MenGetPregnantToo

A Young Child's Guide to Meeting Deadlines. (or: Why Your Parents are Always Freaking Out!)

When Getting Dressed for School or a Morning Activity:

• Use the following sequence:
  • Left leg in pants, right leg in pants, head through neck-hole, right arm and then left arm through armholes, left sock on, right sock on.
• Do not be distracted by:
  • Hole punchers, My Little Pony, the planets hanging from the ceiling, the garbage truck outside, the Lion King soundtrack, yesterday's uncompleted drawing on the floor, or worrying about which pair of underwear on your bed is fresh.

When Called for Breakfast:

• Use the following sequence:
  • Go to the bathroom first!
  • Sit at the table, use the provided utensils to bring the provided meal from your plate to your mouth until 6/7ths of your food is consumed, then enquire about dessert.
• Do not be distracted by:
  • The toy you weren't supposed to bring to the table, the newspaper I'm hiding behind, the fact the house is a couple of degrees colder than comfortable, our new fish, the recycling truck outside, wondering why there is a pair of underwear on the dining room table.

When Leaving for School:

• Use the following sequence:
  • Go to the bathroom first!
  • Left shoe, right shoe, jacket on left arm, jacket on right arm, left mitt, right mitt, hat, school bag, lunch bag.
• Do not be distracted by:
  • The T.V. (which shouldn't really be on in the first place), the mysterious leftovers in your lunch bag, the toy you wanted to show your classmate but can't be found, the fact that it's only Tuesday and you're already tired, the neighbor's landscaper's truck outside.
  • (P.S.: If I'm helping you get dressed -  even though I shouldn't, you're 7 - because we're running late again, please don't lean on my head while I put on your boots; my back isn't what it used to be.)

When it's Time for Homework:

• Use the following sequence:
  • Go to the bathroom first!
  • Ask for snack once.
  • Remove you books from your backpack, get your pencil case from your room, open your agenda to the page listing today's work, prepare your first exercise, wait for mom or dad.
• Do not be distracted by:
  • The toy you left on the table after breakfast (and Daddy never removed...all day), yesterday's uncompleted drawing which is now on the dining room floor, the fact that it's only Tuesday and not only are your more  tired than this morning, but now Daddy's cranky too; the fact that your discouraged at having to color-in 42 little fish for homework when clearly 20 would have sufficed, hunger pangs since Daddy still hasn't brought snack, the neighbor's kid already playing outside.

When Called for Supper:

• Please see item #2 - "When Called for Breakfast" (veggies included!), but wash your hands first (With warm water and soap!...I'll feel and smell them afterwards to check!)

At Bedtime:

• Use the following sequence:
  • Left pyjama leg on, right pyjama leg on, pull on pyjama top, brush teeth (remember: brush  for as long as a whole song on the radio), wash your hands and face ( please see corresponding caveat in previous item), put your clothes on your bed (not on your floor next to that hole puncher and that drawing), report upstairs for story time.
• Do not be distracted by:
  • Arguing with your sibling over who gets to choose the story, hole punchers, My Little Pony, the planets hanging from the ceiling, the Lion King soundtrack, yesterday's uncompleted drawing on the floor, or worrying about which pair of underwear on your bed is fresh.

At Lights-Out

• Use the following sequence:
  • Go to the bathroom first!
  • Slip quietly into unconsiousness.
• Do not:
  • Ask Daddy what you're doing tomorrow. Please, simply refer to the list above.

*******

Then again, what's the hurry? You're only young once; enjoy it.

I'm Not a Creep. I'm a Pre-School Volunteer, and I've Got the Badge to Prove It.

My daughter attends pre-school five half-days weekly.
It's a fantastic institution. I talk about it in the manner with which all parents talk about their kids' fantastic institutions: energetic teachers, engaged curriculum, provides my daughter with fulfillment and education she might not otherwise blah, blah, blah.
It's a good school.

Part of the programme includes each parent spending one day monthly with the kids as a teacher's assistant - we call it our "duty day".
The Duty Day is a fantastic opportunity to be connected and involved in our child's development, participate in their emotional and intellectual growth, and give them a sense of pride which comes from a parent being present in...yadda, yadda, yadda. You understand the drill.

For the third time since we registered her in pre-school in September of 2010, I had a free morning, and was able to spend it as the Duty Parent.
As a logical security measure, Duty Parents are obliged to wear a badge hung from a chord around their necks. This badge identifies them as a "Special Volunteer".
My duties as a Special Volunteer necessitate my occasionally leaving the classroom: to fetch a bucket of water from the teachers' lounge, to be the caboose of the  train of children as we walk to and from the gymnasium, to escort the little students to the washroom. The Special Volunteer is not allowed into the washroom with the children, but is expected to wait just outside the entrance and escort them back to class (after listening from the hallway for hand-washing as well as the tell-tale sounds of reams upon reams of paper towel being wasted for the drying process).

Here's the rub:
I get dirty looks from certain teachers with whom I come face-to-face during my hallway jaunts.
Most of them are smiling, gracious, and engage me in small talk about the little bees buzzing about this grade-school hive. But, there are two or three who seem to regard me as creepy. I'm a man, who is not an employee of the school, wandering among the children. I might be a weirdo. One way to deal with weirdoes is to stare at them weirdly. Glower at them. Suspect. Analyze. Be wary of.
Although my badge identifies me as a Special Volunteer (the thing hangs from my neck to my navel, as visible as a scarlet letter), perhaps I obtained it through illegal means...perhaps I used a color photocopier and a laminate machine from my local video store. (Perhaps if I told them my local video store is now a bankrupt Blockbuster, I would be one step closer to grade-school hallway acceptance).
Perhaps it is my menacing gait caused by the heavy bucket of warm soapy water I'm trudging with to the classroom. Maybe they mistake the 5-year-old holding my hand, hopping by my side, and telling me a story as one desperate to escape the clutches of this vile Special Volunteer.


Maybe I'm paranoid, but just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get me:)
I'd like to compare Duty Day experiences among the fathers and mothers.

These are the conflicted messages fathers receive.
We are told repeatedly that participation in our children's education is vital to their well-being, yet a dad in a pre-school hallway is to be carefully regarded.
As hard as it is being a working mom, being a working dad has similar challenges.
Those challenges are exacerbated when three hours as a Special Volunteer is slightly soured by the wandering eyes of the Special Forces in the hallway.

*****

Only-slightly-related-to-topic thought of the day:
The pre-school programme is anywhere from 2.5 to 3.5 hours, five times weekly.
One of the funnier sights is watching parents run/jog back to their cars after drop-off.
Naturally most of them have work to get to, other children to care for, and chores to complete.
But I wonder how many of them, like me this morning, jog back to their cars hoping to squeeze an extra sip of coffee, and an extra eighteen seconds of quiet into this short period during which there is no one to care for but yourself.

Of COURSE I Have Mood Swings. Why Do You Think It's Called a 'Men'strual Cycle?

Moodiness, irritability, trouble sleeping, a pimple which arrives with more stealth and suddenness than Vesuvius.
Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Kenny Bodanis, and I'm PMS-ing .

Could it be we all have cycles?
Ok, ok, calm down for a minute. Allow your eyes to roll all  the way around and then refocus on the screen...I'll wait.

Even as kids, I remember becoming interested in a book my brother had about Biorhythms. The philosophy is: we each have emotional, physical, and intellectual ebbs and flows. Discovering and tracking my biorhythm was a three-month pastime when I was about ten years-old. I know, I was an unusual kid.

 Intellectually, I perceive biorhythms as I do horoscopes and full moons. Phenomena related to theses texts in the newspaper or cycles of a celestial body are pure coincidence. People are not crazy because it's a full moon; the relationship between the two only feels as such when we look at a crazy guy and then glance up and notice the moon is full. Had this guy been acting crazy any other time of the month, he would just be an obstacle to my getting on the public transit system. 

I absolutely believe female PMS is the real deal. Each month a woman's body goes through inarguable physical and emotional changes as it prepares for a baby. If there is none, the body resets itself for the next attempt. (If there is a baby, well, that's another post altogether.)
Women have PMS; let them own it. Support them.
Now, back to me: 

Is it possible there is an inherent flow to us all? I don't chart my mood swings, but I know I have them. I also recognize there are days when I feel discouraged for no good reason. It is not severe enough to describe as depression, but significant enough that, for a day or two, it affected me and those around me.
Even looking through some past posts I realize how often I write about fatigue, or bad moods. Couple those days with body pains and fly-by acne, and there you have it...Guy-struation.
There are studies which argue men do suffer from this syndrome.  This one is from London, England. They speak with an accent there, so the information must be true.

All I'm saying is - and all I'm asking for - is a little consideration. Consider the possibility there may be more linking the genders than we think.
Allow me the possibility that when I'm out of sorts, short-tempered, grumpy and tired with a large blemish on my nose, it may be due to forces beyond my control.

Maybe, just maybe, it's my hips, and not my need for attention, that are bloated.

 

An Open Letter to the Supporters of my Huggies Petition | The Daddy Doctrines

Dear friends and supporters,

I am incredibly happy to report to you that the people at Huggies/Kimberly-Clark have heard your voices, and are responding in real, impactful ways. You may have already heard this, but I hope to give you a little bit more information.

Before explaining more, I want to thank you so much for all of your support.

via www.daddydoctrines.com

A special thanks to champion of the hands-on dad, Chris Routly, for putting pressure on Huggies. And kudos to Huggies for hearing him.

Huggies Pulls Ads After Dads Insulted

http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/lifestyle/2012/03/huggies-pulls-ads-after-dads-insulted/

A Husband Can Still be a 'Guy', Without Being a 'Guy's Guy' on 'Guy's Night Out'.

I'm not much of a party animal.
For whatever reason, an evening with good company, a BluRay, and a bag of chips tops my list of time well spent. A co-ed outdoor barbecue during our short summer is also up there. I enjoy the diverse conversation among men and women, the casual socialization of roaming a backyard, minding the grill, and having a couple of cold beers.
Whether at work or in my personal life, I've always resisted invitations to a 'Guy's night out'. I'm not a big drinker, I don't particularly enjoy sitting in a bar where the cacophony precludes the possibility of actually talking to the friends I'm out with. Similar to this guy cited in the March 5th edition of Dear Abby (I've mentioned before how I love advice columns):

        Dear Abby: I’m one of four guys who go on a men’s golf trip every year. There’s no infidelity — just three days of golf and fine dining.

        I no longer want to go because I’m tired of being the big brother, the referee and the designated driver while the others get drunk and obnoxious and are oblivious to         others around us. I am also a physician who treats them and their families in my medical practice. How do I get out of this mess?

        The Odd Man Out

I absolutely relate to this Odd Man.

I cannot speak to 'Girls' nights out' since I lack the anatomical requirements for an invitation. But for men, being in groups tends to necessitate proving we are fewer evolutionary steps removed from our simian cousins than we are when with our families. I would be more likely to participate if I knew certain rules of etiquette were established ahead of time:

• I like golfing, but I'm really lousy. I'm here on the course because socializing while walking through pastures for four hours is a pleasant way to spend time with friends. Can we do this without you swearing when you miss a shot and becoming miserably disappointed after the third hole?
• I like sports bars. I like the cold beer, the chicken wings, and the casual conversation accompanied by long moments of saying nothing while staring at the game on the screen over our heads. Can you limit yourselves to a couple of drinks and promise not to treat the waitress like a house-slave to impress the rest of the table?
• It's not only that I love my family, I also like them. I understand that some complaining about the challenges of a lifelong relationship is normal. But, I'd rather it not go on all night; that's what counsellors are for.

Here was part Dear Abby's response to Odd Man:

            Dear Odd Man Out: An effective way to manage it would be to tell them that the dates they have selected for the golf trip “don’t work” for you. You don’t have to be             specific about why — it could be a family obligation or something related to your practice that makes you unavailable.

That's basically what I do. I hem and haw, and tell them I'll look at my calendar and get back to them. Then I hope they forget about me. Admittedly (and, after re-reading this, not surprisingly) I am not regularly overburdened by invitations nor my my social calendar. A have a couple of close guy friends, and they know me well. Occasionally, they call me out on my school marm act, and drag me out of the house. When they do, I am grateful. Mostly though, we organize get-togethers at each others' houses, with our families, and enjoy ourselves just as much.

There used to be words for this in high school: geek, spaz, nerd, etc.
Now, as adults, they have changed to: homebody, reserved, prude? stick in the mud? 
What I do know is whether it's among my two friends in my living room, or among six couples and their kids in my backyard, I'm still one of the guys. 

  

I Finally Told Them Where Babies Come From (And How They Get There in the First Place)

Warning to the squeamish: This post uses anatomically correct language!

My 7-year-old son had previously asked how the man's seed gets into the mommy. I'm embarrassed to admit I skirted the issue. I pretended something else needed my attention at the moment - cleaning the coffee machine, for instance. This time, there was nowhere to go. I was alone with two children demanding answers, and - according to the sex therapist with a local evening radio show - I owed them proper answers. Here's how it played out:

EVENING. INDOORS AT A LONG DINING ROOM TABLE.
FADE IN:
A father occupies an armchair at the head of a long table. Its antique patina perilously supporting not only his beer, but also two cups of milk; one at each of his elbows. As the camera pulls away, we see these cups belong to his young children: a girl, age 5, and a boy, age 7. After a brief - and rare - moment of silence, it is clear the children have something on their minds:

GIRL:
I don't  want to be a mommy.

FATHER:
O.K. You don't have to be if you don't want to be.

BOY:
Yes you do. It's the boy who decides, because he has the seed.

FATHER:
Yes, but the girl has the egg. AND she carries the baby. If she decides she doesn't want one, that's up to her.

BOY:
But, how does the seed get into the mommy?

The camera zooms in slowly on the father's face. It's clear this is a question he's heard before. A sheen of perspiration appears on his brow; he rubs the sides of his nose with both hands, as much to deal with the dry air as to delay answering the question.  Inevitably, the silence at the table makes it clear the children demand an answer.

FATHER:
Well, how do you think a seed gets into someone? 

The father's eyes avoid contact with his children. Instead, they patrol the far end of the room, searching for a distraction: a passing garbage truck, or a bolt of lighting hitting the tree in the front yard causing it to collapse the living room roof, perhaps. 
Nothing.
The conversation continues:

SON:
Through a hole.

FATHER: 
Exactly. 

SON:
 But, through where?

The father feels that itch in his nostrils again.

FATHER:
Well, where on a woman's body are there holes? 

GIRL:
Your mouth?

The girl is, at 5-years-old, young enough she pronounces the word as "mowf". The father wonders what the heck he's doing. He plays with the receiver of a portable phone. Who is he hoping to call? Who is he planning to call? A quick dialling of 9-1-1 would bring these proceedings to a halt, but there would be consequences. Instead, he does nothing.

FATHER:
Yes...

GIRL:
But I don't want to eat the seed! 

The father sneezes, coughs, and swears simultaneously. He hopes the children didn't hear him cuss. But then again, at this point, he'd rather be discussing foul language...

FATHER:
It's not your mouth. Where else is there a hole?

SON:
Your ear.

FATHER:
Yes, and..

 GIRL:
Nose!

FATHER:
Or? 

BOY:
Bum?

The father stares at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling as though it were a 60 watt deity. He prays to this creation from Restoration Hardware for an end to this conversation...

FATHER:
Where, on a girl, is there a hole which would allow a seed to make a baby in her tummy?

BOY:
Her vagina!!!

FATHER:
Yes!

At this point the girl lets her brother lead the conversation. For some reason, this is the first evening in her existence she is not arguing with her father about vegetables. The father, looking at her plate, clearly wishes it were not so.

BOY:
But, how does it get in there?

FATHER:
Well, where is the part on your body which makes the seeds?

The father motions towards his groin with a movement of his head. This is a reminder to The Boy about their previous conversation regarding his father's vasectomy...which was less painful than this moment around the dinner table.

BOY:
Down here...my uhh...

FATHER:
Scrotum.

BOY:
Right, skrotem. But, how does the seed get out of there?

FATHER:
Well, where is there a path from your scrotum out of your body?

BOY:
Your penis?

FATHER:
Exactly.

The father's shoulders relax as relief washes over him. He believes 'the talk' is over. Then he realizes: global warming may end with more suddenness than this conversation.

BOY:
So, he pees, and the vagina sucks it up?

FATHER:
No, it's not pee, it's a bunch of seeds, called sperm. Your body doesn't make it yet. You'll start making it when your body gets much older; when you start turning into a man.

BOY:
And then the vagina sucks it up? 

The conversation is interrupted by the scraping of the father's chair against the floor.

FATHER:
(getting up)
I'll be right back.

GIRL:
Where  are you going?

FATHER:
I need a pen and paper.

The father returns with a notepad. On it he begins a crude drawing of the slight pear shape of a woman's hips, in between them is a small space. Above the small space he makes a circle with two line leads from it outward to two smaller circles.

FATHER:
(Illustrating his drawing)
This is a vagina. The penis goes in here, and leaves the seed. The seed then waits here, in the uterus, for an egg. The eggs are held here, in what are called the ovaries. The eggs then travel aaallll along this loooong tube, called a fallopian tube, until it meets the sperm. Once the two parts meet, they start making a baby. The baby attaches itself to the uterus and grows for nine months, getting bigger and bigger. That's why a woman's tummy keeps growing, because the baby gets bigger inside her until it comes out of the vagina.

Silence, as the youngest, smallest sex education gathering in the history of the neighborhood studies the rudimentary schematic.

BOY:
Can we look on the computer for how it works?

FATHER:
(panicked)
NO!

GIRL:
Why not?

FATHER:
...hold on...

The father leaves the room again, rubbing his face with both hands. He passes a clock which assures him he has at least another hour before the kids' bedtime. Plenty of time to answer the question to its fullest. He returns to the dining room with a hard copy encyclopedia, and flips through it.

BOY:
What's that?

FATHER:
An encyclopedia.

GIRL:
What's that?!

FATHER:
It's what we used to look things up before there were computers.

He finds the page he needs, delivering the book to the table surface with authority.

FATHER:
There!

BOY:
What's that?

FATHER:
These are pictures of a baby growing inside a mommy. Here is the tiny baby after 7 weeks, the 3 months, then 6 months, and then just before it's born. Neat, eh?

The children ignore their father as they peruse the picture. 

Photo Credit

  FATHER:

Any more questions?

BOY:
Does this book have pictures from the Hubble telescope?

The children chatter about outer space, as the father clears the table. On the way past the fridge to the kitchen sink, he stops and caresses pictures of his own children as babies...miracles indeed. 

Photo Credit

 

 

 

 

 

Can We, Like, Keep Evenings Dark Until the School Year is Done?

Ahhhh, Standard Time. Last night we sprung ahead. Before going to sleep I advanced my clock from 10:17 to 11:17. It's a symbol of a weakening winter, spring gaining torque in its coils,  and the inevitable thaw induced by the sun claiming its rightful position higher above our heads. It also results in an even more annoying bedtime as I explain to the kids it is in fact time to call it quits despite the brightness of the evening sky.
Like this wasn't tough enough already.

Photo Credit

Remember, parents, LBK (Life Before Kids)? Remember the glory washing over you as you gained an hour's sleep in the fall? Remember how you didn't care about spring's time change, since you compensated by sleeping in an extra 60 minutes? Ahhhhh....LBK.
Not benefiting from a time change, I can deal with. It's the comfort of pulling the sheets under their chins under the cover of darkness I'm going to miss.
As I've mentioned in prior posts sundowns have a transformative effect on me as well as on my kids.

Can't we just eke it out until June? Is there some way, either through science or chemistry, to keep evenings dim enough that my kids are dimmed to the beckoning of the outdoors at 7pm?
Maybe I'll start a list of items required to keep bedtimes simple for the next 100 days:

• Heavy Curtains
• Gravol (never mind toddler doses, gimme the big pills)
• Door Locks (x 2)
• White Noise Machine (x 2)
• Nature CD (x 2)
• Sleep Mask (x 2)
• Charlie Rose Seasons 1 and 2 on DVD

Note to self: remove carbon monoxide detector...really, what could it hurt?

Tonight is the first really challenge; the combination of sleep deprivation induced crankiness due to last night's time change, and the realization that daddy must have &^%$'d up bedtime since it's still bright outside.
I can always move the kids to Saskatchewan before my wife gets home; they leave their clocks alone year round. Of course, they also get more sunlight than any other jurisdiction in Canada.
It may not render bedtime any easier, but it may soothe my disposition, which is a little dark at the moment.

 

 

 

5 Keys to Customer Service, from a Customer (Imagine!)

There are certain essentials to properly serving a customer. There are also consistent gaffes perpetrated by the service industry which, if handled properly, may cost them short-term profits but result in long-term fortune. This is my second post regarding customer service. My first dealt with shopping, this one will deal with issues I faced at a hotel two nights ago. The principles are similar, and the solutions are painfully clear. Before I lay out 5 Keys to Customer Service, here is a summary of my hotel stay, which begins with my reservation one month ago:

When I made the reservation I was told about construction in the hotel, but was promised it would not interfere with my family's enjoyment of the facilities.
 The day before I left, I requested a late checkout, and was told it could be extended to 6pm should I choose to enroll in their "Preference" programme. I did so, and was connected to a different clerk when I called back to extend my checkout time with my new  "Preferred" customer number.
I extended out checkout to 6pm, and requested our friends with whom we were travelling be placed in the room next to us. "No problem" she said.
Upon our arrival at the hotel, our friends were booked on a separate floor; this was corrected, although they were now in a room down the hall. The morning of our checkout, our entire floor was under construction: drilling in every room except ours, dust covers and furniture in the hallway, and a strip of green tape outside our door as though we were being identified as cattle not to be slaughtered.

This short trip was not the first time I was confronted with a system in which the left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing and one eye is blind to the problem. Here are 5 tips which would have avoided the whole debacle:  

LISTENING: The client making the reservation tells you he is there for one night only, with kids. This is a short getaway for a client looking to entertain his young family. He specifically asks about any facilities being out of service or possible interruptions. By listening to the customer, you pick up on these cues which may necessitate verifying the state of the hotel, of perhaps even suggesting alternate arrangements. This is not someone who is staying 3 nights or more, there is no margin for error.

HONESTY: "There have been no complaints about the noise". That may be true, but is that because other people haven’t stayed in these particular rooms, or on this particular floor? After walking               around the rooms where your client will be staying, a more appropriate answer may have been: "There is some drilling taking place; however we ensure all construction is ended daily at an hour         which will not interfere with meals, or sleep." Again, this may discourage some clientele, but a potential client discouraged is preferable to an active client dissatisfied and deceived.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: This may be the most important and also the most simple step to proper customer service or interpersonal relationships. Any individual's minimum  requirement is that              their  needs to be acknowledged. Before answering: "There is not much that can be done about that", try first: "I understand you frustration. If I was in your position I would feel the same way. This           is not the information you received on the phone, and now you've driven all this way, you must be disappointed." You have just succeeded in significantly deflating the situation.

COMPENSATION: For our troubles of having been booked on separate floors, despite a request and confirmation to the contrary. And for having our floor ripped to pieces despite being granted a        late checkout (which would have allowed tired kids to nap after a long morning of touring the city), we were given free hot breakfasts, and a $75.00 discount on each room. This is fair compensation,         although it would be nice if, for once, the client didn't have to grovel for it. What a pleasant surprise it would be to have someone visit our door, or mention these perks during a visit to the front desk.         A customer doesn't want to spend part of their short stay haggling over what they already deserve.

PREVENTION: I once attended a customer service seminar during which they presented an outline of some customer service practices of the Ritz Carlton. One of the chain's preventative measures        was to re-lamp the hotels at regular intervals. They would change every single light bulb every three months whether or not they needed to be changed. Why? Because, they felt, a customer should               not have to put down their bags and reach for a light which won't turn on. Their first phone call to the front desk shouldn't be to report a problem. This type of thinking requires someone to play the        role of the client. It requires forethought, and a little creativity and role-play. Go, experience your product to the fullest, and you will immediate notice where improvements can be made.

Yes, being forthright may cause some customers to have pause and choose to stay in a hotel which is not under construction. But, treating like royalty the ones who choose your establishment despite its inconveniences will pay large dividends in the long term.
In others words, rent "Miracle on 34th Street."

By the way, I am available to give a talk at your next convention; especially of it's held in Maui.

 

 

 

 

I've Cleaned Out My Car: Will Fresh Milk Neutralize Moldy Cheerios?

"What are you doing?"
- "Just cleaning the car."
"What for? Looks fine to me." 
- "'Going on a road trip tomorrow, we may take one of my friend's kids. It's a little gross in here."
"Don't exaggerate, it's not so bad. Have you seen other parents' cars? People can be real pigs."
- "Yeah, well, still. I have my pride, and it's gross in here."
"Well, hurry up and close the door, it's %$^&n' freezing out there."

This was a conversation I had with a moldy Cheerio I discovered under my daughter's car seat.
Once both child restraint units are removed, what's left behind is a petrified collection worthy of a natural history museum.
If anything is missing in your house: your favorite pen, a sock, your deodorant stick, a dessert fork...remove the kids' seats. The treasures are jammed into that crease between the seatback and the bottom of the captain's chair. You know the spot: that area that always compresses your finger joints when you try to 'properly' install the car seat.

Photo Credit

By the way, the baby bottle you thought you'd lost - which was unfortunate because it was part of a collection you were going to re-gift for your neighbor's shower - it's under the passenger's seat.
The rattle which matched the activity blanket you were going to hand down to your sister in lieu of something new? That can be found under the driver's seat. Sure, the rattle's dusty, but it's not cracked....maybe I could still....nah. That's gross. Sis wouldn't know, but I would; the first time her kids got the croup, boy would I feel guilty.

 

When a sandwich becomes rigid after 6 weeks exposure to a Canadian winter, can it just be called a cracker and eaten anyway...with hummus or something?
I have a philosophy that any food found in the car remains edible, as long as whatever's stuck to it doesn't make that ripping sound as it's pulled away.

I suppose it's all worth it. After all, my gagging will subside eventually, to be nullified by a feeling of serenity and grace when I sit behind the wheel of my (temporarily) clean car.
And I also suppose the moldy Cheerio is preferable to the kids' ganja joints I'll find under the driver's seat ten years from now.
Although, when I clean the car again in 2022, I won't be scolded by a splif the way I was by that smart-assed Cheerio.

Photo Credit