Long Power Outages Would Make Me Die

Last week the Minneapolis St Paul Metropolitan Area experienced the most extensive power outage, in terms of number of people affected, ever. I was one of those who lost power, and it was really kind of discouraging to find out how dependent I am on technology. Although we were without power for only a little over 24 hours, during that time my life devolved into a serious of bizarre mishaps attempting to "survive" during the outage including:

• Complaining how hot it was constantly, and consequently trying to figure out a way to live in the refrigerator until my wife told me not to do that anymore.
• Getting lost in the darkness of my own living room (although this merits an explanation. I was sitting playing Candy Crush on the love seat when I felt what appeared to be a large, probably venomous insect crawling on my shoulder, although it might have been a dog hair or something since I couldn't see it. So I got scared, brushed off my shoulder, and hopped over to the couch. Then after a while, I turned off the IPad and started off to bed, except I had forgotten that I had switched furniture. Since it was pitch dark, and since I believed I was on the love seat, which faces the hall towards my bedroom, I figured I'd just go straight and eventually get there. But since I was actually on the couch, which was perpendicular to the love seat, what I wound up doing is walking directly into a wall, penis first. This perplexed me, as I did not remember a wall being on the way to my bedroom, and so I panicked a little, and in panicking a little, I walked into the wall again, penis first. So then I really got scared, and scrambled back to where I was sitting before, possibly stepping on a cat or other medium sized animal in the process. I had to turn my IPad back on and use it as a defacto flashlight to find my bed.)
• Fed the children old candy collected from the Farmington Dew Days Parade + Halloween and Easter for breakfast because we had no milk and no way to cook anything.
• Pushed the garage door opener 300 times before I realized that it wouldn't work without power
• Started searching the house for burlap or any other type of rugged fabric I might use to make clothes in case everything else was dirty at some point.
• Started plotting which pet we'd have to eat first if food ran out.
• Trying to remember what Tom Hanks did to survive on that island, besides having a pet volleyball.
• Pushed the garage door opener several more times again.

Eventually the power came back on and life made sense again, but it led me to the conclusion that if I had lived 200 years ago, I would most likely be dead, and my only employment opportunities would be hopping from town to town as the village idiot, which I don't think had great benefits, even if the ACA had existed back then.

Styrofoam Airplanes and Fist Fights

Over the past couple of months, our childrens' relationship with each other has gotten a little tenuous to say the least. I understand they are growing older, and becoming more independent and whatnot, but really it's a much different time now compared to when my daughter was acting as a translator for my son, who is 16 months younger.

 Then:

Her (announcing to the cashier at the gas station): This is my brother Miles. He says "Ball" and "Hi". C'mon buddy let's go.

Him: Da ba.

Now:

Me: Well, both your teachers said you were doing an excellent job at school!

Him: But I'm doing better. She stinks at math. She doesn't even know what 12000 X 5 is.

Her: No, I'm doing better. He can't even read very good. He's in level E.

Me: Um, you guys are in different grades working on different things. It's not a competition. I'm just saying that I'm proud because both your teachers said you were doing well.

Him: But I'm much better. She's stupid.

(A loud, screaming fistfight ensues)

It's gotten a little ridiculous at times:

Him (after the revelation that Bella needs glasses): Bella is worse because she can't see good. She's blind like an old lady. I see great, so I'm better.

(A loud, screaming fistfight ensues)

So with that in mind, on a beautiful Sunday Father's Day morning, the children came up to give me some presents. All went well until we got to the jug of red flavored Kool-Aid mix for my Sodastream. I had my eyes closed so I couldn't really see the action, but from what I gathered, both of them had staked a claim on giving me the juice mix, and a loud, screaming fistfight ensued when they could not come to an amicable solution and a large jug of Kool-Aid mix got unceremoniously chucked onto my foot, which hurt a lot, because I wasn't expecting anything to get chucked onto my foot.

After a few swear words (by me) and a harsh lecture (by my wife), soon things were back to being somewhat civil. Being idiots, we figured things would remain that way, so we decided to head off to a park to test out another present they got me; one of those big styrofoam airplanes that you can throw, and that will occasionally catch an updraft and fly on top of a building. This was a recipe for problems, but we were too naive to notice.

We got to the park and everyone was all excited about the prospect of a big giant airplane flying around. Being talented, I made the first throw, and the airplane sailed through the air and made a perfect landing about 50 yards away. This instilled false confidence in the children that they could do the same even though I am much taller and much more coordinated. My daughter's first throw went about 2 feet and crashed into the grass. This prompted some mocking from the 7 year old peanut gallery ("HAHA Bella, you stink!"), and a reminder from the big people to say something "positive". (Side note: Since we've been making a big deal about saying positive things, the most positive thing my son has been able to come up with in speaking about his sister is "You're sometimes OK". Quite the compliment there.)

Anyhow, then it was my son's turn, and he threw the airplane and somehow clipped his own head while doing so. This caused the plane to pitch awkwardly left and it came down, snout first, into the ground with such force that the wings popped off. For those of you in the know, having the wings pop off is the most structurally catastrophic thing that can happen to a styrofoam plane, because unlike chipping off the nose or a wing, which can be taped, having the wings pop off slowly makes the wingholes get larger, until finally the wings won't even stick in there anymore and just plop out. It's sort of like a hooker in that respect. Then you have to just give up and get rid of it, also sort of like a hooker.

So after a bunch of grounders and nosedives, my son lost a turn when he tried unsuccessfully to throw the plane back to my wife whose turn it was, and in the process nosedived it and made the wings pop off. This made him pout so he turned around and starting walking away, arms crossed and frowning. My wife made a low throw, and just as my son turned around, the airplane hit him directly in the face. He looked at her incredulously at first, but then he grabbed the plane, full of rage, and sprinted towards her, apparently with the intent of hitting her in the face, and not softly either. But being that he still hadn't figured out how to control the plane, he clipped his own ear and the plane crashed into the ground and the wings popped out. Then he ran away screaming. And then, Airplane Fun Time was over. After we lured him into the van with honey sticks, he and my daughter got into another loud, screaming fist fight about I'm not sure what. And that was that. Happy Father's Day to me!!