So long, #69

So the Chiefs traded Jarred Allen today and, in some ways, I’m actually torn on this deal. To be honest, I’m not sure it was the best idea. (I’ll also note that I had an idea last year that would have prevented this, but apparently Carl Peterson doesn’t read this site.) But I do see why it was done.

On the one hand, the Chiefs have so many needs and the draft is so deep that the math makes sense — the Chiefs can “replace” Allen with Chris Long or Vernon Gholston (the latter being an overrated workout warrior, IMHO, but I could be wrong), and pick up two more players in the process.

With such a desperate need for offensive linemen, cornerbacks, and another receiver or two, they have to stock up when they can, and this is the draft to do it. It gives them 5 picks in the first three rounds, and that’s huge for a team with as many needs as KC has.

On the other hand, they just gave up the one player on defense for which the other team has to game plan. The chance of replacing someone like him is not necessarily that good, since Allen is such a disruptive force, and brings a ton of energy to the sidelines and locker room. He’s outrageous, speaks his mind, and never takes a play off. Players like that just don’t come around that often.

The biggest implication of this deal, however, isn’t in the number of draft picks or the $70+ million deal Allen signed.

What this whole debacle does is send a message to the rest of the league: If you want to play in Kansas City, even if you’re a bona fide superstar, you will have to deal with one of the most arrogant, aggressive and disrespectful general managers in all of sports.

I have no clue why Carl Peterson acts as if he’s the King of Football. Last I checked, his teams have won a whopping three playoff games in his entire tenure, with the last one coming 15 years ago. But time and time and time again, Peterson has proven to be one of the most difficult people in football when it comes time to negotiate.

There’s a reason KC doesn’t sign any big time free agents, and it isn’t a lack of money — it’s Peterson’s reputation as one of the biggest jackasses come contract time.

Yes, Allen does deserve part of the blame here. He’s the one who got two DUIs, acted like a clown at this year’s 101 banquet (thus insulting the Chiefs organization, including the Hunt family — something no one has really considered as part of the problem) and refused to negotiate in good faith. He also just opened a bar, which makes about as much sense as Rush Limbaugh opening a pharmacy.

But it was Peterson who poisoned the well. He gave a huge contract to a proven problem child in Larry Johnson (two incidents of physical abuse) while talking about Allen as an at-risk player whose contract will reflect that fact. Peterson continually stalled, hemmed and hawed, and just generally treated Allen as if he had been caught in a hotel room with a pound of cocaine and half a dozen hookers.

If anyone in football had any doubts about Peterson’s willingness to put his own ego above anything else, this whole fiasco should remove those doubts. He drove away a young, coming-into-his-prime superstar due to a misplaced and unjustified arrogance.

Sadly, if past drafts are any indication, that arrogance will spill into the draft and lead to debatable decisions, ridiculous reaches, and misplaced priorities.

I wish I had more faith that this move will pan out well and set the team up for several years to come. But after nearly 20 years of watching Carl Peterson make idiotic move after idiotic move, my faith is in pretty short supply.

Busted

Embarrassing:
Catching your child picking his nose.

More embarrassing:
You getting caught picking your nose.

Even more embarrassing:
Your child catching you picking your nose.

Way way more embarrassing:
Your child yelling at you to stop picking your nose..

More embarrassing than many embarrassing things will ever be embarrassing:
Your child yelling at you to stop picking your nose while in a car with the windows down while stopped at a stoplight surrounded by other cars with their windows down.

In my defense, it was The Booger of Defiance — I had tried the previous evening to remove it hygienically with about a half gallon of saline and numerous tissues, but not even near-aneurysm-level blowing did the trick. So after about 12 hours of the thing driving me crazy, I was prepared to use any means necessary. In this case, “by any means” meant “by my index finger.”

I will also say that I intend on avoiding that intersection for about the next month, lest I once again see the several people who laughed at me this morning.

On the bright side, I know where he gets it.

And in second place …

As I sit here watching the Final Four, amazed at how a bunch of 18- to 20-year-old future bajillionaires can block out everything around them to play what is, in many ways, more than just a game, I can’t help but sit back and wonder if I’ll ever see The Boy as The Star in some high-stakes sporting event.

Sadly, the fact he’s my kid tells me that’s not likely to happen. You see, I’ve always been this–><–close to good.

Whether it was the coach who wanted me to play on his baseball team full of kids four years older than me because I threw a foul ball back to him from the playground (over the stands, and the backstop, and he was on the mound) … or the time I won a tip-off against a guy five inches taller than me, then posted him up and nailed a floating right hook … or when I ran a 10K and was barely winded … or the time I beat the captain of my college’s tennis team 6-2 when he was actually trying … or the six game scoreless streak when I played goalie in high school … or the lone goal I scored ina soccer game against a team of Germans who had played the game longer than any of us Americans had …

No matter what I did, reality always had this strange way of smacking me upside the head.

So there were the constant rain-outs and my loss of interest in the baseball team … and the five or so basketball facials I received from the tipoff victim throughout the rest of that game … and when I started to smoke that same weekend of the 10K … and the captain of the women’s team lighting me up 6-0 … and the 6-0 drubbing I gave up in the first round of the playoffs that same year.

But there was still that hint that maybe, just maybe, I could have been a bit better.

(As an aside, I’m convinced that it’s parents like me who are the ones who you see heckling the refs in a Pop Warner game or yelling like rabid badgers in heat because their future All-Star Shortstop is too busy naming ants in centerfield. We’re convinced that, if we just tried a bit harder or practiced a bit longer, we could have made it. Or, at very least, been a reserve outfielder. Maybe a punter. So we go nuts.)

Sadly, The Boy is also The Mrs’ child, and … well … let’s just say she has issues throwing a dog toy without it careening off of something. So there’s a risk he’ll be totally inept as well.

At this point I have no idea if I’ll be watching The Boy try to win some national championship, his biggest worry him wondering with whom he’s going to sign his big endorsement deal when he declares for the draft.

But chances are I will have one who is completely on-sides, right in front of the goal, and facing a goalie who looks like he’d rather have Stevie Wonder do his vasectomy …

and have him whiff so bad he does a pirouette and lands on his back. In front of several hundred people.

I just hope I can raise a kid who, when that does happen, stands up and takes a bow.

Ever edited a book?

It’s hard.

Even if you wrote 90% of the thing*, it’s incredibly difficult and takes an enormous amount of time … about three weeks or so that can’t be spent blogging, reading blogs, or even firing up the Xbox 360 for an hour or two.

**sigh**

Some day I’ll get my free time back.

(*Unfortunately, the book is for my employer and my name won’t appear anywhere in, on, or around it. It’s about personal finance for military spouses and, while it probably won’t get me nominated for a Pulitzer, it’s not too shaby and has advice civilians can use as well. A link will be provided once it’s available, about the first week of May … if I get permission to do so.)

Someone should have just gotten a dog

Um … this is probably not the smartest thng a dad could do (note: opens new window):

THIS is Britain’s dumbest dad – hurtling along at 101mph with unrestrained kids hanging out of his Audi.

Colin Goodall, 37, was caught by a speed camera on a dual carriageway known as an accident black spot.

[...]

Cops who studied the snap realised two kids – thought to be Goodall’s son Robert, 12, and a pal – were sticking their heads out of the windows.

One, in a red T-shirt, was in the front and the other in the back.

Neither was wearing a seat belt.

Now, I’ve done my share of stupid stuff in cars — t-top surfing in a friend’s Smokey and the Bandit version Trans Am … racing a buddy in his 240Z with my ‘79 Cutlass and visiting the neighborhood of 120 mph … doing endless donughts in my old Mazda pickup in numerous fields, snow-packed parking lots and anywhere else I could get it to go …

But letting your kid hang his head out the window at 100+?

Even a not-so-smart dog knows better than that.

A sad, sad day in Geekville

Gary Gygax has passed away.

The man who co-created the game Dungeons & Dragons and helped start the role-playing phenomenon is dead.

Gary Gygax (GEYE’-gaks) died this morning at his home in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, about 55 miles southwest of Milwaukee.

[...]

Gygax and co-creator Dave Arneson developed the role-playing game in 1974 and it went on to become [one] of the best-selling games ever. Dungeons & Dragons is considered the grandfather of fantasy role-playing games and has influenced video games, books, movies and inspired legions of adoring fans.

Now, I admit that I played quite a bit of D&D in high school, but I never really advertised the fact, lest I lose my “Cool Stoner Dude” cred. Looking back at how much fun I had with it, however, I really wish I was more open about it, because there were many more good times I could have had.

What I always found most amazing about D&D, even then, was how Gygax created this entire genre, a framework of rules, and some highly malleable parameters of the world in which the game took place … and then let others do with it what they wanted. He gave free reign for folks to come up with derivative works, their own rules, books, homemade dice (a friend had a bunch he made in shop class), and numerous other offshoots, thus giving millions of kids a chance to really flex their imaginative muscles. Hell, it actually helped me with math, thanks to the need to crunch and think with numbers.

Given today’s age of hyper-sensitive copyright holders and the desire for control from those who create … well, pretty much everything, it really is a stark contrast. I just can’t see something like that happening now—some huge company would buy it out and then sue the snot out of anyone who tried to build off of it.

In short, there is simply no way to overestimate the impact Gygax’s creation had on so many people, including myself.

They will probably never read this, but my sincere and heartfelt condolences to the Gygax family. I promise that his creation will live on in our house with some very, very fun and memorable times once The Boy gets old enough to play.

Some other rememberances:

GeekDad (where I read the news)

A 2003 interview with Gygax at BoingBoing

Wil Wheaton shares his thoughts

Andre Leonard at Salon

Joey Devilla posts a funny video of a D&D skit

He’s Jammin’

Scene: One night several week ago. I walk into The Boy’s room — where he had been way too quiet for way too long — and see him sitting on the floor, socks and shoes off, digging in between his toes.

Me: Whachya doin’, buddy?

The Boy: I’m getting my toejam.

(pause)

Me: Your toejam?

The Boy: (without stopping his quest) Uh-huh. My socks get in my toes, and the sock parts turn into toejam. I have to clean out the toejam.

Me: But … you just got your toejam yesterday.

The Boy: I have to do it every day.

Me: Why?

The Boy: Because … I do not want toejam.

Me: You don’t like the toejam?

The Boy: No. The toejam is naughty.

Me: Um … all righty then. I’ll leave you alone with your toejam.

The Boy: Okay. Thank you.

Me: You’re welcome … I think.

Since that night, he has done this every single day. Sometimes several time a day — in the morning, when he gets home, in the middle of a movie, before bed. You just never know. In fact, it seems as though it’s turning into an obsession. His teachers even asked us about it once when he just stopped what he was doing, sat down, took off his shoes and socks, and started going at it.

And it’s not like he does it nicely, either. He does it with authority, spreading his toes so wide I wind up cringing.

On the bright side, he has stunningly clean feet.

On the down side, the guy usually doesn’t wash his hands afterward.

Say it with me: Eewwwwwwww!

(Note: For the record, The Mrs got this all started during a bath one evening, which is strange since she has this rather weird aversion to feet.)

I’m here to help — the “Coming to the aid of my readers” edition

I’m only slightly more helpful, and charge much less.

Most of time I’m the one on this site asking for assistance with some parenting issue … which, now that I write that, should be filed under “D” for “Duh!” (it is, after all, my site).

In comments, however, alberto shared a problem he’s having with his toddler, and I’d like to offer my suggestions, give a link for more help, and open it up to everyone else’s thoughts.

The comment:

… [W]e have two boys … one 3.5 yrs and the orher 2 months old. With the new ratio, we have divided our tasks: mom looks after the baby, dad looks after the older boy. In our case, the “terrible two” were a joke compared with the drama of the “thunderous three”. And now I am dealing with it… ALONE !

So here is my question to see if anyone has ideas on how to deal with this: the boy is now “scared of monsters” at night (pretty common, I hear). The results are: (a) boy goes to sleep with all lights on (dad comes in afterwards to darken the room); (b) boy calls dad 3-4 times a night (anytime he wakes up) so that dad sits with him until he falls asleep again. (c) boy comes to parent’s bed at 5 AM to “finish” the night. (d) dad is exhausted, sleeping 2-3 hrs a night and trying to get work done during the day.

I’ve tried not responding to his calls at night, or just stopping by but leaving shortly after… but boy throws terrible fits when this happens, further hampering his sleep (and that of any other person in the house).

Any tips and ideas from the readers of daddyology? HEEEELP

Tip 1:
We had a bit of an issue with this a while back, and The Mrs came up with what I think is a brilliant solution — she grabbed a can of Oust and called it “Monster Spray.” She then asked The Boy where the monsters were. Wherever he said they were lurking, she’d shoot a shot of Oust.

This worked real well with the “monster in the closet” issue — she cracked the door, closed it kinda quick (as if there were a monster, but she smiled while doing it so as to show bravery), and then shot some Oust into it. She then opened it wide to reveal, presto! No more monster!

I’m not sure if this will work with every kid, but it nipped this issue in the bud with The Boy. You can always make up your own story on how it works as well (we told him that it sent them back to Monster World, where they belong).

Subtip 1
With a case like this, I’d suggest just a spray bottle with just water in it. Or, better yet, turn it into a project where you and your son add various stuff to the water mix — just harmless things like a bit of salt or anything else non-toxic and non-staining.

Using water allows the child to take part in the spraying, letting him feel as though he’s also combating the things lurking in his closet and/or under the bed. Empowerment like that can be a wonderful thing in cases like this. And, as a super-duper-double-bonus, you can leave the bottle in there at night for him to use on his own, something I would not recommend with Oust or other chemically-laden sprays.

Tip 2
Create a silly word, then convince him that if he says it — not yells it, but just regular-voice says it — in the direction of the monsters, then the monsters will be scared and run away (kinda like saying “Show me your Super Bowl ring!” when one wants Carl Peterson to go away). The sillier the better, naturally, since it could start a giggle fest. And who can be scared when they’re laughing?

I did this once with The Boy, and it worked like a charm. Sadly, I don’t remember the word I came up with, so just make it your own.

Also, like the water spray, it’s something he can do on his own if he wakes up in the night.

Another resource
For other ideas, I highly recommend Parent Hacks. It’s a wonderful site with a decent search feature, so looking for the general “monster” should yield some decent results (I don’t have access to the site during lunch here at work, otherwise I’d do a quick search and link to it — maybe this evening I’ll give it a try and update).

Anyone else got a tip?
Other than that, I’ll open up the floor to the Daddyology community for other ideas on how to combat the monster issue.

Best of luck, alberto! And please check back in and let us know what, if anything, worked to solve the problem.

Random thoughts

Now that I’m feeling somewhat human again and the NyQuil has gotten out of my system, I’d like to gather some random thoughts together.

First, thanks to all the folks who gave some great tips and thoughts in the Potty Problem post. We have used a few of the tips in the past — we’re big on the “You can’t do X until you go potty first.” — and some others seem like great ones if he was wetting himself on a regular basis (the timer idea by Lindsay is probably on the top of the list). Thankfully, he’s had very, very few accidents so far, so our biggest concern is him getting a bladder infection from holding it in so often. Some of the suggestions will definitely be put into rotation.

For now we’ve decided just to ask him if he needs to go when we think he does, and then just leave it at that. If he has an accident, then he’ll deal with the consequences (as will we, I guess). But we’ve decided to not really push it and let him make up his own mind, and the reason is because of a comment by Dr. Paul:

Kids this age are really into control, but there really isn’t much that they can control in their world. How they handle the potty thing IS one thing that they can control.

This is something we never really considered, and it makes perfect sense.

Another comment I want to highlight is from Brian:

Do you think this blog will still exist when he’s 16? I bet he’ll love the day that his HS buddies find the webpage where his dad considered renaming him Petey Von Pisspants.

Well, it’ll probably be up on Archive.org, but I’m not sure if I’ll still be blogging at that point. However, half the fun of doing this is knowing some of it will embarrass him later on — my dad embarrassed me on countless occasions, so it’s just a family thing we pass down from generation to generation. Besides, too many people take themselves waaayyyy too seriously in this world, and a sense of humor about himself is one thing I’d like to instill in The Boy.

One last thing, totally not related to any of this: A Wisconsin kid built the best … snowfort … EVER.

Dan Meyer slept in an igloo last week.

The 18-year-old Neenah High School senior has built snow forts in his front yard for about 10 years.

This year, though, city dump trucks heaped snow into his front yard, and he built a snow fort so massive that 20 people can cram inside.

It’s so tall it peaks above the first story of his parents’ house, and it’s so wide that it blocks the front windows.

When I was a kid, I was lucky if the little wall of snow I managed to put up stopped a single snowball. The one time I tried to build an actual climb-inside fort, the thing kept collapsing before I got more than two feet.

Kudos to this kid for the work, and to his parents for letting him do it (since I know many who would lose their minds).

And here’s to hoping the thing doesn’t collapse on him.

Have I got a deal for you …

Thankfully, I wasn’t able to afford this guy to pimp my idea.

Do you feel like you never get enough sleep? Do you wish you could just lay in bed all day and do nothing? Do you want to know how you, as a parent, can catch up on some sleep?

Well, then I have the three-step program for you!

Step 1. Get a sinus infection — Make sure to have plenty of tissue ready. While you can skimp and save a few pennies by going cheap, I highly recommend Puffs with Aloe over the 80-grit stuff. Your nose will thank you.

Step 2. Get strep throat — This can be tricky, but I find that if you sleep just one night with your nose clogged and mouth open, you can get it really easy. Or at least I do.

Step 3. Get bronchitis — Nothing like hacking up huge dollops of lung butter to make you feel alive!

Viola! You are now guaranteed to get anywhere from 18 to 20 hours of sleep a day, for about three days.

Not available in all areas. Copays and other medical expenses may apply. Side effects may include hacking, coughing, wheezing, sneezing, sore throat, and developing a taste for NyQuil. Repeating, over and over, the phrase from Friends that you are in the “Prime of Lime” may lead to threats of physical abuse from family, friends, coworkers and complete strangers. Your ability to post on the Intratubes funny stories about your son may be severely limited. Your available sick days at work may be depleted, and the vacation day you scheduled just so you could spend 8 hours playing Halo 3 will have to be cancelled so you can actually get some work done. Those living under the same roof may also find themselves using this three-step program, so be prepared. Results not typical. Sales tax may apply in MI, FL, and the U.S. Virgin Islands. Void where prohibited.

So hurry, before spring arrives and all you have to worry is allergies!