New light fixture (Because your wife doesn’t like the one already there)-$60 New Electrical box (because you broke the old one)- $1.86 New Concrete drill bit (Because for some stupid reason the ceiling is made of cinder block)-$3.86 New concrete screws (See above)- $3.26 Trips to Home Depot – 3 Time it takes to complete a 45-minute project- 4 hours New profanities invented due to project- 5 Times you bite your tongue to stop you from uttering profanities because your son is helping you-22 Not electrocuting yourself- Priceless
When Maxfield was about 6weeks old I became concerned that his circumcised penis was not healing correctly. Every time we changed his diaper we made sure that we were very careful with cleaning him and applying the proper ointment and such. Sure it looked healed but I could not get over the fact that his “fire helmet” was always a bright purple. It was six weeks after the procedure one would think that the penis would look normal.
The only point of comparison I had was, well, my own, and I know that mine was not the color of Barney. I did not want to call the doctor because part of me felt that maybe this was normal and that it just needed a while to heal. I thought about calling my brother Jim whose son, Bo, was born two months before Max, but I did not want to subject myself to his laughter and ridicule to me possibly over reacting to something that may be normal.
So like most people, (I guess) when in need for baby/medical advice, I called my mom. When she answered the phone I could hear small children in the background, “Hi Mom. It’s Bill. What are you doing?”
“I am watching Jimmy’s kids. They had a wedding or something to go to.”
“Oh. Well I have a question for you and it may sound weird but, Max’s penis is a bright purple and I just want to know if that is normal.”
“What do mean bright purple?”
“It looks like, you know if you were to tie a rubber band around your finger really tight. But only it is brighter than that. I figured you have more experience with penises than anyone I know. Okay that came out wrong but you know what I mean.” (My mom raised 8 sons).
She chuckled. “I am sure it is normal but I don’t remember if any on you guys having a bright purple penis.”
“You don’t? I am not sure whether I should call a doctor or not. Max’s next check up is like two weeks away and I would hate to wait until then. What do you think?”
“Bill I am sure it is normal. You know what? Hold on.”
I could hear her put the phone down and telling my dad that it was me on the phone. I waited for a few minutes. When she picked the phone back up I could hear her laughing.
“I am sure it is fine and nothing to worry about.” She reassured me.
“I am watching Jimmy’s kids. I just went and checked Bo’s penis. His is purple too.”
I laughed and hung up the phone.
About 20 minutes later the phone rings. I pick it up. “Hello?”
“Bill. It’s your father.”
“Hey Dad. What’s up?”
“Why is your mother asking to check everyone’s pecker.”
I posted this over atThe Blogfathersa few weeks ago. I figured I would repost it here.
According to what I have been taught, a Godparent’s job was to ensure that a child’s religious education would be carried out in the event of the child’s parents’ death. Thankfully my parents are still living and my Godparents never had to step in regarding my religious upbringing. My Godparents were always just two people who took a vested interest in my life, my interests, and were always there should I need them. My Godmother, Aunt M, still takes an interest in my life, even though I am 35 and have kid(s) of my own (my Godfather passed away several years ago).
I take the whole God parenting thing seriously. Besides the religious aspect of it, I also find there to be many benefits to kids having Godparents. Traditionally in my family it meant extra gifts on birthdays and Christmas as well as the extra person or two attending a baseball game or a school play. But, it also meant having a person, besides your parents, that you could trust to guide you in the right direction whether you wanted them to or not.
My Godmother did fun and special things with me while I was kid, that my parent’s would never attempt due to the fact that there were 8 other kids in our house. She took me to see the Liberty Bell, out to lunch or dinner or to the movies, and weekend trips to the shore. Even after she had kids of her own she always included me in their family functions. One of Aunt M’s daughters, Bridget, is my Goddaughter. Bridget is my son Max’s Godmother. Sorry it is confusing, but I wanted to keep the tradition for my kids to have that special someone in their lives.
When I consider who would make a good Godparent’s for my kids the religious aspect really did not come into play. I want to make sure that my kids would have someone that they could trust. I want two people that shared the same values as me but would also be open to teaching my kids new ideas or thoughts. I also want my kid’s Godparents to be able to teach my kids about me, should I die before my kids get a chance to know me. It would also be helpful if they could bail my kids out of jail if the need arises.
Oh, and I think any Godparent should have the ability to scare any movie executive into giving my kids a role in their next big movie.
Do your kids have Godparent’s? What do you look for in a Godparent?
We took Max to see his first movie in a movie theater this weekend. We went to go see Over the Hedge at the 10 AM show on Saturday morning. We arrived a few minutes early to make sure we could get situated with good seats and snacks and drinks. When we walked into the theater there was no one else in there. We picked a row about half way up and sat dead center to the screen. Max was in awe of the vast room, the many seats and the giant pictures on the screen. A few other families entered the theater and sat in various rows in front of us.
Here is my review of the movie Over The Hedge.
Spoiler Alert. I may be revealing some of the plot and twists in the movie so if you do not want to know what happens you should stop reading.
The movie opens with a cute raccoon (voiced by Bruce Willis) foraging for food at night. The scene is dark and so is the theater. Maxfield decides that the he would like to explore the seats behind us. His fascination with the lighted stairs distracts him from what is happening on screen.
Since there is no one sitting behind us I let him walk up and down back and forth through all the rows. I follow him to make sure he does not hurt himself. He tests each seat in last three rows to make sure that each one of them bounces back into the upright position the same way the seat before did. He returns to our row with the assistance of chocolate covered raisins from Lauren.
The cute little woodland creatures that were now invading the new development for food did not hold Maxfield’s attention. He wanted to explore the front part of the theater and ran down the steps to be closer to the screen. Here he discovered the handicapped accessible ramp and decided that running up and down it was more fun than the popcorn and the film. The enjoyment, from the effects of gravity while running down a ramp, was voiced with giggles and squeals of delight. He worked up quite a thirst and returned to his seat for some juice.
With the animals on screen now planning a great caper, Max decided that he had not explored the actual area directly in front of the screen. He scared me because he disappeared into the darkness behind the ramp and darted towards the emergency exit door. By the time my eyes adjusted to the darkened area I caught him trying to pull down a curtain that went behind the screen.
The highlight of the movie was when Lauren decided to take Max with her to the bathroom where I am sure he amused himself with the automatic hand dryers. Once he returned he needed to see which of the hundred empty seats or so was the most comfortable for him. As the credits rolled to Ben Folds’ Rocking the Suburbs, he finally sat down on a step to take in the sounds. He likes Ben Folds and he recognized the song.
All in all he gave the experience one thumb up and one pointer finger sideways and then waved "Bye-Bye" to the screen.
30 days and counting until the baby’s due date. So it is contest time. Take a guess at the baby’s actual birth date and time. Whoever guesses the closest without going over will win a prize. Like the Price is Right.
Leave your guesses in the comments. Date and Hour (AM or PM). Example: 6/6- 6am to 7am. Make sure you read the comments so there will be no double guesses. If there is a double guess, the first one entered gets the date and time that they picked. You cannot enter more than once. I will close out the comments on Sunday 5/21/06. So get your picks in by then. I will notify the winner, here on Poop and Boogies, after the kid is born and then you can email me your address for the prize.
The prize: One shiny Abraham Lincoln copper-esque medallion. And something else, which I will determine at a later date.
There will be no runner-ups. Runner-up is just a nice way to say loser. Void where prohibited by law. That means pee in public. The rules and prizes are subject to change (quarters, nickels, dimes). The chances of winning are determined by how lucky you are as well the when the baby decides it is time to enter the world. Please play responsibly. If you have a baby due date guessing problem or if someone you know has a baby due date guessing problem please go to Babyduedateguesseranonymous.com. If you guess the right day and time and are found out to have used a Ouija Board, John Edwards or steroids an asterisk will be placed next to you name.
So I finally got around to watching the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy. I watch a lot of television but I do not watch a lot of shows. Grey’s Anatomy is one of the shows that I watch. I only have 3 “must watch shows’ a week. Lost, The Office and Grey’s Anatomy. I like the writing, even the cheesy bits. I like the cast and the acting. I think there is a good chemistry between most of the characters. I think all in all it is a really good show.
What I think makes this a good show, for me, is that I have come to have an interest in all of the characters. Not the actors but the characters. When discussing the show with Lauren or people at work I refer to the characters names not the actors. I look forward each week to see what the characters are going to do. When they do something idiotic I don’t get mad at the writers like I do on most shows, I get mad at the characters. I am emotionally vested in the characters.
Here is what I thought about the season finale.
Denny dies. Good. This guy reminded me of someone I know but could not place my finger on it. It was always on the tip of my tongue but I never could place him so every time he was on I would rack my brain trying to figure it out. I still haven’t. I am glad he gone so I don’t have to worry about who he reminds me of.
Izzie, I am sorry your weak, helpless lover boy is gone. Apparently you have this thing for weak, helpless, sick men. He died. Stop pouting. Your Prom dress was ugly.
Yang, I always pegged you for only liking Burke because he is the best. But now that he may be down, you don’t like him so much. You only like strong men, healthy men who are at the top of their game. You are the Yang to Izzie’s Yin. I can see you dropping Burke the second he drops a scalpel.
George. Beauty and Beast is you new relationship. You are the beauty. That is a hint. Alex you surprised me this week. You are still a jerk but a good jerk.
Meredith last episode you told Derek Shepherd that “he can’t call you a whore.” You were all indignant and up in his face. Well guess what? You were on a date with the vet guy (pssst. It is actually Robin from Batman and Robin). Derek was on a date with his wife. You and Derek meet up in a room and you let him bang you. That makes you a whore. Now I know he is Dr. Mc Dreamy and I even I would let him have his way with me even though I am a straight male. But he is married. So you are a whore. Or a slut.
Nothing happened. But he scared the shit out of me.
I have always judged other people when their excuse for when something tragic happens to a kid or an animal is "I only turned away for two seconds."
I always thought, "Yeah right. Two seconds my ass. You were not paying attention for longer than that."
One Hippopotamus. Two Hippopotamus.
Last night Maxfield and I returned from the playground. I took his diaper bag out of the car and placed it on the ground. I unbuckled his car seat and lifted him out of the car. I placed him on the ground and told him to ring the doorbell to see if the dog was home. Max usually runs right to the front door.
I turned to pick up the diaper bag. One OneThousand. I bent down and picked it up. Two OneThousand. I look up and Maxfield was in the street. He ran about 20 feet in two seconds.
Nothing happened. But he scared the shit out of me.
This story contains slight embellishement, not much but I need to protect myself from angry emails from siblings.
Finding the perfect Mother’s day gift for my Mom used to be easy. When I was a kid my dad did all the purchasing of the mothers day gifts. Either on the Saturday night before Mother’s Day or on the morning of, he would gather the 9 kids in a room, dump the contents of bag, which had either Sears, Two Guys, or Jefferson Ward printed on it, onto the floor. Falling onto the floor were 9 gifts for my mom. They ranged anywhere from bathrobes to toiletries to cooking utensils and other types of small gifts and always a bottle of Jean Nate.
My dad would walk out of the room and leave my sister Sharon in charge of divvying up the gifts so that each kid had something to give to my mom for Mother’s Day. Sometimes we would fight over who got to give mom what.
“I want to give Mom the hairbrush. I gave her the change purse at Christmas.” Kevin would say.
“John and Bill should give her the small stuff because they are in the middle and we should give her the big stuff first and last.” Sharon would direct.
Dennis would chime in. “Well I want to giver her the socks because they are yellow. And Yellow is the hue of that portion of the visible spectrum lying between orange and green, evoked in the human observer by radiant energy with wavelengths of approximately 570 to 590 nanometers; any of a group of colors of a hue resembling that of ripe lemons and varying in lightness and saturation; one of the subtractive primaries; one of the psychological primary hues….”
Someone would eventually cut Dennis off because he was too longwinded. After much discussion and debate Sharon would tell each of us what we were going to give mom and hand us the item. We would line up, usually youngest to oldest, and proceed to the living room, where my Mom was sitting still in her robe from last year, sipping tea. One by one we would approach her and hand her unwrapped gifts.
She would always act like each gift was the perfect thing.
“Oh Jimmy. What’s this? A new sweatshirt? And it is green which is my favorite color. Thanks. Michael, wow you got me new Sunglasses. I love them. Thank you Patrick for the wonderful manicure set. Oh Billy. A new Spatula. How wonderful. I really need this. Thank you so much……. Umm. What’s your name? John. Right. Sorry honey it is still early. Thank you for this quart of motor oil. That is lovely and it is Pennzoil. Oh Daniel. Jean Nate. I love it. I think I just used up the last of the bottle I got for Christmas. Why does this bottle have some missing. Did you drink some of it?”
And this would go on until all of the gifts were sitting in front of her either on the coffee table or on the floor. As the kids went about getting ready for church we each one by one, would ask my mom what gift she liked best. Her answer was always the same.
“ I love them all for different reasons. I can’t pick out a favorite.”
I know it was always whatever Jimmy, the youngest, gave her.
We went shopping for a mattress for Maxfiled’s new toddler bed. There were three stores in the shopping center that all sold mattresses. Lauren and I were going to go to each on to see where we could get the best value and best price.
I work in sales. Electronics. Not the appliance type stuff but more of the internal circuit board type stuff. I always give sales people a shot. I have been hung up on, told “No” to, and really work hard at winning customers over to no avail, that I sympathize, empathize and always give salespeople the benefit of the doubt. I will even give telemarketers a chance to sell me their goods. But with that being said it was quite entertaining having the mattress salesmen try and give me the hard sale.
When we walked into the store, I told him we were looking for a twin mattress for Max. I pointed to Max who, basically thought he was in trampoline heaven and explained that he was two so I did not need anything too expensive.
The salesperson, Kevin, said, “Well, how comfortable do you want him to be? Comfort is important.”
“I agree. But like I said he is two. He sleeps in his car seat, his booster seat I think he will be comfortable wherever. Besides he is only going to pee, poop, throw up and spill drinks on the mattress so I don’t want to spend too much on a mattress.”
“But isn’t his comfort important?” Kevin responded.
“So is his college education so I need to be able to save for that.”
Kevin showed Lauren what was available, while I chased Max around the store. Lauren and I spoke and decided on a mattress and agreed that we would go to the other stores in the shopping center to see what they had. I told Kevin that we would be back if we did not find something else.
Kevin said, “Why do you want to go somewhere else? We are Mattress Giant. We have been in business for 20 years with over 300 locations. We guarantee our product. You won’t get the same deal anywhere else.”
“I understand that. But I want to see if the other stores have the same thing cheaper.”
“But we have what you want right now, in stock. Why do you want to shop around?”
I kind of laughed and said, “If you saw twenty bucks sitting on the curb, would you pick it up?”
“Why? Because it is 20 bucks. I am going to the place next door to see if if I can save 20 bucks.” Kevin gave me a bit of an attitude, which I didn’t like at first, but then realized he was just sticking up for his product. Lauren, Max and I went to the other places but did not find anything worthwhile so we went back to see Kevin.
I told him the mattress we wanted and we walked over to write up the sale. As he was punching the information into his computer he asked, “Will you be needing protection for the mattress?”
“Do you mean like bodyguards? Or are you talking about protection from STD’s?”
Growing up I was never a big fan of Sauerkraut. It always made me gag. Last night my wife made a roast with Sauerkraut.
She loaded up my plate with the bland looking but potent smelling stringy substance. She could tell by the look on my face that I was hesitant to actually try the Sauerkraut.
“You never had it growing up?” She asked.
“Yeah, I did and me made gag every time.”
“You never had it on a hotdog?”
“No. It would make me gag and that would be a waste of a good hotdog.”
“I can’t believe you don’t like Sauerkraut. You like everything that is pickled.”
“I know, but there are three things that I swore off forever because of how sick they made me. Brussels sprouts, pot and Sauerkraut. I ate Brussels sprouts once and they made me sick. I will never touch them again. I smoked pot once when I was 21, it made me violently ill. I will never touch the stuff again. And Sauerkraut makes me gag.
I took a few bites of the roast that had some pieces of Sour Kraut on it. I fought the gag reflex that started in the back of my throat. After a few bites of the roast I scooped a heaping mound of kraut and put it into my mouth. I was shocked. It was pretty good. I told Lauren that I was actually enjoying it. I finished my plate and complimented Lauren once again for the fine meal.
She said, “You keep saying how much you like it. I am surprised.”
“So am I.” I responded. “It is a shame that we are old and have kids because otherwise I may have given pot another try. But not Brussels sprouts.”
We had very few pets growing up. Due to my mom’s, Lawnwhisperer’s, and Jimmy’s (Baby Jesus) serious phobia of canines we knew we would never have a dog. We did have a few cats though. There was Gray, named because she was gray, and later we had Sears and Roebuck, named so because they were found at Sears and Roebuck, where my dad worked. And at one point, when I was about 10 or so, the Easter bunny, left us a rabbit.
I do not remember the rabbit’s name because we did not have him for very long. We kept the rabbit in the back yard in a cage made of wood and chicken wire and screens. We would go out back everyday to look at the rabbit and try to feed it carrots and admire the Raisinets it left behind. The rest of the neighborhood kids liked the rabbit as well. Especially the girl that lived behind us, catty- corner, her name was April.
Most of us did not like April. Most of the girls that grew up in our boy-dominated neighborhood (granted my 7 brothers, 1sister and I made up half the neighborhood) were either tomboys and could hang out with us, or they kept their distance. Not April. She was always trying to do what we were doing. The problem was she was all girly girl. She wore frilly dresses and white stockings and had curly hair and she was pretty snobby. We always compared her to Nellie from Little House on the Prairie.
April loved the rabbit in our backyard. She would often climb the fence that separated our yards and take the rabbit out of its cage and play with it and pet it. She probably gave it more attention than my entire family ever did. We would catch her feeding our rabbit and we would go out back and yell at her in that nanny-nanny-pooh-pooh way.
“Why don’t you get your own rabbit?” “Don’t give the rabbit girl germs.” “If you love our rabbit so much why don’t you marry it?”
She always ended up leaving in a huff or tears. “I’m telling.” April would whine as she scurried over the fence being careful not to get rust stains on her perfectly pleated plaid dress.
One day, and I am sketchy on the details, we came home to find the door to the rabbit cage open with no rabbit in sight. We of course went and told our parent’s that the rabbit was gone. My parent’s said that someone must have left the door open and that the rabbit escaped. We knew it was no of us. It had to be April. Our dislike for the girl intensified. She kidnapped our rabbit. My parent’s talked us out of forming a mob, with wiffle-ball bats and sticks, and marching over to her house and demanding the rabbit back. They assured us that the rabbit had probably escaped due to our own fault.
Deep down we knew it was not one of us that let the rabbit out. I believe one of us confronted April and she denied the kidnapping as well as mistakenly letting the rabbit go. I think she was more upset than us that the rabbit was gone, but we did not let that fool us. It was her fault. We knew it.
We blamed her for years and eventually the rabbit incident became a joke in our house. Even as adults we would talk about how April was responsible for the rabbit’s disappearance. It was only just a few years ago that my father told me the true story of the rabbit.
He came home one day and found the rabbit dead. Stiff as a board, in it’s cage. In an effort to “protect” the younger kids from seeing a dead rabbit, or feeling guilty over the death of the pet, he quickly disposed of the carcass and left the cage door open. Instead of telling us that the rabbit died he would let us believe that rabbit just escaped. A rabbit that was roaming free in the wild of suburbia was easier for us kids to grasp than death would be. He did not realize that we would blame April.
When I asked him how come he let us blame April for so long and his response was, “You guys blamed April. And I figured as long as the blame was going in her direction I was off the hook.”
My dad’s birthday is this weekend. The man who came up with “Poop and Boogies” Happy Birthday Dad.
Lauren went food shopping last night while I stayed home with Maxfield. Before she left we had this conversation.
Being playful and goofy I said, “Pick me up some stuff that rhymes with Deer and something the rhymes with Mice Beam.”
“You don’t need any beer.”
“I noticed you didn’t say anything about the Mice Beam.”
“Hey, I can’t have any beer.”
If you are not picking up beer get me a snack that rhymes with Leetos” “You don’t need that.”
“Seriously, I don’t care what you get me as long as it rhymes with Leetos.” “Anything?”
“Yes. As long as the name of the item rhymes.”
I know this is a silly game but I was challenging her. Now think of a snack item that rhymes with Leetos. There are only two options as far as I am concerned. Off the top of your head think of two snack items that would rhyme with Leetos.
You are saying to yourself "Cheetos or Fritos". Right? I would have been happy with either.
When she returned we were unloaded the groceries and she says, “I didn’t get you beer. I did get ice cream, and I did get you something that rhymes Leetos.”
“Really? What did you get?”
“What?” I was disappointed. “Tostitos does not rhyme.”
“Yes it does.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“There were only a few options. Fritos, Cheetos or Doritos.”
“Doritos does not rhyme but I would have been happy with that. Something that rhymes should have had the same number of syllables.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
“Well it should.”
“Well the next time just come out and tell me what you want.”
She handed me the bag of the store brand corn chips she had bought. Store brand. There was nothing on the package that rhymed with Leetos. She figured out beer and ice cream I woul dhave thought she would have figured out Cheetos. She knows I love me some Cheetos.
...when, in an effort to be all prepared for the next day you set up the coffee maker at 11pm so all you have to do in the morning is push the button (instead of actually grabbing the filters and pouring water and scooping coffee all bleary eyed) and because you are used to setting up the coffee maker and just pushing the button, out of habit, you push the button at 11pm only to be woken at midnight to the smell of coffee brewing.
The baby is due in about 6 weeks. Lauren and I have a lot of work ahead of us. Since we are in desperate need of extra space we had a screen room added to our house. We have to move the dining room to the screen room, the office to the dining room, Max’s room to the office and prep Max’s room as the baby’s room. There is also designated space in the new screen room as a play area, so we have to move most of Max’s toys.
The screen room addition is progressing a decent pace. There have been a few problems with contractors and their inability to actually do what they said they were going to do. This past weekend I spent a good amount of time fixing the contactors mistakes. One such mistake was they installed a fence but did not use concrete to reinforce the posts. So this weekend I dug up the posts and added the concrete. I also had to mop the new tile floor 5 times to clean up all the grout left on the surface (the tile guys did an awesome job but were somewhat messy).
Every time I do work that involves repetitive movement like digging 8 holes or mopping 420 square feet of tile I think of the Karate kid. “Paint the fence”, “Sand the floor”, or the classic “Wax on, Wax off” (Insert Jokes here) lines come to mind. I think about how Mr. Miyagi used the work as muscle training to teach Karate.
I woke up this morning pretty sore in my shoulders and arms. I plan to carry a mop around all day and dare people to try and kick me in the shins.