Kobayashi Maru

I am a child of the 80’s.  My really important musical-formative years happened during the 80’s.  Even so, many of us might be quick to try and forget things like:

And while in a fit of pseudo-intoxication, I might be willing to admit to owning Vans, a single pair of parachute pants and a closet full of skinny ties, I can say with utmost confidence that I never looked anything like these other poor suckers in the photos above.  It does make one wonder if they had known that something called the internet would one day exist and that we would all be mocking them collectively across the bounds of space, if they had known this, would they still have smiled at that 35mm camera??

So at this point you are wondering what I am going on about.  Why would I suddenly want to discuss the 80’s?  Well, there is a reason.  This is not a non-sequiter post.  I am just giving background.   Setting the proverbial stage if you will.  How can I really engage you if you don’t understand the ethos of the world I live(d) in?  Exactly, you can’t.  So I am bringing you upto speed so to speak.

Anyway, being a child of the 80’s it is not uncommon for me to reference 80’s music and lyrics in my everyday life.  Mostly because I somehow seem to have memorized the words to every song that charted in the 80’s.  And over the last 20+ years, I have come to understand that there is nothing I will ever face in life that an 80’s song does not at least pertain to - if not directly address or explain.  So today Ferf, the Muppet and I were doing the great grocery shop.  You know the kind.  It happens periodically and you have to stock up on all the things that you “always” have in your pantry, plus the weekly consumables needed to create meals, plus tons of other things that I have never seen in our house before but that Ferf swears we simply must have in order to survive.  Whatever…happy wife, happy life.

So we were shopping - and as anyone who has seen Nutty Professor knows, “you can’t stop women from shopping”.  Ferf had this 6 page annotated list that she had made up before we left.  I swear it had a bibliograhy and endnotes.  This thing was cross-referenced for goodness sakes!  List in hand(s), Ferf was walking ahead and the Muppet and I were on cart duty.  Cart duty means that the Muppet sits in the cart, I push the cart and we both do as we are told with little to no backtalk.  Really, it’s best for everyone.  But not being one who is going to limit my personal fun quota, I decide to make the Muppet and my personal exile in Shop and Save into a fun time.  Normally Ferf shouts out things that we are allowed to pick up - you know, the things that we can’t screw up and she feels she can “trust” us to get without her needing to watch us and supervise and approve.  (Things like the bottle of ketchup, a loaf of bread “just like we always get”, or coffee cream.)  But, this time she was feeling particularly confident in us, because she gave us permission to actually chose things like apples, broccoli, and corn on the cob.  Maybe this is pedestrian to you, but for us - a whole new level of freedom and authority.  So we decided to walk in it.  This is where the fun began for the Muppet and I.  I asked the Muppet to help me pick out the best apples, and she points out the biggest and reddest apples in the bunch.  In fact, at one point, she chastized me for chosing a “runt” apple.  Then she helped me pick out the biggest and greenest broccoli.  Then she chose the juciest tomatoes.  So as we moseyed down the aisles and chose bigger and better produce, and worked better and better as a finely tuned team, I gave her a high-five and said, “Muppet, WE ARE ROCKING THE CASBAH today!!”

Those of you who are, like me, a child of the 80’s will immediately know the reference.  For those of you who do not, I will remind you of the genre inspiring band The Clash and their iconic hit “Rock the Casbah” from their certified platinum album COMBAT ROCK:

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Ok, so maybe they were neither genre inspiring and they song was far from iconic.  Still, it was a hit and worthy of reference when grocery shopping with one’s 4 year old.  And, we were totally rocking the casbah in that grocery store.

So it was that on a Saturday afternoon, while standing with my hands on the handle of a grocery cart, in the middle of the produce section, with a big, self-satistifed grin on my face, that my four year old daughter shouts out (and I do mean shouts out):

“DADDY, WE ARE ROCKING THE COW’S BUTT!!!”

It was at this moment that the grandmotherly lady standing right next to us, stopped eyeing the potatoes and with a horrified experssion turns and looks directly at me.  With an unspoken but universally understood look that accusingly inquired: what the little girl had said, WHY she had said it, what kind of parent I was for teaching my child such things, and what was I going to do about this whole socially awkward situation.  It was really a very impressive look, you know, in retrospect.  But at the time, in the moment, it was fairly startling to me.  (Of course, to be fair, hearing a child scream out that they are rocking the cow’s butt would be equally startling to her - and everyone else in the produce aisle at the time.)

So, I meekly smiled at the lady and said to the Muppet (and to the lady), “Rock the CAS - BAH baby girl.  CAS BAH.”  Then I shrugged a little and said, “She sometimes has difficulty with the words to songs by the Clash.  But she is only 4, and they were British, and she has no real context for the word ‘casbah’, and…heh, I…I…I’m…gonna…go now.”  I then proceeded to the butcher section, where I figured that I would, at the very least, get a little more grace from shoppers if the Muppet were to give that particular shout out again.  If nothing else, I could gently touch her shoulder and say, “it’s called a rump roast baby girl.”

Note to self, I really gotta give a smidge more thought to verbalizing random lyrics in front of the Muppet - at least in public.  That mightnot be the best venue to try stuff out for the first time.  Wait till I break out with Blinded by the Light in a church foyer, and see what she does with that…

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So for Christmas we bought the Muppet a puppy.  Yep.  That one magical gift that every kid wants to get for Christmas the Muppet got.  Of course she got it a bit early cause seriously, how do you hide something that poops?

Besides he is so freaking cute that one would never want to hide him.  Cute is relative I know, but he does look like somebody bred Chubacca and an ewok.

I think they just bred wookies down to ewoks and then down to shih tzus.  We thought of many names - some of which are stories in themselves - and finally settled on Ruxpin.  Yes, like Teddy Ruxpin from the 1980’s.  I am not really sure why.  Maybe because Chewbacca didn’t really roll off the tongue.  Anyway, the Muppet is in hog heaven. She is rolling on the floor with him, taking him for walks, and coming really close to strangling him whenever she gives him “hugs”.

Tonight as we were tucking the Muppet into bed, she started talking about Ruxpin.  And that lead her to talk about God making him.  And God making all the animals.  At this point she paused, ever so briefly, and said, “That’s a big job.  Bet it took him a while.”  Yes, she is starting to have an appreciation for the scope of God’s job.  Possibly because she is considering taking over one day,  maybe she just wants to understand her competition, or maybe she just likes what He does.  Whatever the reason, she seemed genuinely impressed with His creation duties tonight.

I should note that Ruxpin is a breeder.  His little thang is intact and will, one day, be put to good use.  The lady we bought him from is very interested in using him in her breeding program.  The economics of this is reall fascinating.  We paid her for the puppy (a seriously reduced rate mind you - who pays full price these days!)  And in a year or so when he gets the proverbial juices flowing, she will pay us to have him give her lady dogs a good rogering. Now in some neighborhoods this would make me a pimp.  But in animal husbandry, it seems to be socialy acceptable and encouraged.  So, being the buinessman I am, I agreed to her terms.  Since I knew we would be whoring our dog out on regularly scheduled occasions, I suggeted we name him East Hastings but alas, I was voted down.  Fairly unceremoniously I might add.

So we are now the proud owners of a pure chocolate brown chinese imperial shih tzu.  Go us.

Also, he will be available for studding.  Or casual “dating” if your dog is lonely and homely, or too focused on career and education to deal with relationships (and is willing to pay for a good time on a purley physical level).  Ruxpin does not judge.  Ruxpin is a SCM (single chocolate male) who has had all his shots and is well versed in what makes bitches happy.  He is bright and well educated and sexy enough to brag to your friends about.  He is a true Rennaisance dog who has mastered poetry and plays the harmonica with a sensual and god like skill.  He can also tell you how sexy your eyes look in 7 different canine dialects.  His hourly rate is for friendship only and anything of a sexual nature is completely consensual and is separate from any monetary exchange - in all legally binding ways.

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So this week we had the first “Parent - Teacher Conference” at the Muppet’s school.  And by “we” I mean “Ferf.”  I know…I know.  I’m a turd for not being there.  But look, they scheduled this WAY late and seriously, it was 15 minutes long.  FIFTEEN minutes!!  SCHEDULED FOR 15 MINUTES.  So, get off my back about not being there!!   Wait.  What do you mean you weren’t on my back…I swear I heard you thinking it.  Whatever, I’m moving on with the story.

So Ferf went to the school to meet with one of the teachers of the class.  The Muppet goes to a private pre-school for 4 hours a day 5 days a week.  It’s a lot for a 4 year old, but it was the only preschool that offered Latin, so we took what we could get.  Anyway, Ferf went to meet with the teachers to get a verdict on the Muppet’s performance at preschool for the first tri-mester.

And really, it is a frightening thing to meet with teachers.  I never liked doing it as a student, so thinking about doing it as a parent is not any less terrifying.  But I am not one to give into my fears, so I put on my big boy pants and like the adult I am, I sent Ferf to the meeting.  Turns out the teachers were not as intimidating as some people might have thought.  In fact, they were down right polite.  Now, I do have the results of the meeting.  And I know that you are dying to hear.  In fact, this is where usually parents would write the obligatory “why my kid is the best in the world and possibly if not probably better than yours.”  But I am not that guy.  I realize that it is possible that I might have a biased view of the Muppet.  I realize that teachers might paint a rosey picture for all parents (at least when the kid is 4) so their comments might be reasonably expected to focus only on the really good qualities - and possibly magnify them for the benefit of the parents.

Of course, I realize that the Muppet might actually be the greatest kid of all time and the teachers might be bitter old farts who tell horrible things to all the parents of children except the best of the best.  Maybe the Muppet is the standard by which all great things should be judged.  But either way, I will give you the breakdown of the first ever parent-teacher conference.  (but simply providing the play-by-play would be boring without the color commentary - so maybe I’ll provide that too…)

First they said:

“She loves to talk to teachers which is very unusual for her age group.  They tend to be more tentative around adults.”

Now this sounds really good, and I suppose one could take this as complimentary.  But since I wasn’t there, I have to admit that it could be taken a couple of ways.  One - take it at face value.  The Muppet is ahead of her contemporaries when it comes to courage in approaching authority figures.  Two - the Muppet has already realized that authority is less impressive than advertised and one shouldn’t be intimidated by them.  Three - the Muppet is incredibly confident to the point of looking on authority figures and adults as equals (if not a touch under her) *I can only assume that if this last one is true, that she gets this from Ferf as my mother raised me better than that.  Shout out to Mom, just in case she has read this again at some future point.*

Then the teacher said:

“She works independently well.”

Again, this is one of those strong sounding yet potentially ambiguous statements.  It is akin to describing something as “interesting.”  Many things may be interesting, but that is not what one would aspire to be known as - especially when it is said with a certain inflection.

Interesting

(adj) Something which arouses no interest at all.

Used to politely avoid admitting this, which indirectly expresses your indifference.  An overused word which says nothing at all and belittles conversation.

She works independently well is worthless without some kind of context to it.  If the school is geared towards independent learning then this is high praise.  If it is not, then this would be the polite way of saying, “She ain’t gonna score high on ‘works and plays well with others’ next year in kindergarten.”  It could also be a nice way of saying that the Muppet has no time for other children who are stupid and hold her back. (this would be more my genetic code coming out if this is true, because I was the guy who in chemistry lab would do all the work AND write up the report in group projects because I did not want to lose points because some dumbass other student (with potentially less focus than I, for reasons that could have been, I am sure, completely valid in their ignorant personal universe) screwed something up.  So in that sense, I didn’t work and play well with others either.  Though for all those other students who got to coast through class and make A’s simply by keeping their mouths shut and staying out of my way, they might have considered that the pinnacle of working and playing well with others…I’m not saying, I’m just saying.  So without context, and to be honest, I don’t really have any for this, I have to assume that this was meant complimentary.  And so should you.

Their next missive to Ferf about the Muppet was:

“She has embraced the rules of the classroom.”

See, now that I can live with.  She listens and obeys.  I dig that in my kid.  I would have been over the moon with that comment alone and probably banging out lines about how my kid really is the best all time and your kids (current or future) cannot hope to live up to the excellence - with a side of awesome - of my offspring.  BUT, unfortunately, she did not stop there.  No, her actual comment with something a little like this:  “She has embraced the rules of the classroom, so much so that she points out when others break them.”  See, now that is completely different.  That’s loaded with an “awww crap” factor.  So my kid is the good kid who tattles on other kids???  “Teacher, I know the rules and have never broken one in my life, but little Johnny is over there in the corner eating glue, or coloring outside the lines, or talking to other kids when were supposed to be memorizing the periodic table of elements.”  I’m freaking out in my head saying, “dang it, my kids is the stinking teachers pet.”

Ferf had the exact same similar concerns and voiced them with the teacher.  She asked if the Muppet was becoming a tattle-tale.  And the teacher, with something a little like pride said to her, “Oh no.  If the Muppet sees another student not following the rules, she doesn’t tell a teacher, she goes to the other student and points it out to them.  We love to see that kind of positive peer pressure.”  I’m thinking, “Positive peer pressure!?  Are you kidding me?  I am going to have to get my child into karate class immediately, because at some point, glue-eating little Johnny is gonna try to kick her arse when she strolls up to him and points out that his work station is messy and the rules state that you can’t get your snack until your work station is tidy, and while the teacher might not have noticed, she has and is going to hold him accountable.  My daughter at 4 is gonna make a citizens arrest.  Seriously, I just know it.

So the next one they fired our way was:

“She loves to try new things.”

Again with the comments that have multiple potential meanings.  Can’t these people just call a spade a spade?  No wonder our education system is screwed up.  Loves to try new things…like wants to try using the quadratic equation or wants to try using mushrooms?  This being preschool, I am hoping that mushrooms are not readily available, but also that quadratic equations are a year or two away as well – but I wanted to make the point.  The Muppet will be the first to lick a frozen light pole cause it’s “new”?

The Muppet will be the first to work with the new puzzle that the school has?  Or both?  I’m not sure.  But I do know that she likes to try new things.  Does it make me a bad father if I am trying to figure out how I can use this knowledge to my personal advantage?

Then the teacher lets loose with this one:

“The Muppet is always asking for new lessons, but we really want her to practice what she’s learned – before she moves on to something new.”

Look, I don’t want to sound like I am splitting hairs on this one, but really, if she has learned something, then what’s the point of practicing it?  Practice is done to learn…or to establish that the learning has been done.  But by their own words they admit she has learned it, so why not move on?  I suppose I should be happy that these teachers want to make sure she really knows something before she runs onto the next things.  I mean I do want to be confident that she knows the difference between H2O and H2SO4 – at least before she starts mixing things in the lab.

But who am I to know the background here?  Maybe these teachers are just lazy and want to hold her back because it is too much work for them to keep up with her voracious appetite for knowledge and learning.  Or maybe they just want her to get really good with water based tempera paint before they let her use latex and oils because they have to clean up their own classrooms.  Maybe that glue-sniffing little Johnny has already painted curse words on the wall before so they have to be more careful about how quickly they let kids use permanent colors (or about who they let into the school.  Seriously, I don’t know who the parents of this little Johnny are, but they need to be taken to task on how they are raising their son.  His behavior effects every other student in that class, and as a father and a paying customer, I have some serious concerns.)  Anyway, I found this comment to be ambiguous at best and it makes me wonder more about the teachers than it does about the Muppet.  I think we can all comfortably agree on that one.

And that was really the gist of what they had to say about the Muppet.  Except of course how much they love and appreciate who she is as a person and they are so glad that she is in the class (which I could have told you that – we pay tuition, so every teacher is glad she’s in the school.  It’s called job security and assurance of a paycheck. – Gosh, I sounded kinda cynical there.)  But I have to believe that those words, while spoken to every parent who comes in, were genuine with us.  Little Johnny’s folks got some similar stuff to be sure, but they know that it was all fluff with them.  They have a life-time of insincere platitudes coming their way, and they find a way to sleep with it every night.  Of course, one day little Johnny is going to discover that bottle of “find a way to sleep with it” in their medicine cabinet and start selling the pills to his classmates, but that is a concern for another day.  For today, we will focus on the fact that we got through the Muppet’s first parent/teacher conference with flying colors.

She’s a good kid.  Which makes us good parents.  That’s how I see it.  Now, I want to go to sleep before something happens to shatter my carefully constructed internal logic.

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So last night was the big Halloween.  Where the Muppet and kids like her (and even those not like her) everywhere in North America dress up in costume and actively ignore the no solicitation bylaws in communities.  Not only that, they become braver than at any other time in their young lives and brazenly walk up to the front doors of houses that they have never been to before and with no hesitation request something for nothing.  They simply think, “I will dress up nice and you will give me something for nothing because I ask nicely.”

In retrospect, it is a lot like my job.  But they only do it once a year, and have better results…I really don’t like children sometimes…but I digress.

The Muppet decided to dress up like a fairy…princess…ballerina.  Yes.  A fairy, princess ballerina.  Which actually works when you merge them all together because basically it mans you want to be covered in pink with some frills and wings.  In fact, you can ignore the fact that ballerinas don’t usually wear pink clod-hopper boots because nobody will point it out anyway.

See, all you can think about it how cute she looks.  And really, that’s my 4 year old daughter’s bum you pervert.  Back off.  But here is the thing for me.

Before we left to blantenly take from other people in the neighborhood, we did the traditional pumpkin carving.  The Muppet LOVES this.  And she thinks I am very very good at it.  She draws the face and I carve it out.  This year, we ended up with a jack-o-lantern that appeared thusly:

Notice the one at the door above:

That is what I noticed - over and over again.  All night long.  We have evidently moved into a colony of pumpkin carvers.  Who knew?  Everyone in the freaking area can carve these things professionally.  I went from being the object of adoration of a 4 year old because of my mad carving skills, to the object of self derision and internal mortification because I lack any semblance of carving skills.  Fortunately, the Muppet was focused on the embarrassingly large haul of refined sugar that she stole from the neighbors.  So even though I was repeatedly humiliated by every person in the neighborhood who felt that this would be a good year to show the entire world that they were better at disemboweling a vegetable and cutting its lifeless corpse into pretty pictures than me, the Muppet never brought it up out loud - though I know that through her silence she too mocked me.  I hate this place and these awful awful people.

I kid.  I kid.

And just in case you are thinking that I am somehow boring you, here is another picture of gratuitous cuteness:

And another:

Yes, these people even decorated better than us.  Though really, decorating for Halloween seems over the top to me.  To quote the oracle Wikipedia:

Traditionally, the festival was a time used by the ancient Celtic pagans to take stock of supplies and slaughter livestock for winter stores. The ancient Gaels believed that on October 31, now known as Halloween, the boundary between the living and the deceased dissolved, and the dead become dangerous for the living by causing problems such as sickness or damaged crops. The festivals would frequently involve bonfires, into which bones of slaughtered livestock were thrown.

Decorating the house for such things seems awkward to me.  It’s not that I don’t want to seem overtly inhospitable to those who might cross over from a dissolved boundary, but neither do I really want to invite them over for tea if you know what I mean. However, I once again, digress.  As one looks back over the course of the Maru’s voyage one might surmise that this is, in actuality, one long unending digression.  And if I am to be honest, this viewpoint might not be completely without merit.  But neither is it totally true I suppose.

Because this post is about Halloween.  And more specifically it is about my Halloween with the Muppet.  We walked all over the neighborhood.  We knocked on every door that had lights on - okay we rang doorbells

But we hit every house in the area.  Her bag got heavier and heavier.  I offered to carry it between houses, but she would have none of that.   She hiked it up higher on her shoulder like a purse - because that is what big girls do as I learned last night - and carried on like a trooper.  She complained that her nose was getting cold - which, you know, this is Canada, so that’s plausible, but she did not want to stop.  In fact, the only time she even considered it (with anything even close to thoughtfulness) was the two houses that had motion activated automatons that spoke and scared the crap out of little kids. Like Heads up Harry:

Believe me when I say this guy did not impress the Muppet.  He started talking and lifting his head off and she was underwhelmed to say the least.  She finally decided that it was worth the terror to get more candy, but only if I walked up to the door with her.  When they guy opened the door and realized that his freaky thing that he spent WAY too much money on had scared this adorable little fairy princess ballerina, he was extremely apologetic to both her and me.  In fact, he dumped half his bowl of candy into her bag as he said I’m sorry over and over like a mantra - hoping that I wasn’t going to kill him for scaring my baby girl.

But the evening finally wore on and I informed the Muppet that it was truly time to call it a night from begging and panhandling.  She was cold and tired and said OKAY a little easier than i expected, but we held hands and walked down the side walk.  And as we did, I was thinking, “this is one of those great memories that I will look back on and smile.”  About that time, she Muppet squeezed my hand and said, “Daddy, thanks for taking me trick or treating.  I had a great time with you.”  I responded, “I love doing this with you too Muppet.”  And she stopped walking, pulled me down on her level, paused for a moment and then hugged my neck really sweetly and said…

“Yeah, it’s been a wonderful day for all of us.”

I swear I looked around for a camera cause I thought I had been tricked into being in a made for TV Hallmark movie.  But, there was no camera, so I hugged her back and said, “yeah, baby girl…it has.”

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