PARENT: C’mon.
KID: Where are we going?
PARENT: I’ll tell you when we get there.
KID: Uh-oh – you’re taking me to the doctor, aren’t you?
PARENT: Why do you say that?
KID: Because that’s what you always say when you take me to the doctor.
PARENT: I do?
KID: Either that or the dentist.
PARENT: It’s not the dentist.
KID: I knew it! But I’m not even sick!
PARENT: I know, but it’ll be over before you know it. And then we’ll go for cupcakes.
KID: CUPCAKES!
PARENT: I thought you liked cupcakes?
KID: I do like cupcakes, but cupcakes after the doctor mean I have to get a shot.
PARENT: Not always.
KID: Yes always.
PARENT: No, sometimes we go for cupcakes even when you don’t have to get a shot.
KID: So does that mean I don’t have to get a shot?
PARENT: Unfortunately, no – it turns out the H1N1 vaccine you got last year takes two shots.
KID: That’s so unfair.
PARENT: I know. But I tell you what – after cupcakes, I’ll let you get one small toy at the toy store.
KID: NOOOOOOOOOOO!
PARENT: What’s wrong with getting a toy!?!?!?!
KID: Getting a toy after the doctor means they’re gonna use a big, huge needle. AHHHHHHHHHHH!
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PRE-SCHOOLER: Hit. Bit. Fit. Shit. Hit. Bit. Fit. Shit. There’s a lot of controversy surrounding kids in the control tower, but what’s the big deal? What would really happen if the FAA decided to let kids land planes? Five consequences: 1. New pre-flight procedures: PILOT: Air Traffic Control, Alaska 827 requesting permission to take off. 2. Pilots who didn’t follow directions wouldn’t just be grounded, they’d be sent to bed without dinner: KID AIR TRAFFIC CONTROLLER: Northwest 104, where have you been? Do you know what time it is? 3. Pilots would be expected to use good manners: PILOT: Air Traffic Control, this is United 817, request permission to drop to 10,000 feet. 4. No more foreign flights: PILOT: Air Traffic Control, this is Ukrainian Airlines 202, over… Come in Air Traffic Control, this is Ukrainian Airlines 202… Air Traffic Control? Hello? Is anybody there? 5. All planes would have to land by 8 pm on a school night, 10 pm on weekends: PILOT: Air Traffic Control, this is Alaska 111, requesting assistance. KID: Are you sick? WIFE: Where you going? According to language experts, English includes approximately 250,000 words, which means that if a person were to answer any given question using only three of them, there would be 15,624,812,500,500,000 possibilities. So why is it kids always seem to ignore the other 15,624,812,500,499,999 and just say “I don’t know?” PARENT: What are you doing? True, there are occasions when they really, truly don’t know, but these are rare. Which means as parents, we usually have to spend anywhere from five minutes to five hours prodding and probing them for an actual answer – a course of action that results in them being ticked at us for interrogating them like a Guantanamo Bay-detainee, and us being ticked at them for making us interrogate them like some Guantanamo Bay-detainee when they could just as easily have told us what we needed to know in the first place. But before we attribute “I don’t know” to their being lazy, lethargic, unfocused, inattentive, flip, passive-aggressive, malnourished, narcissistic, ego-centric, spoiled or brain-damaged from spending too much time playing video games and watching TV, keep in mind that developmental psychologists say the adolescent mind is far from fully developed. So when kids say “I don’t know,” in practical terms, they don’t — because the part of their brain that’s trying to answer our question (a part that’s got to be tucked away somewhere in some insignificant corner of some underused lobe) isn’t communicating with the part of their brain that knows what the answer is, and probably won’t be able to with any kind of speed or reliability until they’re in their 20s. Which means that just about the time they stop answering every question with “I don’t know,” we’ll be starting to thanks to the debilitating effects of aging and all that extra wear and tear our brains have been subjected to over the years thanks to our kids. Check out “The Gigglesnort Test” at undercaffeinated mom for a fun approach to dealing with this problem. The bad times may be over, but the good times aren’t going to return any time soon. For many of us, that’s troubling. But it can also be inspiring – especially when it comes to finding appropriate ways to spend quality time with family. Kick The Can(didate) Family members divide up into two groups: Democrats and Republicans. Democrats try to prevent Republicans from kicking the can, just like in the classic childhood game, but have to put on blinders and argue among themselves, making it very easy for a lone Republican to come out of nowhere and kick the can. Alternately, family members don’t divide up into Democrats and Republicans at all, but just play as a single group of Democrats who work against each other to both kick the can and prevent the can from being kicked, turning the whole game into an ugly, shameless, ultimately un-winnable waste of time. Liar’s Dice, The Wall Street Edition In the traditional game, players roll a handful of dice and then try to lie about how many 1’s, 2’s, 3’s, 4’s, 5’s and 6’s they have. If one player doesn’t believe another, he or she says “liar.” If the accused is actually lying, he or she loses a die; if the accused is telling the truth, the accuser loses a die. The game continues until there’s only one player left. This version is played the exact same way, except that whenever a player lies and loses a die, he or she gets to replace it with one provided by the Treasury Department for as long as the government has adequate dice reserves, or can borrow dice from China. Tea Party The point of this game is to pretend to spontaneously gather around an imaginary table drinking imaginary tea from imaginary cups until the media believes it’s real, and then form a grassroots special interest group to force everybody to move to the right. Duck Duck Goose Each player pretends to be a homeowner and sits in a circle with the other homeowners. One player – representing a soon-to-reset adjustable rate mortgage, crushing equity line, further decline in housing prices, prolonged period of unemployment or other form of bad luck – walks around and taps each of them on the head, saying “Duck… Duck… Duck…” This goes on for an inordinately long time, with all the anxious homeowners hoping the bad luck will just go away. It doesn’t. When bad luck finally says “goose,” the player he or she just tapped sits there quietly in a complete state of denial, then wanders off leaving an empty spot in the circle. This goes on for an inordinately long time, too, until even the remaining homeowners are too depressed to continue. What’s my party line? Throw a blanket over your TV set and then randomly tune it to Fox News, CNN or MSNBC and see if you can tell what party’s talking points the supposedly non-partisan/independent/”fair and balanced” experts are secretly touting. I Spy Just like regular “I Spy,” only with the more apropos subjects: “I Spy, with my little eye, something that begins with F… a foreclosed house.” Or “I Spy, with my little eye, something that begins with O… a one-term president.” The Telephony Game Start with any of the promises Banks made when they needed to be bailed out – to take fewer risks, not put profits first, learn from their mistakes, help homeowners modify bad loans, etc. – and play the telephone game to see if any of these phrases end up making any sense at all. Pin The Tail (Of Blame) On The Donkey Much like ‘08s most popular game, “Pin The Tail on The Elephant,” this one substitutes a donkey and uses a much, much bigger tail. Don’t Be Afraid Of The Big, Bad Wolf Players divide into three teams, and then each team builds a house. The first uses straw, which represents a “no-doc” loan, the second uses wood, which represents a zero-down, adjustable-rate mortgage, and the third uses brick, which represents a 30-year fixed-mortgage with 20% down that will never, ever cause problems. They then wait for the Big Bad Wolf to huff and puff and try to blow their houses down. Obama Limbo How low can President Obama’s approval rating go? Put on “The Limbo Song” and see. Republican Hokey Pokey You put your right foot in, and then instead of putting your left foot in, you put your right foot in even farther unless you want the Tea Baggers to knock you over. Ghost in The Graveyard Shift Similar to the classic childhood game, except when word gets out you’re playing, 10,000 people show up. (To see family games from last year, click here.) WIFE: Never mind.
But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good when you do. It seems like there are two kinds of divorces: the ones where the split is amicable, or at least free from a restraining order, and the ones you get caught in the middle of – where the pain, hatred, contempt, frustration, mistrust and loathing go on long after the marriage ends. Staying neutral can be a challenge for even the most savvy and diplomatic, but usually – eventually – you’re sucked in: BITTER EX-HUSBAND: Can you believe my ex-wife! She’s such a selfish, spoiled, careless, mean, stupid, cow. Don’t you think? As ugly as these conversations can be, at least they don’t require you to anything more than walk away. What can be worse is when you’re pressed into service: BITTER EX-WIFE: Say, I’ve been meaning to ask you: you see my ex-husband when he picks up the kids, right? Fortunately, there is one benefit to being caught in the middle of this kind of animosity: it reminds you to treat your own spouse with a little more kindness and compassion, if for no other reason the last thing you want is to put your friends, neighbors or even acquaintances in the position of being the “you” in any of the exchanges above.
While it may seem helpful that every toy in the toy store is labeled with a “recommended for ages X to Y” or “suitable for ages X and up,” it’s not. In fact, in many ways it makes gift-giving much more complicated. Let’s start with infants, toddlers and pre-schoolers: there isn’t a 21st Century parent who doesn’t believe the one running around his or her house isn’t clearly more developmentally advanced than most others. Not convinced? Just think about any conversation you’ve had with the parents since they became parents: doesn’t it always include at least one funny/touching anecdote about how their little angel accomplished something a merely “average” child wouldn’t be expected to do until he or she was much, much older? Given this, it would seem logical to assume the child’s functional age would be much greater than the child’s actual age, to the point where, for example, a toy designed to help pre-schoolers improve small muscle control would be well-suited for their little toddler. But no. Because even if the kid is advanced, there’s no way he or she is that advanced, which means not only won’t the kid be able to use the toy (not for its intended purpose, anyway), the resulting failure, frustration and over-stimulation will lead to a massive meltdown the child’s parents will blame on you and the idiotic gift you bought that traumatized their offspring. You might as well have given the child a dunce cap and the parents a t-shirt that read “We’re the proud parents of a moron.” It doesn’t get any easier buying gifts for older kids, either. Let’s say you have an 11-year-old nephew who loves to play video games. Having spent some time with him, you realize his favorite games are ultra-violent first-person shooters and elaborate, adult-oriented fantasy role-playing games. So you buy him one. And then come Christmas Day, when you call over to the house to say “Season’s Greetings,” you’re shocked when nobody will speak to you. What happened? The game you got was rated “M for Mature,” just like the dozen other “M for Mature” games he has in his room and plays regularly. Except his parents didn’t realize this (either because they never set foot in his room because it’s too messy, or because they’re parents and they’re so overwhelmed with everyday demands they filter out everything that isn’t homework or a fight). PARENTS: What did Uncle Scott get you? The result is your nephew hates you because you got all his games taken away and his parents hate you because you’re probably the one who corrupted him in the first place. As if that’s not enough of an argument against age-appropriate guidelines, there’s also this problem: where do they come from? Obviously not from parents, because if they did there would be some kind of board or council or non-profit organization responsible for determining them that would have splintered years ago into Liberal, Conservative and Centrist factions that parents would be pressured to support or denounce. Guidelines clearly aren’t determined by toy manufacturers, either, as they would never open themselves up to such and easy-to-win lawsuit: ATTORNEY REPRESENTING CLASS ACTION LAWSUIT: Did you or did you not state that this toy was appropriate for children ages 8 and up? So who is responsible? Unfortunately, the only group that’s left is the same group of child development experts who make up all the other guidelines for children — which might seem fine, except that for every parent who agrees with their advice (and quotes it freely, and condemns anyone who doesn’t believe it) there’s another parent who thinks everything they say is just stupid. So unless you know exactly where the parents of the child you’re buying a gift for stand, you’re better off avoiding toys and their age-appropriate guidelines completely and doing what generations of non-parents have been doing for decades: giving U.S. Savings Bonds. Google is great for finding the answers to obscure trivia questions, getting directions, locating the only a 24-hour-a-day pet walker in your neighborhood, etc. But it’s terrible for health symptoms. Search: bloody nose You’d think a program that’s sophisticated enough to be able to figure out what you really want to search for even when you type in the wrong word or phrase – “Did you mean most commonly misspelled words?” – would be smart enough to filter out (or at least de-prioritize) the rare, deadly, one-in-a-million diseases that always seem to pop up when you search for something minor. Search: headache But no. Instead, you’re faced with a page of terrifying results. (If not 10… 20… or even 30 pages of terrifying results, but who really knows since the information on first page alone is enough to make even the most anxiety-proof person pass out from a panic attack?) All of which would be fine – even amusing – if a visit to the doctor’s office (or emergency room, if you’re really alarmed) offered relief. But it doesn’t because even if your M.D. has to muffle a snicker when you admit you googled your symptoms and freaked out when you read the results, the closest thing you’ll get to being told you’re 100% healthy is a vague reassurance that “it’s probably nothing.” Why? Because doctors use Google, too. Search: malpractice
If Eskimos have a thousand words for snow, shouldn’t we have a thousand words for life’s little irritations? For most of us, a day doesn’t go by that God, the universe, fate, karma, quantum physics or all-of-the-above don’t needle our emotional well-being, usually when we’re running late, just had an argument with our spouse or suddenly realized we forgot to get a babysitter for tomorrow night so we could go to dinner and a movie and finally get a break from all this crap. It doesn’t help that these cosmic paper cuts never seem to be isolated one- offs, either, but instead come in sets, like celebrity deaths and unsolicited parenting suggestions from opinionated strangers – it’s not just the long line at Starbucks, it’s having them mess up your order twice and then spilling your extra-hot, half-caf hazelnut mocha down the front of your shirt as you pull out of the parking lot. The impact of these little irritations – and they are little, even if we can’t figure out how not to sweat them – increases exponentially as the day progresses, to the point where we find ourselves cursing some 82-year-old women with a walker because she’s not crossing the street fast enough, or threatening to ground our kids for the rest of their natural lives if they EVER give the dog another peanut butter and jelly sandwich again, or contemplating divorce because our spouse forgot (again) to fill up the car when it got close to empty, leaving us in the position of having to coast down the hill to the Shell. Psychologists say the only reason any of this stuff annoys us the way it does is because it reminds us that we’re not really in control (no matter how thoroughly we’ve managed to convince ourselves otherwise) and that ultimately mastering the moment isn’t nearly as important as just being in it, regardless of whether that moment is good, bad, satisfying, awful, rewarding, stressful, happy, sad, amusing, aggravating, etc. But as nice as that sounds (in a zen-like, higher-consciousness kind of way), who has the time to learn how to do that? Or the energy? Or the patience? If learning to live in the moment can’t be accomplished in one 30-minute session two times a week, in the car on the drive home from work, or during one of those rare moments when every kid in the house is quietly pre-occupied, then it just becomes one more thing we don’t have time to squeeze in but try to do anyway – or would try to do if we didn’t have to wait for the knucklehead in the car ahead of us to get off the phone and go. Note: It’s easy to complain about life’s little irritations, but it’s also important to point out that we could probably eliminate entire categories of irritation if we really, really wanted to – just moving to a remote cabin in Montana and living off the land, for example, would instantly rid us of driving-, shopping-, neighbor-, school- and work-related annoyances (though it would probably more than make up for that by adding starvation-, bear attack-, hypothermia-, and isolation-related irritations, so maybe that’s not such a good trade-off. Plus, let’s not forget that Unabomber Ted Kaczynski moved to a remote cabin in Montana so he could get away from it all and look what happened to him). PARENT: Hey… why’s your computer off? I thought you were on that internet kid’s club? KID: Look at me. I have a beard! Everybody makes fun of Driver’s License photographs, but how good could anyone look after spending three hours and 19 minutes at a place like the DMV? The walls are painted a government-approved shade of beige that seems to have been chosen for its ability to induce nausea. God only knows what kind of deadly germs and pathogens are breeding freely on the furniture (which looks like it was bought on the cheap at a Nixon Administration yard sale and then left in a basement storage room for three decades). And if you think tinnitus is irritating, it’s a lullaby compared to the hum given off by row after row of cheap fluorescent lights. Still, that would all be tolerable if you could just take a number and wait by yourself. But you can’t. If you’ve ever wondered what the people on “Cops” do when they’re not getting arrested, or what somebody who considers personal hygiene to be optional looks like, all you have to do is turn to either side of you and say “hello.” Clearly, somebody has been peeing in the gene pool. How else can you explain the toothless, tattooed biker chick/meth addict taking the motorcycle test who doesn’t see the problem with asking the proctor if he can give her a hint? Or the old lady renewing her license who insists she doesn’t need a vision test, but then can’t even find the line she’s supposed to stand behind to take it? Or the guy at the center of a booze-cloud you can smell from 20 feet away who gets upset because they won’t let him re-take his driver’s test right now? As bad as it is to be near people like this, however, it’s a whole lot worse when you realize you’re no different than people like this – because when you get up to the window and the clerk says you need two additional pieces of ID, not one like you thought, you protest… And say nobody told you… And say you’ve been waiting all morning already… And say that they should make an exception… And say the rules are stupid… And say they are stupid for enforcing them… And say just about every idiotic thing you can think of, until you finally realize you are saying every idiotic thing you can think of. At which point you go home, get another ID, and wait in line all over again. And then they take your picture. Click.
HUSBAND: Hey.
If it’s the cleaning lady’s job to clean the house, why do we always pick up before she comes? (Usually just before she comes, too, with one of the kids stalling her in the foyer as we scramble to de-clutter the upstairs.) It would be one thing if we were motivated by conscience, believing it unfair to have her clean everything, but this doesn’t seem to be the case. Are we worried she’ll realize we’re really just a family of slobs? She can probably tell that already, thanks to dishes that occasionally end up under the bed and the collection of crumbs, coins and God-knows-what-it-is she regularly unearths from beneath the sofa cushions. Do we think she’ll tell the H.O.A. how much more disgusting our house is than, say, the neighbor’s down the street? (It is, but only because they have no kids.) Or do we just not want anyone — even the cleaning lady — to find out how much of our lifestyle is an illusion, and that the only parts we have the energy to maintain week in, week out, are the ones that other people see? (And if this is the case, is it a valid reason to switch to a cleaning service that relies on a small, anonymous army that moves too quickly for any one that’s a part of it to form any kind of impression of what a stye the house usually is?)  Loading ...
The end. KID: What’s Daylight Savings?
Halloween is supposed to be the one night of the year you can let your kids eat too much candy without feeling guilty about it, which makes an in-depth article like this one on CNN.com not only depressing, but irresponsible, mean-spirited and wholly inappropriate. Boo-hiss, CNN. Next time have the courtesy to run this after Halloween is over.
CUSTOMER: Hi, I have a complaint. According to The New York Times, shouting is the new spanking. But what ever happened to the old spanking? And how could anything be as effective as a cold, hard slap across the butt? Still… if psychologists are to be believed, the problem with spanking is that it teaches kids that hitting is an acceptable way to solve a problem. (Among other things.) On the other hand, at least it teaches ‘em something – ‘cause as any non-spanking parent knows, you can only yell so much before your kids just tune you out. And then what? Waterboarding? Poll: Loading ...Which means:
Lots of couples spend hundreds, even thousands of dollars on counseling when what they really need to do to improve their marriage is argue. Not in person, but by text. Arguing by text has a number of benefits. For example, in face-to-face arguments, tensions usually escalate because each person reacts (and over-reacts) to what the other is saying. But since SMS shorthand is so obscure and confusing — URAPITA? UG2BK? SHID? — how can you be outraged by something you can’t understand? The 140-character limit helps, too, because it means you have to reduce your anger/frustration to its root cause before you can text it. Since most arguments end when the roots are exposed, however, starting this way means there isn’t really anywhere for the argument to go — You say you’re upset because you don’t feel like you’re in control of the relationship. Your spouse agrees you’re not. End of story. As for those argument that proceed anyway, it’s important to remember that at some point, “principle,” ” being “right” and even just the need “to be shown a little respect” can’t overcome tired thumbs. Which isn’t to say texting is flawless. But keep in mind that if you scream something cruel and inappropriate at your spouse in the heat of the moment, you can’t ever take it back. But if you text it, you can say it was just a typo: HUSBAND: No, I wouldn’t ever call you that. What I meant was you’re being a stitch, because I thought your whole argument was a joke. TAFN. WIFE: Do these pants make me look fat? Don’t let the credit crisis, the housing slump, gas prices, global warming, the cost of groceries, layoffs or the generally sad state of world affairs stop you from enjoying quality time with your kids. Instead, let these troubles inspire you with the following games: Mortgage, Mortgage, Who’s Got The Mortgage? Kids sit in a circle with their fists closed, pretending to hold a button, which in this case represents a mortgage. As you go around the circle, everybody says “Mortgage, mortgage, who’s got the mortgage?” and then whoever’s turn it is says “Billy has the mortgage.” Billy must then open his fist to show everybody if he has the button/mortgage or not. The joke, of course, is that he doesn’t. In fact, nobody does, because credit is still so tight nobody can get one. Stock Market Limbo How low can it go? There’s one way to find out: put on “The Limbo Song” and see if you can make it under without collapsing. Time Travelers Take an imaginary trip to the future without leaving home. Just unplug the air conditioner, shut off the water main, and set the thermostat as high as it will go. The first person to pass out from heat stroke loses, the last one standing gets a half-glass of dirty water and a chance to play “An Inconvenient Truth: The Home Edition.” The Crumbling Infrastructure Game Just like “London Bridge is Falling Down,” only substitute something local. U.N. Election Monitor Help ensure the spread of democracy with this variation on “Kick The Can.” Select one U.N. Election Monitor, then divide everyone else up into two groups: voters and henchmen. While you turn your back and pretend every- thing is going really, really well, “voters” try to run up and kick the can before “henchmen” stop them. Magic 81/4 – Ball Buy? Sell? Forget your broker’s “opinion” and just ask the Magic 81/4 – Ball. It couldn’t be any worse. Filibusted Pretend you’re Congress and you’re trying to do something to re-ignite the economy, only you get so bogged down in partisanship you just stand around calling each other names. The Coupon Game What kid doesn’t like to cut things out? Here, you put yours to work helping you find enough coupons to make up the difference between what you make and what you spend. (While technically not a game, it would probably be helpful. Plus, you can give your kids bonus points if they find any coupons that are good for discounted liquor or anti-depressants.) Chinese Toy Russian Roulette Toxic? Non-toxic? Line up the toys and use a home lead-test to find out. Now that Mother’s Day is over, it’s time to get back to blaming mom. While this might seem harsh, new research indicates it may actually be justified: according to experts, “the way mothers talk to their children at a young age influences their social skills later in childhood.” In other words, children of mothers who explain things – specifically other people’s feelings, beliefs, wants and intentions – are better off socially than those whose mothers dismiss their budding curiosity with “Because,” “Because I said so!” or “Because if you ask me again you’re going to bed for the rest of the day!” Not that being more socially advanced is the key to a trouble-free childhood – researchers pointed out that kids who are more comfortable and confident expressing their emotions and opinions are much more likely to actually express their emotions and opinions, usually in complex and sophisticated ways, especially if they are contrary to yours. But while some authority figures might consider this “bad,” “inappropriate” or a reason for detention and/or counseling, researchers downplayed this implication and pointed out that, in a perverse way, these bile-filled diatribes are actually a good sign. And that when a teenager erupts in rage and frustration and screams “You disgust me,” “You’re the worst parent ever!” or “I have complete and utter contempt for everything you stand for,” it’s not proof he or she is possessed, it’s proof mom created exactly the kind of positive, loving, supportive environment their child needed to feel comfortable acting like an ungrateful little shit. If mom gets the credit, however, she also gets the blame. Which means that when a child is sullen, moody and silent, it’s probably because mom messed up years or even decades ago, and can now add that to the long list of things she feels guilty about but can never make up for, no matter how hard she tries (or how much she drinks). Before Dads get all superior and start pointing fingers, they should keep in mind that researches were only able to study the relationship between mothers and their offspring because fathers and their offspring didn’t spend enough time together to make enough of an impact, leading many to conclude that if you’re going to blame anyone because Junior is socially inept, you should probably blame dad. (Though not until after Father’s Day.) DICK CHENEY: Jesus Christ! First peanuts, now pistachios. It seems like salmonella is everywhere these days, making a lot of people equate eating a handful of nuts with playing a game of Russian roulette. But if you look at statistics, you realize you have just as much to fear from a cold winter’s day:
Which means all those nut products you emptied out of the cabinets “just to be safe” are just as dangerous as walking out to the trash in bare feet and a t-shirt to throw them away. It’s clear that worry served us well in our hunter-gatherer days when that rustle in the bushes really might have been something deadly, but what we seem to have now is the reaction without the rustle — we worry there might be a rustle and if there is, it might be something that could hurt us. The problem is that “what it might be” is usually wrong — as anyone who’s ever googled a health symptom and then rushed into the emergency room knows: YOU: So… how long do I have? Somewhere along the line we seem to have lost our perspective on worry. Which probably explains why more people are afraid of being attacked by sharks — which kill an average of 2 people per year in the U.S. — than they are of equally strange, but much more likely causes of death like elevators and escalators, lightening, bees, dogs and even Bambi:
In our defense, part of the problem is that we’re constantly reminded of the many things we have to worry about, with dozens of freaky possibilities brought to our attention every day by a 24/7 news cycle that loves to spotlight the odd and the unusual (without mentioning it’s also “the highly unlikely”). Leaving us in a position of rushing off to the ER in a panic because we’re worried we might be one of the few hundred people killed each decade by the deadly whatever the Evening News just warned us about, when what we should be worried about is being one of the few hundred people killed each day by medical errors.
A is for “anxious,” C is for “cut-backs.” E is “economy,” G is for “Google,” I is not you, 401K was your net, M is for “Me!?!?!?! O is for “out of,” Q is the “question:” S is the “stimulus,” U is the “upside.” W’s for the “worry” In the end there’s just Y,
KID: Can I ask you something?
According to a recent research study, one in five adults who responded to a survey admitted to using Ritalin or Adderall to boost their brain power. When asked where they got the drugs, most just mumbled and said “I can’t remember,” but speculation is they simply raided their kids’ medicine cabinet. And while this clearly breaches the bonds of trust between parent and child, when you consider how often kids raid their parents’ liquor cabinet, it seems only fair. You’d think leaking pee would get soaked up by pants or tights, or if it did manage to seep down a leg, shoes and socks would easily keep it from spreading. (Isn’t that why kids wear socks in the first place, to soak up pee? God knows it’s not because they want to). But no. Pee goes where it wants to go, defying the laws of gravity and fluid mechanics, and targeting the things parents care about most like silk shirts, expensive upholstery, a favorite suit, new carpet, mesh car seats or anything else you’ve ever tried to keep from being ruined. Pee is like a smart bomb, or a liquid Terminator, a soulless killing machine that can’t be reasoned with, can’t be bargained with, and can’t be stopped until it’s too late. (Let’s hope it doesn’t form an unholy alliance with poop and vomit, as that would surely doom us all.) It’s been estimated that the hourly cost to parents for raising a child from birth through age 18 is $1.58. Whether this is shocking or pleasantly surprising depends on individual circumstances, but it certainly is useful, allowing parents to calculate – down to the penny – how many hours their kids will need to work around the house or in some illegal, downtown sweatshop to pay for themselves.* For comparison, other hourly costs: -$125
therapy
-$2.86
-$14.21
camp
-$12.00
babysitter (licensed, adult)
-$6.00
babysitter (irresponsible teenager)
-$0.00
babysitter (grandparent)
-$5.35
going to see a movie (excluding trailers, waiting in line, $300 for popcorn and two drinks)
-$38.51
going to see a Bon Jovi concert
-$200 – $600
criminal defense attorney specializing in juvenile offenses
-$0.37
-$7,400,000
-$2100
-$9.50
-$14.85
*When calculating, please keep in mind that in most states parents can legally take any money their kids earn until age 18, which is especially good news for parents who pimp their kids out to Hollywood , because if they wind up with the next Hannah Montana they could enjoy a substantial return on their $1.58 per hour “investment.” “Can’t you hold it until we get home?” “Are you sure you don’t want me to put a bucket by your bed, just in case?” “Don’t answer it. DON’T ANSWER IT!” “The kids will love it.” “I thought you were picking them up?” “Okay, but only if you promise not to do it in the house.” “Okay, but only if you promise to be careful.” “Make sure you put that on the counter before the dog gets it.” “Did you bring the tickets?” “Relax, the kids have been asleep for hours.” |
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