Tag: parenting

Apparently, G.I. Joe is no match for Barbie’s mojo

(Do you suffer from unsightly vision? Continual breathing? An itchy bladder? Reptile disfunction? You’re not alone! Join millions others who suffer these afflictions each week during Flashback Sunday, when we dig deep into the archives — back when I thought “Freshly Pressed” was a kinky website for people with a Pillsbury Dough Boy fetish. And while this week’s Flashback won’t cure any of your symptoms, it might help with regularity…)

Apparently, G.I. Joe and Steve Austin use their acute eyesight for more than just scoping out the bad guys.
The act of “playing” is a crucial part of how a child establishes self image and a basic understanding of the world. I know this because, as a progressive father of today, I have read extensively about this very topic — which is why I progressively freaked out when I found my son playing in the shower with a Barbie doll.

It wasn’t the fact that he was playing with a doll that bothered me, it was the fact that it was still completely intact — something I don’t expect from a child who routinely disassembles my office chair and a good portion of my desk in less than four minutes using nothing but a three-piece “Bob the Builder” tool kit.

I decided something needed to be done. It was time to enlist the help of an old friend; it was time for G.I. Joe to break Barbie’s mojo. Continue reading Apparently, G.I. Joe is no match for Barbie’s mojo

You can’t swim with one hand on your woggle

square Bad swimmer copy I wasn’t born to swim. This became evident early in life after habitually swimming into the side of pools, then immediately sinking headfirst to the bottom. A number of factors can be attributed to my being hydro-challenged, beginning with the fact that I can’t actually breathe under water.

This traumatic realization was made one morning after watching Aquaman on T.V. and then, as a test to ascertain my level of super powers, trying to inhale running tap water from the kitchen faucet. The experience was a wake-up call, and forced me to admit that the closest I’d ever get to being an underwater super hero is if “dog paddling” and “consuming large amounts of pool water” qualified as special powers.

Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly waiting for a call from The Super Friends. Continue reading You can’t swim with one hand on your woggle

Screaming children and a 50-foot snake; welcome to Uncle Ned’s day care

Unce Ned's day care I have a good friend who is a child care provider. So when she found herself in a bind, I told her I’d be happy to watch the kids for a couple of hours; eight children, all under the age of four.

I did this yesterday.

Today, I’m writing to you from a locked treatment facility for the emotionally disturbed.

Being a parent, it’s not like I didn’t know what to expect.

I was prepared.

I came with a plan.

I had ideas for things to do.

And, if all else failed, I came with a bungee cord large enough to wrap all eight of them together in the middle of the lawn. Continue reading Screaming children and a 50-foot snake; welcome to Uncle Ned’s day care

Pack your luggage; it’s time to get the dog neutered

Because it’s Easter, I chose a special selection for this week’s Flashback Sunday, which is a post that has never appeared on this blog. I chose it because 1) it fits the “flashback” criteria of a writing from my past, 2) many of you have asked about the connection between getting my dog neutered and my own vasectomy mentioned in a recent post, and 3) Easter is about rebirth in many cultures, so this subject seemed somewhat fitting…

Time to get the dog neutered It was a foregone conclusion that we would have our dog Stanley neutered once he was old enough. Just like it was a foregone conclusion that, when it came time to deliver him into the hands of the vet, I would be playing the role of Judas. I thought about disguising myself and borrowing someone else’s car so that Stanley would not associate me with his loss of malehood. My ex-wife told me I was being silly.

He’s a dog, she reminded me, and capable of recognizing my scent no matter how I was dressed.

It didn’t help the situation that my four-year-old son, after overhearing our conversation, had reached the conclusion that something serious was happening, and that it involved — but wasn’t limited to — Stanley turning into a girl and biting daddy. Continue reading Pack your luggage; it’s time to get the dog neutered

Parents: Lung capacity is key when choosing inflatable toy

(Note: Judging from the response to last week’s launch of “Flashback Sundays,” I think we’re on to something! Or at least many of you were on something at the time. In either case, with spring break on the way, here’s another post from the early archives, back when I thought “Freshly Pressed” was the tagline for a fashion blogger…)

Inflated whale We live less than 15 minutes from our favorite lake. The problem is, it also happens to be everyone else’s favorite lake, which means in order to get a spot within the vicinity of actual water, you have to be there when the gates open at noon and participate in something similar to the Oklahoma Land Rush. It’s not uncommon to see small children strapped to inflatable toys and tossed ahead of the crowd in order to claim prime territory.

As a parent, it’s not a gamble I’m willing to take with my child. Especially since, as a general rule, it only counts if your child is in an upright position once they skid to a stop.

The good news is that once the initial pandemonium is over, things generally settle into a state of peaceful co-existence as, one by one, parents begin passing out while blowing up inflatable toys. Sadly, the evolutionary process has not been able to keep up with the growing demand for larger and larger inflatable animals. Unless you are a pearl diver by trade, chances are your lung capacity is nowhere near what it needs to be in order to fully inflate your child’s favorite water toy. Continue reading Parents: Lung capacity is key when choosing inflatable toy

It’s Sunday, and I’m thinking about having flashbacks

We all have skeletons, right? Here's a promotional ad from The Post in Centre, Ala., in 2003.
We all have skeletons, right? Here’s a promotional ad from The Post in Centre, Ala., in 2003.
OK, so I’ve found myself in the office on a Sunday. For a priest, that’s pretty normal; for me, it’s a sign of the apocolypse. However, with my family away until late tonight, I figured it would be a good opportunity to work ahead and emerge into Monday morning knowing I — ha-HA! — have the upper hand.

And after talking with a good blogger friend at Polysyllabic Profundities, I came to my senses and realized:

Hey! It’s SUNDAY!

Good intentions should be good enough.

Not to say I don’t plan on getting anything accomplished. For example, I’ve made a pot of coffee.

I also came up with an idea I’d like to run by the rest of you. I’m calling it “Sunday Flashbacks,” and it would essentially be a regular Sunday posting of some of my earliest columns and blog entries, back when the only “likes” I had came from other people with the last name Hickson. Continue reading It’s Sunday, and I’m thinking about having flashbacks

Coordination is the key when batting with a cucumber

Ned Hickson photo/Siuslaw News
Ned Hickson photo/Siuslaw News
Walking through my town’s small baseball park the other morning, I was struck by a bit of nostalgia. This was unexpected, considering what I’m usually struck by when the Cedar Company bird squadron begins its morning maneuvers. With spring approaching, first-year tee-ballers were scattered around the field with their fathers, who were imparting basic hitting and fielding fundamentals, baserunning technique, and clarifying that running home didn’t mean crossing the highway alone.

Watching this, I was reminded of working with my oldest daughter in preparation for her first season of tee-ball five eight ten not long ago. As you’d expect, we bought a mitt, ball, practice tee and all the equipment necessary to get started on the basics. For obvious reasons, I saw no need to purchase an athletic cup — until I decided to advise her about batting stance, at which point it became obvious that I should have.

At least for myself. Continue reading Coordination is the key when batting with a cucumber

Teaching public rest room etiquette is difficult when your commode is watching

Robo-urinal Few things can make you look stupid faster than being outsmarted by a public urinal. Especially when it occurs in front of your four-year-old son to whom you are trying to impart rudimentary public rest room etiquette.

I don’t know if potty training is a seasonal thing, like the migration of geese or fluxuating interest in the Kardashians, but I’ve noticed a lot of people talking about potty training their children lately. Apparently, there was a lot more dancing around the May pole nine moths ago than I knew about. Regardless, all this talk about Fruitloops in the toilet got me thinking about my son graduating to the use of a public urinal eight years ago.

We had no problem with the initial stages of our educational process, which began with the proper entrance, i.e., avoid all eye contact and enter the rest room as if you had called ahead and reserved a specific commode. If one isn’t open, go directly to the nearest sink and wash your hands until something becomes available. The trick, of course, is to avoid washing you hands for so long that you appear to have severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. Continue reading Teaching public rest room etiquette is difficult when your commode is watching

Are warning labels impeding the natural selection process?

Folding child stroller copyThere was a time when manufacturers included warnings on their products as a way to provide useful information that could potentially save our lives.

Or, at the very least, our eyebrows and/or stomach lining.

However, at some point, that all changed. As far I can tell, it happened about the same time McDonald’s had to cough-up a McMillion dollars to the lady who didn’t realize that spilling hot coffee on yourself while behind the wheel of a car can lead to a condition commonly known as “The Open-Road Lap Dance.”

Taking a deeper look, that condition is really just an extension of the more common rule known as “cause and effect,” which states:

‘Cause I’m dumb enough to place hot coffee next to the most vulnerable spot on my entire body, I am, in effect, going to do something even dumber by spilling it there. Probably before I leave the drive-thru.

Continue reading Are warning labels impeding the natural selection process?

Teaching a child to bowl is leading cause of sterility in men

Gurney and bowling ball Teaching a child to bowl is truly a bonding experience. And by that I mean you should really consider taking out a bond before entering the bowling alley.

As someone who escaped the experience of teaching his five-year-old nephew to bowl with only a minor skull fracture and minimal orthodontic surgery, I feel I’ve acquired a level of expertise that could be helpful. Let’s begin with shoes. Changing into your bowling shoes while in the carpeted area will give you a false sense of security, making you less prepared for the realization that walking in tractionless shoes on a highly-waxed surface is a lot like strapping soap bars to your feet and trying to cross a wet mirror.

Ironically, children have the natural ability to perform double axels over the same surface. Which isn’t to say that you won’t; it’s just that theirs will be on purpose. Continue reading Teaching a child to bowl is leading cause of sterility in men