When Your Kids Start Spying on You on the Internet

"Uh, Traci," I said. "Have you read the comments on the Manifesto lately?" 

"No, why?" she replied. "Who left a comment?" 

"Your eight-year-old daughter." 

Blogging is a tricky thing. The whole idea is that it's supposed to be an online journal--i.e., a place where you can share your unfiltered thoughts and feelings. But you really can't. You can't say stuff about your neighbors or your coworkers or your family or your third grade teacher. If it's on the internet, people end up seeing it and it's there forever. 

So what's left to write about? When I started blogging a decade ago (holy cow, A DECADE AGO!!!), I'd write about music and TV and life. Now I just write about my kids...which is pretty much all my life is these days. But now, apparently, it's not even safe to write about my kids anymore. 

The other day, I wrote about Paige signing up for the school paper. In the post, I referenced Paige being  embarrased by me: 

"I know what you're going to ask me," she said, in the voice she uses to show me that it's totally annoying to even have a dad, "you want to know about the school paper."

A couple of days later, I saw this comment on the post:

"Hi!Its Paige!(The girl in your article)I just wanted to say that I didn't mean to sound like it was annoying to have you.(Sorry,if that ruined the article.)"

Great. Now I've not only embarrassed my daughter, but I've offended her, too. :)

After she looked at the comment, Traci asked me the same question that I'd been thinking, "How did she even find your blog?"

I envisioned Paige googling her own name or even setting up her Google Alerts or RSS feeds. (I wouldn't put it past her. She's very smart.) 

But then Traci answered her own question. "I must have been reading the post and then left it open on the laptop." 

So that's it. There's nothing safe to blog about anymore. I'm going to have to go back to writing my journal with pen and paper...something my kids will also discover. I guess I'll have to get the kind with the tiny lock and key.  

Costco Exacts its Revenge

I admit it. I'm a horrible father.

Going to Costco with three kids is incredibly difficult. Paige likes to wander off. Curtis likes to get in and out of the cart about a thousand times. Tate only likes to get out of the cart and is happy to jump right out if I'm not paying attention.

The only way to have anything close to a good experience at Costco is to promise the kids a treat at the end--a berry smoothie.

Unlike Traci, I make the kids share a smoothie. I do this for two reasons: 1) I'm cheap and 2) I don't think they each need their own giant cup of sugar.

This inevitably leads to more fighting and bad behavior than if I would have given them any treat at all. I know this.

Last week, Costco karma caught up with me.

While Traci was at work, I took the kids to Costco by myself. We only purchased two items: a $36 pack of diapers and one berry smoothie. (As usual, lots of fighting ensued.)

About two days later, it was time to bust out the new diapers. I couldn't find them in Tate's room, so I checked the van. Nope, not there. They also weren't in the closet or the kitchen or the garage. Where were they? I'm pretty sure they were in the in the bottom of the cart...in the parking lot...at the blasted Costco.

You win, Costco, you win. Next time, I'll spring for a second $1.45 smoothie. (Tate still has to share.)

Baby When the Lights Go Out

Yet another traumatic experience for the Sutherland children. It happened while I was trying to get everyone ready for bed. I was in the laundry room searching for Tate's pajamas when the power went out. Tate was crawling around in the adjacent family room, Curtis was up in the kitchen, and Paige was in the bathroom.

When it went black, it went pitch black. My first thought was, "Oh crap, I've lost Tate." Luckily, he managed to find me and about two seconds later he was pulling himself up on my leg. Curtis wasn't hard to find as immediately started screaming hysterically. Paige was surprisingly calm in the darkened bathroom upstairs.

Even with flashlights in hand, Curtis continued to freak out. Paige calmly explained to him that "monsters don't exist and when you think you see them, it's really just the shadow of a regular object." (Thanks, TV.) But he would not be consoled. "Turn the light on, Dad. Turn it onnnnnn!"

Luckily, the lights came on a minute or two later. Curtis calmed down pretty quickly but then Paige decided to change her story.

"I was wrong, Dad. There were monsters downstairs. They do exist." I would normally indulge her in such a conversation but Curtis was standing there and getting upset again. "There's no monsters, Paige! They don't exist!" he countered.

"Curtis, Paige is just pretending," I assured him. "Monsters aren't real."

Then Paige kicked into overdrive. "Yes, they do, Dad. They do. Why won't anyone believe me? This is horrible. My spirit feels horrible." (Thanks, church.)

That's when I looked at Tate and silently thanked him for not being able to speak.