I Explain Politics to my Children

Me: Boys, next Tuesday will be a very big election. We get to decide the President of the United States. The two candidates are Barack Obama and John McCain.

Elder son: Bwack Obamer?

Me: And John McCain.

Elder son: John McCain!

Younger son: I need some Bwack Obamers for my house that I is building. I go find dem in the living room!

Elder son: Did you say Bomb Iraqas? [he really said this]

Me: No, Barack Obama. Bomb Iraqas is John McCain.

Elder son: Mommy, is the President the one who runs the Halloween Parade?

Me: He runs the whole country. He is the leader of all the places we have driven--Cape Cod, Lake Placid, Maine. The whole big country of America.

Elder son: Oooh, that's big.

Younger son: I have 18 Bwack Obamers now. I git more!

Me: Do you think you would like to be President one day?

Elder son: I would have to be a lot bigger, Mommy!

[2 minutes pass]

Elder son: I don't like Bwack Obamer. I don't think that he should win.

Me: Why not? You don't know anything about him. You first need to listen to what he believes and his views, and then make a decision. You can go with me and vote.

Elder son: Yes, my teacher said I should do that.

Younger son: Bwack, Bwack, Bwack Obamer! Bwack, Bwack, Bwack Obamer! Bwack, Bwack, Bwack Obamer!

Me: Did you know that Barack Obama is black? Like Ty? [a friend of ours] Well, his mommy is white and his daddy is black so he is half and half.

Elder son: Oh! Well! If he is black then okay! I like him fine!

Democracy in action.

Oh Mighty Linens-N-Things, Farewell! Farewell!

Amidst all the financial ruin and collapse, surely the most poignant loss is that of Linens-N-Things. While I have been unable to find many linens there, the "things" have always been profuse indeed. "Things" such as chocolate fondue fountains, revolving spice racks, nubbly pillows in rainbow hues, and those fuzzy toilet-seat covers.

I went to the Port Chester branch today to get me a bargain or two. Unfortunately, the place was pawed over and the "things" were all in disarray. Since I had no cart, I wound up toting an aerobed on my shoulder, a dino-raptor (marked to $21 from $60!), two lampshades, and a blanket, as well as my fat five-month-old in a Baby Bjorn. I walked out, sweating and in pain, and noted the local pizza place was called "Pizza 'n' Things." Oh yes, things! Perhaps, in a nod to the mighty Linens-N-Things franchise, all the local stores in that shopping plaza could have honored it as such:

Dress Barn-N-Things
Knockoff Chinese Crap-N-Things
The Vitamin Shoppe-N-Things
Booze-N-Things

Oh, great Linens-N-Things. Attention must be paid! God rest ye, great store of wine de-corkers and Teflon-coated cookware and "slidey" things that move one's furniture around. Where will we go for this stuff now? Bed, Bath & Beyond? It's a matter of time before that behemoth falls, and takes with it (like so many dominoes) all its followers:

Butternut Squash & Beyond
Discount Toilets & Beyond
Mammograms & Beyond
Masking Tape & Beyond
Toys, Firearms & Beyond

The outlook is dire indeed.

My Obsession With DJ Lance Rock Has Gone Too Far

I have spent an unseemly amount of time looking for the following items for my Halloween costume:

Fuzzy orange hat
Black, lensless Buddy-Holly style glasses
Orange tracksuit

This, all in the pursuit of transforming into the entity known as DJ Lance Rock, star of the children's show on Noggin, Yo Gabba Gabba! The show, which rightly should be called Yo Grabba Bong-a, features five weird, colorful monsters by the names of Toodee, Brobee, Foofa, Plex, and Muno. Stop pointing out that I know how to spell their names. My kindergartner made me spell them ALL last night so he could write them on scraps of paper.

DJ Lance Rock, an omnipotent sort of puppeteer, carries the group around in a case styled as a boombox, bringing them to life with the words “Yo Gabba Gabba!” and a slew of confetti. DJ Lance is so super-cool that not only do I want to be him, you will too…soon enough. He wears a clingy, lean little orange tracksuit circa 1972, white tennis shoes, and a fuzzy orange cap with goofy stars. And square black glasses. He’s a black dude with big, sparkly eyes. His teeth are admirably white. And he can dance! And so can you!

I like the monsters--they sing about nice things like good manners, and their dancing is infectious. Songs include "Don't bite your friends!", "There's a party in my tummy (so yummy, so yummy)" and "Jumpy Jump Jump"--a song with only those lyrics that goes on, and on, and on until you find yourself singing it over the breakfast eggs.

But it is DJ Lance Rock who, as deus ex machina, is the lifeblood of the whack-a-doodle world that is Yo Gabba Gabba. He’s up there in the heavens, grinning down at his little dildo-like monsters with a supremely beneficent air. He’s always happy. Why wouldn’t he be, looking that damn sweet in his orange tracksuit? Damn! Why was I not born under a different star—the star that pays you money for dancing around maniacally and grinning like a mad hatter?

I want to BE DJ Lance Rock. Halloween is coming.

At first, thinking that this show was hot! hot! hot! I imagined that costumes would be available online. But some knucklehead in marketing forgot to get that memo. I would have paid $29.95 for this costume, and I have paid that much thus far: Old Navy (orange garb), Brewers hardware (colored duct tape to make the stripes) and H & M (an orange scarf too ugly for words which I will fashion into a hat). Now, the sideburns and the glasses. They shall be mine.

I asked my son this morning if he thought that applying blackface would be going too far. "Yes, mommy," he said. "That would be going too far." And clearly, this has gone far enough.

Next up on Party Pony! A catalogue of Halloween costumes from years gone by.

I Have a Rabid Skunk

Living on my property! And if that's not a sell to get YOU to come and visit, I don't know what is.

His presence has been made known several times under cover of night. He wanders about rather drunkenly, exuding scent. We've seen him cross the front lawn and scuttle along by the back fence, usually disappearing into the neighbor's yard to the south.

The other day, however, Msr. Skunk came out in broad daylight and began sashaying around in a carefree, bon vivant way, oblivious to human activity. He pranced back and forth across the lawn several times, stinking up the joint something awful. I strode over to the neighbor's to ask his opinion, and there I met a workman.

"Thing's likely got rabies...or mange!" he pronounced. "Mange'll make 'em attack. Mange. They go right after you." My little three-year-old quailed behind my legs.

Mange? Isn't this a skin condition?

The neighbor got wind of the skunkeroo and called--who else?--the police! They came in a durned hurry.

"I can't just shoot the thing," said the cop.

"Why not?" asked my nanny brightly. "You've got a gun, don't you?"

The cop told us that we could request a trapper come out to deal with the animal, but as long as it was on private property we would have to pay for the man's services. I cooked up a scheme in which I would "shoo" the skunk out to the public street, where he could be dealt with at taxpayer's expense. However, I soon thought better of this stupid plan. Meanwhile, the skunk had slunk behind the woodshed. Skunk poo was later sighted in the vicinity.

Later that day, two Village of Mamaroneck guys pulled up, wearing what looked to be bright orange Hazmat suits. I rushed out to greet them.

"Skunk patrol?" I shouted, with some exuberance.

"Yar?" one said.

"Har!" the other said.

"Oh good!" I was relieved. "He's just out back there. Behind the shed."

"Yar!" they said in unison, smiling broadly. Then they went down the street to work on the road drainage system. Skunk Patrol, my arse!

The skunk still roams free, although I have not scented the beast lately. Perhaps the resident owl pecked him to death? I have also heard that a mommy deer and two babies have visited the back yard in the past few days. Born free, free as the wind blows! Who knew that Mamaroneck was such a haven for wild beasts of every make and mark?

I Can See Your Uvula When You Scream Like That

Potential titles for my forthcoming book about raising three boys (please vote):

The Bucket of Badness and Rotten Soup
Oops! He Spat Up On Me!
Life in Penisland
Nuggets and Sludge
Crossin' Swords
Turtleheads and Potty Trees: A Diary of Expulsion
I Can See Your Uvula When You Scream Like That
"I Think About Butts," and Other Darndest Things Kids Say 356 Times in a Row in a Sing-Songy Voice at 6:36 a.m.
Bad Parenting Magazine's Worst Parenting Moments of 2008
Come Git The Brownies, and Quit Yer Whining
Winkie Party
Distinguish Yourself Out There! A Soccer Mom's Memoir
My Son Won't Cuddle Without Poking My Eye Out: A Self-Help Manual
Sharp Elbows, Knees Like Knives
Killing Me Softly With His Shriek
Angel in School, Devil at Home: The Secret Lives of Boys
Waking Up Soaked With Urine in America
Is It Morning Time Yet? The Long Road to the Empty Nest

On another note, The Pony apologizes for the lack of posts in these last few weeks. The blog will rise again, like an errant winkie! Stay tuned!