Image: "I want 'rive"

Uhm-ma Hooper's retirement party at Beaver Island State Park. Harrison "driving" Aunt Val's car with Pa-Pa Hooper riding shotgun.

Boys and Their Toys

Last Wednesday afternoon, Harrison and I were sitting on the front porch playing with some of the neighborhood kids when I looked over and saw that he had a gun. An orange plastic toy gun. He had discovered the trigger and was trying to figure out how to push it (why do they call it pull the trigger?). As far as I know, he'd never seen or played with a toy gun before. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with it or how to hold it, aim it, or shoot it.

Seeing him with that toy gun made me cringe, but I didn't take it away.

When I told Doug about it later, he said, "So what? I played with toy guns all the time as a kid."

I know this is true. And I know that I played with my share of cap and water guns too, and I'm not a violent, firearm-wielding lunatic. Still--are guns--even orange plastic toy guns---suitable playthings for children?

On the one hand, I think that a gun's singular purpose to hurt or kill an animal or another person makes it an unacceptable plaything for a young child, especially since we live in a city that has the unfortunate distinction of being the murder capital of New York State, with eight out of 54 homicide vicitims last year being children.

On the other hand, I know that Harrison is more likely to be killed in a car accident or in a pool than by a gun. I also know that generations of kids, especially boys, have grown up roleplaying Army guys and cowboys and indians, and not every one of them is a violent, firearm-wielding lunatic either.

But I am still troubled by this.

I can't help but think that part of Americans' aggression and generally complacent attitude toward violence both in our own personal lives and internationally is tied to this sense that real-life gunplay and war are mere games. (After all, they don't call Dubya the "cowboy president" for nothin'.)

When you're a kid, it's easy to make a distinction between the good guys and the bad guys, but the reality is that sometimes it is the Army guys that are the bad guys and it's the indians that are the good guys. And it's not cowboys on the range but grade schoolers going to school in my city's poor urban neighborhoods that are carrying guns for protection.

We live in a scary and violent world. Why does play have to be scary and violent too?

A Rambling Dad's Day Weekend Post

We had a low-key Father's Day weekend this year.

Doug got the best imaginable present: we finished the majority of work on the upstairs on Friday! And he actually got to see Harrison for more than two hours on a Saturday and Sunday! There are still odds and ends to do [make decisions about carpet, pick out lighting, take a trip to the salvage place for hardware, finish caulk work in the new bathroom], but there will be no more late nights and no more of Doug's entire weekends consumed.

Saturday morning we went to the Public Market. It's early in the growing season here in WNY, but there was fresh homegrown red romaine and big bunches of arugula and quart baskets of strawberries. Doug and I marvelled at the taste of warm, fresh-picked, vine-ripened strawberries, which we seem to forget about every year after eating green-picked, cold-storage California strawberries all winter and spring.

We're very late in starting our own garden, on account of, you know, not ever having been able to get outside to work all spring, but we also came home with some sweet italian and thai basils to plant. Those and the few volunteer tomato plants will be the extent of our veggie garden this year, I'm afraid. And that may be alright, because Harrison has appropriated the empty plot as his dirt pit. He's very busy there most afternoons with his shovel and pail: transporting, piling, digging, and watering.

On Father's Day Doug declined my invitation to go out for dinner and instead we stayed in, barbequed some yummy spice-rubbed steaks [a winning combination of slightly crushed dill seed, coriander seed, black peppercorns, sea salt], ate outside at our "new" patio set [thanks, Suzanne!], took a walk around the neighborhood, munched on Doug's present of fat Washington cherries, played in the sprinkler and kiddie pool, did a little bit of weeding, and ran around the yard.

The calendar said "Father's Day" but it was really a great weekend for me too. I'm so glad to get my husband and parenting partner back!

First Four Word Sentence

The Scene: Doug, wearing work clothes, exits upstairs construction zone and enters kitchen.

Harrison: Dada, you are yucky!

Doug and Sarah: HAHHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHAHHAHAHHA!

Climber & Climber

Knock! Knock!

Remodeling, spackle, DIY, painting, tired, blah, blah, blah. That pretty much sums up the level of excitement going on in the Hellion household, so why don't you just read this fantastic editorial from our alternative newsweekly instead?

It uses the phrase "massive knockers"! TWICE! And isn't that really all the incentive you need?

"I can't nurse in public, where I'll be the target of dumbfuck mall managers and leering creeps. And that's another confusing message for girls: massive knockers are associated with beauty, but nursing itself --- which causes massive knockers, if temporarily --- is taboo."

Thomas Crapper

Let's start with the good news: After three weeks of encouragement, Child finally took a shit on the potty! There was much cheering and clapping!!!

Now the bad news: The cheering and clapping were followed by a discussion by Parents of what to do with said shit and potty, during which time Child signalled that such cheering and discussion were premature by crouching on bathroom floor and taking another crap.

GROSS!!!

And you came here and read about it of your own free will!

At least I didn't take a photo.

Soulmates, but Unfit to be Parents

Scene: Doug and Sarah watch last ten minutes of National Spelling Bee. Geeky eighth-grader accepts her trophy after correctly spelling the German word "ursprache".

S: Awesome. That girl is so getting laid tonight.
D: Wow. I was just about to say that exact same thing.

Image: Hands, Father, Son