Priorities

Well it looks like we've got ourselves a good, ol' fashioned dilemma brewing. Since missing a day of school on Monday due to a fever/cold combo, Kyra has developed a dry, course, nasty cough. She sounds like a hoarse dog. We should probably keep her home another day, which brings us to dilemma #2: my mother-in-law spent mucho dinero on four tickets to see Hannah Montana in concert in Phoenix. Tonight. She also signed the girls up for the Hannah Montana fan club, which entitles them to attend a pre-concert party on Hannah Montana's party bus. If we keep her home from the concert, Kyra will never, ever, ever, ever, ever forgive us. And she would remind us hourly of that transgression for the rest of our lives. What to do, what to do?

Well, we did what any responsible parent would do: we kept Kyra home from school so that she could rest up and enjoy the concert! What?! Oh, don't give me that crap! Like you wouldn't do the same thing! Did I mention the fact that these are HANNAH MONTANA tickets? They're more precious than gold, people! Kids can make up their school work. There's no "making up" Hannah Montana!

And still my guilt consumes me. Don't think for a moment that I didn't lobby like hell to try to sell those babies. People are paying a bazillion dollars for them after all. I tried to reason with them...we could buy a Ferrari, a vacation home in the Hamptons, a small tropical island! I even tried the humanitarian route by offering to use the proceeds to feed a small African nation...for a year! But they were steadfast in their decision. It was Hannah Montana or bust.

By now, Grammy, Diane, Kailey and hoarse-dog coughing Kyra have packed into the van and on their way to Phoenix for a girls night out with Hannah Montana. I hope they bring me back a T-shirt.

Show and Tell

You would think that today was Christmas, Birthday, Halloween, Easter, the 4th of July and Kasmir Pulaski day all rolled into one, but it's not. It's simply Kyra's kindergarten Show and Tell day.

Each school day for the past month, one classmate has been scheduled for Show and Tell. Kyra, by luck of the draw, was in the last group to go. So for the past month, we've heard nothing but questions about how much longer until Show and Tell. I am SO THANKFUL that it was today.

She's also been adamant about what she wanted to Show and Tell: Grammy and Papa's six month-old Golden Retriever puppy, Rex. Bad idea. Rex, while placid as a small pup, has quickly grown into a 60-70 pound spaz-dog, with his body swiftly outgrowing his age. He has very little control over his gargantuan body, and when it gets truckin' in one direction, it's hard to stop. He even has little control when he sits perfectly still. On a couple of occasions, we've witnessed him sitting in the middle of the living room floor when, suddenly and inexplicably, he tumbled over backwards as though caught offguard by a stiff breeze. Hilarious. When Diane and I go to visit, it takes him a solid half-hour to calm down, then he's fine. I think he's going to be a great dog when he gets a little older, but for now he's out of control, even with the snippity-snip of canine sterilization. I can't imagine the carnage of a roomful of kindergarteners he'd leave in his path, even with an adult trying to hold him down. Kindergarten chaos would ensue as 5-6 year-olds scurry over one another looking for cover. Not a pretty sight.

I thought we were going to have quite a time trying to talk Kyra out of taking Rex to Show and Tell, but we didn't. I think she knows and understands how spastic he can get, and though she pouted for a couple of minutes, she conceded. She opted instead to take a Barbie fashion head, where you can style her hair and apply makeup...you know, one of those messy toys I haven't seen her play with since Christmas that clogs up her closet until we give it away to Goodwill. Good to see it's been rediscovered and is getting some use.

I loaded the head in a black and yellow "Wheel of Fortune" duffle bag that I got from work and we headed off to school. (It's really morbid when you think about it...a head in a duffle bag? Oops. I'm just glad we didn't get pulled over on the way to school.) When I drop her off, I like to watch her walk in just to see what she does. She usually meanders to her classroom, distracted by butterflies or bugs, stuff on the ground, or other kids on their way to school. Today, though, she was focused and walked briskly with a purpose: she needed to get to her classroom and hide the Wheel of Fortune duffle before her classmates arrived. She wanted her Show and Tell to be a surprise, even though no one knew what was inside the duffle. She cracks me up.

It was one of those moments where she was so excited and proud that I couldn't help but be excited for her and proud of her as well. I laughed to myself as she faded from sight and I drove away. I can't wait to hear about how it went.

The Day Rainbow Died

I learned something new yesterday: fish don't necessarily float when they die.

I should have known something was up. A couple of days ago, the girls were freaking out because they thought Rainbow, their blue and red male Beta, was spending a little too much time at the bottom of the bowl. This is not unusual behavior for Betas. They lead pretty uneventful lives (unless you put two males together) and their little fins must get tired from hovering in one spot, so they take a little rest on the rocks. Kailey watched Rainbow as he "rested" and grew concerned that he wasn't just "resting", so she shook the bowl. To her relief, he zipped to the cover of the fake green plant suckered to the bottom of the bowl. She told me she was concerned about Rainbow's health and I told her not to worry. "You'll know when Rainbow dies, because fish float when they die." Little did I know that my words would later serve to save my butt.

Well, Kailey must have taken those words to heart, but they still didn't completely alleviate her fears about Rainbow. As Diane tucked her into bed last night, Kailey asked her to go check on him. I was in Kyra's room telling her a story when Diane walked in, usually the cue for us to switch rooms. She grabbed me and gave me a hug as I headed into Kailey's room. "Oooo...me likey," I thought as she whispered in my ear. But what she whispered in my ear puzzled me. If she's trying to get me into bed, this clearly was not working. I pulled away from her and shared my puzzled look. "What?" I muttered. She pulled me close and whispered again.

"Rainbow's dead."

I sighed and headed to the family room to see for myself. I saw the bowl across the room and immediately scanned the surface for Rainbow's body. I didn't see it. As I drew closer, I could see his little body resting on the rocks. I shook the bowl and he tipped over on his side. He wasn't looking so good. Crap. What are we going to tell the girls?

I returned to Kailey's room and tucked her in, then Diane and I put our heads together to figure out what to do. Problem #1: school. We didn't want to inform the girls of the death of their first pet before bedtime or before Kailey went to school in the morning. We didn't want her to be blubbering at school all day long. Problem #2: we would both be at work after the girls finished school, so we couldn't tell them then, either. Furthermore, we didn't want to tell them and then have to pass any post-mortem grief counseling on to Diane's parents, who would be watching them.

OK, maybe we're horrible parents, but this is the best we could come up with. And if there was ever any doubt about where I'll be heading upon my earthly demise, this may serve to clear things up a bit. We left Rainbow in the bowl. If the girls happened to notice his rotting carcass on the bottom of the bowl, then we would deal with the aftermath. If they didn't notice him, then Diane would drop Kyra off at school and make a beeline to the pet store to get another Rainbow. I know, I know...express lane to hell.

Well, the girls must not have been all that concerned about Rainbow because neither of them bothered to check on him. So we executed plan B, full speed ahead. Diane picked out a new fish and I disposed of the evidence. As I cleaned out his bowl I couldn't help but think of all the good times we had: the Pavlovian way he would come to the surface for food whenever I opened the lid to the bowl; the way he liked to lay in the blue rocks lining the bottom; the way he, um, well, that's pretty much it. There wasn't too much more to his life. I'd like to think that he's now in a better place, but I know better, since I wrapped his body in a paper towel and flushed him down the toilet. I can only hope that all pipes really do lead to the sea. Sorry buddy.

Diane returned home with Rainbow II (Electric Boogaloo) and we introduced him to his new home. He's much more active than Rainbow was, and that's not just because he happens to be alive. Like I've said earlier, Rainbow liked to lie around a lot.

Diane later discovered that at some point before bedtime on that fateful evening, Kailey apparently shook the bowl and got no response from Rainbow, which prompted her to ask Diane to check on him. Now I don't know this for sure, but I think that since Kailey saw Rainbow on the bottom of the bowl, not floating, she didn't believe he was dead. So, in essence, my ignorance bought enough time for us to perpetuate a lie to our children. Merry Christmas. The girls are SO going to need therapy. That's OK. They can join me. Maybe we'll get a group rate.

Today was NOT pajama day

Justice or mercy? Tough love or protection? What would you do?

Yesterday Kailey came home from school all excited because her class had won a pajama party. Apparently this is a pretty big deal for kids these days. I think it's just sheer laziness...kid rolls out of bed and right to school. But who am I to judge. Today was a half-day of school and I thought it would be a logical day to have a class pajama day. Still, I had my doubts. "Are you SURE today is pajama day?"

"Yes, Daddy."

Normally I would have dropped Kailey off at the gate, but I promised her that I would walk her into the schoolyard to watch her do a new move she had learned on the monkey bars. This actually worked out to her benefit. I parked the van and walked Kailey to her gate. The schoolyard bustled with kids eager to work out their last bits of energy before the bell rang and the school day began. Kailey ran over and put her backpack down, rejoined me and we made our way to the monkey where I prepared myself to be amazed by her acrobatic prowess.

As she climbed up on the bars and waited for her turn, I scanned the schoolyard. I couldn't find any other kids in pajamas. I looked back over at Kailey and found her talking to a boy on the monkey bars. She quickly descended the bars with a harried expression on her face. "Dad, today is NOT pajama day...it's Friday." Right on cue, the bell rang and kids hurried to line up for the day.

What would you do in that situation?

I tried to get her to line up with her class with the promise that I would be right back with a change of clothes. Sheer terror danced in her eyes. I had to stifle the laughter building inside.

"But Dad, they'll think I'm stupid!"

Maybe then you'll pay attention to when freakin' pajama day is, I said to myself before assessing the situation. If I made her line up, she was primed to blow a gasket. Save face or perfect attendance? Public humiliation isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Plus, she'd never forgive me if I made her get into that line. Today, I chose to be cool Dad. I chose mercy.

We rushed home, changed her clothes, and rushed back to school where she received her first tardy slip (nobody really wants to have perfect attendance anyway). This afternoon we'll have a little chat about paying attention in class. Today I'll be cool Dad, but next time she'll spend the day in her pajamas!