9/15/12 Pink Cadillac

My wife makes these little kids blankets.  They are cute, and every once in a while she sells a few.  My wife's best friend also makes blankets, and she thought that they could pool their resources and sell some blankets out at a county main street town fair.  So the girls worked on the blankets and today was the day.  They went to the fair and sold some blankets, well my wife did not sell any, but her friend did.  So today was Daddy day, and I took the girls for the day.  We started by watching some of their t.v. shows and I made breakfast.  Later we went to the gym because they wanted to climb the rock wall.  I could not have been anymore proud of them.  They both climbed to the top of the wall and rang the bell.

Later we got some lunch and we went to the main street fair.  We went so that we could bring my wife some lunch and so that the girls could see their mom.  It was your normal small town gathering.  Flags, food, games, booths, vendors selling crap that will break as soon as you get home, lots of families enjoying the day, and yes, oh yes, a car show.
The street were lined with classic cars and their proud owners.  I grew up in the automotive business and part of what we did was participate in car shows.  I loved the car shows.  Old cars, new cars, rebuilt cars, race cars, cars, cars, cars.  I don't know what it was about the shows or seeing the cars, but to me there was a kind of art show feel to all of it, never mind the fact that these were muscle cars, and it is every boys dream at some point and time to own a muscle car.
Here was my chance.  I could share my love of cars with my girls.
"Girls do you want to go look at the cars with daddy?"
"No daddy we want to go buy some piece of crap toy from that booth over there and then go."
"How about we just go see a few on the way out."
"No daddy it is hot and we just want to leave."
"Well we will just walk by a few on the way out."
Silence.
So as we were walking by I tried my best to tell them something interesting about each car so that maybe they would also find something interesting about them and we could stay and maybe they might share my interest for just a few minutes.
"This is a 32 deuce coupe.  That is a Challenger.  This one is a 55 chevy.  Over there is a Ford Fairlane"
Then I pulled out the big guns.
"Look ladies, this one is called a Nova.  Do you know what Nova means in Spanish?"
I was hoping that this one could do the trick.  I would take their love of learning and combine it with their like of learning new Spanish words and combine them.
"No daddy we do not know what it means."
"Well Nova means no go and they could not sell the cars in Mexico because no one wanted a car called a no go."
Turns out the story was a no go and all I heard from the girls was,
"Daddy its hot can't we go?"
As we turned the corner to go to our car, and leave the sea of classics, my little one turned to me excitedly and said,
"LOOK DADDY!!!  A GOLF CART!!"

In a sea of classic American muscle and steel, my girls were more impressed by a golf cart.
So as I lamented about my muscle car loss I thought about the rock wall, the basketball games, the swimming and diving lessons, and all of the other exceptional things that my girls do to make me proud.
So as I sit here and write to you tonight I realized something important.  Someday I will own a classic car, and now I know I won't have to share it with them.

8/5/12 Little Old Lady From Pasadena

It seems that I have always been surrounded by women, and it is not in that good fantasy way all males dream about.  I only had one grandfather, and he passed away when I was twelve, and my parents divorced the next year.  These events left me with my mother, grandmother, three great aunts, and all of my grandmothers widowed friends.  My 13th birthday was a real gem.  It was me, my mother, and the Golden Girls (my Grandmother, her widowed cousin, and her widowed friend).  I will save that story for a different blog.  By the way I received an electric razor for that birthday, WHOOPEE.

Because I was young and my mother worked I ended up with my Grandmother quite a bit.  Just a note here.  My Grandmother was one of the coolest people I have ever met.  She was fun, outgoing, educated, caring, and when I was 14 and could not get into see Eddie Murphy's "Raw" in the theater, she took me and a friend.

My Grandmother being quite the social butterfly went out or had people over for dinner all of the time.  It was the talk at these dinners between she and her friends that will stick with me forever.

"My bursitis hurts."

"Oh, my arthritis!"

"I take a blood thinner now."

"Sorry about that, my new medicine gives me gas."

"Give me a hand out of this chair."

"Run and get me (insert item here) so I don't have to get up."

" I have cataracts!"

"Did you hear, (insert name here) has (insert illness here)."

"Did you hear, (insert name here) is in the hospital."

"Did you hear, (insert name here) died."

And so on, and so on, and so on.

As I grew older I thought I would never have to put up with this kind of talk until I was old and deaf.

Turns out I would only need to wait until I had daughters.

I don't know what it is about them that makes them complain about every itsy bitsy, teeny tiny, itty witty little thing, but it takes me back every time they open their mouths.

My 6 and 9 year old daughters are little old lades.

My older daughter's bedtime is 8:30.  By 9:30 she has been out of her room an average of 6 times.  4 of these visits are for me to look or hear about some ache and pain, or to view some sort of physical abnormality she thinks she has procured since 8:30.

"Daddy does this hair look normal?"
"Daddy are my eyes red?"
"Daddy does this booger look like it is a normal color?"
"Daddy my back is sore!"
"Daddy my hair hurts!"
"Daddy, daddy, daddy!!!"
Just incase you are wondering, the other two visits out of her room are to ask me some sort of inane questions like.  "When you were 9 years old, did you have a favorite color?"

My younger daughter is more stoic and her complaints are to be taken more seriously, but she still complains just as much.

"Daddy I'm hungry."
"Daddy theres a bug on my window."
"Daddy can you get me some water?"
"Daddy I don't want to ride on the bus again!  Can't we just take a cab wherever we go?"
"Daddy can you set up the computer in the bathroom so I can watch netflix while I am in the tub?"

Her complaints are a little cuter, but they are still complaints.

So what is it about little girls and little old ladies that lead them to complain, I don't know, but here are a few tips on how to deal with it.

1.  Anticipate the complaint.  Look at the situation.  Is there anything there that will cause them to complain.  O.K. who am I kidding there is no way to anticipate their complaints.  They just complain.  They complain when it is cold, they complain when it is hot, they complain when they have something to do, they complain when they have nothing to do.  Sorry, the tip here, is just to anticipate that they will complain and that you just need to brace yourself.

2.  Work on your responses.  You need to work on two or three responses for any situation.  These are mine, so repeat after me:
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Oh, that's to bad, I'm sorry to hear that."
"GO TO BED NOW!"  (Depending on the age of the women in your life this one can work on the little and the older ones.)

3.  Suck it up.  You cannot change the little old lady mentality no matter how hard you try.  You can try bribes, yelling, screaming, sarcasm, stories, jokes, or threats, but I will tell you now none of them will work.

So to those of you who have a little old lady in your life, good luck, and for those of you who do not, just take a look in the mirror because the little old lady might be you.