The Ghost Of Doug Henning

To quote my own FB status earlier today, "Damn you ghost of Doug Henning! *shakes fist at the air* Where did you put all the effing TEASPOONS?"

I'm Googling how to rid my home of malicious hippie magician postergeists as we speak. All I wanted was to eat a friggin blueberry yogurt, preferably not with a soup ladle or spatula. I KNOW that we own a minimum of 12 teaspoons; where the fuck are they? There are like THREE in the dishwasher and none in the drawer!

Doug is always up to something at our house. If he isn't hiding it, he's breaking it. Obviously, it cannot be my children. The glassy, deer-in-headlights looks when asked what happened or where something is and customary "I dunno..." is all I need to know that they're being completely honest. Right?

The spoons are the latest in a series of things missing from the kitchen. Doug must be getting his ghostly rocks off messing with my meal plans.

Very recently, Mr. Dead-Goddamn-Henning magicked away soup bowls into the ether. Three large, red bowls vanished for several days. I looked in every room...multiple times...to no avail. I even checked the laundry room; you'd be surprised at how many times spirits hide things there. Did I perform the open cupboard door, check, close cupboard door, re-open and check again routine, just to see if Doug was mocking me? Oh yes; yes I did.

Not locating the missing dishware on my own, I donned my trenchcoat, squinched one eye up and adopted my best Columbo to question the children.

"Have you seen three red soup bowls?"
"No."
"No."
"No. Dad, we haven't seen those in aaaaaaaaages."
(Which is rather interesting, since I had hand-washed them the evening prior to their disappearance.)

But, as we are all aware, kidlings never tell falsehoods, so I resigned myself, angrily and over several Yuengling lagers, that the bowls were lost forever.

That crafty Doug though...performing feats of prestidigitation from beyond the grave...deposited them on an end table in the family room the following morning, whereupon, my ever-alert daughter discovered them.

He has yet to return about ten drinking glasses and I am breaking out the Ouija board to entreat him to send a clean spoon my way for yogurt and ice cream consumption.

How he's managed to break the Xbox DVD drive several times, I still can't wrap my head around. He seemed so passive and peaceful in life; why the Hell is he trying to play Mafia Wars 2 with the game disc upside down, anyway?

It's MAAAAAAAAAAGICCCCCCCCCCCC!

Parenting - Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here

A friend suggested that I actually start writing in my blog and that what I normally share as Facebook status messages about my children, be expanded upon and chronicled.

So, for passersby that stumble upon this, I'm a 40-something unconventional father of three, Alpha male to my two dogs and high-maintenance, emotionally needy partner of my girlfriend. We're now rolling up on eight months of my being unemployed and being a stay-at-home-Dad and some days are better than others trying to cling to the disappearing, wispy tendrils of my sanity, while I continue to job hunt and be the surliest domestic goddess on the planet.

Let's introduce our cast of characters, shall we?

There's my beautiful girlfriend, Amy, who does preventive education for a non-profit that helps domestic and child abuse victims. No clue what she sees in me and why she is so good to me, but why question my luck?

Kidlings:

Amy's daughter, Emily, age 18, graduating high school next month and enrolled in college in the fall. She started calling me "Dad" several months ago. She's had me wrapped around her little fingers for the past two years. I know it and refuse to do anything about it; she's very much Daddy's Girl and I dote on her so much that it's sickening.

Amy's son, Liam, age 11 and completing 5th grade this year. Li is a good kid, but he and I have very different personalities. I help Liam with his homework each night and he's dramatically improved his grades this year. I'm proud of what I perceive as progress. There's still some sense of him feeling like I am the thing under the bed that even Chuck Norris is afraid of, but we don't do too badly.

Thirdly, is my son, Iain. Age 11 and in the final days of 6th grade. Smart little boy, but finding out the hard way this year that he can no longer skate along and still get straight A's. Computer and Xbox nerd and seems to be allergic to sunlight and being outside; afraid that he might get some nature on him.

Four-legged Children:

Spike, Amy's 7 year old Jack Russell, who has essentially become Daddy's Boy over the past two years. I bluff and bluster about him being irritating, but have him curled up against me at the moment to protect him from the thunderstorm that's rolling through the area.

And lastly, Mika, Emily and my German Shepherd. (AKA Captain Big Head.) We bought Mika as a puppy from the Amish two years ago and Em and Mika are pretty much inseparable. Fantastic temperament for a Shepherd, though she will growl at anyone, including me, who comes in Emily's room when they're together. Sweet, friendly and dumb as a bag of hammers, except for when it comes to getting into the garbage or snatching food off of the counters, table, or stovetop. In those instances, she's a criminal mastermind.

So, now that I've bored you with the background details and I've said nice things about everyone, let's move on to why the amount of gray hair at my temples has quadrupled over the past two years...