To do another CDF 2.0 post.  I have no idea why, but I have a severe mental blockage when it comes to CDF lately, and it just doesn’t feel right anymore.  I may feel better about it after the New Year, but I don’t think I can stomach doing one until then.

Sigh.

Which is a real bummer, because they were fairly easy to do in one sense.

How’s about some cute famous Dad and offspring photos for the time being?

If you look closely at the kids, that last picture is to die for.

My current neighborhood is a very popular one for trick-or-treaters in the area.  We are in our own little enclosed (not gated!) development where you can’t really get lost or wander off as we are surrounded by parkland on two sides and a really big slope on the others.  So lots of people bring their families here because it feels safe and the neighborhood really gets into the whole Halloween thing.

So even though last night was technically a school night, I started panicking as we had already gone through our second Costco bag o’ chocolate.  It was still fairly early and we had already had around a hundred kids or so.

In a state of panic, I searched for the stash of candy we had from last year that has yet to be eaten (and probably never will be) that I knew was in a plastic bucket in the kitchen.    I came into the living room with the bucket, and my husband immediately recognized it as the “reject” candy from last year.

“What are you doing?” he cried in astonishment as I set the bucket on top of the little table we had set by the door.

“I’m getting extra candy in case we run out!” I snapped in reply.

“That candy is a YEAR OLD, Glinda!  You can’t possibly be thinking of giving it to somebody, can you?” he responded, with a look of utter disbelief.

“My God man, it’s processed sugar!  It is perfectly good candy!” I said, with my former bluster evaporating.

“You are NOT giving that out.  If we run out of candy, we will simply TURN OUT THE LIGHTS, not give people old candy.”

For once, my husband was right.

He can mark it on the calendar.

Dave Engledow is my kind of Dad.

Look at these adorable pictures he created for his daughter, Alice Bee.  I think his captions are perfect.

Hammer Time

House Cleaning

Just a Little Off the Top

Kitchen Counter 500

Olympic Fever

Pwning the Noob

He has a bunch more on his Facebook page, they are fantastic, go see them!

These parents have put so much time and effort into training their Olympian children, can’t we give them a bit of a break when they get emotional?

If they sat there stone-faced, then they would be accused of being uncaring.

I come from a long and proud tradition of “parent heckling” during sporting events. My sister played basketball, and my dad was fond of screeching her name and clapping as she was preparing for a freethrow. With me, it was right as I was about to serve the ball during a volleyball match, which is a point in the game which requires quite a bit of concentration.

Huh, maybe that’s why I never made it to the Olympics.

Yep, it had nothing to do with the fact that I was much too short and much too slow.

Nope, I’m gonna blame it on my Dad.

That’s what parents are for.

55% of you did a big fat whole lot of nothing on the 4th of July, while 44% of you were planning on attending some sort of home-based gathering.  Not a single soul was going to see professional fireworks, which if you live in the San Diego area, was probably a good idea.  There are so many people in the area I live, going to see professional fireworks usually means getting stuck in traffic for an hour just trying to get out.  So, none for us.

Today I’m all about the male half of the parenting equation (assuming the father is present in the home, and breast feeding is not an on-going concern.).

Awwwwwww… Dads and daughters can be so fricking adorable.

My Dear,

I know that I don’t really talk about you much on this blog.

Not because I don’t love you, but simply because I’m not good at sharing.

Can you believe that we have known each other now for twenty one years, been married for ten, and raising kids for nine?

You are a Gemini and I am a Pisces, but we were both born in the Year of the Pig, which means that 95% of the time, we pretty much order the exact same thing at restaurants.

You are truly the best father a child could ask for, other than you don’t know anything about computers.  Or writing.

Oh, and the fact that you are a Republican and don’t believe in global warming.  I spend more time with the kids, so I’m pretty sure I’ve got the political viewpoint thing wrapped up, at least until they are much older.

But your strengths definitely outweigh your weaknesses, and I never actually thought I would be the “nice” parent.  Or at the least the “nicer” parent, as I certainly get my fair share of complaining.

However, this may just be with our son, and our daughter just might have you wrapped around her petite finger.  We’ll see if time shows you giving her money and the car keys behind my back.

Let’s just say I won’t be surprised.

So on the first anniversary of your 40th birthday, I just wanted to let you know that your three whole months of labeling me “my older wife” are at an end.

At least for the next nine months or so.

Love,

Your Adoring Wife (who is the same age as you)

42% you take only a half hour to 45 minutes to get out the door, and an impressive 21% take only 15-30. 15% of you were split evenly between less than 15 and 45-60. I’m going to count myself in that last cohort due to the fact that I have a toddler. She’s a convenient excuse for almost anything.

A friend and I were recently at a party, and we briefly discussed allowing our same-aged sons to walk to a nearby park (she lives in the neighborhood).  We went back and forth for a bit, but eventually decided against it.  Then we started talking about how it seems in our memories that we had a lot more freedom way back when than kids do now.  Is that pretty much a given? Or are we just old and our memories are faulty?