Annie the Tooth Got Whacked

Many moons ago, at a different place and time in life, there was a little baby girl who commanded all of Mr. Mom's and Mrs. Dad's attention. She was the only game in town and she knew it. She has been relatively good at sharing our attention since giving way to two brothers, but ol' Mr. Mom does remember those days when there was nothing else on the agenda other than playing with this little girl. No school, no soccer, no dance, no competing siblings, .....

It was during this time that the don of FroFamily, Inc. decided that this little girl should inherit a mafioso moniker. The don, being of questionable mind and minimal cleverness, worked with what he had, which at that time consisted of an effervescent smile, a jubilant personality, a flair for cheesy faces, and one big front-and-center top row tooth. Using the obvious, the don christened this little angel to be "Annie the Tooth".

For several weeks/months, Annie the Tooth was true to this name. That one singular tooth hung in there as the lone white light in a sea of saliva. Eventually, and predictably, it was joined by other pearly whites, but Annie the Tooth she would continue to be.

That is .... until Sunday 1/22/12 when Annie the Tooth got whacked. That big, beautiful, original tooth now sleeps with the fishes, and all that is left is a gaping hole in A's mouth.

Ciao Annie the Tooth. We'll miss ya.

Hockey Day Hopkins

For all of you not in-the-know, Saturday 1/21/12 was deemed Hockey Day Minnesota by Fox Sports North. This brilliant marketing scheme has allowed a regional television station to manufacture a "holiday" to celebrate hockey. Mr. Mom is a big hockey fan. Plus, three cheers for capitalism. So, good for FSN in coming up with this idea. But the marketing blitz surrounding this day can be a little much at times for those of us sports fans out there who are listening to sports talk radio all day. Especially for a sports fan like Mr. Mom, who grew up in a repressed, unfortunate land where, last I checked, was still part of Minnesota, but alas hockey was not part of the local culture/vernacular. Regardless, this Hockey Day Minnesota idea works for Mr. Mom on several levels, and this year, one member of FroFamily, Inc. got directly involved.

Our incomparable B had his regular Saturday morning Mini-Mites hockey practice on Saturday at 8:40 a.m. A little early on a Saturday for Mr. Mom's taste, considering the prep time required by B to get dressed, eat breakfast, get to the rink, and suit up. But B is truly loving hockey, so it is more than worth it. Plus, if we didn't get him there, there would be no way we could stay in the running for the coveted Parents of the Year award.

As usual to start off the day, the kids have about 10 minutes of free skating to get warmed up and let the stragglers get dressed and onto the ice. Then Coach Chad blows the whistle and the kids all skate/coast/slide/crawl in to the pre-practice huddle at center ice. On this day however, Coach Chad tells his group of nodding and enthusiastic 5-6 year olds about Hockey Day Minnesota, and that they will be a part of this special day by helping a team warm-up this morning in preparation for a big game later that afternoon. This appeared to receive only mild interest from the kids until Coach Chad told them that, after practice, they could go home and watch this team's big game on TV. Now we're cookin'. Someone they know on TV? What could be better?

So, the curiosity of the Mini-Mites is piqued. Who is this team? We can watch them on TV? We could someday get on TV for being hockey players? This is greatest thing to hear since last night's "Who wants desert?" The Mini-Mites begin to do some practice drills and fight against their collective ADD by randomly looking around the arena to see if anything is going on off the ice. Then, through the doors of the arena walks in a group of high school boys coming from a bus. It is the #1 ranked Duluth East Greyhounds, last year's state tournament runner-up. The Hounds head into the locker room to change and the Mini-Mites start doing their drills with an added fervor. Then, with about 10 minutes left in practice, the Hounds take the ice and start flying around the rink. The mouths of the Mini-Mites drop and they watch in awe for a moment before they remember they are in the middle of practice themselves.

Coach Chad blows the whistle to signal another center ice huddle, and the little Hopkins Mini-Mites find themselves shoulder-to-shoulder, or should I say shoulder-to-waist, with these high school boys. Hounds Coach Randolph says hello to the Mini-Mites and off they all go to play in one of the most chaotic hockey scenes ever imagined. Pucks everywhere. 5-year-olds trying to score on fully uniformed high school goalies. Mini-Mites passing back and forth with 17-year-olds. 40-inch tall kids doing face-offs with 6 ft.+ giants. Simply terrific. Every face in the arena (coaches, high school players, Mini-Mites, and parents alike) had a huge smile on it. Not to wax nostalgic, but hopefully this is exactly what FSN had in mind when spearheading this Hockey Day Minnesota concept.

Too bad those nice kids from Duluth lost to the hated Minnetonka Skippers later that day. But, at least I hope they take to heart that they made a good impression on our little B and that they probably had about 25 extra Mini-Mite viewers for the game, most of which I'm sure would not have had watching a hockey game on their radar screen for that day when they woke up in the morning.

Good stuff. Plus, someone brought doughnuts for the kids for after practice. Double nice.

The Bieber, The Flock of Seagulls, The Billy Ray Cyrus, 1986 Hair Band, ... What's A Boy To Do?

So many hairstyle choices, so little time. Our boys have been working with an image consultant to find the right look for them. Not too flashy. Not too lame. Just the right amount of cool without saying, "Hey, look at me." Obviously Mr. Mom's typical greasy several-days-between-shower coif and his ever-receding hairline is of no use when looking for an example, so why not come up with their own look that works for them.

B loves to do some spiking after getting out of the bath. Classic stand-straight-up on the top, down on the sides. None of the head-caught-in-a-tornado look of today's youth. However, B does try some pretty original ideas. The other morning he came downstairs with his bangs wetly matted to his forehead while everything else was dry and normal looking. It was definitely original and clever, but unfortunately in a creepy sort of way.

C prefers the all out crazy hair, where every strand is poking straight out as far as possible, ala the I-have-my-hand-on-the-Van de Graaff-generator-at-the-science-museum look. But, C is pretty committed to the bit once he decides that today is a "hair-day". Ergo, the following anecdote.

A few weeks ago, it was one of those days when B was in front of the mirror before we left for school. He was doing some styling, sans product. This is o.k. with Mr. Mom because when it dries, it falls back to normal and we can go about our day without harm. However, this particular day, C is all-in on having crazy hair because B made it look so cool. So, along side B, we get C's hair a little wet and comb it up, with the thought that when it dries, it will fall down to normal and we can move on.

Big Mistake. When we got to school, Mr. Mom and B had already forgotten about the at-home hair styling session of the morning. However, C was apparently still committed to it. Unbeknownst to Mr. Mom, when C was in the bathroom alone doing his before school handwashing and fighting the evil germ monsters, he was also using the water from the sink to re-style his hair because it had fallen down when it dried as previously predicted. Only instead of using just water, ..... he used handsoap from the nearby dispenser to give it that extra hold he really needed. When I go in to check on him, there he stands, bubbles all over his head and hair sticking out all over, smiling like the proudest little boy ever. After a pretty big belly laugh, I wrestle his head under the faucet for, what turned out to be, a pretty traumatic rinse. Nothing like an impromptu bathing of a 3-year-old in a bathroom sink to start your day.

It's All Over For Mr. Mom

I knew it was going to happen sooner or later. I just didn't expect it to happen now.

I have always considered myself a pretty smart guy, and I think most people that know me would concur that I am not a complete drooling idiot. However, the tide is slowly turning for Mr. Mom. I have hit the ripe old age of 37 and years of excessive brain usage, not to mention the not so occasional beer, appear to finally be taking their toll. I, Mr. Mom., ..... am starting to lose to my kids in various activities.

Gone are the days of December 2008 (shown in the attached photo) when I would "let them win" the occasional game to encourage participation and foster confidence. Now I have to bring my A-game or it's over. My cloak of invincibility will quickly erode away, and a shell of a dad is all that will remain.

Up until yesterday, I had never really lost to any of my kids (except for a speed reading contest with Ms. A, but that doesn't really count because I typically read at the speed of an average 3rd grader - I'm more of a contemplation/comprehension guy). Then, last night while A is at Sunday school, B, C, and I sit down to play a memory matching game. We play the game, and per usual, I am paying about 65% attention so as to keep it close and not get all the matches but still move the game along and not have it last 7 hours. Before I know it, game over. Final score: B - 14; C - 12; Mr. Mom - 10. We do our typical post-game good-sportsmanship handshake, but all the while I'm a little thrown. What the F just happened? Then it hits me. The scales are starting to turn. There is nowhere for me to go but down.

Now the question is, what do I do with this profound insight? Do I play the part of super-proud dad, be elated that my kids are smart, and talented, and gifted, and awesome, and ...., and remain hopeful that they will end up a few rungs higher on the evolutionary ladder from their old man? Yes. That is the fork in the road that I am choosing to take.

But, just to make sure I still got it, C and I had a rematch today and I smoked him 20 - 16. In your face C.

The Return of Captain Finance

Captain Finance, who was on extended holiday over the summer months, made a significant return to the superhero scene in October and November as he used his writing skills for greed and the financial gain of FroFamily, Inc.

Of course, that meant that his unassuming, yet dashingly handsome, alter ego, Mr. Mom, was suspiciously absent from the blogosphere.

However, fear not good readers. The corporate citizens of greater Minneapolis, who were in such dire need of assistance, have now obtained their necessary funding and our hero has a few days to remove the cape and tights, replace them with the all-to-familiar sweatpants, sit back, relax, and catch up with the rest of the world.

Stay tuned to Milk & O's (if you haven't already deleted us from your "Favorites" list), and you will soon be updated on the exploits, trials, and tribulations of A, B, C, Mrs. Dad, and Mr. Mom.

7 Going On 14

There have been a few firsts for Mr. Mom lately.

The other day, Ms. A gets home from school and while we are going through her homework, the phone rings. Mr. Mom answers and it is her bestest little friend ever asking for Ms. A. I give the phone to A and she walks off to an unoccupied area for some privacy. As she does so, I think, "Wow. Our little girl. Seems like we just brought her home from the hospital yesterday. Now she is getting phone calls and going off to gossip on the phone." To this point, A's telephone exposure has been talking to grandpa or grandma, or maybe a quick hello to one of her friends after the adults have arranged a playdate. I was thinking to myself, "Is this the beginning? I've heard about this girls-on-the-phone phenomenon. Now what do I do? What kind of elaborate bulletproof telephone rules matrix do I need to establish before this gets out of control and A is on the phone every day after school for hours on end?" After about 15 minutes, I arbitrarily decide that this is enough. Time to get off the phone. So I pick up another phone handset that I had next to me on the kitchen counter (because I am always slaving away in the kitchen), break into the conversation, and instruct A to say goodbye, we have to eat dinner and get ready for ballet class. I leave it at that, with the assumption that A is a good responsible kid, and above all else a rules follower. Then about 2 minutes later, she walks into the kitchen, hands me the phone, and says "Torie's mom wants to talk to you." OK. How did this develop? So I get on the phone, say hello, and am greeted with a reciprocating hello, followed by a question/statement of "so, the girls were talking about Torie coming over after school soon.....?" I do my best of-course-I-know-what's-going-on routine, and long story short, Torie comes over after school yesterday. Well played A.

Another event requires much less story telling, but may be even more monumental. Last week Ms. A attended her first large group sleepover in celebration of a classmate (Savannah) birthday. It was by all accounts a glorious event, with pizza, cake, games, TV/movies, staying up way too late, and a breakfast of cinnamon rolls in the morning. What more could 8 2nd grade girls ask for? Mr. Mom is still not sure about this, as I am sure I did not do a similar thing until 4th grade, but it seemed to go well, and A does not appear to be permanently scarred after Mr. Mom and Mrs. Dad completed an intense deprogramming session.

The third, and more troubling event occurred this morning. Our morning routine is for A and I to drop B&C off at school and then head home to catch the bus. Well, today A decided to convert to full whining mode as soon as we got in the truck. After the fourth bout of severe whining about various wrongdoings that were being perpetrated on her, Mr. Mom was getting relatively tired of it. The hope was that when the boys got out for school, she would stop and we could have our normal nice trip home. Silly dad. It continued, only with greater fervor. When we tried to do a spelling bee to practice her list for a test later today, and she began to whine about not wanting to say when certain words had capital letters, I maturely took her spelling list paper, crumpled it up, tossed it back to her, and told her that I would like to listen to the radio now. I waived the white flag. Admittedly not my proudest moment, but necessary for paternal sanity.

It is clear why God made this special bond between father and daughter. So you can put up with the occasional sass.

On a more positive note, A is busy learning ballet/tap/jazz, excelling in school, making new friends, and being a soccer superstar (refer to attached action photo). Like B, we signed up A for soccer this fall and it has been fantastic. The girls that make up the Pandas team roster are great and we have met some really nice parents. It also turns out A is a very competitive individual. The look of determination on her face during a game is surprising and kind of fun to see. She has gravitated to playing forward as much as possible because "they score the goals". True to form, A scored a crunch-time goal with 2 minutes to play last week to earn a hard fought 1-1 tie against the hated Jaguars. I think that is goal #4 through 5 games this season. Soccer fever. Catch it.

Bend It Like Bennett or The "Next" Great One

Which title do you like? Both are quite possible at this point. After a very successful stint in t-ball this summer our young B has gotten heavily involved in more team sports this fall.

While attending a 2 week camp earlier this summer with his big sister, B was introduced to this funny game where people run around on a field of grass chasing a ball with odd designs all over it. The objective is apparently to try to kick said ball into a net, but this does not happen very often. After several days of observing this sporting spectacle, Mr. Mom was informed that this strange game is called soccer and that apparently millions of American youth play it. More surprisingly, many youth allegedly do so of there own free will. With a contorted look on his face, Mr. Mom thought to himself (insert your vision of a cartoon bubble here), "Interesting. A game where you can't use your hands, yet coaches use the term dribbling. Players run around constantly with minimal breaks in play or substitutions. And scoring happens as frequently as the arrival of Haley's Comet. Sounds fun."

But, he loves it. The aforementioned camp was such a success that both A&B were chomping at the bit to sign up for fall soccer and play some actual games against kids their own age. B was placed on the Lions, a team of 8 ferocious Kindergarten-age boys who have boundless amounts of energy. They practice for 45 minutes on Thursday evenings and play a 1-hour game each Saturday. If you have any exposure to Kindergarten-age boys, you realize that this is just enough time before they lose focus on the soccer ball and move onto "we're bored horse-play". It has been a great experience, despite B sometimes choosing to be a distant observer of the action. This is mostly the case when Coach designates him to play the position of Defense. In Kindergarten soccer, playing Defense is apparently code for standing around by your net paying minimal attention, because every boy that takes his turn playing Defense invariably starts dandelion-picking, people-watching, ballerina-spinning, etc. After three hotly contested games, the passion for soccer still exists. The boys are not supposed to keep score at this level (you know, everyone gets a trophy), but boys inevitably do and B will quickly tell anyone who asks that his team has won 1 game and lost 2. The highlight for us was B scoring his team's first goal in its first game. It was a solid left-footed boot on a breakaway. Look out Pele.

B's other activity is hockey. After two sessions of skating lessons in our pre-EP life and countless games of floor hockey in the basement here in spacious EP, B was openly excited to play hockey this year. As naive, clueless, rookie hockey parents, this was slightly intimidating for Mr. Mom and Mrs. Dad, but the Hopkins Hockey Association (http://www.hopkinshockey.com/) has made it virtually idiot-proof for us and we commend them for it. Great people, and to this point we have not come across stereotypical Hockey Dad yelling at his 7-year old from behind the boards during practice. Bravo.

They start them at 5 in Hopkins, although there are probably some over-achieving 4-year olds out there, and B is officially a Mini-Mite. It was Mr. Mom heaven gearing him up in full pads that first day. The highlight for B was his mouthguard, which he wore the entire time and thus could not speak clearly to any adult/coach/volunteer helping organize the crazy mass of 5-8 year-olds that comprises the pre-season hockey clinics that are currently underway. To date, it has been all skating. It is well organized and the coaches quickly segregate the kids based on skating ability after observing them for 15 minutes or so. Then an adult goes with each group and works on a particular skill. I don't know how they get it to work, but it does. Some kids are skating circles around the others and are ready for the NHL. Others can't even stand up or move. It is a great cross-section of talent. However, that has likely been little B's issue to date.

B wants to play hockey. That means have stick, hit puck, score goal. What I don't think he realized initially was that this is all done on skates while skating. After a few times of no sticks/just learning how to skate, poor B got frustrated and even had some crying sessions of "I don't want to go to hockey." Well, since Mr. Mom is a hard-ass and always forces his kids to do things they don't want to do, he had to drag B there on two different occasions. Then on the 4th day, a miracle occurred.

B could always stand up and scoot around on his own, but for some reason, taking a skating stride and pushing off to propel himself just was not there. As a result, he couldn't keep up with the older kids who were skating circles around him while they were warming up for their tryout for the MN Wild later that day. This frustrated B and compounded his sadness over hockey. He just wants to play. Then Coach Dan, the leader of the merry band of adults running the show, took an individual interest in B and physically grabbed his feet to show him how it works. Then the light bulb just turned on. It was that easy, and just took someone other than Mr. Mom showing him/telling him (already ignoring dad - great). For the rest of the day, Mr. Mom proudly watched his son, who was beaming from ear-to-ear under his helmet, skate, yes actually skate, around the rink. The best part was his smile. Just seeing him, you could tell he was thinking, "All right. I'm on my way. Now I can play with the big boys." It melted my old, crusty heart. There was a little comical element to this breakthrough though too. He is much stronger pushing off his right foot than his left. And any Physics major can tell you what happens then. He is skating around in circles. It is fantastic, and hopefully hockey can only go uphill from here.

We love you B. May you always have that enthusiasm to try/do/enjoy everything.

Empty Nester

School has officially begun. A, B, & C are off and Mrs. Dad is saving lives one colon at a time. That leaves Mr. Mom (as seen in this picture) free to do what he deems appropriate. Admittedly, it is a strange, eerie, somewhat melancholy feeling to be in this position, home alone for 2 hours a day Mon.-Fri., but I will do my best to take this challenge head on.

Happy 2011-2012 school year everyone. May your years of higher learning help to lead you down your chosen path, or, as in my case, to this very spot. Hello couch and ESPN, my old friends. I've missed you.