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On this 4th anniversary of Creature Banter, I would like to introduce a new feature -- Teenage Wisdom. Now that C1 and C2 are 16 and 13 respectively, they have all the answers, as teenagers are want to do. The first piece of Teenage Wisdom:

"Men don't wear Band-Aids. They lick the blood off their skin and let it heal." - Creature 2, observing Band-Aid on my arm.

Creature Banter turned 4 today!

#tumblr birthday #tumblr milestone

Ruff Color Comment

After Creature 1 and I complete an off-color conversation, and embarrassed Creature 2 says she never wants to be seen with us in public again. Creature 1 responds with: "We're just saying stuff here. Meanwhile, someone is somewhere fucking a dog."

Banter Blog: The Story of Creature 1

I’m approaching my three year anniversary with my love Rachel. She’s opened my eyes to so many lessons of life, love, understanding, forgiveness and growth. Her hard work on her own life has made me dig deep and look closer at myself. (I don’t always like what I see but that view gives me something new to which I aspire). We’ve both grown and become better people, more comfortable with ourselves and more generous with our resources, time, emotion or whatever it is someone needs.

But it’s not Rachel I have to thank for it. It’s her son.

When I arrived, Creature 1 was 12 years old. Anyone who has ever been 12 remembers that time, try as hard as we might to forget it. We were selfish; we were rude; we did everything based on what was in it for us. We were polite in public but that exhausted us, and our parents paid the price when we got home. This didn’t make us bad people and our parents were right when they told us to get an attitude adjustment by dinnertime. It was the age; it was the phase. And the best of us somehow manage to escape that time relatively unharmed.

When I arrived, Creature 1’s mother had left his father just a few months earlier. When he stayed with his mother, it was in a makeshift bedroom in the basement of his grandparents’ house. Oh, and he shared the room with his 9-year-old sister, Creature 2. Sounds like a great summer, huh?

When I arrived, Creature 1 was naturally on his dad’s side. I don’t mean that he took sides, but he mostly stayed with his dad while his sister chose to hang with Mom. It’s the natural order of things, I would think, in such situations. When you’re 12, your dad is your everything, at least temporarily.

When I arrived, I had met Creature 1 on a couple of different occasions. We got along fine – a Nerf gun fight on the first day you meet a 12-year-old boy is highly recommended – but we didn’t really know each other yet. Within months of even meeting me, he was moving his stuff two doors down from the bedroom I would share with his mother.

My god, how could THAT be easy for a boy?

Our first few months together were like the first round of a prize fight; we danced around a bit to get the feel of the other. I’d throw a jab; he had a hook for me. But it was a respectful dance. I’d make some rules about cleaning up and how much dinner the kids had to eat. Remember, I was completely new to the parenting thing, so the exact nature of the rule wasn’t as important as defining a barrier with both Creatures: you may not like it, or respect it, or appreciate it, but you need to know I have some measure of authority over you in this house.

We had some issues with Creature 1 over the next year or two; grades, attitude, bedtimes, rules, etc. There were a few yelling matches – mostly between he and his mother. I stepped in when I needed to, either to protect/defend his mother or to lay down a boundary or to issue a reminder. He hated those times, but he needed to see a man step up for (and not on) the woman he loved, and because I let him be 12 with little interference, I had some latitude to push back.

But I think those struggles are normal for any 12- or 13-year old boy. (Creature 2, approaching her 12th birthday now, is showing many of these same traits, so I’m encouraged that it’s more a phase than a personality.)

But at the end of the day, as I mentioned, I owe Creature 1 a big thank you. He’s the one who made this happen.

“This” being that his mom is going to college for the first of her degrees on her way to being a doctor; “this” being that I can work from home and be here perhaps way more than he wanted; “this” being to allow his sister to be playful and boisterous and hogging the spotlight one summer while he toiled in relative obscurity.

“This” being a family.

It would have been so easy to disrupt the entire order of things. He could have made my life miserable in so many ways. He could have put his mother in the middle between us. He could have turned his sister against me. (Now don’t get me wrong, I do not think for a second that he didn’t do a little bad mouthing of me and/or his mother down at his dad’s house. This whole situation was new for him, and change is hard, especially for a 12-year-old boy.)

He made “this” happen simply by keeping his mouth shut. That’s not so easy for a 12-year-old boy.

It’s three years later. I have coffee with him most every morning before school. We just hang out for 20 minutes after we drop his sister at the middle school. Don’t ever underestimate the power of just hanging out with a kid, by the way.

One day, he had to go to school early; I stopped in for coffee anyway. The waitresses asked where my son was. I sheepishly tried to correct them using the awkward phrase “essentially my stepson.” On another occasion another waitress pulled me aside and told me how wonderful it was to see a boy and his dad obviously enjoy each other’s company.

“I’m not his dad,” I said, smiling, and noting that I was 15 years old once. “That’s probably why he enjoys my company.”

I won’t tell you it’s been easy. We’ve certainly had our bad days. He leaves shit behind wherever he goes; his room smells like god-knows-what; he watches the strangest stuff on tv and online. He’s loud and he talks entirely too much. But not living with him for the last three years? I’m not sure I can picture that. I’m not sure I want to.

I am not his father, and I am not his friend. I’m somewhere in the bizarre middle, and it might depend on the day. But at 7:50 a.m., we’ll be in “our booth” at George’s Family Restaurant just hanging out. It’s easily my favorite 20 minutes of my day.

This.

This is a family. And Creature 1 is truly The Man of the house. Now I wish he’d go pick his shit up.

The View from the Back Row

Probably the most complex relationship I have at this very moment in my life is with a 10 year old.

She is not my child, obviously. She is not my stepchild. She lives her life between those two poles though, feeling the strange and complicated pull of both types of relationships.

When she wants to put on a fashion show after dinner, I’m the one she asks to be her official photographer and lucky reporter given exclusive access to the star. When she wants to run a new business – pet sitting or selling her art work – I’m her best customer. When she puts on a “hula hoop show” in the back yard after dinner, I get the best seat. Well, okay, her mother and her dog (yes, her dog) get the front row. I’m somewhere in the back, pretending to pout from being shafted.

I’m her best play partner in our house. What I am not is her father.

She’s 10. And she’s learning about life. More rapidly than any 10 year old should, but because she has the kindest heart of anyone I know, and because she is curious about what she doesn’t know and understand, her mother is forced to teach her some things she doesn’t want to know.

Most of it is about her father. His shortcomings. The intentional ones. The unintentional ones. Most of it doesn’t make any sense to her. Most of the answers are greeted by more questions. Most often it is one question: Why. Why, Mommy, why?

Most nights though, I want her to be 10. To play. To paint. To make up silly games. To pull me into all of it, even if it’s reluctantly.

She loves me. I see it in her eyes. I see it in her smile. I even see it in her reluctance to show it, to say it, or to just revel in it.

She knows I love her as I would love my own daughter.

This is where the complexity comes in. Did I mention that what I am not is her father?

Sometimes she reminds me specifically that I am not her father. Other times she enjoys that I’m not her father.

I’m her best customer. The reporter to her fashion show.

This week, she hit a milestone. One that breaks my heart. She had to be picked up from school early because of what we’ll call her first “feminine issue.” It was bad enough to require a change of clothes and hiding out in the nurse’s office to avoid further embarrassment.

My heart broke for her. But it also broke for me. She’s 10 going on 25. And sometimes she’s five. Time doesn’t move backwards and life doesn’t get more simple.

I told her mother to tell her that I didn’t know what happened; that I thought she had a stomach ache. When I asked her after dinner if her stomach was any better, she said it was mostly better but she was hungry and that was a good sign. And I saw her smile a little. Her secret was safe.

An hour later she was sampling songs on You Tube and putting on an informal dance program for each one in the living room. Her mother and I watched and smiled. We know life moves on and she knows more than she should know about it.

But her secret is safe with me and the view is great from the back row. I think I even have the best seat in the house.

Banter Blog: Goldilocks and the Three Quizzes

As you probably know, I do not have any kids. So all of my new experiences with Creature 1 and Creature 2 are brand new - at least to me. Because they are ages 13 and 10, I didn't go through the diaper changing, the terrible twos, or the "constant question" phase. Actually, it seems l played this perfectly.

But one of the things I didn't get to do was help them to learn to read. One of my own great childhood memories was learning to read with my dad when I was a kid. We'd read after dinner outside at the picnic table. Hardy Boys mysteries. I'll never forget it. So I'm sorry I didn't get the same chance with the Creatures.

Creature 2 enjoys reading as if it were, well, broccoli. Her homework calls for 20 minutes of reading nightly. She hates it, especially when we send her to her room to read because we are hogging the living room watching mindless TV.

Last night, instead of sending her away (there were no football games of any kind on), I asked her to read to me instead. She wanted to read a book of selected folk tales which is ideally suited for a child much younger, but I agreed, knowing it would give me a good baseline for her reading. So, as is the case with Creature 2, she turned it into a game. She played the teacher, reading to me and about 15 imaginary students.

First up was Goldilocks and the Three Bears. We all know the story - she tries the chairs, the porridge and the beds and one was just right. But, to me, hearing the story for the first time in about 35 years, I had some questions:

Why the hell was she in the woods? I mixed up my childhood stories and assumed she was visiting her grandmother. I wondered why everyone's grandmothers lived in forests in these stories. Mine lived in a Cape Cod style house about a mile from the beach. But whatever. My other grandmother died when I was four years old. These kids should be happy to even have a grandma, even if she lives in some forest somewhere.

What the hell business did she have to break into the Three Bears' home? What was she looking for, a bathroom? After she breaks in, she eats the porridge? What the hell? It's obviously still warm, so shouldn't she be concerned she would get caught? She's leaving her fingerprints all over the place too. Surely, her parents watch CSI so she should know to poke around while holding a handkerchief. Sheesh.

After all this trespassing and making herself at home, knowing the porridge was hot and busting a chair, she goes up to take a nap? Is this girl a certified nut job? Or is she just asking for a life of crime? She must be a latch key kid, or the spawn of a crack whore. Clearly that's why she is headed to grandma's house - poor old grandma is her only competent caregiver. The deck is stacked against this kid, clearly.

So the Bears come home and what happens? They catch the little juvenile delinquent sleeping in their beds, after they discover she's been eating their food and destroying their furniture. Frankly, she's lucky Pappa Bear didn't blow her head off with a shotgun, but it's a kid's story so I won't harp on that. So what's her reaction? She jumps out of the window. On the upper floor. And, like in all the cartoons kids watch (remember the Road Runner?) she is not harmed. This is illogical. Kids need to learn logic. This, I would submit, is a terrible story for the purpose of logic. And we wonder why most adults turn out to be dolts.

After she jumped out the window and runs home, I asked Creature 2 what happened next. She said "That's the end of the story." "Very funny," I said. "What happens next?"

"Tom I'm serious, that's the end." After my 5 minute rant that no story can end with a trespassing child jumping out of a second story window, not even suffering as much as a twisted ankle and scampering home to safety without any repercussions for her illegal acts. (In the real world, she would have been left there to die, just the way Ron Paul would want it.) I then made the mistake of asking for clarification: Where did she run? Her grandma's house?

Creature 2 furrowed her brow? What Grandma she asks? Uh oh. What Creature 2 now realizes was that I was not paying full attention to her story. (She went into the woods to pick berries and lived near the woods, never a mention of a grandmother anywhere in the story. Oops, my bad.)

So, because she is playing teacher, she gives me a pop quiz.

And I decide to mock her little quiz. Thank God, it was not an oral exam. I was able to write down my answers. I took full mockery advantage. For example:

Q: Why did Goldilocks go into the woods? A: To take a dump. (I figured if the bears had a house in the woods, the people in the story would shit in the woods. In my world, that's logical.) Q: Which chair was just right? A: The polka-dotted chair Q: Which porridge was just right? A: Actually, she poured a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. Now, if you know Creature 2, there are two things she hates: being mocked, and knowing you are not paying 1000 percent attention to her and everything in her world. But somehow I pulled it off. The whole thing turned out to be so silly that we laughed about it. And then we read two more stories, and I took another quiz. The long and the short of it all? She forgot she was doing homework, and we have a "date" Monday night to read together again. I just hope she picks a story that's a little more logical and makes more sense than that silly Goldilocks tale. And that there are no quizzes. I can't handle another failing grade in reading class.

"I talk about myself in the third person so I can escape from myself," Creature 1

"I wasn't paying attention; my world was full of just black space and pancakes," - Creature 2 on her early morning daydreaming

So Sue Me: A Playful Summer Ends in the Courtroom

We are a litigious society, this much we know. But it’s even worse than we feared. It’s reached even the lowest depths – Creature 2, a 10-year-old girl who has run a fictitious cat-sitting business from her basement all summer, has sued her lone client. I’m afraid it’s that bad.

Here’s the backstory. Creature 2, an incredibly imaginative and dramatic kid (I don’t mean dramatic as in eye-rolling, hands on her hips, OMG I’m going to sigh so loudly until you acknowledge my misery. That will surely follow after the dreaded puberty. Gulp.) But she puts on a lot of plays, holds art and cooking classes, and very early this summer, she opened a cat pet-sitting business. I work in one corner of the basement; she has her art table set up on the opposite side of the large room. She set up her “business” on her side, complete with a play room, conference room, and a crazy maze/tower made of moving and file boxes, into which she cut passages. The cat actually loves the tower of boxes and plays in it when Creature 2 is around, but don’t tell her, it will go straight to her head.

The day after she opened the cat sitting business in late June, she pretended to be a British house and office cleaning lady, but she quickly learned that even pretend clean-up sucks ass. So the cat sitting business opened its doors for Day 2.

She made a schedule for our kitten: play time, nap time, lunch time, the works. She drew up contracts, she sent mail, invoices, and warning letters if I was late picking up the kitten even once. She pretended her business won awards, signed by the mayor and everything. It was serious business, and horribly cute. It was a little annoying at times while I tried to answer emails, proofread documents, or prepare for client calls when she’d call over to my office (did I mention she was on the other side of the room) and ask if I still planned to visit my kitten at 2:30 p.m.

(I repeatedly asked why I had to visit the cat at all since it was, after all, baby sitting. She always found a way to ignore the question and ask if I still intended to visit).

So the incredibly long backstory concludes this way: About a week ago, she draws up this document in which I pledge to clean up after my cat, that “I will not blow off cat sitting when I have an appointment” and that I will not be able to sue cat sitting for any reason.

Sue. A fake business. Did I mention she’s 10?

So of course, if a kid makes me sign a nonsense document that says I’m not going to sue her company, what’s the ONLY thing I can do? Sue her company of course!

I type up a quick lawsuit, leave it on her desk, and watched her go nuts. She emailed all kinds of threats and correctly pointed out that I signed a document that said I would not sue her company.

So I dropped the lawsuit. And then I sued her. For a million bucks. Pain and suffering being what it is and all. (I mean, she put my cat in a box that was 4 feet wide and at least 30 inches tall. Inescapable. And above that box was a sign “Free Kitten’s” which offended me more for the punctuation lapse than anything else. But still there was pain and suffering.)

So what else does she do? She counter sues me. For 5 dollars.

We set up a court date the next morning at 9 a.m. She set her alarm for 8 a.m. so she could shower, get dressed and prepare for her big day. She trash talked me the night before, organized her papers and her entire case by three-hole punching her documents in an “important papers” binder, and planned her outfit for court.

It turns out she woke up at 6 a.m. because “I’m sooo excited for court.” We made her mom be the judge (including wearing her red bathrobe to be official) and convened in the basement court at 9 a.m., despite my change in venue motion (I’m serious).

I show up in court dressed in a dashing brown suit, blue shirt with a power tie, and a relaxed but serious pair of loafers. The site of me wearing anything but shorts and flip flops, a summer staple (okay an absolute since early June) made Creature 2 smile, and then laugh.

Can I tell you that she kicked my ass in court? Despite failing to disclose her exhibits and documents to me, threatening me via email, and admitting that the cat was left in the box unsupervised for up to 2 minutes at a time with a blanket and a bag (on either of which she could have suffocated) the judge tossed my lawsuit. Thankfully, her baseless lawsuit was also dismissed. She admitted in court she was simply seeking a blizzard at Dairy Queen and that she would turn over the remaining $1.05 to me afterwards.

She had her case lined up, argued it well, brought the right exhibits to make her point and even had the bag on hand (opening the cooler that was her seat to produce said evidence). I was a cocky over-priced attorney who intended to clog the system with baseless motions and yelling loudly.

She totallyt kicked my ass. All over the basement of our Indiana home.

An hour after court was adjourned she came over to my desk, shook my hand said “Congratulations on a good case,” then asked me what time I was going to visit my cat that day, and said flat-out she wouldn’t mind if I sued her again. I told her my suit was at the dry cleaner.

So while I’m thrilled that today is the first day of school and that I can return to a peaceful means of executing those things for which my clients pay me, a part of me will be sad that my cell phone won’t be ringing to remind me that I have an appointment to visit my kitten at 2:30 this afternoon. I’ll hope every day brings very little homework so we can spend that time playing whatever game she makes up for us.

But don’t for a second think that I won’t sue her again. I’ll just wear a different tie to court.

The Legend of the Snake and the Chameleon

So the strange part of living with your girlfriend and her two kids (now ages 10 and 13) are those moments when a fairly significant decision has to be made. Not what clothes they need for the new school year, what musical instrument they should play, or to which movie we will take them. I’m talking decisions about what is allowed in your home that you share with them. Let’s face it, you are not their parent. You’re just the guy who pays the bills, who works during the day while they go water skiing, and who may or may not make strange noises with mommy after bedtime.

This is the perfect example. Despite the fact there are three furry pets in the house already, both children are pushing for more; specifically their own pets. Creature 1, the 13 year-old-boy, wants a snake. The 10-year-old Creature 2 wants to house a chameleon in her bedroom.

Let’s take the snake first. I’m not the biggest snake guy in the world. I’m not afraid of them but I’m not enthralled by the prospect. Rachel tells me the snake he wants is a small snake, poses no danger to anyone, and it’s a good pet. Blah blah blah. She clearly is on his side, but is going to make me decide if it’s allowed.

I really wouldn’t care one way or the other, but here’s what gives me pause:

The boy has owned four fish in less than a year. I don’t mean an aquarium with four fish. I mean a fish bowl, housing a solo fish. Four times. One fish didn’t even last 24 hours. Maybe snakes are less maintenance than fish, but I’ve been told there are lights and heating elements involved. I’m envisioning the week we are away when a storm knocks out the power (or just the timers) back at home. How does one even dispose of a dead snake anyway?

Feeding it. I’m seeing mice and constant trips to the pet store. Money out of my wallet. And then there’s Creature 2, who in theory might not mind the feeding mice to the snake. Until one dying mouse squeaks. Or even worse. One feeder mouse becomes too cute and Creature 2 gets attached and names the mouse. Then I’ll have to put my foot down (not literally on the mouse) and order Death to Squeaky.

Did I mention we only have the kids 50 percent of the time? Yeah, that means 50 percent of the pet care.

Okay, now for the chameleon.

This creature would belong to Creature 2. As much as I know about snakes, I know less about chameleons, except they can save you 15 percent on your car insurance. No wait, those are geckos. Okay, I don’t know anything about chameleons. Here are my chameleon concerns:

Creature 2 already owns a pet – a small dog. It is her pet – any training, feeding and cleaning up the pet requires is Creature 2’s responsibility (within reason). Overall she takes good care of the dog, but any given morning there exists roughly a 64.7 percent chance she remembers to feed him. I may have mentioned I know little about chameleons, but I would assume they require food for survival.

I do know that chameleons eat crickets. Crickets mean frequent trips to the pet store for baby crickets. Any trip to the pet store is always accompanied by wide-eyed requests to get a toy for the dog, treats for the cat, or a to buy ferret. She’s allergic to ferrets, but wants one an way. (Ferrets, for the record, will never live in the same house I do. Mark that down now. They are completely disgusting creatures.) So there’s the financial aspect to this whole cricket thing. Not only at the pet store, but possible trips to Dairy Queen and various other stops. (The pet store is not close).

Did I mention they eat crickets? And that crickets make noise. And there will be escaped crickets. Guaranteed. Ever try to catch a cricket? Hell, have you ever tried to find a cricket that’s making noise in the nooks and crannies of your home?

The chameleon will get out of its tank. That’s a mortal lock. I’m anticipating the massive manhunt (reptile hunt?) for the missing chameleon. And it’s a chameleon. It can make itself look like faux hardwood floors. Or the below average carpeting our landlord chose.

Did I mention the kids are here only half the time?

We are still in negotiations about the pets. Creature 1 did inform us that he has acquired the tank and most of the accoutrements needed for “my snake” (neighbors of his at his father’s house gave him the stuff instead of throwing them away. I should ask them how to dispose of a dead snake I suppose.)

I’m currently considering making these pets an academic reward if they hit certain marks. Otherwise, they will wear me down, harping on about the damn snake and the cute chameleon over and over again. At least I can make the little rodents earn, well their little reptiles. If they don’t get them, it will be because of them, not because of me.

So why did I come out of my writing shell (first blog in weeks) to register my objections over the reptiles about whom I will probably approve soon? If you know me, you won’t be surprised that I just want to say “I told you so” when I’m scouring our basement for a baby cricket in my underwear on a cold February night. But I promise to write about it when that happens.

In the meantime I have to Google “how to dispose of a dead snake.”

Well, Tom, next time you need to be more pacific.

Creature 2, on my apparently foggy directions.

It's not true that girls don't fart. Only hot girls don't fart.

Creature 1 on digestive habits of the beautiful people.

Someday I'm going to be better than you at checkers. Some day when you're old, can't see and crap in a diaper.

Creature 2 on her long-term gaming strategies.

You don't poop out spaghetti.

A visiting 3-year-old creature being guided to the restroom. (She didn't even eat spaghetti during her 2-week visit)

I love Boots, he rocks. I'm gonna get Boots tattooed on my left butt cheek.

Creature 2, watching 'Dora, The Explorer' with a 3-year-old.

The news is very, very, very, almost wrong,

Creature 2 on her almost definitive judgment of the news media.

Creature Banter: The Other Eye

Creature 2, after explaining she walked into a wall because she was rubbing her eye and being asked what the other eye was doing: "I don't know. It was off in its own little world full of rainbows, butterflies and unicorns."

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