Monday, December 24, 2012
Me: Ooh, Bub, you see the lights?
Bub: Yes. More? More lights?
Me: Okay, look on your right. There’s some more.
Bub: Oooh, beautiful lights. More? More lights?
Bub: Ooh, lights! Lights!
Me: That’s right, Bub. Beautiful lights.
Bub: Daddy make lights!
Me: Actually, I believe China made those lights, Bub.
Bub: Yes. Daddy make lights.
Bub: Lights! Lights! Ooh, beautiful lights!
Me: That’s right, Bub. Lots of lights.
Bub: Daddy make lights!
Me: That’s right, Bub. Daddy forged these lights, one by one, out of love and copper. Just for you, buddy. Then when you sleep at night, I sneak out and hang them. All over the world. You see those lights? Daddy made them. And those over there on the left? Yep, that was me. Ooh, and those over there, too. Daddy’s been busy. What do you think?
Bub: Yay, Daddy!
Friday, December 21, 2012
Every parent thinks their kid is a genius. We hear anything babble resembling a word and we’re suddenly gushing with pride and joy. But what we’re really proud of is ourselves, for finally deciphering what the hell it is they are actually trying to convey. We’re like the synapses, bridging that gap between mumbled gobbledygook impulses and actual ideas.
Unfortunately, most times, we are the ONLY ones who understand. Like some toddler argot, it really doesn’t make sense to the layman without imploring the help of a Little Orphan Annie secret decoder pen, as the following examples illustrate. It’s even more fun without proper context.
Bub: Shit! Shit! Shit!
Me: Dude, the neighbors will talk. What are you screaming about?
Bub: Shit. Car in shit.
Me: Yes, of course, Bub, the car is in the STREET.
Bub: Black peach, black peach! Oooh, black peach cold.
Me: Yep, maybe we should move your crib inside. The back porch IS pretty cold.
Bub: Can I have Dum Dum peas?
Me: Dum Dum peas. Sounds very Wonka-esque. And gross.
Me: You’re welcome.
Bub: I suck! I suck!
Me: Don’t be so hard on yourself, Bub. It’s a little early to make a definitive call one way or the other.
Bub: Daddy help?
Me: All right, let’s get your foot un-stuck.
Me: Why don’t you try walking this time?
Bub: Daddy, kill you?
Me: Wow, that seems a bit extreme. If you don’t want to walk, just—
Bub: Kill you? Um…can daddy kill you? Peas?
Me: Fine, I’ll carry you.
Me: You and me both, brother. But how do we ask?
Bub: Can I have a fuck? Peas?
Me: Sure, buddy, here’s your FORK.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
1. Rope him/her into a game of Hide-and-Seek. Really give it the hard sell. The entire plan essentially hinges on you accomplishing this quite manageable task.
2. Strategically plant a snack item near the toy bin. You may even want to leave goldfish cracker trail, if your toddler isn’t the sharpest tack on the board. You can never be too careful.
3. Pack for your staycation. Brew some coffee, gather your tablets, novels, crosswords. Whatever flips your pancake, so to speak, and place it in your (dry) bathtub.
4. Commence promised game of Hide-and-Seek. Play a few rounds, on the off chance that it may actually be fun for either party. You want to be sure to exhaust all the joy.
5. Hide somewhere awesome (hint: try the tub, be sure to pull the curtain).
6. Wait till he/she gives up (should be no more than ninety seconds). Don’t come out till nap time.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
So I’ve decided to teach Bub how to play games. The boy is two now, and it’s about time to learn some useful life lessons gaming can teach, such as:
1. Talking shit both efficiently and crushingly.
2. Winning means never having to say ‘Nice game.’
3. It’s only cheating if you get caught.
We started with the easiest game I could think of, Hide-and-Seek. This went through several different incarnations, sub-games, as he processed the apparently overly-complex rules of the game. These are the interpretations of those games, as told by Bub:
1. Count-and-Seek. Daddy count to ten (Good job, Daddy!). Why is he counting? I count now? Bub count. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Yesssss! I did it!
2. Stand-There-Like-a-Hump-and-Seek. Ooooh, more counting! Why are your eyes closed? Daddy sleeping! Daddy, wake up! Oh, Daddy up. Found me? Yay, Daddy found me! High five, Daddy!
3. Hide-Behind-Table-and-Jump-Out-and-Seek. Where’d Daddy go? Ooh, ten! There he is. I found Daddy! Yesss. Bub wins!
So we switched roles…
4. Fast-Count-and-Seek. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! Ooh, Daddy running. I found Daddy! Done! Yessssss!
5. Hide-and-Build-Tower-With-Bankie-and-Seek. …eight, nine, ten! Where’d Daddy go? Daddy in kitchen! Nope. Daddy in pantry! Nope. Daddy in living room! Nope. Ohhh, blocks. Hello, blocks. Bankie, build tower blocks? Ooookay! Oh, beautiful tower. Yay, Bankie!
Monday, December 10, 2012
Okay everybody, welcome to Cooking with the Bubster. Today I’m going to show you how to prepare my personal twist on a traditional American breakfast, or what I like to call Bub’s Brekkie Delight.
First, add your pancake and eggs at the same time. In fact, I recommend putting the eggs about halfway on top of the pancake. When it comes to same-pan frying, my policy is don’t ask, I tell. Do it. We’re looking for a nice, stiff, overhard here. Man, that pancake is shinier than my tricycle. And I think we all know shiny equals awesome.
Next, add your bacon, way over here.
Again, don’t sweat the technique; simply put your trust on the spatula of Wolfgang Bub. We are looking for a nice, almost Old Navy sandal-esque kind of chew to it. Man, I could gnaw on one of those things for hours. Just divine.
Okay, our eggs are done. Go ahead and take those out with your hand.
Note the perfect discus-like shape we have. CAN I GET A FUCKING PLATE AROUND HERE? Cheese and crackers, people—trying to host a show.
Now you want to move one slice of bacon over here. Just one. No questions. Make like Nike, and just do it.
Carefully slide your spatula underneath, and…OH MY GOD, WHERE DID MY PANCAKE GO? I forgot to mention to always safeguard your kitchen against hotcake gnomes. They’ll getcha. Anyway, gently flip your bacon over and…
Okay, you know what? That's it. I can’t do this anymore. Take your public access spatula and go fork yourself. I’m out.
End of live feed.