Getting my own mind around my artwork is hard enough without trying to figure out a way to express it in a way you can understand. I don’t really do “Native” themed work. While it’s true that I am a member of the Pyramid Lake Paiute tribe, but found in my time working with Natives, Native businesses and such, that I’m not invested in being a Native Artist. I’m more of an artist that is Native. It’s there. It’s part of my life. It finds it’s way subtly in my work, but it doesn’t inform my work, or who I am within the bounds of my art work. In that, for year I have had a bit of a chip on my shoulder. I have strong opinions about my being Native, and the social and political issues that go with it. I’ve also found that no one really gives a shit. With the advent of children in my life, I’ve had to look at things from a different perspective. This piece is a good illustration at how I am making my bold statement, but with a satirical voice. Humor, sarcasm and such. It makes the point. But my goal is to do this, while still being culturally and artistically relevant.

As I continue to create and prepare for the G40 Art Summit group show in April, I will continue to post on the work. It is my hope to open people’s eyes to my work, and the voice therein. Maybe even get a little laugh out of it.

Share it. Post it. Pass it along! I want to get as much momentum on this work as possible! Thanks in advance!

this guy. frightening. don't let the cute fool you.

When my daughter was little, toddler age, she was perfect. Like any toddler she had issues, sure, but all in all she was pretty much perfect. It seemed like the world worked because she was such a tough baby, that for her to be a good toddler just seemed appropriate. That truth has never showed itself as more true than at this time right now.

My son is a nightmare. He’s cute and charming, sure, but his inability to listen to my wife or to me is staggering. In contrast to my daughter’s toddler years, he is a criminal. My daughter was always one of these little girls that will sit and put her hands in her lap and chill. My son is the exact opposite. He’s like the stereotypical frat boy, everything is a party, everything is based on a dare. There have been two major events happen in the past week or two that have gotten us to this point. They are as follows:

Potty training. My daughter got this within a week. Like her mother, she likes structure, and schedules and such, and my wife worked with her and it’s perfect. Of course I worked 50 miles away when she was potty trained, so in all honesty, I had no clue what was happening with her, and how it all worked. I have a greater sense of the crap my poor wife had to endure to get my daughter to pee in the potty. To be fair, the obedience of my oldest helped prep her. Elmo’s Potty Time, potty books and such were things she was seeing, and she paid attention. The Bear simply can not be bothered with it. 

We had initially wanted to start said training before the big boy bed showed up. We quickly realized that those two events for him was overwhelming and too much. We abandoned potty training for the moment, but not before getting a few insights to Phoenix’s little mind.

“I can’t do it.” The kid repeated this like a Tibetan monk chant. It was insane. He would repeat it openly while sitting on the potty. I found it disconcerting that a 2 year old could already have that big of a grasp on what he believed were his limitations.

2 second rule. That’s the amount of time he would sit on the potty before he started stating that he was done and wanted to get off.

I don’t give a s**t. When my daughter was little and she would pee herself, she would get all upset and then walk like a cowboy who’s been on the saddle for weeks. My son? He stands there like he’s a straight baller and what he’s doing is cool. “All the kids are doing, dad. Chill out, yo!”

Diapers? Big boy undies? What’s the difference? Nothing apparently. I mean, one is more absorbent, but other than that, nothing.

Poop looks just as good in my pants as it does in the potty. That’s all I got.

The big boy bed. Holy hell, what a nightmare. Nothing is more frightening to me than a human being with no conscience and no sense of moderation given full and unadulterated freedom. Getting this kid to understand that the purpose of a bed is to sleep in is hard enough without the idea that he can just get up whenever because he’s not jailed in. To add to a little excitment, he’s sharing a room with his sister as part of getting him away from the crib that will undoubtedly belong to the new one. He’s not had a partner in crime up to this point because frankly, he hasn’t needed one. He’s a nightmare without help. So, a few things have happened as a result of this monstrocity:

Morning comes….well, whenever. This kid got up at 3 am and turned on all the lights in the upstairs to let us know that it is a beautiful morning. To be fair my daughter did the same thing, except that she didn’t turn on the spotlights to tell us, she’d just creep in and spring it on you in her little smurf voice. My son? He turns on all the lights and yells it. Like, yell. No good.

Chatty Cathy, or Carl. The kid is sharing a room with his sister. While my poor daughter tries to sleep, he’s talking to her. Like, giggling, talking, asking questions, saying her name over and over. Nuts.

The wanderer. He has already gotten out of bed several times to play. Usually play means getting into his sister bed, playing with her things, and trying to get to things higher up, with total disregard that a human being is trying to sleep in that bed. So far he’s only really stepped on her head, and pulled her hair with his Fred Flintstone feet in the process.

Early to bed early to rise. Who ordered the 6 am wake up call. Keep in mind that I spend much of my time in my studio late into the evenings. getting a screeching and yelling that inevitably ensue following a wake from slumber is much to much for someone who only slept 3 or 4 hours.

So I have a solution. Never potty train. I almost feel like anything would be better. I’m talking Big Daddy moves of allowing my kid to water your plants with his urine. Seriously.

With two big things, we decided it was too much and have taken a step back. Now we are focused on the big boy bed. Potty training will come after.

Child #3 will be the death of me.

or some random lady who is mad at the audacity of businesses charging you for shipping

In addition to being a full time artist, my wife and I have a number of little ventures to keep the flow of money going through my home. Everything I do is hand made, and takes time and effort to create IN ADDITION to the fact that we work to create new and innovative things that enrich my artwork.

So recently, we participated in a Flash sale in which a number of members of the site began to yell about the cost of shipping. What proceeded was a number of comments about the issue. The cost of shipping was nearly the same cost as the heavily discounted piece that was selling, and this was a deterrent for ‘potential’ buyers. I say ‘potential’ because lets be honest here, if you’re going to complain, it’s likely that you weren’t going to buy anyway. Let me break it down:

Cost of item: $17.95

Cost of shipping via United States Postal Service (USPS): $14.95

Now here is a breakdown of what I perceive to be the conversation that takes place in the mind of ‘potential’ buyers:

“Nice! Something that normally costs $35 is $17.95?! What a deal! Oh. Wait. The shipping is almost $15? What a rip off. Jeez, what a bunch of assholes. This company is totally taking advantage of the sale by charging so much for shipping. I can believe them. This isn’t on sale at all! What a JIP!”

The action that takes place after this groundbreaking thought is to take it to Facebook. Not just their personal Facebook, but to the Facebook page of said site that is selling this item.

So the sale item is selling for nearly half. When you put in the cost of shipping, it’s a little more. That’s shipping. Of course, shipping doesn’t include things like the cost of packing the piece properly. It’s straight up. United States Postal Service (USPS). While everyone who piped into the afore mentioned Facebook thread seems to miss this, I have a tirade about the interaction of 3rd parties with online businesses. It goes a little something like this:

I’m so angry. What do you do when you’re mad about something? Do you write a letter? Post it on your blog? Throw yourself to the ground and flail and scream and cry? You’re mad, outraged even. I get it. When I get mad at, say, my wife, I have a special banner that I put outside my house so that passer by’s can see how angry I am about the injustices of her pregnancy woes. Right? Wrong. Like all things, if I get upset by it, I talk to the person directly. I assume this to be a responsible and adult like response to things. Posting it publicly? Yeah, not so much. If I did that, I may as well put a crucifix on my front lawn too because I’ll be hanging on it before too long. While ranting about something on Facebook isn’t as personal, I believe that eventually, and in some form, you will end up crucifying yourself for your actions. Dying for your own sins, as opposed to that other guy.

I don’t think things through. And, I mean, why would you. You have a computer, a keyboard, you have spell check, so why not just say what’s in your head. Be damned the responses of others. I believe everyone should know when I’m in the midst of dropping a deuce, or am outraged by shipping charges set by the USPS. I know full well that USPS won’t listen, so I’ll just blame the business. Well thought out plan.

I type out loud. 1) think it. 2) type it as you think it. 3) don’t read what you wrote. 4) press enter.

I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE. Yes, a reference to There Will Be Blood. You see, the concept there was about one person taking something away from someone else who is taking advantage of everyone else. When the complaints about this whole Shipping Gate took place, what these ladies didn’t realize is that they are hurting our business. You aren’t going to buy? Oh, ok. Sorry to lose your money. But to take the time to post negatively within hours of the sale going live about something we have no control over is just that: negative. What they aren’t realizing is that the line between our profit and food on our table is non-existent. The other thing people don’t realize is that much like fear, negativity spreads. So one jerkoff comments, then everyone else is like “heeeeeey, you’re right!” and so it goes. We probably lost more than a few sales as a result, and that pretty much makes you a dick. If you were so concerned about it, maybe you should have put on your ‘good citizen’ hat and made a phone call or sent an email.

You and your feelings be damned. My wife worked pretty hard to get some of the concepts down for this particular items. She did the research, and got the concepts down. You just zipped down your pants, squatted over the work and pissed away. The rule of thumb for me is that if you make my wife cry, I make you cry.

Complain about the economy, complain about you. This is one of those things that infuriates me to no end. You complain about the economy, yet you are willing to break down those that are trying to make it with your petty comments. Do you have something constructive to say? Perhaps you should think about a way to CONSTRUCTIVELY say it. We have a lazy economy. Everyone wants it to be better, but everyone is sitting on their butts making ill comments and not doing anything about it. When I say everyone, I am only talking about the half dozen people who sparked this message. Yeah, you.

Call a cow a cow and a chicken a chicken. Let’s call it what it is. You don’t want to buy it. Chances are, you’re too cheap. That’s ok. In this economy, it’s a good thing to try and be frugal. Clearly you’re mad about it and feel you have to air horn your inner thoughts in hopes of busting someone’s proverbial eardrums. Whatever. Don’t’ make a small business suffer for it, just tell everyone you’re too cheap to do it. It’s better that way.

I’m DIY and will shit on your DIY making your DIY smell awful because I had hot wings for lunch making your DIY a shitty spicy mess. So yeah. Often times I get unsolicited critiques on my work, or in this case, on my wife’s work. The ever daunting statement of “Oh, I can do that, and for less money.” Awesome. I’m happy for you. How about you stop talking about it and do it. Also? Try not to tell any homely children how ugly they are and how you can shoot better looking kids from your Vajayjay any day of the week and they should just kill themselves.

Listen, I’m not stupid. Putting my stuff up on the internet means that people will be saying whatever. I get it. I just have this odd inner hope of people being decent and kind, and not trying to railroad other’s success because you’re angry, miserable, constipated, poor, have a paper cut, hate your life, hate your children, hate your job, hate your big sausage fingers, have hurt feelings, or whatever. While I may be going overboard, allow me to share part of the thread I am talking about.

Anonymous Dick: Shipping is $15, how is that a good price?

Enter in the awesome folk who pipped in on our behalf. I love our friends. I truly do!

Anonymous Dick (again): I think decreasing the shipping rate while raising the price of the item still makes it almost a $30 item. Not really a steal when the original is $35.

My response: Actually, Dick, It’d be $35 for the original PLUS the cost for shipping, which would bring the total to about $46. I’m not sure why it’s so hard to understand that if you buy something, you have to pay for shipping for it. It’s an unavoidable cost. I am certain, however, it would be ok to pay the cost of airfare to pick it up personally, so as to avoid the significant cost of shipping.

Anonymous Dick (again again): I don’t find myself rude, I am just questioning a price. I find others responses disrespectful & not needed. I am the last person to whine as an owner of a business myself I am fully aware of shipping costs, as well as airfare( really? complete disrespect). I do not need to argue with other randoms on the internet who quite frankly need to get a passion so you aren’t scanning every comment for an argument. Thank for showing the ugly side of humanity. I do not wish to comment further, & would hope you show the same adult respect.

Ha, ha. I’m sorry. I know I’m a jerk, but I can’t help myself. At least I’m not hiding my jerkness under a veil of a ‘concerned citizen’. Someone take her keyboard away please.

The good news is that I had a fantastic laugh upon seeing this on her FB page:

good advice. maybe i should have followed it and not written this blog post.

Lets be honest here. We are a small business. We are a small business that is doing our best to use our God given talents to make a living, albeit a meager living. As products of a poor economy, these types of actions hit home hard and fast and so it is my hope, nay, my prayer that you think before you react. A good old fashioned self entitled tirade based on the misconception of someone owing you something for free is a falsehood that damages these businesses you deem fit to hear your skewed words of wisdom. If you were to remove your head from your ass, you might find that you sound like a dick. But lets be honest here, the ‘you’ I speak of probably don’t read my writings, and if you do, you’re not aware of yourself enough to have this be anything of importance to you. So I will keep running in my circles and see you on the rotation!

So I’ve got a new project going. I was invited to participate in the G40 Art Summit for an installation. This show is going to be huge with a number of names tied to it that may present me with some good exposure. Obviously I want to stand out in my work. I have some materials here, but need more to really swing for the fences. So I’ve got a Kickstarter.com project going, and the video, in all it’s awful glory, explains it above. I realized that there is really only one thing worse than writing about yourself? Talking about yourself on video while wearing your fat face. What can you do? So, the cool thing in all this is that there are incentives for donating. Certain amounts will get you my work. So yeah, check it out, but more importantly, pass it along, donate and show some love.

Most folks know that I am an artist. Not artist like a hobby. Artist as in profession. I know. Most folks hear that and react the same way I react when a pretty young girl tells me she’s a model. Yeah, right. But it’s true. This what I do. It’s all I do. It’s the thing that brings the bacon. I sell my stuff online, I show my stuff in galleries. It’s what I do. Rarely do I ever enter an art contest.

I don’t want to sound high and mighty, but the truth is I figure that I went to college, I learned the various craft of being an artist and I feel like I don’t need to throw my art work to be judged out of context with someone who decided that one day they’d make a painting and throw it in. It’s not that I don’t think people don’t deserve the right to be an artist, or to create, or the legitimacy that is within that. It’s about paying dues. It’s about blood, sweat, tears and paint. It’s also about value. Like any profession, you can’t make the big bucks right out, you have to gain experience, right?

HOWEVER. There are exceptions. I will put in from time to time.  When I believe it to be worth my time. So a contest comes up within my church. It’s an international contest with a church theme and everything. Church is really conservative about art. I am ok with that. I use spray paint in a lot of my work, which isn’t traditional, but to me it’s the final product more than the medium. Call me progressive. So this is my final product:

To date, I feel like this is one of my best pieces. I love it. I mean, I like a lot of my own work, it’d be weird if I didn’t, but this piece is personal. Very. I honestly felt it stood a chance.

I was wrong.

Now, don’t get me wrong here. I know how it goes and frankly, when my work doesn’t get the response I want, I find it odd, funny, and a nice social experience. So chalk this up to the best social experiment ever. This piece was not accepted, but to make it a sweeter deal, it came with a letter. That is what I’d like to share with you. It’s fantastic. Seatbelt on (names and such are taken out so I don’t look like a total douche for this post). Also, watch for my notes:

Thank you for entering the **** Art Competition. We sincerely hope that creating and sharing your artwork has been a rewarding experience for you. We regret to inform you that your piece was not among those chosen by the jury for the exhibit.

While my piece is ‘rewarding’ wouldn’t the ‘reward’ be to have made it into the competition? I am confused by this though, because I create all of my work, and ‘rewarding experience’ is a weird way to define how I feel when I finish. I mean, when you have a good BM, and you get through it well, is it a ‘rewarding experience’? Ok, so I didn’t make it. It’s cool. But what’s with this ‘rewarding’ crap? It’s just weird. Fluff.

About 1000 works of art from all over the world were submitted for this competition, but less than 25 percent of these will fit in the exhibit galleries. Many of these works were of high artistic quality.

This isn’t the interesting part. I mean, aside from not having work of ‘high artistic quality’, this isn’t the interesting part. I was invited to attend the exhibit when it opens (on my birthday, as it turns out!), the best part is the final paragraph.

We are grateful for your interest in this art competition. We hope you will further develop your work and share your talents. We look forward to hearing from you again.

Huh? Why do I feel like someone just told me that my ‘work and talent’ need more work, and talent. That ’sharing’ my artwork is one of those little things that one does on the weekends. You know, like ride horses or fly model air planes? I mean, I know people do that, but isn’t it possible that folks entering this competition are doing this type of work for a living?

So that’s it. Maybe it’s not that funny, but it struck me as funny. I didn’t think I’d make it in anyway. Needless to say, I won’t be entering that ‘contest’ anymore. My work simply doesn’t fit. It’s all good. I just love the letter. I framed it. No joke.

SO! As I pick up the pieces and move on from this rejection (boo hoo), I have been invited to one of the biggest art shows on the East Coast in March. I am selling the work I have in hopes of raising the funds needed to do this show properly. I am talking big acrylic pieces, massive wall paintings, and just about the biggest set up I’ve done, and you can imagine. Maybe beyond. You can check my past work here: GreggDeal.com. Mostly, I’m pretty stoked about doing new work, huge work, and standing out. Help a brotha out!

Within 6 hours of posting OPERATION: CHRISTMAS MAGIC, enough money had been raised and donations began to pour into my sister to make it comfortable. By the wee hours of this morning, it was epic. I would be remiss if I didn’t admit how incredibly surprised, grateful and impressed I was by the effort made to my dear sister and her children to help her in her time of need. I am floored. To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve done charitable things in the past, but to me, this was way above and beyond. I did say it was my Christmas wish to get this to happen, and I can honestly say that my Christmas Wish has been fulfilled.

The most common response to me from those who have seen it within their hearts to give what they can is “I wish I could do more.” This became a ridiculous comment after a while because I heard it a dozen times. Let’s say a dozen people give $10. That’s $120, which is no small thing. The seemingly small efforts of some make it into one big effort. But that’s not to say that there weren’t some significantly generous givings. For that I am profoundly grateful.

So now I’m conflicted. I so badly want to call people out on their generosity so as to thank them properly and publicly. There is a thing about charity, and giving though. We all know that to give something whole heartedly is in itself the reward. We don’t do it so that we can obtain praise for our efforts. Our efforts aren’t for us, but for the individual we are reaching out to. So while I will not call you out personally, you know who you are and from the bottom of my heart with love and gratitude, thank you.

My sister is overwhelmed. I’ve heard a few stories so far of people giving, and the hugs and the tears. She has expressed her gratitude, and how hard it is to do this without knowing what to say other than “thank you.” Like me, I think she’s blown away. She said to me this morning, “I am amazed that people are so giving. You have a great network of friends.” Indeed, dear sister. Indeed.

I’d like to finish by saying that the Christmas Spirit, the spirit of love, giving, charity and kindness, exists. My heart goes out to all of you that gave, and all of you that supported, and even all of you that wanted to give, but simply can’t. You are amazing, and you’ve made the difference for the Christmas of two kids, two parents and a big brother and his family as they watched in wonder and awe. Merry Christmas!!

introducing Mia and Coleman

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to tearing up a bit as I write this. Generally I am sarcastic, snarky and goofy about my posts. I find humor in everything in my life most of the time. Right now? Not so much.

Imagine that it’s today. You are 34, have a 13 year old and a 3 year old. It’s 4 days before Christmas.  Things are a little low, financially. Low enough that you don’t have a tree this year. You have been getting back into work the last few weeks following a surgery to receive a hysterectomy which is part of an effort to remove the Cancer in and around your Cervix. Yesterday, you just got the pink slip. This in addition to being left out of the Christmas bonus everyone else is getting as a mixup, which is also part of your having missed work to recover from said surgery. Now you have a decision to make. Do you use the money you unexpectedly got as a last paycheck to buy the presents you were planning on getting today, or do you hold on to it in preparation for what will surely be some tight times in the coming weeks/months.

How do you explain to your 13 year old son that Christmas isn’t happening this year? What does your 13 year old say to his friends when they get back to school talking about what they got for Christmas? What about a 3 year old? You talk up Christmas in anticipation to see the look on her face, that lit up face that only a 3 year old can have when they see Christmas right before their eyes. What would you do? What can you do?

Unfortunately this entire debacle is a true story. I just found out that my sister, her boyfriend and my nephew and niece is suffering this Christmas, and it breaks my heart. Unfortunately her family isn’t in the best spot either and contributing enough to get a decent Christmas to her (and certainly in time) isn’t in the cards. My sister resides in the City of Salt; Utah. She’s got good kids and a good little family. My sister and her longtime boyfriend are doing their very best, but in an economy gone to pot, there is little else that can be done than to take it one step at a time, one day at a time.

In all this, as a parent, I can’t help but think of what this feels like. The helplessness, the stress. My Nephew and Niece are such sweet kids, and they don’t deserve to get the shaft this year. Admittedly my family doesn’t have much, but this goes beyond that, and it truly breaks my heart.

It is at this point that I’d like to launch OPERATION: CHRISTMAS MAGIC.

This is where you come in. This is my hope. My Christmas wish. I’d like to pull together some help for my sister and her family for Christmas. I’d like to invite the Christmas spirit into her home, as well as yours. I’d like to organize help. You can help a few ways:

1. Donate something. Specifically to Paypal. I will transfer any money raised to my father in Salt Lake who will make sure she gets the cash ASAP.
2. Deliver something. You can mail something, or drop it off at her home if you’re local. Cash, check, presents, a tree, whatever.
3. Organize something. If you live in Utah and have an effort already, get in touch with me and we’ll make it happen.

So now you’re on board and need to work it out? Want some specifics? I can tell you the following:

13 year old boy. Loves music, iPod (or whatever), and has a fair amount of teenage angst.

3 year old girl. Loves princess anything/everything. Typical little girl. Genuinely stoked on everything.

34 year old mom and dad. Parents. If you are one, it’s not hard to use your imagination on this one.

Christmas tree. They had one of those fake trees from Target, but it died. It’s a small thing, but a tree to put presents under makes all the difference in the world when it comes to a little Christmas spirit.

If you want to add a little Christmas cheer, get on this. I can attest to the fact that giving something, and contributing to a family in need is a pretty fantastic way to bring in the holiday spirit. It is the kind of thing that doesn’t just affect the home you’re contributing to, but it affects you too. I have faith in your willingness to help my sister ring in the Christmas season with a little kindness from strangers. You would be giving hope and faith to someone who is a good person, a survivor of cancer, and a good mom trying to do the right thing. You would be giving to someone who deserves a little happiness and cheer.

If you want to Deliver, Donate or Organize something, you can get in touch with me at gregg@thelamesauce.com. If you wish to donate via Paypal, you can do that below.

I have a number of personal works that is up for sale in time for Christmas. I know there have been a few folks out there interested in some of my smaller personal work, so now is your big chance. If you see something you like, shoot me an email at gregg.deal@mac.com. You can view it on my site GreggDeal.com or download a PDF document that will give you the same details. If you have ANY questions, just me know!

*image does not denote all that is available, or the size.

I am going to piss on ALL OF YOU.

This post has way too much personal information and now you’ve been warned.

Also, this post has nothing to do with Christmas except to say that the holiday is a few weeks away. It seemed like a funny play on words that the Holiday season is upon us and my son is ripping away his diaper, and liberally pissing around the house.

There was a time not too far off when my 5 year old daughter, Sage, and my 2 year old son, Bear would take baths together. Like, last week. This has changed in one swift movement of my son standing up in the bath and proclaiming his independence by peeing (nearly on his sister) in the tub. I am opposed to pee baths, as I imagine most folks are. I then have to drain, and refill with the assumption that he peed his last drop and we can move on. I was wrong. After another draining, the kids got to enjoy an ice cold bath. The real victim in this is Sage, who did nothing wrong except got in the line of fire.

But truly, the real issue isn’t using the bathtub as a toilet. This presents a much bigger problem to me in how Bear perceives his piss. In that, I’m not sure what is more shocking to me: the animalistic instinct to pull down your pants, take off your diaper an urinate wherever, or the fact that I am 36 years old and am literally writing about my son randomly peeing on things.

I man boy and I pee. *gunt*

I know what you’re going to say. It’s normal. These things happen. Well, let me say this to you: 1) It’s not ‘normal’, otherwise there wouldn’t be toilets. 2) I cleaned up my fair share of piss and poop when he was little AND got peed and pooed on as well. 3) Why does your response sound like the same explanation I give my kids in explaining why things die?

#3 is the the answer I think. Potty training. Despite how awesome of a parent you are, the potty training effort is like unto death. My daughter did it ok except that she refused to poop, her stomach would bloat, holding it in until her little body convulsed and it came out like a small boulder the size of a softball. Fun, right? Well, we’re dealing with a whole new dynamic.

I’ll just say it. My son has a penis. As any adult knows, and certainly any married one, the dick is dangerous. This is applicable to all ages.

Now, before you all go get offended that I referred peni as a dick, open your hearts and minds to the horror of my wife, and the desire for her husband to help said wife with making sure that Bear’s baby snake is pointed in the right direction at the right time.

Of course in the midst of this, I am drowning in commissions that need to be completed in time for Christmas. I know that I need to take a prominent roll in his potty training, so now it’s a cat and mouse game. The horrible thing about that analogy is that usually the mouse dies. I think I might be the mouse. My wife too. Not sure. I digress.

I fully recognize my roll as a parent yields me to cleaning up crap, piss, vom, snot and the like, but when I thought through all of this, I did consider being elbow deep in the stuff for so many years after birth. Call me naive, but it’s shocking. Just. Shocking.

I'm a super hero. I have the power to move you....with my urine. Sometimes my deuce.

Shhhhhh...don't tell anyone, but I'm going to steal your babies!

Every year we partake in the same weird tradition as everyone else. It doesn’t seem weird, of course, because it’s a normal part of our holiday traditions within Americana. In malls all over the country, children are sitting on a strangers lap to tell them intimate details of their wishes, while parents laugh at it’s awkwardness and state obscure movie lines that don’t actually apply to their 5 year old little girl. “You’ll shoot your eye out, kid.”

When we began this tradition, my daughter was too little to be affected by the fear of the bearded stranger. The year after, it freaked her out. We got two pictures that day, one that was before she realized she was hanging in no man’s land, that frightening place for a 1 year old where they don’t realize that they aren’t on the lap of those they trust, but instead have been left to linger on a strangers lap for purposes of photographic posterity. It’s monsterous. Even more so in that parents usually laugh.

As we fast forward, my youngest is now my oldest, ringing in at a staggering 5 years old, a student of kindergarden, and a believer in Santa Claus. She believes so whole heartedly that I feel a pang of regret for that day that the reality of her dreams will be shattered, and she will have to succumb to the fact that her parents have not only been lying to her, but have also been sneaking around pretending to be something they are not. Until that point, we will invite her to sit on a stranger’s lap and give him hugs, and tell him things she probably won’t even tell me. Did I mention he’s a stranger? Yes. I don’t know who he is either. Weird.

In all of this, kids at a certain age seem to have a 6th sense about these things. We took the trip last night. We went out to eat some pizza as a family, and decided we would not only go out for some frozen yogurt, but that we’d swing buy and see the big guy. I knew my son, the Bear, was stoked about this because his spirit was high. When his spirits are high, he tends to be the embodiment of the funny boy he is. At one point I put him in his car seat, and gave him a raspberry on his face to which he stated loudly in his little 2 year old Smurf voice “Not cool, man!” It was looking good.

It wasn’t good.

I am normally the one who takes photos at such milestones. Unfortunately, I could get enough distance between me and my son long enough to get photos except this quick one.

Bear was crying. Screaming and crying in anxiety. I tried to let him own the moment by getting down to his level, putting him on the floor only to have him try to flee to Abercrombie and Fitch. The horror. While all of this is going on, my daughter is telling Santa all the secrets of the universe, no doubt in the form of a doll. We didn’t get photos because it simply didn’t seem right without the Bear in the picture. If we had, it’s likely it would have resembled last year’s photo.

I did my best to bring about a boobie prize, and go ahead and get the photo. My wife wasn’t on board to sit in for Bear. That resulted in pure sadness because I can’t think of anything better than my two best girls sitting on the lap of a strange man with a white beard who probably keeps the naughty children in the well his basement.

Postscript: this graphic still applies.