Keeping Score – Playing Hardball

Posted on April 14, 2016 by Joe Cummings
Take me out to the ball game.

Take me out to the ball game.

So now it’s time to learn me some baseball.

In the future, I think I’ll volunteer only for things I like to do (or can, actually, do.) Something like official team pizza eater. Or World of Tanks Game adviser. Or napping manager.

Even though being the hockey team treasurer took way more time than I thought it would, I wasn’t too stressed out about it, especially after The-prettiest-girl-in-the-world helped me through relearning Excel.

But this whole score keeping thing, man, that was turning out to be hardcore.

So, what do I do when faced with something hard?

First, I curl up into a ball and hide under my writing desk. I have worn a special place in the shag carpet there. It’s where I go when I receive a rejection letter.

But after that, it’s time to figure it all out.

Here’s my top 6 ways I will use to learn me some baseball.

  • Find baseball movies. Bad New Bears. Bull Durham. League of Their Own. Sadly, none of them deal with being a score keeper, though.
    There's no crying in baseball

    There’s no crying in baseball

    One might ask why? Maybe there’s a movie there. Maybe I’ll get Ryan Reynolds to play me. We kinda look alike. But the things I’ve learned so far…. there’s no crying in baseball. I learned sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains. And I learned that this quitting thing is a hard habit to break.

  •  Look up score keeping on You Tube. Ok, I did that. I found a great site that explained a lot of it. I even found another one that had a clearer explanation of the terms and abbreviations and what exact is a ‘fielder’s choice.’ Never doubt the internet, folks. It’s just jammed packed with truths and explanations, and for some reason, lots of pictures of naked girls wearing only baseball caps (though that could have been a search problem).
  • Read the official scorekeeping book. Actually this didn’t help much. I think they keep it deliberately vague because only a moron who doesn’t completely understand baseball would ever volunteer to be a score keeper.
  • Ask for help. Ok, for me this is the hardest thing to do. But I emailed one of the parents who seemed to know a thing or two about the game. He agreed to help me out. He was even super nice about it.
  • Talk to other parents who’ve done this before. This, oddly, yielded some of my best information. I mean, sure, I got less pictures of naked women, but I did learn that I don’t have to sweat the more complex part of the game. Not at this level. There simply isn’t such a big concern with errors and RBIs and that mysterious passed ball thingee (which I still believe might be someone pooping a ball out.)
  • Go to a game. And bring a score sheet. I’ll see if I can figure it all out on the fly. Oh, how I wish I was in Victoria. I know a couple of people who could school me on this whole baseball thing.

So that was my plan.

I did my best studying everything that I could ahead of time, and then the game came. I was in a full body sweat, but everyone there was so nice, mostly because either they have done it before and remember the terror of that first game, or they haven’t done it before and hope I don’t bugger it up so badly that they have to do it next week.

horrible scorecardAll in all, with the help of my experienced baseball buddy, I did ok. I didn’t make any huge errors and recorded 99% of the game without any confusion.

But, ah, that 1%. Oh my goodness. When there’s actually a hit and then the fielders miss it, then mis-throw it, then mis-catch it, and the runners all get confused and run into each other and no one is sure where to go or where to throw and then, all of a sudden, it stops and one of the runners is walking off the field and another looks like he’s tagged the plate and I had to turn to ask,

“What the f*%# just happened?” I asked my guru. A zombie melee looked less chaotic.

“One run. 6-4 out at second. Runner one advanced to third. Hitter got a double. No errors.”

“Oh. No errors? Really? What abou…?”

“It’s ok. You got this.”

Thank God I had help. I would have either recorded that as 42 errors, one run and someone out somewhere, I’m still not sure where.

But I survived my first game.

Not that I won’t keep learning.

Wait is there an f…ing app?

Oh and for anyone interested in one of the great speeches of all time. Please be aware, there’s some NSFW language.

 

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Striking Out – Scorekeeping 101

Posted on April 12, 2016 by Joe Cummings
No one gets me like the Simpsons.

No one gets me like the Simpsons.

As I get older and older, I believe less and less in trying new things. I have to fight hard to get out of my comfy-cozy fortress of solitude (like Superman’s fortress only less ice and more big screen TVs).

But once again, I’m going to try something new.

I decided it would be good to volunteer to be a baseball scorekeeper.

See, after hockey ended, the-Youngest decided to try something new, too. So I decided that I hadn’t had enough torture after being the hockey team treasurer and signed up.

I thought I was being all kinds of clever. In my day, it was pretty simple. The pretty red-haired girl would put up the numbers on the board and smile at me. No wonder I took so many balls in the face. Oh sure I was a catcher, but I was also easily distracted by a pretty girl smiling at me. Still am.

But that was it. We scored a run, and the pretty-red-haired-girl would put it up on the scoreboard. The umpires kept track of the strikes and balls and, I think, secretly, how many balls to the face I took. They shouted a lot and told us who was out (and for me to stop shouting ‘swing batter, batter, batter, swing!’.

I assumed it would be the same only with less pretty red-haired girls and more electronics.

My first clue should have been how all the other dads looked at the grass or stared up at imaginary stars and whistled to themselves when the coach asked, who wants to scorekeep?

When no one leapt at the chance, he looked at his clipboard and said a couple of families had volunteered to be scorekeepers. Ours being one of them.

I corrected him on this point. The sign up website would not let you sign up unless you chose some sort of volunteer work, the sneaky bastards. So, the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world chose score-keeping. I suspect for the same reason I did (minus the red-head).

But that being said, I’d give it a whirl. How hard could it be?

Well.

F…ing hard as it turns out.

Apparently little league is now like the majors. It’s up to the scorekeepers to record EVERYTHING.

I went to the meeting where they said they’d teach you all you needed to know about score-keeping. It reminded me of a test I took in Business school, where I didn’t understand a flipping thing and got 12% in the test. It was my first failing mark ever and it traumatized me forever.

So when they began to explain how to record a hit, then an error, then a pitcher’s ball, which I think is a kind of error, and a forced play, which I had no idea what the hell that is, and a double play with a sacrifice fly, my hands began to shake, my eye twitched and I broke out in a full body sweat.

A churro dog? OMG why I have not found this and eaten 10?

A churro dog? OMG why I have not found this and eaten 10?

See, I’m not a big baseball fan and the few games I’ve been to, I’ve spent more time finding where the churro vendor is than figuring out how to properly score the game.

Now, don’t get me wrong, the basics are kind of easy. The pitcher throws the baseball. A strike or a ball. I record that. If the batter hits it, I record that as well. It’s when other stuff starts to happen or things that only people with heads full of baseball knowledge understand start to occur, that I get all confused.

Basically, it’s when a whole ton of things happen at once. It’s that hit that gets dropped, then someone throws to second who misses the ball and the runner heading to third decides to go home while the pitcher rushes to get the missed ball and somebody in the stands is shouting, throw to 3rd dammit and in the distance a plane is roaring overhead and my phone is ringing and I need to pee.

How do you record all of that, cuz I’m pretty sure I have to?

As I left the scorekeeping meeting needing a drink, it occurred to me that the reason baseball is akin to watching a glacier melt is because the scorekeeping could take forever. At least with all the erasing I’ll have to do.

My brain just bled a little even looking at this.

My brain just bled a little even looking at this.

If you doubt how confusing score-keeping can be, look at that sheet. It’s now important to know errors. What’s an error in little league? From what I saw at the meet-and-greet game, pretty much every play has one error or another. Many plays seem to have about 20. With one hit.

Then there’s all the odd stuff that can happen, like a forced play on a Tuesday when there’s a full moon and a left handed batter with a hunchback. I think there’s some sort of code for all of that. And I have to record it.

And here I thought being the treasurer was a bit on the challenging side. It doesn’t even come close. I came home from the meeting completely disheartened. This will be absolutely at my limit of my well-padded comfort zone. Like telling someone to take over flying a helicopter while the pilot jumps out the door.

I can just imagine the first game.

“So,” says the other team’s scorekeeper, “I score that inning 14-4 with 17 unforced errors, and three fielder’s choice outs, two forced plays and one wiggle-dee-diggle-dee-do. What did you get?”

“A migraine.” My score sheet says 1 hit, 3 balls, and scribblings about a pizza order.

I pray it won’t be as bad as I fear, but looking at that sheet, not knowing all the codes and having to see everything and understand baseball like someone who, you know understands baseball, may be a disaster in the making.

 

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10 Best Kid Smells

Posted on April 5, 2016 by Joe Cummings
Calvin and Hobbs. Calvin knows something about bad smells

Calvin and Hobbs. Calvin knows something about bad smells

The list of bad kid smells could fill a book, but maybe there is another side – Smells that are awesome and you pretty much only get them around kids.

  • Crayons. Ah, crayons.

    Crayons. Ah, crayons.

    Crayons. Now this could just be me, but opening up a drawer filled with used crayons smells wonderful. Maybe it takes me back to my childhood. Maybe I like the smell of wax mixed with whatever yummy, sticky food the boys had on their hands while using them. Maybe I’m just suffering from a stroke.

  • Baby shampoo. (No more tears, stuff.) Now THIS reminds me of childhood for sure. But in an age of tangerine-oatmeal bodywashes and pear-jasmin shampoos. and moisturizing, organic, stress-relieving body butter made from the sweat of koalas, that no more tears stuff still smells the best to me. A part of me wants to go back to that, but I believe the ads that say I will get a hot woman if I use Axe (and clearly it worked!)
  • bubblegumBubblegum. Ok, adults can totally get bubblegum vodka and bubblegum flavoured condoms, apparently, but there’s nothing like the smell of bubblegum out of a pack of hockey cards or brought fresh from the local convenience store. That’s total kid stuff right there. Pure as it comes. Sometimes squishy and sometimes hard as a frozen sheet of steel.
  • New Plastic. I can’t explain why this smells so good, but open up a new lego box or tank model or the latest plastic toy and you’ll see what I mean. Was it because that new plastic smell meant I got something cool to play with back when I was a kid? Or did all the glue fumes from making models severely damage some part of my brain?

    Ah, model glue. Is it the smell or the fact it't toxic and addicting?

    Ah, model glue. Is it the smell or the fact it’t toxic and addicting?

  • Plastic Model Glue. Ok, I get why this one smells so good to me. I got high off it for years before I ever knew you could get high off it. I guess it’s like the smell of cigarettes to former addicts – it just kinda hits that part of your brain that says more please. Luckily, that addiction has now been replaced with donut cravings.
  • Pools. Now this isn’t a particularly kidish smell, but let’s face it, we don’t go to the pool that often unless we’re taking the kids. But that toxic smell of chlorine… Oh so good. But it’s a smell that could have been a total nightmare, too. I mean, my brother and I learned to swim in a chlorine pool and back when we were taught such things, they literally tossed us in the deep end, and there we were, desperately dog-paddling to stay afloat and gulping down gallons of the stuff. So it is a little odd I love the smell. It could have easily been something that sent me to therapy.
  • Playdoh.

    Playdoh.

    Play-doh. It’s in every box in which the boys have stored their toys. Little blobs of it at the bottom. Small jars underneath their cars. Giant globs stuck the sides of the Rubbermaid containers. I don’t honestly recall playing with it that much, but that smell… like cookie dough. Or an almond-vanilla thing. The more I think about it, the more likely it is that I didn’t so much play with it as eat it. I wish my mom was here to tell me what happened.

  • Cookie doh. Ha, cookie dough. Not that I haven’t eaten my weight 200 times over in cookie dough over my adult life, but it’s still a kid smell to me. I’m not talking those super-good-for-you cookies, though. Nope. We’re talking chocolate chip cookies. Maybe smartie cookies. But that sweet, doughy smell is hard to beat. Personally, I think Sesame Street should have made a cookie-dough monster except, you know, for the fact you shouldn’t really eat raw cookie doh,
  • School Books. No other book smells quite like a school book. Maybe it’s the smell of despair or panic that’s put into all of them. Maybe they use a different paper or a different binding than the Stephen King books. But there’s that new text book smell that’s just kind of hard to place. Inky. Something chemical-like. Probably the glue. Wait. Dammit, did they make those things with the same stuff I made models with?
  • Sharpies. Not only fun to draw with, but fun to smell.

    Sharpies. Not only fun to draw with, but fun to smell.

    Sharpies. OMG sometimes I think that when I’m down, I should just take off the lid of a sharpie and sniff, sniff, sniff. I’m not sure how healthy it would be, but there’s an intoxicating element to that pen. I don’t recall sharpies from my childhood, though, so the smell is a great 21st century kid smell. Probably done deliberately. Probably tested on rats or kids in China.

Oh, hey, but that’s not all. There are a lot of other smells associated with childhood or kids. Campfires. Burnt marshmallows. Fresh band-aids. Wet dog. Wet kid. Cold water on hot asphalt. Rubber dodge balls (I took a lot of those off the nose in my time.) Mothballs. Leather baseballs.

Oh the list could really be endless, as is the list of horrible smells. But as the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world reminded me, focus on the positive (and not the smell of vomit that you can’t get out of the car.)

 

 

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Piano Man

Posted on March 23, 2016 by Joe Cummings

A Delicate Little Flower

delicate flowerNow the last thing The-Oldest would want me comparing him to is a delicate flower, but that’s how I feel about his latest and most amazing endeavour. Learning to play the piano.

First of all, much to my horror, like most kids, the more you try to push him into something, the more he resists. As evidence, I point to jujitsu. To his credit, he stuck with it to the end of the session and tried his hardest while there, but he wanted to do it about as much as I would want to take dancing lessons (which, FYI, I’ll have to do for the wedding since I dance like a elephant with its feet in cement.)

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, pushing kids.

In my dream world before kids, I thought, hey, if you’re just encouraging enough, positive enough, made it seem like fun, kids would want to do it. Simply put, they’d want to do it cuz I said so.

Seems me saying it’s cool or fun does not, in any way, make it cool or fun.

Who knew?

pianoSo, when The-Oldest became interested in the piano, we had to tread carefully. Like keeping a delicate plant alive, we had to water it just enough to keep it alive and not too much so it would die and wither and exude a sulfurous stench.

We had to be interested, but not overly interested. We had to be excited, but not too excited (like new Avengers movie excited, not new Star Wars movie excited.) We had to be there to help him and not there to show him how to do it.

The last part would be the hardest to balance. Not that I play the piano in any way, shape or form. I would be better off simply banging my forehead on the keyboard for all the talent I have, but The-prettiest-girl-in-the-world has some skill and has done her best to guide him and show him proper fingering.

It’s not easy, especially since (if I continue with the plant metaphor), we have pretty much killed every plant in our house. So, yeah, we have to be REALLY careful here.

But so far he’s continued to be interested and he’s done remarkably well. Better than well.

His fingers are blazingly fast. He can pound out the first part of the moonlight sonata like a pro. He’s learning to play funeral dirges cuz, you know, he’s a teenager. He plays the cello suite #1 with feeling and rhythm.

And he seems to love learning to play!

He comes home from school, does his homework and then sits in front of the piano. Not in front of a TV. Not in front of a computer screen or his phone. In front of the piano.

How cool is that?

I can’t tell you how impressed I am at his commitment. At his skill. At his natural talent.

But now we have to find a way to get him lessons. Without them, he’ll never really be able to play. His fingering will be so off that he wouldn’t be able to use both hands. He won’t be able to progress farther in many of the concertos he wants to play.

I know he knows there’s a limit he can do without assistance. But it’s like me knowing I shouldn’t eat a whole bag of yummy caramilk chocolates – knowing is not everything. Knowing does not overcome fear or a deep love of chocolate.

So how do we shift him towards that? How do we add more fertilizer so he will continue to grow? How can we make him a part of this decision-making process? How do we do that without him hating the piano?

Hmmm.

To be continued.

In the meantime, Moonlight Sonata.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Oh the Horror – A Movie Review and More

Posted on March 9, 2016 by Joe Cummings
Still one of the scariest movies of all time - Exocist

Still one of the scariest movies of all time – Exorcist

At some point in a boy’s life, he becomes… well, let’s say ‘interested’ in horror movies. ‘Obsessed’ might be a better word, but ‘interested’ will do.

The-Oldest has reached that point. He’s read It. He’s watched movies like Nightmare on Elm St and Exorcist, which, FYI, is still one of the best horror movies of all time.

So while the Prettiest-Girl-In-The-World took The-Youngest to his first baseball batting tryout, The-Oldest and I decided to watch a movie. I wanted to make sure I got quality time with him as well. I greatly fear that The-Youngest, being a little more sportsie and challenging, tends to take up nearly all my time.

So I hoped I’d be able to do something fun with The-Oldest.

Hence a movie.

A movie I’d not heard about.

At all.

Babadook.

How did we choose it?

Well, we did what we do. Both The-Oldest and I won’t use a Kleenex until we’ve researched which ones last the longest, which ones are the softest and which ones are the most environmentally friendly.

So we looked into the best horror movies of all time.

There are many lists out there. There are lists of lists. Seems everyone and their demonic dog has a thought on this subject. Most included movies like 6th Sense or Silence of the Lambs which are not, in and of themselves, actual horror movies.

We’d looked at the lists from Rotten Tomatoes. IMDb. Metacritic.

Sadly, we’d seen most of the movies on most of the lists.

Child's Play.

Child’s Play.

Now, currently, The-Oldest’s favourite horror movie of all time is Child’s Play. He admits it isn’t the best movie ever made, nor even a particularly good movie, it’s just that he likes it. At his age, I thought Phantasm was the best movie ever made, so maybe at 13, our minds see things in a totally different way.

So I was a little leery when we found this Babadook movie. It’s Australian for one. It didn’t have any talking dolls or demons brought back from dreams or slashy serial killers. On top of that, it was written and directed by a woman.

Jennifer Kent.

And it had a silly name. Babadook? WTF???

It was, however, the winner of 49 awards!

Here’s the pitch… “A single mother, plagued by the violent death of her husband, battles with her son’s fear of a monster lurking in the house, but soon discovers a sinister presence all around her.”

A scary house. A monster. A sinister presence.

Sounds ok, right? Sounds like something I’ve seen a hundred times before, right?

Wrong.

It was the most terrifying movie I’ve seen in awhile. Quite awhile.

It was the type of movie that stays with you for a long, long time.

Babadook. Holy hell, scary.

Babadook. Holy hell, scary.

The visuals were perfect. I mean, freaking perfect. The acting was so un-Hollywood that you thought you were watching a real family in crisis. The pacing was agonizingly tense. The music so creepy, I had to claw a blanket over me.

But the true genius was in the characters, their struggles and the ambiguous nature of the ‘evil’.

Without giving much away, the child wasn’t a lovable waif who said ‘I wove you momby’. No, he was deeply damaged by what happened in his past and was, to quote The-Oldest, “one tough kid to like.” He screamed a lot. Obsessed a lot.  Needed his mom A LOT.

And his mom, well the best that can said about her is that she was having a complete mental breakdown. Who could blame her? A huge trauma in her life. No sleep. A spooky book that she couldn’t get rid of. And a crazy? son.

I don’t want to reveal everything, but jezzus was this a great movie. I could not guess for a moment where they were going from scene to scene and, even after watching it, I’m still not entirely sure what happened. I mean, what REALLY happened, especially with her being a writer and all (they’re messed up people.)

The-Oldest, however, loved it. Even though he’d never admit it, it scared the pants off him, and there’s nothing a teenager (who hasn’t discovered girls, yet) likes more than having his pants scared off. Nightmares will come. Some of those images are burned into his brain. And that music…

Yikes.

So, yeah, a total success.

I’m super glad I didn’t have to see it alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Missing Them

Posted on February 19, 2016 by Joe Cummings
IMG_4414

Spazadoodle and the boyz

Much to my surprise, I found myself missing the boys.

Both of them had gone off to Mexico with their dad (and his family), so I thought, wow, The-Prettiest-girl-in-the-World and I would get some couple time.

You know, sleep in, eat at any time, play loud music and dance around naked, build a blanket fort and watch movies, use a lot of swear words… Plus, no hockey practice, no picking the boys up from their dad’s, no driving them to and from school.

I thought it would be heaven.

And we did have a good time. Valentine’s. My birthday. Walking Dead. But… I missed the little buggers.

When we went to see Deadpool (about as un-kid a movie as you could see that wasn’t porn), the first thing I wanted to do when I got home was tell The-Oldest about the movie, about how they did things not done before, about how they broke the 4th wall in a very big way.

When I finally finished cleaning and organizing the game room downstairs, I wanted to show The-Youngest what I’d done. We now had room for Lego, and models, and games, and I put all my painted D&D miniatures in a display, and all the puzzles were sorted and stacked according to size and likelihood of ever getting done…

But no, the boyz weren’t here.

Rick and Morty

Rick and Morty – and perhaps you can see why it may be inappropriate.

It wanted to talk to The-Oldest about Rick and Morty, a funny (but not perhaps appropriate cartoon) and show him how I’d reset the TV room (the sweet spot was no longer the sweet spot).

I wanted to show The-Youngest a goofy hockey video I found on YouTube and play in the blanket fort we made.

I wanted to teach them both to play crib, or if they already knew, to have a good game with the entire family, and I wanted to take the boyz to the mall and show them the real-life tanks and guns on display. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World was less keen to take them for some reason.

I missed hearing about what’s important in their lives (which never seems to be school.)

I missed hearing The-Oldest practice on the piano. I missed him always giving our dog Vegas more love than all of us combined

I even missed sitting in a cold arena watching The-Youngest play in goal. I missed him starting every third sentence with, “Joe, did you know…”

But The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World had it the worst. She pined terribly for them. She missed reading The-Youngest stories at night. She missed helping The-Oldest learn piano. She missed hugging them when they needed it or didn’t. She missed seeing their faces in the morning, hair all messy, eyes kinda glassy, sleepy lines on their skin.

And I know Vegas missed them. She knows the time they normally come home and would march out of her spot in the TV room to wait for them by the garage door. Come to think of it, The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World did pretty much the same thing. With sadder eyes.

When we’d hop in the car to go do something at night, she would become super waggy-tail excited (the dog, not The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World) thinking we were going to pick them up.

Vegas the dog is never happier than when she has her boys

Vegas the dog is never happier than when she has her boys

Yesterday, she went into their rooms and sniffed their laundry (again the dog, not The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World). That sounds kinda yucky, but I think she wanted to remember what they smelled like, maybe see if there were any new smells, if somehow she’s missed them.

It was a little sad. There’s no way to tell a dog that her babies are coming back. They’re just not there.

Same for The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World, too. I could tell her that her boys would be back soon, but all she knew. They just weren’t there.

I have to say, I was a bit shocked that I did miss them. I mean, when did they become such a vital part of my life? How did I let that happen?

I guess little by little, the same monsters that go to 5am hockey practices, that respond to you with more shrugs than words, that lose their coats or forget to take signed paperwork to school also become so very important in your life.

Because now, I can’t imagine my life without them.

 

 

 

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Spelling Test

Posted on February 2, 2016 by Joe Cummings
Spelling maters

Spelling maters

Oh, the joy of spelling. To be honest, I’m not the best speller in the world. This will not come as a surprise to anyone who knows me. It’s why I think that the greatest invention in the world was the spell-checker.

But The-Youngest doesn’t have the luxury of using it, yet. He has to learn to spell the old-fashioned way.

No, ‘not sound it out’ – whoever gave that advice has not read or listened to the English language… spell knight. Sound it out. Nite. No one would ever guess it has a silent k and let’s not even get started on the whole ‘gh’ complexities. Instead, he has to memorize. The REAL old-fashioned way.

But, after getting a 13/18, I decided it was time for me to help out. Kind of like how Hitler helped out Poland, but whatever, I was fully engaged in helping him learn to spell.

Here are the words we had. Amazingly enough, he didn’t actually have to know what they mean. At least he said he didn’t (but then he said the teacher allowed them to eat all the candy they wanted.) So I also decided to use them in a sentence, to, you know, help him understand the words better.

Also. You also have to know how to spell lots of words after also. A-l-s-o.

Him: “I don’t like where this is going.”

Bought. I bought a new game and no one can play it but me. B-o-u-g-h-t.

Him: “What? What game? That’s not fair!”

Cough. You have a bad cough, but that doesn’t mean you get to stay home and play video games all day long. C-o-u-g-h.

Him: “I have a cough now, can I miss the spelling test?”

Me: “No.”

Almost. You almost had me fooled when you said you ate all your lunch, but you left the apple behind as evidence that you did not. A-l-m-o-s-t.

Him: “Doh.”

False – True or false, you like girls now? F-a-l-s-e.

Him: “False, Joe, False!!!!”

Officer – Officer, I wasn’t speeding, I was checking to see if my speedometer worked past 140kph. O-f-f-i-c-e-r.

Him: “What’s a speedometer?”

I can't drive 65!

I can’t drive 65!

Speedometer. Used to measure speed, but it’s not on the spelling test.

Soft – You hate your eggs when they are soft and runny. S-o-f-t.

Him: “True.”

Stalk – You once ate a stalk of broccoli and threw up on the dog. S-t-a-l-k.

Him: “No I didn’t! It was squash!”

Halt – Before you walk into traffic, halt and have a look around or your mom will never, ever let you walk to school by yourself. H-a-l-t.

Him:“ Joe!!!”

Faucet – Joe, turn off the faucet for the love of God, we don’t want to waste water. F-a-u-c-e-t.

Him: “I hear that a lot, Joe.”

Me: “I know.”

I want to believe

I want to believe

Saucer – Look up in the sky, Mulder, it’s a flying saucer. S-a-u-c-e-r.

Him: “Who’s Mulder?”

Me: OMG!

Caution – You better use caution when you think it may be a good idea to eat your weight in candy. C-a-u-t-i-o-n.

Him: “Hmmm. Joe, could I actually eat my weight in candy?” 

Lawyer – Remember to always ask for a lawyer when you’re arrested. L-a-w-y-e-r.

Him: “Will I ever need a lawyer?”

Me: “You’ll have one on speed dial.”

Him: “Joe!!!!!”

Awesome – It’ll be awesome when you get 18/18 on the spelling test. A-w-e-s-o-m-e.

Him: Joe, did you know I AM pretty awesome most of the time?”

Me: “Yes. Yes, I did.”

Stall – When you park in a handicap stall without a handicap sticker, you’re a douche-bag. S-t-a-l-l.

Him: “Joe, did you just use a bad word?”

Me: “Handicap is not a bad word.”

Him: “That’s not the one I’m talking about.”

Crawl – When you’re too drunk to walk, you can always crawl upstairs to bed. C-r-a-w-l.

Him: “Joe, is this something you’ve done?”

Me: “Uhm, err, no.”

Awful – That dirt you ate because someone dared you to tasted awful, didn’t it? A-w-f-u-l.

Him: “Dirt does taste awful.”

Is stinky bad?

Is stinky bad?

Me: “Thus speaketh the voice of experience.”

Because – Take a shower just because you’re stinky. B-e-c-a-u-s-e.

Him: “Hey!!!”

After we reviewed the words, it was time to practice for realzies. We took out a bag of M&Ms. We emptied them on the table. For every one he got right, he got one. For every one he got wrong, I got one.

After the first run through, I had eaten 8.

Yum!

This could be the best game ever!

After the 2nd try, I had 4. For me, this was not going in a good direction, but at least he was beginning to nail the word ‘caution’.

The hardest word turned out to be faucet. I mean, look at cough. Why not spell it ghousit? I got to eat about 10 more candies before he finally got that last one consistently right .

But he was ready for the test.

And, on Friday, he got 18/18.

Awesome. A-W-E-S-O-M-E. Awesome.

He got to eat a whole bag of M&Ms by himself.

 

 

 

 

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Dungeons and Dragons – Part 2 – The Evil in the Forest

Posted on January 26, 2016 by Joe Cummings

dungeons and dragonsWe finally managed to get everything set up for another D&D session. Big piece of paper for mapping. Lots of dice for rolling. Painted miniatures for representing the characters, pencils to record hit points and erasers to erase wounds.

As we had left our intrepid duo, The-Oldest, playing an ogre, lay dying. There was nothing that could be done to save him. An evil goblin arrow had pierced his chest. His lungs filled with blood. He and his brother (playing a ranger who has no need of money) had come to the forest to investigate a missing caravan. They’d found it looted on the main road with lots of blood, but no bodies. Not a one. Even the looting was only half-assed and if anyone knew anything about goblins, they were all about the full-assed looting.

Being a ranger, though, The-Youngest found tracks that led them to goblins, that led to a fight, that led to The-Oldest becoming a living bowling ball and knocking the goblins down, that led to them being quite annoyed and not a little confused, that let to him getting shot. A lot. And that led to his near-death state.

A creature of the old world.

A creature of the old world.

However, as he lay dying, darkness creeping into his vision, the very trees of the forest parted and an old man approached them. He told The-Oldest he’d seen what they’d done in defense of the forest and that the he had the power to heal him, but it would come at a terrible price. He would have to give himself to the forest. Blood and bone and soul.

The-Youngest, after trying in vain to heal the ogre, came up with a novel approach to this news. He climbed on the old man.

I have no idea why, but this is D&D and it’s the ultimate sandbox game. You want to climb on an old druid, go right ahead, it’s ok.

So the conversation went like this.

Druid – There is no shame in death, Ogre, as a warrior, to die in battle… there can be no better… wait, why are you climbing onto my back? Who are you?

The-Youngest – (who is not a hobbit, but a full-grown man), says – don’t mind me. Go on.

Druid – Very well. Hurmph. Uhm. Where was I? Oh yes, warrior… battle death… no better way to die, yes… so, should you choose to live, you must live as a creature of the forest lives, live to protect the acorn and the oak, live… will you stop pulling on my hair!

The-Youngest – I want to be on your shoulders.

Druid – for the love of the Allmother, how old are you?

The-Youngest – 26, but 9 in real life

Druid – Oh, this explains much.

However, The-Oldest decided he not only wanted to serve the forest, but was destined to serve it. He agreed to the Druid’s terms and was buried in the ground for his efforts cuz that’s how you heal people when you’re all about nature. No bandages, just mud and roots and berries.

FYI, it’s why the druids died out.

Anyway, the earth felt cozy and comforting as roots twined around his body, into his body, filling him with peace. Pain left him. The darkness left him. There was only the warm embrace of the ground, of the Allmother.

A druid who is an ogre, you say? What madness is this?

A druid who is an ogre, you say? What madness is this?

When he emerged, he was a new ogre. A druidic ogre. Gone were his warrior ways, replaced by magic connected to all things living. Over-joyed, The-Youngest immediately began to climb him.

The druid then told them that he’d sent out his friend, a treant scout, to find the goblin hideout, but Redleaf had not returned.  Immediately, The-Oldest offered to find Redleaf if it meant serving nature’s needs and off they went.

“Do that, my big friend, and I will teach you about the magic of the forest.”

In time they found the scout, but something was wrong with him. His bark was greyish and chipped, like an old tree that had fallen in the forest. His leaves were dull and dry, his eyes leaking white sap.

“Do not come near,” he rasped. “Dark magic has… am… dying… and yet, not dy… wait, why are you climbing on me?”

The-Youngest, of course, had decided the best way to hear this story would be in the treant’s branches. For his efforts, he got to watch magic transform the treant up close, and when the treant lost control, the treant tossed him 50 feet into a tree. D6 damage.

“Nooo,” the treant screamed, “I cannot stop it, it consumes me.” He fell to the ground. Dead.

When good trees go bad...

When good trees go bad…

Then the treant rose, making all sorts of horror monster sounds.

Now, if there’s one thing nature-loving, sandal-wearing, man-braid tree-hugging ogres hate, it’s the undead (and corporations, but they tend to be pretty scarce in D&D). So, with a roar, the ogre hurled himself into battle against the undead treant, while The-Youngest, with his amazing archery skills, shot the heck of it from far away.

But it was a battle they couldn’t win. A treant is a terrible foe and they could barely scratch it. Then they hit on the idea that fire and wood just don’t mix. Like those who like the Phantom Menace and those who think George Lucas committed a war crime.

Anyway, they lit the undead monstrosity up, The-Youngest as a ranger using arrows, The-Oldest as a druid, using a flaming club lit with magical fire.

They had won, but had to go back to the old druid and give him the bad news. His friend was dead.

Oddly, The-Youngest did not climb on the druid, who wept upon hearing the news. But when the druid learned that the treant had been transformed into one of the undead, his grief turned to anger and shock. Such a thing should not be possible. Somehow, something had magic more powerful than that of the Allmother who protected the forest. Such magic could bring ruin to the world.

They had to stop it!

“Redleaf must have found something,” the old druid said. “I must gather our strength. I must call a warmoot.”

“A what?” The-Oldest asked.

“A moot, for war.”

“What’s a moot?”

The point is moot, really.

The point is moot, really.

“Meeting.”

“Oh, why not say meeting?”

“Very well, I will call a warmeeting of the druidic orders and we will… oh for the love of leaf and bough, will you tell your friend to stop climbing on me. Thank you. Now, follow Redleaf’s tracks. Find out what he had seen, but be careful. This is dark, dark magic that has been used.” He shuddered. “If it is used against you…”

He left the terrible thought unfinished.

And off they went.

Who knows what they would find?

 

 

 

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Top 10 Things Learned From the Tournament

Posted on January 22, 2016 by Joe Cummings

happinessThere’s always something to be learned from every situation and I’m a life-long learner, which means I usually screw up constantly.

Here are the top 10 things I learned from the hockey tournament…

  • There is a sliding scale of when good behavior becomes bad. Mathematicians will like this and one day properly quantify it, but for now, let’s take a look. Joe-style. One kid will behave about 90% of the time. 2 kids, probably 60%. 3 kids, perhaps 40%, but it’ll depend on the kids. 4 kids…you’re now against the odds. Maybe 10% chance they’ll behave. 5 kids? The odds are akin to me winning the lottery. 6 kids. The odds are equal to the me winning the lottery and being hit by lightning at the same time. Any more and the odds are so astronomical that Karl Sagan, Einstein and Sheldon Cooper would fail to calculate them, the chance is so small.  There is a greater chance that somewhere in the universe there is a monkey typing out this exact blog at this exact moment. Plus, the damage that can be done is exponentially worse.
  • When in a group, all table manners go out the window. Again, this can be a sliding scale, just not as bad as the chance one of them will do something dumb. Have you ever seen a pack of starving wild dogs savage a wildebeest? It’s that disturbing. I point, as evidence to the pizza box with four bites out of it.
  • There are gods of hockey. Like a long-lost Norse god out to prove he can still influence the world of men. Sometimes the puck bounces your way and sometimes it doesn’t, but in some games, sometimes it’s everything or nothing. I kid you not. It’s like 4 pings off the goal posts, 2 off the crossbar, one puck hits the tip of the goalie’s skate and deflects wide, another shot has so little strength that it actually stops in the crease after being completely mis-saved. Or, your team mate will shoot it through the goalie’s skates, the puck will hit the crossbar and bounce off his back and into the net… you get the idea. And yes, The-Youngest had both those games.
  • liesYour child will lie to you. Oh, you think he’s going to be the most truthful boy on the planet, but tell him not to run on the ferry, and he’ll come back all red-faced from running and actually try to claim he wasn’t running. With sweat dripping down his face. While panting.
  • Great friendships can be made from great suffering. Or great triumph. Mostly our team is usually all about the suffering, but they bonded so well at this tournament that I’m sure some of them will be friends for life. (And it’s not just about the hockey bonding, oh no, it’s about trying to drown your coach or shooting a mini-hockey ball at someone’s crotch or trying to sneak into the boiler room on a ferry.) Me? I had some great moments with some of the parents and bonded with a few well. I mean, who could not? We all shared the same experiences, good and bad.
  • I could almost do a whole weekend of being marginally extrovertie. Oh, you extroverts may not realize how hard it is for an introvert to be all chatty, and be all chatty for 3 whole days, while not getting much sleep and not being able to drink a lot. But I did it. And, to be truthful, so did the-Youngest. It can be done, but mostly because I was lucky enough to go with a great group pf parents, some of whom I suspect were introverts as well.
  • If you have a 5:45 ferry and a game is supposed to start at 3:15, it will not. I suspect the same naughty Norse gods, but whatever, it should be like some sort of universal rule. If you don’t have a lot of time for buggering around, the universe will send people to bugger things around.
  • You can fit a goalie bag, two player bags, 5 suitcases, 2 backpacks, 3 9 year olds and 2 adults in a Rav 4. Certainly you would have bet against it, but with the proper application of pressure and swearing, you can get everything in. Plus 3 sticks. And 3 bags of tournament goodies. I should contact Toyota and get them to do a commercial like that. With me and my Hollywood good looks.
  • You get out of the tournament, whatever you expect. By that I mean if you think you’re going to have a crappy time, there is a ton of stuff that will prove you right. Bad refs. Bad coffee. No heat in the arena. Or you can think this is going to be one hell of an experience and there is tons of stuff to prove you right. Bad refs. Bad coffee. No heat in the arena. It’s like a quick reminder of what life’s about. There’s always good and bad, but it’s what you focus on. Or to quote The-prettiest-girl-in-the-world, “it’s whatever wolf you feed.”
  • Every game needs more cowbell.

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Tournament Trials – The Loss – Part 7

Posted on January 18, 2016 by Joe Cummings

IMG_8406[1]

They did their best to keep their heads held high

So, after 5 games, the boys had won four and lost one. The last one. And we were in serious danger of missing the ferry. Worse, we still had a ceremony to get through.

The boys lined up on the ice. A carpet was laid out between the two teams. Several old men in blue jackets and berets walked out to stand with the coaches. Veterans. Medals on their chests.

An announcement was made about the winners. The winners cheered. They were the better team. They deserved their moment. Then our time came and our coach took the mic. He looked over at his team. They had their heads up but their shoulders were slumped, like all the air had gone out of them.

He told them they hadn’t lost the tournament. He told them that they had won second place. Won. Second. Place.

Won.

He told them that they had beaten 4 other teams. That they’d played well.

He gave a great speech, but then he’s a pastor in his church and, I would think, not unused to giving people inspiration when they’re down.

Then the boys got their trophies. Pretty damn nice ones, too. The organizers did good.

IMG_8417

Ok, it wasn’t a very big carpet they rolled out.

After each trophy was handed out, the boys would shake hands with the vets. “They had soft hands,” The-Youngest said. He wanted to know what wars they’d fought in, but I couldn’t answer that. “They each had two medals, he said, so that must mean they’ve fought in two wars.”

He could be right.

By the time everyone got their trophy, we had to really make time to catch the ferry. It was 5pm. The ferry left at 5:45. I had a reservation, but not all our team did and it would be a small New Years’ miracle if we all made it. The drive was 20-25 minutes. And we had to still get our gear off.

It was decided that the only thing they’d get off was their skates. Well, sure, fair and fine for players, but to get goalie skates off means you have to untie the pads as well. But we were up to the task, and while most of the team left ahead of us, we were not far behind.

We stuffed our gear in the car. We stuffed the gear of two other boys in the car. We stuffed, 3 kids and 2 adults in. Somehow. And sped off. Now is usually the time I get epically lost, but with the aid of my iphone, I weaved my way in and out of traffic like a Nascar pro.

We made it into the line-up at 5:25. The ferry was 93% full. The attendant gave people without a reservation about 50/50 if they’d get on.

While we waited in the lot, the boys changed their gear. At first, they wanted to change outside of the car. OUTSIDE OF THE CAR. Like, in the open! Like with people in cars on either side looking at them!!!

The answer to that was, ah, no. No way. So they took turns inside the Rav 4 getting out of their sweaty, wet gear and into civilian clothes.

In the end, we all got on and assembled at the front of the ferry. The boys’ good humor had returned, and they were all so excited that they’d done so well. Mad props to the coach for finding exactly the right thing to say to them when the game ended.

The coach gave another speech about behaving, but this went largely unheard as the boys roared off to cause problems. Not The-Youngest though. He was given 20 min then a few quarters to play some video games, then kept by my side (mostly playing games on my phone.)

Yes, this is what two people decided to do on a busy, busy ferry. Lets put our hands together for their humanity

Yes, this is what two people decided to do on a busy, busy ferry. Lets put our hands together for their humanity. Thank goodness their snowboards had seats.

Most of the parents did the same thing and those who didn’t quickly gathered up their sons after supper. However, as goofy as the kids may have been, the epic award for being a complete asshat goes to a couple who occupied 6 seats in the cafeteria.

The ferry was 95% full when it left. There was a massive wait for food and for tables.

The staff even gave an announcement that anyone who’s finished eating, if they could please bugger off so that others could sit down.

Not those two entitled pricks though. They saved 4 seats for their snowboards. So, I took their picture. To quote Red Foreman, my fathering mentor, ‘Dumbasses!!!”

wft star trekAs we  sat down, I told The-Youngest to see what a sense of entitlement leads to.

How many people had they inconvenienced so they could store their coats and snowboards? How fair was that to our team that could have used those seats to eat?

He said he’d never do that, and I believed him.

All things considered, he’d been great on this trip. Not perfect, sure, but he’s 9 and he was with his hockey buddies, so he needed to have a good time as well.

The best picture of The-Youngest yet.

The best picture of The-Youngest yet.

We got home in time for him to tell everyone about the games they’d won, the saves he’d made, the MVP medal he’d won and the trophy the team got for ‘winning second place’.

I declared the weekend a success and went to bed and slept for 20 hours.

 

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