Thursday, October 28, 2010
For the harried housemaker in us all...
Go here, to Commandomom.net, for the newest blog posts and more to come...
Friday, October 15, 2010
Questions for the (school) ages
*This is a final post to the blog here...the next report will be filed through Commando Mom’s almost-ready website, with links to the archives here.
Change gripped Camp Gustafson recently, with a new base camp far from Spokane into the wilds of Seattle, a young adult troop headed off on extended TDY to University quarters, and the youngest recruit now navigating the obstacle course of Kindergarten.
Still, the more things change, the more the basic tenets of the Commando remain the same: Do as much as you can, as often as you can (and earn bonus points by giving your mother grey hair in the process).
I thought life was tough when my oldest was a ’tween, but it's like overdrive now that I am—’tween kindergarten and college-age kids. It’s like trying to provide air traffic control at the same time as basic training. I have more questions than answers much of the time, and it’s hard to be commanding when you’re actually slightly confused.
For those along for the long ride, new digs and new drills become new opportunities to test the boundaries of the Commanding Officer, and my Commando Kid is the one who proves the rule.
Questions we’ve addressed lately include:
“How long can I put off choosing pants until Mom comes in and dresses me?”
“How many unapproved chocolate rations can I requisition in my Scooby Doo lunchbox today, and what is the magic number of change-order requests after which Mom just says ‘fine, whatever’ to anything?”
Then, there’s the age-old rhetorical question (rhetorical because you don’t really want to know the answer):
“Is there an inverse ratio between how late one is to school and how slowly one marches to the car?”
Meanwhile, drop-in cadets have three simple questions in perpetuity:
“What do you have to eat?”
“What time can I come over to do laundry?”
“Can I have your debit card number again?”
(A side note: in interest of seeing said college student once a week, an open invitation to eat and wash clothes has been extended—and in her defense, she also does not want to take all of the camp's rations—just what she can fit in her trunk alongside the clothes).
Add to these life changes a relocation (as every military mom can attest to, and as my role model, my mom, did 22 times in 21 years) and you get a compound return on rhetorical questions that you actually must answer:
“How do you fit 1,500 square feet of toys, clothes, and snow tires into 900 square feet of apartment?”
“Where in the heck did I pack the can opener?”
and don’t forget:
“What does this screw in my pocket go to again?”
*In keeping with the moving love, visit again next week for a redirect to the new Commando Mom website, where you’ll find lots—but not my lost can-opener (I still swear it got tired of tuna and went AWOL).
 |
| Spokane, a jumping off point for this Commando Kid |
Still, the more things change, the more the basic tenets of the Commando remain the same: Do as much as you can, as often as you can (and earn bonus points by giving your mother grey hair in the process).
I thought life was tough when my oldest was a ’tween, but it's like overdrive now that I am—’tween kindergarten and college-age kids. It’s like trying to provide air traffic control at the same time as basic training. I have more questions than answers much of the time, and it’s hard to be commanding when you’re actually slightly confused.
For those along for the long ride, new digs and new drills become new opportunities to test the boundaries of the Commanding Officer, and my Commando Kid is the one who proves the rule.
Questions we’ve addressed lately include:
“How long can I put off choosing pants until Mom comes in and dresses me?”
“How many unapproved chocolate rations can I requisition in my Scooby Doo lunchbox today, and what is the magic number of change-order requests after which Mom just says ‘fine, whatever’ to anything?”
Then, there’s the age-old rhetorical question (rhetorical because you don’t really want to know the answer):
“Is there an inverse ratio between how late one is to school and how slowly one marches to the car?”
Meanwhile, drop-in cadets have three simple questions in perpetuity:
“What do you have to eat?”
“What time can I come over to do laundry?”
“Can I have your debit card number again?”
(A side note: in interest of seeing said college student once a week, an open invitation to eat and wash clothes has been extended—and in her defense, she also does not want to take all of the camp's rations—just what she can fit in her trunk alongside the clothes).
Add to these life changes a relocation (as every military mom can attest to, and as my role model, my mom, did 22 times in 21 years) and you get a compound return on rhetorical questions that you actually must answer:
 |
| Go West, young Commando |
“Where in the heck did I pack the can opener?”
and don’t forget:
“What does this screw in my pocket go to again?”
*In keeping with the moving love, visit again next week for a redirect to the new Commando Mom website, where you’ll find lots—but not my lost can-opener (I still swear it got tired of tuna and went AWOL).
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Commando R&R
Serious Commando Kids know the value of letting their hair down year round. They can be found running around home base in geometrical configurations, playing imaginary superhero games, and removing all objects from the shelves, following with vigor the theory of deconstructionism.*
But when summer vacation rolls around and preschool lets out, followed by shouts of joy from the Commando’s teachers, that’s when the real R&R--Running & Rabblerousing—begins.
In those last few days of blissful preschool, the Commander might have taken one little bubble bath, and in the midst of shoving toy boats and submarines out of the way, entertained a momentary notion of a peaceful and relaxing summer by the poolside, watching her robust angel bob gently up and down in the kiddie pool.
If so, she forgot Commando rule number one for water rotations—if it splashes, splash it on Mom.
For the better part of three months, a Commando Mom plays lifeguard and moving target for marine exercises, marked by brief breaks to refuel summer Commandos, who literally grow like weeds when exposed to sun, water, and dirt.
There is, in fact, about a two-hour window between the time a platoon of Commandos barrels through the preschool graduation procession and Commando Moms find religion. You can hear them in every park and McDonald’s PlayPlace, praying for school to begin again soon.
After finding religion, the Commander struggles to keep herself from taking up swearing link a sailor, then works on staying off the bottle at the end each a long day in the surf and sun.
She bravely faces stretch marks and swimsuits to keep her active Commando occupied at pool and beach, and makes enough peanut butter sandwiches and carrot sticks each day to feed her Army of one each day.
In the end, she reminds herself, school, discipline, and a few hours of peace and quiet at work will return the barracks to the normal chaos that a base camp thrives on, in lieu of the summer freefall and sticky chicken fingers of R&R.
*See the not-yet-published field guide, Bootcamp for Babies, for an advanced explanation of the Theory of Deconstructionism
But when summer vacation rolls around and preschool lets out, followed by shouts of joy from the Commando’s teachers, that’s when the real R&R--Running & Rabblerousing—begins.
In those last few days of blissful preschool, the Commander might have taken one little bubble bath, and in the midst of shoving toy boats and submarines out of the way, entertained a momentary notion of a peaceful and relaxing summer by the poolside, watching her robust angel bob gently up and down in the kiddie pool.
If so, she forgot Commando rule number one for water rotations—if it splashes, splash it on Mom.
For the better part of three months, a Commando Mom plays lifeguard and moving target for marine exercises, marked by brief breaks to refuel summer Commandos, who literally grow like weeds when exposed to sun, water, and dirt.
There is, in fact, about a two-hour window between the time a platoon of Commandos barrels through the preschool graduation procession and Commando Moms find religion. You can hear them in every park and McDonald’s PlayPlace, praying for school to begin again soon.
After finding religion, the Commander struggles to keep herself from taking up swearing link a sailor, then works on staying off the bottle at the end each a long day in the surf and sun.
She bravely faces stretch marks and swimsuits to keep her active Commando occupied at pool and beach, and makes enough peanut butter sandwiches and carrot sticks each day to feed her Army of one each day.
In the end, she reminds herself, school, discipline, and a few hours of peace and quiet at work will return the barracks to the normal chaos that a base camp thrives on, in lieu of the summer freefall and sticky chicken fingers of R&R.
*See the not-yet-published field guide, Bootcamp for Babies, for an advanced explanation of the Theory of Deconstructionism
Friday, April 23, 2010
Commandos on the Grow
Commando Mom has spent the last two weeks not shirking responsibilities, but rather, shoveling food day and night into a seemingly bottomless pit that used to be her Commando Kid, but now has apparently graduated to Commando food processor status.
At the same time, it has become Commando Mom’s second profession to perform recon missions to find longer uniform pants and sleeves all day and night, as Commando Kid now looks like ye olde English lad in knickers and white stockings.
If this were Star Trek, he’d be a tribble and would have overrun the city by now with this rampant growth.
But it’s not Star Trek, so simply with holding rations and uniform upgrades doesn’t appear to reign in the overpopulation of Commando in the camp.
Trying not feed him after 6 p.m. proved unnecessarily painful for everyone, and reminded Commando Mom why she’s never liked the Stairmaster. Many recent nights have passed endlessly as Commando Mom trudged up and down the stairs a dozen times or more for cheese sticks, peanut butter, or a fresh leg of zebra, to the commanding refrain of “but I’m still hungry!”
The boy can no longer eat cereal for breakfast—at least two eggs and three links of sausage are required to give him the energy to last the 6-minute drive from home to preschool without starving to death, and by the time he arrives in the classroom, he needs a longer pair of pants again. He arrives at preschool just in the nick of time, in order to eat his second breakfast.
When he arrived home one recent afternoon, Commando Mom asked her Commando Kid why his father had changed him into shorts after school, but then realized the shorts had actually been pants that morning. Underclothing replacements to have been made to prevent future infertility, too.
Child or Incredible Hulk—you decide. All Commando Mom knows is, the buttons are bursting left and right, and the cupboards are bare day and night.
Commando Mom has therefore come to the conclusion that it would be wise to stock a bunker (maybe the spare bedroom or store room at Camp Gustafson, and maybe the garage too) with emergency rations and an industrial strength sewing machine to keep up with the troop’s basic necessities in a few short years—or perhaps, weeks—when he exceeds standard regulation height and stomach depth.
Commando mom will start hoarding scraps of food and material to feed and clothe him after he’s consumed or outgrown everything else in the city.
The other morning, when the Commando Kid woke for reveille to the sound of his own growling stomach, Commando Mom recounted for him his previous day’s snacks.
Not including the typical meals, these included:
2 yogurts,
3 cheese sticks,
6 saltine crackers,
2 packages of fruit snacks,
1 peanut butter sandwich,
half a package of blackberries,
2 banana,
2 handfuls of pretzels,
part of a chocolate bunny,
1 sucker (red),
1 hardboiled egg (blue).
A good laugh was had by all, including the growling tummy, but by the time Commando Mom finished the recounting, he had outgrown another pair of pajamas.
At the same time, it has become Commando Mom’s second profession to perform recon missions to find longer uniform pants and sleeves all day and night, as Commando Kid now looks like ye olde English lad in knickers and white stockings.
If this were Star Trek, he’d be a tribble and would have overrun the city by now with this rampant growth.
But it’s not Star Trek, so simply with holding rations and uniform upgrades doesn’t appear to reign in the overpopulation of Commando in the camp.
Trying not feed him after 6 p.m. proved unnecessarily painful for everyone, and reminded Commando Mom why she’s never liked the Stairmaster. Many recent nights have passed endlessly as Commando Mom trudged up and down the stairs a dozen times or more for cheese sticks, peanut butter, or a fresh leg of zebra, to the commanding refrain of “but I’m still hungry!”
The boy can no longer eat cereal for breakfast—at least two eggs and three links of sausage are required to give him the energy to last the 6-minute drive from home to preschool without starving to death, and by the time he arrives in the classroom, he needs a longer pair of pants again. He arrives at preschool just in the nick of time, in order to eat his second breakfast.
When he arrived home one recent afternoon, Commando Mom asked her Commando Kid why his father had changed him into shorts after school, but then realized the shorts had actually been pants that morning. Underclothing replacements to have been made to prevent future infertility, too.
Child or Incredible Hulk—you decide. All Commando Mom knows is, the buttons are bursting left and right, and the cupboards are bare day and night.
Commando Mom has therefore come to the conclusion that it would be wise to stock a bunker (maybe the spare bedroom or store room at Camp Gustafson, and maybe the garage too) with emergency rations and an industrial strength sewing machine to keep up with the troop’s basic necessities in a few short years—or perhaps, weeks—when he exceeds standard regulation height and stomach depth.
Commando mom will start hoarding scraps of food and material to feed and clothe him after he’s consumed or outgrown everything else in the city.
The other morning, when the Commando Kid woke for reveille to the sound of his own growling stomach, Commando Mom recounted for him his previous day’s snacks.
Not including the typical meals, these included:
2 yogurts,
3 cheese sticks,
6 saltine crackers,
2 packages of fruit snacks,
1 peanut butter sandwich,
half a package of blackberries,
2 banana,
2 handfuls of pretzels,
part of a chocolate bunny,
1 sucker (red),
1 hardboiled egg (blue).
A good laugh was had by all, including the growling tummy, but by the time Commando Mom finished the recounting, he had outgrown another pair of pajamas.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
A Commando Mom Marching Cadence
In honor of National Poetry Month, we present a special marching cadence to carry Commando Moms through those long marches through the house, picking up toys, following behind Commando Kids, or just trying to keep their eyes open after getting up with a growing Commando for snacks, drinks, and potty breaks three times last night.
Commando Mom Marching Cadence
I don’t know but I’ve been told,
Raising kids will make you old.
Commando kids will beat them all,
Driving mommies up the wall.
Gray hairs—one, two,
Gray hairs—three four
Count ’em, one, two, three, four, one, two, three four
Feed them mush, rush them to school,
Commando kids break all the rules.
While that kid’s gone take a nap,
There’ll be no rest when he gets back
Gray hairs—one, two,
Gray hairs—three four
Count ’em, one, two, three, four, three four
Hide the sugar, batten the hatches,
Commando kids will reach the latches.
If you want things done, prepare to fight,
They’ll wage war all through the night
Gray hairs—one, two,
Gray hairs—three four,
Count ’em, one, two, three, four, one, two, three four!
When Commando bedtime’s come and gone,
You’ll find out who’s number one.
Mom picks her battles, she’s no slouch,
Commando Kid’s crashed on the couch.
Gray hairs—one, two,
Gray hairs—three four,
Count ’em, one, two, three, four, one, two, three four!
With a glass of wine in her left hand,
Commando Mom will make her plan.
To catch some winks, get up, and then,
Prepare to do it all again.
Gray hairs—one, two,
Gray hairs—three four,
Count ’em, one, two, three, four, one, two, three four.
Commando Mom Marching Cadence
I don’t know but I’ve been told,
Raising kids will make you old.
Commando kids will beat them all,
Driving mommies up the wall.
Gray hairs—one, two,
Gray hairs—three four
Count ’em, one, two, three, four, one, two, three four
Feed them mush, rush them to school,
Commando kids break all the rules.
While that kid’s gone take a nap,
There’ll be no rest when he gets back
Gray hairs—one, two,
Gray hairs—three four
Count ’em, one, two, three, four, three four
Hide the sugar, batten the hatches,
Commando kids will reach the latches.
If you want things done, prepare to fight,
They’ll wage war all through the night
Gray hairs—one, two,
Gray hairs—three four,
Count ’em, one, two, three, four, one, two, three four!
When Commando bedtime’s come and gone,
You’ll find out who’s number one.
Mom picks her battles, she’s no slouch,
Commando Kid’s crashed on the couch.
Gray hairs—one, two,
Gray hairs—three four,
Count ’em, one, two, three, four, one, two, three four!
With a glass of wine in her left hand,
Commando Mom will make her plan.
To catch some winks, get up, and then,
Prepare to do it all again.
Gray hairs—one, two,
Gray hairs—three four,
Count ’em, one, two, three, four, one, two, three four.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
The Commando Cold
Despite a Commando Kid’s valiant efforts to outrun everything, sometimes a cold will catch up with him, and his nose will give him a run for his money. Such an occasion will cause grumpiness, barking commands, and extra latrine duty, but the Commando should not worry—Mom will feel better as soon as every single germ is eradicated from base camp.
A Commando’s first line of defense is, of course, to deny any illness. Illness is a serious impediment to doing more and doing it more often. The Commando must execute daily drills like running, jumping, performing aerial acrobatic moves, and building ramps and digging in the yard, not resting in bed and reading books and having "quiet time."
Not only does illness bring such unwanted activity restrictions, but also, because of her zeal to run a healthy ship and avoid the dreaded doctor’s visit, the slightest sniffle causes the Commando Mom to attempt to insert thermometers, weird tasting chewy grape things, and tissues into places where the Commando Kid knows they do not belong.
The Commando shall commence tissue evasion maneuvers immediately, sucking it up, moving the head rapidly from side to side and, if all else fails, wiping the nose on Mom’s sleeve before she can wipe it with the dreaded tissue. For any stray detritus Mom misses, the world is the Commando’s tissue, so long as Mom’s not looking.
To be avoided at all costs: the bulb-style nose sucker. Mom will try to impale the Commando’s nostrils with this device of torture, but the Commando need only cry at the thought of it to render it a useless exercise anyway.
The Commando must also resist oral medications, chewable or liquid, if at all possible, even if they actually taste good. This is a matter of principle more than practicality—the Commando can exert true control over precious little at base camp, except what goes in and what comes out.
When and if the illness can no longer be denied, however, and the Commando is confined to bed duty, he should attempt to view the unwanted restrictions from an opportunity perspective.
For example, Moms are well-known for seriously limiting screen time, but even Mom knows that the best way to distract a fussy Commando so she can continue with at least a few normal duties, is to institute a movie marathon mission or unregulated computer-game time. If she happens to resist, still clinging to the notion that she can avoid the inevitable, the Commando is encouraged to enter full-throttle whine mode, which is made easier by the fact that he feels whiny anyway (but he is not sick!).
It’s also a good time to ask for ice cream, pudding, toys, anything the Commando wants. Illness is about the only time a Mom will wait on a Commando hand and foot in the hopes of keeping him still for more than five minutes to rest.
In the event that this works, the smart Commando will take full advantage, and pretend to feel sick (even though he definitely is not sick!), thereby suspending all regulations regarding bodily functions, table manners, and t.v. limits.
A Commando’s first line of defense is, of course, to deny any illness. Illness is a serious impediment to doing more and doing it more often. The Commando must execute daily drills like running, jumping, performing aerial acrobatic moves, and building ramps and digging in the yard, not resting in bed and reading books and having "quiet time."
Not only does illness bring such unwanted activity restrictions, but also, because of her zeal to run a healthy ship and avoid the dreaded doctor’s visit, the slightest sniffle causes the Commando Mom to attempt to insert thermometers, weird tasting chewy grape things, and tissues into places where the Commando Kid knows they do not belong.
The Commando shall commence tissue evasion maneuvers immediately, sucking it up, moving the head rapidly from side to side and, if all else fails, wiping the nose on Mom’s sleeve before she can wipe it with the dreaded tissue. For any stray detritus Mom misses, the world is the Commando’s tissue, so long as Mom’s not looking.
To be avoided at all costs: the bulb-style nose sucker. Mom will try to impale the Commando’s nostrils with this device of torture, but the Commando need only cry at the thought of it to render it a useless exercise anyway.
The Commando must also resist oral medications, chewable or liquid, if at all possible, even if they actually taste good. This is a matter of principle more than practicality—the Commando can exert true control over precious little at base camp, except what goes in and what comes out.
When and if the illness can no longer be denied, however, and the Commando is confined to bed duty, he should attempt to view the unwanted restrictions from an opportunity perspective.
For example, Moms are well-known for seriously limiting screen time, but even Mom knows that the best way to distract a fussy Commando so she can continue with at least a few normal duties, is to institute a movie marathon mission or unregulated computer-game time. If she happens to resist, still clinging to the notion that she can avoid the inevitable, the Commando is encouraged to enter full-throttle whine mode, which is made easier by the fact that he feels whiny anyway (but he is not sick!).
It’s also a good time to ask for ice cream, pudding, toys, anything the Commando wants. Illness is about the only time a Mom will wait on a Commando hand and foot in the hopes of keeping him still for more than five minutes to rest.
In the event that this works, the smart Commando will take full advantage, and pretend to feel sick (even though he definitely is not sick!), thereby suspending all regulations regarding bodily functions, table manners, and t.v. limits.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Improv for Commandos
For the Commando Kid, there is nothing more crucial than quick thinking for doing more, and doing it more often.
If a Commando Mom notices, for example, that the cat's whiskers are only one inch long on the left, who's she going to ask about that, and what quick response will the Commando come up with to handle the situation without losing safety-scissor clearance?
Luckily, the Commando already has many skills that can be further developed using simple games, much like those used by Improvisational Theatre troupes. Those unfamiliar with these improv games might at times think the young trooper is simply being repetitive, or trying to distract and conquer.
The Commando Kid actually is learning valuable skills, however, that he or she will use later to dodge a barrage of parental questioning with quick retorts, or to measure just how much attention Commando Mom is paying as a way to ascertain how much he or she can get away with on any particular day.
Yes, someday, the Commando Kid will become a Commando Teen, and improv will become a way of life as a battle skill to carry out daily evasive maneuvers.
The Commando already has a natural affinity toward these games, which are based on audience suggestion(in this case Commando Mom or an older Zen sibling). The games are meant to be played repetitively to sharpen the Commando Kid mind, and are just a little different each time they are played, keeping a Commando Mom slightly off guard, or at least keeping her guessing. (That’s precisely why adults revisit them at Comedy Improv shows—to recapture the pleasure of being the kid in the game.)*
A few favorite Improv games, played Commando style:
What Are You Doing?**
The most classic and earliest-learned game. The Commando Kid asks a simple series of questions to Mom, who, until she learns the game, keeps trying to respond with a logical answer. Really, the Commando knows that to play this game properly, Mom must respond by saying she is doing something totally different from what she is actually doing, thus learning to think on her feet, while trying to count the number of cups of flour she’s supposed to be putting into her banana bread batter.
Wrong:Commando: What are you doing?
Mom: Making banana bread
Commando: oh. Mom?
Mom: What?
Commando: What are you doing?
Mom: (mildly annoyed) Making banana bread.
Commando: oh. Mom?
Mom: (steam rising from ears) Making banana bread!
Right:
Commando: What are you doing?
Mom: Making banana bread.
Commando: oh. Mom?
Mom: What?
Commando: What are you doing?
Mom: Walking on a flying trapeze while hopping on one foot and tying my shoe with one hand.
Commando: oh. Mom?
Mom: What?
Commando: What are you doing?
Mom: Fighting off a wild bear with both hands tied behind my back, while playing a tiny piano with my left earlobe.
Commando: oh. Mom?.....
Big Booty
The Commando picks a silly, very annoying phrase (such as ‘Number one big booty’), and chants it repeatedly and with a sarcastic attitude, until Mom loses all track of what she was trying to do and puts the clean frying pan away in the freezer and pours cat food into the coffee maker filter.
Gibberish
The Commando Kid gets a suggestion from his older sister, the family cat, or a Lucky Charms commercial, to ask Mom to take him to the circus, which won’t be to town for three months, but he really has to go to the bathroom, giving the circus question much more urgency and making it impossible for him to form an intelligent sentence that contains and words with the letter p, such as peanut.
While doing the potty dance, he tries to explain to Mom what he wants, using only pantomime and gibberish words that don’t contain the letter p.
When Mom doesn’t understand, he storms out of the room crying and letter p’s in his pants, turning it into a game of 20 questions and dirty laundry.
Rhymes
Everything that Mom says is responded to by the Commando Kid with a rhyme. Commando Moms usually can’t resist these games, and inadvertently (wink wink) encourage its continuation by peppering in certain words for a Commando Kid’s off-color rhyming pleasure, eliciting Commando squeals of delight.
Mom: Hi Jane.
Commando: Hi airplane.
Mom: What would you like to eat?
Commando: I wanna’ eat some great big feet.
Mom: Have you seen my great big foot scoop?...
or, alternately
Mom: I need a big foot shopping cart....
In some war games, everyone wins.
*Just ask master of improv, Jill Bernard, who teaches adults how to bring out the kid in their audience by playing the game.
**Thanks to Commando Kid Ami for the suggestion to include “What Are You Doing?”
If a Commando Mom notices, for example, that the cat's whiskers are only one inch long on the left, who's she going to ask about that, and what quick response will the Commando come up with to handle the situation without losing safety-scissor clearance?
Luckily, the Commando already has many skills that can be further developed using simple games, much like those used by Improvisational Theatre troupes. Those unfamiliar with these improv games might at times think the young trooper is simply being repetitive, or trying to distract and conquer.
The Commando Kid actually is learning valuable skills, however, that he or she will use later to dodge a barrage of parental questioning with quick retorts, or to measure just how much attention Commando Mom is paying as a way to ascertain how much he or she can get away with on any particular day.
Yes, someday, the Commando Kid will become a Commando Teen, and improv will become a way of life as a battle skill to carry out daily evasive maneuvers.
The Commando already has a natural affinity toward these games, which are based on audience suggestion(in this case Commando Mom or an older Zen sibling). The games are meant to be played repetitively to sharpen the Commando Kid mind, and are just a little different each time they are played, keeping a Commando Mom slightly off guard, or at least keeping her guessing. (That’s precisely why adults revisit them at Comedy Improv shows—to recapture the pleasure of being the kid in the game.)*
A few favorite Improv games, played Commando style:
What Are You Doing?**
The most classic and earliest-learned game. The Commando Kid asks a simple series of questions to Mom, who, until she learns the game, keeps trying to respond with a logical answer. Really, the Commando knows that to play this game properly, Mom must respond by saying she is doing something totally different from what she is actually doing, thus learning to think on her feet, while trying to count the number of cups of flour she’s supposed to be putting into her banana bread batter.
Wrong:Commando: What are you doing?
Mom: Making banana bread
Commando: oh. Mom?
Mom: What?
Commando: What are you doing?
Mom: (mildly annoyed) Making banana bread.
Commando: oh. Mom?
Mom: (steam rising from ears) Making banana bread!
Right:
Commando: What are you doing?
Mom: Making banana bread.
Commando: oh. Mom?
Mom: What?
Commando: What are you doing?
Mom: Walking on a flying trapeze while hopping on one foot and tying my shoe with one hand.
Commando: oh. Mom?
Mom: What?
Commando: What are you doing?
Mom: Fighting off a wild bear with both hands tied behind my back, while playing a tiny piano with my left earlobe.
Commando: oh. Mom?.....
Big Booty
The Commando picks a silly, very annoying phrase (such as ‘Number one big booty’), and chants it repeatedly and with a sarcastic attitude, until Mom loses all track of what she was trying to do and puts the clean frying pan away in the freezer and pours cat food into the coffee maker filter.
Gibberish
The Commando Kid gets a suggestion from his older sister, the family cat, or a Lucky Charms commercial, to ask Mom to take him to the circus, which won’t be to town for three months, but he really has to go to the bathroom, giving the circus question much more urgency and making it impossible for him to form an intelligent sentence that contains and words with the letter p, such as peanut.
While doing the potty dance, he tries to explain to Mom what he wants, using only pantomime and gibberish words that don’t contain the letter p.
When Mom doesn’t understand, he storms out of the room crying and letter p’s in his pants, turning it into a game of 20 questions and dirty laundry.
Rhymes
Everything that Mom says is responded to by the Commando Kid with a rhyme. Commando Moms usually can’t resist these games, and inadvertently (wink wink) encourage its continuation by peppering in certain words for a Commando Kid’s off-color rhyming pleasure, eliciting Commando squeals of delight.
Mom: Hi Jane.
Commando: Hi airplane.
Mom: What would you like to eat?
Commando: I wanna’ eat some great big feet.
Mom: Have you seen my great big foot scoop?...
or, alternately
Mom: I need a big foot shopping cart....
In some war games, everyone wins.
*Just ask master of improv, Jill Bernard, who teaches adults how to bring out the kid in their audience by playing the game.
**Thanks to Commando Kid Ami for the suggestion to include “What Are You Doing?”
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Fun for Commandos Everywhere
*No books were actually eaten in the making of this post
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Commandos on the Road
Recipe for a successful Commando road trip. Add to smallish, 2002 vintage, four-door sedan full of necessary rations, camouflage, and battle plans for storming Seattle's playgrounds:
- 1 busy Commando kid, bottled into a booster seat
- 2 toy Army trucks that make a lot of noise every time you push a certain button—keep them just out of mom’s reach
- 3 CDs of favorite marching orders—but insist on playing the one song about fire trucks and police cars over and over and over
- 4 different flavors of rations—none of them will be what you wanted. Insist mom stop at the next truck stop for the licorice that you meant to ask for
- 5 stops to move your legs, and five fights to keep from getting strapped back in that seat
- 6 different road games, such as: counting trucks (80 seems to be the upper limit); the alphabet game (it’s hard to find V); I spy; who can kick mommy’s chair the most (Commando always wins); do I have to stop this car and give you a timeout? (mom always wins); who can be quiet the longest (it’s a draw if you start kicking the seat again)…
- 7 markers fallen on the floor, including the one you MUST have to finish your picture of the policeman
- 8 steps in the directions to help mommy find the black marker behind her seat without looking
- 9 toy army men launching kamikaze automobile missions out the window of the car
- 10 times an hour asking “Are we there yet?”
Monday, March 1, 2010
Field Maneuvers
A Commando Guide to Visiting Foreign Bases
Commandos frequently accompany their commander on field maneuvers and are ever-ready for new adventures. Whether this is because their company is so pleasurable or whether the babysitters have gotten to know them a little too well is a question for the ages—1, 2, 3, 4, etc.
In any case, when MOM has a meeting, party, or other field op, the Commando serves as an active duty—very active—sidekick more often then not.
Such maneuvers are rife with opportunities to put field drills to practice and to hone the Commando’s skills at doing more and doing it more often. There are snacks in abundance and new stairs to scale and foxholes to hide in, but MOM will be ready to thwart special missions, so covert ops are necessary.
Following are some tips for getting the most out of such field trips:
Scope out allies. This doesn’t apply just to other kids, but also to Commando-friendly adults at parties and meetings. The Commando doesn’t even have to find them, because these adults will find the Commando, and immediately offer special rations and gear. Be nice to these adults!
Perform a reconnaissance mission upon arrival. Every base is laid out differently. The most interesting rooms often are downstairs, and the best for planning special missions or finding hidden caches are those that are dark or farthest from the adults.
Store rations. The snack table will be full of raw vegetables and dip at one end, and cookies, pop, and juice at the other. While the adults head for the vegetable end, the Commando has the opportunity to take aim for the cookie end.
Push MOM’s limits. Go ahead and do what you want. Run up and down the stairs like an elephant brigade, eat all the cookies, play with the antique rifle in the hobby shop. She can’t stop you repeatedly and look good in front of her friends at the same time. If she tries, move closer to your adult ally and make doe eyes. Soon, MOM will give in, and she may even become your sidekick as you work the room, following you around trying to explain your maneuvers.
Commandos frequently accompany their commander on field maneuvers and are ever-ready for new adventures. Whether this is because their company is so pleasurable or whether the babysitters have gotten to know them a little too well is a question for the ages—1, 2, 3, 4, etc.
In any case, when MOM has a meeting, party, or other field op, the Commando serves as an active duty—very active—sidekick more often then not.
Such maneuvers are rife with opportunities to put field drills to practice and to hone the Commando’s skills at doing more and doing it more often. There are snacks in abundance and new stairs to scale and foxholes to hide in, but MOM will be ready to thwart special missions, so covert ops are necessary.Following are some tips for getting the most out of such field trips:
Scope out allies. This doesn’t apply just to other kids, but also to Commando-friendly adults at parties and meetings. The Commando doesn’t even have to find them, because these adults will find the Commando, and immediately offer special rations and gear. Be nice to these adults!
Perform a reconnaissance mission upon arrival. Every base is laid out differently. The most interesting rooms often are downstairs, and the best for planning special missions or finding hidden caches are those that are dark or farthest from the adults.
Store rations. The snack table will be full of raw vegetables and dip at one end, and cookies, pop, and juice at the other. While the adults head for the vegetable end, the Commando has the opportunity to take aim for the cookie end.
Push MOM’s limits. Go ahead and do what you want. Run up and down the stairs like an elephant brigade, eat all the cookies, play with the antique rifle in the hobby shop. She can’t stop you repeatedly and look good in front of her friends at the same time. If she tries, move closer to your adult ally and make doe eyes. Soon, MOM will give in, and she may even become your sidekick as you work the room, following you around trying to explain your maneuvers.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Report from Camp Gustafson—weekend pass
As a command post, Camp Gustafson is as about as tight as it’s going to get. It’s hard to find the beds, let alone bounce a quarter off of them. There’s no dusting at Camp Gustafson—we already have plenty of dust, we don’t want more. Luckily, Commando Mom’s white gloves are lost somewhere in the back of a lingerie drawer—a dusty reminder of when she had time to care about putting lotion on her hands and wearing moisture retaining gloves to bed.
This is not to say that the Commander doesn’t do anything. The amount of housework required to keep up with a Commando Kid, however, has been shown to be exponentially proportionate to his or her age. This is because the work of a Commando Kid, while vigorous, often seems to be in the vein of counter-intelligence.
Thus, every room is a military theatre, complete with minefields of carpet-colored Legos (leading to important-to-remember oral vocabulary drills for attentive Commandos), illustrated battle plans, and the detritus of various toys of mass destruction littering no-man’s land. The mess hall—well, need we say more?
The Commander can order the Commando to assist with collecting the bombs and cleaning kitchen camouflage, but it’s also been shown that it actually takes 100 times longer to finish when using a Commando Kid as minesweeper.
Meanwhile, adults should try assigning a task such as latrine duty to a Zen child, and count the days and excuses accrued until it gets done.* A Zen child, though highly responsible on many fronts and prone to attack like a stealth bomb with a zinging wit in self-defense, generally epitomizes the relaxed exterior attitude as completely as the Commando channels an inner G.I. Joe. The Zen, then, will put off any task until the spirit moves him or her to do the job.**
Despite the lack of work Commando Mom gets done around the house, and the laissez-faire attitude of the recruits—or perhaps because of it—she still somehow harbors the quaint notion that she might occasionally get a weekend pass.
Commando Mom should remember that nothing’s free, nothing’s easy, and it will be another 13 years before she sleeps with both eyes closed.
She should also remember the lesson from latrine-duty delegation when deciding to assign babysitting command to a Zen Child.
Putting a Zen Child in charge of a Commando Kid is fine, if the Commander expects casualties and knows which battlefronts to sacrifice. And if, in a moment of weakness, she thinks all must surely be fine on the home front and grants herself a small extension on the pass, what happens next is predictable.
This is because the Commando Kid, as the Zen’s opposite, knows how to use all of that counter-intelligence that he’s so diligently practiced to gain the upper hand in the weekend pass wars. Hypothetically, a determined Commando Kid will simply refuse to be put to bed by a not-so-determined Zen Child, and will be waiting up for Commando Mom when she arrives home at 00:30 with her eyes propped open by civilian-issue toothpicks. The Commando Kid might, actually, still be planting Lego mines at 00:30, in a solo mission, because the Zen Child declared defeat and retreated to her quarters.
When the Commander marches the Commando Kid up to the barracks, it’s possible that in his tired state he will declare war on the bed and launch a super-sonic audio attack, setting off a neighborhood K-9 alert and destroying a few of his mother’s brain cells.
In the end, if all this comes to pass, everyone could end up on their sixes for much of the next day—except the Commando, who thrives under harsh operational conditions and appears to survive on 10-minute eyes glazed car naps.
It may be a good day to watch “training” videos and refuel.
*Alternately, one could count stars, gray hairs, or search for a needle in a haystack and complete any of those tasks before the Zen will actually complete the 10-minute task.
**This place of peace with the way things are originates from the middle-eastern mantra that a job will get done if the deity wills it to be so, and therefore is beyond the control or responsibility of mere mortal forces to pick up a disinfectant wipe, use it to clean the toilet seat, and deposit it in the garbage can.
This is not to say that the Commander doesn’t do anything. The amount of housework required to keep up with a Commando Kid, however, has been shown to be exponentially proportionate to his or her age. This is because the work of a Commando Kid, while vigorous, often seems to be in the vein of counter-intelligence.
Thus, every room is a military theatre, complete with minefields of carpet-colored Legos (leading to important-to-remember oral vocabulary drills for attentive Commandos), illustrated battle plans, and the detritus of various toys of mass destruction littering no-man’s land. The mess hall—well, need we say more?
The Commander can order the Commando to assist with collecting the bombs and cleaning kitchen camouflage, but it’s also been shown that it actually takes 100 times longer to finish when using a Commando Kid as minesweeper.
Meanwhile, adults should try assigning a task such as latrine duty to a Zen child, and count the days and excuses accrued until it gets done.* A Zen child, though highly responsible on many fronts and prone to attack like a stealth bomb with a zinging wit in self-defense, generally epitomizes the relaxed exterior attitude as completely as the Commando channels an inner G.I. Joe. The Zen, then, will put off any task until the spirit moves him or her to do the job.**
Despite the lack of work Commando Mom gets done around the house, and the laissez-faire attitude of the recruits—or perhaps because of it—she still somehow harbors the quaint notion that she might occasionally get a weekend pass.
Commando Mom should remember that nothing’s free, nothing’s easy, and it will be another 13 years before she sleeps with both eyes closed.
She should also remember the lesson from latrine-duty delegation when deciding to assign babysitting command to a Zen Child.
Putting a Zen Child in charge of a Commando Kid is fine, if the Commander expects casualties and knows which battlefronts to sacrifice. And if, in a moment of weakness, she thinks all must surely be fine on the home front and grants herself a small extension on the pass, what happens next is predictable.
This is because the Commando Kid, as the Zen’s opposite, knows how to use all of that counter-intelligence that he’s so diligently practiced to gain the upper hand in the weekend pass wars. Hypothetically, a determined Commando Kid will simply refuse to be put to bed by a not-so-determined Zen Child, and will be waiting up for Commando Mom when she arrives home at 00:30 with her eyes propped open by civilian-issue toothpicks. The Commando Kid might, actually, still be planting Lego mines at 00:30, in a solo mission, because the Zen Child declared defeat and retreated to her quarters.
When the Commander marches the Commando Kid up to the barracks, it’s possible that in his tired state he will declare war on the bed and launch a super-sonic audio attack, setting off a neighborhood K-9 alert and destroying a few of his mother’s brain cells.
In the end, if all this comes to pass, everyone could end up on their sixes for much of the next day—except the Commando, who thrives under harsh operational conditions and appears to survive on 10-minute eyes glazed car naps.
It may be a good day to watch “training” videos and refuel.
*Alternately, one could count stars, gray hairs, or search for a needle in a haystack and complete any of those tasks before the Zen will actually complete the 10-minute task.
**This place of peace with the way things are originates from the middle-eastern mantra that a job will get done if the deity wills it to be so, and therefore is beyond the control or responsibility of mere mortal forces to pick up a disinfectant wipe, use it to clean the toilet seat, and deposit it in the garbage can.
Monday, February 8, 2010
You Know You’re a Commando if…
Certain children who clearly are Commando Kids. Many others, however, have at least some Commando tendencies or aspire to do as much as they can, as often as they can. Since Commando Kids have advanced ways to get what they want, and take control of their base camp, it's an appropriate aspiration.
When a semi-Zen child sees a Commando taking charge in a daycare setting, for example, something can be awakened behind their calm, story-reading, adult-pleasing demeanor that inspires them to grab life by the fatigues, or at least execute a special mission or two (baby steps, baby steps!)
In general, if you’re a second-born, you’re also a Commando Kid. It’s imperative from birth that you keep up with your big brother or sister (who is almost undoubtedly a Zen child), so you can’t help but develop the extra energy and intensity required to be a true Commando.
There are, however, those children on the edge, who aren’t clearly Commando by birth but who have the potential and the inclination to take their worlds by storm. With practice, even a Zen child can do more and do it more often (frequently under the guidance of a Commando sibling).
If you are unsure if you are a Commando Kid, there are some traits one can consider in making an assessment of how Commando you are, outlined below:
• You were walking at nine months old—or rolling at birth, or climbing out of your crib at six months—you hear grownups tell extraordinary tales of your feats of Herculean baby strength when you were younger.
• You’re very interested in your family’s dog, cat, or other furry housepet, but for some reason, it’s always hiding or running away when you see it.
• You don’t play so much as you strategize. You draw maps, you plan how to make your move without Mom seeing what you’re doing, you keep a battle plan in mind at all times.
• Everything is a tool, a gun, or a firehose—everything.
• Sitting still is not in your repertoire, unless you’re hiding as part of a covert operation. Long car rides—not your thing.
• Being quiet is not in your repertoire, unless you’re sneaking up on Mom as part of a covert operation.
• Everything is fuel or ammunition—everything.
• Your parents have a hard time keeping a babysitter.
• Your parents are very tired.
• You are never tired.
• You are always ready for action. You are never sick, even if you have a fever of 102 degrees and you’re wheezing and oozing from your orifices.
• You have climbed, scaled, or crawled under, everything in your base camp—everything.
• Everyone at daycare knows your name, and they know you’re coming before they see you.
If three or more of the above apply to you, you have Commando tendencies.
If five or more of the above apply to you, you have great potential to distract and conquer, and with some effort you could join your Commando brethren on the front lines.
If the list above reads like a window into your soul, you don’t need anyone to tell you you’re a Commando, you’re busy carrying out your next mission already.
When a semi-Zen child sees a Commando taking charge in a daycare setting, for example, something can be awakened behind their calm, story-reading, adult-pleasing demeanor that inspires them to grab life by the fatigues, or at least execute a special mission or two (baby steps, baby steps!)
In general, if you’re a second-born, you’re also a Commando Kid. It’s imperative from birth that you keep up with your big brother or sister (who is almost undoubtedly a Zen child), so you can’t help but develop the extra energy and intensity required to be a true Commando.
There are, however, those children on the edge, who aren’t clearly Commando by birth but who have the potential and the inclination to take their worlds by storm. With practice, even a Zen child can do more and do it more often (frequently under the guidance of a Commando sibling).
If you are unsure if you are a Commando Kid, there are some traits one can consider in making an assessment of how Commando you are, outlined below:
• You were walking at nine months old—or rolling at birth, or climbing out of your crib at six months—you hear grownups tell extraordinary tales of your feats of Herculean baby strength when you were younger.
• You’re very interested in your family’s dog, cat, or other furry housepet, but for some reason, it’s always hiding or running away when you see it.
• You don’t play so much as you strategize. You draw maps, you plan how to make your move without Mom seeing what you’re doing, you keep a battle plan in mind at all times.
• Everything is a tool, a gun, or a firehose—everything.
• Sitting still is not in your repertoire, unless you’re hiding as part of a covert operation. Long car rides—not your thing.
• Being quiet is not in your repertoire, unless you’re sneaking up on Mom as part of a covert operation.
• Everything is fuel or ammunition—everything.
• Your parents have a hard time keeping a babysitter.
• Your parents are very tired.
• You are never tired.
• You are always ready for action. You are never sick, even if you have a fever of 102 degrees and you’re wheezing and oozing from your orifices.
• You have climbed, scaled, or crawled under, everything in your base camp—everything.
• Everyone at daycare knows your name, and they know you’re coming before they see you.
If three or more of the above apply to you, you have Commando tendencies.
If five or more of the above apply to you, you have great potential to distract and conquer, and with some effort you could join your Commando brethren on the front lines.
If the list above reads like a window into your soul, you don’t need anyone to tell you you’re a Commando, you’re busy carrying out your next mission already.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Distract and conquer
Just as professional athletes, teachers, and dogs begin their days with a game plan, so too must the Commando Kid prepare for each day with a goal in mind. In general, in the absence of more important considerations, such as going to the park for field maneuvers or going shopping for Commando rations, a prime goal of the Commando is to do as much as you can, and do it as often as you can. This is best accomplished without a master drill sergeant breathing down your cute little neck with her sixth sense.
A key strategy, then, is distraction.
Distraction is one of the best strategies for doing more, and if done well, distraction can make Mom doubt her own ability to run the camp. She might even stop worrying so much about children putting things in their proper place when she can’t keep track of her own things.
One of the most proven methods for distracting Mom to enable execution of unencumbered Commando maneuvers is hiding some small thing, so Mom is forced to look for it—preferably for a long time—before she can concentrate enough to notice the open peanut butter jar and trail of bread crumbs leading up to your room, or the open back gate, out of which the camp mascot has gone AWOL (not through any fault of yours—the dog knows the rules).
The three most effective items to hide to shake the infrastructure of the camp and buy time are as follows:
3. Shoes. Some children hide just one shoe—amateurs. Hiding one shoe leads Mom to believe someone hid her shoe, while hiding both gives her cause to wonder how she misplaced them, and she cannot leave home without them, therefore, she can’t really concentrate without them. Drawback:if your Mom is like other Moms, she has more than one pair. Watch carefully, and learn which shoes to hide based on Mom’s uniform. Sweats? Hide the tennis shoes. Black skirt? Hide the black clicky shoes that you like to dress up in (what—even Commandos need a little fun!) and if
2. Purse. A Mom needs her purse like a Commando needs sugar. It contains everything she would need should the world come to an end…in fact, a cagey Commando can commandeer that purse and go through its contents in short order, searching for stray candies, confiscated toys, and lipstick for camouflage maneuvers. Just be sure not to leave a trail of treasures as you cart the purse off to the last place Mom would think to look. The key, again, is to not raise suspicion, or you might end up in the brig instead of in control. And speaking of keys…
1. Keys. Keys are the easiest, fastest things to hide, and without them, Mom will not leave. She’ll go section 8. She will look high, she will look low, she will look in places she would never in a million years have put her keys, and if the house is on fire, she won’t notice because she’s busy looking for her purse, in order to look through it for her keys (insert Commando smile here).
Once the mission is accomplished, commend yourself, Commando. Commence exploration, get yourself some peanut butter, or even dress up in the clicky shoes—Mom won’t need them for a while.
A key strategy, then, is distraction.
Distraction is one of the best strategies for doing more, and if done well, distraction can make Mom doubt her own ability to run the camp. She might even stop worrying so much about children putting things in their proper place when she can’t keep track of her own things.
One of the most proven methods for distracting Mom to enable execution of unencumbered Commando maneuvers is hiding some small thing, so Mom is forced to look for it—preferably for a long time—before she can concentrate enough to notice the open peanut butter jar and trail of bread crumbs leading up to your room, or the open back gate, out of which the camp mascot has gone AWOL (not through any fault of yours—the dog knows the rules).
The three most effective items to hide to shake the infrastructure of the camp and buy time are as follows:
3. Shoes. Some children hide just one shoe—amateurs. Hiding one shoe leads Mom to believe someone hid her shoe, while hiding both gives her cause to wonder how she misplaced them, and she cannot leave home without them, therefore, she can’t really concentrate without them. Drawback:if your Mom is like other Moms, she has more than one pair. Watch carefully, and learn which shoes to hide based on Mom’s uniform. Sweats? Hide the tennis shoes. Black skirt? Hide the black clicky shoes that you like to dress up in (what—even Commandos need a little fun!) and if
2. Purse. A Mom needs her purse like a Commando needs sugar. It contains everything she would need should the world come to an end…in fact, a cagey Commando can commandeer that purse and go through its contents in short order, searching for stray candies, confiscated toys, and lipstick for camouflage maneuvers. Just be sure not to leave a trail of treasures as you cart the purse off to the last place Mom would think to look. The key, again, is to not raise suspicion, or you might end up in the brig instead of in control. And speaking of keys…
1. Keys. Keys are the easiest, fastest things to hide, and without them, Mom will not leave. She’ll go section 8. She will look high, she will look low, she will look in places she would never in a million years have put her keys, and if the house is on fire, she won’t notice because she’s busy looking for her purse, in order to look through it for her keys (insert Commando smile here).
Once the mission is accomplished, commend yourself, Commando. Commence exploration, get yourself some peanut butter, or even dress up in the clicky shoes—Mom won’t need them for a while.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Commando Rations
Once a Commando kid reaches a certain age and rank, it becomes clear the importance of selecting the proper fuel sources to power the Commando through a day filled with physical training, artillery inspections, and naptime avoidance drills.
Sugar, candy, and sucrose are by far the three most important high-burning energy sources available, with peanut butter and hot dogs following along behind (hot dogs just taste good and give a Commando access to ketchup, which is a great small munition and full of sugar, too).
Unfortunately, the Mom tends to ration the grade A fuel, and at times it seems the cagey Commander might even be saving some for herself to power herself through long nights of clearing away the casualties of military drills: highly camouflaged fatigues, plush comrades sacrificed in air raids, and small munitions control.
There are several ways that a Commando can improve access to the snack food cache:
Unfortunately, the Mom tends to ration the grade A fuel, and at times it seems the cagey Commander might even be saving some for herself to power herself through long nights of clearing away the casualties of military drills: highly camouflaged fatigues, plush comrades sacrificed in air raids, and small munitions control.
There are several ways that a Commando can improve access to the snack food cache:
- Accompany the Commander on restocking missions. To get more sugar, it helps to go straight to the source—the grocery store. Once in the store, commence whining drills and she’ll give you at least one pick of snack, and perhaps even let you open it in the store. Of course, the more you whine, the more snacks you’ll get—up to a point. There’s always the danger of the mission being aborted it the Commando pushes too hard. Note: If a Commando accompanies Dad on such a mission, whining won’t be necessary—just point and grunt.
- Eat a vegetable at dinner. Sounds counter to the mission, but eating a vegetable opens the door for Commando rationale, i.e. “I ate one of my green beans, so I can have dessert, right?” The Commander will be so confused that her young charge ate something green voluntarily, the logic will make sense.
- Reach for the stars—settle for a moon pie. While it’s true that a Commando can’t get everything and win every battle, (sad, sad, but true) artful compromise can be achieved by aiming high—say, demanding that Mom go out and buy a Happy Meal, or else you’ll truly starve to death. Though she likely won’t go out at 9 p.m. to buy the Happy Meal, she will likely offer you everything else under the sun to ensure that you don’t starve to death (especially if you can manage to throw in a little hyperventilation).
- Turn on the charm. The Commander can’t resist a sweet face telling her what a pretty mommy she is, even if she’s usually a tough-as-nails drill seargent. Commandos, though vigorous, can master the finer points of getting what they want with finesse.
- Go ballistic. Where reasoning sometimes fails, sometimes acting out wins. If there’s one thing the Commando knows, it’s how to get noticed and how to keep Mom from getting anything done until the object of desire is obtained. Is this blackmail? Maybe, but then again, is it “right” for Mom to bribe the Commando with candy for a little time off with good behavior? It’s a moral tradeoff.
Clip art courtesy of DailyClipArt.net
Saturday, January 16, 2010
When Commando is King
Though the Commando creed is “Do as much as you can, as often as you can,” there are some vital exceptions, whereby keeping Mom doing certain things for you means keeping her in a subservient role, and shortening the time until you are promoted and take over basecamp as Commander.
Take getting ready for bed…please! Commandos don’t want any part of it. Baths are like torture, and washing one’s own self like forced cleanicide.
Every Commando should take note that the supersonic soundwaves emitted from his or her oral cavity are about 50 times as loud when bouncing off a porcelain bathtub, thereby rendering Mom deaf and immobilized—the perfect time for water artillery maneuvers (note to self, thank Grandma for the squirting whale toy, and dad for the squirt gun). In any case, the scream was justified, since Mom did, in fact, get one drop of water in your face while rinsing your hair, thereby violating the Geneva bath convention.
Now that the Commando has been released early from the tub, a little air-drying run through camp is always entertaining, and serves to postpone the donning of nightgear as mom tries to catch up to you to tell you to put on pajamas (good opportunity here to practice the battle skill of selective hearing, which will become even more important when you grow up and get married).
Putting on one’s own pajamas? The longer the smart Commando takes to find a clean pair of underwear, the longer the Commando stays up. If you’re lucky, you’ll be permitted after much cajoling, to go Commando if you’ll just PLEASE PUT YOUR PANTS ON!
But, the coup de grace, of course is teeth brushing—or the lack of. Remember, if you will, an early Commando lesson…
Insert shameless plug here: if you don’t remember, please go to your local bookseller, and tell them you're dying for publishers to publish my book, Bootcamp for Babies!
:end shameless plug.
…that describes how the Commando should never voluntarily open the mouth, a vital skill for hiding contraband objects and forbidden food after a no-no raiding party. It also applies to opening up the mouth to let adults—moms, doctors, or dentists—put anything unpleasant, noisy, or un-candy-like, into said mouth.
After mom has to force the Commando to open up and get the teeth brushed, she will likely be feeling guilty enough to offer a post-battle snack, or rocking chair storytime. If so, pick a loooong book, and be sure to demand a second reading, thereby delaying lights out further, and dominating completely mom’s evening.
It’s great to be King.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Vacation maneuvers
Okay, Commandos, having Mom home for a little extra “cuddle time” this week doesn’t mean you should rest on your sixes and get all squishy from eating candy canes.
A Commando must always take advantage of sugar-fueled energy bursts and rare opportunities to stay up late to practice some advanced maneuvers at home base.
Following are a few readily executable vacation drills that will keep you—and Mom—ready for action.*
Fox hole construction drill
Remove all the blankets from Mom’s bed, pile them up on top of an empty laundry basket (if the basket is full of clean, folded laundry, be sure to dump it out first), and hide a cache of weaponry and plush infantrymen inside.
Efforts should be made to complete this maneuver as quickly as possible, as the fox hole could otherwise be reverted to bedding for naptime if Mom catches you.
Unfriendly territory drill
This New Year’s maneuver will give you practice creating unfriendly territory to turn back threats to your monopoly on Mom’s time (aka visitors), and will give Mom good practice with a search and rescue mission on the front lines.
To execute: Wait until Mom is slightly distracted—well, deluded—into thinking she can read for 10 minutes. While she’s preoccupied, take out all of your toys, old and new. Place randomly on floor, on stairs, in bedroom, draped over lamps.
Dress up in your sheriff’s outfit, and as sweetly as you can, ask the distracted commander if you can “borrow” her keys to lock up some bad guys. Trust me, she can’t resist a commando in sheriff’s clothing—she’ll even put the keys on your belt for you.
Lock up the bad guys, then hide the keys under your blanket so the bad guys can’t escape.
Forget where you put the keys.
Be sure to do this drill vigorously, because you’ll only get one shot at it!
Stare-down drill
Sometimes it’s important to take a few minutes to test the strength of Mom’s resolve, just to see if she’s ready to hand over command of the camp yet.
To put on the stare-down pose, place hands on hips, furrow brows, and purse lips into a small, tight line.
To put on the stare-down mentality, think of all the things Mom has not executed properly over the course of the vacation: she gave you pajamas for Christmas (high treason!); she cooked your ham too brown for breakfast this morning (she’s trying to poison you!); and when she took you roller skating for your first time, you fell on your bottom—hard (she should have broken your fall with her own body)! These things would not have happened if you were in charge!
Take that resolve and that pose, and stare Mom right in her unfit commander eyes at the end of a long day.
If she doesn’t break her return stare readily, repeat the following mantra over and over until she does: You’re a bad mommy. I don’t love you.
Practice this drill enough, and you’ll soon be either running the show while Mom lets Calgon take her away, or you’ll have found a new way to hit the racks early.
If you get sent to bed early, you’ll still have won, when Mom tries to go out for a drink, and has no idea whatsoever where her keys are.
*These maneuvers have been personally tested at Camp Gustafson this week. This does not mean they have been deemed “safe,” but they have been deemed doable. The commando kid motto is “Do as much as you can, as often as you can.”
A Commando must always take advantage of sugar-fueled energy bursts and rare opportunities to stay up late to practice some advanced maneuvers at home base.
Following are a few readily executable vacation drills that will keep you—and Mom—ready for action.*
Fox hole construction drill
Remove all the blankets from Mom’s bed, pile them up on top of an empty laundry basket (if the basket is full of clean, folded laundry, be sure to dump it out first), and hide a cache of weaponry and plush infantrymen inside.
Efforts should be made to complete this maneuver as quickly as possible, as the fox hole could otherwise be reverted to bedding for naptime if Mom catches you.
Unfriendly territory drill
This New Year’s maneuver will give you practice creating unfriendly territory to turn back threats to your monopoly on Mom’s time (aka visitors), and will give Mom good practice with a search and rescue mission on the front lines.
To execute: Wait until Mom is slightly distracted—well, deluded—into thinking she can read for 10 minutes. While she’s preoccupied, take out all of your toys, old and new. Place randomly on floor, on stairs, in bedroom, draped over lamps.
Dress up in your sheriff’s outfit, and as sweetly as you can, ask the distracted commander if you can “borrow” her keys to lock up some bad guys. Trust me, she can’t resist a commando in sheriff’s clothing—she’ll even put the keys on your belt for you.
Lock up the bad guys, then hide the keys under your blanket so the bad guys can’t escape.Forget where you put the keys.
Be sure to do this drill vigorously, because you’ll only get one shot at it!
Stare-down drill
Sometimes it’s important to take a few minutes to test the strength of Mom’s resolve, just to see if she’s ready to hand over command of the camp yet.
To put on the stare-down pose, place hands on hips, furrow brows, and purse lips into a small, tight line.
To put on the stare-down mentality, think of all the things Mom has not executed properly over the course of the vacation: she gave you pajamas for Christmas (high treason!); she cooked your ham too brown for breakfast this morning (she’s trying to poison you!); and when she took you roller skating for your first time, you fell on your bottom—hard (she should have broken your fall with her own body)! These things would not have happened if you were in charge!
Take that resolve and that pose, and stare Mom right in her unfit commander eyes at the end of a long day.
If she doesn’t break her return stare readily, repeat the following mantra over and over until she does: You’re a bad mommy. I don’t love you.
Practice this drill enough, and you’ll soon be either running the show while Mom lets Calgon take her away, or you’ll have found a new way to hit the racks early.
If you get sent to bed early, you’ll still have won, when Mom tries to go out for a drink, and has no idea whatsoever where her keys are.
*These maneuvers have been personally tested at Camp Gustafson this week. This does not mean they have been deemed “safe,” but they have been deemed doable. The commando kid motto is “Do as much as you can, as often as you can.”
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