Angry Birds: A Dad's Review

Many of you parents of younger kids are probably thinking about taking them to see The Angry Birds Movie.

My kids were excited for it from the first trailers months ago, and quite frankly so was I. I played all the games on my iPhone. Plus I love animation and thought the visuals of the movie looked fun. As a writer, I thought creating a story around the games would be an interesting challenge that, done right could be a huge success.

As stated, that could have been the case.

We took the kids last night, and overall I have to admit I was disappointed. On a scale of 4 stars, I'd give it 2. There are moments where I really laughed, as did my wife. My two oldest kids, 9 and 5, thought it was hilarious. My youngest, who turned 4 that day became bored and restless by the halfway point. Let me state she's gone to and sat through a number of movies so it's not just her age or personality. It didn't capture her, for whatever reason.

I also found at numerous points, it wasn't capturing me. The story was boring and the plot weak. They shoehorned a number of cheap jokes as well as humor that was clearly intended for us parents (usually appreciated) that fell flat for me and went straight over my kids' heads.

The bigger issue for me was there were a number of bits throughout the movie that really skirted dangerously close to inappropriate. Listen, I'm no prude. Go check out my other Twitter feed for proof. As a dad I respect the line between what's okay for adults and what's ok for children. This was unquestionably packaged as a movie for kids. Some scenes made me uncomfortable. Why they felt the need to have pigs performing a "cowboy show" that would have been better suited for another Magic Mike sequel, I can't say. Even a scene featuring a mythic character dancing before a throng of screaming female birds in a leather Speedo and signing a character's chest was just out of place. The bird getting the chest autograph did turn out to be male, and more importantly, it went by quickly.

Without spoiling anything, I should mention the movie features one of the longer peeing gags I've seen in a movie. It's up there with Austin Powers and A League of Their Own. It's also a tad more graphic than those, where we thankfully only heard it. Then there's the realization that slowly sets in with both kids and parents alike of what we've just witnessed our main characters doing beforehand, and it's gross-out humor like I may have never seen in children's animation.

That said, yes, I laughed hysterically because sometimes I do have the mentality of a ten year-old. Again, I'm not a prude.

In the plus column, the big climactic battle between birds and pigs is extremely clever and well created. It's as close as seeing an Angry Birds game come to life as we may ever get, right down to how each bird flies and the way the buildings fall. I enjoyed that tremendously. Visually the entire movie is beautiful. The animation is superb. And as I said before there are many funny moments.

Sadly there are just as many unfunny attempts. As a movie, it was just mixed up. They even tried to impress with switching up animations styles and speeds a few times.  Perhaps that's the problem with this movie is they tried too hard to give us grown-up's a wink and nod, but forgot who their real target demographic should have been.  Maybe they were worried they had a weak premise (though in fairness they didn't, if done right) so they tried to distract and impress us. They should have focused harder on story. I didn't even find the main character Red to be all that angry. He was more of an outcast and an anti-hero. His big offense at the opening of the film is flimsy. Story always needs to be right above all, or flashy animation and funny gags won't be enough (says the writer.)    

So take it for what it's worth. Two out of four stars . . . or feathers. See what I did there?
I can only speak for my own feelings as a parent, and at times I was glad my kids are still innocent enough that they didn't get a few jokes. Although I remember being 9 and I suspect my son got more than he let on. Which as a parent makes me a bit annoyed with the studio, Columbia Pictures. They'll never compete with animation kings like Disney and DreamWorks or even Sony, or Illumination, whose Despicable Me franchise is setting the bar for how to combine offbeat animation with good stories by giving us offerings like this.

I'm going to recommend just renting this one. Actually, when it comes to the kids, I'd just download the game and let them play for a while.


p.s. Lest we forget . . .

Imagining Dragons Again

This week on my podcast I was talking about how certain upcoming projects have got me feeling optimistic again. I won't get into details, but suffice to say it's been a while since I've felt that way.
My first book was learning experience, good and bad, and it really opened my eyes. People can steal your optimism pretty quickly when you're not looking. It's something that the protective poppa in my wants to teach my kids, because I never want them to get hurt. However I know that A. that's not realistic - they will get hurt, and B. I never want them to be jaded or cynical.
The world is full of wonder and a parent it's my job to show my kids that. It's the reason I dust myself off and step right back up to the plate. My last book wasn't a home run. It was single and I got tagged on my way to second. Guess what? I'm lifting the bat back to my shoulder. I'm pointing out past the lights - always hope for that homer (no not the Dancing Homer - well him too) but we'll see where the ball goes this time. If every at-bat gets me a little further, that's progress, and that's success. I'm excited.
Today I was thinking about all this and an Imagine Dragons song came on. And I belted it out, windows down, at the top of my off-key lungs. It reminded me of something I wrote, 3 years ago yesterday coincidentally, as I was preparing to start the journey of my last book and the podcast I started as a companion piece.

It's a little long, and it's not about parenting. However as a dad who sincerely wants his children to dream and believe that they can do anything, I wanted to share it as today's post.


Imagine Dragons          

May 23, 2013  /  Bart A Scott
I admit it.  I’m stubborn.  I’m older than my years let on.  I can be a curmudgeon.  A fuddy-duddy.  I fancy myself an artist and therefore often find I turn my nose at those I perceive to fancy themselves artists in this hipster generation. 

And for that reason, I will admit that when I first saw there was a band called Imagine Dragons, I immediately rejected them and whatever they stood for.  How dare they choose a name I would have otherwise thought cool if not taken by some hipster, emo band of alt-rock minstrels posing as the next big thing?  Okay, maybe that’s a bit much.  In truth my reaction was more like:

“Imagine Dragons?  Um, already do.  All day.  Every day.  Gets me in trouble.  So no thanks VHI Artists I oughtta know.”

It takes a real man to admit when he was wrong. I can’t speak to the rest of the album, but yes, I am officially in love with their anthem, “It’s Time.”  Go ahead, click here and press play now . . .

Yeah that’s right, I said anthem.  It’s mine now, that’s for certain.  For whatever reason something compelled me to download it today, and while driving listen to it over and over.  Every line, every stanza resonated through me.  I get it.  At least I get what I’m supposed to get.  It brought me to my emotional knees.  I got misty-eyed.  This guy is me.  He’s talking about what I’m doing right now.  He’s singing about the journey so far . . .   

Many of you know the road I’m on these days.  A few years ago I was laid off from a dead-end, soul-crushing corporate job; my third layoff in five years.  This time with a young child and another (and soon to be another) on the way.  I was scared, angry, the usual.  But that time I was something else.  I was resolved. 

“So this is what you meant when you said that you were spent.”

My dream since I was a kid was to be a storyteller.  I saw when I said or did something funny, or when I wrote out a little story or drew a picture, people laughed and smiled.  My biggest inspiration growing up  was Walt Disney and the Disney Company.  I decided then that I had tried to play the game the way we’re told we’re supposed to, and look where it got me.  Especially in this economy, there’s no security and there’s certainly no loyalty.  And I’d turned my back on my dreams for this?
 

“And now it’s time to build from the bottom of the pit right to the top.  Don’t hold back!"

I declared that I would no longer do things the way I had before. It was going to be a year of doing things different. After all, following the established patterns had only led right back to the public dole. Certainly no commendations, no reward.

Yes, I would find a job to make sure I was contributing, keeping the family fed and sheltered. There were thoughts of going back to school, but I just knew there were stronger and stranger forces at play. It was like something was saying the door is open.

First, I needed a test.

I published a little novel I’d written when my son was born, and low & behold, it actually sold a couple copies. More importantly I got some of the most touching feedback, especially from parents of kids who’d read it. One even took it to school and did a presentation about it. That it made any money didn’t matter. It was that feeling. That fulfillment that I wanted, that fuels me. I’ve got a virtual drawer full of follow-ups to that one still awaiting some final polish, holes filled, etc. But I knew to soar I first needed to unchain my wings.

“Packing my bags and giving the academy a rain check.”

Twain said “Write what you know.”  What I know, to some degree or another is Disney, specifically Walt Disney World.  I’m not one of those who gets lost in the minutia (to me at least) of who designed what, how many bricks are in this walkway, what year this opened and that closed.  It’s not my thing.  All I know is how much I love it all, how it refuels my creative cells every time, and plasters a rictus grin to my face the entire time I’m there, even when I’m exhausted and my feet are throbbing.  I also know the reactions I get from people when they find out me, all 6 ft, buh-buh-buh-hundred lb. man of me, loves Walt Disney World. 

There it was.  The seed of creation.  The spark of inspiration.  A book about Walt Disney World for men. 

Seemed like a great idea.  I ran it by a trusted mentor, one I might mention already in the writing about Disney game who could have very easily said “scram kid, we don’t need another one around here.”  Instead he said it was indeed a great idea, and told me to lean in and charge, rather than retreat.  That was the boost I needed.

“It’s time to begin, isn’t it?”

Of course I still had to run it by my wife.  Hey honey, I’m going to take a week and spend a chunk of money to fly Walt Disney World by myself to research a book I want to write completely on spec.  How could that go wrong, right?

“This road never looked so lonely.  This house doesn’t burn down slowly.”

Where we come from, our backgrounds, our environment, people don’t write books.  They also don’t make movies or television, or write and record music.  Around here, those are things that happen elsewhere.  At least that’s the popular thinking that was drilled into our young heads.  So it wasn’t immediate, but she came around to it.  She didn’t understand it, but she got it.  Years ago she had a passion and wanted to start a business, and she did, and has been very successful.  She saw this was my turn.  Writing is my passion, and this book was a real dream.  It’s hard to explain to someone that being a writer is your business, but she did see it was a chance to focus this geeky obsession of mine into a product.  This was something I not only wanted to do, but it made sense.  It was something I had to do.  So it wasn’t much longer before I was on a plane before the sun came up, on my way to Florida with a full backpack, but also so much more riding on my back. 

                   “I don’t ever want to let you down.”

And now here we are, not even two years later, and that book is officially available for pre-sale on Amazon.  And will be on store shelves in the fall.  Is my next hope that it will be the greatest selling humorous travel guide of all time?  Well, of course it is! 

“So this is where you fell, and I am left to sell.”

The truth is I do hope many people read my book.  And yes, I’d prefer you buy it to stealing it, but we address that in an early chapter.  Either way, just read it.  Yes it’s a travel book.  But I promise it’s not what you expect.  Those are made by real writers.  People who paid attention in English class and understand the mechanics of the craft.  I’m not really a good writer.  I’m a storyteller.  Even when writing non-fiction.  My book is a little bit travel-narrative, a little bit guide book, and a handful of deranged tangents and flights of fancy.  The publisher has of course attempted to tame it a bit, still I don’t expect would-be travelers to read it with a highlighter or a notepad, carefully mapping out their next vacation.  If they do they’ll be lost.  It’s just fun, whatever your reason for reading it.  And it’s to get you to go.  It will hopefully answer the question of those who don’t get why so many guys like me do love Walt Disney World.  Listen I don’t make a dime from Disney for telling people to go there, but I want people to go anyway.  I’m still that kid who wants to bring laughter and joy to people, sometimes just by pointing them in the right direction.  I’m doing just that.  

  

“Turn in the rags and giving the commodities a rain check.”

Now that it’s almost ready for release, I will slowly get back to those other novels along with some other more fantastic ideas.  I can’t leave my own dragons alone for too long.  And yes, I’ve got a couple.  And we're still only halfway through the journey of this book.  But after nearly two years of working and sweating over it, I feel like (if you'll forgive the non-Disney reference) the white dragon in Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows when he finally broke free of his prison in the goblin bank in that great moment where he perched atop the building overlooking London and just let out a sigh of relief, as if to say "I made it."  Yes, there will be more books in the Ears of Steel brand too. 


I’m not stopping now.  Forty isn’t so far away, and my Twenties are long gone.  If not now, when?  If not me, who?  I won’t be constrained by the thinking that greatness is only for others.  That magic is only made by the established magicians.  That the best one can hope for is a healthy 401K at the end of the rainbow, and maybe 10 healthy years left to enjoy it.  Quite honestly, I owe it to my kids to show them they really can do anything they want.  Nobody instilled that in me, so it took me longer and with a lot of stumbles and falls to find it out for myself. 

“The path to Heaven runs through miles of clouded hell, right to the top.  Don’t look back!”

So now, on the knees of my heart, near tears I say to that band I once dismissed, thank you for reminding me.  Thanks for telling my story, as I imagine it is the story of many, many others. 

“I’m never changing who I am.”

Never again.


Imagine Dragons?  I am one.  Watch me fly.  Better yet, break your own chains.  Spread those beautiful wings and soar alongside me.  It’s our time.  It’s our world.


It's time to begin.


Isn’t it?

Birthday Girl

Wednesday is our youngest child, Macy’s birthday. She’ll be four. We already had a party –her sister Maya is only 14 months older, to the day. I’m starting to feel guilty that we aren’t really doing anything additional. Although we’ve left most of the decorations up and I’m sure we’ll get a cake or something. The question will be, will she remember she already got her present from us? It’s amazing how quickly they can forget little things like me saying “if we give you your present now, that’s it. Are you okay with that?”

Guess what. She said she was. Of course she did. She’s 3. She knew it was her very own tablet. Of course she said yes.

Truth be told, it’s very likely we’ll have a few little things for her on Wednesday just so it feels like a birthday. I like giving my kids things. Crazy, I know. Sure, I worry about raising spoiled children who don’t appreciate hard work (which is a dumb phrase anyway - I don’t appreciate it -I just know I have to do it every day or we’ll lose the house) and the value of money.

Honestly, I don’t worry about Macy so much. She’s a very sweet, appreciative kid. Those other two . . . well, let’s keep talking about Macy.

If you’ve kept up with this blog thus far, it’s not hard to use simple math and a little deductive reasoning to determine that she was what they call “a surprise.”  One that floored my wife and me. We had such a hard time even having one, that when we were fortunate enough to have two, we said we were through.

As John Lennon said, life is what happens when you’re making other plans. One winter’s eve, we were watching television after the kids were in bed, and my wife casually mentioned she’d gotten dizzy at work and almost fell down. She said she’d made a doctor’s appointment just to be safe. I asked her at the time, “you don’t think you’re pregnant . . . do you?” I should mention that a month or so before, I’d gone in for a procedure to shutter the baby-making business for good.

So of course my wife answered “no, of course not!”

Turns out, yep, of course so! Apparently the doctor said with a chuckle “hey, let’s do a pregnancy test just to rule that out.” Nope. Problem solved. Cause found. Bun placed squarely in oven.  My wife says she cried for ten minutes when she got the news – not because she didn’t want another baby – just that, we were already exhausted. We didn’t start having them until our 30’s and now we were both nearly in our 40’s. We already felt too tired for the ones we had. She called me and it was as if she was speaking in a dead or alien language. I couldn’t comprehend the word pregnant.

After doing a few laps around my office building, I called her back and said everything would be fine. We’d figure it out. We’d make room for three. After all, I told her I loved having kids (which I did and do) and would be happy to have three, four, even five if I felt we were financially sound enough for it. We weren’t of course. We’re still not. But screw it, you find a way.

Macy’s arrival was a bit turbulent. They scheduled an induction. We checked-in at the hospital early and we were there all day, and into the night. Nothing was happening. She didn’t want to come out. Then things went south. Our doctor, Vernon, said the baby’s heart rate was dropping . . . and cue the chaos.

One nurse pushed me back and the rest began yanking chords and plugs out of the wall and in a matter of seconds, my wife, the bed, and all those electronics were gone. I was standing in an empty delivery room with just one machine making an insane, screeching beep.

In his book A Pirate Looks at Fifty, Jimmy Buffett wrote “remember that it can all go to hell in an instant.” In that moment, I got it. Every “what if” scenario races through your head. I tried to tell myself “they do this all the time.” That didn’t make it any less scary. Just as the fact women give birth every day doesn’t make it any less miraculous and amazing. In the moment, I was terrified. I couldn't imagine losing either or both of them.

At first they told me I couldn’t go. It was an emergency C section and I had to stay put. Then a minute later a nurse returned with some scrubs and said they would let me in with her, and to put them on. The scrubs were medium. You may not know this, but I’m a big boy. I can’t get my thigh in a medium. I tried to put the shirt on and looked like Chris Farley doing “fat guy in a little coat.”

Someone scurried off to get my size from the tent and awning company down the road. They finally brought me my plus-sized scrubs and we raced down the corridor. As I finally entered, our doctor was leaving and he congratulated me on a beautiful (they have to say that – the thing is covered in strawberry jelly and crazy glue-like material) baby girl and off he went. My wife was shivering and overwhelmed, but she was okay too.

While her entry into the world was full of surprise and terror, Macy was the greatest baby. Although she did not like me the first month of her life. For a few weeks I couldn’t pick her up, feed her, or anything of the kind, without her having a full DEFCON 4 meltdown. An act of Mother Nature brought us closer together – I’ll tell that story another time. Now she’s the sweetest child, and has a face befitting the angel that she is. Most of the time. She loves to help others, make people laugh, and give and share freely. She’s been the greatest “surprise” of both of our lives.

So I’m happy to spoil her with an extra gift this year!

Married Single Parent

I’m a single parent.

I mean, I’m married and all – 14 years in fact. What I meant to say is I’m a “married single-parent.”

My wife and I both work, and work completely opposite schedules. I work a 9 – 5’er, Monday through Friday in a typical corporate American office environment. I’m also a published author and working on expanding my oeuvre. No that doesn’t require surgery. Oh, and I host two podcasts and will happily accept the occasional public speaking gig. Why not? Like that song in Zootopia, I want to try everything. Eventually I'll get something right.

My wife is a self-employed hair stylist, and a successful one at that. However her days tend to start late-morning or early afternoon and run into the night. She’s lucky if she gets home when one of our three kids is still up.

That means we’re both on our own, and dreadfully outnumbered most of our lives. The little time we get together during the week is usually after 10 PM and I'm ready to crash, having been up by 6 while she's wired and ready to catch up. We try to communicate pertinent information throughout the day, although that is often made harder by the fact that she’s working with her hands and can’t pick up the phone for hours at a time. I on the other hand am a “pencil pusher” by day and leap at any excuse to avoid real work.

Just kidding.

No, I’m not.

Mommy blogs have taken the world by storm, and even I find myself turning to a few I’ve come to follow for ideas, tips, or just commiseration. Odds are there are dads out there like me, who work all day only to come home to work again for another 3 – 4 hours, getting kids fed, washed, and into bed. All the while trying not to snap at them for wanting you to play when you just want 5 minutes to veg out (knowing full well that’s never going to happen.)
We have a 9 year-old son, Sean, who has already charted his course from Notre Dame to the NHL – where he gets the athlete gene I’m not sure because it isn’t from me. He’s also good at math. Another reason I’d demand a DNA test if he didn’t look like me.
Then we have two little girls, Maya (5) and Macy (4). One of them was a cherubic surprise. The other, her older sister, is a brunette agent of chaos sent from another world to wreak havoc on mankind as punishment for global warming and the music of Justin Bieber. They are all three the loves of my life – and I have to remind myself of that all the time.

Fortunately, my kids tend to be really funny too. Yes, every parent thinks that. Either their kid is funny, or their kid is a genius, or worse, their kid is a comedic genius. Well I’m not claiming any of mine are the reincarnated George Carlin, but people do tend to tell me I should compile a list of my funny kid stories and write a book. Well, I’m already elbow deep in book writin’ so a blog will have to do, for now.

Welcome to my world. Keep your hands and feet in the vehicle and remain seated until the ride has come to a complete stop.

                                                     

For the love of . . . just eat a green bean!!!

How do parents get kids that eat healthy?

Notice I didn’t say “raise” or “get them to” eat healthy. I think if your kid loves spinach, broccoli, or even green beans after the age of 4, you hit the kid lotto. We tried. We fed all of our kids nothing but fruits and veggies when they were babies. We weren’t going to make the “same mistakes” our parents made of feeding us junk.

In fairness I was raised on junk because it was cheap. That was the early 80’s. We ate a lot of frozen fish sticks because I guess they were cheap. Mom would make a big pot of chili with little noodles in it and that would last us days. And there were nights she went to bed without dinner to make sure we ate enough. I also recall bricks of unmarked cheese. Sad thing is, the “we eat bad because it’s cheap” excuse is still true and the same reason so much of our country is out of shape and sick all the time. But I’m so not the guy to get off on that rant.

Our son used to love green beans. I mean hard! He would inhale them. Del Monte were his label of choice. Cooked or cold out of the can, didn’t matter. They were like Reese’s Pieces to him as a baby through age 2 or 3. Then something happened. Almost overnight, he just decided that was it. He’d fulfilled his green bean obligation to us. Now they’re repellent to the boy. He’s similar to Buddy the Elf now in that he only has a couple food groups, and one of them requires syrup. Otherwise it’s hot dogs (which we have more or less put the kibosh on because, come on), chicken nuggets, and pizza. That was it for years.

Recently he’s added cheeseburgers (but only plain – meat and cheese) and steak. Even steak was a battle. “It’s the same thing,” I’d explain, “just different, and may I add tastier formatting.” By the way, I apologize in advance to any vegetarians or vegans who happen upon this. I admire your resolve, but I’m a big hairy carnivore, as are my young.   

All three of my kids are picky eaters. I never realized how frustrating it is. We try not to give in but there are nights just to avoid arguments I find myself cooking (and by cooking, I mean microwaving or boiling water for) three different meals. Breakfast is the worst. The only thing they’ll agree on is bacon. Go figure. Many days the extensive breakfast buffet I will lay out looks like this:

Just feel the high fructose corn syrup seeping through you, let it envelop you!

I admit I’m not the best role model. I love junk food. I’ve committed to really working on it, for my weight but also to try to be more of a role model. Maybe I need one of those books like Jerry Seinfeld’s wife wrote (or stole, allegedly) about disguising healthy food as junk food. We did try giving the kids mashed cauliflower as mashed potatoes. Didn’t work. What can I say? I make smart kids.

Although I might make a better example if I didn’t make videos like this!

Tablet addicts - The struggle is real

Six years ago, Steve Jobs stood before a crowd of shareholders, and really the entire world and introduced the next “big thing" – the iPad. I was skeptical.

One of his big highlights was the ability to download books. As a writer, I’m still in love with the feel of paper and biding in my hands. I love folding over a paperback to hold in one hand, or shoving one in the pocket of my cargo shorts on vacation. In my 30-something brain, I saw eBooks as the end of the civilized world.

Admittedly now that I’ve had a couple books in the marketplace and sold a fair share of digital copies, I’m less resistant. Funny how that works. Still, I’ve tried to limit my use of iPads and tablets. I have sausage fingers so I prefer an old-school keyboard. And being in my 40’s now, I have to admit reading on a screen isn’t’ always the most comfortable experience. Its bad enough I have to stare at one for every single one of my jobs.

However, all of my children discovered tablets at an early age. I don’t even know how it happened. They’d see one at a friend’s house – maybe a Leap Pad or some other form of educational toy device. Then it became the inevitable “can I play a game on your phone?” To which you think “well if it will keep them in their seat long enough for us to eat, sure.”

Now each of my children has their own tablet. My son has an iPad, and my daughters both have Samsung tablets (with matching pink cases and their names on the back.)  They are at once the bane of my existence (the tablets, not the kids) and often times my savior as I try to get dinner made for the three of them, or change out of my work clothes (I can only handle so many hours in business casual before my head explodes.)  Quite frankly sometimes I’m just tired and want to sit down and not play baseball or lacrosse or push someone on the swing set.

So yes, call me a bad parent. I sometimes allow more tablet time than I should because it makes for a good babysitter. I know, that’s probably the thing you wouldn’t want to admit in a proper parenting blog, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one guilty of it.

I know they should be outside getting fresh air and exercise, especially now that it’s spring. If they have to be inside, they should be reading (kryptonite to my son – don’t get me started) or playing some kind of game. Something that requires them to think and be creative.

But then I remember that when I was a kid, I had a screen for a babysitter too. You see my folks split when I was 5. I was primarily raised by a big wooden floor television with the silver knobs that “clunk-clunk-clunked” when you changed the channel. The only exercise I got was walking from the couch to the TV to change it. Kids today wouldn’t believe the inhumanity.

While I’m not defending such an upbringing, it was what it was. My mom was working her butt off to raise two boys in-between the occasional support check. On her day off, you know, the day she had to do laundry and clean, she would drop my brother and me off at the movie theater with a $20. We’d stay there pretty much all day, hopping from movie to movie. Truth be told, from age 5 to 18, I spent a huge chuck of my free time staring at screens, absorbing other peoples’ creativity.

While it did not create in me an athlete (or even someone with abs) it actually did fuel the creative side of my brain. Hence, two books in the market, full-time and freelance jobs in creative fields, and I’m kickass at trivia!  

Maybe that’s why at some point last night, or maybe early this morning (I was too tired to lift my phone and look) I heard rustling in my daughters’ room which is right next to ours. I could hear the muffled but all too familiar sounds of YouTube.  Even my sleepy, two-cycled weed whacker engine of a brain figured out quickly that my older daughter, Maya, had woken up, grabbed her tablet, and was in bed watching videos and playing her dress-up games. My brain told me I should get up, go yank it out of her hands and order her back to sleep.

But I didn’t.

I could tell you because I was still half-asleep and just too exhausted to move. And that is definitely part of it. But the truth; she’s my creative one. Her brother is a jock (don’t know where he got it) and her little sister, well, we’re still not sure. Maya is my artist. She paints, she draws, and she dances. As I often say, she is all my child. I see so much of myself in her, good and bad, that it terrifies me. Yet it also created a special bond in us. As much as she is responsible for 80% of my gray hairs, she is my girl, 110%.

I know how much she loves those silly videos of people opening weird plastic eggs with toys inside, or singing “Mommy Finger”, or creating crafts. As much as I should have, I could not take it away from her. How do I know where she will go with that information one day? Sometimes you just don’t want to sleep, so why not let her download some more brain food, even if some of it is just candy?

Frozen Question

I don't want to exaggerate here, but I've seen Frozen 7,232.6 times.

No, this is not an anti-Arendelle rant. I like Frozen. I think it's a great movie with a good message about the bond between sisters who are very different. I have two little girls at home. One only hopes his daughters will love each other the way Anna and Elsa ultimately displayed.

That said, I do have a problem with one major plot point. It will seem nit-picky to many; just a minor detail that I should get over. Nope. Can't get over it.

It isn't the snowman they made as children being resurrected years later, this time alive and sentient.
I have no issue with the boring rock trolls - other than the design was boring. Come on. You know it is. I think they were either in a hurry to get the movie made or running out of money.

The thing that bugs me about that movie, popular as it is around the world and in my living room, happens very early on, and it sticks in my craw the duration of the film.

How did Anna pay for all that stuff at Wandering Oaken's? She rushed out of the castle, hopped on her horse, and away she rode. How likely is it she had a few spare kroner stuffed in her dress? I've heard people try to explain it away as Oaken knew she was the princess and therefore would give her anything she wanted on credit, or even for free.

Really???

How would he know she was the princess? Did he see her on TMZ or in Us weekly? Oh right, no, because there was no electricity back then! Even if she identified herself after we left the store to follow Kristoff, what are the odds he would believe her? Why would the next in line to the throne be out in the wilderness, during a blizzard, alone?

I'm just saying . . .

Bath time

Our youngest, Macy, is about to turn 4 at the end of this month. She loves taking baths . . . except for the whole cleaning part.

She sits there wailing, screaming bloody murder while I simply attempt to wash her hair. I realize I'm strong but I make a point to use almost zero pressure. And I know it's not from soap running into her eyes - I'd sympathize with that familiar burn of youth. She just hates it. The very act of it. I don't know if it's due to her thin, blonde hair. Maybe she has a sensitive scalp. But she never complains of pain. Just the act.

Is this normal???

Her big sister, Maya, who inherited her follicles from me and has thick, brown, shampoo sucking locks doesn't mind it a bit. I'm the one crying because it takes so long to rinse her hair out. It holds onto the suds like there's a shortage.

The only way  I can get the little one to stop crying while I wash her hair is to agree to let them wash mine next. So once both of them are clean, and after I drain most of the dirt soup they're soaking in out of the tub, I refill it with fresh water and lean in up to my elbows, head hung over the tub.

It thrills them to no end. Oddly enough, while Macy always claims to want to follow in her mother's footsteps and be hairstylist (Maya often claims she wants to be a unicorn - that child is all mine) it is the older one who leads my beautification ritual. I get my hair washed and conditioned no less than three times. Sure, it's a waste of shampoo, but it makes them happy, and quite frankly my wife gets it at cost.

Then comes the styling, for which I'm not allowed to dry my hair first. That's all part of the package apparently. So I sit on one of their little beds while my hair is brushed back and forth, sideways, then back again. Ultimately I end up looking like a drowned rat, but sometimes I get a bow. #dadlife