A Doll House for my Daughter

As a dad who can’t get enough of being one, I am always trying to find a way to prove that I am a better father than the next guy.  Not really, but I do feel the need to be thought of as a good father.

The fact is, I’m a little cheap.  I don’t like to spend a lot of money on something I could do myself.  My father was a general contractor, and I inherited all of his toys.  There’s nothing like needing to hang a picture on the wall, and knowing that all I have to do is step into the garage, turn on the 6 ft. tall Campbell-Hausfeld compressor and choose which nail-gun I want to use.  Oh, yeah.  So whenever I see an overpriced toy that I think my kid needs, I think, “I could make that.”

The last time it was a set of bins for her toy that were twice as large as the ones at Ikea, and cost me half as much (if you don’t count the trip to the doctor when I shot a nail through my thumb).

So, with my daughter’s third birthday arriving in a bout two months, I have decided to build…a doll house.  My niece has a cool one that is three stories tall, one room deep, and has the whole back half open for easy access.

I looked around and these things go for around $300.  Of course, I thought, I can build one of those.  I have been thinking about it for a few months now, and collecting materials along the way.  Last month, I did a rough sketch and bought a couple of pieces of MDF and a piano hinge.

I did some more drawing, and realized that I needed another piece of MDF.  So, I finally decided that last weekend, I would have to start it if I were to have any chance of finishing it before her birthday.

I decided that I would not hide it from her for several reasons.  The first was the fact that hiding it would be difficult.  The second was the fact that I thought she would appreciate it more if she saw the effort that it took to make it.  And of course, if it made her love for me grow greater, that would be even better.

So I asked my mother to come and watch her Saturday, and got to work.  It was not that difficult, but it was hot, and as with anything like this, the time seems to fly by when are actually doing it.  By Saturday evening, I had the whole frame put together, and the piano hinge on the roof.  The wood for the interior walls had been cut, and I had decided that a lot of the work from this point on could be done in the house where there is air conditioning.

Since Saturday, I have done a little work every day.  The interior walls are in now, and I have cut the wood for a couch, love seat and chair for the living room, and a couple of beds.

As with most things that I do like this, I have gotten carried away.  I tend to build things that are a little more elaborate or just plain big.  This would fall into the ‘big’ category.  It is 57 inches tall, 49 inches wide, and 18 inches deep on a 24 inch deep base.  There are 10 rooms including a living room, study/library, dining room, kitchen, pantry, full bath, master bedroom, nursery, child’s room, and kid’s playroom.

I plan to make as much of the furniture as I can.  My focus will be on functionality rather than reality.  For instance, I want to make a chair and table for the dining room that will last if my daughter wants to play with it for years, not an ultra-realistic piece of miniature art that will break the first time she plays with it.  And, I want it to be big enough for Barbie when she gets one.

Special thanks to my wife.  She has done most of the measuring and marking, and without her assistance, it would not be done at all.

I have enjoyed it a lot more than I ever thought I would, and I will continue to document this process in case any other parents out there decide that they want to attempt it.  Stay tuned for pictures, and further documentation.

Cost so far:

3 pieces MDF: $22.00 each

48 inch Piano Hinge: $15.00

Screws: $0 (already had these)

Nails: $0 (already had these)

Tools: $0 (already had these)

Scrap Wood: $0 (already had some of this. Also took two small pieces from a trash pile at a home being built in the neighborhood)

Total: $81.00

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Bitter?

This is one of the bitterest things that I have ever read.  It would be very funny except for the kids involved.  I don’t know why everyone needs to live their lives like a Springer episode.  This guy is a father and a professional, and I don’t care how much of an ungrateful b—- his wife is, he should know better.

The Bachelor Exploits a Child

I watch a lot of Reality TV.  I have watched every season of Survivor, The Mole, The Amazing Race, and several seasons of American Idol and The Apprentice.  I have also watched several reality failures like the recent pirate debacle.

 

However, I have never enjoyed any of the programs based on relationships especially dating relationships.  I think that a marriage is simply too important to suggest that people should act as if they could ever enter into it though a television program where money is used as bait.  I also am uncomfortable with them men and women on these programs who use sex or their sexualityto help them get ahead (I know I am a little inconsistent here with regard to Survivor).  It is seedy and unseemly.

 

So, when I saw the touching commercial for the new bachelor program where the male contestant is a single father, I wanted to puke.  It was clear from the advertisements the his young son was going to be a big player in the plot of the show.  It is one thing for these people to screw around with each other’s emotions, but it is something else entirely when you involve a child and exploit him.

 

I find it hard to believe that no one at ABC objected to this, but I am sure that they thought all they had to do was to make a ‘touching’ commercial, and people would be all over it.  It is one thing for these despicable programs to present their warped ideas dating and marriage, but it is something else entirely when a child is brought in, a child who probably is looking for a mother figure.  So, they will put him on the program where these women will attempt to form emotional attachments with him in order to curry favor with his father in hopes that the father will choose them, and they will win the money.  The young boy will also get to see them throwing themselves at his father in a sexual way,… nice.

 

Shame on his father for using his own son to further a career in entertainment.  Shame on the women who use him for the same thing, and to win some money.  Shame on the producers for thinking up this tripe.  Shame on ABC for allowing this abomination to happen, and promoting it as if it is a good thing, and shame on everyone who helps this program in the ratings by watching it.

Dating Disasters

Analytical guys, like me, often do not have a lot of luck in the dating scene while they are growing up.  Females are a mystery, the ultimate ‘x’ in any equation.  The more you evaluate the possibilities, the more frightening they become.  Most of the time, I would simply procrastinate in asking-out a girl that I liked until she was no longer available.

That being said, I did actually get up the courage to ask several girls out while I was in high school, and surprisingly some of the young ladies actually said yes, even though I am sure I was visibly shaking when I asked, and made a hasty retreat once they said, “Yes” because I had not planned for what to do if they actually responded positively.  Once these girls had accepted my offer, there was the obvious panic of what to actually do on the date.  This required extensive planning, but was usually curtailed by my financial realities.

There are four particular dating disasters that occurred before I finally was able to get married and free myself from this continual torture.  The first was my first real date.  I had met a shy and very pretty girl at church.  She was blond and had a nice body also.  I decided that the best way to trick her into going out with me was to incorporate her love for her God into a date with myself (genius).  So, I asked her out to a Christian concert (obviously, I had no thoughts of ‘making a move’ on this date).

I picked her up in plenty of time to go see the ‘Carry the Light’ tour at Reunion Arena in Dallas.  I was driving a 1977 Cougar, and it was a ‘boat.’  I picked her up, and she looked nice.  We went to eat dinner, and then got onto I-35 heading south.  Almost immediately, I realized that I had made a tactical error.  I-35 was going through a makeover where there were machines eating about a foot of back-top off of the road in order to get to the old concrete.  Eventually, the highway department put a nice new concrete road in, but on this day, the project was still a work in progress.  Even though I was traveling against the flow of traffic, it was awful.  I was literally inching along and the 90 degree plus weather quickly took a toll on my ten year old car.  Soon, the gauges on my dash were informing me that my engine was overheating.  So, after apologizing, I turned the air conditioner off, and asked her to roll down her window.  Later, I actually turned the heater on for a minute in the hope that this would help dissipate the hot air from the engine compartment.  I’m sure she was loving all of this, but the car was making it.

We made it all the way to the point where cars were attempting to get into the parking lot.  It was stop-and-go once again, only this time there were three lanes of traffic trying to get up a hill into the parking lot.  This was simply too much for the Cougar, and it died.  As I sat there in the center lane wondering what to do, a bus hit the back of my car (no kidding) while trying to get around me.  Defeat.

Eventually, the nice policeman who was directing traffic into the parking lot decided something had to be done.  He stopped traffic and allowed me to push my car backward across the intersection, and up against a curb (facing the wrong way on a one-way street).

I, however, would not admit defeat so easily.  We walked the rest of the way to the arena, and I was sure that I would never see my car again.  I called my dad collect on the way into the venue, and told him of my dilemma.  He told me to enjoy the show, and meet him near the end so that he could help me with my car.

I do not remember a lot about the show other than a guy playing classical guitar with his feet (amazing).  I do not remember that we said two words to one another, and before the end of the show, we left to find my dad who had already shown-up and put water in my radiator for me.

This is when the one good thing in the whole evening occurred.  The nice policeman who had helped me park my car, had come back after I left and had written a personal note on the back of his card asking other officers who might happen by not to give me a ticket of have my car towed.

After getting my car restarted, I drove her home in complete defeat.  I never asked her out again, and I really don’t remember talking to her much after that.  She did not seem to mind.

Another dating disaster occurred about a year later.  I had gone out with a girl to help her to feel better after she had had a bad breakup…, big mistake!  She formed some sort of quick attachment to me, but the truth was that I was infatuated with her best friend.  I really liked her friend a lot, and she was probably my first real crush.  She was a short, cute brunette who had a very nice body.  She did have a glass eye (hardly noticeable), but that did not bother me at all.

I finally got the nerve to ask her out, and she agreed to go to dinner and a movie with me.  We went to a decent restaurant and then set off for the theatre.  I chose a terrible John Candy movie called Summer Rental.  Oh, if he’d only died before he made this abomination.  The movie was bad enough, but I once again made a tactical error.  I had planned to ‘make a move,’ and put my arm around her during the movie, but as we went to sit down, I realized that I had entered the row on her left, The Side With Her Bad Eye!  This froze me.  I kept wanting to put my arm around her, but in my mind, I kept seeing her jump or even scream as she wondered if a rat or something worse were crawling across her shoulder.  For the most part, I sat in paralyzed frustration for the rest of the movie.

After the movie, I took her home, and actually worked up the courage to go for the ‘good night kiss.’  This worked out for me, and she later said that she would go to the Homecoming Dance with me.  However, her friend felt some sort of a betrayal in the fact that the two of us had gone out, and began to treat us both badly.  A couple of weeks later, I got a note from her explaining that she wanted to be the other girl’s friend more than she wanted to be my boyfriend.  Defeat.

Later, in college, I had determined to get more dates.  I asked out the girl that eventually became my wife.  I remember meeting her that week because there was about a foot of snow on the ground, and this was very unusual for Shawnee, OK where I went to school.  I asked her to go see Rain Man which was big at the theatre, and it turned out to be a good date movie, for once.  The main problem I had with this particular date occurred early in the day, as I went out to my car (the Nova, pronounced ‘No-Vah”- Spanish for ‘it does not go’).  I walked up to the car, and saw that my right front tire was completely on the ground beneath the snow, so I decided to change the tire in a foot of snow.  I was wearing jeans which were by no means waterproof, but they were the best thing that I had for the job.  I lay down and scooped out the snow from behind the tire and up under it so that the jack would fit under the axel.  I got the car jacked up, and then realized to my horror that the wheel was frozen to the axel.  Oh…F…u…d…g…e!  But, I didn’t say ‘fudge.’  I then found a hammer in my trunk and actually tried to beat the tire off of the axel for several minutes with no luck (this seemed kind of dangerous).  I finally lowered the jack, put the car in gear, and felt the wheel break free of the axel.  I was then able to change the tire after jacking the car back up.  When I was finished, I swear that I could have stood my frozen jeans up against the wall.  The date that night, however, went well.  The same could not be said for our next movie date.  It should be noted that my wife (who I was dating at the time) had led a somewhat sheltered life up to that point in a small town in Western Oklahoma.  Her family never really went to the movies, and most of their television watching involved The Waltons or Little House on the Prairie.  I, on the other hand, considered myself to be a man of the world.  I saw most of the big movies every year, and tried to see most movies that were nominated for Academy Awards.  That year, there was a movie that was getting a lot of Oscar buzz, and so we decided upon my recommendation to go see… The Accused.  I remember feeling sort of dizzy the first time they went through the rape scene, and then looking over to see the horror on my date’s face.  You would think that showing the same violent rape five or six times from different points of view in a movie would desensitize the viewer to some degree.  This, however, was very much not the case.  I probably should have just left, but a familiar paralyzing fear had me in its icy grip.

The only good move that I made that night was when I reached over and hugged my future wife to me, burying her head to protect her from having to see the violence one more time.  Suffice it to say. The Accused IS NOT A GOOD DATE MOVIE!  In the end, I guess it all worked out for me because she said, “Yes” when I asked her to marry me later (no, not that night).  I guess at that point she was just too frightened to say, “No.”

 

The Skreech!

One of my favorite stories from my childhood involved the most surreal event that ever took place on one of our deer leases.  There deer lease seemed to be a place where lots of strange things happened.  I remember seeing my eight year old cousin try to shoot a sawed-off ten gauge single-shot shotgun (so, so very violent).  I remember seeing the same cousin a couple of years later gut-shoot a jack rabbit with a 308.  I felt bad about that.  It was unfortunate and unnecessary, but I assure you, the rabbit felt no pain.

I also was there to see that another youngster (age eleven) had killed a ten-point doe- no kidding.  The game warden was called out to see what to do about it.  Since, in Texas, deer tags say antlered and antlerless, the warden decided that it had to carry a buck tag because it had antlers.  This made some sort of sense, but it did not make the boy and his father happy that they had to use one of their buck tags.  The game warden did thank them for killing the deer.  He said that management officials were aggressive about weeding-out freaks from the population before they had a chance to reproduce.

I also remember my dad and me climbing a 20 foot wooden ladder to a box-blind on a gun lease only to find out that a family of ring-tailed cats had moved into it during the summer.  I still don’t know how we kept from getting hurt on that day, as we held our rifles while a couple of angry and frightened ring-tailed cats tried to exit the blind on the same ladder that we were climbing up with rifles in our hands.

Note: Ring-tailed cat odor is not pleasant.  Think of cat pee mixed with sweaty feet and feces.

However, the strangest thing that ever happened occurred on the Possum Kingdom bow lease that we hunted until gun season started every year.  We stayed in a popup tent trailer that my dad owned.  It had a bed on both ends, a booth style table that converted into a bed, and a little kitchenette area that never got used because all of the cooking was done in a community fashion outside around a large campfire and with a couple of Coleman stoves (including a Coleman oven).

I was probably about eight at the time, because I fit in the cramped bed that converted into a table just fine.  It must have been early in the season because it was hot enough that we had the canvas flaps on the sides of the tent-portion of the popup trailer down (unzipping these would reveal a mesh screen underneath that would allow a breeze to flow through the entire trailer), and the top half of the door was open.

My dad was on one end of the trailer, there was the kitchenette and door, and I was sleeping on the table-bed.  My uncle and his dog (a small terrier of some sort that looked like a wiener dog with longer legs) were above me on the other end-bed.

We kept no light on, and it must have been overcast, because I remember it being the darkest dark I had ever seen.

For some reason, even though I had a little fear of the dark at home, I never had trouble going to sleep on the deer lease.  I guess all of the activity combined with the fresh air put me to sleep quickly. 

On this particular night we were all sound asleep.  At some point in the night my father felt the dog curl up next to his legs for a while.  He did not mind because the dog was an extra source of warmth, and even though it was still warm in the daytime, October nights would eventually get cold.

Later, I felt the dog lay by me.  I have always liked dogs.  Finally, ‘the dog’ moved up to the bed with my uncle and attempted to lay next to…The Dog!  That is when all hell broke loose.

Have you ever been awakened after you had already gotten into the delta wave portion of your sleep?  It is hard to get your mind to focus, but I find that extreme terror has the ability to bring you back into focus as well as anything.

The animal that crawled up next to my uncle let out an unearthly cry that woke up everyone in the camp, not just our trailer, immediately.  It was a high-pitched wail that seemed to go on for a minute (believe me it seemed like forever at the time).  At once, the real dog began chasing what we thought was ‘the dog’ around the inside of the trailer.  They made two complete circuits of the inside of the trailer rounding both end beds twice and crossing my bed four times.  All the while the creature wailed and the dog barked, and as they went by on their second round, it found the door, and sounded something like a siren as it retreated into the night with the dog close on its tail.

Many theories were developed regarding the creature that visited the trailer that evening.  Some creatures were dismissed.  It was too big for squirrel.  An armadillo or a rabbit could not have made it over the half-door, and it was probably not a skunk, or it would have left more evidence.  We were pretty sure it was not a bobcat or a coyote because there would probably have been more damage.  This still left a host of possible candidates including:  an opossum, a raccoon, a ring-tailed cat, a weasel, a marten, or a fox.  I have since added a few other possibilities including a Jaguarundi, an Ocelot, a Swift (also know as a Kit Fox), or a black-footed ferret.  We will never know for sure what creature visited us and frightened the hell out of us that night.  It has since become part of the hunting lore of my family, and forever will be known as the Skreech.

For some reason, the door was shut completely when we went to bed after that.

There is Nothing Wrong with ‘Xmas’

I remember when I was a child how offended my mother would get when she saw the word ‘Xmas’ on a commercial or at a store.  She would really become angry saying, “There they go again trying to take Christ out of Christmas.”  On some level, I can understand her unhappiness.  Today, with the ACLU and the court system actually trying to remove any reference to Christmas, it is understandable that Christians would be on the defensive.  Almost daily we are faced with stories about long-time traditional festivals that are replacing the word “Christmas” with “Holiday” or “Festival.”  Seinfeld sublimely underscored many of these attitudes with the famous “Festivus for the Rest of Us” episode.

However, Christians who become offended at the word Xmas, simply have not studied what the word actually connotes.  In early Christianty, the X was actually a Greek letter pronounced “Chi” or “Kai.”  It was the first letter in the Greek word for Christ.

Due to persecution, early Christians would use the X as a symbol meaning Christ and denoting themselves as Christians.  The familiar Fish symbol seen on many cars goes back to this tradition.  The symbols that look like IXOYE (pronounced ‘ixthus’ or ‘icthus’), are really a Greek acronym denoting: Jesus, Christ, of God, Son, Savior.  The Greek word is actually an acrostic that spells out ‘fish.’

So, you see, when you spell Christmas with an ‘X,’ you are just paying homage to 2000 years of Christian tradition.  You can even use it as a tool to teach others when you hear them asking, “Why is Christmas spelled with an “X”?

Does the Constitution Say Anything About Grooming Issues?

There are several reasons that it would be good to go back to the 1950s.  One of these involves grooming issues.  Back then, a man wore his hair short, the only way his barber knew how to cut it.  Of course, there was the occasional ‘greaser,’ but even those guys had nice hair by today’s standards.

It was the 60s and hippies that destroyed hair in America.  The 70s were just an extension of the 60s and in the 80s hairstyles were just a mistake.  It took us until the end of the 1980’s and the introduction of the show “Friends” to finally get a handle on hairstyles once again.

In the last few years, for the most part hairstyles have improved, except in one area, the dreadlock.  Dreadlocks are way out of hand.  This phenomenon seems to have come out of the sports world, and proliferated itself on the heels of the institution of the ‘Emmitt Smith Rule’ in which players were no longer allowed to remove their helmets in the field of play.

Players like Troy Polamalu have started to wear dreadlocks so long that they come out of their helmets and go significantly down their backs.  The problem is that the league did not deal with this issue early on.  There are several reasons for the league to outlaw this nonsense:

  1. It’s unsightly.  It just looks bad.
  2. It’s not part of the uniform.  In a league where you can be fined for not wearing your socks in the correct manner during a game, It seems to be a little hypocritical to allow a player to wear his hair so long that neither the player’s number nor his name can be seen clearly.
  3. It is either dangerous or unfair.  I believe that it is dangerous to tackle these players by the hair (though it could serve as an effective deterrent).  It could easily break a neck, but on the other hand, it is unfair to protect these players against being tackled by their hair as it covers their whole back in some cases.  There was actually a flag thrown for unsportsmanlike conduct in a Cowboys/Steelers game when Polamalu was tackled in this manner after an interception.

Of course, this is all bogus, and the league will have to deal with it eventually.  Now, the player’s union has become involved in support of the players who want ridiculously long hair, and the league has allowed the argument to be changed into a racial issue.  This will make it much harder to deal with.

A similar subject occurred this week when a court allowed a Rastafarian to sue his employer, Jiffy Lube over a new policy that required employees to be clean-shaven.  He is suing on religious grounds.  I do not see how this lawsuit (which was dismissed once already) can be allowed to go forward.  There is no inherent right to dress the way you want to in the workplace.  Many jobs require their employees to wear uniforms, and most county health departments will not allow employees at restaurants to have facial hair.  What happens when a Muslim woman claims that she must wear a head-covering in her job at a bank, for instance?  Or, what if some kooky religion that bans clothing comes along?  Will we then be forced to employee a naked nurse (I actually support this in some cases)?  The implications are huge, and as we all know, in the civil courts in America precedent is everything.  Once Pandora gets out of this box, we are all in trouble.

In closing, Get A Haircut!