Out-Numbered

First of all, Happy New Year. Moving on... As an adult, I've been blessed with a full life.  By full, I mean rich with experiences. The blessing part is made up of tons of micro experiences and emotions that we get from the learning part that comes with those experiences. Stay with me. We humans like to call this wisdom. Some are wiser than others. I'd like to think I'm somewhere in the middle. This wisdom we acquire enables us to make choices. Choices that are grounded in reason. What I'm trying to say is... MY KIDS DON'T KNOW SHIT!  They don't know shit about anything because they don't yet have the ability to reason, that comes from the wisdom, which stems from the learning that is acquired from the experiences that you get when you are blessed with a full life. It's seems as though every time my kids don't get what they want, their response to me is, "I HATE YOU!". Now this would be...

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Overzealous movie announcer: In a world... Where evil knows no boundaries. Where blood flows as freely as water in a stream. There stands a house, alone on a hill, hidden in the darkness. Behind the darkness, lurks an unsuspecting father... His world is about to change. Father - "Oh my God! Where are the girls? HONEY! WHERE ARE THE GIRLS?" Mother - "They were in the bathroom a minute ago." Father - "Something's wrong. Something terrible has happened." Mother - "What? OH MY GOD!" Father - "GIRLS!" Mother - "MY BABIES!" Panic stricken Father - "It's gonna be OK. We're gonna be OK. Call 911! I'll check the basement." Mother - "NOOOOOOOOOO!" Running frantically through the house, searching every room. He finally finds the girls. Nothing could have prepared a father for a sight this hideous. No parent should ever have to see his baby like this... Father - "What the?" 6 1/2 Year Old Daug...

I love Superballs . This might be the greatest understatement of all time. I think it's fair to say that I have an obsession with them. I cannot pass buy a vending machine that carries them without donating a quarter. I buy them at the supermarket. I sneak them into my pockets on the way out of the Diner. I hoard them at rest stops. My wife thinks it's childish and my friends think I'm weird. But I can't help it. I don't know what it is that makes me go nuts for them. Maybe it's the bright, rainbow like assortment of colors to choose from. Maybe it's the unpredictability of the ricochet across the room when you throw one. Or maybe there is more psychological substance behind my passion. Is it possible that there is some deep seeded motivation behind my rubbery fixation? To be honest, I think there is. Before I get into it, let me be clear. I have a lot of Superballs . As a matter of fact, it would be fair to say that I have a plethora of Superballs . I woul...

I checked all of my sources and found nothing. Nada. Zilch. Urban dictionary is usually a reliable resource. I also scoured the web and found zippo. Wikipedia came up empty. I could trek over to my mom’s house and thumb through her 1977 World Book Encyclopedia Collection but I doubt I would find anything. Those were the days. World Book was the bomb back then. I would sit in front of those encyclopedias for hours at a time, reading about lizards, World War Two, medicine and even the human anatomy. You could look up Vagina and see some crazy diagrams. Salesmen sold that crap door to door and made good coin. Man, we’ve come so far but have left so many important things behind. Tonight at dinner, we were sitting around the table and eating. My wife had prepared a bit of a potluck smorgasbord for the kids and me. Basically that means that the freezer was getting way too full and she had to cook stuff to make room. It only happens about twice a year but when it does, look out! Some of the ...

One of my guilty pleasures in life has always been the slow, methodical dunk of the Oreo cookie into a tall, cold glass of milk. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of attaining the perfect texture and saturation. Yum, Oreos … Now, my guilty pleasure is the slow, methodical dunk of the Reduced Fat Oreo cookie in an 8oz cup of cold, Lactaid Skim milk. Blah. It sucks getting old… Why does this matter? It doesn ’t. Not for any practical purpose that is. But when has this blog ever served a practical purpose? Easy now… That was a rhetorical question. However, it does make me wonder about the meaning of the word Guilty as compared to the feeling of Guilt. Here’s one definition of the word Guilt: In psychology, as well as in ordinary language, guilt is an affective state in which one experiences conflict at having done something that one believes one should not have done (or conversely, having not done something one believes one should have done). I don’t want to get too deep here but is...

Ok so this isn't a real post but a plea. If you enjoy reading Out-Numbered, why not scroll down a tad and on the left hand side, click "Follow this blog". Show the world how much you love to be entertained and educated by my musings. Also, don't be shy. Leave a comment if the posting gets you going... But if you're like me and you're lazy, you can check one of the "Reaction" boxes and give your feedback in a much simpler, slothier way. Let's turn this into an open forum where we can share advice, stories and experiences about our pain in the ass kids. Or any one's kids for that matter. I appreciate you and your loyal readership. Man, that sounds stupid. Oh well. Rock on! - Jay

This week, in fond memory and admiration, I find my inspiration for Out-Numbered in the strong spirit of Jordan I. Lane, affectionately known to my girls as PJ . Six year old: “Daddy?” Me: “Yes baby.” Six year old: “Do people go to heaven when they die?” Me: “I think they go to some place nice.” Six year old: “Do they go to heaven?” Me: “I’m not sure if they go to heaven but it’s definitely a place that’s nice.” Six year old: “When people die, can they talk to other people who are dead?” Me: “I don’t see why not?” Six year old: “Is PJ going to talk to everybody in heaven?” Me: “Sure. He’s probably going to talk to a lot of people. Anybody that will listen, I’m sure.” Six year old: “If my best friend and I die at the same time, can we talk to each other in heaven?” Me: “That would be terrible sweetheart.” Six year old: “Whatever. Will we be able to talk to each other?” Me: “I suppose so. Knock on wo...

I took the day off from work today. I was thinking about planting myself at a neighborhood Starbucks with my laptop and start this week’s Out-Numbered but then I remembered I have no such flexibility in my schedule. I have a full plate of Daddy activities to partake in. First, Music Class with the little one, then off to school to pick up the big one and finally, Ice Skating lessons to finish up the day. I’m always jealous and yet suspicious of those people sitting in the Starbucks with their laptops and sketchbooks, passing the time away. Don’t they have stuff to do? Can’t they get their shit done at home or at work? Or are they so efficient with their time that they can’t even relax with their Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino without multi-tasking? Whatever. I’ll just have a cup of Folgers. It’s the best part of waking up, right? Last night I started to read a book called “Dreamers, Discoverers & Dynamos – how to help the child who is bright, bored, and having problems in schoo...

On Saturday night, my old lady and I hit the town... Levittown that is. We met some friends at the Diner and had a quick bite to eat. The Diner is a very tricky place. It's like an island filled with the mythical Sirens and a bunch of fat people. The Sirens just sing their sweet melodies, calling you and whispering sweet Tuna Melt temptations, luring you with the waking dreams of Gyros and Mozzarella Cheese Fries with Gravy. Evil I tell you. I myself am a fan of the Triple Decker Turkey Club Sandwich. I even had a little WTF moment and partook in the Matzoh Ball Soup. Dee- lish ! Also, against my better judgement, I had a Corona to boot. No I don't need no stinking glass, thank you kind sir. The white trash meter was running high indeed. Anyway, you're probably thinking, why so fancy schmancy ? Wasn't it your anniversary a couple of blogs ago? Yes mine kinder (Yiddish for small children - Shout out to all the Bubbies in the house, say yeah!). Be patient. Let the stor...

I’d like to say to everyone who is reading, that I have truly missed you. I kind of bailed on the blog last week for a bunch of different reasons. One reason was that I was freaking exhausted. I always save my writing for Out-Numbered for Sunday evening when the kids are asleep. It’s a great way to wind down and put my thoughts together. It’s also fairly therapeutic most of the time. Last week I had a ton of shit on my mind and found that I was way to preoccupied to dedicate my pea brain to anything one track. Another reason was that I had arrived home late from a weekend excursion with my family and three other families at a resort in Pennsylvania. When I say families, I mean kids and all. That would be six kids and eight adults in one house. I probably shouldn’t get into the minute details of the trip. My wife and I have been friends with these people for longer than we’d all care to admit and I respect their privacy. There are really only two things from this trip that still resonat...

I am very proud to boast to all of you that it is my wedding anniversary today. My wife and I have been married eleven glorious, blissful, harmonious years (for the most part). That’s right. You heard me. I’m not even just saying that to score points. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty certain she’s asleep by now. I’m sure you’re thinking that she’s probably exhausted from a full weekend; jam packed with romance and adventure. Well, not so much… We did get to go out for dinner last night. We actually got to use a gift certificate to a local restaurant that we received on our anniversary last year. Or was it from the year before? There was a time when our anniversary meant long weekends out in the country or fancy dinners by candlelight. My wife could pretty much count on a few dozen roses arriving on her doorstep, usually followed by a lavish piece of jewelry to boot. I’m pretty sure my wife sold most of that jewelry last week for a nice amount of coin. Gold is at an all time high you kno...

Who knew that when Don Henley released this classic back in 1989 that his lyrics would play such a HUGE part in inspiring this week’s edition of Out-Numbered? No one. The question even more paramount than the prior, is probably, who cares? Is it possible to have an amount of people less than no one? Fast-forward almost 20 years to a beautiful fall afternoon at a local farm festival. The family was having a fantastic time soaking up one last bit of sunshine on this Indian summer day. There were tons of activities to keep the kids busy. Hay rides, pumpkin picking, smelly game farm animals that have no place on a farm, like camels and zebras and of course my favorite fall festival activity… Kid Karaoke. WTF is this? Don’t you need to be drunk to enjoy this? The most agonizing part about kids attempting Karaoke is watching them stare at the screen trying desperately to read the words fast enough to sing them in time with the music. This is extra heartbreaking because for most kids there is...

Ok. I’m on another family trip. This time, with another couple and their offspring. We are traveling up the northeast coast. We’re stopping in Connecticut, Massachusetts, Maine and New Hampshire. Awesome, right? Not so much. I’d rather keep it simple, BBQ in the backyard, a walk to the pizza place or a day in a Turkish Prison. I like to attack parenting in fifteen-minute segments. It’s kind of like taking a short shift in hockey. Get out there, skate hard, throw a check or two, give it all you’ve got, then sit for a few. I think a long road trip with the kids is like degenerative arthritis. It’s starts out with a few aches and pains. You take an Advil here and there and then BAM!!! You’re in one of those mechanical wheel chairs all messed up and hurting full time. This trip has been exhausting so far. I know I’m not as young as I used to be and I don’t want to be one of those lame, lazy Dad’s that just say, “ok sweetie, that’s nice”, every time their kid wants to show them something, b...

The Amish are best known for their simple living, plain dress and their distain for modern conveniences. I have come to the definitive conclusion that my wife and daughters are not Amish. I also now know for absolute certain that I am not Amish. Not only are we not Amish, we are most certainly the exact opposite of the Amish. I’m also pretty sure that the Amish would hate my family and me if they were to meet us. Although that would be a pretty awesome experiment. Set up a control room somewhere with my kids and a couple of Amish kids and have them hang out for a few hours. Even though the long term effects are not easily foreseen, I’m pretty sure my daughter would have them singing Hannah Montana songs and kicking ass at Wii Tennis before they were able to say Jakob Ammann. Why am I babbling this semi-incoherent Amish nonsense? Because I can’t freaking believe how much shit my kids have. For that matter, I can’t believe how much shit most kids have these days in general. What happened...

It’s Sunday night and as usual, I’m taking some time to jot down my thoughts and insights relating to parenting and all else that seems relevant to the aforementioned topic. Usually I like to write about stuff that makes me laugh or perhaps make some sort of social commentary. But tonight I’m not in the greatest mood. Most who know me might assume that the reason for my melancholy state of mind would be due to the Mets season ending debacle that now seems to be an annual event. Could it be the anticipation / anxiety of the soon to be approved Federal Bailout of Wall Street and Main Street? Or is it the usual nail-biter of a game by the San Diego Chargers that has become a source of weekly stress for yours truly? Nope… It’s none of the above. On this Sunday night I’m not exactly sad or angry. The emotion that I’m wrestling with happens to be Guilt. Good old-fashioned Guilt. I’m not even talking about Mom or Grandma guilt. This runs even deeper than that. You see I work a lot. I put a sh...