I read an article recently that said the number one cause of divorce is no longer money problems; it’s a red tortoise shell bank shot that knocks ones spouse out of first place.  I can see where that can happen, based on the change in the family dynamic these last 4 days.  The Nuke Family is competitive by nature; Mario Kart just may make us militant too.  Fangs gnash, claws come out, audible growls are the norm; we’re hooked!  Just yesterday I was told by one Nuke Child (who will remain nameless) that the throwing of a steering wheel at a sibling was “an accident.”  “I was just passing it to them, gosh!”  Airborne Wii remotes that hit your sibling in the head are now classified as “your turn” in my house.

I’m getting used to some of it; I understand now that while getting “The Bullet” is cool because you get to go fast and you don’t have to steer, it really isn’t that cool because what it means is that you are either in last place or pretty darn close.  I already knew that if you hit a cow in the road that it would be painful, I just never realized that it would make your car do a back flip and make you yell; “Yoo-Hoo!”  Squid squirt ink, knew that; dodging moving  cars in the middle of the road makes your adrenaline escalate, check; and driving through mud or neck-deep snow is hard, gotcha.  I know that I’m a total Mario Kart newbie, and that this may bore those of you that already have a Wii, but it’s so darn addicting that I just had to share!  Here’s a short video for those of you who have no clue what I’m talking about.  Look for “The Bullet” near the end.  It’ll have white arms and a menacing smile.  I know.  Work with me here.

The kids love a trip to the Dollar Store.  You know, those bastions of consumer nirvana that have you thanking your lucky stars that you popped in today.  Who knew that they would be featuring Phil Simms’ latest book?  For a dollar?!  Give me two and I’ll scratch a name off of my Christmas gift list. Surely one of my gift receivers would love to read about Jim Nantz’s hair plugs.

Our last trip to the Dollar Store was going to be a quick grab and dash.  We needed birthday cards and wrapping paper for two upcoming birthdays.  The Hallmark people are great, but I’m not paying $4.00 for a card that will be read once (maybe) and then thrown away. Call me cheap, but at least it’s not a torn out piece of spiral notebook paper with your name written in pencil.  It’s got an envelope and everything. Be thankful.

At the last second, NukeGirl reminded me that we were out of Dora the Explorer band-aids.  Since we were near the Health and Beauty supplies, I figured; why not? I opted for the 110 count box (10 bonus bandages-FREE!) that had four different sizes.  I figured that my yield from this box would be about 75%; or approximately 82 ½ band-aids.  Not bad for a buck.  After all; they were Dollar Store band-aids.

CRUSTACEANS, AISLE 9.

What I didn’t count on was the quality (or lack thereof) of the adhesive itself.  I believe I’ve learned my lesson.  Our yield from this box is presently at 14% and falling rapidly.  It took 6 separate applications of 3 band-aids at a time to cover a cut on NukeBoy2 that was so small you would need a micrometer to measure it.  It healed by itself in 18 minutes, but there was blood and tears, so band-aids for three days was mandatory. A post it note that has been rolled in a litter box has more staying power than these band-aids.  He sneezed while watching TV and lost batch number 4.  Never again. Ever.

This exercise led me to think about other items I need to avoid when visiting the Dollar Store. I don’t want to get caught up in another J Paul Getty moment and think that I’m being frugal.  Here’s what I came up with:

·    Picture Frames: The largest you can buy for a buck is 4 X 6, so why bother? The support on the back weakens by about 1 degree daily.  2 months down the road you’ll have a drink coaster.
·    Seafood:  Please don’t tell me you need an explanation. Seafood from Kansas isn’t good for you.
·    Jewelry:  Only for those who enjoy green ear lobes and open sores on your fingers.
·    Batteries:  They won’t even tickle your tongue in the store.
·    Snack Cakes:  Little Debbie’s a little stale.
·    Flashlights:  Each comes with a 2 week warranty.
·    Make-Up:  Comes in 3 shades: Haze, Soot and Dirt.
·    Chocolate Syrup:  Trust me on this one.
·    Watches:  Tells time in 3 time zones; none of them yours.
·    Sunscreen:  SPF 4.
·    Flesh-Eating Virus Ointment: Not FDA approved, and who picked it up before you? Itchy?

These free tips should help you out the next time you think (incorrectly); “Wow! Only a dollar? What a great deal!”  Shop wisely, my friends.

THIS..IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT

I’ve got issues with NukeMom.  It’s nothing major, just a little food faux pas that drives me crazy.  She’s an Ice Cream Candlewicker.  Don’t Google that, I just made it up.  What exactly is an Ice Cream Candlewicker you ask?  She’s one of those people that will only dig half way through the 1/2 gallon carton when dishing ice cream.  Once she hits the half way point, she’ll flip the carton over and start digging from the other end.  Think The China Syndrome, but with frozen dairy treats.  Now, when it comes to ice cream cartons, I’m a backhoe kind of guy; you dig till you hit bottom and you’re done.  I don’t mind the sticky, gelatinous, gummy remnants on my knuckles when I reach the bottom ‘cuz I’m going to lick it off anyway.  It’s no different than making a cake and licking the bowl.  And the spatula.  And the spoons used during mixing.  And those few drops that fell on the countertop.  And the oven rack.  Of course, you need to make sure the oven has cooled down first.  It only took me one experience to learn that.  I also learned that gauze and athletic tape will not stick to the human tongue for more than 45 seconds, tops.  It hasn’t been an issue of late because she and the kids like chocolate, and I like chocolate chip.  Well, that is, until a couple of weeks ago when she convinced NukeBoy2 and NukeGirl that they reeeally would like the chocolate chip if they would just ask Daddy for a bite.  Daddy?  Daddy?  Her ploy worked; now 2 of us like chocolate and 3 of us like chocolate chip; which brings me to the reason for this post.  Now that I’m having to share the chocolate chip, it’s shelf life is noticeably shorter.  I went for a bowl tonight and it wasn’t there.  I retaliated by reaching for the chocolate.  Mumbling something under my breath about proper family dessert hierarchy, I jammed the scoop in the middle of the chocolate ice cream and experienced what the people in the video below experience for the first 4 seconds.

Now, I know I said I don’t mind licking my knuckles every now and then, but what I do mind is going forearm deep into the carton when I’m least expecting it.  I’m also not crazy about digging dried chocolate ice cream out of my arm hair for the next 4 hours.  A shower, you say? Sure, but I have forearm hair like Robin Williams;  it isn’t easy.  When the NukeBeagles come inside and want to get warm, they lay on my forearms.  I lost my keys once.  For 2 days.  I found them in my arm hair.  Just sayin’.    We tried the other way, where you open up the whole side of the carton, and while it was easier to dish, storing it was a pain; it didn’t fit on the door the right way.  I know, I know; call the wahmbulance, poor NukeDad.  All I’m saying is; if you’re going to convince the kids to eat my ice cream and insist on scooping from both ends of the carton, then be prepared to dig a few arm hairs out of your bowl.  Love, your hairy hubby.

SARAH "WEASEL" MOMMA IN EXILE-MEXICO 1985

Leading the resistance was never easy for Sarah “Weasel” Momma.  She didn’t choose to lead the last few remnants of humanity through the vast wastelands of a post apocabrewtic world; but when the cans and bottles of BudNet became self-aware at 2:14am on August 29th, 1997, her fate was sealed.  AnheuserDyne Systems had developed BudNet for the United States Grocery Forces to ensure the freedom of all cases of beer throughout the land.  Lagers, Ales, Bocks and Stouts; the market was supposed to be free to all, but it didn’t turn out that way.  The mighty overwhelmed the weak, laying waste to competitors far and wide; the dark, looming presence of BudNet always just over the horizon.  Soon small pockets of resistance began to surface in the suburbs; taking victory in small bites–a neighborhood bar promotion here, a Greek Orthodox Church festival there–longing for the day that they could mount a large scale campaign to unseat the mighty BudNet and its ill-gotten market share.  Weasel Momma and her band of Silver Bullet rebels led the insurgency valiantly, taking the fight to convenience stores and Mom and Pop grocery stores throughout the Tri-State area; but in the end, the Evil Axis of Sam’s Club, ESPNZone and Applebees proved to be too much.  Led by the evil Brewmaster Dr. Doofenshmirtz, the Axis was able to secure prime shelf space and numerous end-cap displays for BudNet products nationwide.  With Jimmy Football commercials airing during NFL games, Microbreweries disappeared  one by one as the war progressed: Shiner, Fat Tire, Blue Moon, Lone Star, Samuel Adams; like dominoes they fell.  The BudNet Cyborg Girls patrolled the bars terminating any non-conformists.  In the end, it was up to the new coalition of Miller and Coors to mount one last push to try and defeat BudNet and its Axis of Evil.

THE BUDNET CYBORG GIRLS

Sarah “Weasel” Momma was born into a military family, so giving orders and preparing bad meals came naturally to her.  The day the T-1000’s came on the scene was the day Weasel Momma knew she had to join the fight.  She was at a kegger on the Jersey Shore when a just tapped keg of Coors Light morphed into Robert Patrick in a police uniform, who flashed a photograph of Bob Seger and asked; “Have you seen this boy?”  Weasel Momma cried bitter tears that day; tears for the 15 and 1/2 gallons of Coors Light that lie sinking into the sand.  She swore revenge and hopped into her AMC Pacer and headed for Detroit; home of Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band of Brothers.  She had no way of knowing at the time, but Bob Seger was actually the father of her unborn son; Jimmy the Weasel, who had tried to send Bob Seger back from the future to the year 1984.  Jimmy’s plan was to protect his mother from the 800 series of Terminator that had already been sent back to kill her, thereby erasing him from existence.  He couldn’t very well lead the resistance if he was never born now, could he?  In what can only be described as a Doc Brown McFlyism, Bob Seger missed his target of Philly in 1984, and ended up in Detroit in 1964.  He quickly established a deep cover alias as a multi-platinum recording artist, dominating the charts from the mid 70’s to the late 80’s.  Check his Wikipedia page, I’m not lying.  Weasel Momma caught up to Bob Seger’s tour bus in Sandusky, Ohio and told him of the morphing beer keg/policeman.  Bob sat her down and gently told her of his journey from the future, about the bleakness of living in a world dominated by Bud products, no pork rinds and the occasional Schlitz Malt Liquor 40 oz.  He explained how he’d had to hide out for 20 long years waiting to finally meet up with her, how he’d had to “Get Out of Denver”, felt like he was always running “Against The Wind” and how (if he ever got out of here) he was going to “Katmandu”.  That’s really, really where he’s going to, and that unless she was a “Beautiful Loser”, she’d follow him back to the tour bus, that was parked on “Mainstreet” but could she wait just a minute because there’s a bathroom right there and he had “The Fire Down Below.” Bob Seger and Weasel Momma traveled the world together; both reluctant soldiers in the Beer Wars.  Bob taught Weasel Momma how to fold and properly display overpriced concert t-shirts, she showed him how to play beer pong and how to properly skin and field dress an 18 pack.  Together they worked on strategy and logistics for the coming conflict.

TILL IT SHINES, SUNSPOT BABY, TILL IT SHINES!

During their travels, Bob Seger would write songs on the tour bus as they drove from show to show.  One song in particular would give Weasel Momma the urge to slide across the bus in nothing but socks, her underwear and an oversized oxford shirt.  It also made her want to play Xbox 360.  It was on just such on occasion that Bob Seger told Weasel Momma; “We’ve Got Tonight”, and that was the day that little Jimmy the Weasel was conceived.  Shortly thereafter, Bob Seger suffered a debilitating scapula injury when the tour bus was forced off the road by a Bud Light truck and hit a tree.  Witnesses said they saw a cop that looked like Coach Willis from “The Faculty” driving the beer truck.  Not long after, Bob Seger’s career died and Weasel Momma fled to Mexico to learn all  about home brewing and how to make fragmentation grenades.  Knowing that she was soon going to be a Mother, she educated herself on appetizers, beer games, how to make a diaper out of a 12 pack carton, what time does the drive thru window at Taco Bell close, how to pass a breathalyzer test, the 7th inning stretch and the designated hitter rule.  When the war started; she’d be ready.  Oh, yes, she’d be ready.

Happy Birthday Weasel Momma! You’ve been BLUNKED!  Just as you, Momo, Tom and Melisa blunked me, I am now returning the favor.  Visit these links to read the blunking of Weasel Momma by Momo Fali, Being Michaels Daddy and Suburban Scrawl.  For my response to my blunking, click here.

STACEY (L), MOM AND LAURA

It’s birthday time again.  I started this adventure last October when I forgot to call my sister, Leta, on her birthday.  To make up for my indiscretion I wrote her a happy birthday post.  I followed that with posts for my brother Steve and my sister Laura.  Now it’s my youngest sister Stacey’s turn.  I’m sure she’s thinking; “Once again, I have to go last-THIS IS SO NOT FAIR! WHY AM I ALWAYS THE LAST ONE! STOP THE PERSECUTION!”  Well, sorry, Stace, but that’s what you get for having a birthday in August when I decide to start an honorarium in October.  My siblings returned the favor by doing a guest post for me on my birthday.  So without further ado, here is Stacey’s birthday post.

The youngest in the family is usually the one with the least amount of face time in family videos and in pictures.  It’s never intentional, it’s just the way it is.  The first born child in most families is the one who is prominently displayed in the first dozen or so extended length video tapes, and has 2 or 3 photo albums filled with every exploit from first step to first peanut butter wall mural.  Each child thereafter has less and less time on videos and less pictures taken; the larger the family, the larger the discrepancy.  The youngest of 3 children may find a dozen or so pictures in the bottom of a forgotten shoe box in a hall closet.  Stacey, being the youngest of 5, likes to say that all of her childhood photos could be found in a Sucrets box in my Dad’s shop.  I’m guilty of the same.  My Mom laughed at me one day when I picked up NukeGirl’s binky, brushed it across my shirt a couple of times and put it back in her mouth.  “What’s so funny?” I asked.  “When NukeBoy1 used to lose his binky, you would practically put on latex gloves and boil a pot of water for sterilization!”  First child overkill, to be sure.  While the youngest feels like they are cheated out of what their older siblings got, the older siblings know that the baby of the family gets away with murder.  I never got to juggle knives when I was little, but Stacey did.  It’s one of the age old arguments that will never be resolved; who has it easier, the oldest or the youngest?  It’s like the chicken and the egg question, but with people.  I was the middle child, and everyone knows how badly we get screwed.

Stacey had the unfortunate task of being the youngest of five children growing up in West Texas in the 1970’s; innocent enough back then, but these days, it could be the subject of a Lifetime Movie.  We didn’t have cable, or Nintendo DS, or cell phones; and thank God for that!  What we did have was the whole day to go out and play; use our imagination a little.  I’ll bet the Lifetime producers would shed a tear over our poor “existence”, but we loved it.  Stacey was the youngest, but she and Laura were only about 20 months apart.  The summers we spent in Santa Fe, New Mexico (is there another one?) were spent at the neighborhood park two houses down from the house we rented.  We spent most of our time there.  I remember Stacey and Laura used to beg me to spin them faster! faster! on the merry-go-round.  As Stacey got older, she got braver.  Some of the neighborhood kids would hang on the bars and let their feet fly out.  It was fun, but if you were the “pusher”, you had about 2 seconds to spin the merry-go-round and then get out of the way before you got clobbered by a tennis shoe.  Or, a tibia, if you were too slow.  Stacey sent me into the dirt on more than one occasion.  Her shin bone was deadly.  Some of my fondest memories revolve around our summers in Santa Fe; one of my worst does as well.

THE SLIPPERY SIDEWALK OF DOOM

As I told you, Stacey loved the feeling of hanging on the outside of the merry-go-round and having her feet fly out as it spun around.  The problem, though, is that the merry-go-round would stop fairly quickly, causing your feet to meet the ground and fill your shoes with about 8 pounds of sand and dirt.  I figured out a way to make the trip last longer; I’d just grab Stacey by the hands and swing her around myself! What could go wrong with an 11 year old swinging his 5 year old sister around?  Plenty, as I was about to find out.  The sidewalks in the neighborhood we lived in were terrible.  The surface would come off from constant freezing and thawing cycles in the winter time; they call it “scaling.”  Here’s a picture to give you an idea.  The top of the sidewalks would come off in sheets, and always when you least expected it.  I’m sure you know what is coming, but I’ll tell you anyway: I was swinging Stacey around and around when I stepped on a section of sidewalk that gave way when I stepped on it.  It came right out from under me.  The natural human reaction when you’re about to fall on your ass is to put your hands down to break your fall, which I did; the problem was, in order to do that I had to first let go of Stacey’s hands, which I did.  It wasn’t intentional, mind you, I just freaked out and did what my body told me to do.  The rest of it went in slow motion, like some Bruce Willis action movie.  I could see Stacey flying away from me, and saw her smile suddenly turn to fright.  There was nothing I could do to stop it.  I fell on my ass, Stacey landed on her face and forehead.  I don’t think I’ve ever felt worse in my life.  I ran to her, rolled her over, saw the blood and then ran in the house to get my Mom.  We spent the rest of the afternoon at the hospital.  Her injuries (thankfully) were mostly superficial.  She had a scrape under her nose, which caused the bleeding, and a HUGE bump on her forehead.  I mean, it was Antarctica big.  It covered her whole forehead.  They did all the tests and everything was fine, but it sure scared the crap out of me; and poor Stacey as well.  Needless to say, we didn’t play that game ever again.

NUKEDAD AND SISTER STACEY

Through the years I’ve seen Stacey learn how to fly without anymore assistance from me; she put herself through college to become a teacher and is now putting herself through graduate school to become an administrator.  She has shown more resilience and determination in her life than anyone I know.  I know that most siblings think that the “baby” of the family gets away with murder, but the truth is, they have to fight and claw harder just to get what they’re due.  She never once complained about it, she just put her head down and did the work.  I’ve always admired her for that; her ability to get the job done regardless of the obstacles.  And so, sister Stacey, with that I wish you a very belated Happy Birthday.  I know this should have been posted on August 28th, and I’m sorry that it wasn’t.  Know that I love you and will always be here for you.  Just don’t ask me to swing you again.

You never get to stop and open your eyes

One day you’re waiting for the sky to fall

And next you’re dazzled by the beauty of it all

-Bruce Cockburn-

A third Boston album.  Season six of The Sopranos.  The Arizona Cardinals in a Super Bowl.  A new post from NukeDad.  These are all things you thought you’d never see in your lifetime, yet they happened.  I guess the best way to end this sabbatical is to just jump back in with both feet; so here I go.  It’s been awhile, so bear with me as WordPress and I become reacquainted.  I still need to finish my sister Stacey’s birthday post, which is now almost 4 months overdue.  I’ve been concentrating on family, faith and frustration during my absence and I’ve made headway on all fronts; I just haven’t been writing about it.  I should clarify and say that my frustration is not with my family, just the situation that NukeBoy2 is in.  He’s doing much better, by the way and I think that we finally have a handle on his illness and will be able to move on with our lives in spite of it.

During my time away I was encouraged to get back in the game by Melisa with 1 s and shamed and ridiculed to get back in the game by WeaselMomma.  Last night on twitter there was a shame and ridicule tweet from Melisa, so I knew I had to act fast before they both went all Mainstream Media on me.  I think this must be the way Tiger Woods felt on Thanksgiving; I’m looking for the keys to the Escalade while Melisa and WeaselMomma are looking for a 4 iron.

Far be it from me to ridicule the world’s first billionaire athlete, but he made it really easy, didn’t he?  What the hell was he thinking?  It’s not like he’s married to Joy Behar, I mean; Come on, Tiger!  Your wife was on the Swedish Bikini Team for crying out loud!  Maybe she’s a total wench behind closed doors, I don’t know; but I highly doubt it.  I think it’s a case of someone thinking they are above it all and getting hit upside the head with a dose of reality.  Or a lob wedge.  Enough of that tangent; let’s get back to our story.

After months of badgering taunts, harassing tweet messages, peanut gallery heckling, name calling and general tormenting; WeaselMomma and Melisa with 1 s have succeeded in doing what even I thought was impossible; they’ve got me behind the keyboard again.  Be careful what you wish for, ladies.  I would be remiss if I didn’t add one more thing: Thank you.

Spirits open to the thrust of grace

Never a breath you can afford to waste

-Bruce Cockburn-

I had a different post ready to go for today, but it wouldn’t be appropriate. I usually like to keep it light-hearted and funny, but today isn’t a day for light-heartedness. I have a problem. I have a problem with those that would be happier if this day would pass as any other day; mundane, and without consequence. With those that say; “Don’t show those horrible pictures, they’re too hard to watch”. They are wrong. Those images may be hard to watch, but that is precisely why they need to be seen. Sticking your head in the sand and hoping it goes away doesn’t work. Pretending that by ignoring the reality of that day will lessen it’s impact is the act of a cowardly soul. There are children standing on a stage at Ground Zero at this very moment reading the names of their parents and other victims. At the same time, there are people in offices and kitchens wallowing in ignorance and the false idea that diplomacy and love will take care of everything. That’s a wonderful idea, if only a foolish one. The barbarians that flew 4 airplanes into buildings and a field in Pennsylvania have no interest in diplomacy or love. Their sole reason for living is to see to it that you die. Why is it that some people can’t understand that concept? Why would someone who would surely fight to the death to protect their children believe that their country should practice pacifism in the face of Radical Islam? Why would someone who lives in the longest sustained democracy in human history turn a complacent blind eye to a movement that seeks to enslave them? The goal of Radical Islam is to convert the infidels (us); if conversion fails, the alternative is death. Those are your options. Agree with their religious ideology, or be killed. I think the right option is easy to choose; others don’t see it as clearly.

For the people that are in their offices or kitchens today wondering how the world got this screwed up; I have a question for you: Do you fully understand the sacrifice that has been laid at your feet that allows you to be so narcissistic? Can you even fathom the thought of walking off of a boat on the beaches of Normandy, knowing that you were probably going to die? Would you have been part of the rebellion on Flight 93 knowing that even if you took over the plane that you were most likely going to perish in a horrific plane crash? Could you stare out of a gaping hole in the side of your WTC office and have the courage to look for other survivors before trying to find your way out? Would you walk away from a 4 million dollar NFL contract to enlist in the Army to defend your country? I didn’t think so.

Complacency is the cancer that kills free thinking people. You don’t turn away from these images because they are too hard to look at; you turn towards them explicitly because they are.

IF YOU THINK HE'S SMALL, YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE APPLE

As some of you may already know, the bravest person in our house when it comes to bugs and such is NukeGirl.  She is fearless when it comes to all creeepy-crawlies except for spiders and bees; but then, who does like spiders and bees?  We went to a Childrens’ museum once when they were having an “Insectopia” show or something, and they had this millipede that….well, here; just look at the picture.  Read the whole story HERE.

THAT THING WAS LONGER THAN PUBERTY

It wasn’t like I had to coerce her to go up and look at the thing, she made a bee-line (that’s punny) for the table shouting; “Ooh! Ooh! I want to hold it! I want to hold it! Can I Daddy? Please, please, please?”  Who was I to argue?  A few days ago I heard an ear-shattering shriek coming from the kitchen. NukeMom had happened upon some sort of monster, I was sure.  I rushed in with the only weapon I could find (a bath towel), ready to face the enormous, deadly, man-eating beast that I was surely about to encounter.  What I saw was the little guy you see on NukeGirls finger.  “Seriously?” I said to NukeMom.  “It startled me!  I didn’t know what it was!”, NukeMom offered.  Just then, NukeGirl walked in to see what all the fuss was about.  “Awwwww!  He’s soooo cute!”  With that, NukeGirl swept up Wormy and they watched Phineas and Ferb together before we told her it was time for Wormy to go outside.  She placed him on the deck railing, said; “Goodbye, Wormy! I’ll miss you!”  and went back inside.  About 2 seconds later a Robin swooped down and picked up Wormy and flew away.  Maybe we’ll wait another year or two before we really get into “The Circle of Life” with NukeGirl; the Lion King version is working fine right now.

OOOOOKAY!

I saw a story this morning about a new doll that is causing quite an uproar.  Like most dolls, it allows little girls to act all grown up.  This doll, however, allows little girls to play “Mommy” in the biblical sense.  It’s a breastfeeding doll.  Yep, just slap on the suckling vest and go to town.  I am an advocate of mothers breastfeeding their children, I just think that the mothers should be biologically equipped for it before they learn the procedure.  Was this really the next progression in dolls?  They made the doll that cries, the doll that eats, the doll that wets its diaper, so, yeah, I guess nursing was next on the list.  Where do they go from here?  Maybe they could make Beasty Buffet Barfy Barbie to teach girls how to develop that eating disorder.  Bratz could counter BeBuBaBarbie with Fat To Phat Party Chick.  Bratz makes edgier dolls, so this one would teach the girls how to evacuate before they hit the clubs.  Why stop there?  Next could be Oops-Am I Really Pregnant Barbie, Whoa-Girlfriend I’m So Drunk Disco Bratz and Tats and Brats Barbie: Tailgate and get a Tattoo! What parent wouldn’t want the role-playing help that these wonderful dolls could provide their 1st and 2nd graders?  All I know is that I’ll feel no guilt whatsoever telling NukeBoy2 no when Erectile Dysfunction GI Joe shows up on his birthday list.

THE MEADOW MUFFIN EXPRESS

The timing of this story couldn’t be better as I had a brush with an inappropriate gift just last week.  NukeGirl got invited to a birthday party so I took her to the store to buy the gift.  I was in a terrible hurry so I told her to choose quickly.  She headed straight for the Barbie aisle and chose a Barbie that came with a dog.  “She likes puppies, Daddy; let’s get this one.”  I threw it in the cart and we dashed off to the frozen foods.  It wasn’t until later that night that I finally got a good look at it.  I was putting it in the gift bag when I noticed that what I thought was a leash now seemed too big.  As you can see from the package, all it says is “Barbie” and “Tanner”; there’s no hint at what Barbie and Tanner plan on doing together.  Then I spotted the 2 pink circles designed to blend in with the packaging.  One read “Tanner loves treats!”  I glanced up and saw the “treats” that made me queasy because they looked like brown tic tacs.  The second pink circle read “It’s clean-up time!” and it all hit home.  I had bought a pooping puppy.  The leash was actually a pooper scooper.  The brown tic tacs were Tanners treats AND his road apples; in one end, out the other.  While it is an educational toy that teaches kids that dogs make a mess and require work, I didn’t feel that it was the right way to associate my child to another.  I could just see her Senior Yearbook; “Wow! What a year! Thanks for helping me in Chemistry; I am so not a science girl! Hey! Remember that time in 1st grade when I first met you and you gave me that Barbie doll with the dog that liked to take a shit?  Yeah, just wondering….Have a great summer! Call me!”  Not exactly the first impression we were looking for with a new friend.  NukeMom took NukeGirl to the store on the way to the party for a new present.  There were so many choices, but I think they finally settled on Bi-Polar Schizophrenia Barbie.  It came in two boxes.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com