Why We Should Run Everywhere, All the Time

There’s nothing good about winter. If you try to convince me otherwise I’ll just disagree and tell you that you’re wrong, because I just said there’s nothing good about winter. So don’t tell me sledding, and hot chocolate, and snowball fights, and cozy blankets.Those are just the lies we tell ourselves to justify not moving to someplace warmer.Of all the sucky things about winter, perhaps the suckiest is the horrid discomfort we endure every time we’re dumb enough to leave a heated building. Whether it’s walking twenty feet from our house to our car (where we get to freeze until it warms up), or doing something outside that actually requires us to leave warmth for more than a few seconds, I’m sure I’m not the only person silently—or loudly—cursing.However, I had a world-changing premonition the other day, and I have the cold to thank for it.It came to me in a parking lot. My wife and I were leaving a store, walking to the car, when she suddenly decided she wanted to go into the adjacent store. “Let’s go over here,” she said, while turning her back to me, and taking off in a sprint.I thought we were going to the car, and she took off so fast, that by the time I realized she wasn’t next to me she was already thirty feet away. I turned toward her and walked a few steps, but she kept running, and I didn’t want to be left behind, so I started running, too.As we ran across the parking lot, and then along the sidewalk to the adjacent store, I thought, “People who just see a woman running away from some dude probably think I’m trying to rob her or attack her.”Luckily no one with an itchy trigger finger mistook me for a criminal, so I caught up to my wife without being pumped full of lead.But as we walked into the store I wondered why two people running through a parking lot should look unusual at all. Let’s ignore the question of whether I looked like a shady criminal. Whether passersby thought I was some ne’er-do-well or just a guy trying to keep up with my wife, I’m sure they thought we looked kind of silly running in a situation where almost everyone else walks.It shouldn’t be that way though. Everyone should run. Everywhere. All the time.Think about the last little kid you saw. Like a kid between just learning to walk, and five or six years old. Chances are that kid ran more than he or she walked.Kids love to run. From the time they’re staggering around on unsure footing, little kids are anxious to run. My four-year-old daughter frequently runs from room-to-room so effortlessly that I’m certain she isn’t even thinking about it.Yet, I didn’t see anyone except for my wife and me running in that parking lot. I’ve been paying attention to parking lots in the six days since then, and guess how many runners I’ve seen? Zero.So what happened between the time when we just learned to walk and now?I’ll tell you what happened. Someone said, “Slow down.” As in, “Slow down, you’ll trip!” Or “Slow down, the living room isn’t a playground.” Or “Slow down, no running in the house.”Well no wonder kids stop running. Those damn adults always go and ruin it for them. And take it from an adult who runs for fun: as soon as you stop running regularly, it becomes much more difficult to start running regularly.Imagine if we didn’t ruin it though. We might all run! All the time. Everystinkin’where!If we encouraged kids to continue running, you might never see another sullen teenager walk to the waiting bus while you sit behind the wheel of your car and wonder if he could walk any slower. Your mailman might deliver the mail to your door hours sooner than he does now. You’d be able to sleep five minutes longer in the morning because you’d cut your walking commute time in half.And don’t forget about the health benefits! Studies show that just 30 seconds of all-out exercise can do wonders for your health. Could we see drastic reductions in obesity, diabetes, heart disease, and crankiness if everyone did a few 30 second sprints every single day of their lives?I know, I know. You’re thinking, “I can’t run.” And you might be right. But that’s because you don’t run. You haven’t run in a long time. But what if you’d ran every single day since you learned to walk? I bet then you’d be able to run.And I bet you’d feel better than you do right now.Don’t believe me? Well, I was right about winter wasn’t I?PREVIOUS POST: 2015 Will be my Year of Doing WithoutIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: What I'm Thinking about When I'm Running+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Well, well, well. Look who's not running right now. That's right, it's you! Since you're not running anyway, how about you Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others. You can also find tons of other posts by me here. And you can like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes. Please.

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2015 Will be my Year of Doing Without

I’m not a New Year’s Resolution guy. When you’re perfect, you don’t make New Year’s resolutions.Okay, resolution #1: Try to be more modest in 2015.I’m kidding. I know I’m not perfect. It’s a joke. Maybe you should resolve to get a better sense of humor in 2015.But seriously, I’m not one to make New Year’s resolutions. I have no particular objection to them. If you want to lose weight or stop smoking or learn to play the banjo, then the advent of a new year provides a keen symbolic jumping off point. And I hope you’re able to stick with your resolutions so you’ll be a svelte, banjo-playing non-smoker in no time flat.So instead of doing resolutions, I’ve set out to do something else. Something that will present a challenge. Something that will make me think. Something for which the consistent answer to the question “Why are you doing that?” will be, “Just to see if I can.”I’ve decided to make 2015 the Year of Doing Without.The inspiration for this has built over the past few months, but began one day in late September. My wife and I enjoy trying different beers, and some of them are so good we have to drink more than one or two. And after a night in which we had more than two, my wife said, matter of factly, “I’m not going to drink in October.”This was a surprise to me because we’d never discussed it before. Why the sweeping declaration seemingly out of the blue?She had a few valid reasons. We’d had more than one night in which we drank more than two beers during September. So why not take a break, both to show your liver that you don’t really hate it, and also just to do something different? As an added bonus, those forthcoming drinks in November would taste even better after not having had any for an entire month.Over the course of the following month, my wife did not drink. Not even a drop. We talked about it a few times, but she always reminded me, “It’s Drytober.” Due to a coincidence of the calendar, we already had a party scheduled at our house on November 1. And she drank a few beers that night, picking up where she left off in September, having completed her Month of Doing Without.A month later, on November 30, near midnight, I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. As a faithful reader of this blog, you’ll remember that I really like PB&J. As in I eat one almost every day. While I ate my sandwich, with my wife’s Drytober idea on my mind, I told her that I planned to forgo peanut butter and jelly for the month of December. And with only one more day to go, I’ve kept my word.So what’s the point of this? Two things.Although I’m not religious, I guess part of my thinking is somewhat related to giving up something for Lent, the purpose of which is to instill self-discipline as a penance for sins. I’m not too worried about being forgiven for my sins, but I think deprivation can be useful.We live in a world where we kill perfectly good trees just so we can keep them in our living room for a month and decorate them. More than 780 million people in the world don’t have access to clean water, yet we use water to keep our grass green. Every year 2.6 million children die of hunger related causes, yet three times in the past month I’ve eaten a meal so large that I felt physical pain from being too full.How does my abstinence from peanut butter and jelly for a month change that? It doesn’t.But every time I made a sandwich for my kids and thought about making one for myself I thought about it. And for that instant I appreciated what I have even more.And the second reason is just to challenge myself. We’re creatures of habit, and change can be difficult. Why not try something different just to see if I can do it?So 2015 will be my Year of Doing Without. Every month I’ll choose one thing to do without. For the first month my wife is joining me in doing without any food that comes from animals. Beginning at midnight on New Year’s Eve, I’m vegan for a month.We’ll see how it goes. I’m already beginning to see some of the challenges of being vegan, which I’m embracing with an “It’s only for a month” line of thinking. If nothing else it’s going to require that I pay more attention to the food I’m eating.I haven’t thought much beyond January, since going vegan is a big step. (And an annoying one at that. Nothing elicits a bigger eye roll from most people than hearing someone say that they’re vegan!)I’ll probably give up beer one month. Maybe sweets another. A month without television would be fun.And what about the Internet? What happens when a blogger makes giving up the Internet part of his Year of Doing Without?Stay tuned.PREVIOUS POST: That Time my Parents Thought I was KidnappedIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: My Favorite Year+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Hey, did you like reading this? If so, you should Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others. You can also find tons of other posts by me here. And you can like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes. Please.

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That Time my Parents Thought I Was Kidnapped

It sounds like a bunch of nostalgic crap coming from some old guy, but nostalgia’s never crap and I’m not that damn old, so pay attention.When I was a kid in the mid 1980s we had a sort of freedom that most kids today don’t enjoy for a variety of reasons. One of the most vivid memories of my childhood illustrates the danger of such freedom. It’s as frightening to me today as it was twenty-seven years ago, but for different reasons.I spent part of my childhood in Springfield, Illinois. Honest Abe’s stomping grounds. We lived in a protypical eighties neighborhood that was still expanding. If you’ve ever seen The Goldbergs it was just like that.I lived in a duplex on Austin Drive with my parents and two sisters. There were plenty of other kids in our neighborhood: the O’Sullivans, a brother and sister who were jerky quite often, but who attracted friends with their in-ground swimming pool; a kid from the next street over about whom the only thing I remember is that he had one testicle (kids are horrible); and a Jewish girl who once broke our garage door window while I sat right beneath it, showering glass down upon me.(Side story: I knew she was Jewish, but had no idea what that meant. I got a better idea of what it meant when I went to her house to try and sell Christmas cards for school. I made my pitch and her dad said, “We’re Jewish.”)Anyway, I had two close friends. One named Stephen, and one named Sam. This story involves Sam. That’s his real name. I haven’t changed it to protect his identity.Even though we lived in an established neighborhood there were still a few empty lots on our block, and a whole tract of empty land near the back of the neighborhood. Although I’m sure these houses were being built for families, we believed that they were being built for our entertainment. Hence the variety of shenanigans we enjoyed on these construction sites.There was the time Sam and I pushed a button on a piece of heavy equipment (a bulldozer or something) and the thing actually tried to start. We high-tailed it out of there, praying that it wouldn’t start and drive itself across the field.And the time that I took a dirt clod to the forehead and my well-meaning sister convinced me that my parents would never find out. She’d just hide me from their view for the next two months until it healed. How do you think that worked out?And the jerky construction workers who told a bunch of us that they were building a McDonald’s in the middle of the neighborhood. We had our hopes up for the entire summer while they worked on that McDonald’s. We held out hope until a family moved in. Needless to say, the Golden Arches never appeared.But the best part of a neighborhood under development was the dirt trails. They seemed miles away back then, but a quick check on mapmyrun.com tells me that they were only about three-quarters of a mile away. Still, far enough.Sam and I rode our bikes to the dirt trails many times. They were adjacent to a major state route, Illinois 4. There were a couple of different trails, with jumps and turns. It was awesome! And since it was awesome, our parents of course told us not to hang out there. Danger or something. Probably the same reasons they told us not to hang out in houses that were under construction.Sam and I were badasses though.So one afternoon we decided to go for a ride. Well, we were already going for a ride. We just decided to extend it.Sam lived a few blocks away from me. We were playing at my house, and we decided we wanted to go to Sam’s house. So we told my parents we were going to Sam’s. Then on the way we decided to go to the dirt trails.We took a little detour and rode to the dirt trails. And it was magnificent. In my mind we rode like we’d never ridden before. We made monster jumps, wicked turns, and kicked up more dust than Oklahoma in the 1930s. No doubt we were the kickassing-est eight year olds in the world.And the great thing about the dirt trails was that no one ever messed with us. Sometimes there were other kids there, but since it was on the edge of the neighborhood, and there weren’t any houses within a quarter mile, we could ride without being hassled by buzzkill adults.Until that day.Sam and I were having the time of our lives. Then we heard a car revving its engine off of Lindbergh Boulevard. It was going much too fast, and looked like it might be trying to do its own tricks. Sam and I paused and watched, still not frightened, but more like impressed.And then the car passed us. And it drove up over the curb and into the grassy field across the street from us, swerving back and forth. The kicker: the driver was dressed like a clown. Colorful shirt, white face, wig. Clown. Scary as hell.Sam and I looked at each other and probably crapped ourselves. We hopped on our bikes and rode back to his house.Luckily the clown did not follow.We made it back to Sam’s house and we were greeted by his older brother, Matt, who said something like, “Where have you idiots been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Brett’s parents called looking for him, and we told them you guys never got here. I checked the basement of that house under construction to be sure you guys didn’t fall and die.” Then to me, “You better go home. Everyone’s looking for you.”Holy cow.The ride back to my house suddenly became much farther and took forever. As I rode down the street it seemed like the entire neighborhood was in its front yard, watching me, and probably thinking, “There’s that little jerk Baker boy. What a doofus.”My parents and sisters were in the front yard. Our neighbors—three of whom were police officers—watched as I rode up my driveway.I don’t remember anything after that. I got in trouble. My parents’ worst punishment was always silence, so I'm sure that’s what I got.Well that, and one of the best memories of my childhood.I wrote this one as part of ChicagoNow's monthly writing exercise. The challenge: "Write about a favorite memory from your childhood."PREVIOUS POST: Enjoy the Holiday Season Before it's Too LateIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: How to Make Sure your Kids Aren't Jerks+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Hey, did you like reading this? If so, you should Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others. You can also find tons of other posts by me here. 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Enjoy the Holiday Season Before it's Too Late

I love this time of year. The weeks from Thanksgiving to New Year’s are a whirl of activity, and we love every stinking minute of it. To paraphrase Joe Biden, Christmas in the Dry it in the Water house is a big f$&%ing deal.Over the years we’ve implemented a number of holiday traditions, and this year each of those traditions has been particularly fun. Putting up the tree on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, the trip downtown to enjoy the Christmas festivities, making gingerbread houses, baking Christmas cookies, and wrapping presents have all helped make me so jolly I can barely stand it.Our annual drive around town to enjoy the Christmas lights is coming up as well, and although the kids are having fun with Buddy—the Elf on the Shelf—and the freedom of Christmas vacation, they just might explode if they have to wait much longer for the big day to arrive.But while I feel like I’m even more joyful this year than in years past, I’m also more thankful. More grateful. More appreciative.And I think a big reason for that is that this year I’ve noticed a lot more people who view the holidays as something to be endured rather than enjoyed.I don’t know if I’m just paying attention more this year, or whether I’m actually hearing more people discuss their Christmas doldrums, but these are holiday feelings with which I am not at all familiar.I’m sure part of it is just my personality. I’m a rather easygoing guy, and if I can choose between having fun or dwelling on the reasons that I’m not having fun, then I’m going to choose having fun. And I also make conscious decisions to recognize, absorb and appreciate whatever’s happening during a particular moment because life will never be like that again, no matter what’s happening.However, I’m also incredibly lucky. I’m lucky in being a “look at the brightside” sort of fellow, but I’m also lucky that I haven’t encountered the tragedy, tribulations and heartache that make the holiday season so difficult for many people.It’s easy for me to say, “The holiday season is so much fun!” I’ve got a great life. Unlike so many people in this country and around the world I don’t worry where my next meal is going to come from, or whether my neighborhood is safe, or whether I’ll be able to get treatment if I get sick.But even more than that, I feel complete. I’m not longing for a loved one no longer here. There will be no empty chairs at my table on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.And I can’t imagine a greater gift than that.It’s difficult to put oneself in other people’s shoes sometimes. Crabbiness and sadness usually have an underlying cause. Ebenezer Scrooge wasn’t born saying “Bah humbug.” Life happened.The great difficulty is to avoid letting what has already happened negatively affect how we experience what’s happening right now. Easier said than done, I’m sure. What we know we should do, and what we can do are sometimes two completely different things.Time is an obsession of mine, and I’m always thinking about it. How many years until retirement? How many summers do my kids have left before they lose summers to adulthood? How many more Sleep In Saturdays?I enjoy the holidays so much because of the answer to one question. How many more Christmases do I have left with my family? Actually, I don’t know the answer. But I do know that on Friday I’ll have one fewer Christmas left than I do today. And that’s enough for me to do everything I can to enjoy today.My wife doesn’t have a blog, but in a Facebook status that’s just 85 words in length, she has summed up everything I’ve been trying to say for the last 650 words:As the hustle and bustle of holiday prep comes to a grand finale I can't help but reminisce about past Christmases. I wish we had one more to celebrate with those who are no longer here—to revel in their company and make memories one last time. That's not possible, so I'm trying to make a conscious effort to enjoy the time we have with family and friends, holidays or not. We're all "busy," but in the end our loved ones are all that really matters.PREVIOUS POST: My Interview with North Korea's Kim Jong UnIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: I Suck at Christmas Shopping but my Wife Doesn't+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Hey, did you like reading this? If so, you should Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others. You can also find tons of other posts by me here. And you can like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes. Please.

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My Interview with North Korea's Kim Jong Un

With all of the hubbub concerning the Sony film, The Interview, which is about a plot to assassinate North Korean leader Kim Jong Un, and the associated massive computer hack, I thought it might be interesting to talk to Kim. I have no connections, but I figured if Dennis Rodman can do it, so can I.So I just called North Korea (the phone number’s available on the inside of the back cover of your most recent hard copy phone book), and after a few disconnections and transfers, I got the man himself on the phone. Here’s my interview with him.Dry it in the Water: Hello? Is this Kim Jong Un? (Momentary silence.) Am I speaking with Kim Jong Un?Kim Jong Un: This is Kim Jong Un, Supreme Leader of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. Who the hell is this?DiitW: I write a blog. It’s called Dry it in the Water. Maybe you’ve heard of it. (Silence again.) ChicagoNow. (Silence.) Chicago. In Illinois. Land of Lincoln. (Nothing.) Dennis Rodman. Michael Jordan.KJU: Ahh, Chicago. Yes, Chicago Bulls.DiitW: Right, right, right. Before we get started, can I ask, what should I call you?KJU: I am Kim Jong Un, Supreme Leader of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.DiitW: Yeah, yeah. I know that. But you’ve got to admit, that’s sort of a mouthful. Besides, when I hear Supreme, I think of pizza. And I don’t even like supreme pizza. Too much sausage and pepperoni. I’m more a veggie guy. So what else can I call you?KJU: I am Kim Jong Un, Supr…DiitW: Oh, wait a minute! I’ve got it. I was just looking at your name, and if we just move the space, then all of a sudden you become Kim Jon Gun. Jonny Gun. That’s much better. Much more menacing, don’t you think? No one’s going to mess with a guy called Jonny Gun. You could be Sly Stallone’s partner in the next Rambo film.KJU: Sly Stallone?DiitW: Never mind that. You’re not a sidekick. You’re a star. You need your own movie. How about Jonny Gun: Mr. Crankypants?KJU: No movies. Ask Seth Rogen how I feel about your American movies.DiitW: Well, since you brought it up, what’s the deal with that? I mean you look like such a jolly guy, I’d guess you had a better sense of humor. It’s a joke. The CIA isn’t sending reporters to kill you.KJU: Not funny.DiitW: You’re under too much pressure, aren’t you? Is that why you don’t see the humor in such things? Granted, I’ve heard it’s not that great of a movie to begin with, but it’s not like you’re getting the cream of the crop over there in NK, right? I mean you’re probably still watching films like Ernest Goes to Camp.KJU: I love that one!DiitW: See, I knew it! Hollywood movies have come a long way since then, though. You should give them a shot. I understand all that pressure you’re under though. I mean your grandpa and your dad were beloved in your country. You’ve got big shoes to fill. Well, actually, they’re probably not that big, since you’re so short. You’ve probably got small feet, too, huh? And small feet probably means…well, I don’t want to spell it out.KJU: Enough! Do not disrespect the Supreme Leader.DiitW: Easy there, Jonny Gun. I meant no disrespect. Why don’t you have a drink to relax though. Just sort of take the edge off, calm down a bit. Do you have gin over there? That’ll do the trick.KJU: I don’t need to take the edge off.DiitW: Hey, here’s another fun fact. If we jumble the letters in your name, we get Mo’ Junk Gin. Is that the problem? You only get shitty gin over there, don’t you? Well I’ve got a friend who knows a thing or two about cocktails. I’ll tell him to choose something really nice and send it over. Do you think that will help?KJU: Don’t make me angry, Mr. Dry it in the Water. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.DiitW: The Incredible Hulk? Now you’re quoting 1970s American television shows? I don’t know whether to be frightened of you or ask you to be on my team for Trivial Pursuit. And really, what are you going to do to me?KJU: Ask Sony what I’ll do to you.DiitW: Yeah, but Jonny Gun, I’m not Sony. I don’t have a film you can ruin. I guess you could get people to stop reading my blog, but you’re more likely to keep the sun from rising in the morning than you are to get people to stop reading my blog. The people love it. I’m universally adored, you know.KJU: Who loves it? How many people?DiitW: Everyone. Everyone on earth reads Dry it in the Water. Well, everyone with a computer. Or a cell phone. Or reliable mail delivery, since some people actually print it out and mail it to others. So I’m sure even people in your country read it.KJU: I don’t think so.DiitW: Yeah, you’re probably right. You don’t have any of those things. I’m kidding anyway. I just wanted you to hear how ridiculous it sounds to claim you’re beloved by everyone in the world. That’s a common claim made by you and your dad and grandpa. Sounds silly, don’t you think?KJU: Silly? No, it’s not silly! It’s truth. We are beloved figures in our country and around the world.DiitW: Of course you are. And your dad’s birth was foretold by a rainbow across the sky and a new star in the heavens. That’s the truth, too, right? But my favorite fun fact is that your grandpa, who’s been dead for 20 years, is actually still the guy in charge. Eternal President of the Republic. No wonder you’re such a jerk. You can’t get out from under your dead grandpa’s shadow.KJU: Watch yourself, mister.DiitW: I guess I have no choice, do I? I wanted to watch you up on that big screen, but you went and ruined that one. Thanks a lot.KJU: You’re welcome.DiitW: You’re not good with sarcasm, are you? All right. I’ve got things to do. But before I hang up, I’ve got one last question. Which of the Seven Dwarfs are you most like? I’d say Grumpy or Dopey.KJU: You’re not a smart man, Mr. Dry it in the Water.DiitW: I know. Actually, let me leave you with a piece of advice that the Dwarfs should have given to Snow White: Beware the poison apple.KJU: What? Poison apple? What poison apple? Is that a threat? Are you poisoning my food?DiitW: Happy Holidays Jonny Gun!(Click.)PREVIOUS POST: I Suck at Christmas Shopping, but my Wife Doesn'tIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: Ladies and Gentlemen, Dick Cavett+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Hey, did you like reading this? If so, you should Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others, and so you can make Jonny Gun angry. You can read more stuff like this here. And you can like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes. Please.

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I Suck at Christmas Shopping, but My Wife Doesn't

I’m here to remind you that Christmas is one week from tomorrow. Surprisingly, no retail stores have decided to open on Christmas yet, so that means that after today you’ve only got seven days to select that perfect gift.And if you want to buy something online, you have even fewer days than that to buy a gift and have it shipped to you.I’m not worried about how quickly Christmas is approaching. I’m not going to be one of those people featured on the six o’clock news on Christmas Eve talking about how I need to pickup a few more gifts. Nope. I’m all done.Don’t hate me ‘cause you ain’t me.The reason I’m already done with my shopping is because I’m married to an angel. Well, in this case I guess she’s more like an elf. But it doesn’t really feel as great to say that I’m married to an elf. That’s sort of weird, isn’t it? Unless you’re into curly, pointed-toe shoes, then maybe it’s not so weird.Anyway, if it weren’t for my wife, Christmas around the Dry it in the Water household would be vastly different. Every year she has things under control though, so I don’t have to worry about it.And trust me, it’d be a big worry. We’ve got four kids. And even though Santa Claus comes through with some pretty awesome stuff, we always like to supplement with some gifts of our own. It lets us have fun giving gifts to the kids, and it frees up Santa’s resources to help those families in need.But in our house, as in most houses, fun isn’t evenly distributed. On Christmas morning I’ll watch the kids open their presents, and they’ll come to items that say they’re from Mom and Dad and I’ll get to see the joy on their faces. And I didn’t have to do anything to experience that joy.On the other hand, my wife went through the entire gift-giving process, which any mother knows goes something like this:1. Tell kids to think about their Christmas lists.2. Convince kids to actually write down their Christmas lists.3. Decipher the inherent ambiguity and poor penmanship on every kid’s list to figure out what they’re really asking for.4. Divide the list among grandmas, aunts, and cousins so the kid gets what he or she wants without telling Aunt Edna on Christmas night, “But I just got one of these this morning.”5. Consider which items Santa might bring.6. Monitor a month’s worth of ads so she’s ready to pounce as soon as that new Wii game goes on sale.7. Battle drivers who somehow can be just as dangerous in a parking lot as they are on a road.8. Wait in a long line before paying while juggling Kohl’s cash, 30% off coupons, Old Navy Super Cash, Target’s REDcard discount, or whatever god-awful shenanigans retail stores force consumers into instead of just giving them a simple sale price.9. Return that Batman T-shirt she bought online that’s going to fit more like it’s 3T instead of a kids medium.10. Decide whether the girl who said she no longer wants a Little Mermaid sleeping bag really doesn’t want it, or is just being difficult.11. And finally, try to find a happy medium on Christmas Eve between, “Do we have enough?” and “Why did we buy so much?”Doesn’t that just sound lovely?I like to think that I’m a pretty good dad. I spend time with the kids, I play with them, I read to them, I talk to them, I listen to them. But when it comes to buying presents for them, I’m a complete failure. If gift-giving were left to me, they’d have whatever Santa brought for them, and anything I could find at Walgreen’s on Christmas Eve.True, I’m usually pretty good at buying books, but even the most studious kid is going to want something other than books for Christmas.Thank goodness they have a mother!I suspect that I’m not alone in my gift-giving impotence. Most mothers probably handle the supplemental Christmas shopping in their families. I’m a big believer in dads helping in roles usually reserved for moms, but when it comes to purchasing Christmas gifts, I’m just not up to the task.My kids will undoubtedly be excited about the presents they receive next week. If we’re doing our job right, they’ll appreciate the presents, too. But as much as they appreciate the presents, they probably don’t appreciate them as much as I appreciate the effort my wife puts forth to get those presents.At least I’m a pretty good wrapper!PREVIOUS POST: Go Girl, You Can Pee Standing Up!IF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: Some Things Cooler Than Black Friday+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Hey, did you like reading this? If so, you should Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others. You can read more stuff like this here. And you can like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes. Please.

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Go Girl, You Can Pee Standing Up!

I’m not a woman. I don’t pretend to know what it’s like to be a woman. But I know that women don’t have a penis. And while there are numerous advantages to not having a penis (such as being able to think with the brain all the time, instead of just some of the time), there is one distinct disadvantage:Women can’t pee standing up.Until now.From the same can-do, problem-solving American spirit that brought us the light bulb, airplanes, and fast food, we have a new invention. Behold the Go Girl!No, this isn’t an oxygen mask for Pinocchio. Nor is it a Saturday Night Live commercial. It’s a real product. And perhaps I just don’t get it because I’m a man, but I just cannot take this thing seriously.I mean, isn’t it essentially a funnel? It looks like a pink version of the plastic funnel used to add oil to a car. But before we dismiss it just because it looks weird, maybe we should take a closer look at what it allows women to do.Okay, that’s a close enough look!Look, I understand it’s inconvenient to have to sit down to pee. Rough break.However, I also know that women are resourceful. The Squat isn’t just a weightlifting term. And while it may seem like Go Girl would help women manage their business in the foulness of public restrooms, something stinks here, and it’s not the pee.First, even though Go Girl claims to form a seal against your body that allows you to just aim and pee, is this a chance you’re really willing to take?Imagine for a moment, that you’re at a concert. You’ve been drinking $10 Miller Lites all evening, and your bladder is about to explode. After waiting in line at the bathroom for fifteen minutes, it’s finally your turn. Usually you’d just squat over the toilet, pee, and leave.But not now. Not you, Ms. Fancy Pants. You Go Girl! Now you don’t have to worry about squatting. You just whip out the girl go, cup it against your lady parts, aim toward the toilet, and pee.Oh shit! Your aim is off and you pee all over the seat, and then the floor. No matter, the next girl’s going to squat anyway, and we all know that you’ve got to expect a little pee on your shoes if you use a public restroom.Still, you try to fix your aim, but when you move your body you break the seal. No, not the proverbial seal holding the pee in your bladder. The actual seal that’s holding this motor oil funnel to your delicate nether region.And once the seal’s broken, all bets are off. It says as much on the website.The good news is that the stream is no longer landing on the toilet seat. The bad news is that all that pee is leaking out of the now-broken seal and running down your legs, into your pants.You’ve been doing your Kegels though, so you can stop your pee mid-stream, no problem. Forget it. Just do The Squat.You know it’s hard enough to maintain your balance as you squat over a disgusting toilet, but now you’ve got a pee covered funnel in your hands, your pants look like they belong to a potty-training three year old, and you’re drunk.Go Girl!But maybe you’re a superheroine and you can handle anything. Bravo! Don’t worry, I’m sure your pants won’t really smell like pee. And I’m sure you’re not going to have to pee again in thirty minutes anyway.At least you’ve got your Go Girl, which you still have to figure out a way to store in your purse without getting pee on your cell phone and chewing gum.Thankfully, the creators include a baggie to store it in. The instructions on the website advise you to just wash it with soap and water, dry it, and then fold it and put it in the bag. Good thing it’ll be so easy to wash Go Girl in those disgusting bathrooms.Oh great, you haven’t done origami since fifth grade, and now you can’t fold the damn thing? Well worry not! The good folks at Go Girl have posted an instructional video on how to fold Go Girl. Simply lay a tissue on a flat surface, put Go Girl on top of the tissue, fold it, then roll it like a sleeping bag, then put it back in the baggie.Easy, right?Or you can just squat.PREVIOUS POST: What a Four Year Old Thinks about When She's Cutting her own HairIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: Toilet Seats: An Appreciation(Here's a link to my post about appreciating toilet seats!)+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Hey, did you like reading this? If so, you should Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others. Tell them all that Dry it in the Water is #1 (Get it?) here. And you can like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes. Please.

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What a Four Year Old Thinks About When She's Cutting her Own Hair

My daughter is four years old. She’s cute as a button with long, curly hair. She’s so cute that Chinese tourists have taken her picture on three different occasions, including once in front of Abe Lincoln’s statue at the top of his memorial in DC.Yesterday she decided to cut her hair. By herself. With scissors. And no supervision. This might have been what she was thinking.I’m just learning how to write my letters. It’s hard enough, but how am I supposed to write if I can’t even see the paper? Dad tells me, “The P goes on the other side of the E in the word pepper.” Easy for you to say, dad. With this hair in my face it’s like I’m writing with my eyes closed.I’ll just brush it back behind my ear. Ahh, that’s better. Now, what did he say comes after P?Shit, this hair! I just put it behind my ear and now it’s in front of my eyes again. That’s it. I’ve had enough. Where are those scissors one of the boys had earlier?Uh-oh, I better wait until dad leaves the room. If he sees me trying to cut my hair, he’s probably going to take the scissors away from me. Then I’ll for sure be stuck with this hair in my face.That’s what happens when daddy gives me a shower. If mommy gave me a shower she would have known to pull my hair back after I got out. Especially if I’m doing homework at the table. Oh well, I guess I shouldn’t complain, too much. At least he remembered to wash the shampoo out this time. And he even used conditioner!But really, would it kill him to pull it back for me? Maybe I’ll just ask him.No, never mind. I want to use those scissors.Oh, there he goes! I probably only have a couple of minutes. I better hurry. Where are those scissors?Ah-ha! There they are. I better go under the kitchen table. That way if anyone comes in they won’t see me. Don’t knock into the chair. They might come in if they hear the chair squeak.Okay, let’s see. How much should I take off? This is the side that’s annoying me. How much can I cut off before it’s boy hair? Wait a minute, if I have boy hair, that doesn’t mean that I’m a boy, does it?I better just cut off the part that’s annoying me. Yeah, that’s probably about right. I’ll hold it with this hand, reach up, and…that was easy. Those scissors went right through it. I’m glad mom’s been working with me on how to cut things. I had no idea it would come in handy so soon!Dad’s not back yet. I can probably get back into my chair before he even knows I’m gone.Yes, I made it. And right on cue, here’s dad. “Daddy, how do you spell apple?”He won’t notice a thing. I could probably stand right in front of him and he wouldn’t notice. I better not try it though.Wait a minute, what happened to the hair I cut off? There it is, right under the table, in a nice, neat pile. I don’t think anyone will notice that.*******I think I’m home-free. It’s been like a hundred years since I cut my hair and no one has noticed. Maybe if I go to bed to night, Buddy (the Elf on the Shelf) will clean it up and mom will never find out.All right, she’s going to work and she just kissed me and didn’t even notice that part of my hair is missing. I’m the best hair cutter ever. Who’s Vidal Sassoon? It seems like a name I should know.There she goes, a kiss for dad and then she’s out of here. See you lat…Wait, what did she say? “Is that a wig under the table?” Who would put a wig under the table? That’s not where wigs go. That’s where cut hair goes.Uh-oh. “Did I cut my hair?” What kind of a question is that? Why would a four-year-old cut her hair? Isn’t the better question why did my dad let me cut my hair? He should have been watching me better. That’s what he gets for leaving the room.“It was in the way, and I didn’t like it, so I cut it off.” Great, now I have to go to my room. She always says, “Tell the truth,” so I tell the truth, and now I have to go to my room. I’m going to cry. In my bed. Under the covers. With Baby Elsa.*******Did he just say that it was sort of funny? Who’s on the phone anyway? Oh, I bet mom’s on her way to work. He’s laughing. No way would he be laughing if mommy wasn’t laughing.See, I knew it was a good idea!Read about these events from an objective point-of-view here.PREVIOUS POST: Forget French Toast Crunch, Bring Back Subway's U-GougeIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: How to Make Sure your Kids Aren't Jerks+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Hey, did you like reading this? If so, you should Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others. You can also find tons of other posts baked up fresh by me here. And you can like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes. Please.

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