Ep. 8: Talking Star Wars: The Force Awakens (which was awesome)

It's another Our Monkeys, My Circus Podcast, and on the latest episode, the eight-year-old and I review Star Wars: The Force Awakens. There are spoilers, obviously, so if you haven't seen the movie, please skip this episode until you have. Or, alternatively, if you have no intentions of ever seeing the movie but enjoy hearing two goofballs mindlessly flapping their gums, listen away. 

Either way, we talk about: the similarities between The Force Awakens and A New Hope; our favorite Star Wars droids (BB-8 v. R2-D2); the best Star Wars fighter pilot (Poe vs. Luke vs. Han); the mysteries that are Kylo Ren, Finn and Rey; the biggest shockers; and our theories about what will happen in future movies. 

Extra spoiler: I'm predicting that at some point Lando Calrissian will open a beauty salon and the mustache-perm combo will again become an intergalactic sensation. 

Added bonus: We mentioned it in the last podcast, but here's a Star Wars-themed origami how-to, courtesy of the eight-year-old's brain. You're welcome in advance.

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(Dec. 2015)

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Ep. 7: Talking Christmas presents, angry letters and Uno domination

It's another Our Monkeys, My Circus Podcast, and on the latest episode, the eight-year-old and I talk about how all Christmas presents aren't created equally (see, for example), the awesome power of Uno ATTACK!, why randomly firing arrows -- even toy ones -- without some forethought is a terrible idea, the unintentional comedy of angry letters from little people and even a little NFL news. We even tease (but no spoilers!) our next podcast, which will be about one thing: STAR WARS: THE FORCE AWAKENS. 

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4-year-olds are awesome at Christmas...

...This is especially true when a) there's an older brother involved, and b) they have grandparents who insist on spoiling them and letting you deal with the fallout. 

Which brings us to Christmas Eve.

It was at our house this year, and it's basically an excuse to eat and drink too much, and in between all the eating and drinking, we let the kids open a few presents. Seems perfectly harmless and no reasonable person would complain about any of this.

Four-year-olds are not reasonable people. 

Issues arose early in the evening, when said four-year-old ripped open the wrapping paper on Present No. 1 from Pop to find Batman pajamas. He's a huge Batman fan, but pajamas are clothes and clothes are an automatic no-go. The reaction was predictable: a wave of puzzlement washed over his face, followed by a forced smile and a no-look "Thank you" before he forgot about it altogether. 

Then the 8-year-old opened his present. It was a LEGO Ninjago Morro Dragon, which looked to have about four million pieces. This was a resounding success -- unless  you were the four-year-old, who promptly melted into tears because in his mind, LEGOs are infinitely better than PJs. 

A couple days later, after wrongs had been righted, I asked the four-year-old what he was feeling when he saw the LEGO Ninjago Morro Dragon.

"It made me feel like I wasn't in the house ... almost," he explained with all the seriousness of an expert witness testifying about DNA evidence at a murder trial. "And then mom got me a secret Mixel surprise. Then I felt good. And my cousin didn't want anybody to know that we were building it because it was only a surprise for me." 

Mixels are also LEGOs, though on a smaller scale. Either way, there was harmony in the universe and the four-year-old was able to put aside his feelings of inadequacy long enough to remember what Christmas was all about. 

That lasted 20 minutes, which included a happy stretch of playing with a barrel of Squigz (they're suction cups you can fashion into pretty much anything), courtesy of his aunt and uncle. Then the eight-year-old opened his present from the aunt and uncle.

Laser Pegs.

If you are not familiar with Laser Pegs, they're basically LEGOs that light up. Based solely on the four-year-old's long face, I'd say those lights ratcheted up the perceived awesomeness by about 40-50 percent over your garden-variety LEGOs, So, naturally, he started crying ... again.

The four-year-old explains to his aunt why a life without LEGOs is like one big kick in the nuts. (photo credit: Uncle Joe)

My brother-in-law sent along the photo above documenting the after-school special as it unfolded in real time:

"I-I-I-I-I .... w-w-w-w-w-aaaaant ... LE-LE-LE-LE-LEGGGGGGOOs," the four-year-old, between cry-heaves, told his uncle. "I really like 'em, I really do." 

With no intention of doing anything about it, his uncle then asked where one can get LEGOs.

"You can buy them at Target."

A few days later, and because I'm a great dad, I followed up, asking him why he was so upset.

"Because no one got me one of those and I always wanted one."

This was news to us and anybody who knows him. All we heard about in the days and weeks leading up to Christmas was that he was desperate for a Paw Patroller, LEGO Darth Vader, and a bunch of other stuff I just tuned out (don't worry, his mom was paying attention). 

When I told the four-year-old that he never informed Santa that he "always wanted one" he thought for a beat and then said, "I don't know how he was supposed to know."

You don't say. Then I reminded him that he got a ton of LEGO-related toys on Christmas, and there really was no reason to cry about two presents he didn't even know existed a half-hour before he started bawling.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he said.

Of course, Pop came over the day after Christmas to take me and the eight-year-old to see Star Wars (more on that later but just know it was AWESOME), and he didn't show up empty handed. Before we left for the movies, he handed the four-year-old a LEGO Chima set. 

I mean, come on.

So why did Pop bring him another present?

"Because I didn't get any presents before," the four-year-old explained. "That's why he brought it."

But you had a TON of presents on Christmas, remember?

"Okay, I don't know why he brought them."

I then asked him if he'd do things differently knowing what he knows now.

"Next time, I'll say thank you," he said. "And I'll be thankful. And yes, I'm sure I was thankful this time too."

So yeah. Merry Christmas.

Ep. 6: Talking practical jokes, dinosaurs and jacking up your britches

It's another Our Monkeys, My Circus Podcast, and on the latest episode, the eight-year-old and I talk about practical jokes (specifically, the one he played on me, taking full advantage of my OCD in the process), what you're really saying when you say "darn" (this only applies to eight-year-olds, not potty-mouthed adults like, say, me), and Halloween treats that don't include candy (I was as confused as you).

We also discuss dinosaurs, why jacking up your pants is hilarious, and I review my report card (courtesy of the eight-year-old, natch) before we play a new game: Three Questions. 

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My kids fall down more than your kids

Here's a fun fact no one ever mentions before you have kids: They have terrible balance. Or maybe it's just my kids who can't seem to put one foot in front of the other more than twice before crashing into something either sharp or expensive. 

Other parents have tried to sympathize but I've seen their kids, and they look eminently more comfortable with the laws of gravity. My kids look like this newborn elephant...

...With one glaring exception: I'm not nearly as helpful as those two lovely elephant parents. In fact, a few weeks ago, the four-year-old was watching "Daniel the Tiger." Daniel got hurt -- probably slipped while trying to help someone, that smug little do-gooder -- which prompted this conversation:

Four-year-old: Daniel's dad is not like my dad.

The wife: Oh yeah, how's that?

Four-year-old: His dad doesn't get angry when I get hurt. My dad gets really angry.

Related: Daniel's dad wouldn't make it a week with the four-year-old. I'd conservatively estimate that the kid falls down 25 times a day. I once saw him pretend that his mini-soccer goal was a spider web only to see him get his foot stuck in the net, trip, and fall face-first onto the corner of our deck. Fat lip, blood everywhere, a lot of screaming (mostly from me, obviously), and no rational explanation for why anybody would think that trying to intentionally trip themselves would end well.

There have been times (yes, times, plural) where I've seen the four-year-old walk directly into a wall. Don't even know how that's possible but, well, it is. 

Then there was the time, this summer, when my wife got the bright idea to go on a family walk. Sounds innocuous enough until you remember what we're dealing with here. Things starting off well enough but about 30 minutes into it, the four-year-old, who was on his scooter, decided to go ahead on the path. 

He made it about 30 feet before disaster struck. I didn't see the accident but I sure as hell heard it: a loud crash promptly followed by that easily recognizable cry that something has gone horribly wrong.  Instinctively, my wife runs ahead to see what happened. I, knowing full well what happened, walk.

When I turn the corner I see the spectacle; a red-faced kid, sobbing uncontrollably, half-covered in dirt and grass. He explains, between full-body heaves, that he came around the corner, made his way down the hill, hit a hidden bump and went flying over the handle bars. Based on the looks of him, he broke the fall with his face. 

This is what happens when you break a fall with your face. August 2015

The upside: I got to carry him the mile back home. Luckily, he cried the whole way. Added bonus: I also got to carry his scooter.

To be fair, the four-year-old was pretty banged up though, incredibly, he was back to his free-wheelin' ways a day later. It was almost as if he had no recollection of his life flashing before his eyes 24 hours before.

Also worth mentioning: Not a week goes by where the four-year-old doesn't get hurt at the bus stop. Every morning starts the same: I'll line he and his brother up at the door and give them the speech: "Okay, please don't run at the bus stop today or I'll (idle threat that no one -- me, them, the dog -- believes). Got it? Great, let's go."

And then, two minutes later, we're at the bus stop and guess what? They're running around. And guess what else? They fall down, usually with no one within 15 feet, which further fuels my suspicion that they both suffer from some form of pediatric vertigo (don't know if that's a thing; just came to me and it seems fitting). And while the eight-year-old doesn't get hurt nearly as often, it's a near certainty that if the four-year-old goes down, he's going cry. 

At some point, the four-year-old will grow out of this, but it probably won't be anytime soon. I say this because just last week the eight-year-old fell down a flight of stairs. No idea how or why. All I know is, I'm sitting on the couch pretending to hear the television (let's be honest, if your kids are awake, you're literally "watching" the TV because you're sure as hell not going to hear it) when out of the corner of my eye I see a furry blur crash into the wall at the bottom of the stairs.

I glance over, make the "REALLY, AGAIN!? face and go back to "watching" television. My wife rushes over and I overhear the eight-year-old explaining that he has no idea what happened. Like he hasn't gone up and down those steps a thousand times.

He's fine, by the way. Can't say the same for me. 

So, to recap:, Yes, I'm not as patient as Daniel the Tiger's old man. But tell Daniel's dad to walk a mile in my shoes -- with an angry four-year-old on his shoulders. Then we can talk.