I write here a lot about how great my children are. Aside from the times when they’re sick, and spewing bodily fluids all over me, you might think they’re pure angels. Well, sometimes they ain’t. Sometimes they can drive us absolutely nuts. For instance:

Saturday night the boys asked me to play a “triple-battle” game of Pokemon with them. A triple-battle is basically just three players at a time instead of the standard two, but really, in the case of my boys and me, it means the two of them teaming up on me. That’s OK. I can hold my own and still beat them. I like that they consider me their Moby Dick against whom they have to gang up. But anyway…

We started the game later than we should have, and it was dragging on longer than normal. It was going to probably run right up to bed time before we’d finish. We discussed it, and we came to an agreement that when we finished our game, they’d gather up their cards to keep the game room neat and tidy, go straight to their rooms to put on their pajamas, (skipping showers this night), then go to the bathroom to brush their teeth, and then right back to their bedrooms to jump in their beds. There would be no time for books, no goofing around, and no whining or arguing about it. Everyone agreed.

Well, when we finished our game — I won :-) — the boys wanted to go through their decks and make changes. “No,” I said, “it’s bed time.”

“But we just need to swap out some cards,” they said.

Their whining and my nagging turned into frustrated arguing. It took several minutes to get them to put away their stuff, and then I finally got them out of the game room and headed towards their bedrooms.

It was like herding cats. Neither of them would stay on target. I let Calfgrit10 handle himself for a minute while I made sure Calfgrit7 didn’t get distracted. [Yes, our littlest calf turned 7 last weekend.] Every little thing in his room got his attention, and I kept having to redirect him. “Put on your pajamas,” I said. Then I went back to check on Calfgrit10’s progress.

CG10 was sitting on the floor playing with Legos. Urg! “Put on your pajamas!” I said.

“I was just–”

“I know what you were just doing,” I interrupted, “but you’re supposed to be putting on your pajamas.”

“OK!”

I went back to check on CG7. He was distracted again. “Put that down and please put on your pajamas,” I told him. I stood in the room with him to make sure he started before leaving him alone again. He got his pajamas out of his drawers, and then started putting  the shorts on. “CG7, take off your clothes, first.” He was so distracted, and just following my orders without thinking, that he was about to put on his PJs right over top of his clothes.

He took off his clothes, dropping them about the floor. I had to direct him to put them in his hamper. He knows what to do, and my having to watch and guide him every little step in the process was driving my frustration level through the roof. Once he started putting on his PJs, I stepped out of his room and back over to CG10’s.

CG10 was sitting on his bed, completely naked, reading a book. “Why are you reading!?” I barked. “You still haven’t put on your pajamas, yet.” He’s 10 years old; he knows how to get ready for bed without us having to keep on him. He put the book down and made to put on his PJs. I went back to CG7’s room.

The little guy had his PJ shorts on, but had spread out his Pokemon cards all over his bed. “What are you doing!?” I barked.

I continued this back and forth between them for what seemed an eternity. I eventually got them to the bathroom to brush their teeth. But having them in the same room at the same time turned into a silliness competition. The craziness at the sink escalated quickly, so I had to send CG10 out to chill while I got CG7 finished. When I got the little one out and going to his room, I had lost CG10 — he had gone downstairs to look for a toy. Oh my god!

“You were just supposed to wait a minute for CG7 to finish brushing his teeth,” I shouted down the stairs.

I got Calfgrit7 in bed, but he whined about wanting to read a book. “No,” I said, “we discussed this. We finished the Pokemon game so we don’t have time for a book tonight. You agreed.” He started fake crying. It wasn’t going to work on me.

While he cried, I checked on CG10’s progress with brushing his teeth. He wasn’t in the bathroom. Good, I figured he was finished already. But I found him in the game room. “What are you doing!?” I nearly shouted, throwing up my hands in exasperation.

Turns out he hadn’t even gone to the bathroom yet, so hadn’t brushed his teeth yet. I got him to the bathroom and watched as he brushed. Calfgrit7 was still crying, “I want to read a book!”

When I herded Calfgrit10 to his room, Calfgrit7 had come out of his room, crying, saying I’m a bad daddy for not reading him a book. It was already half an hour past the time he’s normally asleep.

I sent CG10 to bed by himself while I returned CG7 to his bed. I tucked him in again, as he cried about wanting a book.

I went back to CG10 and found him going through his drawers looking for socks to wear to bed. I finally got him into bed, and turned out his light.

Calfgrit7 had stopped crying, but he came to his door to tell me he had forgot to plug in his Nintendo DS game to recharge overnight. Sigh. I was relieved he had stopped crying for a book, so I just rolled my eyes, shrugged, and gave in. I went downstairs, got the game, came back up and plugged it in for him.

Calfgrit10 came to his door and said he had left his DS downstairs, too. “Well why didn’t you get it when you were just down there?” I asked.

“You told me to come back upstairs before I could get to it,” he said.

Sigh. I was just wanting this whole thing to be over with, and felt that walking down and up stairs one more time would be better than saying no and having another argument. I went down again, got his game, and brought it back to him. He plugged it in, and I got him back into bed.

At last, all was quiet and still. I waited a minute in the hall, fully expecting something more to happen. Fortunately, it seemed the ordeal was over.

Forty minutes. Holy. Crap. It took 40 minutes for them to put on pajamas, brush teeth, and get into bed. I was completely drained.  How many times had I walked back and forth between their rooms? Ten? How many times had I said, “Put on your pajamas”? Twenty? The whole experience was a blur.

Prayer that night was something about, “Lord, give me the mental endurance to stay sane long enough for them to go off to college. And give me the financial fortune to afford out of state tuition.”

The next night’s bed time went smooth and easy. Little angels, they are. Bipolar, schizophrenic, multiple personality little angels.

Bullgrit

Bullgrit

I’ve been getting more into the Pokemon game with my boys of late. A few months ago, they both started being able to beat me regularly, and this sparked my competitive fire. They save up their allowances and buy new, better decks with some really good and powerful pokemon. So I started updating my deck and card selection.

That box above holds 800 cards. It’s full, and I have maybe another 100 that aren’t sorted and stored, yet. Over the past couple of weeks, we’ve all been battling each other a couple or so times a week. I don’t go easy on them, because they don’t go easy on me.

It’s been several years since I was into seriously collecting a card game and playing regularly. I got into Magic: the Gathering back in the 90s when it was a new phenomenon — I started when The Dark was released, (1994). I collected and played MtG pretty hardcore for a few years. I played in several tournaments, including two pro-feeders; I came in 1st, 3rd, and 5th in some local- and regional-sized conventions, but never made any kind of advancement in the pro-feeders. I even skipped my 10-year high school reunion to participate in a regional tournament, (but I didn’t place at all in it, though). I also wrote several articles about the game for a gaming magazine, (that no longer exists).

If you think my Pokemon collection of 800 cards is a lot, you would be astonished by my old MtG collection. I surely had over 5,000 cards at the height of my collection. (I knew some folks compared to whom, I was light.) A few years after last really being involved with the game, I sold off a lot of my cards. Here’s what I have left:

Three full 800-size boxes, a full 400 box, and a few hundred more just jumbled in a printer-paper box. I have only a few of any rare cards left; most of those cards in the boxes are just commons and uncommons. The money I made from selling my rares went right back into my gaming hobby — to buy new and classic D&D books.

I even got into the Star Wars collectable card game for a short while. I never went deep into it, as there weren’t that many fellow players for it in my area. But I still have all my original cards:

Recently, with my getting deeper into the Pokemon game hobby, I’m rediscovering my love of deck building and [collectible] card gaming. I’ve bought new decks, split them up, constructed new decks, taken them apart, and repeat. I love the whole process of building a competitive deck, playing it to see how my theories work, and then going back in and tweaking the collection of cards in the deck. And now that my boys are really good players in their own rights, my skills are actually tested. And my boys love taking me on, especially when they win. I have to reassert my position as Alpha gamer in my home.

Bullgrit

I see maybe two hours of TV in a week. One hour consists of 10 minutes here, 15 minutes there, of just random tidbits throughout the week. Mostly some news and/or weather in the mornings while getting ready for work. The second hour is what I manage to catch in our bedroom on Saturday morning while the boys are watching a couple of cartoons in the living room. I very rarely get to see any TV on the big screen in the living room.

Yesterday, though, it looked like I was going to get a little more. Just after noon, the boys had already eaten their lunch, and were upstairs playing well with each other. I was downstairs in the kitchen making me some lunch, thinking I might just sit and eat with the big TV. It could be a nice little spur of the moment indulgence.

I got my meal, and sat down in front of the downstairs TV. My timing was randomly perfect; V for Vendetta was just starting. I remember seeing the trailers back when it was in theaters, and I thought it might be interesting to catch a few minutes of it while I ate. I might actually get to watch half an hour.

Forty-five minutes later, I was hooked on it. The boys had continued playing quietly upstairs, but it was time for one of Calfgrit10’s friends to come over. Usually when one of the boys’ friends come over to play, they all three hang out upstairs or outside and play for a couple hours without needing direct parental attention. That’s usually a great time for me to get stuff done around the house or on this web site. So I figured I might actually get to watch the whole movie. I was excited, it would be cool. It was a good movie so far, but it wasn’t something for the boys to see. (Violence and subject matter inappropriate for 6 and 10 year olds.)

When the friend arrived, I turned off the TV, and answered the door. My boys came downstairs, the friend came in, and then all three ran upstairs. Yay! I talked with the friend’s parents for a minute, and then I was able to get back to the movie.

Ten minutes later, the boys came downstairs with Nerf guns in hand. I clicked off the TV as they came into the living room. They told me they wanted to play Nerf guns, and I told them they had to go outside for that. “OK,” they said. A couple minutes later and they were out, and I turned the TV back on.

Ten minutes later, the boys came back inside. I clicked the TV off again. They were done with Nerf gun fighting. When they bounded back upstairs, I turned on the TV again.

Ten minutes later, the boys came downstairs again. I clicked the TV off again. They had plastic lightsabers and wanted to sword fight. Again, I told them they had to go outside for that. “OK,” they said, and out they went. I turned the TV back on.

Ten minutes later, the boys came back inside. I clicked off the TV again. They were thirsty and wanted water. A couple minutes later, they charged back outside.

Ten minutes later, the boys came back inside, and I clicked off the TV again. All this in and out interruption got repeated over and over and over.

This wasn’t a DVD I was watching, where I could pause it and restart it. This was a TV channel. So every time I turned off the TV, the movie continued on with its action and plot. Half the time I had the TV on, it was showing commercials. Hell, I don’t think I even saw a full commercial without interruption.

The action and plot that I was seeing, was interesting, and I really wanted to follow it and see how it went and ended. But after interruption after interruption, I just dropped my head into my hands.

Really? Come on!

So now I’ve seen half of V for Vendetta. Not the first half, not the last half, not even half in the middle. I’ve seen half of every 10 minutes of the whole two hours. It’s like having read a book with every other page torn out.

This all just validates and confirms why I usually see very little TV. It’s better to not even bother trying when the effort turns out so frustrating. It was foolish, even dumb, to think of trying to watch an adult, (not-for-kids), TV show in the middle of a Sunday with kids in the house. Really, I did this frustration to myself. And even with continuing to put in the effort against all obvious problems, I still don’t know how the damn story ends.

Bullgrit