E.I.E.I.O

I can’t eat a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup without thinking of Mark McMahon.
When I was a kid, and we returned home from Trick-or-Treating my mom always used to check our candy. We would dump the contents of our pillowcases on the kitchen table and with the help of my mom and dad we would make sure that all the candy packages were sealed and that there were no razor blades in any of the apples. Part of checking the candy would consist of taking all of the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups that we received and set them aside. There was a boy, Mark McMahon, in our neighborhood who was allergic to most foods. The only candy he could eat was Reese’s because they were all natural.

My mom always let us keep one or two, but the rest had to go to Mark. She assured us that he would trade us, piece for piece, with what he brought home in his Halloween bag. Each of us kids would tell my mom what we wanted in trade. I always wanted Tootsie Rolls. They were and still are my favorite candy. My mom would gather all the peanut butter cups and would tell us she would make the trade with Mrs. McMahon the next day.

I am sure there were five or six of us kids who gave up our peanut butter cups each Halloween. I estimate that we probably each gave four or five of the Reese’s to the cause. That is about 25 peanut butter cups out for trade. Most of us would forget the fact that we had some candy coming back to us because we already had so much other goodies that it didn’t really matter.

Now that I think about it I don’t think I ever got any of my Tootsie rolls that were owed to me. Either my mom made up the whole allergy thing so she could keep the Reese’s herself or Mark was a pretty good scam artist.

The way I look at it either my mom owes me about thirty Tootsie Rolls or Mark does.

I am still waiting.

Lauren is dressing up as a celebrity trying to avoid the paparazzi.

Maxfield is Old McDonald......andWyatt...

With an Oink Oink here and an Oink Oink there.

Frogzilla

When we drove up to PA in September, I had fastened a portable DVD player on the back of the driver’s seat for Maxfield. Keeping him occupied on the long drive was a must and anything by Nick Jr. usually kept him entertained. At the beginning of each DVD, Nick Jr.’s frog logo, a big frog and a little frog, would appear and the their theme music would play and then the frogs would ribbit. I have yet to take the DVD player out of the car. Every-so-often, Max requests to watch a video on a short trip to the store or to the park. We always say no (I really need to take the player out of the car).

Last week we went to run a few errands. I dropped Lauren and Wyatt at a store and Max and I headed to the bookstore. Lauren was going to meet up with us later. We were in the bookstore for about 10 minutes when Max decided to misbehave and have a meltdown over the fact that some other kid was playing with a green train. We promptly left the store, Max screaming all the way to the car. I fastened him into his car seat and I got into the driver’s seat. We would just go and pick up Lauren and Wyatt. I looked into the rearview mirror to make sure Max was calming down when he pointed to the DVD player and said, “Daddy, frog.”

“No Max. We are not watching a video.” I said looking at him in the rearview mirror as I backed out of the parking space.

“Daddy, frog.” He said again. But this time he was looking at my reflection. I could see his tears starting to fade.

“No Max.” I said and I straightened the car and slowly drove along the storefront. “You need to learn to behave. I am not letting you watch a video.” I stopped at a stop sign and looked at him again in the mirror.

His face went from sadness to terror. “DADDY. FROOOOGGGGG!” He screamed. I followed his eyes as they went from the DVD player to his lap and then across the van.

His scream and his eyes told me he was not mad but scared. He was shaking. I pulled over to check on him. I was not sure what was wrong but I was worried about him. Why did he have such a scared look? As I opened the sliding door he was struggling to get out of his harness. He was petrified. He pointed to the seat next to him. “Daddy, Frog.”

I comforted Maxfield as I looked over to the other side of the van. Sitting on the other door was a frog. It was a good size frog. Where the hell was Lauren? She usually handles this type of stuff (unless it is snakes). I don’t like critters. I told Max everything was going to be okay. The frog must have been on my headrest and jumped onto his lap which is what caused him to freak out. I grabbed the camera and took a few pictures. I then went to the other door and opened it and waited for the frog to jump out. I wasn't going to touch it. We waited for a while. I waived a few cars around us. We must have looked pretty funny sitting in the middle of the drive, with all the doors open, just waiting.

Keeping it Strong

Lauren refuses to let me, let Max be a pimp for Halloween this year.

Fresh Fruit

In just a couple of weeks some of the these Ruby Red Grapefruit will be ripe. This is one of my favorite things about living in Florida; having a grapefruit tree in my back yard. These grapefruit are sweet with the perfect amount of tartness and make the perfect breakfast or snack. Now I wish I had a Vodka tree as well. Because there is nothing like some fresh squeezed Vodka with some grapefruit.

If you ask a question....

Ring Ring went the phone at my house last night at 8:45 as Max was just falling asleep.

"Hello." I answered on the second ring, knowing it was a telemarketing type of call, but wanting to stop the noise before the third ring.

"Yes?" said the voice on the phone somewhat surprised that I answered. "Hello. I am calling about your recent service with your KIA dealer. On September 19th you took your car in for service and I wanted to conduct a brief survey about that service."

"How long will this take?" I answered. I have no problem with these types of call because I know how difficult cold calls can be.

"Three minutes, sir."

"Okay."

She then continued to ask me a series of questions about the service at the local KIA dealer.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being very bad and 10 being outstanding, how would you say was the scheduling of your service?" She asked.

"Eight." I responded.

On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being very bad and 10 being outstanding how would you rate, the process of dropping off your vehicle for service?"

"Eight?"

"On a scale of one 1 to 10, 1 being very bad and 10 being outstanding how would you rate your satisfaction with the service. "

"The car was just there for an oil change. I guess I am satisfied. Unless they put gravy in it. I am going to say an Eight."

She asked me several more more questions.

"On a scale of 1 to 10...."

"Eight."

"On a scale of 1 to 10..."

"Eight."

"On a scale of 1 to 10..."

"Eight.

This went on for more than the three minutes she told me it would take. I finally said, "Miss just put me down for an eight for all of the scale of 1 to ten questions."

"Okay." She replied. "I just have a few more questions that I do not need a number response."

"Okay." I said. She asked me some other questions and I was getting more and more annoyed.

She then asked, "What could have your local KIA dealer provided that would have made you give them a higher score?"

"Hookers and beer." was my response.

"Uh. Umm. I am not sure I can type that in." She said stuttering.

'Why not?" I asked. "H.O.O.K.E.R.S.B.E.E.R. It is pretty simple."

"Well, Sir, I was looking for a serious response. "

"Seriously. Hookers and beer."

Affair

Lauren has been re-facing the doors on the kitchen cabinets. She has removed all the doors and has been working on them in the garage. The other morning she asked me to hold one of the finished doors in place while she screwed in the hinges. It only took a few minutes, but due to the weight of the door and the angle, which I had to hold it in place, my arm cramped up. The finished door looks good.

When I got home from work I entered the kitchen to see that she had hung four more. I called to her in the living room. “Lauren?”

“Yes.” She said in a slightly raised voice so I could hear her from the other room.

“Are you having an affair?”

“No.” She called back matter of fact like. “Why?”

“It’s just that I see that you hung some of the other cabinet doors. I thought you needed someone's help with these.”

“No. They were easier than the first one.”

“Okay.” I said admiring the work. “Because if you were going to have an affair, it would be okay by me if the guy was also going to be doing work around the house.”

Hooky

Yesterday I took the day off from work. Wyatt had a doctor’s appointment in the morning and instead of re-working my schedule I just took the whole day off. Besides vacation and the occasional time off for the birth of my kids, I try to never miss a day of work. I enjoy my job and I enjoy working. I look forward to going in everyday.

As far back as I can remember I have always been like this. Even in school, grade school through high school, I never wanted to miss a day. Sure there were a few times that I was sick but for the most part I always wanted to go to school. Except one day, Senior Cut Day. It was tradition at my high school that all of the seniors would take off a day from school. The day was decided by what year the seniors would graduate. I graduated in 1988. So with 88 days left of school all the seniors would cut classes for the day.

I was pretty good kid (good, not great) and I remember asking my dad if I could cut classes that day. I knew if I had his permission I could not get into any trouble. Sure the school might give me a suspension or a week of detentions but I knew I could handle that. I did not want to get into trouble with my parents. Any time I needed my dad to sign a note he would simply sign a blank piece of paper and have me fill in the reason. If I needed a permission slip for a class trip, he would sign the bottom and I would fill in the details. If I had to miss a few classes due to a doctor’s appointment or because of other obligations, dad would sign a blank piece of paper and I would write in the excuse.

I always wrote the truth as to the reasons for my excuse, but more often than not, I would add a little flourish. I would add drawings of me at the doctors or maybe put in a line about the fact that my parents thought I had super powers. But for the most part I always wrote the truth.

So I asked my dad if I could cut for Senior Cut Day. He agreed and signed the blank piece of paper. “Make sure it says you are taking off for Senior Cut Day.” He said as he handed me back the blank note with his chicken scratch signature.

Senior Cut day came and went. About two weeks later I came home from school and my dad was waiting for me. “Bill, when you submitted your excuse note for Senior cut day, what did you write down as your excuse?”

I could tell he was angry. I could not think of what I wrote down as my excuse but I knew for a fact that the note did say I was going to be off for Senior Cut Day. I hesitated before I answered. “Um, Uh. Senior Cut Day.”

“Are you sure?” He said with raised eyebrows.

“Yes.” I said tentatively, not quite sure of what I had written.

“Then why did I receive this letter in the mail?” he said as he held up a piece of paper. Before I could answer he walked over to the phone and dialed the school. I could hear him ask for the principle. He stated that he received a letter from the school saying that I had cut classes for the day. The letter also indicated that some of the parents were not aware of the cut day and that if they, the parents, provided notes for the kids, the notes were not truthful as to why their kids cut class. The parents need to respond so their kids do not suffer punishment from the school. My dad asked the principle to pull my file and read the excuse note. He waited for about ten minutes. When the principle came back to the phone this is what I heard on my dad’s end of the conversation.

“Okay what does his note say? Can you read it again? Read. It. Again.” My dad glared at me and I thought I was in serious trouble. He went back to the phone conversation.

“Read the first part again. That’s what I thought. Now what part of “My son will be missing school so he can partake in senior cut day” makes me a liar? Well clearly the letter you sent to me says I was not truthful. I DO NOT care what the rest of it says. I do not like being called a liar. What do you mean him taking off for senior cut day is not a valid excuse? I excused him. That is as valid as it gets. You have kids missing school for trips to Disney World as so called educational trips. What is educational about Mickey Mouse? Listen, I excused my son and that is as valid as it gets. This letter I received makes it sound like I was lying and I look forward to receiving an apology letter from you.”

He hung up the phone and looked at me through gritted teeth, which, within seconds turned into a broad smile.

“Jack ass.” He said referring to the phone. “I am sorry I doubted you Bill. But that letter from the school was insulting.”

I let out a big sigh of relief.

My dad chuckled and asked, “Why did you have to write, “P.S. he may or may not be abducted by aliens?”

New Camera

We finally got a new digital camera, since Max puked on the last one. We decided to get a camera a step or two above the normal point and shoot types. I am just fuguring it out, but so far it seems to be working.

Why Lauren has wrinkled clothes

Photo Sharing - Upload Video - Video Sharing - Share Photos

Territory

If you have pets and plan to bring home a new pet or a baby, Veterinarians will tell you to bring home a blanket or article of clothing with the new pet or baby’s scent on it for the animals to smell. This will get them acclimated to the new scents that will be invading their territory.

For the most part Max has been excellent with Wyatt’s presence in our house. We made every effort to assure Max that we still love him and that Wyatt should not be a threat to him.

Over the past two months, however, Max has become somewhat territorial. For instance, I am Max’s daddy, not Wyatt’s. I am not allowed to hold Wyatt. Only Mommy can hold Wyatt. If I am playing with Wyatt, Max will make a point to get in between us. Wyatt cannot watch TV. Only Max can.

Now that Wyatt is more active and actually has the ability to grab teethers and toys Max has started to declare what toys are Max’s and what ones are Wyatt’s. For the record they all belong to Max, because he says so.

I am thinking that before we brought Wyatt home, I should have had Maxfield sniffing his onesies because maybe he would not be so territorial.

Choices

I am conducting a survey for scientific purposes.

Breakfast sausage: Do you prefer links or patties?

Getaway

This past weekend the family packed up the mini-van and went to the beach on the West coast of Florida. Lauren has a friend who owns a vacation home just North of Clearwater and told us we could use it whenever they were not. The offer has been out there for about year and we finally took them up on it. Since the house is only occupied every so often, when we arrived, we had get the house situated. We had to turn on the water, the hot water heater, make the beds and what not.

We enjoyed a semi-relaxing weekend. I say semi because with a 2 and 1/2 year old and a 3 month old, one can never be completely relaxed. We spent time at the local aquarium down by the docks where Max got to feed Manta Rays and pet turtles. We window-shopped in the town that is the self-proclaimed sponge capital of the world. We also enjoyed the beach.

Before we departed back to Orlando on Sunday we had to make sure that the house was exactly as it was when we arrived. During the time we were there we made sure that everything we used, was cleaned and put back in order, as we used it. We did not want to spend all of Sunday cleaning so we did as we went along. We wanted to leave the house perfect for Lauren’s friend, who would be coming down in November.

We spent Sunday morning at the beach and when we got back to the house Lauren ran the vacuum and watched the kids as I used the bathroom to pee and take a shower. Lauren then took a shower as I stripped the bedclothes from the bed and gathered the towels to do the laundry. We wanted to make it like we were never there. While I was gathering the laundry I also grabbed one of the red placemats from the table that Max had finger painted with mustard.
As I was switching the laundry from the washer to the dryer I realized that the tan colored towels looked a little, okay not a little but a lot, pink. Oh Shit. The damn red placemat bled onto the rest of the laundry. I inspected everything and realized it was only the towels that were affected. Now I had a moral dilemma. Do I hide the towels? Or do I confess to Lauren what I did? Surely I could just hide the towels in the linen closet and act like nothing ever happened. But that would not be the right thing to do. Lauren’s friend was nice enough to lend us her house, free of charge; I should just fess up and hope that Lauren and her friend would understand my stupidity. They are just towels.

I explained to Lauren what happened. She said that she would just email her friend and explain what happened and that it, hopefully, would be no problem. We finished cleaning and packed the car and did our final check of the house.

Hot water heater off? Check.
All doors locked? Check.
Laundry and dishes done? Check.
Everything back in place? Check.

We headed out the door and Lauren asked me to wait before I turned the water off. She had to use the bathroom and wanted to do a final walk through of the house. I waited in the car with the kids. When she came back out and got into the car she said, “It is a good thing that I need to use the bathroom.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because someone forgot to flush the toilet.” She said.

“Oh. I didn’t flush it because I did not want to wait for the shower temperature to change. I forgot to flush it when I got out of the shower. It is good that you went back in there.”

“I know. That would have stunk if it had been sitting there for the next month, when they finally come back down to use the house.” Lauren laughed.

“And here, I was all worried about the pink towels.”

Is it wrong...

...to teach other people's children how to give wet willies?

Uncomfortable Moment

The water softener salesman is standing at my kitchen sink. He wants to show me how clean the water is as it pours through his filter. He wants to show me how soft water is better for cleaning dishes, clothes and my hands. He hands me a bar of soap and says, "Get a real good lather going and then hand me the soap."

I chuckle and say, "The last time a man said that to me was in prison."


Crickets.

Maxfield (2 and half)

Max kept telling the photographer that he did not want his picture taken. "No, No, No."

Sandbox

Maxfield and I went to the playground the other night. As we walked up to the sand box I noticed a little girl about Max’s age eating a picnic dinner with her parents. I nodded a silent “hello” in their direction and Max and I continued on to the swings.

We played for while and after the little girl was done eating she came over to play with Max. The two of them did the whole “monkey see monkey do” thing that toddlers often do at a playground. Max would go down the slide, so would the little girl. The little girl would run over to the merry-go-round and so would Max. They were both keeping a safe distance from each other but at the same time playing together. Meanwhile I was making small talk with the girls parents.

Max eventually got bored of the little girl and went off to the corner of the sandbox to play in the sand. I walked over and sat down with Max and we started drawing in the sand. I would write a letter or a number in sand and Max would tell me what it was. I would smooth the sand over and start again. We were doing this for a few minutes when the girl and her parents came over and sat with us.

“Look Ryan.” The mother said to the little girl. “They are doing their letters. You know your letters.”

Now that Max had an audience he wanted to show off a bit. He wanted to draw the letters himself. I would tell him the letter to write and then I would hold his hand, with his pointer finger out, and help him write it in the sand.

I then asked Max what letters he wanted to write.

“Eff.” He said. So we wrote an F. I smoothed the sand and asked him for another.

“Ew.” He said indicating the letter U. I erased the U after we wrote it, the little girl and her parents watching us.

“What next Max?” I asked.

“See.” He said.

As I started to write the letter C it occurred to me that even with the total randomness of his letter requests there was a possibility of him spelling the word Fuck. I started to have a discussion with myself.

“What are these people going to think of us if he does? Yeah but what are the chances that he actually does? He has a 1 in 26 chance of the next letter being K. But what if he does say K? Will they notice? Will they pick up their kid and go home? No, they won’t notice if it is the letter K. And if they do notice they will understand that it is totally random. But what if they don’t realize it is random. But if I stop asking him what letters he wants to draw surely they will pick up on that fact that I am stopping the game. Plus I am kind of interested to see if he does say K because really what are the chances of that? And how funny would that be?”

I took a deep breath. “Max, What next?” I braced myself. I looked over at the other parents to see if there were interested. The look on the mother’s eyes said to me that she WAS paying attention. I waited for Max to respond.

“Doubba Eww.” He said.

I breathed a slight sigh as we drew a W.

I could have been a contender Part 2

I already wrote about how my brothers are responsible for me not being a great professional athlete. (Click to read).


I realized at an early age that I was not that gifted when it came to sports. Most of my brothers had natural ability or skills in athletics. Me, I played sports like a retarded gorilla. As a matter of fact my nickname on the basketball court was Grape Ape. In an effort to make myself standout I developed an interest in other areas, one of which was theater. Wouldn’t you know it? My brothers are also responsible for me not being an Academy Award winning actor.

Many a times over the years they have either willingly or unwillingly thwarted my attempts at acting. It started when I was in elementary school.

In fourth grade, my English class was going to perform a short play for the entire school and parents for the Halloween assembly. None of my brothers had done any shows before; they were too busy perfecting lay-ups and jump shots. This was my chance to break out and shine, to do something better than them. The play was "The Headless Horsemen". I got a few small parts in the play. In the “Headless Horseman” I was cast as one of Ichabod’s students as well as the Headless Horseman’s horse (shut it, it was a start).

When the big day arrived I made sure that my mom was going to make it to the school on time. She had been to countless Little League games and Pee Wee football games that I knew this was going to impress her. My mom assured me she would pick up Jimmy, the youngest, from morning Kindergarten, and they would both be there. Some of my brothers attended the school so by default they would have to be there for the show. I was going to impress them as well. I knew my lines. I knew my cues. I knew my blocking. I was ready.

The curtain opened with Ichabod, played by Matt Brigaman, teaching his students. He asked his students to recite their ABC’s. That was my cue. I smiled, and in character, belted out my line. “A.B.C.D. E. F…..” Live theater was such a rush.

Just as I reaching the letter "K" my little brother Jimmy, from the back of the Gym, yelled at the top of his lungs, “SHUT UP BILLY.” It echoed off the cinder block walls and the backboards of the basketball nets. “Shut Up..up up up. Billy Billy... illy.”

The audience started laughing. I broke out into a cold sweat. I was in total shock. I was embarrassed. I froze. Live theater sucked. I couldn’t remember the rest of my lines. It was only the rest of the frigging alphabet, but I was stuck. “What the heck comes after ‘K”?” I asked myself. My mouth went dry. My throat closed and my vocal chords started to squeak. Thankfully, Jimmy Elliot, another one of Ichabod’s students bailed me out. He finished the rest of the alphabet.

We finished the scene and I went backstage totally flustered. I could not concentrate on anything else except the fact that my brother totally made me mess up. Before I knew it we were approaching the end of the play.

“Billy.” Mrs. Webb hissed. “Where is your horse costume? You are on in two minutes.”

I rushed to put on the costume. In my haste I did not align the eyeholes properly. I went out on stage as a blind horse, which caused the whole Headless Horseman chasing Ichabod climax ending to be a total disaster. My blindness caused The Headless Horseman, played by Bob M, (who did a magnificent job I might add) to miss Ichabod with the thrown pumpkin. Apparently I was facing a wall.

This was the first of many botched theater performances caused by my brothers.





That's me on the left.

Parlez Vous?

Lauren and I, every so often, talk about the number of kids we would like to have. It does not make much of a difference to me regarding how many, but more importantly that they are close together in age. I think siblings should be no more than 2 years apart. If I had my way they would be only a year a part. I think the closeness in age is good because of the built in friend factor.

My parents had 9 kids in 10 years, no twins, and there is a three year gap between two of my brothers. Do the math. Anyway, growing up, I benefited from having "built in" friends. When I was freshmen in highschool I went through a shift of friends. Besides my best friend Bob, the rest of the crowd I hung out with was constantly changing, except for my brothers.

The brother that is closest to my age is John, AKA LawnWhisperer. When I was freshmen he was a sophomore. We even had one or two classes together. One of the classes we shared was French 1. Due to alphabetical seating arrangements we even sat next to each other. Madame Brust, the teacher, insisted each student pick a French name to address each other. I picked Xavier as my French first name (well you know because of Prof. Charles Xavier the founder of the X-Men) and John picked Jean, because when it was pronounced in French it sounded like John. The teacher, until she learned our names, addressed us by our last names. We, my brother and I, were Monsieur Mitchell*

I remember thinking, "This class is going to be great. John and I could practice speaking a different language at home. We could help each other with homework. We would learn French and have a secret language that no one else in our family would know and we could speak in code. Sibling rivalry will make us compete for better grades. It is so cool that my brother is in my class."

Midway through the school year Madame Brust took an extended leave and we had a substitue teacher for two weeks. Her name was Mrs. Kalmanor (pronounced Cow Manure, No joke). Now, as most times with a subsitute teacher, the class got a little out of hand. The kids, including John, were doing their best to have a good time. If a kid got too out of hand Mrs. Kalmanor would make that student sit in a chair right next to her desk. It was the highschool equivalent of a time out. At one point Mrs. Kalmanor had had enough of John's shenanigans.

"MISTER MITCHELL." She yelled referring to my brother John who was laughing with a fellow student named Jim. "COME UP HERE and sit in THIS chair." She turned her back to the class as she wrote on the chalk board. John walked to the front of the classroom and sat in the chair. I, of course, also being Mister Mitchell walked to the front of the class and sat on John's lap. The class was doing its best to stifle their laughter. It took a few minutes for the teacher to stop writing on the board and return to her desk. She sat down oblivious to the fact that John and I were sharing a chair. She did a double take at us. The class erupted in laughter.

"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?" She screamed.

"Well," I said "You told Mister Mitchell to sit in this chair. I am also Mister Mitchell."

"I meant the other one." She said through gritted teeth and tight lips.

"You should really have specified then." John said.

Mrs. Kalmanor lowered her head into her hands and with a barely audible whisper she said, "Both of you, return to your seats."

Needless to say, when Madame Brust returned to the class she was not happy with us. She separated us to opposite ends of the room for the remainder of the year. With the separation we could no longer assist each other in French. We both failed the class for the year.

Now that I think about it, maybe it is a good idea that my kids are a few years apart.



*Mitchell is not my real last name. If I used my real last name on the internet my mom would have a bird.

It doesn't get any better

Television does not get any better than a Antiques Roadshow episode I have not seen, followed by a Monday Night Football game with the Eagles.


I am an Antiques Roadshow junkie.

Sleep

Every so often I sleep on the couch. Not because I did anything to piss off Lauren but sometimes it is the only way I can get a good nights sleep. Why? Because I snore.

You see Lauren is a light sleeper. She still gets up with Wyatt, every so often, in the middle of the night and then she has a difficult time getting back to sleep. Sometimes my snoring keeps her awake longer. She is very good about waking me up to try to get me to stop snoring.

“Bill,” she whispers. “Roll over. You are snoring.”

Or she will just gently nudge me to let me know I am keeping her awake. Sometimes this happens 3 to 4 times a night. How is a guy supposed to get any sleep with someone waking him all the time? So every so often I just get up and go to the couch.

The other night, she woke me up for the 4th time and I had had enough. I stumbled into the closet to grab a blanket from the normal spot and headed out to the couch so I could get a good night sleep. When Lauren came to wake me up, she laughed at me, “Bill, Do you know you are using a curtain as a blanket?”

Apparently Lauren reorganized the closet.