Bad Dog, Worse Daddy…

To paraphrase Count Rugen, “You've got an overdeveloped sense of [humor]. It's going to get you into trouble someday.” Well in fairness, it’s already gotten me in trouble through the years. It’s the trouble it’s going to cause for my sons that concerns me. Graeme already has quite a bit of devilishness in him: from grinning at you as he does exactly what you just told him not to, to throwing food a mommy during dinner, to picking up his water bottle and shaking in upside down to “make it rain” on the floor (much to mommy’s delight). Liam is the sleeper, he’s not yet indulged in rampant misbehavior aside from refusal to stay in bed, but I expect that he will be the sarcastic sneaky cynical one. Let’s face it, it’s in the genetic code on both sides (I’m looking at you grandpas Tom and Al).

I can’t really blame it all on the Grandpa’s though. I expect that it will be the things I do and say that contribute most directly. Take for example my reaching my breaking point with “Carl”. There’s a wonderful (?) series of children’s books written by Alexandra Day about a Rottweiler named Carl. Written is actually too kind, they’re more directed and drawn by her and written by parents. Each book begins with the mother departing for some function or activity and leaving baby or toddler Madeline in the care of her Rottweiler. I know, it sounds like and ABC movie of the week recipe for disaster, but somehow Carl overcomes his carnivorous nature and outshines any caretaker short of a grandma. Baby/toddler Madeline goes shopping, swimming, to a petting zoo, and even a masquerade party all without mishap. That said, I hope no one in the less educated community mistakes this for a childcare manual or DFACS is in for a sharp increase in cases.

In any case, my real issue here is twofold. First, Ms. Day’s laziness (or perhaps mine). She writes one sentence on the first page of the book setting the scene and then one on the last page lauding Carl. In between are pages of color pictures that the reader (me!) has to make up a story about. Mommy is pretty creative and reliable, but with enough variety that the boys LOVE the Carl books. Daddy sticks to the general facts laid out in the pictures, unless it’s the twenty-fifth reading of the day and he’s only picked up the book to stem the squeaking tide of cries of “Kawal, kawal.” The demand for repetition is issue number two.

When I’ve reached my limit of Carl, I tend to editorialize about what’s happening. For example, mommy was not amused when “Carl’s Masquerade” (wherein Carl and baby follow mommy and daddy to a masquerade party) became a swingers event. Like the boys know the difference. However, I’ve given in and agreed to reign in my creativity for the sake of not having our sons expelled from preschool down the road (we’ll let the biting take care of that). What I continue to do, however, is day dream about grittier titles for Carl books that Ms. Day no doubt is working on this very moment. Here’s a comparison.

Ms. Day’s Titles:
Good Dog Carl, Carl Goes Shopping, Carl Goes to Daycare, Carl Pops-Up, Carl's Afternoon in the Park, Carl's Baby Journal, Carl's Birthday, Carl's Christmas, Carl's Masquerade, Carl Makes a ScrapBook, Follow Carl, My Puppy's Record Book, and Puppy Trouble

Daddy’s Titles:
Carl’s Crack House (I’m not stereotyping Rottweilers)
Carl and the Crips (No really)
Carl Meets Mike Vick (Okay, maybe)
Carl Gets Fixed
Carl’s Shock Collar
Carl Eats Yellow Snow
Carl’s Cannibalism (there’s an irritating yip-yip dog next door)
Carl and the Ladies from Decatur (some readers think Ms. Day already wrote this one)