Brother can you spare a dime

I know I should not talk about my kid being as cute as he is, but, man he is just buckets full of cuteness in his Halloween costume. Lauren and I went back and forth as to what Maxfield should be this year. I of course like the superhero route. Batman or Superman or maybe one of the X-men. But Lauren convinced me that there is plenty of time for those costumes in the future.
Lauren wanted to try her sewing hand at making a costume and decided on a Hobo outfit. She did an excellent job. She even made the hat.

In an effort to be politically correct we are calling him an "Economically Challenged Person".

Trick or Treat

Two weeks ago I bought a few bags of Halloween candy to give to Trick or Treaters. I have not touched those bags. That is 14 days that candy, such as Butterfingers, Kit-Kats and other good treats, have sat in my house un-opened. Lauren set the rule that that candy was not to be touched. It was reserved fro the kids.

The other day I went and bought another bag of candy. Since that bag did not fall under the original rule, I opened it and have been enjoying it for the past few nights. I technically did not break any rules.

Mood

"What's wrong? All of the sudden you are in a bad mood."

"Oh there is nothing sudden about it. I have been in a bad mood since I woke up."

MooneyAngelo

MooneyAngelo has finally updated after a long hiatus.

No Evil

Hear no Evil.
See No Evil.
Pick No Evil.

Parental Worries

I know there are other really important things that a parent needs to be worried about, such as:
Is he eating right?
Am I too lenient/strict?
Is he sick?
Is he happy?
Should he quit the pacifier cold turkey?

There are many, many others.

But one parental concern has been nagging me for a really long time. When I think about it, I get really anxious and uncomfortable.

When I put Max’s shoes on him I constantly thinking about the stitch in his socks.


Is the stitch to his sock bunched up under the fleshy part of his toes that he is constantly scrunching his toes inside his shoe to make the stitch recede into the space between his toes and the pad of his foot? Once it is there is the stitch too thick for the 3rd and 4th toe (Roast beef toe and the toe that had none)? Think about it, don't you hate when this happend to you?

Is the stitch going straight across the pad/ball of his foot? Is this causing him to walk on his toes?

Did the stitch rotate up on the knuckle of his little toe and causing him severe aggravation where he is “flicking” his little toe, non-stop, inside his sneaker? Will it cause a callous?

Is the sock not pulled on tightly enough, causing a bunch of fabric to be at the front of shoe?

Are the folds of his socks at his ankles causing too much irritation just below the inside anklebone, where the sneaker meets his foot?

Is the sock bunching up between his toes? Especially the big toe and the one next to it.

All of these bother the hell out of me, I am sure they bother Maxfield. But he is only 20 months old. He can’t fix the problem himself. He can’t tell me, or his mother that his socks are bothering him.

Will he remember that I did this to him?

Riding the Storm Out.

Our thoughts and prayers are with those who have suffered from any damage from Wilma. It was our first hurricane and we only saw the very outer edges of the storm. There was heavy rains and wind but we were fine.
What we did to pass the time.
We built a fort.
Taught Max how to make lighstsaber noises with a flashlight.
We watched tree branches fall in the back yard.
We Wrestled.

Music debate.

My parent’s musical influences on me and my sibs were Elvis, Beach Boys, 1950’s Rock and Roll (via Sha-Na-Na), Motown and Neil Diamond. There was many a Sunday afternoon listening to records of these artists. As we got older of course each of us developed our own taste in music. We all pretty much had the same taste; we all liked the same music.

I remember when Pink Floyd’s The Wall made it into our house. My mom had to put up with all us singing, “Mother do you think they are trying to break my balls.” over and over again. We listened to Neil Young and Crazy Horse, singing Powder Finger at the top of our lungs. “Look out Momma there’s a white boat coming up the river”. Notice the mother theme in these songs. We were just serenading my Mom.

There, of course, were arguments over who was the bigger fan: who knew the words to every song. Kevin and Sharon would argue over lyrics to AC/DC’s Back in Black. Who was Little Nemo from Genesis’ “Then There Were Three”? Why did Peter Gabriel Leave? Silly squabbles over music.

My first record album that I bought with my own money was Barry Manilow’s Greatest Hits.

Why Barry Manilow? Because all of the other decent bands and singers were taken. I am the sixth of nine children. My older siblings already had cornered the market on Pink Floyd, Abba, Genesis, Neil Young, Beach Boys, The Who, BeeGees as well as anyone else. As an individual each of tried to stand out from the others. Dan liked Cheap Trick. Sharon liked Peter Frampton. Kevin liked Genesis.

So when it came to music I tried to stand out. Break out from being the middle child. Maybe get noticed for my musical tastes. Barry Manilow was a way to do that. The Lawn Whisperer, the other middle child, chose Andy Gibb.

We argued over who was better.

According to the readers of Poop and Boogies Lawn Whisperer Won. He is very happy.

Now should I be embarrassed about being a Barry Manilow fan? Should Lawnwhisperer be ashamed of Andy Gibb? Or is it even more embarrassing to admit that we know all the words to the songs in Grease 2. (That would be my mom’s influence)

“Who’s that guy? On the motorcycle. What would they say if the knew it was Michael?”

The Great Debate

I need a little help here.
This Great Debate has been ongoing for over 25 years. I would like to settle it by using the opinions of the people that read Poop and Boogies for a little closure on the topic. Since I think the people who comment here can be objective in their opinion I will rely on you to solve this dispute.

If you were, say, 10 or 11 years old back in the early 80’s (remember think like a 10 year old BOY) . Who was cooler (less nerdy, less dorky), which was the better talent to be a big fan of:

Barry Manilow or Andy Gibb.

Happiness

Does life get any better than this? Maybe....If there was beer..... or if this picture was taken at a Hooters....but other than that does life get any better?

Know Your Ologist

Maxfield has to undergo a series of Blood tests to determine why he has a low white blood cell count. So far they have taken his blood 4 times and he is scheduled to have blood drawn 6 more times in the next three weeks.

We need to see a blood specialist after all the results come back.

Lauren called the pediatrician after the last test to check on the results as well as get information about the specialist. She was put on hold so the nurse (the same nurse from this story) could retrieve the info. After a few minutes the nurse comes back to the phone and says,

“Yes Lauren, you were holding to get information about the Oncologist”

(Pause)

(Pause)

(Pause)

Lauren gulps and says, “WHAT?”

The nurse, I guess hearing the concern in Lauren’s voice says “Oh I’m sorry. I meant the Hematologist.”

To which Lauren responded, “Don’t scare me like that!”

I know that in pediactrics Hematology and Oncology go hand in hand. I know there are a lot of Hematologist/Oncologists doctors. But seriously does the nurse have to use the "O" word.

This nurse is absolutely a fucking idiot and has no Phonse-side manners.

First Thanks

Growing up with such a large family of boys, most of my Saturday’s were occupied going to games. Little League baseball, basketball, and football.
If I was not playing I was required to attend my brothers’ games. My parents would not allow me to stay home by myself. Sometimes Saturday’s would be an all day event because 4 or 5 of my brothers would be playing at different times throughout the day.

There was one benefit to attending these all day events. Treats.

Treats are what we called any type of sugary food from the concession stand.
At some point during the 6-hour day, my dad would ask, “Who wants a treat?”
Of course no one ever said “No”.
We (anywhere between 3 and 7 of us) would walk over to the concession area and stand in line as we told my dad what we wanted. He would repeat what we said to the people working. “Bottlecaps, uh, Razzles, Charleston Chew. What? Oh. Billy what flavor Charleston Chew? Strawberry. A Fun Dip. I am not supposed to let you have that. Okay. A Fun Dip. Red Hot Dollars and a Snow Cone.” As the lady working the counter handed my dad each item he would turn around and pass it back.

We would walk back to the area in the bleachers or on the hill that overlooked Field 2 that was designated by one of our parents as the meeting spot. Sitting through a T-ball game and a Minors League blow out (usually the Lawnwhisperer’s team. He was always on a stinky team) did not seem to suck as bad once you had your treat. We would devour our candy and then fight to sit still through the next couple of games. We were not allowed to “horseplay” we were “there to watch the games.”

At some point, when the candy was gone and the wrappers were in the trashcan, someone, sometimes me, sometimes someone else, would say, “Thanks Dad.” Immediately following the first thanks there was an echo of “Thanks Dad.” from everyone else.

In my mind it always felt so good to be the first to say thanks. By being the first to say thanks that meant I was the only one to truly mean it. Everyone else was just saying it because someone else said thanks. I always felt bad not being the first to say it.

As we got older it became a competition to see who could say thanks first. If it was one of my brothers and not me, I would hold my ‘thanks” until later, so my dad knew I meant it. So he wouldn’t think I was just saying thanks because someone else did. Often times I would hold my “Thanks Dad” too long and would forget to say thanks at all.

For every time I forgot.

“Thanks Dad.”

That should cover me for a while. Except that my dad rarely reads Poop and Boogies and I am sure all of my brothers are calling him right now to say thanks so they can beat me to it.

I try to remember

In our bathroom we have two bath towels hanging on the towel rack. Sometimes they are green towels. Sometimes they are white. And sometimes they are pinkish plum color. No matter what the color, the one on the left is mine and the one on the right is Lauren’s. There is the rare occasion that I forget that mine is the one on the left and I use the one on the right.

Lauren hates drying herself with a damp towel.

Da Plane

Friday nights are not what they used to be. This past Friday I think Lauren and I were in Bed by 9 O’clock. There are a couple of reasons for the early snooze time. Maxfield is the number 1 reason. Not only does he wear us out during the day but he also wakes up at 6:30 every morning. That includes Saturdays. Apparently 19-month-old kids do not believe in sleeping in on the weekends.

The other reason that we go to bed so early on Friday nights is, there is nothing to keep us up. I know some families have Friday night traditions like Pizza and a rented movie. Some families make Friday night game night where they will stay up playing board games and such. These ideas don’t work for us because Max goes to bed at 8:00 and I hate losing to Lauren. She kicks my ass at most games.

Hell there is nothing even on television that will keep our interest. I remember growing up that Friday nights was the night to stay up. I remember when I was 10, my bedtime on a school night was 9 o’clock, but on Fridays I got to stay up until 11. Why?

Love Boat and Fantasy Island.

What the hell happened to Friday night TV? There is nothing on worth watching this season. It’s either News Shows like Dateline NBC or 20/20, or shows like Numbers or Threshold. I have never attempted to watch the second two. I am sure these shows do not have as many guest stars in a season as the Love Boat or Fantasy Island would have in ONE night.

I know Three Wishes is on Friday nights, which is kind of like a reality version of Fantasy Island but c’mon without Mr. Roarke and a smattering of Barbi Benton and Tommy Lasorda it just does not work for me.

Mr. October

For the Blogger Swimsuit Calendar.

TOBES

My friend Tobes gets married today.

That is all.

Buzz

I was watching the Daily Buzz this morning and this lady from AOL was on talking about Blog's. She talked about celebrity bloggers like Rosie O'Donnel as well as a few others. She also mentioned some of the top ranked Bloggers who are not celebrities, but gained a celebrity status just from being a blogger.

Then, The AOL Lady said something about the popularity of Blogging that eventually there could be a Blogger Swimsuit Calendar.

I am SO submitting my picture for that calendar.

Is Dis.....DA?

William is out today. Today's guest Blogger is, The One, The Only, The most Beautiful woman in the world and the best wife a guy could have. LAUREN


Is Dis...... DA??

As any parent knows, a toddlers many developmental milestones are a source for extreme joy, endless frustration, and at times, downright terror. Maxfield is certainly no exception to this rule (although, at times it seems he has more than his fair share in the terror department). Everyday, he is learning new things, new phrases, new ways to move his body, new PLAYTHINGS on his body. And having a grand ol' time exploring it all. However, for the past six months or so, he has been plagued by the same eternal question:

"Is dis... da?"

Now I ask myself, how is it that a 19 month old child can learn in a few short minutes, "What does an owl say?"
"Hoo, hoo", he responds with amazing clarity. I, however, after six months, am still perplexed by the ever ambiguous, "Is dis...da?"

I wrack my brain with the details of this little phrase, searching for clues into the psyche of my child. When does he say it? What is he doing when he says it? What does it sound like he could be saying? The truth is, he could be doing anything when he says it. There is no recognizable correlation between events/activities and said phrase. This morning, he picked up my checkbook while I was doing the bills, handed it to me, and said, "Is dis da?" Then, only a few short minutes later, while captivated by Elmo, he pronounced, "Is dis..... DAAAA!!!"

Now, there is the occasional variation, "Is dis... dis?", "Is dis... da, da, da,da?", but nothing that gives any more insight into this mystery question. Obviously, he is trying to communicate, but what is he saying? I have laid in bed many a night pondering possible translations:

"Is this dad?", "Is fish dead?","Juice the dog?"
Maybe we will never know, but in the meantime, I'm sticking with my favorite, "Is this love?

(Whitesnake music playing softly).

Lunch Money

I posted last week about bringing my lunch to school. It got me to thinking about when I would purchase my lunches in the cafeteria.

Once I entered Junior High/Middle School I no longer had to pack my lunch. I actually got to buy my lunch in the cafeteria. I know a lot of people complain about school cafeteria food but when you are 11 and you actually get to eat spaghetti and meat sauce from a can (think Chef Boyardee) on a regular basis because that is what the school served, it IS GOOD. A lunch platter at that time cost 80cents.

Since we were a large family and met certain criteria we were issued a card for discount lunches. I called it Well-fare lunches, although it was not. The card that was issued was the size of a baseball card and had 10 spaces on it. Monday through Friday. The card was valid for two weeks. Every two weeks I had to go to the school office to get a new card.

I would go through the line, present the card and pay half for the lunch, which was 40cents. The only problem with this card was that it was yellow. Big Bird Yellow. There was a slight embarrassment every time I would present the card. Not only could the other students see I was presenting a discount card, and of course would heckle me, but the lady at the register with the hair net, always rang up the wrong amount. She was so used to hitting the 80cent button that she would get all flustered, moan something under her breath, and have to void the transaction, re-ring it into the register and punch the hole in the card. So the embarrassment level went up a bit because I was also holding up the line.

In the beginning of the school year, because of this process and the uneasy feeling I rarely used the card. I would buy whatever items I could for the 40 cents that I was given to me every morning. I don’t know if someone ratted me out, but eventually I got into trouble for not using my card.

My dad, being the genius that he is, decided on a different approach. He was going to let me decide. He was giving me control. He said something like “You can decide whether you eat lunch or not. I will give you 5 dollars every two weeks. Whatever you don’t spend you can keep. I expect you to buy lunch with it, but you decide what you want to do with it.”

5 bucks! Wow I could buy the full price lunch 3 times a week. Then I thought it through. If I used the discount card at 40 cents I would have 50cents left over every week. Comic books were 40 cents at the time, so every two weeks I could buy 2 comic books. Man, my dad rocked. He was paying me one comic book a week to eat lunch. There was no embarrassment using the card anymore because I had something to show for it at the end of the week.

Then I thought it through even further. If I would just buy milk and a Jell-O every day it would only cost 20 cents. I would have 3 bucks left over at the end of the two weeks. That was 7 comic books every two weeks. I was still buying "lunch" with the money so my parent's couldn't be mad.

So that is what I did. I would pour the milk over the Jell-O and I would slurp it up with a straw (seriously drinking Jell-O with a straw was fun, try it). Everyda, for a few months, I had Jell-O and milk for lunch.


Then my parent's started to check the card to make sure it was punched. Either someone ratted me out again, or the boxes of comic books gave it away.

It was good racket while it lasted.

"I'm just blogging." 

All boy.  

Blessing for Maude

My parents said prayers every night with us. I try to continue that same practice with Maxfield. Whenever I put him to bed I usually go through the same prayers that my parents used, of course somewhat catered to my family.

Once I get Max settled into the crib I start reciting the prayers. I say them as if Max was saying them. I start with the Guardian Angel Prayer “Angel of God, My guardian Dear…..” After that is done I go into the God bless stage, “God bless Mommy and Daddy, Mom Mom and Pop Pop, MaMa and Pa, All my aunts and uncles, All my cousins, God bless Mr. Miyagi*, Aunt Bridget**, God bless all the poor and unhappy people and God bless me.”

Last night as I was rattling through the list my tongue got twisted and I finished with “God bless BE.”

Lauren who was standing behind me giggled and said “Yes God, please bless Bea Arthur.”




*Mr. Miyagi is the nick name for Max’s Godfather
**Aunt Bridget is Max’s Godmother and not really his aunt

School Lunch

I brought my lunch to work the other day. I put a can of tuna in the bread bag with the last two pieces of bread.

This was how I use to carry my lunch to school.
My mom would make us peanut butter and jelly, some chips or cookies and piece of fruit. She would use left over bread bags as out lunch bag. I kind of recall maybe having a “Bigfoot and Wildboy” lunchbox or maybe it was a super friends lunchbox (with Zan and Jana and Gleek not Wendy and Marvin) in 2nd or 3rd grade. But by 4th and 5th grade, most of my lunches were packed in Wonderbread bags.

I remember being mortified at the fact that while other kids had the typical brown paper bags I was carrying a big semi-see through red, yellow and blue polka dotted bag weighed down at the bottom with an apple. This always bothered me because the length of the bag was about half my height so usually I would be dragging it. The other thought that always got me was, the fact that we would use the old bread bags to put on our feet in rainy or snowy weather. The bags would make our boots slide on easier as well as keep our feet dry. I don’t recall if my lunches ever had a feet smell to them but the thought sometimes made me lose my appetite.

While sitting in the cafeteria I would sit and watch other kids display their cool bags or “Dukes of Hazard” lunchboxes. They would display (yes display is what it felt like at the time) such awesome lunches. Snack Pak pudding snacks. Tiny bags of chips from the actual manufacturers. Store bought sandwiches. Cans of soda. Man I would kill for that.

I would try to empty the contents of the bag (which would be crushed by lunchtime by the weight of the fruit) as quickly as I could so the other kids would not see the bag itself. Spread out on the table would be the PB& J in a sandwich bag, the piece of fruit, and usually a sandwich bag of chips or crackers (unless my dad made lunch then the chips would just be thrown in the bread bag loose) a piece of paper, a penny and a nickel. I would take the 6 cents and buy milk.

Of course the trading would commence. No one ever wanted to trade with me. Seriously why would you trade a chocolate pudding cup for pretzel crumbs? Of course there was always the ribbing that I never would have anything good to trade; that my lunch stunk. They would joke that I shouldn’t eat it all because whatever was left over I had to give to my younger brother so he would have lunch (this of course was not the case).

As the other kids would flaunt their candy bars and prepackaged goods, they would say things like “I bet you wish you had pudding.” or “Ooooh, look I got a Hershey bar.” ,I would reach for the piece of paper that was with my lunch. I would open it and it would read:

Billy,
Have a nice day at school.
I love you.

Mom

I would smile and look at the kids at the table and I would say, “Sure you got chocolate pudding but my mom loves me.” And that would shut them up. Until the next day.

Mom

My mom has a love/hate relationship with Poop and Boggies the blog. Since she lives a thousand a miles away she tries to come here almost everyday to see what is going on in her 7th favorite son's life. She also enjoys seeing pictures of her 17th granchild (probably her 19th favorite) as well as reading about how Maxfield is doing.

She hates it because she thinks I reveal too much personal information and that people I don't know in real life, read that information. She is also afraid I may embarrass her.

Everything I post here is true. I do not make any of it up. I work real hard to tell the stories as if I was hanging out with my brothers or my friends and was going to tell them the story. I try to post funny stories because who wants to read a sad boring blog? I just don't tell or post the un funny stories that happen to me.

This is the email I received from my mom the other day.

"Two funny episodes, back to back! Who would have thought you would have eaten that taco?Not me! You are funny. How do you put personal stuff on line? Are you really looking for the laughs? The time you're posting your blog, you and Lauren could be doing "it". Use your time wisely! Love, Mom"

She wonders where I get it from. My reply to her email.

"Thanks mom you just gave me my next post."

I love you mom.

View from the minvan 

Recipe for a good lunch

Take the left over taco ingredients from the night before. Wrap the ground beef, shredded cheese, lettuce, tomato, sour cream, jalapeno's in a large soft flour tortilla. Cover with foil.

Leave on the dashboard of the car in the Florida sun for 4 hours.
Use key fob to unlock the car.
Retrieve taco.
Remove foil.
Eat.


To ensure melty goodness and proper gooey cheese distributiuon, rotate the wrapped taco at about 10 am.

Quality Time

“We need some us time.” She said as I was squinting to see the time on the digital clock. It read 10:15pm.
“Oh I ...(YAWN) totally agree (wink, wink, nudge nudge).”
“We should do more together than just watch TV.”
“It’s so rough. When I get home from work we still have to eat, clean up the dishes, walk the dog, lock up the cats, play with Max, give him a bath, clean up the living room, get him to bed, by the time we do all that it is already 8 o’clock. We are tired. There is nothing wrong with watching TV. Especially if there are shows on we enjoy.”
“I know,” she said as she fluffed her pillows, “With the new season of shows there is so much to watch. It’s hard, but we should make an effort to connect more.”
“Yeah.” I replied as I set the alarm for the next morning. “Once we put him to bed, I mean it is only 8 O’clock. That is when we should (YAWN)…you know. (wink wink nudge nudge).”

“Yes. I know. You’re right. I guess I could miss the first two minutes of Survivor.”

It even has that "new car" smell. 

Like Mommy like Son.