My Son, The Literal-Minded Math Genius

When it comes to telling me about her day at school, Thing 1 stays fairly tight-lipped because, as dictated by Angst and the Art of Pre-Teen Disgruntlement, that’s the proven way to produce a grunting sound most appropriate to respond to any inquiries by a parental unit.

Still, the unsolicited information spilling forth from her the other day did not put me into immediate Code Blue cardiac arrest. That’s because it involved tattling on her little brother.

“Thing 2 one came into my classroom today,” she said between handfuls of lime-flavored tortilla chips. “His teacher had to come get him out. He started crying. Is he in trouble? You should punish him. Now. Chop chop.”

In the basement, Thing 2 lay sprawled on the couch, thumbs spastically waging another violent Pokémon overthrow on his Nintendo DS.

“So, Thing 2, son,” I said as I tried not to inhale the stench rising from the dirt-encrusted shreddings masquerading as his socks. “What were you doing over in your sister’s classroom today.”

“We were doing math and I got all the answers right, so Ms. Kowalsky said I was so smart I should skip the next grade and go right to fourth.”

“And that’s what you did. You walked out of your second grade class and went down the hall to Thing 1’s class.”

“Yeeeees,” he said over the beeps, blips and electronic death wails.

This was a serious step up. During our parent-teacher conference in March, his teacher told me she usually only told him to “get out of here and go right to third grade.”

Which, of course, he also would do.

“You know, dude, she’s kidding you, right? It’s a joke.”

“No. It’s NOT!” He lowered the DS and made … eye contact.

“Yes, it is. C’mon, why would you want to skip all the way up to fourth grade aside from the fact you’d finally be among kids closer to your own gargantuan height.”

“Because I already know everything,” he said before setting his jaw and roaring with a steam engine’s force of conviction, “and I WANT TO MOVE ON WITH MY LIFE!”

Son, my, son. So big of body, big of brain and short of patience. Some day, you’ll want to reverse all the clocks whose hands you have whirled forward with childish haste, but you won’t be able to.

If you’re lucky, though, you may be able to slow them down just a tick or two.

In the meantime, I hope what I can teach you about long division and complex fractions will do the trick.

Furry Vengeance!

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I promised you a post about my brush with the rock 'n' roll lifestyle. Ain't happening today.

Why?

Murphy woke up at 3 a.m. violently shaking his head like a bobblehead doll in an earthquake. My Love guessed it was an allergy-related ear infection, gave the poor dog a Claritin and stuffed her head back under the pillow.

I slept through it all.

My brain must have automatically shut itself down to rest up after deducing that my waking day would be spent leaving a trail of cotton balls and tea tree oil around the house as I tried to corner a veterinarian-hating, 75-pound Labrador retriever whipping his long floppies from side to side like a hula dancer on crystal meth.

Or maybe I knowingly ignored all the wee-hour commotion. Maybe I was exacting revenge for the countless early mornings past on which I answered someone's needy barks to go outside. And for the six months spent picking up someone's parasite-laced intestinal explosions around the yard. And all the many power-washings and disinfections needed to remove unplanned detonations from someone's kennel, an activity done while I repeatedly muttered "crap in a wrap, what died up inside you, dog!" and wondered if certain student loans really, truly needed to be repaid given this unpaid, full-time job they had netted me.

Nah.

Must have just been my subconscious just trying to help stockpile needed energy. My brain is a far more complex beast than I am.


Video:"All Men are Liars," Nick Lowe

Meaty, Beaty, Big and Bouncy

Nothing of great consequence today, friends, unless you want a second chance to:

WIN A YEAR'S SUPPLY
OF HILLSHIRE FARM PRODUCT(S)

My favorite meat pushers (wow -- that didn't sound right) have authorized me to give away another load of sausage, deli meats and other products, this time by hosting a drawing on DadCentric. Entry rules are similar to what I did here last week, so get over there and comment.

Come back soon for a new post about my brush with the rock 'n' roll lifestyle. Meanwhile, enjoy Hanson doing a wicked Blues Brothers imitation.

Thinking 'Bout Somethin'

HANSON | MySpace Music Videos

And yes, that is Weird Al on tambourine.

My Meaty Weiners ... I Mean -- Winners

Sure, you love me, your humble scribe and beleaguered at-home dad, but I know where your true affections lie.

They lie on the grill.

And in the oven.

Maybe even in a crusty cast-iron frying pan, smothered in sauteed onions, peppers and artery-clogging yumminess.

Yes, my friends, you love your Hillshire Farm meat.

And you love it free.

For one whole year.

In all, you submitted more than 240 entries into my "Win the Sausage!" giveaway, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity (assuming you didn't enter a similar once-in-a-lifetime affair elsewhere in the blogosphere) sponsored by the generous, intelligent and totally smoking hot folks at Hillshire Farm.

And I have sorted through them all and come up with this ...

First, some surprise "bonus" prizes so I can:

• better comply with FCC regulations,
• avoid problems with the IRS, and
• hide the evidence of any possible sausage abuse from my doctor.

Runner-up prize No. 1: A copy of The Hillshire Farm Cookbook
This 64-page, full-color paperback includes a whopping 42 meaty recipes featuring Hillshire Farm products as well as tips on cooking, grilling and entertaining. And, it goes to an entrant -- chosen at random -- who happens to be named ...

James (aka Seattle Dad), author of the "Luke, I am Your Father" blog

Runner-up prize No. 2: An official "Go Meat!" white apron

This must-have article of cooking attire is being awarded to the person I believed submitted the most logical, literate and honest rationale (in the form of a naughty limerick to boot!) for her winning the grand prize. Here's her entry:

There once was a woman from Weaselville

She had very sore knees due to ... (cleaning well)

A year's worth of meat

Would keep her off of her feet

And focus her efforts in pleasureville.

The apron and congratulations go to WeaselMomma!

GRAND PRIZE: A year's supply of Hillshire Farm Product(s)

The winner, chosen at random, is a Midwestern man with

• a heart of gold (soon to be replaced with saturated fats) ...
• a unibrow of steel wool, and ..
• The Cheek of God on WordPress. 

It's ...

 Brian (aka TysDaddy)

Congratulations to all my winners and thanks to all of you for entering, commenting, tweeting and making not-so-thinly-veiled penis jokes. I hope the many of you who entered but are not regular readers at Always Home and Uncool will come back even when I'm not offering free animal products. Special thanks to the folks at Hillshire Farms for providing the goods.

Yes, I Know 'No' and Yes, That's Not 'No'

UNCOOL: Do you need anything from the store?

MY LOVE: No. I just need some new underwear.

UNCOOL: So, yes, you need something from the store.

MY LOVE: Yes.

UNCOOL: Then why did you say "no."

MY LOVE: I didn't. I just said I need new underwear.

UNCOOL: No, you said "no" then you said you needed something. The correct answer to my question was, "Yes, I need some new underwear."

MY LOVE: That's what I said.

UNCOOL: No, it wasn't.

MY LOVE: You know when I said "no" I meant "yes."

UNCOOL: So when I ask you for something-something later and you say "no," I should just interpret that as "yes."

MY LOVE: No.

UNCOOL: You mean "yes."

MY LOVE: No. I mean "no."

UNCOOL: C'mon. If I don't buy you underwear, you'll already be half way there.

MY LOVE: But you're going to buy me new underwear.

UNCOOL: Yes. I'm not.

MY LOVE: So, are you buying me underwear?

UNCOOL: Oh, yes, you know I'm not.

MY LOVE: We'll see.

UNCOOL: So, can I buy you something from the store?

MY LOVE: Yes. Buy me some underwear.

UNCOOL: Thank you.

MY LOVE: You won't tonight.

UNCOOL: I expect nothing less.

* * *

Seriously, you have yet to enter my drawing to win a year's supply of Hillshire Farm meat products? The contest ends Thursday night! All you have do is go to this post and leave a comment.

My Son, The Fashionista

It dangled limply out from under his plaid pajama bottoms.

"Thing 2, what's that?"

"It's my Sock Band^TM. I have three. See?"

"Those are just groddy socks that you have worn the bottoms out of and shoved up your leg."

"Yeah. Sock Bands^TM. I invented them."

"And what purpose do they serve?"

"I dunno."

"How long have you been wearing those ripe babies?"

"Two weeks."

"To sleep?"

"Yep."

"To school?"

"Yep."

"You showed your classmates your Sock Bands^TM?"

"Yep."

"Do they all wear them now?"

"Nope. They don't know how to make them."

"Maybe you need to incorporate and go into business selling them."

"Hmm. Maybe."

"It's tough being an fashion innovator, let alone the stud of the second grade, huh?"

"What's a 'stud'?"

"One lucky bast--, er, boy."

"Yeah. That's me."

"Rock on, son."

"OK, Pops."

+ + +

Have you entered to win a year's supply of Hillshire Farm meat products from "Always Home and Uncool" yet?  All you have do is go to this post and leave a comment.