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Our Marriage Vows Didn't Mention This
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
The great thing about my job is that I get to work out of my house. I don't have to go anywhere, unless it's for a meeting. And my three young children feel free to come into my office to romp and play, whenever they feel like it.
The downside is that I have to work out of my house. I don't get to go anywhere, unless it's for a meeting. And my three young children feel free to come into my office to romp and play, whenever they feel like it.
But by being around all day, I can enjoy more time with my kids. On one hand, this means I can attend their daytime events, help put them down for a nap after lunch, or knock off work early to go do something fun. On the other hand, gone are the days of bribing my two-year-old son to wait until I leave for work before he "makes" in his diaper.
Of course, working at home also means that I'm around to help out more often too. I can't use "working late" to avoid helping with dinner, or go on business trips to put off mowing the lawn for a week. So my wife and I divide the responsibilities in our house.
We each have our own duties that we look after. And we try to make sure neither of us has more work than the other.
It's not the "You have a lot to do today, why don't you let me clean that for you" approach. It's more like the "Hey, why do you only have to clean the bathroom, but I have to vacuum and dust the entire house and clean the kitchen."
The nasty looks from my wife remind me that I need to try the first approach more often.
But there are certain duties that neither of us want to claim -- like changing my son's diapers -- so we try to avoid these by finding a more desirable task to do instead. Like re-shingling the roof or cleaning The Fuzzy Blue Thing out of the refrigerator.
Sometimes, we'll negotiate our way to an agreement: "I'll explain the birds and bees to the girls if you change him for me." Other times, we'll just play Rock Paper Scissors for it, and the loser changes the diaper.
This is different from some of the more "traditional" families I know who still cling to gender-based roles (i.e. the husband works, the wife manages the house). Instead, they play Rock Paper Scissors Y Chromosome. The Y Chromosome beats everything.
Wife: Someone needs to make dinner. I've got Rock.
Husband: I've got Y Chromosome, I win again! I'll be in the basement watching the game.
Happily, my wife and I don't do things that way. I say happily, because the first time I suggested it, I slept on the couch for three days. So instead, we've compromised. I'll help out with more of the icky stuff and she'll let me sleep in our bed again.
Of course, we still try to get out of certain jobs, usually by conveniently going missing for an hour, or immersing ourselves in a different project that we absolutely cannot leave under any circumstances whatsoever.
"No, I can't give the kids a bath. This paint won't dry if I quit watching it."
Another favorite trick is to pretend we're still asleep when one of our kids wakes up in the middle of the night demanding our attention.
"Erik, he's calling you."
(Silence)
"Hey wake up. Our son is calling for you."
(More Silence)
"Erik, I know you're awake. Your breathing changed, and you quit snoring."
"*Sigh* Then why can't you go see what he wants?
"Because he's calling for you. Besides, I'm still asleep."
At three in the morning, I can't argue with logic like this, at least not if I want to be allowed back into bed. So I go downstairs and tend to my son who's been hollering for me because he's awake and wonders what I'm doing.
Unfortunately, no family is free of distasteful tasks and tedious chores. We all have them, and no one wants to do them. So everyone develops their own ways of getting out of doing them. Great little tricks to avoid the things they absolutely hate. Clever techniques to get the other person to change the diaper or scrub the toilet.
So if you know any good ones, please let me know. I'm running out of ideas.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of November 4th, 2005)
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Okay, So Now What?
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
A few weeks ago, I wrote an advice column on high school dating for near geeks, semi-geeks, and band members. Since then, I've been overwhelmed by by emails from current and former high school geeks, asking me what to do next.
One fictitious email from fictitious reader Brett Schultz said:
"Hail and well met, good sir Erik. I bid you adieu from the hinterlands of Misquamicut, Rhode Island, and the kingdom of Westerly High School. I have followed your sage advice and have actually secured a date with a REAL LIVE GIRL! Oh my God, I never actually expected this to work! What do I do? What do I do? Oh man, I can't do this. I can't go -- oh, I can't breathe. I'm hyperventilating."
After I got Brett to breathe into a paper bag, I decided to write this column for him and all those other Romeos-to-be who were now too light-headed to watch their Star Trek reruns.
Okay, so you've identified a girl you like (she's breathing) and you've asked her out ("Will you umm. . . that is, do you uhh. . ."). To everyone's amazement, including your own, she said she would love to go to dinner and a movie with you.
There are actually a few simple rules to dating someone else's teenage daughter, besides the ones her father spelled out in his best-selling book and hit television show. They are as follows:
Rule #1: Choose a nice restaurant. This is a simple one. Don't choose a restaurant where you can "supersize" your meal. But don't overshoot the mark and pretend that you're sophisticated. Chances are your date has heard about the time you stuffed 200 Gummi Bears in your mouth, so she knows you're not a regular at "Le Snooty Frenchman." Pick something fairly casual like one of the many family-friendly chain restaurants. It's not great, but it won't give you garlic burp breath when you reach Rule #4.
Rule #2: Don't order messy food. You don't want complicated food that will get stuck between your teeth or end up in your lap. When I took my junior prom date to dinner, I made the mistake of ordering barbecued ribs. I was so nervous, I couldn't cut them, let alone eat them. I kept hitting bones, and eventually just gave up and took them home. Turns out I was cutting against the direction of the ribs, not with them. Avoid the same mistake and order something easy and clean, like plain lettuce and a glass of water.
Rule #3: We've already covered why you're a semi-geek in the first place, so this rule is simple. Don't pick a movie you've been dying to see. Your tastes are, well, a little weird. That's why you've had dating troubles in the first place. You're going to find yourself back at square one if you take her to see anything with lasers, phasers, or beings from another planet. Go to a movie she wants to see. Remember, you're on a date, you're not there to be entertained. Be entertained later when you can watch the Sci-Fi channel at home.
Rule #4: The goodnight kiss. This is the do-or-die stage. Most boys are probably thinking beyond this, but this is a family column. That, and her father is a gun nut. And mentally unbalanced. Just be happy he didn't go along with you, like he originally wanted. So be a gentleman. They make smaller targets.
By now, most of you semi-geeks are gasping for air and reaching for your paper bags again, wondering what to do now.
You've parked in her driveway, and although her mom hasn't started flicking the porchlight off and on, the clock is running.
"Well, uhh. . . I had a great time," you say.
"Me too," she says.
Then you sit in awkward silence, wondering frantically, "Should I kiss her? Will she let me? Or will she laugh? What if she tells everyone I'm a bad kisser? Oh God, what would Captain Picard do?"
Meanwhile she's sitting there wondering, "Is he going to kiss me or not? Do I have garlic burp breath?"
Just let your instincts kick in. Close your eyes, lean toward her and hope she's not recoiling back in horror. Bulls-eye! Okay, slightly to the left of bulls-eye -- you only missed her face by a couple inches. But after a few minor adjustments, you're locked in for your first kiss. Not too shabby for a charter member of the local Society for Creative Anachronism chapter.
You finally come up for air after several minutes, wisely not mentioning the moment you both sneaked a peek at each other at the exact same time. You experience a rush of emotions, and think "wow, this could really go somewhere." This brings me to the final rule.
Rule #5: I don't care how great the kiss was, do not share your feelings and future plans for the relationship with her. Wait for her to talk about it after another date or two. Or ten. Let it all develop naturally. Let it grow on its own.
By then, you'll be ready for the final column in this series: How to Survive Being Dumped by Your First Girlfriend.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of November 11th, 2005)
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'Twas the Month Before Christmas
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
It's that time of year, boys and girls. The stores have had their Christmas decorations out since August, Christmas commercials have been running non-stop, and Erik's cynical complaining about the commercialization of Christmas can only mean one thing: the annual reprint of Erik's 'Twas the Month Before Christmas column.
'Twas six weeks before Christmas, and all through the town
Halloween decorations were just coming down.
I went to the mall, for a weekend reprieve
And saw such a sight that I could not believe.
The place had gone crazy, the mall was just packed.
With new clothes and new toys and cheap plastic sacks
The store owners were praying and pulling their hair,
Desperately hoping we'd spend money there.
When in one of the stores there arose such a clatter
I thought to myself "Now what's the matter?"
Away toward the noise the crowd flew like a flash
And knocked an old woman right onto her butt.
The cheesy green lights and the canned Christmas music
Made me realize not a darn thing rhymes with "music"
What I saw next made me scream and turn pale
A red and green sign said "We’re having a sale!"
With a perky sales clerk, so cheerful and quick
I knew in a moment I was going to be sick!
She herded us in like sheep to the slaughter,
"Come in and buy things for your sons and your daughters!
We take Visa and Mastercard and Discover!" she chimed.
"American Express, credit cards of all kind!
From the back of the store, all the way to the front
Everything is on sale, there is no need to hunt!"
With the power and fury of an 8 point earthquake
The people were drawn in like a fat guy to cake
And into the store, the crowd they just flew
But what they were after, I hadn't a clue.
And then with a shudder, I heard behind me.
The ear-piercing scream of a child, age three
He gave a shrill shriek that would curl your hair
He yelled at his parents, "Hey let's go in there!"
"I see lots of games and toys," yelled the runt
"Why can't we go in there and get what I want?!"
I looked at the parents, all haggard and worn.
Their faces were bruised, their clothes, they were torn.
Their eyes, how they drooped. Their coats were all muddy.
She was missing her shoes, his nose -- it was bloody.
He clung to his wallet, she clutched at her purse.
They tried not to explode as they held back a curse.
"You've got enough stuff already," the two parents said.
But the child just screamed and cried and turned red.
"What's the matter?" I asked, though I wished I had not.
They said "You can guess at the problem we've got."
"We're shopping for Christmas, for family and friends,
But it seems like this madness goes on without end."
"We've been here since morning, looking for sales.
But we've spent too much money. We feel like we've failed.
Credit cards, debit cards, checkbooks and cash
It's only November, and our budget has crashed."
Then the child came running up, shouting with glee
"Hey, I found something! Please, come with me."
And I heard them exclaim, as they left with a grunt,
"Merry Christmas to you, though it's not ‘til next month."
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Erik Deckers
(published week of November 18th, 2005)
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Just Don't Call Me "Deferred Funny"
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
As a columnist, I try to stay informed, keeping my eyes peeled for the next big idea for a future column. Unfortunately, I can't keep up with everything that goes on in the world. There are some things that just escape my attention, and I don't hear about unless someone alerts me.
Usually, the stories are not such a big deal, and I don't regret missing them -- like last week, when CNN placed a big black 'X' over Vice President Dick Cheney's face during a live speech in which he blasted critics of the Iraq war. (Rumor has it that the CNN techs were playing Spot the Liar, and got a little carried away.)
But sometimes the stories are of such importance and magnitude that I kick myself for missing them. Last week I discovered I missed a great story that happened back in July. One could almost argue that it was a "deferred discovery," rather than a missed opportunity, but I'm not one to create a new name just to make myself feel better.
Unlike some people I could name.
According to a story on the BBC's website (www.bbc.co.uk), retired British schoolteacher Liz Beattie wanted to eliminate the word "failure" from the British educational system, and replace it instead with "deferred success." In other words, students don't fail their exams, they have a "deferred success" with them. British parents would hopefully then give their children a time out ("deferred spanking") until they promised to do better.
Beattie created the proposal because she believed that repeated failure could shatter a student's enthusiasm for school. "For most of my teaching career I have been upset by seeing some children give up on themselves," she said in a conference of the British Professional Association of Teachers.
She probably didn't realize that it's the mind-numbing boredom ("deferred excitement") that wrecks a kid's enthusiasm for school. Failure is just a distraction from the tedium.
"I think we all need to succeed at something. You need encouragement rather than being told you haven't done very well," she told The Times of London Newspaper ("deferred bird cage liner").
However, most members of the PAT who heard the idea thought it was pretty stupid ("deferred intelligent").
You could argue that students who repeatedly failed their exams actually don't have success issues. Rather, their teachers just aren't that good ("deferred competent"). As the United State's No Child Left Behind plan ("deferred effective") has reminded us, repeated or constant failure doesn't always lie with the students ("deferred felons"). Sometimes it's the fault of the teachers.
Maybe Ms. Beattie should have focused more on teachers' competencies than the words used to show a student was not able to pass an exam or two. Or five.
But you do have to appreciate her commitment. "What happens when an exam is failed but, for example, three-quarters of it is perfectly satisfactorily done?" she said in an interview on BBC Radio Four ("deferred static").
Well, three-quarters is 75%, which is a solid C in the American ("deferred Canadian") grading system. So I don't know if I would even start to call that a failure.
However, she did have a few allies ("deferred laughing stock") to her cause. Wesley Paxton, a member of the PAT's council supported Beattie. "Elsewhere we applaud those who persevere, like marathon contestants who take days to complete. It's time we made the word 'fail' redundant and replaced it with 'please do a bit more.'" he told BBC Four.
Unfortunately, it's the "please do a bit more" that would have most marathoners stampeding Paxton like a herd of enraged bulls.
Luckily, Beattie's motion lost ("deferred won") later that summer ("deferred winter"). This may be partly attributed to British Education Secretary Ruth Kelly, who told BBC Radio Four, "For that particular proposal, I think I might give them nought out of ten ("deferred dope slap")."
The PAT voted, the motion failed , and the British educational system dodged a serious PC bullet ("deferred the inevitable").
"It's really important for young people to grow up with the ability to get on and achieve, but also to find out what failure is," Kelly said. "When young people grow up and enter the adult world, they have to deal with success and failure."
So, at least for the next few years, British ("deferred French") students will be able to pass and/or fail their exams at their convenience. At least until another British teacher ("deferred principal") comes up with another idea that gives me fodder for another column ("deferred novel").
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Erik Deckers
(published week of November 25th, 2005)
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