Houses are funny. They provide you a roof over your head, a warm bed, and a chair to watch football, the three basic needs. But they have a habit of jumping up and biting you in the ass when you least expect it.
Last Saturday, on my wife's birthday, I had my drain snaked. "Why of course Ray, you ARE over 40 after all, don't all men your age have that done?". To that I say "They do, but that's not the drain I speak of". And besides, anything you have on your person you can classify as being "snaked" most likely has you in one of any number of institutions in our fine prison system sharing time with a man of questionable character and an even more questionable sexual orientation.
On Friday my wife pointed out some water on the floor of our laundry room and it being late I quickly passed it off as a leak local to the room, perhaps the washer, and classified it as an "i'll deal with it later" problem. Well, later came quicker than usual (shoulda put it in the "when I feel like it" column) and I was forced to examine the reason for the water. It turned out to be water coming back in to the house through the drain in the laundry room. I'm not "Mr. Fixit" by any means, but I thought right away, that had to be bad, right?
So we called a plumber and luckily one agreed to show up on Saturday. So this guy shows up and grabs his snake and proceeds to insert it into my drain. HOLY GEEZ!! Does THAT sound gay. Take two. Okay, this guy comes in my house and sticks a thing in my hole. HOLY SHIT!! Okay okay......there's gotta be a way around this. Okay. Let's try this. A guy came to help me with my problem (sounds good so far) he showed up on time (good) and when he did he reached into his truck grabbed his tool and........ah forget it!!!
I want to tell you, I was pacing like an expectant father. I had nightmares of my front yard being dug up because of this. Everytime he would poke his head back into the garage I'd wait for an update. "How we lookin' in there" I said in my best macho small talk. "Good, I think we hit a few roots". I'm sorry, roots? Yes, not only do my huge trees in my yard scare the crap out of me when we have high winds (like the 79MPH winds we had recently, thank YOU Hurricane Ike) but they seek out any place they can find water. The guy finishes up and I find out that this might only be temporary, I might have to do this 2 years from now too thanks to those roots.
But the day finished off pretty decent. My wife got to go out with all of us for her birthday and I got some great video of my daughter at her party. But I am a homeowner. I'm just left to wonder what's next. What's the next thing to come....and.........and........well, "snake me up the ass"?
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Make Me An Offer
Chalk this latest first experience of mine as a "swing and a miss". Today, we had our first (and most likely last) garage sale. The word "garage" is from the French "garer" which loosely translated means "attention all neighborhood freaks, please show up at my doorstep".
I had been threatening to do a garage sale for quite some time and when a flier came around announcing a neighborhood garage sale that would be advertised and I had to only show up, I was on that like stink on a monkey. THIS, would be how I finally get some clarity in my life by getting rid of all the junk I had. This would be great! I could get that new PC I wanted, why I might even be able to buy that Apple iMac I had been looking at!
I got very organized. Vases, dishes, and pots went into a specific area of the table. That was housewares. The old tennis racket and roller blades comprised my sporting goods, and for those wandering bookworms, I had a small collection of books.
But after so many nice sunny weekends, this one decided to be muggy and rainy. Ah, hopes and dreams. How you DO like to be dashed. We went ahead with it anyway, putting the tables at the end of my garage. My wife, bless her heart, manned one side of the garage and I the other. Soon, people started to show up.
One of the first guys picked up a rifle scope my dad had dropped by with. He was either cleaning out his junk or hiding evidence he didn't want the feds to get, one or the other. So the guy picks up the rifle scope, buys it, and they asks if we have any military supplies. Ah, no. Then he wanted some rifles. Makes sense, what ELSE do you put a rifle scope on, right? No again. THEN, he asked if we had any knives. At this point I thought he is either a weird collector OR he's accessing our ability to defend ourselves should he decide to come back while we're sleeping. We got so many off the wall bizarre questions I was close to putting a sign up saying "Attention: We currently do not have any medical supplies, artificial limbs, hernia belts or deer antlers" just to filter out the wandering ghouls who were showing up.
About a half hour later a portly man in a t-shirt that left little to the imagination and a long white beard shows up to check out our wares. He spies our daughter's fold up playpen and asks "how much". I tell him $10 and he says "Oh that will go. We just bought four of them for a day care me and my wife opened up". So he walks away and I quietly thank my in-laws for providing a safe haven for my daughter during the day so that I can avoid sending my daughter to the "John Wayne Gacy" school for girls for THIS guy to watch her.
The rest of the crew that stops by was enough to make you want to call a contractor to put iron bars and your windows pronto. I got the feeling that everybody was on the lookout for that one treasure, that Van Gogh tucked into the back of Dogs Playing Poker or something like that. Then you had the folks who wouldn't even stop. They'd just slow down, try and dechipher what you had, and just continue on their way.
And how did we do? Well, let's see. We sold the scope for $10 and a couple of DVD's at 2 for $1.00. And I did make enough to meet my original goal though, albeit slightly altered. Now, unlike the one I had in mind, I'm unfortunately only able to purchase an actual "apple", not of the computer variety. Oh well. Looks like it's going to be an early Christmas for the folks who pick up our garbage next Friday!
I had been threatening to do a garage sale for quite some time and when a flier came around announcing a neighborhood garage sale that would be advertised and I had to only show up, I was on that like stink on a monkey. THIS, would be how I finally get some clarity in my life by getting rid of all the junk I had. This would be great! I could get that new PC I wanted, why I might even be able to buy that Apple iMac I had been looking at!
I got very organized. Vases, dishes, and pots went into a specific area of the table. That was housewares. The old tennis racket and roller blades comprised my sporting goods, and for those wandering bookworms, I had a small collection of books.
But after so many nice sunny weekends, this one decided to be muggy and rainy. Ah, hopes and dreams. How you DO like to be dashed. We went ahead with it anyway, putting the tables at the end of my garage. My wife, bless her heart, manned one side of the garage and I the other. Soon, people started to show up.
One of the first guys picked up a rifle scope my dad had dropped by with. He was either cleaning out his junk or hiding evidence he didn't want the feds to get, one or the other. So the guy picks up the rifle scope, buys it, and they asks if we have any military supplies. Ah, no. Then he wanted some rifles. Makes sense, what ELSE do you put a rifle scope on, right? No again. THEN, he asked if we had any knives. At this point I thought he is either a weird collector OR he's accessing our ability to defend ourselves should he decide to come back while we're sleeping. We got so many off the wall bizarre questions I was close to putting a sign up saying "Attention: We currently do not have any medical supplies, artificial limbs, hernia belts or deer antlers" just to filter out the wandering ghouls who were showing up.
About a half hour later a portly man in a t-shirt that left little to the imagination and a long white beard shows up to check out our wares. He spies our daughter's fold up playpen and asks "how much". I tell him $10 and he says "Oh that will go. We just bought four of them for a day care me and my wife opened up". So he walks away and I quietly thank my in-laws for providing a safe haven for my daughter during the day so that I can avoid sending my daughter to the "John Wayne Gacy" school for girls for THIS guy to watch her.
The rest of the crew that stops by was enough to make you want to call a contractor to put iron bars and your windows pronto. I got the feeling that everybody was on the lookout for that one treasure, that Van Gogh tucked into the back of Dogs Playing Poker or something like that. Then you had the folks who wouldn't even stop. They'd just slow down, try and dechipher what you had, and just continue on their way.
And how did we do? Well, let's see. We sold the scope for $10 and a couple of DVD's at 2 for $1.00. And I did make enough to meet my original goal though, albeit slightly altered. Now, unlike the one I had in mind, I'm unfortunately only able to purchase an actual "apple", not of the computer variety. Oh well. Looks like it's going to be an early Christmas for the folks who pick up our garbage next Friday!
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
My hierarchy of useless knowledge
I had a revelation today and it came while my wife was watching The Young And The Restless. No, that revelation was NOT I am a giant pussy who watches soaps with my wife. That came long ago. No, this one was a revelation on how polluted my mind is with useless information.
We got into a discussion about a character on the show, one who's been with the show for years. When my wife had trouble remembering his name I thought for a few minutes then blurted it out. As appreciative as my wife was of me ending her torment I couldn't help but think, has this ability to remember useless crap hampered my growth, my career?
I don't know how memory works, but I imagine it like a series of compartments where information is stored. Empty compartments are ripe for storage while occupied compartments are there to keep information that your mind deems valuable. Who am I? What do I do for a living and why did that lady at Arby's stop and ask me "Do you like the onion bun?" when I asked for a Beef n' Cheddar, only to sell me an NON-onion bun equivelent to "save me some coin". Where did she get the idea that she could go off the script? "I'd like that". "Okay, I will get you that". It's simple. But I digress.
When information comes into your brain it searches for an empty compartment. My problem, I think, is that I am running out of open compartments. Someday I'm going to learn valuable information at work and it's going to want to go to one of my "brain compartments" only to find that it's occupied with "Donny Most played Ralph Malph on Happy Days" or my personal favorite "Buckner and Garcia sang Pac Man Fever". Really?!? Pac Man Fever? I doubt Buckner and or Garcia would own up to that today and here I am carrying that shitty factoid around in my head!
So as I envy the A.D.D. set with their set in stone diagnosis I will sit and wait that someday "I" get my equivilent of Ridilan, a drug that helps me wipe from my head all those deliciously funny memories I have from shows like Different Strokes. "What chew talkin bout Willis!".
----
We got into a discussion about a character on the show, one who's been with the show for years. When my wife had trouble remembering his name I thought for a few minutes then blurted it out. As appreciative as my wife was of me ending her torment I couldn't help but think, has this ability to remember useless crap hampered my growth, my career?
I don't know how memory works, but I imagine it like a series of compartments where information is stored. Empty compartments are ripe for storage while occupied compartments are there to keep information that your mind deems valuable. Who am I? What do I do for a living and why did that lady at Arby's stop and ask me "Do you like the onion bun?" when I asked for a Beef n' Cheddar, only to sell me an NON-onion bun equivelent to "save me some coin". Where did she get the idea that she could go off the script? "I'd like that". "Okay, I will get you that". It's simple. But I digress.
When information comes into your brain it searches for an empty compartment. My problem, I think, is that I am running out of open compartments. Someday I'm going to learn valuable information at work and it's going to want to go to one of my "brain compartments" only to find that it's occupied with "Donny Most played Ralph Malph on Happy Days" or my personal favorite "Buckner and Garcia sang Pac Man Fever". Really?!? Pac Man Fever? I doubt Buckner and or Garcia would own up to that today and here I am carrying that shitty factoid around in my head!
So as I envy the A.D.D. set with their set in stone diagnosis I will sit and wait that someday "I" get my equivilent of Ridilan, a drug that helps me wipe from my head all those deliciously funny memories I have from shows like Different Strokes. "What chew talkin bout Willis!".
----
Thursday, August 14, 2008
When you think about it, gray hair ain't so bad....
If you had to choose a malady that's synonymous with growing older, you would probably think of graying hair first right? Maybe somewhere down on your list if you're a nutjob like me, MAYBE.......shrinking an inch or two off your height is there.
I am shrinking. How do I know this? My pants. I wear a special band of Dockers that have an expandable waistline in front. I do this because being an obvious 38" waist, it gives me some satisfaction buying a pair of 36's. This would be the same size satisfaction that fat cow in front of you at Wendy's gets from ordering a triple cheeseburger WITH........a diet Coke. Everything in moderation I guess.
Well I had to buy a whole new crop of my male maternity pants (my nickname for them) because the back of the cuff where they meet my shoes were fraying. Those pair that had that problem quickly moved down the social strata of "pantsdom" into "mowing the grass pants". For pants, this is the end of the line. A clear sign that you've lost your "A" game.
So I bought a whole new crop of Fatsy McChucklebutt's "Pants for Porky's". So the first day I put them on I finally realize why the last crop were fraying on the bottom. I am walking on my pants. What gives? Same length as always, but for some reason my heal kept stomping on my pants. This is what ruined the last ones. So my big fix, cuff them. That's great. Now i can walk around, finish getting ready for work, and save my new pants. This WOULD be great if not for the other thing I'm noticing about myself lately. I forget a LOT! So now,....I'm fat......a little grayer (not completely) and walking around my new job for which I hope to impress my bosses, all the while sporting 3" cuffs. Nice.
The thing that scares me is gray hair keeps coming till it's ALL gray.....what if the shrinking doesn't stop? Will my friends and family desert me when I have no legs? Just an ass with feet attached to it? Sure they'll still talk to me. Everybody will want to cash in on those valuable "freak dollars" I'll get at the fair.
I am shrinking. How do I know this? My pants. I wear a special band of Dockers that have an expandable waistline in front. I do this because being an obvious 38" waist, it gives me some satisfaction buying a pair of 36's. This would be the same size satisfaction that fat cow in front of you at Wendy's gets from ordering a triple cheeseburger WITH........a diet Coke. Everything in moderation I guess.
Well I had to buy a whole new crop of my male maternity pants (my nickname for them) because the back of the cuff where they meet my shoes were fraying. Those pair that had that problem quickly moved down the social strata of "pantsdom" into "mowing the grass pants". For pants, this is the end of the line. A clear sign that you've lost your "A" game.
So I bought a whole new crop of Fatsy McChucklebutt's "Pants for Porky's". So the first day I put them on I finally realize why the last crop were fraying on the bottom. I am walking on my pants. What gives? Same length as always, but for some reason my heal kept stomping on my pants. This is what ruined the last ones. So my big fix, cuff them. That's great. Now i can walk around, finish getting ready for work, and save my new pants. This WOULD be great if not for the other thing I'm noticing about myself lately. I forget a LOT! So now,....I'm fat......a little grayer (not completely) and walking around my new job for which I hope to impress my bosses, all the while sporting 3" cuffs. Nice.
The thing that scares me is gray hair keeps coming till it's ALL gray.....what if the shrinking doesn't stop? Will my friends and family desert me when I have no legs? Just an ass with feet attached to it? Sure they'll still talk to me. Everybody will want to cash in on those valuable "freak dollars" I'll get at the fair.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Not all home runs are in ballparks
I have a 2 1/2 year old daughter. Right when we found out that we were having a girl I, pretty much knowing this might be our only child, started to think of what I would be missing out on now that I wouldn't have that son that all guys seemingly want.
Of course all father and son dreams seem to somehow revolve around sports. His first at bat. His first touchdown. I'd have none of that. Now I had to alter my dreams for a little girl. This was no big deal to me though because my REAL dream would work for a boy OR a girl.
Being the consemate wise-ass that I am, I value humor above most things. I've had some of my biggest chuckles at the most inopportune times. I firmly beleive that nothing, and I mean nothing is above humor. I've visited plenty of funeral homes and I've laughed in most of them (I'm not a TOTAL loon, I show reverance when necessary). I'm almost positive that each indididual I've paid my respects too would have wanted it that way.
So my "home run" for my daughter was a bit different and she hit it out of the park for me last week. While putting her to bed, I playfully asked her "Does your bottle go up your bum?". She looked at me and smiled, knowing I was joking with her which is pretty good for a 2-year old. So I just started saying "bum bottle" and she heard that and started chuckling wildly. So I did it again........"bum bottle....bum bottle, over and over again". She started a wild belly laugh.
Now to most parents, a child laughing is no big deal. They do it all the time. But to me, this was monumental. I had written a joke that my daughter found funny. And she gave back to me more than I could ever imagine. I've been on stage and made complete strangers laugh. None of that could compare to having my littlest audience give back to me such great laughter. This, was her home run.
Of course all father and son dreams seem to somehow revolve around sports. His first at bat. His first touchdown. I'd have none of that. Now I had to alter my dreams for a little girl. This was no big deal to me though because my REAL dream would work for a boy OR a girl.
Being the consemate wise-ass that I am, I value humor above most things. I've had some of my biggest chuckles at the most inopportune times. I firmly beleive that nothing, and I mean nothing is above humor. I've visited plenty of funeral homes and I've laughed in most of them (I'm not a TOTAL loon, I show reverance when necessary). I'm almost positive that each indididual I've paid my respects too would have wanted it that way.
So my "home run" for my daughter was a bit different and she hit it out of the park for me last week. While putting her to bed, I playfully asked her "Does your bottle go up your bum?". She looked at me and smiled, knowing I was joking with her which is pretty good for a 2-year old. So I just started saying "bum bottle" and she heard that and started chuckling wildly. So I did it again........"bum bottle....bum bottle, over and over again". She started a wild belly laugh.
Now to most parents, a child laughing is no big deal. They do it all the time. But to me, this was monumental. I had written a joke that my daughter found funny. And she gave back to me more than I could ever imagine. I've been on stage and made complete strangers laugh. None of that could compare to having my littlest audience give back to me such great laughter. This, was her home run.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Ah age. How DO you manage to screw me.
I was never the cool guy in the room. Even typing "cool guy" is a dead give away - I was never cool. Nobody cool actually SAYS the world cool.
But tonight is the biggest indicator that I am a un-cool blob of Boronium,...the main chemical compound found in 99.9% of all boring people. Go ahead,...get your Periodic Table....it's on there.
Here's the scenario. My wife and lovely daughter are staying over at her parents so that they TOO can know the intense stress that comes with wanting to pull your eyebrows out that occurs just around naptime. So I have the entire place to myself. So why am I not living it up? Getting drunk? Dancing around in my underwear ala Tom Cruise? Okay, that last one was light years away from cool. See!?
It's because of changing priorities. Back in my 30's I would have used this time to, oh I dunno, see a band,...go see a comic......you want to know what "crazy wild" thing I want to do tonight? GO TO SLEEP EARLY!
Holy shit Ray!! Call the cops! YOU sir.......are out of control. I know, I am the very definition of lame. Check it out;
lame /leɪm/ - adjective, lam·er, lam·est, verb, lamed, lam·ing, noun
–adjective 1. crippled or physically disabled, esp. in the foot or leg so as to limp or walk with difficulty.
2. impaired or disabled through defect or injury: a lame arm.
3. weak; inadequate; unsatisfactory; clumsy: a lame excuse.
4. A 42 year old man who has a free night to do whatever he wants and chooses to eat potato chips and watch Family Guy.
Hmmm.............potato chips and Family Guy. Wait a minute,....maybe I'm onto something here. Mabye,...just maybe....THAT is what's "cool" to me and to guys my age at this point in our lives. You know, that might be it. Hey! I just MIGHT be cool still! But in a 42 year old, sorta overweight, occasionally farting sort of way. LOOK OUT FONZI!! I AM THE COOLEST NOW! (I know....I know...see definition number 4 under lame).
But tonight is the biggest indicator that I am a un-cool blob of Boronium,...the main chemical compound found in 99.9% of all boring people. Go ahead,...get your Periodic Table....it's on there.
Here's the scenario. My wife and lovely daughter are staying over at her parents so that they TOO can know the intense stress that comes with wanting to pull your eyebrows out that occurs just around naptime. So I have the entire place to myself. So why am I not living it up? Getting drunk? Dancing around in my underwear ala Tom Cruise? Okay, that last one was light years away from cool. See!?
It's because of changing priorities. Back in my 30's I would have used this time to, oh I dunno, see a band,...go see a comic......you want to know what "crazy wild" thing I want to do tonight? GO TO SLEEP EARLY!
Holy shit Ray!! Call the cops! YOU sir.......are out of control. I know, I am the very definition of lame. Check it out;
lame /leɪm/ - adjective, lam·er, lam·est, verb, lamed, lam·ing, noun
–adjective 1. crippled or physically disabled, esp. in the foot or leg so as to limp or walk with difficulty.
2. impaired or disabled through defect or injury: a lame arm.
3. weak; inadequate; unsatisfactory; clumsy: a lame excuse.
4. A 42 year old man who has a free night to do whatever he wants and chooses to eat potato chips and watch Family Guy.
Hmmm.............potato chips and Family Guy. Wait a minute,....maybe I'm onto something here. Mabye,...just maybe....THAT is what's "cool" to me and to guys my age at this point in our lives. You know, that might be it. Hey! I just MIGHT be cool still! But in a 42 year old, sorta overweight, occasionally farting sort of way. LOOK OUT FONZI!! I AM THE COOLEST NOW! (I know....I know...see definition number 4 under lame).
Thursday, July 24, 2008
High gas prices bring out the loons.
I pulled into our local KFC today to buy my daughter one of her many vices, KFC mashed potatos (or TOES!! as she calls them) and I ended up behind this.
All I can say is, what a man does in the privacy of his own home is between him and the polar bear of his choosing and is nobody else's business.
Now obviously this schmuck has drunk the Kool-aid (or Kook-aid) and thinks "drill monday, cheap gas by friday". WRONG!
My favorite was the other side that said something like "Global warming is a hoax. Carbon Dioxide is plant food". Which is right. And maybe my bestiality charged freind in front of me in line is a botanist and knows something I don't know.
Like he knows of a plant that eats Hydrocarbon emissions. Those are the fuel molecule fragments not completely burned that form ground level ozone in the presense of nitrogen oxide and sunlight.
And maybe there's a particular plant that eats Carbon MONoxide, another product of incomplete burning of hydrocarbon based fuels. More than likely, this wing nut is listening to the insane rantings of the nutjob talk radio hosts who spout this baseless drivel to the only unintelligent sponges that will eat it up. Namely, my polar bear loving freind in the SUV in front of me. The same SUV that gets lousy gas mileage......and burns more gas in a drive through than if he'd just park it and walk his lazy ass inside to pick up his food himself.
Don't even get me started on his lack of punctuation.
All I can say is, what a man does in the privacy of his own home is between him and the polar bear of his choosing and is nobody else's business.
Now obviously this schmuck has drunk the Kool-aid (or Kook-aid) and thinks "drill monday, cheap gas by friday". WRONG!
My favorite was the other side that said something like "Global warming is a hoax. Carbon Dioxide is plant food". Which is right. And maybe my bestiality charged freind in front of me in line is a botanist and knows something I don't know.
Like he knows of a plant that eats Hydrocarbon emissions. Those are the fuel molecule fragments not completely burned that form ground level ozone in the presense of nitrogen oxide and sunlight.
And maybe there's a particular plant that eats Carbon MONoxide, another product of incomplete burning of hydrocarbon based fuels. More than likely, this wing nut is listening to the insane rantings of the nutjob talk radio hosts who spout this baseless drivel to the only unintelligent sponges that will eat it up. Namely, my polar bear loving freind in the SUV in front of me. The same SUV that gets lousy gas mileage......and burns more gas in a drive through than if he'd just park it and walk his lazy ass inside to pick up his food himself.
Don't even get me started on his lack of punctuation.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Ignore the experts, get it from the bunny.
If you Google childcare advice you'll likely find advice from such sources as Parents.com, Newbaby.com, and for the southerner who needs help, youngins.net.
Why seek advice you ask? What do you need guidance on? Is that a full bag of Doritos on your desk? All valid questions.
You see, our daughter has it in her that whatever we say, some how SOME way, we're screwing her over. Here's a perfect example. We're going somewhere together. I get ready first,....shoes......car keys...and I try to get her in the car so we can wait for her mother. No way. She would make an excellent infantryman in that she will leave "no man behind".
"Mum-mum too!" is the cry I hear and no matter what I say, that's what I get. So it normally goes like this.
"Let's go baby, Daddy will put your shoes on".
"Mum-mum too".
"Yes baby, Mummy is going too, let's go downstairs and wait for her".
"MUM-MUM TOO!!". At this point, the panic (for whatever reason) starts to set in.
"Of course baby, Mum-mum is coming. She just has to find her shoes".
"MUM-MUM TOOOO!! MUM-MUM TOOO!!!"
"Baby, come on. Mum-mum will meet us downstairs".
"NOooooooooo!!! Mum-Mum TOOOOOO!!!!".
At this point, I abandon Supernanny, Dr. Phil, and any "supposed" expert and rely on the only expert that matters. Bugs Bunny.
"Baby, would you like Mum-mum to come too?".
"Okay!(sniff sniff...sob)". Problem solved.
For you see, you can read all the books, watch all the TV shows, and consult your "expert" freinds, nothing will cure THIS particular situation better than the old "Duck Season Wabbit Season" line of reasoning.
And they say you can't learn anything from cartoons....BAH!
Why seek advice you ask? What do you need guidance on? Is that a full bag of Doritos on your desk? All valid questions.
You see, our daughter has it in her that whatever we say, some how SOME way, we're screwing her over. Here's a perfect example. We're going somewhere together. I get ready first,....shoes......car keys...and I try to get her in the car so we can wait for her mother. No way. She would make an excellent infantryman in that she will leave "no man behind".
"Mum-mum too!" is the cry I hear and no matter what I say, that's what I get. So it normally goes like this.
"Let's go baby, Daddy will put your shoes on".
"Mum-mum too".
"Yes baby, Mummy is going too, let's go downstairs and wait for her".
"MUM-MUM TOO!!". At this point, the panic (for whatever reason) starts to set in.
"Of course baby, Mum-mum is coming. She just has to find her shoes".
"MUM-MUM TOOOO!! MUM-MUM TOOO!!!"
"Baby, come on. Mum-mum will meet us downstairs".
"NOooooooooo!!! Mum-Mum TOOOOOO!!!!".
At this point, I abandon Supernanny, Dr. Phil, and any "supposed" expert and rely on the only expert that matters. Bugs Bunny.
"Baby, would you like Mum-mum to come too?".
"Okay!(sniff sniff...sob)". Problem solved.
For you see, you can read all the books, watch all the TV shows, and consult your "expert" freinds, nothing will cure THIS particular situation better than the old "Duck Season Wabbit Season" line of reasoning.
And they say you can't learn anything from cartoons....BAH!
Sunday, July 13, 2008
A big fun fat time
Kids. They are such a joy. You never think you can do enough for them. What's the most loving thing you can do for your toddler. Well, if you're us, you strap her in a car seat, put the DVD player on a drive her three hours and forty-five minutes away to Columbus Ohio.
We had always wanted to "test" how our daughter would do on a long trip and let me be the first to say...........not good. A 2 1/2 year old's patience is about as thin as the reasons we went to war in Iraq,...yeah, that's right, I said it! About an hour and a half into the drive we started getting warning moans, which we know always preceed a full blown cry.
We got to the zoo later than expected and it was SUPER SUPER hot. The Columbus Zoo is a fantastic zoo and is home to Jungle Jack Hanna, a frequent Tonight Show and Letterman guest. One of my goals is to get to the Bronx Zoo some day. It's ranked in the top 10 on just about anything you read about zoos. At the Columbus Zoo just the parking lot alone is enormous and it has an adjacent water park. Our daughter is too young for that now, but maybe soon. Anyway, so we had to leave early because she was fading fast due to the heat so we headed to our hotel room.
Typically, on the way over she fell asleep in the car (thank you air conditioning). We thought, no biggee, just carry her up to the room. WRONG!! She normally will fall asleep and when you carry her, she'll peak out of one eye...see that she's home, and fall right back to sleep. This time she did that and of course, she saw a hotel hallway, an elevator...nope, this kid was awake now and hyper. I'll never get this kid. When she's tired, I guess to keep herself awake, she is in a word, manic. She bounces off the walls. So that's what we had to deal with in trying to get her back to sleep on the giant king sized bed that she wanted to bounce on.
So, she of course didn't sleep so now what do we do. Well, I knew we weren't going to get her to go back to sleep so we went to the mall nearby. After that, I decided to take her swimming. Two things you have to know here. Number one, I don't swim and being 2 1/2, neither does she. But I figured she'd have a blast if I held her in the 3 foot section.
To say that she had a blast is an understatement. In her short time on this earth, I've never seen her that happy. I wish I could say the same for me. I hate having my shirt off. Saying I am out of shape is somehow (in my mind) implying I was ever IN shape. I haven't been. Well, maybe when I was a baby. When me and everyone around me was short, pale, and pudgy. But that's it.
My wife was taking pictures of us having fun in the hotel pool. I severly cropped myself out of them before I uploaded them for family. In one shot I can see my enormous back fat. With my back fat meeting at my spine, it appears that I in fact have an enormous ass crack that goes nearly up to my neck. This saved us money the rest of the trip because I tried my best to cut back on what I ate. That is AFTER I saw the pictures. Staying for free (used Marriott points) we took advantage of that and ordered room service which TOTALLY kicked ass. And worth all the money too. If I sound like I'm complaining, well, I am maybe a little. But I wouldn't trade this past weekend with my family for anything.
We had always wanted to "test" how our daughter would do on a long trip and let me be the first to say...........not good. A 2 1/2 year old's patience is about as thin as the reasons we went to war in Iraq,...yeah, that's right, I said it! About an hour and a half into the drive we started getting warning moans, which we know always preceed a full blown cry.
We got to the zoo later than expected and it was SUPER SUPER hot. The Columbus Zoo is a fantastic zoo and is home to Jungle Jack Hanna, a frequent Tonight Show and Letterman guest. One of my goals is to get to the Bronx Zoo some day. It's ranked in the top 10 on just about anything you read about zoos. At the Columbus Zoo just the parking lot alone is enormous and it has an adjacent water park. Our daughter is too young for that now, but maybe soon. Anyway, so we had to leave early because she was fading fast due to the heat so we headed to our hotel room.
Typically, on the way over she fell asleep in the car (thank you air conditioning). We thought, no biggee, just carry her up to the room. WRONG!! She normally will fall asleep and when you carry her, she'll peak out of one eye...see that she's home, and fall right back to sleep. This time she did that and of course, she saw a hotel hallway, an elevator...nope, this kid was awake now and hyper. I'll never get this kid. When she's tired, I guess to keep herself awake, she is in a word, manic. She bounces off the walls. So that's what we had to deal with in trying to get her back to sleep on the giant king sized bed that she wanted to bounce on.
So, she of course didn't sleep so now what do we do. Well, I knew we weren't going to get her to go back to sleep so we went to the mall nearby. After that, I decided to take her swimming. Two things you have to know here. Number one, I don't swim and being 2 1/2, neither does she. But I figured she'd have a blast if I held her in the 3 foot section.
To say that she had a blast is an understatement. In her short time on this earth, I've never seen her that happy. I wish I could say the same for me. I hate having my shirt off. Saying I am out of shape is somehow (in my mind) implying I was ever IN shape. I haven't been. Well, maybe when I was a baby. When me and everyone around me was short, pale, and pudgy. But that's it.
My wife was taking pictures of us having fun in the hotel pool. I severly cropped myself out of them before I uploaded them for family. In one shot I can see my enormous back fat. With my back fat meeting at my spine, it appears that I in fact have an enormous ass crack that goes nearly up to my neck. This saved us money the rest of the trip because I tried my best to cut back on what I ate. That is AFTER I saw the pictures. Staying for free (used Marriott points) we took advantage of that and ordered room service which TOTALLY kicked ass. And worth all the money too. If I sound like I'm complaining, well, I am maybe a little. But I wouldn't trade this past weekend with my family for anything.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Potty training
It's five months till our daughter's 3rd birthday and frankly we're getting desperate. The potty training hasn't been going well and we're looking at other ideas.
My wife bought an Elmo's Potty Time DVD to see if some encouragement from a familiar face like his would help. So we put it in the DVD player and with some convincing, we get her over to the potty.
As soon as it starts, she get's a strange look on her face as if to say "What is THIS propaganda?". She's probably wondering if we're going to force her to watch a video on a timeshare following this.
And I feel so bad watching it myself. Because It's Elmo..........going "number two" as he says,....and all I could think of was "Okay, who cleans the matted feces out of HIS fur". And anybody who's had a dog knows JUST what I'm talking about!
My wife bought an Elmo's Potty Time DVD to see if some encouragement from a familiar face like his would help. So we put it in the DVD player and with some convincing, we get her over to the potty.
As soon as it starts, she get's a strange look on her face as if to say "What is THIS propaganda?". She's probably wondering if we're going to force her to watch a video on a timeshare following this.
And I feel so bad watching it myself. Because It's Elmo..........going "number two" as he says,....and all I could think of was "Okay, who cleans the matted feces out of HIS fur". And anybody who's had a dog knows JUST what I'm talking about!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)