Month: May 2017

Squirrels will be squirrels

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date May 28, 2017
No Comments on Squirrels will be squirrels

Alright, squirrels. Enough is enough.

I have been accepting of squirrels for a long time. I get that plenty of folks don’t like them. But I find them somewhat entertaining, and I am willing to let them take part in my feeders. In fact, I adopted my father’s approach on this: Call them squirrel feeders, and then you are pleasantly surprised when birds show up.

But this has gotten out of hand.

By my estimate, I am on my 4,000th consecutive day of having to repair a feeder because squirrels make it so we can’t have nice things.

I have one small feeder I keep right on my porch. My back porch is my default home office, and I spend as much time out there as I can, as I enjoy being able to sit in peace and quiet for a good six seconds until the door slides open and someone says, “Dad, (insert sibling here) did (insert annoying thing one sibling did to the other that could easily be ignored but has to be a national emergency instead).”

But during my few moments of solitude, I enjoy seeing numerous different types of birds come to the feeder. We have a good understanding: I’ll keep the feeder stocked, and they will flit up and give me a nice moment of nature to enjoy.

The squirrels do not approach when I am on the deck. I will occasionally see them walking the fence or scurrying about in the trees. But they keep a wide berth when I am outside. And I think I know why. I think they know that if they approach, they will get a good talking to as to why, when I came outside, my feeder was on the ground again, and sunflower seeds were strewn about the yard.

Science fact: Squirrels loathe a good talking-to.

The feeder I have is not a fancy one at all. It’s a small wooden one that is easily dislodged by a couple of playfully destructive squirrels swinging it back and forth. I know there are numerous anti-squirrel feeders out there. Some of them quite hilariously sling the squirrels off. If you haven’t seen it, off to YouTube with you.

But there are two problems with the squirrel-proof feeders: (1) I kinda like the squirrels (2) my feeder is already in place and getting another one would require both time and money, neither of which I am readily eager to dispense with.

As I came out to my deck to write this column, I found the feeder on the ground again. And I had made the rookie mistake of leaving the bag of sunflower seeds in a chair on the deck, so the squirrels had also happily torn into that and left shells all over my deck. Really, squirrels? This is how you thank me?

I considered bringing them to the table for a summit to iron out our differences and find some common ground. But squirrels are notoriously stubborn negotiators, so I knew this would be a non-starter. Thus, I have decided on the only option left for me. I am going nuclear: I am now classifying my feeder as a bird feeder. You hear that squirrels? Yeah. I did it. This is for the birds. In a good way.

I hate to have to bring the hammer down in such a strict manner. But if there is one thing that raising children has taught me it’s that sometimes, you have to make the hard decisions for the long-term greater good.

My hope is that the squirrels will understand this harsh change and learn and grow. To any of my neighborhood squirrels reading this who have not been destructive to my feeder, I’m sorry that you are being punished for the bad actions of a few. But that is life.

I’m glad we are at a point where we can move past this, and I look forward to the time when I can welcome you back to the feeder, and you have matured to the point where you can show it the respect it deserves.

Also I’m guessing that some time around, oh, say, tomorrow, I will be buying a squirrel proof feeder.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Childhood Family

Fidgeting, flipping, and slime, oh my.

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date May 18, 2017
No Comments on Fidgeting, flipping, and slime, oh my.

We were bored on a recent Saturday night, and my kids were wanting to do something fun. We weighed our options.

Board game? Nah. Movie? Nah. Chase you sister around the house with a Nerf gun and shoot her all night? One yes, one no, one abstention.

My daughter said, “We should make slime!”

Now, keep in mind my kids are teenagers, and well past the age when they were first introduced with making slime in school. That said, it kinda sounded like something fun to do, so why not.

I sent the kids to the store to get the required ingredients, which are incredibly complicated (glue and Borax). For all the parents who dread their kids driving, trust me, there are perks. Wanna make slime on a Saturday night? Fine. Go get the stuff yourself while I sit in a quiet house for a few minutes.

They were back in no time with the ingredients and in short order we had slime. I posted a picture on Facebook with the kids making their concoctions, with the post “Never too old to make slime.”

A teacher friend of mine commented, “I’m sorry, but that stuff is the bane of every teacher’s existence.”

And teacher friend, I feel your pain. My mother was a teacher, and I know how hard it is to be a teacher, and not just because my mom had the unfortunate teaching experience of having me as a student.

There are quite a few annoying fads that teachers have to deal with, and more pop every year. I remember when I was a kid, and one fifth grade teacher had to put a moratorium on bee catchers, these little paper contraptions we concocted that made a fantastically annoying clacking noise when you smacked them back and forth. We found them delightful. The adult tasked with trying to teach us math? Not so much.

There are several other fads that are quite popular right now that I am sure teachers cannot wait to see them go the way of the bee catcher.

Among those:

Bottle flipping. For those of you not familiar with this, bottle flipping involves a partially full bottle of water that is flipped, with the goal of landing it right side up. Or, you can really show your pro level and “cap it,” meaning you land it on the, surprise, cap. If you have never been around a bottle flipper before, do this: Have someone every so often come and just slap the table you are sitting at. Or the coffee table next to you. Or just any surface near you, in particular when you are sitting at your computer trying to compose an email.
Your mom. Not, not yours. But apparently, responding, “Your mom” is the trendy way to respond to any and every question. Seeing as how this was a popular thing back when we were making bee catchers, I’m not sure this one will die any time soon.
Fidget spinners. If you’re not familiar with these, they are these little spinner devices that kids love to constantly spin. And fidget. And there is a reason most every teacher on planet earth currently wants all fidget spinners to disappear forever.

I am sure there other annoyances teachers would love to see go away, and I’d love for you to share them with me. I’ll be happy to write a follow-up column. Until then, remember, summer is close. And you will soon be out of the bottle-flipping, fidget-spinning, your-mom nightmare. I just hope I haven’t inadvertently starting a resurgence in bee catchers.

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Honk if you love new driving lessons

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date May 10, 2017
No Comments on Honk if you love new driving lessons

When a teen gets a driver’s license, they have to (in most states) take a driving course prior to taking the driving test.

This is a good idea, even if it can certainly be debated that letting teens drive is not.

That said, there are a few things that aren’t standard in driver training course, and I think it’s time they added some.

Some of the no-brainer additions: changing a flat tire, jump starting a battery, and how to properly wave thank you when someone lets you in traffic. But a recent event brought one more to me recently: proper honk protocol.

I was at a stop light the other day, and I will admit I was daydreaming a smidge. The light turned green, and I didn’t notice. The car in front of me had maybe gotten two car lengths ahead, so it’s not like I’d been sitting there for hours.

Now, the courteous thing to do – as the gentleman behind me would have learned in driving school had this been taught – would be to give two or three quick little beeps. Just a, “Hey, buddy, green light.”

Instead, he just laid on his horn. Even when I began to go, he continued with the horn. He also added some aggressive hand gestures, because clearly I had not gone immediately as a direct attempt to inconvenience him.

I considered slowing down as I approached the green light and hoping to wait for a yellow, but then I realized that was the dark, little vindictive corner of my brain that I have to hush on occasion.

I got through the light, as did the driver behind me.

But he was still mad. Either that or there was a bee in his car and he was trying to shoo it. And he was tailgating me. Or he was really interested in reading my license plate. Pretty sure it’s the prior on both accounts.

My son was in the car with me and glanced in the side mirror. “Dad, he’s mad.”

“I know, son. And when we get to a stopping place we are going to get out and fight him. Both of us.”

My son stared at me. “Ok, you’re joking.”

I find it somewhat disturbing that my 14-year-old thought, if only for a moment, that the best way to combat road rage was for a father-son battle royale.

“Yes, I am,” I assured him.

My son asked me what I would do if he followed us to our destination and said something to me.

I paused for a moment. Good question. I certainly wouldn’t engage angrily, as, although it has never happened to me, I don’t thinking getting beaten up (or worse) in a parking lot would be much fun.

I told my son I would simply say, “Hey, man. Thanks for the heads up on the green light. My bad.” And if he continued? I would add, “Hey, you’re gonna be OK. Have a great day.”

Fortunately, this scenario never had to be explored, as he turned off after a few miles. But a few quick lessons of horn protocol could have helped avoid any of this.

Need a gentle reminder to go? Beep beep beep.

About to merge into the side of my car? BEEEEEP!!!

About to merge into the side of my car while texting? BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!! BEEP!!! BEEP!!!!

(Can we stop for just a second to appreciate about much of a fun word “beep” is? Good. Carry on.)

Granted, even if you taught it, some folks are never going to follow the rules. Maybe this guy is one of those. If you’re reading this and the actions of the guy behind me sound a smidge familiar, just remember that not every bad thing in the world is someone out to get you. Sometimes, other people inconvenience you on accident and without malice. It’s nothing to get your blood pressure up over. You, good friend, are going to be OK.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s break into groups and have a discussion on the extreme severity of folks who don’t return shopping carts.

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Cleveland rocks

Dear Ford,

Brilliant idea. And you’re 16 years late. You could have save me about 200 trips to Cleveland.

Sincerely,

Mike

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking a cat just walked over my keyboard and randomly typed a paragraph. Well, I don’t have a cat, so there.

Actually, when given context, it makes perfect sense (I think).

See, Ford has developed a prototype for a crib called the Max Motor Dreams that simulates a car ride. It looks like a regular bassinet. However, this bad boy plays car engine sounds and rocks in a manner akin to a moving car. Lights flash on and off to simulate streetlights being passed.

I think I speak for every parent who ever had to use a car as a sleep agent when I say, Ford, you must mass produce this and you must begin yesterday. Or, preferably 16 years ago.

When my daughter was a baby (guessing you can piece together that she’s now 16), her preferred method of going to sleep was never to go sleep.

For the first couple of years, my wife and I took turns trying to get her to sleep. This usually involved us walking the house at all hours of the night singing to her. If we so much as considered placing her in her crib, she would immediately become stiff as board and begin wailing a sound I am fairly certain is normally reserved for hyenas.

So we would walk. And dance. And sing. And walk. And sing. All. Night. Long.

But during the day, when it came time for naps, we had little success with the Mommy and Daddy Dance Party Remix. So we went to the old standby, a few laps around the neighborhood in the car. After a few blocks, she would fall fast asleep. Plenty of times, I remember pulling back in the driveway and thinking, “Hmm. She could wake up if I move her to her bed. Looks like it’s time to catch up on some NPR while I sit in my driveway for the next hour.”

This worked OK for the first few years. But then our daughter did what babies do and developed the ability to communicate with us. And, in particular, she developed the ability to ask questions. Lots and lots of questions.

Plenty of the questions were the standard ones: Why is the sky blue? Why is the grass green? Why can’t we put grass in the sky and make it green?

But one of her main line of questioning involved where we were going. Unfortunately, it’s not an acceptable answer to a curious three-year-old to reply, “Why do you care? You know like five places on the whole planet.”

So often times we would give her the answers. “Grandma’s” or “the store” or “the casino, of course.” But we knew quite well that our anti-sleep daughter was not going to be down with the answer of “We’re driving around so you’ll fall asleep and Mommy and Daddy can have one hour of peace and quiet and you won’t act like an angry cobra later this evening.”

So we went to Cleveland. Every time. “Daddy, where are we going?” “We’re going to Cleveland,” I’d say.

For some reason, she found Cleveland a perfectly fine destination, and eagerly got buckled in for yet another trip to the amazing place that is Cleveland.

Now, you may be wondering, why Cleveland? The answer is I threw a mental dart at the mental map in my head and that’s where it landed. We just had to go somewhere.

My days of tricking a kid into going to sleep are long behind me, but I still really wish I had such a thing as the Max Motor Dreams back in the day. It would have saved me countless of miles of roads traveled, and who knows how many hours of time. I could have put her in the crib and let the magic happen. Of course, the one downside is that she never would have gotten to go to Cleveland so many times.