Good and Bad

What makes a difference between one weekend to the next is what you remember.  Once a moment is gone you don't get it back except in the form of a memory. Often memories get clouded over time, as one weekend, one moment, blends into another. But every so often a weekend, a moment, comes by where the memory will be sharpened by how it is/was perceived by other people around you when the moment is happening. A memory, when sharpened correctly, is like a useful tool to be used when needed. A tool for laughs, a tool for learning, a tool for life that you lend to your friends over a couple of drinks. However if it is sharpened by the wrong hands, the memory will, poke, nick and slice the mind.

This past weekend was about making memories. It didn't start out that way. It just was. Sometime making a memory is unintentional. They just become.

Maxfield made his first appearance, ever, on the mound as a pitcher in a baseball game. Max was throwing as expected for his first outing, a little all over the place. But this division of little league has rules set up so kids can develop as pitchers and batters. These rules allow for kids to throw all over the place and encourage batters to look for and swing at good pitches. I, being one of his coaches, tried to take a step back and watch as his father. I took a couple of videos and cheered him on. Out of the corner of my eye I could see something was off. It was clear the coaches from the other team were unaware, uncomfortable and unprepared for this situation. I switched back to coach mode and explained the rules. At that point it was falling on deaf ears. I argued the merits of the rules again but to no avail.

Max's first outing as pitcher was cut short. He was denied a deserved strike-out and was shorted throwing to two more batters. Max looked defeated and slightly embarrassed. He was not taken out due to poor pitching, he was removed because the other coaches were unprepared. But Max's friends and team mates don't know that. I hope this memory, which should have been a good one fades in the minds of Max and his friends. Otherwise it is a good moment gone to a bad memory.

Wyatt and Ander are buddies in kindergarten and are on the same baseball team. Ander's dad recently purchased a camper and invited us over to check it out. After a quick camper tour Ander's dad offered me a beer. We sat at a table in the back yard shooting the breeze as Wyatt and Ander played on a tree swing. I took a step out of dad mode and enjoyed the conversation while the kids played. Out of the corner of my I could see Ander spinning Wyatt in the swing. He kept spinning and spinning. He seemed like he was having fun but something was off. I switched back to dad mode and started to voice my concern but it was too late. Wyatt was not prepared for the situation and said he did not feel well. We helped him out of the swing.

After a minute or two Wyatt behaved as expected and started throwing up. The tomatoes he ate for a snack sputtered out one by one, a little all over the place. Wyatt looked defeated and slightly embarrassed. I hope this memory, which not a pleasant situation, turns into sharpened tool for Wyatt and his friend Ander to use in the future. Wyatt will learn not to spin.  Ander can use it to to tell a funny story over a few drinks about how Wyatt threw-up in his back yard. A bad moment turns into a good memory.

Almost every night I ask my kids what were their favorite parts of the day. This gives me a chance to talk to them and learn from them. Sometimes their answer is one line. Other times the answers turn into discussions about the day.

Last night I asked the kids what was their favorite part of the weekened.

Maxfield took a few moments to think. He mentioned having a friend over on Saturday, going over a different friends house on Sunday and also that he participated in a run that morning. He did not mention baseball, which is good and possibly bad. I will wait to see how this memory forms.

Wyatt on the other hand, when I asked him his favorite part, without taking a breath said. "Barfing on Ander's yard."

Edible

The whole thing started off innocent enough. Lauren, my lovely wife, in an effort to improve her running times and become more fit read a book call Brain Training For Runners. The book covers the mental aspects of training your body. Every few days Lauren would tell me about her discoveries in the book and how she implemented them into her work outs. I admit most were fascinating, but not enough for me to actually try. I believe somewhere in that book it mentioned that certain kind of foods increase the body's and brain's ability to function as an athlete.

This lead Lauren down a path of reading books about nutrition for athletes. Every so often she would tell me about certain foods she was trying. I started noticing a few different types of food containers in the pantry or fridge. Again fascinating discoveries about food that I never implemented into my routines.

Somewhere in the food book Lauren read about the book called the China Study and the documentary film Forks Over Knives which she of course got both from the library. Lauren discovered all kinds of great information in both sources. The overall message was one can reduce chronic illness and diseases and enhance their overall health by adopting a whole foods plant based diet and reducing the intake of processed foods. As Lauren started adopting these changes into our household I noticed Lauren was preparing our family meals a bit different. We were eating more salads, fruits, vegetables and whole grains. I, again, was noticing different types of food packages and containers in our pantry. Labels that read quinoa, tofu and soy were replacing certain staples of Lauren's cooking repertoire.

Lauren and I discussed our diets. Unlike the other discoveries I felt changing our diet was something in which I could participate. We both agreed that we were not eliminating all meat or processed foods but that we would be more conscientious of food labels. We would try to buy products that listed "true" ingredients with no artificial additives or fillers. All of the changes we were making were gradual.

The other night, after everyone was in bed, I had a hankering for snack. Earlier I spotted a few packages of hot dogs crammed in the freezer and I knew that one or two dogs would satisfy my craving. I noticed that the packaging was different than the usual hot dogs we buy and I thought that Lauren must have bought a "healthier" hot dog (if there is such a thing). I took a closer look at the label and did a double take.

This is what I saw.

I thought Lauren was taking the healthy eating true ingredients thing a bit too far.

I had three anus dogs that night. They were yummy.

My Mom is #1

When we were younger, pre-teens, we were not allowed to curse. My parents rarely swore or used any type of bad language. I should say my dad rarely swore or used bad language. My mother, on the other hand, would use shit, damn, hell and bitch, but always in context and most likely due to one of us kids driving her crazy. She usually cursed towards the end of the day when her patience would be running out. Here are some examples.


Example 1
Kid: Mom? Michael stuck a quarter up his nose and we can’t get it out.
Mom: Shit.

Example 2
Kid: Mom? I think you left the spaghetti on the stove too long. It is bubbling all over the place.
Mom: Damn it.

Example 3:
Kid: Mom? I think we broke Bobby’s (my best friend and the kid across the street) collarbone.
Mom: Aw Hell. I will call Midge.

Example 4
Kid: Mom? Michael stuck his head in the radiator and he can’t get it out.
Mom: Son of a bitch. He will have to wait until his father gets home.

There was one swear word she would use if she was really, really mad and it was usually only uttered if someone spilled their milk at the dinner table. Spilling a drink at the dinner table was one of worst crimes we could commit. It drove my mother batty.

Kid: (Knocks over glass)
Mom: Jesusmaryandjospeh.

My parent’s rarely fought in front of us as well. Sure they would get mad at each other but most arguments, if there was an argument, happened behind closed doors, out of the earshot of the kids. As we all grew and entered our teenage years we could get away with a few four letter words as long as they were not directed towards another sibling. Any curses spoken to or about another sibling that was overheard by my mom resulted in our mouths being washed out with soap. Also, as we were all mostly in our teenage years my parents became a little more relaxed about their arguing in front of us.

I remember the first time I saw my mom directing a middle finger gesture to my dad. I was about 16 and I was shocked. I asked her why it was okay for her to flip the bird to my dad when if I did it I would get a bar of Irish Spring as a snack. My mom’s response was quick.

“I wasn’t giving him the finger. I was telling him I think he is Number One.”

Calling someone Number One is now sort of a term of endearment for me. If someone has a smart-ass comment with me, if someone is busting my stones, or if I am having a playful argument I usually call that person Number One.


If you live in the Philadelphia area the Camden River Sharks are hosting a Mother's appreciation night on Wednesday, May 16. As part of the game, mothers can receive free admission to the game by presenting their Mother’s Day Card at the Box Office the day of the game. The River Sharks are also sponsoring an essay contest go here for details.


 
If you need a gift for mom, check out this cool game. Mother the Game.The boardgame for anybody who's ever had one. Players must choose a type of Mother: Passive-Aggressive, Overbearing, Doting, or Best Friend, and then answer a variety of trivia, role playing, and other mother-related questions pertaining to the specific Mother they have chosen.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mother's. But remember my mom is #1.

Broadstreet Run

"Agent Meakim, your government needs you." Agent Spider barked.


Agent Spiderw was the head of F.A.R.T.E.R, Fast Action Response Team Emergency Runners. Spider was the top recruiter for the secret government agency.

"Are you up for this mission?" Spider barked again. "You're the only one that can do this."

Agent Meakim listened as Spider described the mission. On May 6th 2012 the Biological Underground Guerrilla Soldiers, or B.U.G.S. as they were known, were planning on releasing a silent but deadly toxin throughout the city of Philadelphia. They were going to use the annual Blue Cross Blue Shield Broad Street Run as cover. Agent Meakim would need to run 10 miles, from one end of Philadelphia to the other, carrying a secret Antidote for the biological weapon. Meakim would need to run in the middle of 40,000 other people exposing as many to the antidote as possible. However Meakim also needed to get the antidote to the end location in under an hour and 28 minutes to prevent the silent but deadly toxin for spreading. Meakim did not want to let the people down and agreed to the mission.

Meakim would need to train for a few months in order to make the time. January through April agent Meakim trained in the cold, the rain, early mornings, late at night to prepare for this test.

On the morning of May 6th Agent Meakim woke up at 2:30 AM with a severe stomach bug. She was up all night. There was no way she was going to be able to complete the mission. The people of Philly were doomed. Luckily Agent Meakim had a back-up plan. Under the guise of living a healthier lifestyle Agent Meakim talked her husband into training for the same race. She explained the situation, he would now have to be the secret F.A.R.T.ER., a task she thought he could surely handle. After all, he too had trained hard all winter to run this race. He even went as far as losing an extra 8 lbs to help improve his time. Bill had some doubts. Last year Bill ran the same race in 1:46:- ish but he was Agent Meakim's only hope.

Bill Meakim had to attend the race without his companion and inspiration, but he had a mission to complete. He was determined to be the best F.A.R.T.E.R. ever. Due to his wife being very ill and the fact that he could not find his good luck wristbands Bill got off to a late start. He arrived at the subway station 20 minutes after he originally planned. This filled him with anxiety, Bill always likes to be early. Distracted by inspecting his backpack for his post run change of clothes and his special running shoes, Bill mistakenly followed the crowd and jumped on the local stop subway instead of the express which put him another 20 minutes behind. By the time Bill got to the starting line he missed the buses that would take his gear to the finish line. Bill now had to run the 10 miles with an extra 8 to 10 pounds on his back.

Bill, wearing his green and grey Vibram running shoes, a brown school bag back pack, red shorts a grey shirt and without his lucky wristbands marched towards the starting line. The last time Bill ran 10 miles his time was over the hour twenty eight mark. He was alone with 40, 000 other people. Sweat was already trickling down his back as the anxiety engulfed him. The air horn sounded and Bill took off running.

Bill's time for the first mile was 7:39. He was doing great, except he knew he started off too strong. He ran mile two a little slower, coming in at 8:03 pace. By mile four Bill finally found a comfortable pace at 8:50 ish but would it be enough? He was getting slower. Bill knew he had to get the antidote to the end. He reached into his pocket for a handful of jelly beans. Lots of runners use jelly beans for the sugar and the pick up they provide. These beans were now provided the extra fuel for Bill Meakim F.A.R.T.E.R. Agent.

Mile 7 and 8 proved difficult for Bill. His legs felt weak. The back pack was causing irritation and pain. His mind started to wonder off the task at hand. He thought of his wife at home, affected by the bug. The bug, the B.U.G.S. The enemy had gotten to her. Bill threw another handful of beans into his mouth and he picked up his pace. He ran hard. He felt like he was breaking the wind. He knew he had to put the F in F.A.R.T.E.R.

The last two miles were a blur. Bill checked his watch as he crossed the finish. 1:27:58 He did it. He saved the city of Philadelphia.

Special agent Spider greeted Bill with a smile.

"You had me worried there back at mile 7." Spider said. His voice sounding as if someone had stepped on a duck. "Flat, you went. Flat."

"Well I did not want to let you or my wife down." Bill responded. "I still had some gas left in the end."

Special agent Spider awarded Bill a medal and asked him to stick around and celebrate.

Bill refused. He wanted to return to his wife as soon as possible. He saved some of the antidote for her.

Besides he did not want anyone to know that he was a F.A.R.T.E.R.




---I ran the Broad Street 10 Mile race. My official time was 1 hour, 27 minutes. 56 seconds, almost 20 minutes faster than I ran last year. Lauren, who trained for four months was too sick to run. I was happy and proud of my time but the accomplishment kind of sucks when there is no one there to celebrate with you.

Batteries

I like Batteries. I like them of all sizes but I prefer C Batteries and 9 Volt batteries. You know what you are getting with these. They have their functional uses but are also designed for more fun equipment. They usually fit perfectly, with the round nub like terminals facing the same way (not all flip floppy back and forth + to - needing six to get the job done, like Double and Triple As). The C and 9 Volt batteries do not need springs to keep them in place They are easier to store and have a good heft to them. What can I say, I have a preference.


When I was younger and less mature I used to equate bra sizes to batteries well, actually the size of what was int he bra. D-cell batteries, the largest of  common household batteries, used to power large flashlights, mega-phones and large radios, were equivalent as a D Cup bra. C-cell batteries, the next size down, the most versatile and widely used batteries for fun things like remote control cars, toy trucks and other cool toys were equal to a C Cup. There is no B size battery so I called the B Cup a 9-Volt. 9 Volt batteries are most commonly used for smoke detectors, Walkie-Talkies and RC controllers. The 9Volt was fun but also had a practical side.  Of course the smallest of the common batteries are the AA (double A) and AAA (triple A) batteries which are used in cameras, small electronics, TV remote controls and min-flashlights. Nothing great but they got the job done.

Now read the first paragraph again.

Since the beginning the of the year my wife and I have been making a concerted effort to exercise, eat better, and lose weight. As of this posting Lauren has lost over 20 lbs and I am down 14. I do not think Lauren was ever in a position that she needed to lose any weight but I support her decision to get trimmer and more fit. Not only does Lauren run 40 miles or so a week but she also does weight lifting. She looks great. The best part of her look is the smile she wears from the confidence she now has now that she is more comfortable in her body. A side effect of the weight loss though has been she has not been able to determine where on her body she is losing weight. Let me just say, when I met her, before kids, she was the power of a toy truck. Now she powers digital cameras.

 MYy workouts have only consist of running. I have lost weight in my legs, belly and hips. But since I do not do any weight training the upper part of my body is looking rather large and flabby. I ran a 10 mile race last weekend where professional photographers were shooting pics of runners for purchase. The day after the race I went to the photography website to check out if I was in any of the pictures. I was horrified at what I saw. The combination of the light rain and sweat made my shirt stick to my chest. Let's say I could power a boom box.

I need to figure out a way to support my Man-Batteries.

Training Days

I have said in the past that whoever coined the phrase "terrible twos" never had a three year old.

Jackson at 3 and half is quickly moving out of toddler hood and shifting to being a little boy. Having two older brothers is getting him advanced placement classes into boyhood. Jackson knows all about stick weapons. He has perfected sand/dirt/mud throwing. He loves the word "butt" and uses it often to get a laugh. He can whine "that's no fair" like the best of them. He loves to fart and is proud of it.  And recently Jackson has learned how to spit. He spits on everything. His distance needs a little work but he is doing great with his accuracy. Lauren and I have been guiding Jackson through this transition with lots of deep sighs, eye rolls, slow growling statements of "What. did. you. do.", and plenty of time-outs.

When Jackson turned three we thought that was a good time for him to give up his pacifier. That was a struggle which we are still dealing with. Although Jax has not had a binky in 4 months, he still suffers serious withdraw and ends up sleeping in our bed most nights. At first it was okay with us because we understood that he needed comfort. Now we are trying to break him of sleeping-in-our-bed habit.

Part of the transition into boyhood, which he has no interest in figuring out, is learning to use the toilet for its designed purpose. He already knows how to put toys in it, splash in it and of course spit in it but actually getting him to go on it is going to be a challenge.

Potty training is tough work. Once a boy thinks he has learned to go by himself they want nothing to do with diapers. There are lots of accidents and messes to clean. One of the big headaches of training is the night time accidents. Changing sheets and pajamas at 3 in the morning sucks. GoodNites , the makers of bed wetting underwear, have a new product out called the BedMats, which I just know will help with the middle of the night clean-ups. Although the BedMats were made with older kids in mind (ages 4 to 6), I am going to be using them while training Jackson. They appear easy to use, easy to clean up, and fit typical standard twin beds. GoodNites does not recommend the use of BedMats for children under the age of three.

GoodNites is about building a kid's confidence and educating parents about the issues of bed wetting. I have partnered with GoodNites in the past, they make a great product and have great information on their website. They agreed to send me a trial pack of BedMats. The BedMats are 2.5 ft by 3ft in size. They seem to adhere to the sheets just fine and they are much quieter than I thought they would be (sometimes plastic makes that swoosh-swoosh noise). GoodNites BedMats , are great to take on sleepovers or on vacation just for the added protection to grand mom's guest room mattress. I have not tried them yet on my bed but the size is perfect to fit between my wife and I, which is where Jackson spends most of his nights.

GoodNites has offered me the opportunity to give away a trial pack of their BedMats along with a Confidence Booster kit, which includes a sheet set, a clock and a $50- Visa Gift Card to one of the readers of Poop and Boogies. If you would like a chance to win this cool little prize pack just leave me a comment here, or on Facebook before midnight April 18th. I will select one random comment for the prize. Please make sure you leave me a valid way to contact you if you are chosen. Even if you don't need the BedMats  a $50- Visa Gift Card is cool.

If you don't know what to leave as a comment I suggest a poem. This is an old poem. "Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, that's what little boys are made from. Sugar and spice, and everything nice, that's what little girls are made from."

This is my poem to describe Jackson.
Smiles and Wit and lots of Spit. That's what Jackson is made from.

Using the same format describe your kid.

Disclaimer.

“GoodNites® provided me with a pack of GoodNites® Bed Mats and a Confidence Booster Kit to conduct a reader giveaway. However, my opinions on the product are entirely my own and I have not been paid to publish positive sentiments towards GoodNites® or their products.”

To the Rescue

Some of the following story may be embellished just a bit.

You know the saying "the camera adds 10 pounds",  I believe there should be an addition to that stating pictures posted to Facebook add another ten.

In an effort to lose two of the three chins I have, I decided to make a concerted effort to lose 18 pounds. That is 9 pounds a chin. The best way to lose weight is a combination of diet and exercise.

Almost every day, I take my lunch hour and run between 3 and 5 miles at very nice township park close to my office. The park has various paths of different distances that circle, cut through, criss-cross and interweave the playground, soccer fields, pavilions and small preserved wooded and grass nature areas. The largest paved path circles the perimeter of the 100 acre park with a lap distance of 1.2 miles.

I think I recently posted about how I have been running with Vibram Five Finger Shoes which causes a few stares and a few questions from other people at the park.

On very cold days I also wear a Balaclava , long dark parts and a long sleeved dark running shirt. Some days I look like a ninja with iPod wires dangling out of my neck.

About a month ago I went on my lunch time run on a very cold but sunny say. I was making great time with my first mile at an 8:15 pace. I ran past the main pavilion and started to make the first turn that headed towards the nature areas. About 10 yards ahead of me I noticed a big bunch of keys in the middle of the path. Without missing a step and keeping pace I gracefully swept up the keys in my right hand. I knew someone would be in desperate need of these keys. I figured I would get back to the parking lot and see if anyone was missing keys. Or I could hit the panic button on the key fab setting off the alarm and wait to see who would claim the large heavy key filled ring. It was cold day so the park was not that crowded.

I made the second turn on the outer path which tucks behind some tall grasses and clusters of trees. This part of the track also dips down off of a small knoll for about 150 yards. This is only part of the track that is not visible from the main park. I looked up ahead and noticed a blond woman, about 50 years old, walking towards me. She had a worried look on her red face. Her hand was placed across her upper chest and she was clearly out of breath. I held up the keys and yelled, "DID YOU LOSE YOUR KEYS?"

She nodded.  A faint look of relief replaced the wrinkles on her face. As I ran closer I realized that the woman was Marion from my office.

I slowed down and handed her the keys. I started to run in place.

"DO YOU WANT TO RUN TOGETHER?"

She shook her head and gave me a perturbed look.

"C'MON, LET'S GO. YOU CAME OUT HERE TO RUN, RIGHT?"

I nudged her elbow and made her turn in the direction I was heading. She resisted. Her eyes went wide. I gave her a funny look and realized that since I had my Balaclava on she did not recognize me. This is what she saw.

I quickly removed the mask. Her look went from worried to perplexed to embarrassed.

"C'MON LET'S RUN. WE'LL FINISH UP OVER BY," I turned down the volume on my ipod, " THE PARking lot."

She turned and started to jog with me. We ran about fifty yards when she started to cough and wheeze. She sounded horrible. Red blotches bloomed from her cheeks and tears filled her eyes.

"I can't do this." She rasped, sounding like an old lady who had smoked for 60 years. She stumbled.

With lightning like reflexes I reached out and steadied her preventing her from falling. I slowed down and asked if she was okay.

"I...can't...breath." She choked out.

We were at the point on the path that was the furthest away from the parking lot. I stopped running.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Marion explained, between huffing and puffing, that she too was running on the path but was overcome with an asthma attack. She started towards her car when she realized she lost her keys. She had to backtrack to find them. She then started to panic because she was alone, couldn't breath, she was the furthest point away from he car, and was in a spot where no one could see her if she passed out. She was happy to see me with her keys but did not know who I was. Besides the balaclava, the tighter running shirt and pants and my muscular physique must have thrown her off. When she discovered it was someone she knew she was embarrassed.

I escorted her across the fields and made sure she made it back to the office.

Basically, as I like to tell her almost everyday, I saved her life. I was like a superhero, mask and all.





I have tried a few different websites to monitor my diet. The two I liked best were SlimKicker and Lose It. My wife Lauren is having great success with Lose It (she has worked off about 20lbs) and that is now my preferred calorie counting site. So far I am down 1 chin.

Cheat

A day does not go by that I do not think of her. Some days I miss her, other days I feel indifferent, but I still think of her. She was a big part of my life.

She was part of my life when I met Lauren. At first Lauren was okay with her being around but as time wore on Lauren told me I needed to get rid of her. I tried. I would go a month, maybe two. Then I would see her with someone else and it would remind me of all the good times. I would bring her back. She made me feel good and I always felt I deserved to feel good.

Lauren caught me a few times. Lauren said she could smell her. Lauren would plead with me. I would feel guilty.  I would tell Lauren it was over. And it was. For a month or two. I would go back. I would sneak around trying to find moments to be alone with her.

Lauren and I were married. I did my best not to bring her around. I was starting a new life and did not need the baggage she would bring.

I was sitting in a bar not too long after having our first child. I saw her from across the room. She was dancing with a group of people. The way she gracefully swayed, entangling her way amongst her friends, the way she sparkled, bringing smiles to the faces of the people she was with mesmerized me. I had to have her again.

I missed her. I missed how she made me feel. I missed her scent. I missed the taste of her on my lips. I went back to her. I knew I could not bring her around my children. What would they think? She was a bad influence on me, she would be a bad influence on my kids. But I had to have her.

I went back to sneaking around. I would not see her all the time or as much as I used to but every now and then I would find a way to be with her. I think Lauren knew but she was too busy with the kids to make a argument. I think Lauren wanted to give me some space, let me figure things out.

I finally did. One day I came to realize what was important. I stopped smoking cigarettes four years ago.

I enjoyed smoking. Sure, I was addicted but I enjoyed smoking. Cigarettes were a big part of my life. It was a difficult habit to break. A day does not go by that I do not think of smoking. Some days I miss cigarettes, other days I feel indifferent, but I still think of cigarettes.

Book Pimping

Baseball season is here. I am coaching Wyatt's T-ball team, the Astros, and helping with Maxfield's Machine Pitch team. With two teams to coach, Scout meetings to attend, races to run, "my wife to murder and Guilder to Frame for it" I'm swamped.

It figures during one of my busiest times of the year is also the time that some of favorite authors/writers are releasing new books. Harlan Coben's Stay Close came out last week, Lisa Scottoline has a new one in two weeks, as well as the few I am going to mention below.  I have said in the past I am a slow reader by the time I get around to any of their books they will be publishing their next one.

Eve Mont, my friend and once fellow young Bohemian, is releasing her her latest YA book called A Breath of Eyre. It hits stores tomorrow. If you are a fan of the Bronte Jane Eyre book, I am pretty sure you will like Mont's book. Check out this website for a better description. YA books are all the rage as of late with the Hunger Games and what not and I bet Eve Mont's characters will be just as endearing. I probably will be the only 40 year old man at her signing in Doylestown this weekend. Do you think people will find me creepy?

Brad Meltzer has a new book coming out on April 10th called Heroes for My Daughter. This book is the second of a pair. The first book of the duo Heroes for My Son is one of my favorite books. Meltzer's publisher sent me an advanced copy of Heroes for my Daughter and it is just as good as the "Sons" book. Filled with 50 different Heroes, Meltzer does and excellent job of encapsulating what makes, what most readers would think are extraordinary people, ordinary. By making these heroes ordinary only magnifies their incredible accomplishments. Meltzer never ceases to amaze me with his skill.

Fellow blogger Jenny Lawson's debut novel Let's Pretend This Never Happened is due to be released April 17th. Jenny also known as the Bloggess is one of the funniest people on the Internet (read about the dangers of towel shopping). She is also one of the kindest (read about a sort of holiday miracle here). I believe the book will be all of that kindness and humor without the hyper-links.

If you enjoy reading go and check out these books.
That is 5 books in a a little over a few weeks that I feel the need to read. I may be a bit overwhelmed.

Speaking of overwhelming, every team in the history of Little League has that "one" kid on it. You know the "one" bad kid. The "one" kid that does not listen. The "one" kid that goofs off. Wyatt is that "one" kid on his team. Not only does he not pay attention he also distracts the other players.

This is Wyatt performing some type of Ninja move.

Bike Test

I have posted this story a few years ago. Maxfield turned 8 last week causing this memory to keep popping up.


When we, my 8 siblings and I, were growing up, before we could ride a bike in the street we had to take a bike test.

I learned to ride a bike, I guess, when I was 5 or 6. It was hand me down Big Wheels before that. But once we mastered the two wheel regular bikes we could only ride in the driveway or on the sidewalk. We were not allowed to cross the street on the bike. We weren’t even allowed to walk the bike across the street. We were only allowed to go around the block, on the sidewalk. We had to wait until our 7th or 8th birthday (I can’t remember) for my father to administer the Bike Test before we could venture out onto the street. Going around the block for a whole year was quite boring.

Dad felt that if we were going to ride in the street that at least we would have to be safe. The bike test was the first step in being able to ride with your friends or even older brothers. It was the test to be somewhat free.

The Bike Test was hard, especially to an 8 year old.

The test started in the driveway. We had to make a right, heading North onto Street X. Make a right, heading East onto street Y. Make a u-turn without hitting the curb and head West, stop at the stop sign, cross Street X and head up the small hill. We then had to make another U-turn and head East again, stop at the stop sign make right onto Street X and then a left into our driveway. If we could complete this course, not too fast or too slow (yes you could get penalized for being too slow) using all of the correct hand signals, stopping where we were supposed to, we would pass the test. We would be free to ride our bikes in the street. We would be free.

Not one of my brothers or my sister ever passed on the first try.

The second stop sign got me. I went right through it. I was coming down the hill; I was making a right hand turn, I looked, no cars were coming, what’s the big deal?
It was a big deal. I had to wait another two weeks before I could take the test again. I had to wait 14 days before I could ride with my friends. It was embarrassing.

There go my brothers and the rest of the kids from the neighborhood riding down to the park.  I would have to walk. By the time I got to the stickball game it would already be the second inning. Not that any one cared because I sucked at stickball.

These days there are laws about kids wearing helmets. There are lawsuits when a kid gets hit by car, because he crossed the road without looking. There are lawsuits when kids get hurt by their own bikes. Where are the bike tests?

 Maxfield turned 8 last week. I am drawing up my own bike test.

Should I Be Worried

Maxfield and Wyatt attend the local public elementary school. Unlike other school districts in the area which have these huge district wide primary schools that have 10 classes per grade and feel like a Sams club of education, Max and Wyatt's school is a small only two classes per grade, community minded friendly learning environment. At least I hope it is friendly.

One of the perks of our small community school is the Home and School Association volunteers that participate is providing fun events and activities for the kids. They do an excellent job making school fun and probably deserve more credit and thanks then they get. One of the preeminent events the HSA holds is the annual Pine Run Derby Race. Max has participated the past few years. This year is Wyatt's first opportunity to build and car and enter the race. He is very excited.

We collaborate on the assembly and building of the car but the design and decoration is all the kids' doing. This year Max wanted his car to resemble some Lego Ninjago inspired vehicle. It required extra attention on my part to make sure the detailed cuts were exactly how Max wanted them. The car turned out very cool and unique.

Wyatt on the other hand went with a basic car design but his paint job required a different part of my attention.

"How do you want to paint your car?" I asked.

"I want it to have a big hairy spider on it." he responded.

"Eww. I don't like spiders." I said giving him the reaction he wanted. He knows I have a phobia.

"Then I want to paint a skeleton head on it." he said. "I also want a zombie head on it. And a grave yard."

He got more and more excited with each idea.

"And Dad? I also want to paint a coffee pot full of blood on the top. I want lots and lots of blood."

Should I be worried? A coffee pot full of blood? Where does he come up with that?

 Do you think Stephen King had these kinds of conversations with his parents?

Eight

A year before I started the blog Poop and Boogies my oldest child was born. I never did document in the web log form all of those "firsts". Or all of those first time parent feelings of being awed and scared and excited and tired and happy and scared and proud and scared.

A few days after he was born I drove Maxfield home from the hospital doing 15 MPH and cursing under my breath all of those people on the road who would dare drive at 25 while I had a new born in my car. I remember waking up in the middle of the night just to check on him to make sure he was breathing. I remember the overwhelming feeling of being afraid that I would somehow break this new child.

Eight Years later he is still not broken.

I think.

I hope.

My dad used to call me on Max's birthday and wish me a Happy father's day because that is the day I became a father. He would wish Lauren a Happy Mother's day for the same reason.

Happy Father's Day to me.

Not a leap baby

I only get to say "On this day" this particular day every four years.

It was on this day 8 years ago that Maxfield decided it was time to start his entrance into this world. I remember so much and so little from that day.

February 29th 2004 was the due date. It was also the first nice day of that winter. The sun was shining and it was in the low 60’s. Being that we were pent up for most of the winter Lauren and I decided to enjoy the weather by going for a walk around the neighborhood. We left our house hoping to suck up as much sun as possible. It was about 2:30 in the afternoon.

As we left the house we saw all of our neighbors out in their yards also enjoying the weather. We said “hello” to Gary and Julie and other neighbors and all of their kids. I think Rick and his wife, who I can never remember her name, were also out with their kids. They were all standing on Julie’s yard, across the street from our house, watching their kids play. We said we would be back shortly to chat.

Lauren and I turned the corner and were talking about how nice it was outside. Yes it was her due date and we were talking about the weather. We were walking at a slow pace because Lauren was big in the belly. We made it halfway up the block when Lauren grabbed my arm and said, “Oh my God!”

“What?” I replied thinking that maybe she forgot to turn off the Television.

She did not say anything she just kept giggling. A peculiar giggle.

“Did your water just break?” I asked.

“Yeah. And I’m wearing white pants.” she replied. Her eyes went wide with excitement and embarrassmentt.

“What? Do you feel okay? Let’s head home.”

I was too excited. She was worried about her pants.

“Give me a second.” She said as she was inspecting herself.

In my mind I was going through all the things I learned in birthing class. “I have to get her a new COAT. I need to time her breathing. Hell I don’t own a watch. Maybe we can stop at the mall on the way to the hospital to get a watch. I need to get her bags to the car. What did we forget? I have to call my mom and tell her we cannot make it to her Oscar party.” These were only some of my thoughts.

We shuffled back down the block and did our best to sneak past the neighbors across the street. As we approached our house Rose and Paul, the neighbors to our left, pulled up in into the driveway. Rose yelled out, “Hey guys! Don’t go in yet. Sabina wants to say hi.” Sabina was Rose and Paul’s 3-year-old daughter.

Lauren turned to me and through gritted teeth said, “I’m going inside. You can explain.”

We just waved and entered the house. Lauren called the doctor while she changed her clothes. I remember from the class that the baby has to be delivered within 24 hours of the water breaking to reduce the risk of …of….something or other. I knew we were going to be at the hospital for the next few days. Holy crap! I was going to be a dad within 24 hours.

Lauren was not experiencing any labor pains and took her time getting herself together. Once she was ready, I grabbed her suitcase and took it to the car. I would come back to escort her. As I walked out with the suitcase Julie looked over with a puzzling look. Rose, Sabina and Paul were now standing across the street.

“I think it is time.” I yelled over to the gaggle of people gathered on the sidewalk.

“Really?” someone said.

I went back to the house and did a mental check of everything before I was ready to escort Lauren to the car. As I stepped onto the walkway, Rose and Julie came over and asked if we needed anything. I said no.

“I can’t believe this happening.” Rose said.

“I know.” Replied Julie. “It is so exciting that we are here to witness this.”

I went back in the house and told Lauren about the gathering in front of Julie’s house. She mentioned how awkward it was to be going through this with everyone watching. We left the house. The people across the street were talking louder and louder and pointing to us. Lauren and I didn’t really know what to say. We got into the car nodding and smiling.  As we pulled down the street all the neighbors gathered on the sidewalk and started cheering and clapping. I compare it to the end of the move Brubaker, when Robert Redford leaves the prison or to the end of Wizard of OZ when the balloon is about to take off and all the munchkins are waving and cheering. Maxfield would not be born until March 1st, but his entrance was already starting in a very surreal way.


* I originally posted this story in 2006.

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.