Sprite's Keeper

It's her birthday, but it's MY party!

On Saturday, I brought Sprite to a one year old's birthday party. We had a good time and a lot of Sprite's school friends were there, but I noticed how elaborate the whole shebang was, and the expense the birthday girl's parents went through to celebrate their daughter's first year. The cake was a perfect (HUGE!) replica of her invitations. Balloons and streamers all over the pavilion shouted for all that she was being celebrated. The food was mountainous. The camera was set up on a tripod, aimed at her seat of honor, recording hours of people walking right in front of her seat. (I would hate to sit through the playback on that one.)  She, herself, looked pretty clueless as to why these people were congregated and sat in her adorned high chair, more confused than sociable.

That was when it hit me. Who was this party for? Her or her parents? Why did they spend so much money and time feeding other people and putting the entire thing together for it to go largely unnoticed and more than likely forgotten immediately by the guest of honor?

I'm going to throw myself under the bus here. (Would that be considered mental suicide? Whoa, way off topic. We'll jump that bridge another time.) When Sprite turned one, I flip-flopped between throwing her a party, having a small barbecue at my parents' who live on the East Coast (where everyone in our immediate family lives), or just coming over for the weekend and having a little cake and coffee (mm, Starbucks..oh, sorry!) get together for everyone to just see her.

Sprite had no idea what was going on (I read her diary. Unless she was faking it, she really was not clued in.) and would not know it was her birthday so would she really be missing anything?

In the end, I chose to go the party route. We threw a party at a park close to our family (and two hours away from our home) and had almost 50 guests (almost all of them either family or close enough friends in which they are considered family anyway) come by to greet the birthday girl and share in her day.

I remember thinking about that party every day for a month. We did custom invitations (by way of Snapfish) to let everyone know of the impending celebration. I ordered platters from Publix, Costco, and a local pizza shop to make sure everyone had a choice of food. I had a big box of goodies for the kids coming in lieu of goody bags, but there were candy bars, puzzles, little games, bubbles, you name it. My sister (who is an amazing baker) made 50 cupcakes and arranged them artistically with candy flowers to capture the garden theme I wanted to convey. Yes, I even had a theme!

I had plates and matching silverware. Juice for the kids, soda for the adults. Veggie platters, fruit platters. Balloons, tablecloths, banners, oh, my! This kid was covered.

John was wise and stayed away from the party planning. His involvement was budget. I couldn't go over a certain amount. $300.00 was his total.

I did stay under budget by canceling plans for a face painter and possible arrangements for a bounce house, and even I thought the Donald Trump impersonator was a little much, and the party went ahead as planned. We all had a great time, but the birthday girl looked less than impressed. She looked closer to pissed when I pressed her hand into her cupcake to capture the "Oh, look how my little darling made a mess of herself with birthday cake!" moment with my camera. She held her hand out to me with a look that said simply, Clean this. I didn't get my messy cake face picture after all. She then proceeded to fall asleep about 2 hours into the party ( She could have tried a little harder to keep up with us for the rest of the four hour fiesta, but negotiations broke down after the cake incident.) To keep her involved (on display), we set her pack-n-play in the middle of the shelter so everyone could see her, but she decided her rest was more important and snored the rest of the afternoon out. The nerve. 

We never opened presents, choosing instead to bring them back to my folks' house and open them later that night when Sprite was in a better mood and not feeling so cramped by people.

As I looked around at the mass of gifts, most of which she really didn't need, I got my reality check. This party was for us, not her.

Now, John will probably throw his two cents in and say how I masterminded this campaign and all he did was say, "Can you keep us out of the poorhouse on this one?"

This party was to celebrate the fact that we had kept our little one alive for one freakin' year! That was something to be celebrated! And look, she still has her fingers and toes! And you all thought I couldn't keep a HAMSTER alive! Hah! And ohmygoodnesswouldyoulookatthat, she's taking some steps! Celebrate me and my accomplishments! Yeah, she's the birthday girl, but I made her! Me! Me! Me!

(Wow, getting ahead of myself there. Taking a step back..surveying the damage. Yep, pretty bad.)

(Okay, moving on.)

I don't fault anyone for throwing their kid a first birthday party. I'm just observing and remembering what we did for Sprite, only my rose-colored glasses have been removed. And I am going to put them away until the next child is born and I conveniently forget the torment I put John Sprite through and make the new kid go through the same thing. (It's only fair.)

This year, much later this year, Sprite will turn 2. We will throw her another party, but more geared towards her. We will invite her playgroup friends (about 10 in all) over for a toddler tea party and cake. The entire thing will be under 2 hours and there will be no face painter or Donald Trump impersonator.

I'm still ruminating on the bounce house though.

I Hear the Secrets That You Keep When You're Talking in Your Sleep

I peek in on Sprite who's been asleep for at least a couple of hours. While I'm adjusting her blanket over her always restless legs, she starts to speak. (I wish I could repeat it verbatim, but the only word I can discern is "No". The rest of it is gibberish.) Oh, crap, I think, I'm busted again.

I lean over the crib to see her eyes since her face is turned away. Nope, her eyes are closed. I continue to watch for a few seconds. Still closed.

I turn away to escape and some more talking comes from her crib. John, who was on monitor duty, is now coming toward the room. I can see him through the closed french doors. I make a "I don't know" gesture and go back to check on her again. Still sleeping.

I sneak out.

"Is she all right?" John asks, quietly since we're still in front of her room.

"She's sleeping," I respond.

"But I heard her speak."

"I know. Her eyes are closed though."

"She's talking in her sleep?"

I again shrug my shoulders. "I guess so."

John smiles. "Another trait she's inherited from her mother."

Yup. I'm a sleep talker. So's my sister. We come from a family of sleep talkers with the exception of my dad who was not a sleep talker, but would respond to our questions while he was still sleeping (so I guess he was a sleep responder) and has agreed to some very unlikely requests like buying ponies or hamsters for his scheming daughters. (Hey, we were young. We had dreams. And he DID say yes even if his memory was foggy the next morning. On one occasion, I remember asking him if he was a Martian just to see what he would say..)

We used to be able to carry on conversations with my sister who would sit up in bed with her eyes open and talk earnestly to you even if you had no idea what was coming out of her mouth.

I have spoken to John on several occasions while asleep and he just thinks it's funny.

And now, I guess we add Sprite to the group.

However it does lead me to another question. In her dreams, does what Sprite says make sense to herself? I mention this to John and I think my exact words are "Even in her sleep, she doesn't make sense." I don't mean this cruelly. I just wonder if what Sprite says to us on a daily basis (we call it Sprite-talk, a mixture of non-sensical sounds with some familiar words thrown in) makes sense to her. Is she just making noise half the time or is she really trying to get a point across?

And why isn't this first in the baby books?

Baby's first tooth

Baby's first steps

Baby's first words

Baby's first sleep-talking

(I think I'll add it into the book, right under Baby's first sonata. Um, yeah, that one's still blank, but with the way she plays with the piano, we may be able to fill that date in after all..)

Making Emotional Ends Meet

From the moment I saw "Pregnant" in the window of the pregnancy test, I have thought about time. My own sense of mortality heightened as I realized what we were about to step into. Did I have enough time to devote to a child? Did I have enough time before the baby came to give up my selfish ways forever?

Were we kidding ourselves to think we could both work full time (since the economy and finances basically obliterated any chance of a one income family) and successfully raise a child? (And what constitutes success, the fact that your child is growing and achieving milestones or the fact that you've kept them alive or haven't tried to barter them off in exchange for a Prada purse?)

Everyone's doing it, my rational side whispered. There are families that make it work. Your own family made it work. John's family made it work. YOU can make this work.

I made up my mind. We would soldier on as our parents did before us. We would raise our little one with every confidence in the world that we were doing the right thing. (And the fact that I called our baby-to-be a parasite in the beginning should not count against me since, technically, she was, and I was riding high on hormones. Who knows what pregnant women say and mean? They're all nuts!)

Then we gave birth. And I fell head over heals, nothing else in this world matters, I must have been really good in my pastlife to get this blessed, God must have spent a little more time on you, etc, etc, etc. in love with my daughter.

Suddenly, the long, luxurious 12 week maternity leave became claustrophobic, cramped, the seconds reminding me that time was running out and reality was knocking. Oh My God, someone else is literally going to raise my baby! What the hell were we thinking?!

I had to go back to work. John had to work. We had to give up our living legacy into someone else's arms for 9 hours at a time and hope that they would answer her cries, tend to her whimpers, and love her as fervently as we did, but not fervently enough to replace us, as that would turn my green eyes red.

Since Sprite turned three months old, we have been relying on a day care center to help us raise her. I hate this. I hate this with all the strength in my being. I have a mental war with myself every morning over the pros and cons of Sprite being in day care.

Pros: Sprite is learning social skills that are invaluable in today's world. Her vocabulary grows exponentially due to the exposure she has to other children and other adults versus exposure she would have only to me on a daily basis.

Cons: I miss her. I miss her badly.

Pros: Sprite gets to play in structured groups and on toys that we simply don't have the space or money for at home. She also learns independence and learning to think for herself.

Cons: Someone else gets to watch my child experience firsts, firsts that I selfishly want to watch myself. (I couldn't give up ALL my selfish tendencies, right?) And I miss her. I miss her badly.

Pros: Sprite gets the best of John and me since she doesn't get ALL of John and me. (If that doesn't make sense, maybe this will. Since John and I know we have limited time with her during the week, we tend to be more patient with her outbursts and tantrums than someone who has just witnessed the 15th tantrum of the day and has had it up to here.)

Cons: John and I have to struggle with the fact that we don't have full control over what happens to our daughter or who our daughter has contact with every minute of the day. And I miss her. I miss her badly.

I also worry about Sprite starting to prefer her teachers to us. There is one teacher at her school she is particularly fond of. She already knows her name and says it regularly. We were at a party this past weekend and she called out this teacher's name while walking around, like she was looking for her. While I thought it was cute, I also wondered if this was something that could potentially become a problem. Could I lose my position as her favorite person by an unsuspecting teacher who is in charge of twenty-something other children and unaware that my daughter idolizes her? Or did Sprite possibly think that a party guest bearing a striking resemblance to this teacher was in fact her favorite teacher and she was just trying to say hi? (Heh heh, my emotions run away from me sometimes.)

John and I worry about how we're raising her, just like every other family unit out there. We hope that we're instilling the right values in her and that those values aren't being deprogrammed on a daily basis when she goes to day care.

We worry about her feelings for us. Will she harbor any resentment for the fact that we sent her to a day care center to be herded with other children while we went to work every day or will she appreciate what we had to do to provide her with a life we could never have given her if one of us wasn't working?

Then Sprite puts our minds at ease and reminds us in her own way exactly where we stand in her life. When she sees John or me, she shouts our names out in a way that makes the world right again. It makes us feel special. Hell, it makes us remember we ARE special.

We're trying so hard to make Sprite's environment a richer place, and while so many others focus on trying to make financial ends meet, we're trying to make sure the emotional ends are just as important.

This is a Bib

This is a bib.

This is a bib that caused a tantrum and is being taken away due to the child trying to put the bib around the beagle's neck which would have cut off her air supply.

This is the lack of the bib that caused the tantrum that is now increasing in volume, because the bib was taken away due to the child trying to put the bib around the beagle's neck which would have cut off her air supply.

This is the bib being brought back to the tantrum thrower in an effort to wave the white flag and bring peace back to the room.

This is a beagle. We warned her about the tantrum the child suffered due to the bib being taken away since the child was trying to put the bib around the beagle's neck which would have cut off her air supply.

The beagle is taking her chances...

Tunnel of Toddler

Sprite: Appear!

Sprite: Disappear!

Sprite: Appear!

Sprite: Disappear!

Sprite: Airee! Blue! Come here! (Hee hee!)

Blue: Mm hmm...

Sprite: Bet you can't find me!

Blue: You're kidding, right?

Harry: You're right there, kid.

Sprite: No, I'm not! I disappeared. You need to find me!

Harry: Nice try, kid.

Blue: I think we're going to go disappear.

Sprite: Stupid disappearing tunnel. That's the last time I buy anything from a five year old.

Hating the game, not the players

(Editor's Note: I read the comments on my WoW post this morning, and while most of the comments are very supportive of my WoW bashing ways, one really stood out. I mean, it was 900 pages long. It had to! So, I'm reprinting it since I believe it needs a response. This commenter and I have had many verbal sparring matches over the years. I respect the hell out of him, so it's okay if I rip into him a little. He won't mind. Honest!)

Alright Jen,   
(For those who do not know me, my humor is cynical which means a lot of screaming and finger pointing but in the end it’s just a rant that I’m having fun with. If this is offensive to someone please understand it is just a joke)

Let me try to explain and defend my friend John.  I know you are a very educated strong willed woman and living with you for several months, I know your personal time is spent doing things that you deem worthy.

I will start with your first paragraph.  Stealing time… What time?  The time you guys are watching TV together like a mindless drone, laughing at the jokes you have heard countless times in other sitcoms, talking about how you like a particular character in this TV drama and rambling about it for hours and hours afterward.  Does the show Friends and Scrubs ring a bell?  Would you call this quality time spent together?

TV, books and crochet are activities hence the word ACTIVE.  What WOW or any other game brings is interactivity. In a book the story is already laid out for you and you are vicariously living someone else’s life.  In a game you are control of the life and making decisions that govern how well this character evolves and competes with others, and god knows John could use some kind of decision making in his life even if it is in a pixilated world.

Would it be any different if he was a mechanic and spent this time in the garage building a motorcycle or hotrod? If he was doing the laundry and re-arranged the towels differently then what you are accustom to would you not complain about his folding skills? If he spent his every waking hour with you, would you not complain that he needs his own life and you need some space? The question you need to think about is before John started playing WOW what was your major complaint about him then?
 
I’ve been married for almost 12 years and alive for 36 and this is what I have noticed from both being married and watching my parents ... People get old, gas prices always go up, heath insurance is a joke, it’s always easy to pick on a world leader when living in a free country and wives will always complain about their husbands.  Truth be told, I said it, the cat is out of the bag. Come one everyone say it with me “Wives will always complain about their husband” Their we have said it, it’s kind of an eye opening isn’t it.

So pick your poison cause in the grand arena there are husbands that cheat on their wives, drink till they drop, neglect there fatherly responsibilities, get in to fist fights at the local pub, get arrested and much much more. If you can’t think of any others, then I suggest you turn on the local news. You live in south Florida, I’m willing to bet that within the 1st 5 min of the news there is a story of someone’s husband, boyfriend, or ex-husband that did something catastrophic.

You should be thanking your husband for picking a hobby that keeps him home in the house, with in ear shot and around in case there is a real problem. You should be thankful he is not out getting into trouble.

Don’t get me wrong, if he is neglecting his child, work, and you front yard grass is 8 inches long or he takes a 5 day vacation from work to sit in front of the computer with a 24 case of coke and a bag of cheetoes gaming away and only getting 2 hours of sleep a day… then yes, congratulations you actually have a real problem.

Let the guy have some fun, life is too short.

P.S. If you are OR thinking about scrubbing the grout out of your neighbor’s house I would suggest seeing a doctor cause your OCD has gotten way out of control and that my friend, is a real problem.

Love you guys miss you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ah, Richard,

My old roommate, husband to a wonderful woman, father to 3 beautiful children. (So I guess all your time wasn't spent gaming then, huh?) Discounting your political preferences, there's nothing bad I can say about you. About your comment, well, you're right. The fact that John is there if I need him (read paragraph um, somewhere in the middle, about the spider killing) is wonderful. He has never put the game over me or Sprite in many years. (Now, if you want to get into Diablo territory which I thought we buried years ago, you'll have to admit we had a problem.)
I have gotten over my Friends addiction and even stopped Tivo-ing old episodes (I mean, even I get a little tired of the Ross/Rachel cycle), but Scrubs remains a favorite (which you really should watch since Dr. Cox and you are remarkably similar-in a good way!).
My confession is, I have gotten used to having my evenings to myself. I use my treadmill, read, write letters to Sprite, campaign for literacy, the time is pretty much well spent. We've settled into a routine which I am very comfortable with.

I am completely aware of the levels of addiction and what it could be like and I'm very happy to say John is nowhere near that. He understands his priorities and he knows what comes first. (Did that just sound redundant? Yes, yes it did. Should I fix it? Maybe later.)

Oh, and one more thing I actually don't mind about the game. This game gives John a chance to be with his friends, even those who live states away. This game keeps him connected with you (one of our beloved friends) and others who have joined your GUILD. (That was correct wordage, right?)

I cannot fault him that. I cannot fault you. You two are both devoted fathers, husbands, and men. I am proud to have you both in my life. So, I refer to the title of this post when I say it's okay to hate the game, not the players.

I do take exception with one of your comments about controlling your character. Yes, reading a book is passive and you live vicariously through someone else's words while reading. However, controlling your character in a computer game is also passive (well, maybe passive aggressive since you all like to whoop ass on other players) since none of it is happening in real life. (There are also limited choices since everything your character does relies on the server's programming--ooh, that sounded geeky! Anyway, your character can only do certain things.You do not have the ultimate power. You have the power the server allows you to have.) There are people who live their entire lives as meek, understated individuals, afraid to make their own choices and live a reality, so they choose to enclose themselves into a virtual safety blanket of characters and power, none of which is real, and none of which will help them deal with actual society.

That is my problem with the game. While I can read and get into a book, and become engrossed with the characters, the book has a beginning and an end. The book ends, and I am back to reality, and the dishes are still not done, dang-it. With WoW, the game never ends. And I think this is where the addiction happens. Players get caught up in the game and don't know when to put it down since there is no ending. There is not really a way to just get up and say, "You know what? I'm done. I'm calling it a night." Nay, nay. There are more quests to be done, more enemies to slay, more characters to beat the ever-loving crap out of. (Reminds me of clubbing days when you saw the partiers who could not come to terms with calling it a night. They stayed until the owners or homeowners kicked them out.)

Maybe if WoW had time limits, and you were only allowed to get to certain areas within a 24 hour time span, us spouses and significant others would be more accepting of this pastime. (But then we wouldn't be able to complain about it. Life would be without drama. We as wives would have absolutely NOTHING TO NAG ABOUT!!! Scary stuff, that.)

And now, unlike the game, this response must end.

I must get back to the dishes and the laundry and the grout cleaning, and crap, there's that spider again..

With much love and respect, (And a guilt trip-it wouldn't kill you to visit!)

a Wife Aggro

What's the number for Mensa?

"Jen, you have to see this!"

John comes into the office where I have cruelly stolen his computer to play on my blog while his character on World of Warcraft gets slaughtered for standing still too long. (Eh. I'll mourn later.) He is followed by Sprite who wants to be on my lap and tapping the keys (because buttons must be pressed!).

"You have got to see what she can do."

He positions Sprite in front of him and then opens the board book to show Sprite the first picture. (What I am about to write next is exactly what happened and exactly how it was said. Yes it is, John.)

John: What's that? (He points to a picture of an orange.)

Sprite: Apple.

John: That's right! An orange. (flipping to the banana on the next page) What's that?

Sprite: Apple.

John: Ba-na-na.

Sprite: Nana.

John: That's right! Nana!(flips to the next page to show the kite) What's that?

Sprite: Dat.

John: That's right! Kite! (flips to next page to show the heart) What's that?

Sprite: Dat.

John: That's right! Heart! (flips to last page to show a stop sign) What's that?

Sprite: Top it.

John: That's right! Stop it! You're so smart! Jen, isn't she smart?

Me: John, she didn't say the words right.

John: She's nervous. She did it all just now.

Me: (rolling eyes)

John: Come on! For seventeen months, this is amazing!

I laugh. John is hurt by this.

I'm sorry, John. Yes, our daughter is brilliant. I'll start looking into Ivy League schools tomorrow. Forgive me. I love you with all my dat.

I'll top it now.

Wow, I hate WoW

World of Warcraft. (Anger building....)

If you like the game, you should really stop reading now. Yes, now.

If you don't like this game, read on. (And hi! I think we'll get along just fine.)

If you hate this game with all the heat of a thousand suns, I love you, kindred spirit. I'm about to trash it. Make sure you're wearing your safety goggles. Big purple elephants are gonna get hurt...

John has been playing this game for months now and it has taken residence on our computer screen every night, clogging John's mental arteries, stealing our time together, and making me pissy.

He logs on every night at 8pm, earlier if I can't get to the computer fast enough. We have had (playful) shoving matches trying to trip each other over, both of us racing for the machine. Whoever sits in the chair first wins. I usually lose. A lot. (Especially the nights when it's my turn to give Sprite her bath. John, you're SOOO busted...)

In his defense, he does wait until Sprite is in bed (most of the time unless counting the above occurrences) before heading to his addiction. So, I'll give him that.

I just don't understand the draw of this game. For those unfamiliar (consider yourselves lucky) with World of Warcraft, it is an online role playing game (Akin to Dungeons and Dragons, only you get to play in your underwear since no one is physically there with you...except the wife in the background who is plotting your motherboard's death) in which your goal is to complete levels. There is no winner (because that would mean the game ends at some point. And this game does not end, hence my hatred.). There is only surviving. You perform certain quests, you make friends with the other online players, form cliques and alliances (like public school, only on this, you pay a monthly fee for the social torture you spent years trying to escape) and you can even be good or evil depending on your preference.

There are races and species of characters, villages, entire cities, magic performed, etc. This game seems to offer many parallels to reality, except it ISN'T.

Millions of people are addicted to this game. That's right, I said ADDICTED! Divorces have been finalized due to this game. Lives have been lost due to this game! (Okay, not literally, but there are people on this game who spend DAYS living in their alternate universe, not caring that reality is just beyond the 19 inch screen they are so focused on. I imagine these people see everything in pixels.) (Ooh, wait. I CAN relate! I used to play Tetris on Nintendo. And after playing the game for a while, I would start to picture everything around me as if I were still playing the game. I used to dream about Tetris. "The Simpsons" had an episode where Homer went through the same thing trying to cram a slew of garage sale purchases into his car after playing Tetris. Very cool episode...AND we're walking..)

I have stood behind John and watched his character for minutes before I thought of something better I could do. (clean my bathroom grout...clean my neighbor's bathroom grout...)

Did you know the characters have to walk everywhere? John's character doesn't just begin another quest right after he finishes the last one. He has to get to it first.(Like visiting relatives who live one state over.) They walk or ride their big purple elephants (I think there are different options for these creatures, but John prefers something that looks like an elephant and it's purple, so there you go.) to get to the next village or wherever the next quest begins. John says this usually takes about 20 minutes or so depending on where he's going. That's right everyone, twenty minutes of walking and watching the virtual terrain pass you by. This mean he spends a good part of his time staring at his character's butt as his character walks or rides to his next adventure. (Oh, yeah, you can personalize your character's appearance too. John's character has a very well developed hiney and not much fashion sense. Honey, Rainbow Brite went out in the 80's.)

The characters can team together with others to complete a quest or just gang up on an unsuspecting or weaker character and beat the virtual snot out of him. (Online bullying even affects this game!)

John told me that his character gets killed several times a night, sometimes several times within an hour. (If you pause the game to pee, get a drink, put your eyes back into your head, your character can get killed just for standing there. He often needs backup to protect his character when he has to pause. ..Can we say virtual gang violence?) He then becomes a ghost and is sent to a graveyard to be resurrected, and then he can go right back to what he was doing. Which was walking, basically.

John and I have bickered over this game. A lot. We have an agreement for the most part. Saturday through Thursday, he gets to play from Sprite's bedtime until 10pm. I'm not allowed to bother him during this timeframe unless I need his help immediately (like killing a spider) (or taking out the dogs) (or "Honey, I think we need to paint the bedroom. Would you like to look at some paint samples?") or there's an important call.

On Fridays, he gets to stay up as long as he wants to play the game until his gaming buddies realize, whoa, they actually have a life they need to get back to, or John falls asleep. And I won't bother him. Really, I'm very good about this.

Sometimes, he forgets and goes beyond his time limits and I have to come after him to stop suckling at the game server's teat and come to bed. I don't like to do this. And my attitude about it usually tells him in no uncertain terms that I don't like to do this.

I'm trying to be a good wife and let my husband have his hobby, but this game just pisses me off. We have several married friends (John has tried to recruit me into this cult of theirs, and failed) who game together and have a lot of fun with it. They spend their time together virtually. (I guess dinner and a movie are just so passe now, huh?)

John wouldn't want me on this game anyway. I would make his virtual life a living hell. I'd have my character go after his character just to nag him about taking out the trash. While walking or riding our big purple elephants to the next quest, I would keep telling him to turn the radio station or "let's pull over somewhere, I gotta pee". I would bring snark into a realm where snark has never dared to enter. (No, I'm not going to. I actually love my husband despite his stupid gaming ways and I'm just not interested in wasting my evening hours on this when I could be cleaning the afore-mentioned bathroom grout.)

I guess I just don't see why so many people would choose to exit reality and enter this virtual world where nothing you do actually impacts your life. The game does not increase your social skills, because, let's face it, you are still alone in your own home and projecting yourself or who you wish you could be into a pixelated being that will always only be a figment of your virtual imagination. This game will not make you smarter. This game will not make you richer (unless you sell your character on Ebay to some really stupid schmuck who will buy virtual merchandise just so he doesn't have to take the time to complete the levels himself). This game will not help you network. And if it does, um, yeah, not going to wrap my thoughts around that one.

Okay, I'm winding down. My rant is done. I have to get off the computer now because John is right behind me wanting to get back to his game. Looks like he has a lot of walking to do. And I'm heading to my treadmill, because, frankly, so do I. (Is there a correlation here? .... Nah!)

(By the way, if I've gotten any of this wrong or misquoted something about the game, I really don't want to know or be corrected, because, honestly, I DON'T CARE!)

(Oh, and John, if your gaming buddies have your character meet them in the back of some alley in the netherworld for a beatdown cuz your wife snarked on WoW, um, have fun!)

Kids are walking advertisements.

"Chirry."

"Chirry."

I have been hearing this word for weeks. I had no clue what she meant, but I should have seen it. The common denominator was there all along. I just glossed over it until last night, it finally made sense.

Sprite brought over a book to read with me last night. It was a Christmas book featuring the classic children's snack/cereal/put something in their mouths to keep them quiet for two heartbeats, Cheerios.

Sprite gets it. And now I get it.

Man, talk about product branding.

(I'm still buying the generic Toasty-O's though. Sorry, kid.)

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Last night was a revelation for me.

A question I had been asking since childhood was finally answered and I was privy to this information by pure coincidence.

A question that had gone public in the 70's, was finally answered by a group of Perdue University students who weren't even twinkles in their mothers' eyes back then.

These students, most likely majoring in Physics, discovered the secret to a mystery plaguing civilization since the days before Punk Rock.

They discovered how many licks it took to get to the tootsie roll center of the tootsie pop.

I hope these students earned an A, because this is obviously the gateway to discovering more secrets the world may otherwise never know.

For their next project, the students will find a way to build a fuel-efficient vehicle that gets 100 miles to the gallon and emits a bubble gum scented steam, thus reducing our carbon footprints.

When I was in college, the teachers were impressed when we SHOWED up to class in the first place.

I feel old.