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Tuesday, July 23rd, 2013
2 years, 8 months.
Your Auntie Jenny and her family had a special gift ready for you as soon as they got here to meet us on our annual family vacation to Sacramento.
It’s the Imaginext Sky Racers Twister Jet.
And it’s actually pretty awesome! I’ve never seen giant chainsaws on the front of a fighter jet before…
In fact, that’s so creative of an idea I’m sort of jealous I didn’t get hired by Imaginext to come up with ideas for toys!
It’s good timing because Mommy and I are planning to take you to your very first movie in a theater: Disney’s Planes.
So your Twister Jet serves as not only your first real toy plane, but also as a way to pretend you’re flying one of the planes from the new Planes movie once you officially become obsessed with them… which you will.
Your cousin Matt and I were talking about the “practicality aspects” of having two giant chainsaws on the front of a fighter jet, when he happened to look down into the wading pool full of toys you’ve been playing in and saw what he thought was a toy gun, only to learn that in reality it was one of your girl cousins’ toy hair dryers.
“Does Jack like toy guns?” Matt asked.
That was the first time I had considered the fact, that honestly, you don’t even know what a gun is.
It’s not that I’ve purposely sheltered you from toy guns; water guns, in particular.
But even with your water table on our back patio, you don’t need water “guns” because you have several toy animals that squirt water instead.
By no means am I endorsing any kind of agenda either against or for guns, especially because for the past month as I’ve been working on a letter to you called “Never Talk About Politics, Religion, Or Peoples’ Food,” I’ve been trying to deliberately not perpetuate America’s polarizing tendencies, especially in social media.
At some point, you’ll be old enough to know what guns are. You’re not even 3 years old yet.
As for now, we’ll just stick with chain saws.
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Friday, January 11th, 2013
2 years, 1 month.
Somewhere in the realm of roughhousing with you is the game where I try to annoy you to the point you can’t help but laugh.
Well, you pretend to be annoyed, at least; but really, you’re seeing if I, as your Daddy, has what it takes to break you. Just so you know, whenever you challenge me to a game of “Make Me Laugh,” I am always prepared.
One of my favorite times to play this game with you is when I drop you off at daycare in the mornings.
It’s like you shut down your personality as I hand you over to your teacher. She tells me it typically takes about 10 minutes for you to officially come back to life, as you transition from “home mode” to “school mode.”
So as you soon as you pass from my arms to hers, I always try (and am usually successful) to make you crack from your straight face before I say goodbye.
What’s my secret? I put my mouth to your chest and sing the theme song from Dirty Dancing. (Interestingly, neither Mommy nor I have ever seen that movie.)
“I’ve… had… the time of my li-i-ife… and I owe it all to you-oo-oo…”.
I should point out that I am singing that line in my best Robert Goulet singing voice.
You just can’t help but laugh. Sure, it’s a little weird that your teacher now expects me to sing the first line of the chorus of “(I’ve Had) The Time Of My Life” before I can kiss you goodbye, but after a solid week, it’s starting to become normal.
And there’s the drive home from daycare, where if you’re suspiciously quiet for 5 straight minutes, I feed you false information about your favorite TV characters.
“Mater is eating Jack’s pasta,” I warn you.
“No! My pasta! Jack eats the pasta,” you reply with fake intensity.
I egg you on about it enough to where you get so “fake upset” about the thought of Disney/Pixar’s star of Cars eating your dinner, that you finally bust out laughing.
Putting you to bed at night is also another opportune time for “Make Me Laugh.” You always want me to lift you up to turn off the light, then carry you to your “big boy bed,” then you say, “Daddy sing? Daddy sing ‘Snowman.”
That means I have to sing “Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer” to you as an unlikely lullaby, which you inaccurately identify as a song about a snowman.
During my slow-motion, lyric-butchered version of the song, in the complete dark, which might I add should creep you out but instead you choose it as your favorite way to fall asleep, you like to try to grab my nose or my hand as I lean in close to you and sing.
You’ll deliberately swing your leg up into the air in hopes of hitting me; and when you do, I quickly grab your limb and squeeze it, making you laugh.
Again, that doesn’t sound like the best way to coax a 2 year-old to sleep, but for you, it couldn’t be any other way.
You like for me to tease you. Oh, and don’t forget, Mater’s totally eating your pasta right now…
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Saturday, September 22nd, 2012
I’m not complaining. In fact, I’m a little flattered.
When I step into any toy aisle in pointless attempts to find a small fire engine truck under $3 for my son, my eyes are instantly drawn by the rebooted 1980′s toys I played with myself.
I mean, it’s so deliberate: Transformers, Thundercats, GI Joe, Star Wars, Smurfs, Ghostbusters, and even a new Nickelodeon version of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that cost $8.99 per action figure.
(Ninja Turtles were only $3.89 when I was growing up.)
Even Disney is getting in on the rebooted nostalgic action. The next time you go to a Target, take a look in the clothing aisle for their “Disney Artist Collection,” featuring classic characters like The Cheshire Cat, The Big Bad Wolf, and even Mickey Mouse.
Oh yeah, remember that guy?
There’s actually talk of Mickey Mouse getting his very own movie, for the first time ever; in the likeness of the low-key, classic feel of the Winnie The Pooh movie in 2011.
To be honest, and possibly offensive, if you ask me, Winnie the Pooh needed a make-over anyway, so I applaud the fact that Pooh was brought back with class.
It seems like shortly after I stopped being a kid, Winnie the Pooh became this uncool mascot who I identified with those tacky oversized “nighty” t-shirts at Wal-Mart in the 1990′s.
So go ahead, toy and clothing companies, hit me with your best shot. See if you can convince me, the casual consumer, to buy your nostalgic product based on my own warm and fuzzy memories.
The funny thing is, all I have to do is go to my parents’ house, upstairs to my old bedroom, and pull out the bottom drawer of my dresser.
From there I can unleash on my son all the glory of every action figure I ever owned.
But not yet, the time has not yet come. He’s not ready for all that American splendor.
With that being said, so far I’ve yet to give in to the pressure and buy my son a kick-awesome Lion-O action figure.
But just give it time…
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