MMM Halloween 2011

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May Jones as The Invisible Woman (Hiding from her Four Kids?)

Scott Heffernan & Aimee's Monkey ... Scott Hales' Buffy & Vampires 

Pete Codella, Kids & Tank (Weimaraner) ... Ken Craig & Family (They Have 7 Dwarfs)

Seattle Jon as Jimenez the Jeweler & Kids (SF Giant, Jedi & Old Maid)

MAB's Kids Continuing the Tradition Internationally

MMM Mail 1: Baby Blessings

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image via LDS Talk

Q: My husband is a convert and our baby's blessing is coming up in two weeks. He's very nervous to do it in front of the congregation, and even more nervous that the baby will start crying uncontrollably during the process. Could someone write a post about how you are actually supposed to hold a baby during the blessing and give tips for how to successfully keep a baby from crying?

A: Impending baby blessings have been known to keep modern mormon men up all night. We hope thoughts from Ken Craig, Max Power, Pete Codella and Saint Mark (all after the jump) help your husband rest soundly this week! Or, you can head here or here to see what Bishop Higgins has to say on baby blessings.

If You Like Movies, You'll Love Moving Furniture

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by Ken Craig (bio)

Get ready for the game sensation that is sweeping the nation!*

(*Please note, this game has yet to sweep this or any nation. But when it does, I would like full copyright benefits. Also, I would like it to be called Ken’s Movie Game. Catchy, right? Well, I got my degree in advertising – so yep, I know some things.)

Back in 1996, my friend Steve and I were coerced by our wives into attending some sort of “party.” (Think Amway, but with make-up.) I don’t remember the entire theme, but I do remember at one point both of us soaking our fingers in adjoining bowls, in preparation for manicures. I can’t say it was my proudest moment, but Steve and I had been friends since before puberty, so it wasn’t the first time we’d found ourselves in a situation that would never be discussed afterwards. (Like the time we decidedly kicked a fellow Scouter out of our tent at Scout Camp, so a younger Scouter with a much more attractive sister could stay in our tent and tell us what she might be looking for in a rugged, almost-Eagle Scout. That was probably the least talked about incident, pre-manicure.)

Anyway, we started talking about movie previews. And then we started talking about how often you see a tag line on a poster or preview that says:

If you liked _____, you’ll love ______.

You’ve seen them.

“If you liked Rocky, you’ll love Hoosiers…”
“If you liked Pretty Woman, you’ll love Green Card…” 

“If you liked Airplane!, you’ll love The Naked Gun…”

And so forth.

So out of an awkward moment of pampering, and all in the name of comedy, a game was created where we would try to come up with movie tag lines that connected two movies in name only (or a nebulous association), but not really in any other similarities. In other words, the movies had to have a similar word in the title, but would actually be almost polar opposite in subject.

Steve had the first one:

If you liked Dirty Dancing, you’ll love Dances with Wolves. It took off from there.

Another eHarmony Success Story

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by Ken Craig (bio)

image via strollerderby

I was recently the recipient of a most intriguing text. It was 10:18 in the P.M. when my cell phone vibrated in my right, front pants’ pocket. Instinctively, I demanded everyone stop talking or moving around or carrying on with any frivolity and shenanigans, so I could give the proper respect and attention to my incoming text.

But I was suddenly perplexed by what I read:

Hi Ally. Just wanted to say hi. I hope it’s not too late. Justin.

Now, for those of you keeping score at home, my name is not Ally. Never has been. Not even to my most intimate friends. And the only Justin I know who would text me is my brother. And he rarely calls me ‘Ally.’ And he knows I keep late hours, so unless he was texting to ask me if it was too late to apologize for breaking into my locked trunk while I was out of the country for two years on my LDS mission and subsequently losing not one but TWO mix tapes I had made before leaving, then I couldn’t see why he would be asking me if it was “too late.” (And no, Justin, it’s not late to apologize for that. I forgive you. Whew – I’ve been waiting for that one! Thank goodness that’s over. Water under the bridge, brother. Water. Under. The Bridge.)

Anyway, I immediately surmised that this fellow had the wrong number. So as a common courtesy, I simply typed:

Of course it’s not too late. Come on over. And giggled to myself at the thought of Justin showing up to Ally’s residence, unannounced and late in the evening. But then I thought, “This Justin character (if that is his real name) has my cell phone number. He could really make things annoying for me. Best I just leave him alone.” So I deleted my original message and went with the safer:

Justin who?

Highs & Lows

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by Ken Craig (bio)

A dinner ritual for our family is that we go around the table taking turns recounting our “highs and lows” for the day. You know, the best and worst things that took place that day. Our hope was that it might spur some lively conversation and provide some insight into how each child feels about their stage of life, current events, and of course, have the opportunity to rat out their siblings’ bad behavior and/or tell weird stories about their friends.

You might expect to hear something along the lines of, “Well, my ‘highs’ for the day included riding my bike, playing with Jo-Jo Marie – who told me that her dad passes gas when he’s watching TV – and having a dance party with Abbie. My ‘lows’ were cleaning my room and also…when Tanner wouldn’t let me play with his lightsaber!”

There have been some eyebrow raising discussions, of course, but for the most part, I’m beginning to see a pattern develop.

Becca, who is 2 years old, generally starts the discussion by reminding us about it. “Mom! Dad! Highsandlows! Highsandlows!” (Most anything Becca says includes exclamation points.) Then Becca will begin to give us not so much the stories of her “highs and lows,” but an itinerary of what she’s done that day. “Uhm, my highsandlows was, I eat breakfast…then I look at books…and my highandlows was, I played games with Connor…I made poops in the potty…and that’s Lucy, and I kiss Lucy, and she’s asleep, and that’s all!”

Kid Praise

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by Ken Craig (bio)

Normally, I’m pretty skeptical about any new-age pop-psychology mumbo jumbo slapped onto a magnet and strategically placed front and center on a refrigerator. However I recently came across one such attention-grabbing public notice, and I have to admit, I was intrigued.

It read: 101 Ways to Praise Kids

It was produced by some company that goes by the name of Nannies & Housekeepers U.S.A. At first I was discouraged, as it appeared that it was something solely created for nannies, which we don’t have because a) we don’t have the money, and b) there is only one Mary Poppins, and I don’t think she’s available. But although it was targeted at nannies, I couldn’t help wonder if it might work for parents too, as they sometimes interact with their own children as well.

I gave it a shot.

I’ve carried it around in my pocket for a week now, and I’ve really noticed a difference in my children’s confidence. Used to be that when they ran up to tell me something or had accomplished something, I just didn’t know how to react. But now I do!

I tried it out on my oldest first.

Oldest Daughter:  Dad, I made 8 loaves of bread today.

Me: (Scanning the card for the right thing to say) You’re a pleasure to know!  (Nailed it.)

Middle Child: Dad, I drew this picture for you.

Me: What a great listener!

Youngest Son: Dad, I had an accident when I couldn’t climb up on the toilet fast enough.

Me: You’ve earned my respect!

Baby: Pffffpts.

Me: Thanks for caring!

Oldest Son: Dad, in Cub Scouts we talked about coin collections.

Me: The time you put in really shows!

Middle Daughter: (And I wish I were making this one up…) Dad, listen to the song I memorized from West Side Story! “My daddy beats my mommy; my mommy clobbers me; my grandpa is a commie; my grandma pushes tea; my sister wears a mustache; my brother wears a dress! Goodness! Gracious! That’s why I’m a mess!”

Me: Class act!

So, turns out, as you can plainly see, that sometimes this stuff really works! I can really tell a difference in my children’s attitudes. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that if this parenting thing doesn’t work out, I could totally be a nanny. Kenny Poppins.

A Leap of Faith

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by Ken Craig (bio)

As summer approaches and Church-sponsored activities are poised to abound, I'd like to regale you with a little incident I like to call “The Time I Jumped Out of a Tree and Nobody Caught Me and I Almost Completely Shattered My Back and Kind Of I’m Still a Little Mad at Those People Who Didn't Catch Me.” Sure, I’ve had 23 years to come up with a better title, but I’m not very good with titles, so that’s what you get.

It was summer, 1988, my friends. George Michael was still straight (maybe), Guns n’ Roses were welcoming me to the jungle, and Def Leppard was requesting that I pour some sugar on them. (Which, under no circumstances, was I about to do. It’s unsanitary and it creates a horrible mess.) Growing up in southern California, the summer was rife with trips to the beach, water skiing, pool parties, and theme parks. But perhaps nothing was as highly anticipated each summer as what is commonly known in the LDS world as Youth Conference.

Ah, Youth Conference. An annual event for Mormon adolescence, ages 14 to 18, that spans three to four days, promotes new friendships and affords youth the delights of engaging speakers, well-organized games, obligatory dances, and if all goes well – opportunities for smoochin’. But not this year. No, this was the year of a “new” Youth Conference. A “fresh” Youth Conference. A Youth Conference “outside the box.”  A Youth Conference “nobody wanted to attend.” Brothers and Sisters, I give you…“The Wilderness Youth Conference.”

For this special Youth Conference, we were to spend Friday, Saturday, and Sunday camping in the mountains above Santa Barbara. There was no electricity and no showers. On top of that, the rules were that there was to be no make-up for the ladies, no toiletries for either gender, and no Walkmans or music of any kind. (See kids, a Walkman is the predecessor to the iPod. It weighed 8 to 10 pounds, included headphones the size of fighter-pilot helmets, and played what the Smithsonian calls “cassette tapes.” Cell phones, iPods, laptops, and any paraphernalia of that nature had not yet been invented, but you can bet your Drakkar Noir cologne that they wouldn’t have been allowed either.)

The final blow was when the leaders told us we would be placed in assigned “family groups,” and not able to handpick our friends to be in our groups, or to even have down time to hang around them. They then told us there would be no traditional Saturday night dance. If they expected a mutiny on this issue, they were sorely mistaken. Nobody was excited to slow dance with anybody who had been marinating in their own B.O. for 48 hours, or kiss someone whose teeth felt like they were wearing a sweater.

My Bum: A Story of Mistaken Identity

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by Ken Craig (bio)

One night, whilst in college, I went out on a first date with a girl named…hmmm… It started with an E. (I cared for her, deeply, as you can see.) Elaine? Elizabeth? Anyway, we were walking through a park, fairly close together, but with our hands in our jacket pockets, as it was a fall evening, and the weather was pleasantly cool. When out of the blue, Ellen (?) says, “Tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”

I did not care for this.

Firstly, I had known Ester (?) for about two days. Who was she to demand to know my deepest, darkest secrets? Was I to automatically trust this attractive, though virtually unknown woman at face value? A woman who had not shared her deepest, darkest secret with me? A woman who found it perfectly acceptable to walk through a park and consider it a date? A woman whose name started with an E! (Edie? Electra? Ebony?)

But secondly, and most importantly…I didn’t have any deep, dark secrets. Unless you count my extensive Huey Lewis & the News CD collection. (And I don’t.)

I’ll never know what Edwina (?) was probing for that day. But I have attended a number of social gatherings since then where people play such “get-to-know-you” games where you are required to recount, in great detail, information you would not normally or casually put on display. “Deep, dark” information, as it were. Only now it is masqueraded as “What’s your most embarrassing moment?”

Well, I happen to have one.

My Name's Ken. But My Friends Call Me Robert.

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by Ken Craig (bio)

So, it’s 9:00 p.m., and I’m in the Express Lane at our friendly neighborhood Albertsons. (Albertsons' Motto: If we can’t win you over with our high prices, we’ll make ourselves so stinking convenient, you’d have to be a real weenie to drive by us on your way to another grocer.) I wasn’t planning to be out, so I’m dressed quite casually. Quite casually. Very, extremely casually. To be honest, if I were dressed any less, I’d be in the shower.

I have my 10 Items or Less on the conveyer belt, and I’m waiting my turn, when I hear voices and glance over my shoulder to see who’s behind me. Lo and behold, it’s Brother Dustin Hoffman* and his little daughter. (* name has been changed.) Brother Hoffman is in the bishopric of a neighboring ward in our stake, and I’ve known him, more as an acquaintance than anything, really, for about three years. My wife and I spoke at a fireside in his ward a couple of years back, and afterwards he invited us to go to dinner with him and his wife sometime. (P.S. We never went.) And since I’ve been in our bishopric, I’ve seen him at various and sundry meetings where we’ve chatted casually from time to time; so, while I wouldn’t call us “friends,” I’d say we are definitely “friendly.”

But not tonight.

First, I’m very self conscious because I’m dressed like I’ve wandered from my bed to the bathroom, and second, well, Brother Hoffman has caught me – ME, a bishop – engaged in the reading of an intriguing article out of the cheap and tawdry publication known as People.

Reader's Indigestion

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by Ken Craig (bio)

So I recently canceled my longtime subscription to Reader’s Digest. Originally we subscribed to this national treasure for two reasons. Katie grew up with it, so it was a bit of nostalgia for her, and I needed something to peruse whilst lounging in the bathroom.

I’m kidding of course. I haven’t lounged in a bathroom in ages. Not since I’ve had children old enough to recognize that when Dad is in the restroom, he is trapped. They have a captive audience, and it’s an opportunity to tell me the details of their day, get my opinion on their outfit, or – and I wish I were making this up – cram a drawing they made for me under the door so I can compliment their artistic abilities.

Kid 1: (Paper appearing as if printing off a dot matrix. being wedged between the door and the floor) Daddy, I made this for you while you were at work!

Me: If you’ll wait just a second, we can look at it together. Daddy just needs to finish reading about life-saving dental breakthroughs, and I’ll be right out.

Kid 2: Dad, look, I’m waving at you! (Little fingers sticking out from under the door.)

Me: Yes, mm-hm, I’m waving back! Why don’t you go see what your brother is doing?

A Legacy in Progress

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by Ken Craig (bio)

I recently thumbed through a book titled Living a Life That Matters, by a Jewish rabbi named Harold Kushner.  And when I say I “thumbed through it,” I mean I “read the cover” and thought to myself, “What a catchy title!” I was going to start reading the book, I really was; but I am still only three DVDs into the second season of Chuck, and my friend is going to want his DVDs back pretty quick. Those episodes aren’t going to watch themselves, you know!

Living a life that matters. Hmm. Well, my wife claims my life matters to her. And, I’ll be honest, even without some daily barometer reading for how I’m doin’ at this little game called Life, mattering to my wife is kind of my main mission. Second only to mattering to my kids.

My seven children run from age 13 years old to several days overdue and showing no signs of arriving on the scene in the immediate future. They are delightful and adorable souls. They have only one distinct flaw, and this is it: They are far, far too observant of their dad’s behavior.

You have to wonder what kind of legacy you are leaving for your children when they make astute observations like, “I can’t wait to be a dad – you get to stay up every night eating ice cream and watching TV!” Apparently I have painted quite a picture of fatherhood for my three sons. “Yep, that’s all there is to it, my boys! You put in your time as a youth spending grueling hours making forts out of the couch and collecting farts in a mason jar; and then in a few short years, you’ll be living the high life with Haagen-Dazs and Seinfeld reruns. Life just gets simpler and simpler, I tell you.”