Bubble Popping

Our little family is expanding. More mouths to feed. More lives to be responsible for, more blog fodder.

Yes, Clan O'Rourke has grown over the weekend, we've adopted two goldfish, Dori and Nemo.

We attended MeadowFest on Saturday. It was held down in Secaucus. (pronounced See-Kaw-Kus, not Sic-cukus, as some non-North Jerseyites contend. Other often mispronounced town names are Garfield: pronounced Ga-feeld and Moonachie: pronounced Moon-A-Kee. Also, Statten Island is actually pronounced as one word, i.e. Stateneyelund.)

But back to Meadowfest, a celebration of the Meadowlands. It was great for the kids, pony rides, a petting zoo, bouncy houses, pontoon boat rides with tours of the meadowlands, live music, live animals, pig races, birds of prey, and general carnival fare, as well as a cadre of environmental groups all spread out among the mosquitoes in the beautiful county park at the base of Snake Hill or Laurel Hill, as is officially known. Yes, that Snake Hill. The one that the eastern spur of the NJ Turnpike cuts through. A quick and interesting history of Snake Hill can be found here. We try to entertain and inform here at The Poop Truck.

The day was a lot of fun. While we didn't get to take the eco-poontoon boat tour, Tiernan did get to engage in hot petting zoo action and a play around of mini-golf. The golf and the petting zoo were the highlights for Tiernan. I don't think Reagan had a highlight. For her, the day consisted mainly of trying to wiggle free and run around and crying and waiting in line and watching Tiernan do things that she was just too young to understand. She was cranky. But she liked being outside and got a laugh watching the pig races.

It was just as we were about to leave when our lives were changed forever. Tiernan spotted the goldfish game. The traditional carny game of tossing a ball in a small fish bowl and win a goldfish. Well, I forked over the $3 and my boy and I earned, I say earned because, the fishwrangler kept feeding me more and more balls until we each won a fish in a jar.

Great. I love fish. However, we have a minor complication. It is literally a three-mile walk back to where the car is parked. (In the interest of full-disclosure, a free shuttle bus was provided, but dramatic license is sometimes needed to keep the reader interested.)It could have been a long walk. I actually think we parked closer to the house than to the MeadowFest. It was very well attended, considering it was a party in a swamp. There were a lot of people there. Many, many with goldfish, which leads me to believe that rather than "win" the fish with my outstanding fishbowl pitching skills, I bought the fish and was allow to toss some balls for a while just to look cool in font of my son. It is kind of an empty moral victory, but I will take it.

So we've got the fish and it is a long walk (potentially). We have no stroller. We have two tired kids and two fish in jars. That is four precious lives, (some way, way more precious than others) in four tired arms, plus the ubiquitous bag-o-baby crap. Fear not, our friendly Fishwrangler has a solution. For a further investment of $7 dollars, I can upgrade from fish jar to a fish tank capable of holding multiple fish. A fish tank with a handy handle for carrying, plus a handful of colored rocks to make my new aquarium more appealing to the fish, and a small container of fish food. Sold. Thank you, friendly fishwrangler.

I just paid $10 for $1.50 worth of plastic and two fish that will probably be dead by the time we get to the car.

To make a long walk short, all six of us survived the walk to the car (and the bus ride) and ride home. Two of us fell asleep on the way home. Hint: The fish were very excited at the prospect of someday seeing our toilet bowl, they remained awake.

The kids slept. The fish swam. The parents talked -- mostly about what the hell we were going to do with the fish when we got home.

Once we got home we transferred Nemo and Dori, from new tank to a larger more stable fish bowl and a small filter that we've had stored in the basement for just such an occasion. It is a relic from my pre-parenthood life, when I went through a lets get an aquarium phase. I settled for a Siamese Fighting Fish, AKA a beta. A fish that is virtually impossible to kill, but I managed for find a way to kill it and the two others that followed him down the toilet.

The beta's died, but their home lived on in the basement, waiting for my future son to want a fish. At last, we've come to the true milestone of this story. (Its been a long journey hasn't it) Tiernan has his first pets. (Maggie does not count. She is BK, Before Kids.) It is the first in what I predict will be a long line of various assorted creatures that will be offered shelter by Clan O'Rourke.

Once the fish were transferred to their new home, the question became "Where do we put the fish bowl?" I didn't want it in the kitchen or living room. I don't want to put it too low, so the little hands can try to cuddle Dori and Nemo, but on the other hand I don't want them up too high that Tiernan and Reagan can not see them either. The fish now reside in the den on top of the toy storage unit - out of reach but in viewing distance. All have been sternly and strenuously warned not to touch the fish bowl.

Well, maybe not that far out of reach. Tiernan woke up Sunday morning and immediately wanted to check out his fish. So he went down stairs to wake up Dori and Nemo. A few moments later he is at the bottom of the stairs screaming. "Dad, there is a problem with the fish! Dad! Dad!"

My first reaction is the one or both fish are dead. I come down and check it out. I am happy to report that both fish were alive and well, but there was a problem with the filter. The hose shook itself loose and fell out of the bowl. Not a big deal, but you will agree that the boy has keen eye.

Later that day the hose come out again, but this time there was quite a bit of water. "Tiernan, were you playing with the fish bowl?"

"No. I was just trying to pop the bubbles from the filter and the hose came out." A quick clean up and another stern warning were needed.

I think I am going to start a pool. The pool will have to prizes, one for the correctly predicting the life expectancy of these fish and another predicting the first time (and last time) the bowl is spilled. It is a good chance that both events will happen at the same time.

Anybody that wants in let me know.

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The Nightmare is Over

It has finally come to this. After two years of grumbling and waffling, I am free. I have freed myself from the costant whinning and petulant meltdowns of a child. I have finally killed him. I came to a world changing epiphany and snapped. After debating whether I should and if I could really go through with it. I did it. He is dead. I could not take one more morning filled with crying and self-centered narcisisim. Something had to be done. I've killed him and his sister and his mother. The entire family of whinny Canadians are dead.

I have vanquished my foe. Caillou is dead. He no longer darkens my beautiful new LCD flatscreen TV. I have taken him off the autorecord on Tivo and his vomit inducing giggle will be heard from no more.

As I have documented here before, I hate this show. It teaches kids to whine and complain when they don't get their way or something doesn't come easy enough for them. Tiernan, my three-year old loves this show. It is about a kid that is his age and his little sister and Mommy and Daddy. It is Tiernan's life and he does learn some good things by watching the show. It helps his imagination. So I would let Tiernan watch the WLB (whinny little bastard) in moderation. However, he's been watching WLB it too much lately, and as a result, I've noticed that Tiernan is whinning more and more, and what's worse is I've heard him say on numberous occasions. "It's too hard! I can't do it!" when attempting do perform simple tasks such as pull up his underwear and button his pants. WLB has taught him that he can quit. Hell, I'd rather he watched more CSI, (deemed by a parents watchdog group to be the worst show on television for families due it its subject matter, the grissly recreations, sexual depictions and adult situations) and learn science and law & order, and some anatomy -- than watch WLB and learn to whine and quit.


I just wish WLB parents would do some parenting instead of always giving into what he wants. They never say no to this WLB.I just want to punch WLB's mother in the mouth and say wake up and parent. Your kid is messing up my kid, with his aire of entitlement and socialist view of the world. And why hasn't he been to a doctor about his lack of hair. He's four and Homer Simpson has more hair.


The other thing I hate about WLB is he is treated special everywhere he goes. If he goes to a farm he gets to ride a horse, if he goes on a airline, he gets to go in the cockpit, if he goes on a bus he gets to steer.

Tierna is like a WLB junkie. He keeps asking to watch WLB "just one show", but I tell him that it isn't on TV anymore. It has been hard, but hopefully, I can detox Tiernan from the long reaching effects of such a harmful addiction and he will go on to live a normal whine-free life. I know going cold-turkey can be tough, but if WLB is the drug of choice, I've found PBS' methodone, which I can use to keep Tiernan clean of the more harmful WLB. I have offered Tiernan, Clifford the Big Red Dog to get him over this tough adjustmet period to being WLB free. He seems to be responding to this treatment. He asked to watch Clifford today.

Tiernan is still whinning, I don't know if we'll ever get free of that side-effect. But in a few weeks, who knows he could be a changed boy and a productive member of society again. Instead of a WLB.

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Artist's Eye

We gave the camera to Tiernan one day last week and showed him how to use it. He took some surprisingly good photos and some expected bad ones.


Daddy the painter.



Mother and sister.



This one looks like a crime scene photo. "All that was left was her shoes."



I actually like this one. I call it "Paws and Posts"

There are some new photos of the kids on the old Poop Truck photo sites.
Click here for Tiernan's Photos or here for Reagan's Photos
You can always use the links on the side of this page as well.

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Breeding, go figure.

You folks, the ones with lives, may not have noticed but there is nothing on television since all the good shows have gone away for the summer, or in the case of Lost -- until Februaray. So tonight we were watching Crufts 2007 on Animal Planet. Crufts is the world's largest dog show.

Tiernan was very excited to watch the dog show. "Ohh, look at the puppy, Daddy, he's cute. That's a cute puppy, right?"

I actually enjoy watching dog shows. I enjoy Crufts because they have breeds that we don't have in here in the States, such as the Hovawart or the Estrella Mountain Dog. It is fine family entertainment: educational and informative. For instance, I learned that the Doberman was developed by a man named Karl Dobermann, who was a tax collector and wanted to have a scarry dog to travel with, to prevent bandits from stealing the taxes and TIernan learned the word Bitch. It seems the British commentators take their "Bitches" more seriously than the ones in the U.S. Every other dog was a bitch. As in, "that is a beautiful bitch" or "this bitch won the group with ease" or "a fine looking bitch."

Explaining to Tiernan that bitch is a bad word and he shouldn't use it, unless referring to a female dog was difficult. Not nearly as difficult as explaining to a three-year-old what a dog show actually is.

"Dad, are they going to race?"
"No. The judge is going to look at the dogs."
"Daddy, who's going to win?"
"The dog that looks the best."
"That dog looks really cute, Dad. Is he going to win?"
"I don't know, maybe."
"What kind of dog is that?"
"That is a Smooth Collie."
"He's cute. Is he going to win."
TV: "And the judge has choosen the Austrailian Shepard from the Working Group."
"Daddy, why didn't the Smooth Collie win?"
"The judge didn't like him as much."
"Are they going to race? Who is going to win? Why don't they race? How do they know who wins?"
I didn't have the stomache to explain the breed standard and all the dogs aren't really competing against each other and a cute dog may not win. I had enough trouble explaining the whole "bitch" thing.
"Why do they have these shows if there are no races? Why do people do this?"
"Because people like to find the best dog."
"How? What does a breeder do?" Here we go. Tighten you seatbelts. It is going to get rough.
"When someone has a good looking dog, they will find another good looking dog. And those dogs will get married and have puppies. And the puppies may really good looking dogs. Dogs that are good looking enough to win Best in Show. Breeders are people who marry dogs, so they can have puppies."
"Good looking puppies Dad? Will the dogs win a trophy?"
"Yes and a lot of money."
"Ohhhh, can we bring Maggie to a dog show?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Why not? she is a bitch."
And he is right. She is.

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I want to be be a part of it

"Da, da, daaa dada. Da da, daaa dada." Tiernan was singing that refrain for most the the afternoon yesterday. I tried to ask him what he was singing but he was unable to tell me.

Later that night, he was lying on the couch next to me and started singing again, "Da, da, daaa dada. Da da, daaa dada." And I asked him who signs that song and he said Alex. And I thought his uncle Alex had taught him a song. I said, "What song did Uncle Alex teach you?"

Tiernan responded that Uncle Alex didn't teach him the song. That Alex the Lion sings that song.
And that's when it dawned on me, that his new favorite song is New York, New York.

"Da, da, daaa dadaaa. Da da, daaa dada. Start spreading the news. Da daa dada. I'm leaving today. Da daa dada."

"Ah ha!!!! Alex the Lion from Madagascar," I said. And he said, "Yeah. Da, da, daaa dada. Da da, daaa dada."

In the movie, the animals are in the Central Park Zoo, and are proud of the fact that they are big attractions in the "City that Never Sleeps" and they sing that song (or a variation of it) to pump themselves up when they are feeling down. It is a source of pride and the song is repeated a couple of times in the movie. However, the song is not played as part of the movie soundtrack, it is just spoken/sung by the characters with no music behind it. They really say/sing Da, da, daaa dada. Da da, daaa dada.

Tiernan – being 3– has no knowledge of American popular standards. He has no idea of how much that song is woven into the fabric of American culture. He doesn't know who Frank Sinatra (or Liza Minnelli for that matter) is, he doesn't know that there are laws requiring that song be played at all wedding receptions and that drunken wedding parties are obligated to begin a kickline while it is played, he has no idea that it is the unofficial theme song of the New York Yankees or that it is played at the end of every Yankee home game. All of this is lost on him. All he knows is that the lion and zebra sing "Da, da, da dada" and they feel better.

I tell him that it is a very, very, very famous song. That everybody knows it. I dial it up on my iPod and play it for him. And he goes nuts. Starts dancing and laughing and smiling. He can't believe that I know all the words. And I tell him that you have to dance in a kick line and we are kicking around the kitchen like the Rockettes. And he's singing along with me and Frank, "New York, Neewwwww Yooorrrrkkkk!"

And I am just happy to be a part of it.

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The Ogre Becomes Me

After promising Tiernan that we'd take him to his first movie, the opportunity presented itself Sunday. My wife and I finally broke down and took Tiernan to see Shrek the Third. We went to the 3:15 showing at Clifton Commons. A nice matinee for the kids.

We wanted Tiernan to have the whole movie going experience, i.e. popcorn, candy, soda, the big screen, video games before the movie. It didn't quite work out that way. (It never does, does it.) Being a man of the 21st Century, I ordered the tickets online and picked them up at the theater amid a huge crowd of folks at the Clifton Googleplex, which has 1500 screens but was only showing 4 movies, Shrek, Spider Man 3, Georgia Rule, and Disturbia.

After I secured the tickets we forged headlong in to the mass of humanity toward the video games, we had 20 minutes until showtime. The games however, weren't working. All of them were shut off. Major bummer for Tiernan.

At this point, I figured we'd better get on one of the 10 consession lines, that are 15 people deep. We are waiting for a while, and Jean suggests that she and Tiernan go get seats, while I get the goodies. Good plan. They leave. SuperDad stays online to complete the movie going experience for his son's first movie. So I wait and wait and wait. As I am waiting I am looking around, to my left is a local gang-banger with an adorable "Dontmesswitmee Street" shirt, which features your favorite Seasame Street characters dressed up like dirtbag gang-bangers. Big Bird smoking a blunt, Oscar the Grouch strapped with a nine, -- you get the picture. Something that I was happy Tiernan didn't see, but sad all the other toddlers noticed.

Two people in front of me, is a young Latina in her early- to mid-twenties and four or five people behind me, in the next line over is a young stud Latin Lover on his cellphone, speaking loud and acting 100% like the playa/ladykiller that he believes he is. Suddenly, Studly is in front of me chatting up the Latina. I know they know each other. They've met before, but they didn't come to the theater together and they weren't planing to meet there. Playa noticed a chance to move up on line and used this Latina to do so.

I am saying to myself, just relax. Let it go. Don't make a big deal. Then I look at the time. It is 3:17, the movie or at least the previews have started. Which means the theater is dark and it will be harder to find my family. So, I say to myself. If Playa and Latina order together who cares. They don't. She orders, pays and leaves. Then he's about to order. He says, "Yeah can I get.." and say to the poor popcorn jockey, "Excuse me, he's not next. The this gentleman is. That guy is cutting the line."

Playa gets all indigant, "Oh!!! Excuse me!! If its that important to you all, then go. Five minutes ain't gonna make that much difference."

I said, "It does make a difference. I want to see my movie and I am already late."
Playa responds with, "Then you should have got here sooner. If its that important to you."

I say, "It is about respect for all the other people in the building. It is wrong for you to jump in line."

"Well, if that is the way you are all going to be. Everyone one this circle around me can suck my dick," he yells this to the building.

I was tempted -- tempted to use the old trick we used to use on newbie toughguys when I was volunteer fireman. I was tempted to tell him to take it out put it in my hand, right there in the lobby if he was so tough. And when or if he did, have him arrested. But I didn't. But the thought did cross my mind while I stood there with steam coming out of my ears.

Why does this happen to me? I go to the movies once every 18 months and I am faced with a moral decision. Do I punch this asshole in the mouth or do I get my popcorn and watch the kiddie movie? Remember, this is Sunday matinee. If I went the movies every weekend would I have these tough moral choices every week? I would eventully be sent to prison.

In this instance, it took every ounce of restraint in my body not to punch this kid in the mouth. I was about to when the vision of my son watching me be taken off to jail flashed into my head. I got my $25 popcorn, soda, and candy and went off to join my family in one of the screening rooms.

I am interested to know how you all would have handled this situation? I am looking for some advice and feedback for future reference.

While, I am fighting the urge to punchout a guy in the lobby, my wife is fighting the urge to punchout some broad inside the theater. Is there a limitation on the number seats one person can save? In this instance, a woman was saving two entire rows, like 30 seats - 30 of the best seats. "I already bought the tickets for these kids, I am responsible for them," she told my wife.

To which my wife replied, "Then they should be here, you (unprintable curses begining with fu and ending with hole)" and she moved to find less desirable seats. Once again an O'Rourke family member takes the high road and avoids jailtime. I am starting to think that we shouldn't ever leave the house or we need to move to Wyoming, where there are a lot less people, and as result less a-holes.

Back to the lobby. I have my theater treats. Now, I have my choice of theaters because there are two 3:15 showings of Shrek. That's right I have juggle a soda, popcorn and candy while looking for my wife and son in two darkened theaters. Naturally, they are not in the first one. They never are.

In the dark, I find them sitting in the third row from the screen. Tiernan is very excited. The previews are playing and he is amped to watch the movie and eat popcorn and drink soda.

The movie is, well the third in a series which hasn't had a let down until now. It isn't bad, but it doesn't compare to the first two. Tiernan enjoyed it. He did fall asleep three-quarters through, which I fully expected. To his credit, he did last longer than the father sitting in front me, who started snoring loudly about 20 minutes into the movie.

Of course, no trip to the movies is complete without vomit. On the way out, someone (not an O'Rourke) vomitted in the lobby. Personally, I didn't think the movie was that bad, but my experience in the lobby did kinda nausiate me.

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Fork U

It is going to be a good day. We, myself and my brood, (Can a man have a brood, or is a brood specific to females?) had a wonderful breakfast. Reagan didn't get all super messy because she used her fork almost exclusively. This is a major break-through. As I have mentioned in the past, she has two hands and she uses both of them to shove the food into her gullet. She's shown me glimpses of this in the last few weeks, using her fork once or twice, but I just figured she's teasing me.

But this morning, this wonderful morning, she used her fork like a big girl stabbing her french toast and putting it in her mouth. Only once or twice did she do the stab and transfer to the hand and then into the mouth. Even big brother was impressed. He noticed first - the attentive little bugger that he is. "Hey Dad, look! Reagan is using her fork all by herself." We both clapped and cheered for her and told her what big girl she getting to be. And she just smiled and smiled all proud of herself. It was one of those, "Its great to be a Dad moments."

Now, if I can just get her to stop flipping her plate over on to the floor.

Patience grasshopper.

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Desperate Housewife

I took Reagan to Little Gym today. I have spoken of the collection of weirdos that attend Little Gym. Well today took the prize.

Ladies, I am not very familiar with the workings of female undergarments, so maybe you can help me out. Ladies, I ask you why? Why would a woman who knows that going to little gym requires bending and crawling and crouching to spot your little one, wear a pair of low-rise jeans and a dental floss thong? I especially want to know why such a woman would wear that combination, when she doesn't have the body to make it work for her.

But that is what I was treated to this morning. One of the mom's, one of the chunkier moms in here mid-30s, was unabashedly rocking the string thong like a 19-year old co-ed on Girls Gone Wild. She never once pulled her jeans up to cover her underwear. She looked like a big ole Christmas ham all tied up and ready for the oven. Thank God Tiernan wasn't there, he would have been pointing at her posterior and saying,"Look Dad, it looks like a T - T for Tiernan." Or worse yet he would have been reaching down pulling it up and giving her piano-string wedgie.

I ask again, why? Why? For attention. Is the the kind of attention she was looking for, overweight, balding, unemployed, housedads using her for blog fodder? That is a desperate housewife.

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