We got a new bicycle for Calfgrit5; he’d outgrown his first bike. I was putting the bike together, with CG5’s “help,” when he started spinning one of the wheels. As the wheel spun, he started to put his finger into the spokes.

“No,” I said, “don’t do that.”

He stopped. But then a few seconds later, he started to do it again.

“No!” I said. “You could really hurt your finger.”

“How?” he asked.

“Your finger,” I explained, “will get caught in the spokes, and broken.”

I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t really getting the concept. His mother broke her toe a while back, and from his point of view, it was nothing really bad.

I said, “Go out into the yard and find a stick to bring to me.”

He ran out into the yard, and after a minute, came back with a long, thin stick.

“Watch what happens,” I said.

I spun the wheel real fast, then slowly lowered the stick down into the spokes near the fork. Crunch! The stick snapped. A piece went flying off, and another piece dangled from the main length.

“See?” I said.

His face scrunched up in horror, and he burst out in tears. He bawled.

“What’s wrong?” I asked with concern.

He cried out, “Now I’m going to have a nightmare.”

His mother came into the garage and noticed her baby crying. When she asked what happened, CG5 said, “Daddy told me I’m going to break my finger. And he showed me with the stick. Now I’m going to have a nightmare.”

He was truly upset. I had no idea the demonstration would affect him so. But, after he calmed down, he didn’t try sticking his finger into a spinning wheel again. And that night he apparently didn’t have a nightmare. So maybe it wasn’t a horrible thing to show a child, after all.

Bullgrit

Last night, Calfgrit9 wanted some time to play alone in his room. So Calfgrit5 and I played together. We had a lengthy sword fight with our foam swords (bought from the Lego store in Downtown Disney). Then he rode on my back as a knight on his horse. This went on for 30 to 45 minutes until I needed to answer the phone.

While I was on the phone, CG5 went to his room to play with his Legos and Lincoln Logs. After a while, I gave the five-minute warning for bath time. The five minutes passed quickly, and he wasn’t ready to stop playing when I started his bath water.

He got right pissed when I turned on the stern-daddy voice, “It’s time for bath. You’ve had plenty of time to play, and you can play some more after bath if you don’t take too long with this.”

“Baths are stupid,” he said.

“Now, we don’t use that word,” I said.

“I don’t want a bath. I haven’t had time to build anything,” he argued.

“If you don’t come and get in the bath right now,” I warned, “you won’t have time to play after. And if you’re going to be bad, we won’t read a book before bed. You’ll just go straight to bed.”

“Nooooo!” he shouted in agony. (No book before bed is a sad punishment in this house.)

“Come on!” I raised my voice.

He stomped into the bathroom, and started taking off his clothes.

“You’re a bad daddy,” he said. “You’re the worst daddy, ever!”

I got him into the bath tub, and since he refused to wash himself, I had to soap him up and rinse him off, myself. He pouted and whined the whole time. He reiterated and confirmed my bad daddiness. I was “the worst daddy ever in a million years.”

When he was clean, I had to threaten the no book before bed punishment again to get him to get out of the water. As I dried him off, he asked, “Will you build a Lincoln Log house for me?”

“Do bad daddies build Lincoln Log houses?” I asked.

He looked at me with the towel draped over his head, and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Mm hmm,” I grunted. “Can you put on your pajamas without an argument?”

“Sure,” he said. He was suddenly a totally different child.

I built a Lincoln Log house with him before he got in bed. I don’t know if I’m a bad daddy, a good daddy, or just a sucker.

Bullgrit

As I mentioned yesterday, I’ve got to get a new computer. My old computer (now with a dead motherboard) was 5 years old. At the time I bought it, I made sure it had all the features and functions I needed for everything I wanted to do then, and for upgrading to anything that I might want to do in the next few years. It served me well.

I used to be the family computer guru. When anyone in my immediate or extended family needed help or advice or answers about their computers, they called me. But over the past few years, my ability to help them has diminished considerably.

The other day, with my dad, he asked me what the difference was between 5GB vs. 512KB RAM. I explained, of course, the difference between a gigabyte and a kilobyte, and then I also said he was actually, though, looking at two different things about the computer. Obviously, the 5GB was a small hard drive (maybe a secondary something?), rather than RAM like the 512KB.

This weekend, I started looking at new computers. One of the first things I found was RAM measured around 3-7 GB. Holy crap! My old computer started out as 512KB, and I upgraded it a couple years ago to 1GB. Now they come off the shelf at 5 GB?!

Reading the spec sheets for new computers is like reading gibberish, to me. What the hell are all these names and numbers? Looking at the port setups on these new computers is like looking gazing into the Far Realm.

The first computer I looked at had five ports on the front. One was a USB port, but I haven’t a clue what the other four ports are. I know of nothing that fits their size and shape.

Twenty-five years ago I could strip down a computer box to its separate components, and then take apart the individual components, and then put them all back within 30 minutes. Ten years ago I could pick out specific components by specific manufacturers and install them all myself. Five years ago I could talk intelligently with computer salespeople and understand their guidance on the best components, and I could check their installation work for quality. Now, I’m completely freakin’ lost with computers. Oh my god!

The spec names and numbers make no sense, the physical components confuse me, and my world is crumbling around me. Technology has outpaced me. I’m behind the computer knowledge curve. Way behind. I feel . . . old.

Gray hair? Looks kind of cool.

Need eyeglasses? Well, OK.

Don’t understand basic computer jargon? OMG!!1!1!!! I’M DYING!!!one!!

What’s next? I’ll tell the neighborhood kids to get off my lawn? (But it’s newly sodded!)

Bullgrit

We were browsing a furniture store, looking for a new chair for our new den in our new house. The saleswoman had spoken to us, but was letting us roam on our own by our request. As we were completing our circuit through the store, and about to make our way out, the saleswoman broke away from talking with her coworker (another woman) and thanked us for coming by.

Then she added, to me, “Has anyone ever told you, you look that guy on General Hospital?” She looked back at her coworker, “What’s his name? Oh, yeah, Josh.”

I looked at my wife, then back at the saleswomen. “No, I haven’t heard that.”

“Well, you look just like him,” she reaffirmed.

I just smiled. “Well, I hope he’s handsome?”

“Oh,” said the saleswoman, “he’s doable.”

“Yes,” confirmed the other saleswoman.

My eyebrows shot up. I looked at my wife again. I gave a friendly chuckle to the saleswomen, and we continued our exit from the store.

When we got in our van, and closed the doors, I said, “For the record, I’m doable.”

Bullgrit