any pace they want, in any direction they want, in whatever way seems to work. And I don't mean drilling the 3yr old on quotes from Hamlet, and I don't mean working out calculus problems with the 5yr old. But when one of them experiences something of the world around them and says "Why?" then it's your job to have an answer. Sometimes they'll understand it and sometimes not. If not, then maybe they'll ask why again and you'll try again. Or maybe they'll get bored and walk away. It is better to have an answer that they don't understand than to patronize them with something just to make them go away. If you feel like you need infinite patience it is only because they have infinite curiosity.

There are no brick walls when explaining something to a child. There are no dead ends, even though it may sometimes feel like that. Every answer to every question is feeding their wonderful little brains inside their beautiful little heads, and some day in a future that's closer than you think, she's going to experience something and she's going to remember what you said. That's going to make her react in a different way than she did the first time. That's going to provide her with new experience. Maybe she'll come back and say "Why?" again, or maybe she'll work it out on her own. Repeating that many many times is how they grow up. You've got a front row seat, and you get to do more than watch. So be ready. If that means educating yourself, then get started.

Over the weekend Elizabeth dug up an old cheapy toy that came as part of some bag of party favors. It's two pieces of plastic attached to a central piece by elastics. The idea is that you swing it back and forth and it makes a clapping noise. Surely you've seen such a thing.

Anyway, after some vigorous playing with it Sunday morning, one of the hands comes off. No worries for a Sunday morning, as it still makes the clappy noise.

Fast forward a few hours and the other piece also comes loose. "Uh oh Daddy," says Katherine, "We have to throw it out now, both pieces came off."

"What are you, crazy?" I say, "Now it's the sound of one hand clapping. Very Zen."

"What's Zen?"

"Never mind."

Great episode.  Very quotable material.  And some nice drama, and plot continuations. Not too much silliness at all. 

It was a day of discovery.  I discovered that I could sex my pregnant girlfriend into a coma.  Nice!

A coffee place in a hospital?  What's next, Bob, an ice cream parlor in the morgue?  Admittedly not a horrible idea seeing's how the freezer is already down there.  Plus it'd be a perfect place for kids.  One of our famous vanilla malteds definitely takes the sting out of having to identify the charred remains of your father.

Awww, now I'm at the end of both lines!

I love this job.  I screw up, nobody gets hurt.  Except Cindy.  I scalded her pretty bad with some steamed milk.  You could see the bone.

Hey Kim, just checking to see if your socks are back on since I knocked them off last night, Hello!  What am I doing, you're gonna be the mother of my child.  That is so tacky.
  And so is this:  Way to hit that, playa!

I'm not telling Isabella she's got a vagina until she's 18!
  That's gonna be an awkward birthday party.
Do not tell my daughter she has a vagina!  I'm serious!
    It may have already come up.

This is my wife Sally.  She lost her thumbs last month when our pet Komodo Dragon Morty got out of his cage.
  On the bright side you have beautiful nubs.

A tip jar.  Really.  What am I supposed to do, just duke you my change because you poured hot water through beans?  Well I'll tell you what my friend, unless you're planning on giving me a complimentary reacharound with my beverage the answer is 'Yeah...no.'  Here's a novel idea, why don't you go fetch me a large coffee with so damned many fake sugars in it that the coffee itself gets cancer?

He is private practice.  Those guys are cocky jackasses who don't give two shakes about anybody else's opinion but their own.  They're me, with one addendum:  they're whores.  And I'm not talking about the good kind of whores like my ex-wife.  They're whores for money.
  Is that a tip jar?
Look.  I'm figuring that if those lunks down at the coffee store can have one, I can too.

Sneak attack.  You can put your shoes on again guys, nice work.

None of here even have kids, except for Margo here, and she sold hers.

Damn, we got smoked.  That's what we get for playing a bunch of G's from the hood.
  Those guys are Indian.
So Rajeesh isn't one of those cool black-only names like Amforni?
  No.  Rajeesh is like Steve in India.

Come on VJ, first you dunk on me and yell "Who's your bitch?" and now you want free medical advice?  How did I not know these guys were Indian?

I have a non-fat latte with room for Shnapps for...janitor.
  Nice braces.  You're not worried about spider monkeys?  Spider monkeys see intricate metalwork as a display of dominance.  It's a threat to them.  They'll tear your eyes out.

So, Dr. Turner said that I am a very talented young physician.
  Jordan said I'm the only man she ever wants to have sex with.  Aren't we sharing fantastic lies we choose to believe for personal reasons?

I'm just gonna go ahead and tip myself calling this one.  Thank you, me.

Turk, I need you and I need you now.
  Isabella, this is the man you'll be competing with for your father's love.
Coochie coochie coo.  Turk, now.
    Baby he's using his emergency tone.

My breasts are so sore, I wish I could just give you formula.
  Formula's bad for the baby.  Boob milk is better.

Now how about somebody gets me a banana nut muffin and hold the spit, please.

I was saying the two most addictive substances on earth are caffeine, and nicotine.  Behold!  Smokeachino, for Kyle.

Are you crazy? You can get sued.  Secondly, I can't believe you went to the mall without me, I specifically told you I needed to buy loafers.  And thirdly, how could you go to the mall without me?  That's our thing.

If I got to be right, and have a private practice doctor get to die due to his own idiocy, I'd call that a pretty full victory.

I thought that you hated him!
  When it comes to torturing you, everybody's on the same page.

Remember that first week, when I found you hooking up with my girlfriend?  And you said you guys were only naked underneath the covers because you'd had a water balloon fight and you were cold?
  JD for the last time nothing happened.
Please, this isn't about that.  Just that I looked all over, I never found any balloons.  You think there'd be some balloons.

I look at Isabella and I get really scared.  And I'm gonna need you to help me through this.
  Well that really sucks cause I was counting on you to make it look easy so I know I can handle it when my turn comes.
Awesome.

You're gonna be just fine.
  I suppose so.
Totally fine.
  Yeah.
Would you mind telling me that I'm gonna be fine Turk, am I gonna be fine?  I think I'm gonna be fine.
  Well I would but I don't know how much you like Kim.
I really like her.
  Then you're gonna be fine.

I got offered a new job.
  Cool, is it over at county? Because that way I can drop you off every morning.
It's in Tacoma, Washington.
  Oh.  That's gonna be a little rough on my scooter.

 

So this morning Elizabeth is hanging out sitting with Kerry while we get ready.  Suddenly she (Elizabeth) says to me, "Bear's in the cage!" 

Now, anybody who communicates with toddlers knows how this game is played.  You start wracking your brain trying to figure out what she's talking about, while still trying to interact with her in the hopes of getting more information.  You start by repeating what she said.  "The bear's in the cage?" I ask, looking at the television to see if there's such a commercial.  Nothing.

"Bear's in the cage!" she says, and is very excited about this.

She's not been to the zoo lately.  She doesn't really have any toys that "bear in the cage" would seem to cover.  So I start trying to get more words out of her.  "The bear?"

"The bear!"

"What bear?"

"In the cage!"

"Oh.  Where is he?"

"In the cage!"

This isn't going anywhere.  I'm starting to make jokes about her being a Russian spy trying to deliver a message.  The purple pigeon flies upside down at midnight, and all that.  "Is the bear in your room?" I ask.

"No."

"Is it in Katherine's room?"

"No."

"Where's the bear in the cage?"

"Right here.  Mommy and Daddy's room."  At this point she is pointing.

I turn around and I see her Lego table, where she has constructed what appears to be two towers.  I suppose it could be a cage.  "Oh!" I say, realization dawning.  "Is this the cage?"

"That's the cage!  Bear's in the cage!"  It's like playing a game of "getting colder getting warmer".

I look in the cage, expecting to see one of her Little People animals or something.  "I don't see the bear," I say.

"It's invisible."

D'oh!  Faked out by a 2yr old.  Needless to say, Kerry greatly enjoyed that.

 

Peter Boyle died today, or maybe it was yesterday. And yes, sure, maybe he was "best known" as the dad on Everybody Loves Raymond. But man, if that's the only place you know him from, you really need to go find yourself a copy of Mel Brooks' Young Frankenstein. Truly his best work...

When Jingle and Jangle get to visit the Mayor, he makes them a deal. If they can make it snow in Southtown, then he will take that as proof that Santa exists. They will then celebrate by...giving Santa the day off. Huh? They're down there in the first place to prove that he exists so that he won't take the day off, but then they're going to give him a holiday anyway. Now I'm just totally lost. How was that supposed to work when they got back to the North Pole? "Santa! Santa! People really do believe in you, you can go to work this Christmas! Only don't, because the kids don't want you to come!"

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[Also available on YouTube, of course]

I just don't understand Christmas, I guess.  I like getting my holiday rectal exam, and sending letterbomb Christmas cards, and decorating my penis with tinsel.  But I'm still not happy.

You know newbie, you're the only person I know besides the drunk Santa outside the five and dime who can take a wonderful season like Christmas and turn it into a problem.  Of all the Lucy, Sally and Peppermint Patties in the world, you are by far the most pathetic.  You're pathetic, you're just pathetic.  You're embarassingly pathetic.  You're beyond pathetic, you're a pathetic's pathetic.

How about some pity sex, Laverne?
  You know I shacked up with a man before I was married.  His name was Jesus.
Don't you know sarcasm when you hear it?  Call me?

All I'm sayin' baby is that you wearin all those layers is tough on me.  You with your sweater and your thermals and your jacket, hiding all your goodies and your whatnots.

But I like urinating my name in snow!  Almost as much as I like touching myself.

The holidays are great!  Remember the time we got jacked up on morphine and jammed all night?
  I wasn't invited.
Well, what about the year we all sat around the Christmas tree and beatboxed?
  I wasn't invited that time, either.

I've been looking for you, JD!  I went a little overboard on the eggnog, and now my hands don't work.  So could you please write me a prescription?

I love the holidays.  Except of course the year when I was 9 and my parents got me a Nancy Reagan "Just Say No" poster, and I asked what I was saying no to, and they said "legwarmers, a five-figure job and sex with minorities", oh and over dinner my mother yelled at my father because she learned that in college he played Santa at the local mall and ended up in the back of giftwrapping department with a ho-ho-ho, which then drove him to go a little overboard on the eggnog, which...I can't feel my legs.

Hey newbie, if a tree falls in a forest, and no one is around to hear it, are you still a dumbass?
  Yes.  Wait, no!  No!  Oh, good grief.

Now listen up, baby.  This is the music I wrote for the Christmas party.
  Speaking of Christmas, what did you get me this year?  Well Turk?
Now listen up, baby.  This is the music I wrote you for Christmas.

Time to deck the halls with your incompetence.

Let me think, where would be a good place for this nice tree of yours.  How about up your ass?

DJ, your twig went limp.

I can't hang my shiny balls on that!  Dude, high five!

This might just take attention away from my failures as a human.  Compared to that tree I'm huge and powerful.

Buckle up, Charlize.  I'll tell you what Christmas is all about.  Lights, please.  Here's the deal, newbie.  You can stuff your stockings with shiny toys from now until you grow some testicles.  But until that stocking is filled with friendship, loyalty, love and devotion well it's just plum empty.  And no you can't purchase those things at Laura Ashleigh and no you can't win them in the Redbook Giveaway Extravaganza and gee, sorry if these aren't things that you can wind up and watch spin for eight hours.  Let me make this exceptionally clear.  Christmas is about love. You can't live without other people's love.  Not during Christmas, not ever.  So go spend that time with your friends and family, and if they laugh at you, laugh with them.  And if they laugh at you again, hit em and go find some new friends.   But for the love of god, Jesus, Mary, Joseph and his amazing technicolor dreamcoat, don't ever forget this newbie.  You have to give love to get love, so start giving.  Now.  That's what Christmas is all about, there, newbie.

Maybe it's not about how big your tree is, but who you choose to sit around the tree with.  Maybe I don't care that I just ended a sentence with a preposition.

And God, you're invited too.  Ooo boy, imagine if God actually showed up.  The Lord.  The Almighty.  The Big Guy..or, Girl Upstairs.  The Head Honcho.  The Storm Maker.  The Big Cheese.  I like cheese.  Not that stuff in a can.  But give me a cheese log rolled in nuts and I am in Heaven.

 More Scrubs Quotes

Wow, that's a long title. It's baby time!

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Ah, tradition.  Making hot chocolate, watching Charlie Brown Christmas . Putting up the tree. Yelling at the wife, scaring the kids, injuring yourself.  Good times.

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