Oscar Thinks We're Crazy

Joe Joe

2012-02-02T20:29:00.000-08:00

Real time would make those shadows change and deepen quickly, as the sun drops out of the sky, but the stripes of light linger and we take in this new life. A part of us never leaves this moment. We feel gratitude, hope, amazement, and bewilderment that the math is so wrong; this child is one part me, one part him, and 100% unequivocally Joey. He has wrinkly feet, velvet hair, long legs. He is quiet, warm, and soft.

It is 6:52 PM and this moment washes over me again. I spoon you, bewildered at how fast you've grown. You're warm and soft and quiet. I do a checklist of positive affirmations. "You're sensitive and strong and smart, Joey." And you add your own, "I am funny." I hope that this time together is enough to undo all the times I screamed "NO!" to you today. You hug your moose as the sun sets.

Time keeps circling back to these moments when the light is picture-perfect and we all feel vulnerable together. Glittery particles hang in the air.

Hottie Police

2010-10-29T20:48:00.000-07:00

Jack would like to know the technical definition of the word "sexy." He'd also like to suggest that his three-year-old sister dress as a "hottie police" for Halloween '10. I realize that parents are NOT lying when they say that kids grow up so fast.

Fast, indeed! What the FUCK?! I tried describing sexy as scandalous, slightly naughty, and desirable. I also tried to explain that "sexy" to one person might not be sexy to another. For example, a nap is so deliciously sexy to me; not so much for him.

How do you explain sexy without explaining sex? I always thought I'd be so Euro in my sex talks with the kids, like throw down ALL the technical jargon right away when they're two so that by the time they're 13, "fellatio" will be old news. But now the time has come to cough up even the smallest hint of info, and I tell him that NAP=SEXY.

The furry handcuffs and vibrating baton look extremely age-appropriate for a 1st-grader who is really into law enforcement and is already probing for details about how PRECISELY he should go about getting an interview for the Police Department, but it is super wrong for my baby girl.

We opted for princess over hottie police, and Jack will be a Lego Bionicle. I would love to have heard the conversation between the parent and the 2nd-grader who dressed as Snooki for the Halloween Hop last week, though. If "sexy" is hard to describe, how do you describe "skanky?"

Clumpy Wet Paper

2010-10-09T18:56:00.000-07:00

After his initial missteps at seduction (Lady Speed Stick applied liberally to face and arms), Jack had more luck today. Before meeting up with his favorite girl, he showered, brushed his teeth, ate a mint, and requested Binaca (which we would have given him if this was 1988). And I believe I heard him calling her "Your Highness." A real ladies man in training.
We enjoyed a beautiful walk through the dog park with some friends. Joey watered the garden, Major Bonz experimented with controversial Black Face, and the kids pumped some iron.
I also polished the chandelier, which is Reason #219 that an old-ass house sounds way more glamorous than it really is (right after painting the crown molding), which resulted in Burning Hand Syndrome from the chemicals.
And lastly, Joey shredded several feet of toilet paper into his bath water, because nothing says fun like clumpy wet paper.
Ah, another day in the life of the Zautners.

Jack Magic

2010-09-22T06:36:00.000-07:00

I was asked to write a letter to Jack about why he's special in honor of his role as "Student of the Week." I had trouble making the letter concise, because there is SO much to say about Jack.

I love my kids' birthdays even more than they do. I spend the day reminiscing about the different phases of their development, beginning with pregnancy. I love where we are now.

I remember dreaming about who you’d be. I was holding my big pregnant belly as you kicked away at my ribs and guts - OUCH! - and I was sure you’d be strong and strong-willed and maybe a little crazy; I was right. I also thought you’d have hazel eyes and freckles; I was wrong. You keep me guessing, Jack Thomas, and I am enjoying the ride!

Exactly six years ago at this time I was holding my brand new baby. I was stunned by the intensity of your gaze, your long eyelashes, and your deep blue eyes. Those are features that still stand out. From day one, I had the sense that we knew each other, that we’d figure it all out together, that you and I had a secret. I love having that bond with you, Jack; being your mom is amazing. I feel pride and happiness every day.

You are passionate and intense. You have a one-track mind. When you decide you love something, you love it to death. It started with All Things Trains: train sets, train t-shirts, Thomas the Train, “ding-dings,” and youtube.com train videos. I remember you, at three years old, turning on the computer and navigating the internet to find images and videos of crossing gates. Then you graduated to LEGOS, which you still obsess over; your room looks like the LEGO factory blew up.

You are imaginative and funny. You have a unique perspective on the world around you, and you have a great sense of humor. Remember your suit and tie phase? You spent the summer that you were four wearing a full three-piece suit every single day, complete with the briefcase and penny loafers, pretending to go to “work,” as an “emergency inspector.”

You are bright. You stun us with your photographic memory. You got a puzzle of the United States when you were two and started reciting the capitols not long after. Very frequently, you only need to be told something once, and you’ll remember it forever (which reminds us we better watch what we say around you!) I remember meeting some friends at the park just before your third birthday, and you named every make and model of the cars that pulled up. Before your second birthday, you alphabetized all the magnetic letters on the babysitter’s refrigerator, a task that her five-year-old was struggling with. Learning comes naturally to you, and that is an amazing gift.

And you drive me crazy sometimes with your stubbornness! You are SO head-strong and dominant, Jack. I am sure that those traits will take you far professionally (as an emergency inspector?! Police chief? LEGO engineer?), but they can be um, er…difficult to manage as your mom.

The years fly by. I still dream of who you’ll be, because even now that you’re here - big six-year-old! - you change so much all the time. I hear parents saying they wish they could stop time to keep their kids little, but I don’t have that feeling. I LOVE watching you grow and change, becoming more self-assured, generous, funny, and courageous. You are pure magic, Jack.

More Sweet Than Bitter

2010-08-31T19:16:00.000-07:00

Sylvia is officially a kindergartner! She sported that big-ass hideous Dora backpack like a real trooper. No tears and no separation anxiety. After her first day, she reported that "the other kids thought I was the teacher" and "they have one million dress-up outfits." I will take that as a positive report.
Her teacher has major Weird Beard potential, as evidenced by her creepy in-home visit a few weeks back, during which she audibly gasped that we weren't Lutheran (oh, man, I hope she went right home and prayed for us; that usually works) and she claimed that I was "running a circus." This from a K-3 teacher, mind you. Wow.
I am not going to lie. Tears did not stream down my face as is the obligatory norm. I felt immense pride at her fearlessness and independence, her quiet determination. Does it make me daft that I don't understand parents' inability to let their kids grow up? It is titillating (as is using that word in context! yes!)to see that the hard work you've put in as a parent has paid off, that you've helped to nurture that sense of identity in your child. Nice work, Syl. Nice work, Me.
Tomorrow I send Jack off to first grade. The anticipation has opened up a surprising flood of tears and drama for the little guy. My perspective of his thought process goes like this: HOLY SHIT, I HAVE LIKE 20 MORE YEARS OF FULL-TIME SCHOOL [you'll note that I have added in the additional schooling required for extensive post-doc education]. THAT SUCKS! But his is probably more like: NOW I CAN ONLY BUILD LEGOS FOR LIKE 6 HOURS A DAY AND HARASS MY BROTHER ONLY LIKE 4. THAT SUCKS! Either way, I can completely understand his reticence.
Lots on the horizon for me, too. I am about to pull the trigger professionally for a job I am amped about, but I have that first-grader mentality in me, too. OH, MAN, 30 HOURS A WEEK?! THAT SUCKS! WHAT ABOUT FACEBOOK? WHAT ABOUT BAKING COOKIES AND LEISURELY STROLLS? I need to tighten up and pull myself together, the same advice I give Jack, and do what needs to be done.

Grace

2010-08-03T20:57:00.000-07:00

Sylvie danced in her first recital today. Her enthusiasm and pride were contagious, and the whole family loved to see her move!
The energy continued into an evening of mini-train rides, inflatable slides, and fireworks, all mixed up with good friends and cold beer.
Fireworks bore the shit out of me, but not tonight, not with my kids. Their eyes were like saucers, agog at the magical colors and sounds, half-freaked, half-euphoric about the display.
I will go ahead and say it: Children allow you to relive the magic of youth. MMM, it feels good, even if only vicariously.

Surly

2010-07-24T17:02:00.000-07:00

I'd like to tell this story backwards, so that it has a happy ending, and I would like to believe that telling it forwards will include a happy ending eventually, too. Yesterday included TWO car accidents, TWO flooded basements, and a million temper tantrums. The day before that included dinner with my divorced parents, their divorce lawyer's wife, and my step-mom. Before that was boating, sunning ourselves, and only mild awkwardness. Early in the week was outrageous, with copious pale ale, clear skies smiling at us, and comfortable strolls down memory lane.
So, here's the situation: We vacationed in my home town, whiling away the time on the lake that we grew up on. We stayed at my step-mom's sister's house, a modest lake house which we were bursting out of with our large families. Imagine five kids under six years old and seven adults in a house that contains only one family room and 1.5 bathrooms (which is the source of MANY, MANY stories, but I'll save that).
Being back where I grew up was surprisingly pleasant, but it was the source of painful discomfort for my mom. I understood that sentiment without being overly empathetic. In retrospect, yeah, that was an awkward venue for her.
There is still fallout, 20 years after the fact, from my parents' divorce. A large part of me wants to make clear that they made this shitty bed and now they gotta lay in it, but it doesn't really work that way in a family. A grim and hostile energy is present in all of the interactions with both parents. It is getting old.
But that is only Camera Angle #1 of our vacation. The lens of Camera #2 is decidedly more lovely. Puffy cummulus clouds in a teal sky over a gorgeous lake, a HUGE pontoon, outdoor dining, inside jokes, hilarious games, Surly Furious Ale, the clever words of a great novelist, and best of all, amazing family.
I am constantly awed when I hang out with my family. I might be the only girl you know who doesn't have an in-law that sucks, a loose canon for a sibling, or a crazy asshole for a mother. Maybe it's only a matter of time or maybe Camera #3 sees me as the asshole/loose cannon in the bunch.
Anyway, Goggins Vacation '10 was pretty spectacular, tempered with occasional sodden spirits. I already can't wait for more of the same next year.

Sweet Nothings

2010-06-20T19:59:00.000-07:00

Chad, you amaze me. I didn't know sexy until I watched you swaddle our child, your tan, ropey forearms huge and yet gentle. I didn't know patience until I watched you build the Lego police station for the third time. You always know just the right thing. I can't be sure about "mother's intuition," but I am sure about your father's intuition. Happy Father's Day to the best man I know. I am grateful and blessed.

Baby Sweat

2010-06-18T19:16:00.000-07:00

In the past I have claimed to hate the duschbags who post daily about the weather, but here I am, about to post about the weather again. Mmmmm, summer. The kids smell like lake water and baby sweat and ice cream and berries. Sirens blare. Car tires spit out rain from the thunderstorm that whipped through. Clothes stick, but in a good, sensual way. The musty basement smells nostalgic and reminds you that you are home, in good old Wisco, in glorious summer!
What a life! I feel like I am crawling out of a 5-year fog. I can't remember feeling so viscerally alive since childhood. Corny parents will tell you that they're excited to "re-live the magic of childhood through their own children," which makes me puke in my mouth, but the worst thing is that I think they might be right. Oh, man. To see Joey roll in the sand laughing, to watch Syl proudly plie with her dance class, to watch Jack get ready for his first backpacking trip...it's almost too much.
I met an old aquintance at the beach today who was there with her three kids, aged 5, 3, and 2, exactly the same as me (only with a super cute hat, hot bathing suit, and 70 pounds less cellulite, but I digress). In our three-minute conversation, interrupted by almost-drowning kids and sand fights, we agreed that we both felt like we were back in the game, so to speak, after several years of shallow breathing and complete chaos.
For a few years there, I wondered if parenthood was the ultimate swindle. All this hype and only poop and precocious baby pics to show for it. Mothering little kids, especially when there are three of them in a row, is aggressive. I was at home A LOT with napping/puking/irritable babies, having gotten little sleep myself, powered by coffee and Facebook, in a crazy survival state that didn't include time to smell the proverbial roses.
2010 has been different. The seasons blow me away. The kids amaze me with their independence, their zeal, their delight at the newness of what is around them. I feel it, too, and it feels good. So here's to vine-ripened berries, open windows, lightning, hikes, laughter, ice-cold pale ale on the patio. Cheers, to the other parents out there who are back in the game.

Pink Blossoms

2010-05-04T18:38:00.000-07:00

The wind is making fragrant pink blossoms swirl around me as a read a novel in the driveway. "BUBBLES," Joey laughs as he chases the blossoms. Syl and Jack enjoy a rare moment of camaraderie playing in the car (which includes games like "Lick the Hand Sanitizer" and "Smear Blistex on the Windshield, but this I'll save for another post). Chad is planting astilbe and hosta. I breathe in deeply.
Our life is beautiful, enviable, vulnerable. The incredible, intolerable vitality and dynamism that makes up our days would blow your mind. Sure, we have shitastic weekends which rain diarrhea, the bank account is often precariously close to zero, and we struggle to find balance in "picking our battles," but at the end of the day, we unwind with a stiff drink and laugh together. Nothing is too much to handle.
I have goosebumps. I am not thinking about the newness of All Things Spring; I am thinking about what comes next. The heavy wind will carry these blossoms away, then the tree will grow useless fruit that trashes the roof, driveway, and car. And there is the inevitability of winter.
As the petals rain down, I feel like I am twelve years old again, wondering when ubiquitous cancer will visit our family, when we will be stung by an untimely death. I don't think about how lucky or blessed we are, but rather, when is it our turn to experience the kind of personal winter that doesn't end.
So, while you polish off your bottle of pharmaceuticals in desperate sadness after reading this, I have life to enjoy. It is fragile and lovely.

Spanked With Literary Devices

2010-04-18T18:35:00.000-07:00

You, my faithful readers, are surely smart enough to figure out the hilarity of these recent events.

I leave Pick'n'Save and the checker mentions that I have "saved" $65.91 by shopping there.

I practically crash my car reading the fine print on the billboard that reads "Poor Weather Conditions Don't Cause Accidents. Distracted Drivers Do."

And today, as I am leaning over to scoop my dog's shit into an old Target bag, he kicks grass and dirt into my face.

Nostalgia

2010-04-16T08:01:00.000-07:00

The term nostalgia describes a yearning for the past, often in idealized form.^[1] The word is a learned formation of a Greek compounds, consisting of νόστος, nóstos, "returning home", a Homeric word, and ἄλγος, álgos, "pain" or "ache". It was described as a medical condition, a form of melancholy, in the Early Modern period, and came to be an important topic in Romanticism.^{[1]
(Wikipedia.org)}My computer cycles through old photos randomly as a screen saver. I wouldn't rewind time even if I could, but I found the nostalgia of the baby pictures crippling last night. Little Jack, pre-haircut, with blond ringlets and disproportionately long eyelashes, playing trains. Sylvie, all crashed out in the bouncey seat, the pink nuk securely in place. Joey (aka Ronco, because you could "set'em and forget'em!") kicking happily in the Bjorn, tight against my chest. These are memories that make me ache with pride and euphoria.

The camera lies, though; the camera did not catch the MANY hours of ravaged sleep, screaming, tantrums, spills, and loneliness which I know were also a big part of these past five years. I cried more than I laughed, cursed more than I cooed. I am beginning to let go of some of the drama and embrace the memories that will forever shape me. I will become one of those dreaded old ladies that tells you not to "wish those years away" because I, too, will have forgotten the intensity of the bullshit. Memory serves us well in this way.

But here is what this is really about: It is time for me to grieve the end of that phase in my life. If you had told me two years ago that saying goodbye to pregnancy and newborns and diapers and nursing would be difficult, I would have howled with laughter. And here I am, grieving a loss I didn't know existed. I occasionally get phantom abdominal movements or experience the sensation of let-down when I hear a baby cry. Motherhood is deeply a part of who I have become, and the transition from young mother to mother-of-young-hoodlums is my new challenge.

Trash Eyes is Happy

2010-03-23T10:02:00.000-07:00

The air is crisp, the sun is beating down, and the kids are holding hands running across the playground in their clothes that are just a little too small. At any moment, Joey will pull her hair or she'll trip and sail into a mud puddle, and the moment will be over. But for that moment, life is perfect.

Here's what I had to say about life one year ago:

Momentum

In the midst of the mundane and insane that has been our life lately, I have had breath-taking moments of quiet clarity: Life is brilliant!

In a average day, I will be called “Poop Eyes” and “Trash Butt.” I will pull the baby away from the toilet, off the steps, out from under Jack. I will yell about bad behavior, rotten eating habits, and messes. I’ll take the nuk away because she’s too damn old to have it, but I’ll give it back the minute she whines. I’ll yell at the baby for spilling the dog’s water dish on his head, threaten to throw away toys, and holler, all the while longing for cocktail hour. Each day is a frenzy, intense and chaotic, bursting with paint spills and milk spills and poop, barf, and sand. There is pinching, screaming, and tears, more bad television than any self-respecting mom cares to admit, and mealtime battles that would make anyone crack.

But then it happens, in a flash: Jack asks if he can give the baby a bottle. Sylvie crawls into the bed and nuzzles against my neck, like a boa. Joey’s fingers clutch my own as I nurse him in the earliest morning hours. Jack tells me he loves me “1,000 percent” because I am so beautiful. They tell jokes and laugh and eat their dinner. Joey takes his first steps, shaky but proud. Syl and Jack curl up on the couch together. They surprise me with politeness and silliness and smarts. I ache.

Norman Rockwell must have painted very fast, because those idyllic moments are fleeting, though. They pepper the day. Sometimes whole days pass where you wonder what the hell the point is. But as time passes, I notice more of the good stuff. “Trash Eyes” is happy.

The chaos has maintained it's staggering pace, although now it's different bad television, less spills, more hair-pulling, more nudity. I am constantly rummaging through clothes to find stuff that they haven't outgrown yet, and I wonder who took my babies and replaced them with these big kids! But I can't reflect too long on it because I can't find my keys, my wallet, Jack's shoes, Syl's undies, etc. I am likely to find them in one of Jack's many briefcases, if only I could find them, but before I do that I need to put a diaper on the naked baby, start the fifth load of laundry, and feed the dog, who is watching this drama unfold with total disgust, remembering the glory days when we had time to dote on him.

It is a madhouse here, and if you're crazy enough, you might find yourself embracing the insanity. I am not sure I am quite there yet, but I DO see that the moments that are good are really, really good. Amazing even.

CEO

2010-03-16T19:55:00.000-07:00

I have never held a position of authority professionally, but I am the CEO of this family. It is a lonely and daunting place to be. Maybe it's because my "employees" are all under five, or maybe it's because I NEVER feel like the decisions I make are right or good. I worked in a restaurant for 10 years and thought that insanity like that couldn't be duplicated. Wrong. Even without the sexual overtures, this household would bring any busy business to it's knees in noncompliance, drama, and disorderly conduct.
Like any good CEO, I will be specific. Let's talk about the potty. We have, on the one hand, the five-year-old that will not, under any circumstances, wipe his own ass, even if that means sitting on the toilet and hollering for an hour. On the other hand, we have the not-quite-two-year-old who adores the potty and everything that goes into it. "PEE-PEE," he screams (because he screams everything), while splashing it around.
Or maybe the behavioral issues would resonate better with you. We have, in Cubicle A, the best employee ever. She is coachable, independent (but not TOO independent), mild-mannered, and sweet. In Cubicle B, we have the Mid-Level Manager, the guy who loves rules and loves fucking with the little guys. In Cubicle C, we have the Party Animal, the guy who might steal your lunch, punch a hole through your computer, or poop on the desk, just to shake things up. You can see where the CEO might struggle, right?
Anyhoo, I am looking forward to the day that this horrible power structure becomes a nice, peaceful democracy. Until then, I am going to withhold pay and yell as much as I can.

CHOO-CHOO!

2010-03-15T12:11:00.000-07:00

This winter we took the kids to Chicago on the train. We visited the Lego store, American Girl, Michigan Avenue, Watertower Place, and Millenium Park, but really, we could have just taken the train back and forth and the kids would have been equally stoked.
The kids had their choice of any type of lunch they wanted. Yep, you guessed it, they chose McDonalds, where we um, er...enjoyed a $30 lunch. Wha?! Chad assures me that the prices are the same in Chicago as in Milwaukee but I beg to differ. Whoever heard of a $8 "value" meal?! Still, that was the only money we spent while there, and I imagine we are unlikely to get away with that again. Sylvie was drooling over the dolls, and Jack found a $400 Lego set that caught his fancy.
My Gramzie lived and breathed for her Chicago, and Chicago breathes life back into her for me. I can't visit there without thinking about her. So while the kids enjoyed the rhythmic rocking of the train and the Most Expensive Burgers Ever, I enjoyed reconnection to Gramzie.

Carnival Music Intermission

2010-03-04T19:03:00.000-08:00

For those of you who enjoy hearing our trials and tribulations, this post will disappoint. Despite the hair-pulling and penchant for nudity from Joey, life is pretty sweet. Here's the thing: everything is relative, and one year ago we were a family of five (plus smelly old Oscar) living in 1000 square feet, trying to sell our house by owner, working three jobs between the two of us, and oh, the baby was still nursing 472 times a day.

Here are all the ways life doesn't suck:

Oscar channels his inner kitten when milk gets spilled.
We sleep all night, every night.
No one lives in nor receives nutrients from my body.
Nothing hurts.

The bar is pretty low, and the antidepressants are clearly doing their job, but WOW, life is sweet. Once the hubby goes back to work and Jack is out of school, the carnival music will resume at full throttle, I am sure. CHEERS! to a little break in the insanity.

Frosty the Penis Man

2010-02-18T18:18:00.000-08:00

Two things are on my mind in equal parts. First, my kids' current obsession with injecting the word "penis" into everything they say and second, the neighbor's 10-foot plastic snowman that has been slumped over - still glowing, mind you - for two months.
Let's talk about the marriage of Lady Gaga lyrics with penis talk, two of Jack's current favorite things. "Pa Pa Penisface Pa Pa Pa Penisface," sung to the tune of "Pokerface" is the refrain around here. Talk about karma! I spent months using "breast" as a verb ("She was breasting her turkey dinner") or adverb ("breastily cutting her turkey") or the stand-by noun ("turkey and gravy over breasts"). I knew this phase would come eventually, but I thought I might have a decade or so to mentally prepare. There is something just plain wrong about my three-year-old daughter asking for penis for breakfast.
And then there's Frosty the Penis Man in my neighbor's yard glowing in misery just a few yards away. I demand a show of hands from people who don't find these holiday decorations appalling. Huge, electric-powered, plastic bunnies/snowmen/pumpkins. What.The.Fuck. What a brazen use of resources. And by the way, neighbor, Frosty is slumped over because the season is O-V-E-R.

Hi to the Larious

2010-02-09T06:17:00.000-08:00

The post that I wrote and then erased yesterday would have qualified me for Worst Blog Ever status, worse even than the soft-focus-family-picture-conservative-Christian-values-blogs. The gist was that the kids were playing nicely with their toys, no one was sick, everyone seemed happy, etc. You could practically hear the gentle violin music.
Another amateur mistake! No sooner had the words been written (and then erased), the Barfathon commenced. But in true Joey fashion, he let it roll off his back - literally and figuratively - and he proceeded to play all night long. Oh, the fun you can't have at 3 AM in a cold, drafty house with a sick, high-energy baby!
And good old Oscar, he doesn't think we're crazy; he thinks we're marvelous. Who better to do clean-up detail on a puke-fest than the family dog?
The world is exactly as it should be. Unmanageable, messy, hilarious.

Death

2010-02-06T21:24:00.000-08:00

I cry in church for all the wrong reasons. A new Catholic church, for example, seems like blasphemy. Catholic churches should be creaky and old and haunting. So maybe I shed a tear today about the newness of the place, the padded pews, the carpet, etc...it seems so wrong.
Day Two of this blog seems like a bad place to introduce death, but I gotta roll with things as they come. My grandmother's funeral was today, and I did, in fact, cry, despite being an emotional cripple. Seeing my mother's head sandwiched comfortably between her siblings after 20 years of estrangement turned on the waterworks. With death comes new life. I have no idea where we go from here, but I am optimistic. Rest in Peace, Nana.

Sucking on Legos

2010-02-04T20:36:00.001-08:00

My Facebook status updates read like a conversation in a hurricane, with lots of expletives but lack of clarity. This blogging format, on the other hand, requires me to string several sentences together at once, connecting the dots. This has never been my strong suit, but the practice might not be a bad idea; I have started to think in side-splitting one-liners or open-ended questions.

Oscar, of headline fame here, is our dog. I will NOT gag you with another blog about the family pet. This blog is more about the dog's point of view. I am totally sure that Oscar would rebel if it wouldn't mean being cut off from the shitloads of table scraps that he gets every day.

Today began with a rousing game of Shell Peanuts All Over the Floor. Jack and Joey (5 and 1, respectively) quickly lost interest in this game, though, and moved on to Stick Penis Creepily out of Pointless Hole in Underwear and Suck on Legos, respectively. By 7 AM, my husband, ready to blow his top, was out the door for his and Oscar's first walk of the day. Ordinarily, though, Oscar is not the winner of any of these "games" the way he was today.