Never leave a toddler, a dog, and a cup of yogurt in a room together unattended.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Parenting Tip by Lauren
Never leave a toddler, a dog, and a cup of yogurt in a room together unattended.
See My Thumb?
Guest Post by William's brother The LawnWhisperer.
It is well documented that I am not the world’s perfect father. I am the one that documents this, so I know it to be truth. I am, however, very clever in my ability to avoid Child Meltdowns. I have written about this ability in the past, and am going to share another perfectly orchestrated, quick thinking, and catastrophe stopping moment. Some of you may find this to be a bit unsettling, but I do what I have to do for my own sanity. Don’t try these techniques at home, unless you are willing to live with the consequences.
We were having one of those dinners that did not sit well with the kids. Young Skywalker and Solo do not like anything that is not nuggets or pizza, so they often fight us on the subject. Luke was especially upset on Monday about his soup. He wanted no parts of it, and was being a total pain in the ass. The whining and crying was growing more annoying by the minute. The threat of no dessert is no good in my house, cause I subscribe to the dessert before dinner theory. That is an entirely different blog topic. Anyway, he was up in arms and I was getting the early stages of heartburn. I had to react, and react I did. I sang the famous child jingle about beans. We were not having beans, but I sang it anyway. “Beans, Beans, they’re good for your heart. The more you eat, the more you fart.” Skywalker looked at me and smiled. Solo looked at me like I just said a bad word. They asked me to repeat it. So I did. They laughed the biggest belly laughs. They laughed until tears rolled down their face. They called pop-pop and sang it. They called Uncle Bill and sang it. They sang it, and sang it, and sang it. They also ate their soup. Then we had some ice cream, and sang it some more.
The down side to such tactics is that they are singing it every night. We still laugh just as hard, but Mrs. Whisperer is getting a bit upset. She is concerned about when the teacher calls home. I don’t have to field those calls, so I am not very concerned, but I see her point. I have already taught them the “see my pinky, gee your stinky”, and the ever popular “see my thumb, gee your dumb” rhymes. I want them to hear it from me, before they pick it up on the schoolyard. It’s a father teaching kids how to be kids, isn’t it? Anyway, “does your face hurt? No, well it’s killing me.” Sorry, but my guys love that one too.
It is well documented that I am not the world’s perfect father. I am the one that documents this, so I know it to be truth. I am, however, very clever in my ability to avoid Child Meltdowns. I have written about this ability in the past, and am going to share another perfectly orchestrated, quick thinking, and catastrophe stopping moment. Some of you may find this to be a bit unsettling, but I do what I have to do for my own sanity. Don’t try these techniques at home, unless you are willing to live with the consequences.
We were having one of those dinners that did not sit well with the kids. Young Skywalker and Solo do not like anything that is not nuggets or pizza, so they often fight us on the subject. Luke was especially upset on Monday about his soup. He wanted no parts of it, and was being a total pain in the ass. The whining and crying was growing more annoying by the minute. The threat of no dessert is no good in my house, cause I subscribe to the dessert before dinner theory. That is an entirely different blog topic. Anyway, he was up in arms and I was getting the early stages of heartburn. I had to react, and react I did. I sang the famous child jingle about beans. We were not having beans, but I sang it anyway. “Beans, Beans, they’re good for your heart. The more you eat, the more you fart.” Skywalker looked at me and smiled. Solo looked at me like I just said a bad word. They asked me to repeat it. So I did. They laughed the biggest belly laughs. They laughed until tears rolled down their face. They called pop-pop and sang it. They called Uncle Bill and sang it. They sang it, and sang it, and sang it. They also ate their soup. Then we had some ice cream, and sang it some more.
The down side to such tactics is that they are singing it every night. We still laugh just as hard, but Mrs. Whisperer is getting a bit upset. She is concerned about when the teacher calls home. I don’t have to field those calls, so I am not very concerned, but I see her point. I have already taught them the “see my pinky, gee your stinky”, and the ever popular “see my thumb, gee your dumb” rhymes. I want them to hear it from me, before they pick it up on the schoolyard. It’s a father teaching kids how to be kids, isn’t it? Anyway, “does your face hurt? No, well it’s killing me.” Sorry, but my guys love that one too.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Dipper or Scooper
Guest blogging by The LawnWhisperer. (LawnWhisperer is William's brother, who William feels should start his own blog because, well, because he is funny.)
Dipper or Scooper
There are two types of people in this world. There are dippers, and there are scoopers. I myself am a dipper, and I am surrounded by scoopers. Most of my family is scoopers. My dad is a big time scooper; I think he invented the scoop. My two youngest brothers, Mike and Jim, are scoopers, but I think they are pretend scoopers. They scooped all their life, just to get under my skin. Then I went and married a scooper. I should have done a better job of questioning while we were dating. I asked the silly questions like, “What are your thoughts on having kids?” “How many would you like to have?” “Are you a democrat or republican or neither?” “Where do you see us in ten years?” Then finally, “Will you marry me?”
I never asked the big question, “Are you a dipper or a scooper?” I’ll tell you, I am pissed that I did not ask the question. It definitely would have made me think twice about marrying her, if I knew ahead of time that she was a scooper. See, this is of major importance at snack time. I love chips and dip. I make a nice garlic dip. The perfect amount of garlic salt mixed with sour cream is mouth watering. It makes the worst kind of potato chip taste like heaven. One bowl of this dip gets you through a half bag of chips. That is if you are a dipper. If you are a scooper, you get maybe 10 chips. I hate sharing my dip with a scooper. I like to dip the chip in the dip. After all, it is called dip.
Sharing with a scooper, throws off the recipe. If I know I am sharing my snack with a scooper, I have to make more dip. Sometimes I will make two bowls, one bowl of dip, and one bowl of scoop. This way I get to enjoy my entire snack. But my wife wastes her scoop. She won’t eat it all, and then it gets tossed. That is perfectly good dip, that I could have another night, but it goes to waste.
I have tried to teach my wife to be a dipper, but she refuses. My siblings and parents have never crossed over to the dipper side. It is almost like a scooper creed, once a scooper, always a scooper. I am trying to teach my two little guys to be dippers. My daughter is a lost soul now. She has been with a scooper for far to long. I can’t convert her, but the little guys are still impressionable. There is hope still, but it will be difficult. I should have married a dipper. I did not ask the question, and now I am paying the price.
So all you single guys out there take notice of the important things. Ask the right questions before you pop the question. It will make a big difference at snack time. “ Are you a dipper, or a scooper?” If she replies in a way that is negative to your view on this topic, leave her. It will be better in the long run.
Dipper or Scooper
There are two types of people in this world. There are dippers, and there are scoopers. I myself am a dipper, and I am surrounded by scoopers. Most of my family is scoopers. My dad is a big time scooper; I think he invented the scoop. My two youngest brothers, Mike and Jim, are scoopers, but I think they are pretend scoopers. They scooped all their life, just to get under my skin. Then I went and married a scooper. I should have done a better job of questioning while we were dating. I asked the silly questions like, “What are your thoughts on having kids?” “How many would you like to have?” “Are you a democrat or republican or neither?” “Where do you see us in ten years?” Then finally, “Will you marry me?”
I never asked the big question, “Are you a dipper or a scooper?” I’ll tell you, I am pissed that I did not ask the question. It definitely would have made me think twice about marrying her, if I knew ahead of time that she was a scooper. See, this is of major importance at snack time. I love chips and dip. I make a nice garlic dip. The perfect amount of garlic salt mixed with sour cream is mouth watering. It makes the worst kind of potato chip taste like heaven. One bowl of this dip gets you through a half bag of chips. That is if you are a dipper. If you are a scooper, you get maybe 10 chips. I hate sharing my dip with a scooper. I like to dip the chip in the dip. After all, it is called dip.
Sharing with a scooper, throws off the recipe. If I know I am sharing my snack with a scooper, I have to make more dip. Sometimes I will make two bowls, one bowl of dip, and one bowl of scoop. This way I get to enjoy my entire snack. But my wife wastes her scoop. She won’t eat it all, and then it gets tossed. That is perfectly good dip, that I could have another night, but it goes to waste.
I have tried to teach my wife to be a dipper, but she refuses. My siblings and parents have never crossed over to the dipper side. It is almost like a scooper creed, once a scooper, always a scooper. I am trying to teach my two little guys to be dippers. My daughter is a lost soul now. She has been with a scooper for far to long. I can’t convert her, but the little guys are still impressionable. There is hope still, but it will be difficult. I should have married a dipper. I did not ask the question, and now I am paying the price.
So all you single guys out there take notice of the important things. Ask the right questions before you pop the question. It will make a big difference at snack time. “ Are you a dipper, or a scooper?” If she replies in a way that is negative to your view on this topic, leave her. It will be better in the long run.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Stormy Weather (That Darn Cat)
Guest Post by Lauren (William's wife)
It is my pleasure to be once again guest blogging on Poop and Boogies. Today's post is meant to make all you parents out there who may occasionally question what kind of job you are doing, feel a whole lot better.
One morning last week, Max is happily watching NOGGIN, his favorite channel, Luna, our dog, is sniffing her way around the backyard, and I am cleaning up from breakfast before an appointment with a contractor. Our next door neighbors have a very sweet cat named Stormy, who occasionally will come into our backyard and, among other things, do her business. And occasionally, as some dogs are known to do, our lovely beast, Luna, likes to dig up these tasty little treats and, you guessed it, savor Stormy's homemade delicacies, to put it mildly.
Of course, I find this absolutely repugnant, so go out back to stop her and bring her inside, when OUR cat, who is an indoor cat, tries to make a break for it. Impressed with my own speed and agility, I quickly shut the back door before he is able to make his escape.
After reprimanding Luna for her incredibly uncivilized behavior (even for a dog) we make our way back to the door when...
Uh-oh, why is it locked? We never use the door knob lock, we always dead bolt it. Someone must have turned it by accident. No worries, Max is still inside watching TV, I'll just go around front. Nope. Front door is locked. Crap! We started dead bolting the front door since Max can now open it by himself. Ok, think, think, think. Oh, of course, I'll just use the remote garage door opener and go in through the garage! Genius! Thank God the new minivan is unlocked...the.. new.... minivan, that never gets parked in the garage, because there is too much junk in there, so we therefore never bothered to put the remote opener in there. Ok, now I'm sweating it. Wait! The next door neighbors have our key!And they're home! Hallelujah!! Knock on the door-
"We have your key? Umm,ok we'll check." (rifling through some drawers in the next room, there is some urgent whispering that I can't quite make out). Meanwhile, thoughts are racing through my head of what Max could possibly be getting into all by himself back at the home front:
Teetering at the top of our 16 + stepstairwell, doing belly flops off the back of the sofa, unplugging kitchen appliancesand sticking forks in the now vacant outlets (yeah, we're mostly childproofed). My God, my God! MY GOD, WHAT IS TAKING SO LONG??????????
"Uh, sorry, but I think we gave your key back to you , Lauren."
"Ok, then I need to use your phone, NOW!"
Thank goodness Bill only works 10 minutes away and happened to actually be in the office that day. I raced back home without so much as a goodbye, and thankfully found Max still transfixed by Little Bear (yeah, Little Bear, of all shows- who'da thunk it). So I sat there, whimpering with my face pressed up againstthe sliding glass door, waiting for my hero husband to arrive and save the day, all the while cursing that darn Stormy, gourmet poops and all.
It is my pleasure to be once again guest blogging on Poop and Boogies. Today's post is meant to make all you parents out there who may occasionally question what kind of job you are doing, feel a whole lot better.
One morning last week, Max is happily watching NOGGIN, his favorite channel, Luna, our dog, is sniffing her way around the backyard, and I am cleaning up from breakfast before an appointment with a contractor. Our next door neighbors have a very sweet cat named Stormy, who occasionally will come into our backyard and, among other things, do her business. And occasionally, as some dogs are known to do, our lovely beast, Luna, likes to dig up these tasty little treats and, you guessed it, savor Stormy's homemade delicacies, to put it mildly.
Of course, I find this absolutely repugnant, so go out back to stop her and bring her inside, when OUR cat, who is an indoor cat, tries to make a break for it. Impressed with my own speed and agility, I quickly shut the back door before he is able to make his escape.
After reprimanding Luna for her incredibly uncivilized behavior (even for a dog) we make our way back to the door when...
Uh-oh, why is it locked? We never use the door knob lock, we always dead bolt it. Someone must have turned it by accident. No worries, Max is still inside watching TV, I'll just go around front. Nope. Front door is locked. Crap! We started dead bolting the front door since Max can now open it by himself. Ok, think, think, think. Oh, of course, I'll just use the remote garage door opener and go in through the garage! Genius! Thank God the new minivan is unlocked...the.. new.... minivan, that never gets parked in the garage, because there is too much junk in there, so we therefore never bothered to put the remote opener in there. Ok, now I'm sweating it. Wait! The next door neighbors have our key!And they're home! Hallelujah!! Knock on the door-
"We have your key? Umm,ok we'll check." (rifling through some drawers in the next room, there is some urgent whispering that I can't quite make out). Meanwhile, thoughts are racing through my head of what Max could possibly be getting into all by himself back at the home front:
Teetering at the top of our 16 + stepstairwell, doing belly flops off the back of the sofa, unplugging kitchen appliancesand sticking forks in the now vacant outlets (yeah, we're mostly childproofed). My God, my God! MY GOD, WHAT IS TAKING SO LONG??????????
"Uh, sorry, but I think we gave your key back to you , Lauren."
"Ok, then I need to use your phone, NOW!"
Thank goodness Bill only works 10 minutes away and happened to actually be in the office that day. I raced back home without so much as a goodbye, and thankfully found Max still transfixed by Little Bear (yeah, Little Bear, of all shows- who'da thunk it). So I sat there, whimpering with my face pressed up againstthe sliding glass door, waiting for my hero husband to arrive and save the day, all the while cursing that darn Stormy, gourmet poops and all.
Doesn't it suck....
...when you eat your last M&M, totally thinking that there were a couple of more in the bag, when there wasn't, because you so would have savored the last one?
Monday, January 16, 2006
Mr. Sandman
In the past, when Maxfield would wake up in the middle of the night, depending on the type of cry, Lauren and I would decide whether to go to him or not. Most times we would wait it out and he would calm down and fall back to sleep.
Lately Max has been waking up on the wrong side of the clock. 4:00-ish. He is getting older now so it is becoming a bit more difficult to determine what his cries actually mean. We try to let it the crying pass. I hope that he will find his pacifier or Elmo or Murphy the stuffed Monkey and will settle back into the crib and back to sleep. But in the middle of his cries I can’t help but wonder if maybe he is having a nightmare.
I try to fight the urge to go to him, but I always feel bad, that maybe he needs to be comforted. It breaks my heart thinking that maybe he is scared, or he thinks that we abandoned him. When I was young and I would have nightmares I would sleep on my parent’s floor. Just knowing that they were there always made me better.
Max is almost two. At what age are there monsters in closet, or ghosts under the bed?
I would like to thank everyone who has voted in the BoB awards (Best of Blogs). I am not sure how long the voting lasts so if you have not voted please go and do so. The voting is only one portion of the criteria to win. They will also be scoring on content and grammar (I should have listened to Mrs. Dunn my highschool english teacher). There are some great blogs nominated in different categories that you may not have seen before. The site is worth checking out to find new favorites to read.
I will be busy over the next few days, but my wife, Lauren, has agreed to fill in for me with a post or two and I think the Lawn Whisperer has also agreed to fill in for a day.
Lately Max has been waking up on the wrong side of the clock. 4:00-ish. He is getting older now so it is becoming a bit more difficult to determine what his cries actually mean. We try to let it the crying pass. I hope that he will find his pacifier or Elmo or Murphy the stuffed Monkey and will settle back into the crib and back to sleep. But in the middle of his cries I can’t help but wonder if maybe he is having a nightmare.
I try to fight the urge to go to him, but I always feel bad, that maybe he needs to be comforted. It breaks my heart thinking that maybe he is scared, or he thinks that we abandoned him. When I was young and I would have nightmares I would sleep on my parent’s floor. Just knowing that they were there always made me better.
Max is almost two. At what age are there monsters in closet, or ghosts under the bed?
I would like to thank everyone who has voted in the BoB awards (Best of Blogs). I am not sure how long the voting lasts so if you have not voted please go and do so. The voting is only one portion of the criteria to win. They will also be scoring on content and grammar (I should have listened to Mrs. Dunn my highschool english teacher). There are some great blogs nominated in different categories that you may not have seen before. The site is worth checking out to find new favorites to read.
I will be busy over the next few days, but my wife, Lauren, has agreed to fill in for me with a post or two and I think the Lawn Whisperer has also agreed to fill in for a day.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Love is a Battlefield
Occasionally Lauren says things to me like, “Hey Bill? Did you notice that all of your contact lens stuff has put itself away everyday this week.” OR “Bill the Dryer Lint Fairy stopped by and took care of the dryer lint that you let pile up on the dryer.”
Sometimes I am inclined to respond with, “Yeah? Well did YOU notice that my toenail clippings were on the nightstand for only three days and not four?” And I realize that I am not going to win the argument.
Sometimes I am inclined to respond with, “Yeah? Well did YOU notice that my toenail clippings were on the nightstand for only three days and not four?” And I realize that I am not going to win the argument.
Things that go Bump in the day.
Lauren and I went out to Lowes to buy some home protection gear (actually Max protection gear for the house). Max is getting rambunctious lately and likes to just run through the house. Full speed. Head Down. Arms Flailing. He is also tall and his head is at the level of the corner of the kitchen counters. We needed to buy bumper pads for the counters and foam bumpers and gates for the fireplace and steps. (Fireplaces in Florida who would of thunk it?)
The fireplace bumper was $40.00, the gates were like $100 and counter bumpers were $15.00(for four). I did not buy them. I am all for my child’s safety but I just could not see spending that kind of money.
It would be cheaper and easier to by Max a helmet and make some bubble wrap clothing for him when he is running through the house.
The fireplace bumper was $40.00, the gates were like $100 and counter bumpers were $15.00(for four). I did not buy them. I am all for my child’s safety but I just could not see spending that kind of money.
It would be cheaper and easier to by Max a helmet and make some bubble wrap clothing for him when he is running through the house.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Is there something wrong.....
...with the fact that my wife looks incredibly sexy in the pajamas that my MOM gave her for Christmas?
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Flipped
On Sunday we went to Publix to do some grocery shopping. In an effort to get a better parking spot, I cut through some empty spaces and turned to follow the one-way arrows marked on the pavement. I made the turn pretty quickly, as a little silver car was backing out. The silver car had plenty of space, but I know I cut it close. We pulled into a spot and I heard the silver car honk.
I looked up in the rearview and I saw the driver, a girl wearing a Publix apron, stop behind my car and flip me the bird. I was shocked. Not that I did not deserve getting the finger but because the girl was clearly an employee of the store, and I recognized her.
In the store I saw one of the other employees looking over a work schedule and I asked him who was it that just got off shift. He told me Courtney. I thanked him and I left it at that.
The next day I had to run back to Publix to pick up some diapers. Who was the girl bagging the groceries? Courtney. I waited until no one could overhear and I asked her, “Do you drive a silver car?”
“Uhmmm. Yes.” She said.
“Yesterday, as I pulled in, you gave me the finger. Now I know I kind of deserved it, but didn’t you think that I might recognize you. I mean this is the place you work.”
I could see the flush of embarrassment creep up her neck and into her face. “I’m sorry.” She responded.
I half chuckled. “Don’t worry about. I am not going to say anything to your boss. I know I was wrong the way I pulled into the lot. Are we even now?”
She just nodded.
Part of me feels bad for saying something to her but another part feels great because it is not often that a person knows who flipped them off.
By the way there is a new MooneyAngelo posted.
I looked up in the rearview and I saw the driver, a girl wearing a Publix apron, stop behind my car and flip me the bird. I was shocked. Not that I did not deserve getting the finger but because the girl was clearly an employee of the store, and I recognized her.
In the store I saw one of the other employees looking over a work schedule and I asked him who was it that just got off shift. He told me Courtney. I thanked him and I left it at that.
The next day I had to run back to Publix to pick up some diapers. Who was the girl bagging the groceries? Courtney. I waited until no one could overhear and I asked her, “Do you drive a silver car?”
“Uhmmm. Yes.” She said.
“Yesterday, as I pulled in, you gave me the finger. Now I know I kind of deserved it, but didn’t you think that I might recognize you. I mean this is the place you work.”
I could see the flush of embarrassment creep up her neck and into her face. “I’m sorry.” She responded.
I half chuckled. “Don’t worry about. I am not going to say anything to your boss. I know I was wrong the way I pulled into the lot. Are we even now?”
She just nodded.
Part of me feels bad for saying something to her but another part feels great because it is not often that a person knows who flipped them off.
By the way there is a new MooneyAngelo posted.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Not the Same
The type of music that I listen to varies on my mood and I did not bring much music into my marriage. My preferences are, Counting Crows, Peter Gabriel, Billy Joel, Dire Straits, the Kinks as well as other random bands. I maybe had a total of 20 CDs when I met Lauren.
When I started dating Lauren she had a whole mix of music she listened to. Some I knew, but did not appreciate, like James Brown, Elvis, Tori Amos and Sting. But she also introduced me to bands and singers I never even heard of like Morphine, Ben Folds, Ottmar Leibert, and Royal Crown Revue. She brought over 150 CDs into our marriage. Over the years I have come to truly appreciate her taste in music and lyrics and have become a big fan of her music selection.
When I hit the age of 30 I started getting into what the “Kids these days” were into, Kid Rock, Eminem, Destiny’s Child (yes I am admitting that I own a Destiny Child’s CD), the Black Eyed Peas as well as a bunch of country music. Lauren, being the supportive wife that she is, has developed a liking to some of this music as well.
We are now exposing Maxfield to as much music as we can. Max likes music. He likes Laurie Berkner and the Schwartzmen Quartet from one of his favorite shows Jack’s Big Music Show. But there are visuals that go along with this music.
Lately we are experiencing issues with Max’s tastes when there are no visuals. We always play CD’s in the car and Max will let us know when he wants the music changed, which is all the time. He does not like slow songs. He whines when a mid-tempo song is being played. You see he is a bit of a snob. Max likes only ONE song. Ben Folds’ “Not The Same” from Rockin’ the Suburbs and Ben Folds Live. He rocks out to it in his car seat.
I don’t know if I should feel bad letting him listen to a song about a guy who trips out on acid and becomes born again.
When I started dating Lauren she had a whole mix of music she listened to. Some I knew, but did not appreciate, like James Brown, Elvis, Tori Amos and Sting. But she also introduced me to bands and singers I never even heard of like Morphine, Ben Folds, Ottmar Leibert, and Royal Crown Revue. She brought over 150 CDs into our marriage. Over the years I have come to truly appreciate her taste in music and lyrics and have become a big fan of her music selection.
When I hit the age of 30 I started getting into what the “Kids these days” were into, Kid Rock, Eminem, Destiny’s Child (yes I am admitting that I own a Destiny Child’s CD), the Black Eyed Peas as well as a bunch of country music. Lauren, being the supportive wife that she is, has developed a liking to some of this music as well.
We are now exposing Maxfield to as much music as we can. Max likes music. He likes Laurie Berkner and the Schwartzmen Quartet from one of his favorite shows Jack’s Big Music Show. But there are visuals that go along with this music.
Lately we are experiencing issues with Max’s tastes when there are no visuals. We always play CD’s in the car and Max will let us know when he wants the music changed, which is all the time. He does not like slow songs. He whines when a mid-tempo song is being played. You see he is a bit of a snob. Max likes only ONE song. Ben Folds’ “Not The Same” from Rockin’ the Suburbs and Ben Folds Live. He rocks out to it in his car seat.
I don’t know if I should feel bad letting him listen to a song about a guy who trips out on acid and becomes born again.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Cold Snap
There is a little bit of a cold snap happening here in Orlando. Not that I am complaining but I threw away my ice scraper when I moved down here.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Dinner Man
Max has now decided to wear his bib backwards and he likes to put bowls on his head. I think this is the early stage of dressing up like a superhero.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Bill, This is Bill.
Many thoughts, conversations, and situations hit me on a daily basis in which I think,“I could blog about that.” Some of the stories I have no problem sitting down and typing out from my mental notes. But more often than not my mental pen runs out of mental ink and I cannot, for the life of me, remember what I wanted to post.
In an effort to prevent the serious memory loss, Lauren bought me a mini-recorder so I can document the stories for later recall. Sometimes when the recorder is not around I will call my voice mail, or the answering machine and leave a message for myself to remind myself about what happened.
When I do talk into my recorder or I leave myself a voicemail I always say “Seeya” or “Goodbye” to myself. It goes like this, "Hey don't forget to write about the tree service guy. Seeya." or "Umm, Hey. Remember about our trip to Lowes for the bumper things. Bye."
Lauren finds this to be extremely funny that I greet myself and say goodbye to myself.
In an effort to prevent the serious memory loss, Lauren bought me a mini-recorder so I can document the stories for later recall. Sometimes when the recorder is not around I will call my voice mail, or the answering machine and leave a message for myself to remind myself about what happened.
When I do talk into my recorder or I leave myself a voicemail I always say “Seeya” or “Goodbye” to myself. It goes like this, "Hey don't forget to write about the tree service guy. Seeya." or "Umm, Hey. Remember about our trip to Lowes for the bumper things. Bye."
Lauren finds this to be extremely funny that I greet myself and say goodbye to myself.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
I am not a good "bad cop"
While I was up in Pennsylvania, my father in-law took his car into the dealer for an oil change. When they brought his car out there was a good size dent in the front bumper that was not there when he brought it in. The car was not damaged enough that he could not drive it but I went over to pick him up in case they were going to fix it and he would need a ride. The dealer’s mechanics claim they did not do the damage.
When I got there my father in-law was pretty ticked and was trying to figure out how they could have dented the front bumper. I went to talk to the General Manager to find out what he could do to repair the car. He was a nice enough guy but he kind of blew off my father-in law as well as myself. I was now getting kind of pissed. I realized that they would not admit to the damage unless one us got tough. I figured we would do the whole “good cop/bad-cop” routine. Since I lived out of town I would be the bad cop.
I tried to be tough. I asked all the important questions. I demanded answers. I wanted to know what bay door the car was serviced in. Who drove it? Where did they take it? I would not take “No” for an answer. I was arguing with the manager for 20 minutes or so and he would not take me seriously. I couldn't figure out why. I talked to the service manager, the body shop manager, and the guy who drove the car. None of them, not one, took me seriously. We were waiting to talk to someone else when I realized I was wearing a bright yellow sweatshirt that I just got for Christmas. No wonder they treated me the way they did. I looked like Big Bird. How can a guy look tough when he is wearing canary yellow?
We decided it was best to call the police to file a report for the insurance company. While we were waiting (about a half hour or so) I went into the GM’s office to try to get him to admit to the mistake. I was standing in front of his desk as he sat there listening to me, nodding, smiling, giving me the old “I understand, but….”, but still he would not budge in his position. I was frustrated.
My father in law was outside waiting for the police and I went into the bathroom. It was in the men’s room that I realized WHY no one was taking me seriously.
My fly was down.
It was down the whole time I was stating our case to all the managers. Big Bird and little bird making an argument.
Needless to say I lost all energy to discuss the matter anymore. I was too embarrassed.
When I got there my father in-law was pretty ticked and was trying to figure out how they could have dented the front bumper. I went to talk to the General Manager to find out what he could do to repair the car. He was a nice enough guy but he kind of blew off my father-in law as well as myself. I was now getting kind of pissed. I realized that they would not admit to the damage unless one us got tough. I figured we would do the whole “good cop/bad-cop” routine. Since I lived out of town I would be the bad cop.
I tried to be tough. I asked all the important questions. I demanded answers. I wanted to know what bay door the car was serviced in. Who drove it? Where did they take it? I would not take “No” for an answer. I was arguing with the manager for 20 minutes or so and he would not take me seriously. I couldn't figure out why. I talked to the service manager, the body shop manager, and the guy who drove the car. None of them, not one, took me seriously. We were waiting to talk to someone else when I realized I was wearing a bright yellow sweatshirt that I just got for Christmas. No wonder they treated me the way they did. I looked like Big Bird. How can a guy look tough when he is wearing canary yellow?
We decided it was best to call the police to file a report for the insurance company. While we were waiting (about a half hour or so) I went into the GM’s office to try to get him to admit to the mistake. I was standing in front of his desk as he sat there listening to me, nodding, smiling, giving me the old “I understand, but….”, but still he would not budge in his position. I was frustrated.
My father in law was outside waiting for the police and I went into the bathroom. It was in the men’s room that I realized WHY no one was taking me seriously.
My fly was down.
It was down the whole time I was stating our case to all the managers. Big Bird and little bird making an argument.
Needless to say I lost all energy to discuss the matter anymore. I was too embarrassed.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Mocking See Mocking Do
Being from a big family, I tend to eat my dinner really fast. I think this is some type of psychological thing that I do in an effort to get any seconds that may be available. So I usually finish my dinner about 15 minutes before Lauren and Maxfield. When I am done I usually get up and start the dishes. I said it before and I will say it again my wife thinks a man doing dishes is sexy.
The other night I am doing the dishes and Max and Lauren are sitting at the table and I am complaining about something. I don't remember what, but it was probably about the garbage disposal or some other dish doing thing that frustrates me. So I am griping and Lauren decides to make fun of me. She mumbles under her breath. Saying something to the effect of "Great googlymoogly", but it sounded like a grumble. Basically she was saying I am some type of curmudgeon.
Try saying "great googlymoogly" without moving your lips or mouth or teeth. Did
you try it? That's what it sounded like. Within seconds of her making the grumble noise, Maxfield makes the exact grumble noise. They both look at me and they both laugh.
My son who is 22 months old is already mocking me. I thought that was not supposed to happen for at least another 13 years.
The other night I am doing the dishes and Max and Lauren are sitting at the table and I am complaining about something. I don't remember what, but it was probably about the garbage disposal or some other dish doing thing that frustrates me. So I am griping and Lauren decides to make fun of me. She mumbles under her breath. Saying something to the effect of "Great googlymoogly", but it sounded like a grumble. Basically she was saying I am some type of curmudgeon.
Try saying "great googlymoogly" without moving your lips or mouth or teeth. Did
you try it? That's what it sounded like. Within seconds of her making the grumble noise, Maxfield makes the exact grumble noise. They both look at me and they both laugh.
My son who is 22 months old is already mocking me. I thought that was not supposed to happen for at least another 13 years.
Melts In Your Mouth.
Lauren and I had one of those serious parenting discussions last night. The ones where we are not sure of what the outcome of our decisions will be. This is how the conversation went.
Lauren: If he eats his dinner I will give him hmmmndmsnnh.
Bill: What?
Lauren: Hmmmmndmsnnh!
Bill: What is Hmmmmndmsnnh?
Lauren: (Whispering) M&Ms.
Bill: Why didn’t you just say it? Oh. He knows what they are?
Lauren: After the holidays he sure knows. He was eating mouthfuls at your mom’s house.
Bill: Oh. That’s a hard.
Lauren: What is?
Bill: Hmmmmndmsnnh. (whispering) M&Ms. I mean to spell. Like we spell B.a.t.h. or w.a.l.k. How would you spell M&M’s? If you spell it, you are saying it. I mean we could spell it like Eminem. (Slim Shady) but that is too difficult. This is a tough one.
Lauren: If he eats his dinner I will give him hmmmndmsnnh.
Bill: What?
Lauren: Hmmmmndmsnnh!
Bill: What is Hmmmmndmsnnh?
Lauren: (Whispering) M&Ms.
Bill: Why didn’t you just say it? Oh. He knows what they are?
Lauren: After the holidays he sure knows. He was eating mouthfuls at your mom’s house.
Bill: Oh. That’s a hard.
Lauren: What is?
Bill: Hmmmmndmsnnh. (whispering) M&Ms. I mean to spell. Like we spell B.a.t.h. or w.a.l.k. How would you spell M&M’s? If you spell it, you are saying it. I mean we could spell it like Eminem. (Slim Shady) but that is too difficult. This is a tough one.
Monday, January 02, 2006
I will not write about it again...after this one.
I have written about this before, twice actually, but I have to write about it again due to the total strangeness of the phenomena. I promise not to write about again after today.
Yesterday Maxfield pooped at about 8:30 am. Okay all kids poop, no big deal. I changed his diaper and we went on with our day. Part of the day we had to go to Books-A-Million to return a Christmas gift. We arrived at the bookstore at about 10:30am and Lauren and Max went to the Thomas the Train section so Max could play while I was browsing.
When I met up with them I walked up to Max and I could smell that he soiled his diaper again. I looked at Lauren in disbelief, “He pooped. I can’t believe it.”
Lauren chuckled and said, “Are you serious? He just went this morning.”
Lauren took him to the restroom to change him I just stood there shaking my head.
Later in the evening, about 5:30, we went to Barnes and Noble to redeem some gift cards that we received. We were there 20 minutes when, yep, he went again. He was playing with the Thomas Train Set at Barnes and Noble as well.
"I can't believe he went again. This is really weird." I mouthed silently to Lauren so other patrons would not think we were loony discussing our kids crapping habits in the kids section.
Not only am I amazed that the kid pooped three times in one day but also he did his business twice in the same day in two different bookstores. I believe I need to start documenting this for a scientific study. Is it the bookstore? Is it Thomas? What is it about being surrounded by books that makes him go?
Did they ever cover this on the X-files?
Yesterday Maxfield pooped at about 8:30 am. Okay all kids poop, no big deal. I changed his diaper and we went on with our day. Part of the day we had to go to Books-A-Million to return a Christmas gift. We arrived at the bookstore at about 10:30am and Lauren and Max went to the Thomas the Train section so Max could play while I was browsing.
When I met up with them I walked up to Max and I could smell that he soiled his diaper again. I looked at Lauren in disbelief, “He pooped. I can’t believe it.”
Lauren chuckled and said, “Are you serious? He just went this morning.”
Lauren took him to the restroom to change him I just stood there shaking my head.
Later in the evening, about 5:30, we went to Barnes and Noble to redeem some gift cards that we received. We were there 20 minutes when, yep, he went again. He was playing with the Thomas Train Set at Barnes and Noble as well.
"I can't believe he went again. This is really weird." I mouthed silently to Lauren so other patrons would not think we were loony discussing our kids crapping habits in the kids section.
Not only am I amazed that the kid pooped three times in one day but also he did his business twice in the same day in two different bookstores. I believe I need to start documenting this for a scientific study. Is it the bookstore? Is it Thomas? What is it about being surrounded by books that makes him go?
Did they ever cover this on the X-files?
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