Wyatt Inspired

Our children's name's are inspired by artists.

The oldest boy, Maxfield, is named after Maxfield Parrish . Jackson Pollack is the inspiration for our youngest boy, Jackson.

Our middle child Wyatt's name is inspired by the artist family the Wyeths. Lauren and I both enjoy all three generations of the Wyeth art.  I am a bigger fan of N.C. Wyeth's work. My wife enjoys more of Andrew (N.C.'s son) and Jamie's (Andrew's son) work. We named Wyatt Wyatt instead of Wyeth so it would not sound as though he had a lisp when saying his name.

Although the winter has been mild both Lauren and I were feeling the winter blahs from a creative standpoint. The boys were just starting week two of a two week suspension from video games. Our whole house was feeling a little blue and antsy. In an effort to boost everyone out of their funk Lauren and I decided to take the kids to the Brandywine River Museum.  The Brandywine, located on the South West side of Philly, houses the largest collections of all three generations of the Wyeth family's artwork. The Wyeths lived in the Brandywine Valley. Lauren and I hoped the museum would give us some inspiration and relieve us of our blahs. We told the boys that if they were well behaved I would shave off 4 days of their suspension and that was their inspiration.

Walking into the first gallery I was overwhelmed by the size and color of the paintings. I have been to the Brandywine before but not since Wyatt was born. This was his first time being around the artwork of his "namesake" and I felt a wave of satisfaction at naming him after this family of artists. Lauren turned to me and said, "I really needed this."

I think Wyatt was excited that the day was kind of about him.

Even though there are signs that say "No Photos" I couldn't help but take a few pictures of Wyatt standing in front of the incredible paintings of the Wyeths.  N.C. Wyeth illustrated many novels in the early 1900s including Last of the Mohican's and Treasure Island. The kids seemed to like these paintings.

Maxfield Parrish was a contemporary of N.C. Wyeth and we were lucky that the Brandywine has some Parrish work. The above picture is my Max standing in front of the Parrish painting called the "Artist". My Max was very nervous because he read the "No Photo" sign and though we may get arrested.

The portrait work in the Jaimie Wyeth gallery was very impressive and I think I enjoyed this section the most. I was able to convince the kids to sit on a bench while Lauren and I had a chance to look around. I hope that as the kids get older they appreciate their names and the inspiration behind them and maybe actually the artwork.

I did not get any pictures of the Andrew Wyeth gallery because security started tailing me. Security either realized I was taking pictures or they heard me say "Don't touch." over a hundred times. The kids enjoyed this gallery the most because there were lots of "heinie" and "butt" pictures.

If you live in the Philadelphia area and you enjoy a good art museum I would highly suggest going to the Brandywine River Museum. Admission is free on Sunday mornings and you get to see some "heinies and butts."

Influence

Back in September Maxfield joined Cub Scouts. My wife and I discussed this issue back and forth for several months. At first I was against it, she was for it. Then I was for him joining scouts and she was against it. Then she was for it and I was not listening. Then I was for it and she was trying to decorate the powder room. We discussed the time commitments, the financial commitments, the volunteer time needed over and over again.

During our many discussions my wife made a very valid point, not just about scouts, but about many other group activities. She said, "This is the time where Max may be forming the bonds of life long friendships. Shouldn't we expose him to scouts and what the scouts teach? Don't you want him to grow up with his friends being a good influence?"

Now I have known many kids in my life that I grew up with who were part of scouts and turned out to be "bad" kids. These bad kids usually never continued with scouts past 3rd or 4th grade. But I have also known a few other kids who went through Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts and turned out to be incredible people. I am not saying that all the kids who stopped scouting were bad kids*. I am also not saying that kids who do not join scouts are bad kids. I just know that the kids who continued with Scouts into Boy Scouts all turned out to be exceptional people. I would like for Max, and my other boys, to be surrounded by exceptional people.

So we signed Max up for Scouts.

We are seven months into scouting and it seems like Max likes it. I have attended every meeting. There is a bit of a "insiders club" feel to the pack and the people who run it but you get that with every organization. Little League, Home and School Association, Soccer Clubs you name it, they all have their own inner circles of leadership, I get that, I understand it.

 I enjoy going to Scouts with Max and watching from the outside. I get to participate as a parent.

And that right there is the one thing that I see different about the Scouts than other club type organization or sports team. Everyone is involved. Everyone participates. I have yet to see (as I have with coaching) a parent drop off their kid and leave as if the den leader is a babysitter. All the parents stay. Some take a more active roll during the meeting than others but for the most part all the parents are involved. No parents are complaining that their kid is not getting enough playing time. No kid is upset that they did not get to play short stop. No parent is mad that their kid is second chair in the trumpet section of the band. The parents are spending time with their kids at Scouts. Good quality time.

The Scouts, so far, have been a good idea. Max is surrounded by good kids and I am surrounded by good parents. Both of which are good influences.

*For the record I stopped Scouts in 3rd grade. I am not a pot head, gangster, thug, hooligan, goon, ruffian or troublemaker...

Okay maybe a troublemaker.

Pez Peeve

A few years ago my family drove our friend Tara and her daughter to an event. Tara, to show her appreciation of the ride, bought my boys Pez Dispensers and Pez Candy. For the rest of the day I think Tara regretted ever having car pooled with us.

I appreciated her kindness of the idea of a small token of appreciation given to my kids but for the rest of the day I cursed her. Not only under my breath did I say bad things about Tara and her gift but I also ranted right to her face. You see I hate Pez Dispensers.

Did you ever try to load Pez candy into one of those dispensers? You pull the spring loaded inside "clip" up out of the casing, struggle to keep it out while loading individual pieces of candy into the slide. It is inevitable that the slide snaps shut, or that one of the pieces of candy, which are too small for adult hands, gets stuck sideways. You then need to empty what you already put in the device and start all over. The wrappers to the Pez candy, most likely due to the fact that there is no expiration date, end up sticking to the candy making it difficult to slide them into the dispenser.Try doing this over and over again, with coffee induced jitters for multiple children for multiple packs of candy. It is torture.

On average it takes me 10 minutes to load a Pez Dispenser. On average it takes my kids 90 seconds to eat all the candy in a Pez Dispenser. My kids complain that it takes too long to load the candy. I tell them to just eat the candy. They argue that the candy has to go into the toy dispenser (so they can pop Jango Fett's head back and suck a rectangle candy from his Adams apple) because that is how it is supposed to be. The turnaround time to whiner ratio is overwhelming. I hate Pez Dispensers.

Besides Tara giving the boys Pez Dispensers they also occasionally receive them in gift bags from friends birthday parties. Which since I am on the subject, is another pet peeve of mine.

I was talking with my friend Jim the other day and we were trying to figure out when did the whole giving a gift bag of party favors to your invited b-day party guests become a thing? When I was a kid I went to a bunch of birthday parties but the only thing I ever left with was a belly full of cake and ice cream. It seems like now every kid who attends a birthday party comes home with a bag full of dollar store choke hazards and carpet clutterers. These tchotkes always find their way in or under my furniture.

As parents shoudn't we try to help other parent's alleviate the clutter in their own homes. I know my kids do not need any more super bouncy balls, plastic spider rings, whistles, silly straws or tiny yo-yos that I refuse to put those items in gift bags for other kids. Maybe as parents we should be more practical with the gift bag party favors.  Maybe we can replace the small trinkets with items like shoe laces, band aids, sun screen or safety pins. You know the things that you never have around the house when you need them. That way when these items are strewn all over the living room floor and shoe lace breaks...we will know we can find a pair under the couch cushion.

Do we even need gift bags at all?

Fitness

I was reviewing my online running journal for 2011 and I ran a total of 444.59 miles. That is not a bad number. My total weight loss for 2011, after going back and forth, up and down, good weeks and bad weeks is zero. What my online running journal does not count is the roughly 200 beers, 150 slices of pizza, the 100 or so hot dogs and the countless Burger King Mushroom and Swiss burger (these burgers are so addictive) I have eaten in 2011. So my exercises has been just, as they say, maintaining. I consider it a Lateral Weight Loss. I am going to trademark that phrase.

Besides my inability to say no to junk food, one of the reasons I have not lost any weight is a lack of inspiration or motivation. I am trying to get that back. I run to exercise my body. I decided that in 2012 I would find ways to exercise my brain and my spirit. The saying is if you don't use it, you lose it.

So far in 2012 I have logged 57 miles running. The motivation has come from the fact that every Saturday I run with my brother and my cousin. I need to keep up with them and there is something about being part of the group that keeps me going. They depend on me, I depend on them. The miles that we run go by fast because of the conversation and social interaction.

The other motivation has been that Lauren bought me a new pair of running shoes.

Stylish huh? These are Vibram Five Finger running shoes. I know they seem weird but these shoes have totally changed the way I am running, the way I am exercising. Every time I go out wearing these shoes I feel like I have to put them through a test of some sort. By testing the shoes I am also testing myself. The shoes put a spring in my step.

I told myself at the end of last year that I need to exercise my brain a bit more. In 2012 I am trying to read more books, news papers and magazines. A few months ago I got an iPad and it has motivated me to download books I would never previously have considered. I think I may even join a book club. There is something about the socializing  and exchanging ideas that is motivational to exercising the brain. The iPad has also improved the way I approach social media. I am more of a participant than a spectator, following links, reading other journals and just learning more overall. The iPad puts a spring into my mind.

New shoes and people to run with has motivated the exercise of my body. The new iPad and seeking more intellectual social environments is exercising my brain.  I figured I need to find a new church or some other means to exercises my spirit. Maybe being around people would motivate me to return.

Yesterday I decided to go to church. As I was leaving Wyatt, the five year old, asked me where I going.

"To church." I said.

Wyatt's response,  "Why? Nobody died."

That right there basically sums up my church going for the past two years.

I have never attended a service in this particular church. Although I found the music entertaining I was not moved, inspired, or motivated. The sermon was spun in a negative tone and was not uplifting at all. The congregation although nice and courteous seemed to be just going through the paces. There were no children at the service which usually provides a fun distraction for me. I found myself looking for an opportunity to leave early which I did. I left with no spring in my spirit.

Exercising the spirit may be more of a challenge for me.


In an effort to be fair to this particularr church as well as attempt to exercise my spirit I will give it another try next week. I will attend a different service with a different minister. I am sure there will be different hymns as well as a different message.
 
However I think I am going to wear my new Vibram shoes and bring my iPad just in case.

Gifted

I am telling this story how I remember it. The first part is my take on what my father told me many years ago.

My family went to a normal, suburban, public elementary school. Each year every third grade student took a standardized test (not an IQ test but similar) evaluating their intelligence.  Students that scored above a certain number were invited to participate in an accelerated learning program the following years. At our school this program was called TEC, which I think stood for The Enhanced Curriculum or some such. The TEC students, who were also called "gifted", would meet at various times each week to do special activities, instead of attending their regular classes.
My two oldest brothers were in TEC. When my third oldest brother took the standardized test he missed the TEC cut off score by 2 points. My father went to the school and requested that his third son still be allowed into the TEC program. The principal and Mr. Rothstein, the TEC teacher, both denied my father's request, with the reason that the test scores are the test scores. Mr. Rothstein thought that by making an exception he would open the doors to other exceptions and it would lower the standards of his class. My father argued that it was only two points, and felt since the older two boys were in the program, the third son should be given some credit. It was not like the third son missed by 5 points, that, my father could understand. He claimed that by admitting the third son he would be surrounded by, not only his brothers, but also, the brightest kids. This would be a positive influence. My father also stated that by denying the third son admittance could have an adverse effect on his desire to learn. My dad suggested a retake of the test. Mr. Rothstein would not budge, it was strictly numbers.

My dad was upset by the fact that they did not take other aspects of his third son's personality into account. The third boy learned faster, was more curious about how things worked, had a better disposition and was more patient than the older two boys. All qualities a teacher should want. From that point on, none of my dad's other children were permitted to take the TEC standardized test. Maybe his view was that all of his kids were all special in their own way and he refused to let the school, or Mr. Rothstein test his other children. Or maybe he was just being stubborn, but the younger five children never took the test. The older two were allowed to stay in the program since they had already invested time and energy, but none of the rest of us would be allowed to get involved with TEC. I remember, 20 years later, my dad talking about this situation and he was still annoyed with the school.

Fourth Grade was the first year that my best friend Bob was ever in my Home Room. Home Room was the class where we started the day, had lunch together, had recess time together, Gym class, library time together, and ended the day. Miss Stein, the Home Room teacher took a liking to us and I knew it was going to be a fun year. Then Bob was accepted into TEC. Being in TEC meant less homeroom time, less free lunch time, and less recess time.  Instead of Library time the TEC students would go to TEC. The TEC room was right next to the Library. I could hear the kids laughing and having fun while I sat on a whistle pillow reading James and the Giant Peach.  It seemed like Bob was always in TEC. I ended up being jealous of his TEC friends and really resenting TEC in general. Not being in TEC made me feel inferior. I always assumed I was just not smart enough to be admitted.

I vaguely remember at that time having a talk with my dad about TEC. My dad said something to the effect of "you are better off without TEC."

At that time the TEC class was putting together a theatrical production of Peter Pan. Bob, who was cast as a lost boy, had many rehearsals which kept him after school. One day I stayed with him in the Gym/Theater during his rehearsal. I watched from the gym floor as Sally Senderling, cast as Wendy, was having a difficult time doing the scene where she first meets Tinkerbell. She did not know where to look. Mr. Rothstein (it may have been Mrs. Senderling, Sally's mother who was helping with the show) asked if I could help shine a flash light on the wall to represent Tinkerbell. I said yes. They realized they were going to need someone to do this part for all the rehearsals as well as the show.

I remember a brief discussion about whether a non-TEC person could handle the task of being Tink. They may have been discussing whether a non-TEC person would be allowed to take the part, due to class obligations etc. but I took the whole conversation as a dig at my intelligence.  I insisted that I do the part. The school allowed it.

I recall telling my dad about the part I had in the play. I remember he was not too pleased, possibly because I was involved in TEC and possibly because I was very excited to be playing Tinkerbell. I went to the rest of the rehearsals and perfected hiding behind pieces of stage sets to be Tinkerbell in each scene. I remember feeling somewhat out of place hanging with all the smart kids. I eventually did the two to three shows (uncredited) as Tinkerbell. I was even invited to the cast party at Mrs. Senderlings house after the last show.

By default Tinkerbell gets the most applause in the show Peter Pan due to the whole "clap your hands if you believe" stuff. I pretended that the applause was for me and my flashlight. I know at the time I felt I was not smart enough to be part of the TEC class but hearing the applause made me believe that maybe I was.

I was smart enough. Gifted even.

Either that or I was the best damn Tinkerbell ever. Which I knew would make my father proud.

How to have a secret girlfriend

1.-Always make sure that a secret girlfriend is older. She will like the attention of a younger guy. Cougar is a word they use for this.

2.-Make sure she is married so she cannot keep bothering you at odd times. This is kind of an inverted "hard to get" scenario.

3.-Be nice to her husband so he does not think anything fishy is going on. If both she and her husband are together at an event, ignore her and give the husband extra high fives and stuff. This also works in your favor regarding the "hard to get scenario".

4.-Make sure that your girlfriend's women-friends see you pay attention to your girlfriend. Make sure your girlfriend sees you pay attention to your girlfriend's women-friends. If your girlfriend is a cougar, other cougars can smell a cub a mile away and that makes you more in demand.

5.-Have an infectious laugh, women dig that.

6.-When you do have alone time with the girlfriend give her a few extra kisses to leave her wanting more.

7.-It is okay to cry, every now and then, in front of your girlfriend. She will think you are sensitive and that you need her for emotional support.

8.-When in public with your secret girlfriend act like you don't care for her. This will make her jealous and she will want to win you over even more. This works even better if your girlfriend is an older women. They seek the attention of younger guys.

9.-Smile a lot at your secret girlfriend.

10.- Wait until your girlfriend leaves the room before you tell anyone you like her. It will keep her guessing.

11. Feign an illness every now and then. Your girlfriend (older or otherwise) will take this as an opportunity to care for you which will deepen their commitment to you.*

12.-Don't poop in your diaper when your girlfriend is around. This could be considered a turn off.


-------------------------------------------------
Jackson has a a girlfriend. He actually has many girlfriends but the one who owns most of his admiration and love is a Lisa V.   Lisa V lives three houses up and in my opinion cannot get enough of Jackson.  In my opinion, which Jack won't admit, he totally digs the attention she gives him.

Jackson turned three a few days ago and Lisa V. and her family brought him a present. Jackson really likes Lisa V. although he will never admit it in front of her. Jackson is also very popular with all of the other women in our neighborhood, who for the most part, have decided having a three-year-old boy around, that is not theirs, is a fun thing. I can possibly see Jax being the cause of many "Oops Babies" in our neighborhood.

The gift that Lisa V.  brought him was a B. Toys (Just B You) Fish and Splish bath toy. I have written here before on how much I like B. Toys products and now I even like them more.

 I rarely give out parenting advice on Poop and Boogies but I will say when it comes to bath toys B. Toys gets it right. Most bath toys ( by other toy companies) come with some kind of squeezable water shooter, like a rubber whale or turtle or what-have-you. The rubber aquatic animal is squeezed underwater until it is filled with water and then squeezed above the water to shoot a stream of water at the wall or most likely the parent who is actually supervising the bath. Besides the parent getting wet, most of these type of water shooter bath toys also, after time, get mold in them. The next time a child is trying to squirt dad in the face with soapy water, dad also gets a mouth full of grey-ish black mold that was in the bottom of the whales belly for three weeks. It is gross. As a parent I would stay away from these types of bath toys.

The B. Toys gift that Lisa V. got for Jax did not have any squeeze toys. The toy itself, a boat with various scrubbers, floaters and fish like things,  promoted cleaning and just good basic fun in the tub. It was the perfect gift for a three year old.

Lisa V. knew what she was doing when she got Jackson this gift. He loves it. He is excited to take a bath, clean and groom himself, which is in Lisa V.'s favor. She does not want a boyfriend who poops and pees himself and cannot clean himself up.


*Lisa V. is our neighbor that is a nurse who stopped by to check on Jackson after he drank a bottle of Benadryl. Now that I think about it, he totally faked the whole incident just to get Lisa to come to our house.

Growth

I know this may come as a surprise, as it did to me, but these little people in my house, the small, sometimes extremely loud, extremely smelly ones actually grow. I should know this. I have pencil marks, lines with dates and names smudged next to them, on my wall in the hallway near the laundry room documenting their growth. I watch them, everyday, shove gobs and gobs of food down their mouths in order to fuel their growth. Every time I dress them I notice that the space between the hem of their pants and the top of their shoes gets a bit wider.

They grow. I should know this. The smallest of the three little people in my house seems to growing at a faster rate that the bigger two. I should have realized this when he was able to take the eggs out of the fridge and throw them one by one onto the floor. I should have known he was getting bigger when he went into the knife drawer and brought me all of the sharp steak knives and the pair of scissors that he found. You would think I would have noticed him growing when he was able to reach the top of the stove in an effort to grab the boiling pot of water. But I missed all of those signs. I knew he was growing but for some reason I kept forgetting.

The sign of his growth that I did not miss happened a couple of weeks ago.

Early one morning my wife Lauren went out for a run. She left me in charge of the growing little people. I was folding laundry and preparing breakfast (multi tasking) when the littlest small person, Jackson, went up to his room to play with his cars. After a few minutes of silence (cars crashing is not a quiet game)  I knew I had to go check on him. As I approached his door, he slammed it closed and yelled, "No!", which is not a good sign.

I opened the door and the first thing I saw was a small puddle of pink syrup on the floor. Laying next to the puddle was an empty bottle of Benadryl. I looked at Jackson and noticed pink syrup dripping from his lip and running down his shirt.  I asked him if he drank the Benadryl and he said that he did. When I asked how much did he drink he said "A lot." I did not know how much medicine was in the bottle to begin with so I went into a bit of a panic. More of a panic then the time when a three-year-old Wyatt drank almost a full beer. Panics at 6:30 in the morning move a lot slower than afternoon panics.

I made a few attempts to stick my finger down Jackson's throat hoping to get him to vomit. I forgot that these little people also grow teeth, sharp little teeth. He did not vomit. I texted my neighbor, who is a nurse and asked her for advice. While I waited for her to respond I called Poison Control.  They were very helpful in determining how much Benadryl would be dangerous to Jack but we did not know how much he ingested. I was on the phone with Poison Control when Lauren got back from her run.

I hate when these things happen on my watch.

Let me just say this, if you were to return home to your kids at 6:55 AM and your husband was on the phone with Poison Control, there is no way you would react the way that Lauren did. She was calm, cool, and collected. She listened with patience as I told her all that had happened. She only gave me the "you are an idiot" eye-roll once. Okay maybe twice. The nurse neighbor showed up a few minutes later and gave me the "you are an idiot" eye-roll several times. She checked Jackson's vitals and made us feel better. We observed Jackson for the next two hours and finally relaxed when we knew he was going to be okay.

In trying to figure out how Jackson could have gotten the bottle of Benadryl, we realized that we kept the bottle on the middle shelf in the hall closet. Three months ago Jackson was not tall enough to reach the middle shelf, now he is.

That is how I realized these little people grow.

Jackson turns three tomorrow. I want to congratulate myself on not messing him up completely as of yet. I want to congratulate my wife for not killing me, as of yet.

Happy Birthday Jackson Grey, don't grow too fast.

The Week Between

My dad worked as a department manager at a Sears in the city. One of his departments was the Garden Center, which during the winter months was converted to the Christmas Center. The week after Christmas was always a busy week for him dealing with returns, clean-up and converting the area back to the Garden Center. When I was kid,10,11,12, 13 years old, I would go with a few of my brothers to work with my dad during the week of Christmas break. We were off from school, he needed the help and I am sure my mother didn't mind that we were out of her hair the week between Christmas and New Years.

Our jobs included fixing and repackaging returned Christmas lights, clearing and sweeping the warehouses, sorting returned ornaments, and breaking down cardboard boxes. We worked hard. We were never on the official Sears payroll but my dad made sure he always gave us a few bucks for our time. But I think the main reason why some of us went to work with my dad was because of the McDonald's lunch break. We rarely went to fast food places as a kid and the opportunity to eat McDonald's was huge deal.

Lunch time would come, dad would hand the oldest a couple of fives and tell us to walk to the McDonald's for lunch. I remember feeling so cool that I got to walk in the city without any parents and buy my own lunch. We would pig out on burgers, fries and milkshakes making sure that we spent every last nickel knowing there was a possibility dad would ask for the change when we returned. I would freeze on the walk back to Sears, carrying my vanilla shake, making sure I got every last drop of the delicious wax-from-the cup-infused-ice cream flavored drink.

When we returned to Sears our work ethic changed, now that McDonald's was behind us. Our jobs included, getting forklift rides from Sears employees named Spanky and Dirtball, playing hide-and-seek in the warehouse, daring each other to see who could hold their tongue on 9-volt battery the longest, and spinning on my dad's office chair. At the end of the day, my dad would come and get us and we would act exhausted from the hard day at work. We would spend the car ride home talking with my dad about the days events and for a brief time we were one of his work buddies.

We would only work a few days that week between Christmas and New Years but the work was like a little vacation from our normal lives. That week between the two holidays has always been the source of some fond memories for me. The work, the fun with my brothers, the time spent with dad, and, of course,  the McDonald's.

The week between was always a good time for me.

Four years ago my dad passed away. He spent the the week between Christmas and New Years in and out of the hospital. After one visit to the hospital on that Christmas morning of 2007 he asked me if I could run to McDonald's for him. He was having trouble eating and he said the one thing he knew he could eat was McDonald's burgers and fries. I drove to the the two closest locations and called two others but all of them were closed for Christmas. Later that week my dad was admitted to the hospital and finally passed on January 2nd 2008 without ever having his McDonald's. It's funny how McDonald's, which was such a good part of the week between now became a source of sadness.

That particular week between Christmas and New Years was a rough one. Since then, each year, the week between has lost a bit of its special qualities. They were just not the same for me. I would find myself feeling down, getting into a funk.

This year, though, I feel like the cloud of melancholy has passed. I don't know why. Maybe it is time. Maybe my attention has been directed elsewhere. Or maybe, maybe, it is all the McDonald's burgers and shakes I have been eating.

Remember the camera adds 10 pounds. Milkshakes add another 10. My New Years resolution is to lose 20.

Happy New Years to you.

Time of Year

It's that time of year. The Poop and Boogies family is doing our best to make this the "hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye". Our three boys are at that perfect age for the holiday season and Lauren is making sure this year is one that they will remember. Needless to say we have been very busy with shopping, decorating, cleaning, errands, work, school, parades and driving at night to look at the decorated houses.
Here are some of the highlights.

Lauren taught herself how to make gingerbread houses for the kids to decorate.

After the house was done, it took them about 30 seconds to ask about 100 times if they could eat it.

We went to Feeney's with a few other families to buy Christmas stuff, taunt caged farm animals and pay a visit to St. Nick and give him their wish lists.

After they turned in their lists, it took the boys about 30 seconds to add another 100 items to their lists.

Another memory Lauren wanted to create for the kids was having a day to go Tree hunting. When hunting trees it is important to dress in flashy colors so other hunters do not mistake you for a tree and accidentally cut you down.

After the 15 minute tractor ride up the hillside it took the boys about 30 seconds to pick a tree and then they said "no" to the hundreds of other ones Lauren and I suggested. We now have a very lovely yellowish tree in our house.

Again this year Lauren and I disagreed about our family Christmas card. To look at our past cards go here and here . I only make my card for my immediate family and this is this years card. It had these images on it.

The text of the card said "...let it begin with me. Merry Christmas." I then added small print saying something to the effect of how I was going to do the card in a different way but the kids would not cooperate after drinking a lot of juice.

This year's card is easy to figure out.

I am very thankful that people still stop by Poop and Boogies and read from time to time. It only takes me 30 seconds after publishing a post to check back at least a hundred times looking for comments.

I hope that whatever you celebrate this time of the year you have a happy, safe and fun celebration.

New Flooring

A few months ago I posted a story about how my wife felt compelled to change our fire place. I mentioned at the end of that post that since the fireplace looked so good I was now going to have to change the rest of the of the room. The story of begats, one project begets another.

When Lauren and I first moved into this house we kind of agreed we would not tackle a remodel of the Family Room until our boys were old enough to not pee on the floor or furniture. We kind of agreed that before  re-do of our main hang-out space our boys would not do things like this...

or this...

Both courtesy of Jackson.

We felt we did not want to spend the time, energy or money on new furniture, paint and flooring only to have them ruined by rambunctious boys and bodily fluids. But then Lauren went and built a new mantle.

The Family Room mantle went from this,

to this.

No amounts of urine, vomit, eggs, paint and dog hair could make the rest of the room look any less attractive than it did compared to Lauren's awesome work on the mantle piece. The time had come to begat the Family Room.

Last week I took a week vacation from work to, well, work. I tore out the old carpets and padding that were there for at least 20 years. If I did not get cancer from years of  cigarette smoking, I am pretty sure I will get it from the nastiness that was in and under that carpet. We removed all the old trim, painted the walls, re-ran the cable wires, bought a new couch, added new freshly painted trim and moulding and....and...and...I installed laminate flooring. I am very proud of my work.

The first thing that the boys did after I finished the floor was to put on socks and "ice skate" for a few hours. They only chipped a small piece of the new floor so far.

I hope I will eventually post a complete "after" picture including the couch and the area rug before someone takes a Sharpie to them.

Tradition

This Thanksgiving Lauren and I took the family to Lauren's uncle's house in the mountainous upstate Pennsylvania. We feasted with Lauren's cousins, who we rarely ever see, aunts and uncles and some of their extended family. We had a nice traditional Thanksgiving dinner where I ate some of the best pickles I have ever tasted. I know pickles are not traditional but they were that good that I had to mention them.

Due to the distance to Lauren's uncle's house we did not attend Thanksgiving with my family, at my mom's, which was the tradition. We stayed in a hotel Thanksgiving night, which made Max, Wyatt and Jackson happy. The hotel had an indoor pool which we used both before we went to bed and when we first woke up the next morning. If I were to ask the kids what their favorite part of Thanksgiving was they would definitely say the pool. I would say the pickles.

Lauren received a text that Friday morning from our neighbor with a picture of our house. The text read something like "Who did you piss off?"

"Who would toilet paper our house?" Lauren asked.

"Who do you think?" I asked back. "It had to be my brothers. We did not attend Thanksgiving at mom's. They knew we were away. I would kind of expect it."

"Really?"

"Yes. It is like the perfect opportunity. I would almost be disappointed if they did not do something."

After we arrived home and cleaned up the mischief, which also included my car being wrapped with plastic wrap. I made a few calls to investigate who I needed to plot my revenge against.

I found out that I was not the only target of the TP. Apparently it started the night before Thanksgiving, with some late night prank phone calls. Traditionally our family plays a football game early Thanksgiving morning. My brothers Dan and Kevin, the two brothers who live the farthest away, and their families traditionally stay overnight at my other brother's homes to be able to make the game. Dan stays with John. Kevin stays with Jim.

Jim and Kevin thought it was funny to crank call Dan and John. Dan decided he would wake up early and take John's two sons with him to TP Jim's house. Jim and Kevin, in retaliation, took a car load of kids, 6 rolls of toilet paper and some plastic wrap to John's house. From there it became a free for all. The mischief crew then went to every other siblings house to give them the Toilet Paper treatment. My house was part of the Thanksgiving day fun.

While Kevin was standing outside Jim's house, one of Jim's neighbors shouted across the street.

"What's with the toilet paper?" he asked. "Is that some kind of tradition."

Kevin looked up at the big toilet paper covered tree, white streamers blowing in every direction,and without missing a beat replied.

"I think it is now."

Best Lunch

When I was in elementary school I always brought a packed lunch from home.  Being in a big family we rarely purchased our lunches at school.  Most times our lunches were put together assembly line style and was a mix of various plastic bags filled with sandwiches, fruit and or vegetables, pretzel bits or other snack like pieces. We never had the prepackaged snack packs or name brand munchies in our bags. The one thing that was usually in the lunch bag that made our lunch better than any one elses was a note from my mom. That note always made our lunch the best.

In my household Lauren and I take turns making our kid's lunch. When it is my turn I always try to remember to include a note. My notes are often different. I will write a joke or words of encouragement for whatever they have scheduled for the day. I never tell the kids that I am leaving a note. I just slide it into their their book bag or lunch bag and hope that they read it. Wyatt really enjoys the notes and often times he will bring them up during our dinner time conversations. Last week I was speaking with his kindergarten teacher, she told me one of the first things Wyatt does when he gets into class is look for a note. If there is one he immediately brings it to her to read.

Every morning before I leave for work I throw my back pack, filled with work-out clothes, lunch, and paperwork over my shoulder and kiss everyone good bye. This morning as I was kissing Wyatt he whispered in my ear.

"Dad, do not look in your bag until you get to work."

I smiled. "Okay. I won't."

I had one of the best lunches today.

Rotisserie

Every now and then a friend, family member or neighbor will tell me they like reading Poop and Boogies. Sometimes I will ask them if they remember any specific post or story. The one post that comes up the most is this one from a few years ago.



Roisserie.

My mom hosts, on average, about 35 people a year for Thanksgiving. Nine kids, plus spouses, plus 22 25 or do grand kids, it is a lot of people. Each family brings a dish of some sort but my mom does the cooking of the turkey and the stuffing.


Many years back she started to cook more than one bird for the dinner. Since the larger turkey took up all the space in her main oven she bought a medium sized rotisserie oven to cook a smaller, second turkey.

A few years ago the rotisserie oven broke. A couple of weeks prior to Thanksgiving my mom was giving the (now old) rotisserie oven a test run to make sure it was ready. Well, she found out that the mechanism that turned the fowl was not working properly. She asked my dad to take a look at it to see if he could fix it. She did not want to have to spend the money to buy a new oven. She left the oven on a table in the laundry room/back office so my dad could tinker with it.

My dad traveled a bit with his job but he would go in and out of his office almost every day. Every night for three weeks my mom would ask my dad if he fixed the rotisserie. Every night my dad would say he did not get around to it. My mom explained that rotisseries were expensive and if she had to, she would get a new one. My dad would then tell her that he would fix it and not to waste the time or money.

The rotisserie just sat on the table.

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving my dad came home early from work and saw the rotisserie sitting on the table. With only 48 hours left until Thanksgiving he grabbed a screw driver and decided to take the oven apart. Later that evening, when my mom and dad were talking he told her that he disassembled the oven but could not see anything wrong with it. He also told her that the he was having a hard time putting the pieces back together. My mom freaked out.

The day prior, that Monday, my mom went out and bought a new rotisserie oven and threw the old one away.


My dad took apart a brand new oven.

Act of God

"I am sorry Mr. Meakim." The woman on the other end of the phone call, from the insurance company,  apologized. "But this is considered an Act of God. There was no property damage so we will not cover the cost of the tree removal."

"But if there was damage to my house, or shed or other property, it is not considered an Act of God?" I asked.

I had already explained to her that the freak late October snow storm caused my neighbor's tree to fall and crash over the fence into my yard. I was annoyed that the insurance company was telling me it was my responsibility to remove the fallen tree. They did not care it was my neighbor's tree. I had already talked to my neighbor from behind us, who is not that great of a neighbor, and he did not care his tree fell into my property. He knew it would be my responsibility and almost laughed it off.

"Again I am sorry Mr. Meakim. This is an Act of God which is not covered." she said.

"But if a Tornado, which is an Act of God, hell it is even called the Finger of God, destroyed my house, it would be covered? I don't get it." I was just annoyed and wanted to argue. What was their definition of an Act of God?

The insurance company representative then started to discuss actuarial stuff and underwriting and deductibles and I knew I was done. I thanked them and hung up. I was miffed by the "Act of God". I  knew that I was going to have to take care of the fallen tree myself.

I started by using loppers to trim off all the smaller leaf covered branches.

The process was slow going and somewhat tedious. I found myself mumbling, cursing under my breath,  irked at this Act of God.

I made tidy little piles of sticks, which would make bundling them easier later on.

With a  borrowed a chainsaw I went about cutting and dismantling the the rest of the tree. Power tools that are used in movies as a murder weapon or means of torture always make me nervous. This Act of God was now making me jittery and sweaty. Jittery and sweaty are not a good combination when operating a chainsaw.

I stacked the large branches in one pile to be used as future kindling. I stacked the larger  portions of the cut heavy trunk to be split and used for future firewood. The Act of God was causing my back to ache and knees hurt.

I went in the house for a few minutes to take a break trying to catch a second wind. This Act of God made me feel old. I was not happy about that. I was a mumbly, jittery, sweaty, achey, cranky old man. When I went back outside I saw that Maxfield, Wyatt and their friend G were moving all of the neatly stacked branches and pieces of wood all over the back yard. It was a mess. I was even more annoyed.

The three boys, who would usually rather be playing video games, were using their imagination and creativity to build forts with the branches. They made the sticks into pretend swords and guns. They moved the stumps to make walls and then drums and then seats. They moved every branch looking for just the right ones to use for their creative purposes.

The three boys worked together building an entire imaginary play world. They did not argue or fight. They played. They helped each other. They mumbled under their breath expressing their ideas for a fort. They were jittery with excitement from finding perfectly gun and  rifle shaped sticks. They were sweaty from all the hard playing.

They took a break to drink some water and catch their breath. I found myself seeking out the right types of branches, cutting them down into the perfect size for a sling shots. I trimmed a few sticks to give them the curve of a long bow. I didn't feel so old any more. When they were done they went right back to their adventures with the fallen tree undoing all of my hard work. I didn't mind.

I was watching the three boys, three friends, having fun and laughing. Boys bonding without a care in the world was another Act of God. It was an Act of God I enjoyed.