Looky, Daddy!

The Song Lyric Finalists

There were some pretty entertaining songs in our children's songbook contest, not to mention some vulgar and inappropriate ones. And a whole lotta poop. (Usually I find myself wanting to post a few poop-related entries under false names, just to, you know, crank up the poop quotient a bit, but this time even I was taken aback.) I have pressed upon Emily to choose ten of them as our finalists, and so I'll turn this post over to her:

Well, I’m on a deadline to turn in some things by May 1, so, I’m not at my most focused this weekend. Ergo, I’m not giving you feedback in clever songs. But I do appreciate everyone’s efforts! I apologize in advance if I get a little preachy in my tones. I’m not currently a creative writing teacher, but I’ve played one on TV. -EM

Untitled by Loren (to the tune of Rockabye Baby):

You can't tie your shoes,
You can't walk downstairs,
You can't cook your meals,
You don't brush your hair,
You bathe thrice a week and,
Make naughty demands.
It's no big surprise,
You're 'created by man.'

You gotta know I like punch line endings. In literary circles, we call this “in retrospect, inevitable.” The last line here really works-EM

The Get Ready for School Song by geminimama (There’s a Hole in the Bucket)

The bus is nearly here, Dear Milo, Dear Milo,
The bus is nearly here, Dear Milo, the bus.

But I need a jacket, Dear Mama, Dear Mama,
I need a jacket, Dear Mama, a jacket.

It’s on the hook, Dear Milo, Dear Milo,
It’s on the hook, Dear Milo, the hook.

Where are my shoes, Dear Mama, Dear Mama,
Where are my shoes, Dear Mama, my shoes?

They’re in the mudroom, Dear Milo, Dear Milo,
They’re in the mudroom, Dear Milo, the mudroom.

I need some socks, Dear Mama, Dear Mama,
I ned some socks, Dear Mama, some socks.

Look in your dresser, Dear Milo, Dear Milo,
Look in your dresser, Dear Milo, your dresser.

My teeth are still dirty, Dear Mama, Dear Mama,
My teeth are still dirty, Dear Mama, still dirty.

Well brush them, Dear Milo, Dear Milo,
Well brush them, Dear Milo, brush them.

But I have to go poop, Dear Mama, Dear Mama,
I have to go poop, Dear Mama, go poop.

Hurry up, Dear Milo, Dear Milo,
Hurry up, Dear Milo, hurry up.

I’m still in my jammies, Dear Mama, Dear Mama,
I’m still in my jammies, Dear Mama, my jammies.

Please get dressed, Dear Milo, Dear Milo,
Please get dressed, Dear Milo, get dressed.

I’m hungry, Dear Mama, Dear Mama,
I’m hungry, Dear Mama, hungry.

Eat your cereal, Dear Milo, Dear Milo,
Eat your cereal, Dear Milo, cereal.

I’m still in my bed, Dear Mama, Dear Mama,
I’m still in my bed, Dear Mama, my bed.

Get up, Dear Milo, Dear Milo,
Get up, Dear Milo, get up.

Why do I have to get up, Dear Mama, Dear Mama,
Why do I have to get up, Dear Mama, get up?

The bus is nearly here, Dear Milo, Dear Milo,
The bus is nearly here, Dear Milo, the bus.

Okay, I have a soft spot for this song, my parents sung it, plus, you did a really great job playing the whole thing out! -EM

Untitled by DebiD (Do Your Ears Hang Low?)

Do your babies seem loud?
Can you hear them in a crowd?
And do they make a lot of noise,
being silly little boys?
Will they get a whole lot bolder,
as they get a little older?
Do your babies seem loud?

YES, my babies seem loud
and I can hear them in a crowd.
Yes, they make a lot of noise,
being silly little boys.
And they ARE a lot bolder,
now that they're a little older.
YES, MY BABIES SEEEEEM LOUUUUUUD!

This is so bouncy and nice, and gosh, they can be loud, can’t they??? -EM

Driving by TSM (Itsy Bitsy Spider)

My oldest child is sixteen, now it's time to drive
White-knuckled dashboard, will I get home alive?
Pulled in the driveway got out and kissed the ground
Now he has to take his Dad for the second time around

I just love that you take the babiest of the baby songs and mash it up with a teen driver. Terrifying but true analogy. -EM

Birthday Breakdown by Michelle (Ring Around the Rosie)

Today is baby's birthday
She's two and won't go nap-py
Presents, cupcakes
We all break down!
There is a nice thing about appropriating found material: When you pointedly allude to the original, it makes your new piece stronger. “We all break down” works well because it’s so reminiscent of the original, which is really creepy. -EM

Ode to Ortho Tri-Cyclen by Amelia (Mary Had a Little Lamb)

Ninety-nine point eight percent, eight percent, eight percent
Ninety-nine point eight percent
Effective kiss my ass!

Girlfriend, don’t I know it. They put me on YAZ now and I’m not trusting them wimpy periods at all. -EM

The Butt Rash Song by Nicole (My Darling Clementine)

Cream and powder, cream and powder
Cream and powder for your butt.
Cream and powder, cream and powder
Feels so good upon your butt.

My butt itches, says the toddler
Mom and daddy roll their eyes.
Not the butt rash! What the hell
food causes spots down to his thighs?

Cream and powder, cream and powder
Cream and powder for your butt.
Cream and powder...no more chowder!
Shellfish damages your gut.

Soak your buttocks in the oatmeal
It will make them feel so fine
Water stings them, wet you spring, then
Out of bath to lap of mine

Cream and powder, cream and powder
Cream and powder for your butt.
Cream and powder, sing out prouder
Drown the screaming re: your butt.

On the table holding down
a writhing toddler is no treat.
Arms a-flailing, he's a-wailing
My black eye shaped like his feet.

Cream and powder, cream and powder
Cream and powder for your butt
Cream and powder, fight us louder
Please just let us save your butt.

I applaud your heroic effort. We put pre-emptive Desitin on with every change (a trick from my smart sister-in-law in LA). The original kind, not the creamy. Dr. Sears suggests making a triple action cream by adding some hydro-cortisone and neo-sporin...that took care of our worse bout with the butt overnight...he couldn’t even walk he was so sore. He still can’t eat anything with cinnamon. -EM

Untitled by Lily (Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star)

Screamy, screamy little son
Night time feedings are no fun
Why must you wake up at night?
Why must you use your teeth to bite?
Screamy, screamy little son
Night time feedings are no fun.

I like this, but I’m going to pick on you a little, because I wanted to mention that overall this contest seems harder than the other two I “judged” (haiku and limerick) because people sense the rhythms of songs differently, so it’s harder to get that universal fit. I suggest the following for the 4the line: “Use your little teeth to bite.” But I really, really like the word “screamy.” -EM

Joe-Ray-Lee by Virginia (Do-Re-Mi)

Joe - a pill that did not work
Ray - the sponge was in my purse
Lee - a faul-ty I-U-D
Rob - again! it made me curse
Flo - a rubber broke in bed
Shawn - he came along with Flo
Dee - sex I've begun to dread
And it all began with Joe!

This is very provocative, V. The burning question: is the singer naming off children, or lovers? -EM

The Poop Song by Vickey (The Alphabet Song)

Miles goes poopy in his diaper,
Stinky diaper, let's get changed.

Miles goes poop,
Miles goes pee,

Poops in potty,
Yay - Whoopee!

Now Miles knows how to poop in the potty,
Poop in the potty, FLUSH it down. WHOOSH!

This one gets my vote for most practical. For some reason, I’ve taught mine to go “bye-bye,” and he actually blew a kiss to my flushing turd the other day. I’m in desperate need of redirection. Thanks, I think I’ll start using it today. -EM

Now it's time to vote. As before, cast your vote for your two favorite entries. The winner will get a "Help Me Make It Through the Night" prize pack, which is currently being reworked since I have learned that you cannot send vodka through the mail. Or vermouth.

Weekend Weblink, Special My Dad Edition

Ack! The second episode of BBC Radio's Energy Swap came and went while I was off frolicing in the Midwest. While I am saddened that I missed it, and subsequently missed presenting it to you, Gentle Reader, I am not too terribly disappointed. It turns out that part three is the most important show of the lot. It is the one that features my dad.

Give it a listen, and just after minute seven, listen for the introduction of Texan "energy visionary", Jim Sargent. That's my dad. He's in this show because of a home he built just outside of Dallas. After raking Texans over the coals for their extravagant energy wastefulness, the good folks at the BBC present a tour of my dad's Zero Energy House he built a few years back.

My dad has been a home builder for countless years. The first home he built was about thirty years ago. He built it out in the middle of a field near Waxahachie, Texas. It sold, so he built another. That one didn't sell, so we had to move into it. Then he built more and thankfully each one of them sold, saving us from becoming nomadic gypsies, building and moving, building and moving, my brother and I teased at each new location.

At some point, my dad's houses started to become something special. While other builders were focused on facades and interior design, my dad studied building science. He got permission from his buyers to monitor their electricity usage and learned what made houses energy efficient. By the time I was in high school, he was building houses that could be heated and cooled for less than a dollar a day. Now he's building ones that produce as much power as they consume. If you've never had the opportunity to watch an electric meter run backwards, I assure you, it is an awesome sight.

Energy Swap, part 3 on BBC Radio 4

As before, this link will only be live for about one week. Fame, apparently, is fleeting.

Home, Suh-weet Home

It is rumored that the Innuit have over four hundred words for snow. If that is the case, then I propose that parents should devise at least another four hundred for tired. Included in that list should be the tired that you feel when you fly from Oklahoma with a six-year-old and twin two-year olds, after an exhausting week with the in-laws, to find your house still stacked floor to ceiling with boxes and a good half-inch of your backyard now in your basement.

The up-side, and don't tell me you haven't already thought of the upside, Crafty Reader, is that what I've got in my basement is good quality topsoil. Combine that with my basement's apparent natural irrigation system and add in some high-end growlights and Daddy's got a new source of income.

There's much to relate about our trip. First, though, I must catch my breath, chase my girls to bed, and unpack a bag or two. And a box or two. Or four hundred.

And order some growlights.

Contest, the Fourth

Emily is a busy person. When I read her site, I am struck both by her genius and that most of her genius gets posted around 4 AM. Add to that her award winning children's plays (one of which you can buy here) and the fact that she has a "real" job to boot and it's no wonder that she never answers my emails. Or phone calls. Or opens her drapes when I'm standing outside her house with my binoculars. But I am nothing if not persistent and I have once again wrangled her into judging yet another Looky, Daddy! contest.

The rules are simple. Take a well-known children's song, a tune we all recognize, and devise your own lyrics. Emily offers this as an example, no doubt written at 4 AM:

The Reminder Song (to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star)

You're my little alert babe
Nighttime and you won't behave.
How I wish you'd close your eyes
Maybe now Mom will get wise
If at nine asleep you'll be
No more coffee after three.

And here are my three submissions for your consideration:

Potty Training at My House (Row, Row, Row Your Boat)

Sit, sit, sit for hours
Sit and pout and slouch
Then jump up and run top speed
To poop behind the couch

Step Right Up (Baa Baa Black Sheep)

Are they fraternal
     or identical?
Did they surprise you?
     Are they natural?
Boy and girl? Girl and boy?
     Which one came out first?
Is this the quiet one?
     Which one acts the worst?
All these questions
     everywhere we go,
My wife gave birth to a
     traveling sideshow.

Big Girl Bed (Rock-a-Bye Baby)

Rock-a-bye toddler
     in your new bed
Please don't get up
     punch your twin in her head
Don't climb the bookshelf
     throw your clothes on the floor.
Can't you see that I'm desperate
     and it's half-past four?

Submit your entry below. As always, there is no limit to the number of submissions you can make. We'll be accepting submissions from now until Friday, April 27th, 10 PM eastern time. Then I'll once again pester Emily until she chooses the top ten or so, and then on Monday, April 30th, I'll post those here for popular vote. As for the winner, instead of my traditional "Please Help Me Through Another Day" prize of coffee and donuts, I'll be sending you a "Please Help Me Through Another Night" prize. You'll have to win it to see what's inside...

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

...klahoma where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain.

In a few hours, I'll be loading the family onto a plane to see the in-laws in Oklahoma. When I tell that to people in New Jersey, they get this immediate look of concern and pity on their faces. Oddly, that's the same look that Oklahomans get on their faces when I tell them we live in New Jersey. Then they spit brown juice into a Coke can.

We'll enter the plane the way we always do: last. Pre-boarding your kids for a four-hour flight is like contracting a migrane 30 minutes before your scheduled beheading. Plus, boarding last gives allows me to see the looks on the faces of the seated passengers as we bring the wee little ones on board. I especially enjoy watching the transition from smugness to horror on the person who, until we got on board, thought he had a whole friggin' row to himself.

We'll be gone for a week. While I'm there I'll try to get the next great Looky, Daddy! contest up and running. Check back here on Tuesday or thereabouts and be ready to participate. Until then remember when we say yeeow, ayipioeeay, we're only sayin' you're doing fine, Oklahoma. Oklahoma, O.K.

The Cold Ones Are on the Bottom

At some point, the horrible turns fun.  There is a point, a tipping point, when things go too far beyond the acceptable, and they become a laugh riot.

A drop of chocolate syrup on a clean shirt is annoying. A food fight, sublime.

A slip in a mud puddle can ruin a whole day. A mud-wrestling match can make one.

Half an inch of water in your basement, soaking laundry piles and wetting the bottoms of those boxes that you meant to store better can be quite nettlesome. Enough water that you can fill an ice chest with beer and float it to your spouse? That's a party.

In Which You Curse Your God for the Gift of Sight

Here it is. 1987. Twenty years ago. Not exactly a date, but I don't know what else to call it. Later on that evening I confessed to The Future Mom that I was seeing someone else. Then she confessed to me that she was wearing the dress her grandmother had asked to be buried in.

If that's not worth a few more votes, I'm not sure what what is.

So Hot, My Basement Is Steaming

Four activities are taking up the time that I would usually spend writing: sopping up my basement, hauling waterlogged trash to the curb, packing for a family flight to see the in-laws, and trying to imagine the next unspeakable torture Our Lord has planned for me.

In the meantime, I'll make a deal with you. Over the weekend, I was nominated for, among other things, "Hottest Daddy Blogger" over at the Blogger's Choice Awards. I am truly honored by this nomination and pleased that it only took five phone calls before I found someone willing to make it for me.

Here's the deal: I have no pictures of myself on this site. Neither are there any photos of my wife (despite many of you thinking that this might be her). How can I expect votes from my readers if they've never seen the goods? So while I am down in the basement, shoveling buckets of mud back to the backyard from whence it came, I'll send my wife on a quest to find the quintessential picture of the two of us together. When she finds it, I'll post it here.

In the meantime, take my word for my unspeakable hotness and go over and vote. And also petition the contest organizers to begin a new category for Soggiest Daddy Blogger, because I've got that one in the bag.

Nor'easter

Our living room right now.

Our dining room.

Two and a half years ago, we moved from an average-sized home in Austin, Texas to half of a 140 year old New Jersey duplex. Knowing that we would be pressed for space, before moving we purged ourselves of a ridiculously large amount of crap. Mountains upon mountains of crap.

When we got here and tried to unload the moving truck, we realized we had barely scratched the surface.

Luckily, New Jersey homes come with these enormous spaces underneath them. They call them basements. And our basement was just the right size to fit all of our extra crap.

Sadly, apparently our basement cannot accommodate both our excess baggage and thousands upon thousands of gallons of water simultaneously.

Our basement right now.

It took a mere three hours for us to go from picking up a few items of laundry from the floor so they wouldn't get wet, to watching cat turds float by as we scrambled to get all our stuff up to the relative safety of the first floor.

If you had asked me this morning what I'd be doing at 10 PM this evening, I doubt I would have said, "Making snap decisions as to which of my family's possessions I save, and which I let the water claim."

My Wife Is Sorry, East Coast

Email sent by my wife, dated 4/14/2005:

[My family and I] would like to invite you all to join us for our 1st annual Cherry Blossom Viewing and picnic on Saturday, April 23 at Branch Brook Park, Newark, NJ.

Another email dated 4/18/2006:

We were rained out last year, but I have high hopes for the second 1^st annual Cherry Blossom picnic in Branch Brook Park in Newark. So gather up your family and join us for the fine Japanese tradition of Cherry Blossom Viewing on Saturday, April 22nd.

Third email, dated 4/4/2007:

We were rained out last year and the year before that, but I have high hopes for the third 1st annual Cherry Blossom picnic in Branch Brook Park in Newark. ...This year we are having it on Sunday, April 15th.

From our local news affiliate, yesterday, 4/14/2007:

City agencies from the police to the Parks Department are preparing for a potentially dangerous nor'easter expected to blow through the metropolitan area with pounding rains whipped by winds of up to 50 miles per hour. . . . The New York National Guard was alerting units that might be needed for emergency work as local communities readied sandbags, cleaned drains and made other preparations. Officials urged residents to take their own precautions.

Fourth and final email, dated today, 4/15/2007:

I give up...My precaution for next year will be NOT to plan the fourth, 1st Annual Cherry Blossom picnic. Apparently, my continued planning of this picnic has put the entire population of the East Coast at risk.