Look kid, you're bothering me.

I used to get this look from my older brother John all the time. Well actually I still do.

Concert in the Garden

Over the weekend I was busy with a landscaping project. I was removing 16 small diseased Azalea bushes from my front garden. I was using all the typical gardening tools; a gas powered edger to clean up the garden bed, a shovel to dig up the plants, a fan rake the empty spot over with mulch and an I-Pod with fast tempo “pick-me-up” music to make the chore go by faster.

About an hour into the project I was in a zone. Lost in my own world of dirt and mulch and the music. It was just me and the music doing the landscaping. I was edging a little faster to the Counting Crows. I was digging to the beat of Peter Gabriel. And I was rocking the rake to Dave Matthews. I took a step back, while holding the rake, to catch my breath and survey the next section of the garden. Dave Matthews “Grave Digger” began playing on the I-Pod. This song is a very moody song that starts slow and picks up pace.

Without realizing what I was doing, like I said I was in a zone, I was playing the air guitar. Well actually I was playing the rake like it was guitar, my head slightly rocking back and forth to the beat. Half singing, half humming the lyrics.
Gravedigger,
When you dig my grave

“Bill.” I faintly hear my name being called. Someone in the crowd holding up a lighter.

Make it shallow,
So that I can feel the rain.

“Bill” My named called again only slightly louder than the first. The fans were digging the tune.

Little Mikey Carson 67 to 75
He rode his bike like the devil
Until the day he died.

BILL!” Someone was calling me.

I was immediately transported back to my front lawn. I turned around, still strumming the rake to see the lady from up the street trying to get my attention from her van. I acted like I was just trying to remove debris from the rake.

My face, it was already red from working.

Walking the dog

Six or seven years ago, before we had kids and when Lauren and I lived in sin, we attended a wedding of someone somehow related to me. In between the wedding and the reception we were going to meet my siblings at my sister’s boyfriend’s house for drinks. Before we arrived at the house, Lauren’s dress got caught on something and ripped down the back seem across her butt. Once at my sister’s boyfriend’s house she went to the bathroom to check the damage. When she came out she said we had to go home so she could change her dress. She asked that I not say anything to any of my brothers because she did not want to risk being further embarrassed. She knew that they could be pretty relentless when it comes to making jokes.

I told my sister that we had to run home. When she asked why, the first excuse I could come up with was that we forgot to feed the cats and we wanted to make sure they were okay for the night. My brother Dennis heard my lame excuse and immediately announced to the rest of the group with the wink-wink-nudge-nudge-if you-know-what-I-mean nod of approval.

“Lauren and Bill are going home to feed the cats. Alright!” he said and he slapped me on the back.

We left more embarrassed than what the ripped dress would have caused. When we got to the reception everybody there was like, “Alright, feeding the cats. Way to go. It’s nice to be young and in love.” All with the wink-wink-nudge-nudge-if-you-know-what-I-mean type of stuff.

A few years later I was in a meeting at work with a couple of guys, a few who happen to be my brothers. This was not a serious meeting but more of a bullshit session. At one point I got up from chair to walk across the room. I had a noticeable limp. One of the guys asked me what happened to my leg.

I said, “This morning I was walking the dog and I slipped and twisted it wrong.”

One guy said, “Alright. Walking the dog. Is that what you call it? Good for you Bill.” All with the wink-wink-nudge-nudge-if-you-know-what-I-mean head nod of approval.

“No, seriously,” I said. “I wish that is what caused my leg injury but I was really walking my dog this morning.”

“Alright. Lucky you. Walking the Dog. I like that. No wonder you are in a good mood.” Another guy chimed in with a wink-wink-nudge-nudge.

Another guy said, “I thought you called it feeding the cats.”

“I like Walking the dog better.” Said somebody else. “How often do you walk the dog, Bill?”

“Twice a day.”

“Twice a day? You are one lucky man.” Everyone was laughing including myself.

Now I can never mention the fact that I walk the dog to any of my brothers without getting the wink-wink-nudge-nudge-if-you-know-what-I-mean chuckle and head nod of approval. And if we are ever late or cannot make a family function someone always says that Lauren and I had to feed the cats.

Now for all of you pet owners that read this, think about this the next time you walk the dog or feed the cats. Wink-wink-nudge-nudge-If-you-know-what-I-mean.

Besides the standards, do you have any codes or euphemisms that you use*? Wink-wink-nudge-nudge-if-you-know-what-I-mean.



*Mom you are not allowed to answer this question.

Mothers Anonymous

Lauren joined a M.O.P.S. (Mothers Of Pre-Schoolers) group a few months back. MOPS provides a good place for Maxfield to meet other kids and for Lauren to meet other moms and learn crafts. Since Lauren has a masters degree in craft-ology she goes just for the social aspect of the group.

Every time she tells me she is going, she says,"I am going the MOPS meeting." I always chuckle because I picture a bunch of women drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes in the basement of a church telling their story.

"Hi. I'm Lauren."

"We love you Lauren."

"I hit rock bottom when I had my second kid in June....."


The other day she was telling me about the upcoming events at MOPS.

"Then we are going to tour a firehouse. Which will be cool for Maxfield to see the fire engines up close. Oh and they are also hosting a moms exchange. "

"Oh really." I said. "Who do I get in exchange for you?"

"Well, there are some real cuties there at MOPS."

Wyatt Getting Big

De-Lurkey Turkey Day.

I hope everyone in the U.S. has a great holiday and I hope that all of my international friends have a great..well... rest of the week.

When checking my sitemeter I know that I get an average of 350 visits a day. My brother Kevin makes up for about 25 of those because he likes to Blog Block with his comments. Lawnwhisperer likes to do the same thing. They, well, I, call it BlogJacking.

Blog Jacking basically goes like this: I write a decent post about whatever, and then one of my brothers leaves a comment that is funny. The rest of the comments that follow are not about MY post but more about their comments. They Blog Jack my blog.

Today and over the weekend if you a regular visitor here at Poop and Boogies please leave me a comment. Even if you don't normally leave a comment, if you are just a lurker, please say "Hi", tell me how you found Poop and Boogies or just say where you are from.

Thanks.

Pictured Framed Eggs.

The middle school I attended (6th through 8th grade) had six six-week grading periods. Besides the normal classes like the three “R”s, the students had to take secondary classes like Art, Woodshop, Swimming and Health. These classes would switch every six weeks and would fall on the “off” Gym days. One of the secondary classes was Home Economics.

In Home-Ec we learned to sew, balance a checkbook and how to wash dishes (drinking glasses first followed by the silver ware, then plates and finally pots and pans). I believe it was in 7th grade where we actually learned to cook a few dishes. One of the dishes we learned to make was Pictured Framed Eggs.

Since my brother John, AKA LawnWhisperer, was year older than me he learned how to make Pictured Framed Eggs first. He loved the idea of cutting a hole in a piece of bread, buttering it and frying it with an egg, over easy, in the center of the bread. A fried egg framed by a piece of bread became his favorite breakfast. For the rest of my sixth grade year (his 7th grade) he made Pictured Framed Eggs for us almost every Sunday. If the eggs were done the right way, you could break the yolk on your plate and use some of the fried bread to sop up yellow nutrients and eat it.

When I finally took the 7th grade Home-Ec glass I was practically a pro at Pictured Framed Eggs. I knew my plate would be the best in the class in taste and presentation. You see we would use a wine glass to cut the center of the bread so the hole was perfectly round. We would take the rounded center and cut a triangle “mouth” into it so it would look like Pac-Man. We would toast the Pac-Man and serve it with the meal. How could the teacher not like this? Toasted Pac-Man and Pictured Framed Eggs: what a delicious and kid friendly breakfast. Anyway, in class, I got too excited, I was cocky really, and I broke the yolk while it was frying in the pan. It still tasted good but my presentation was shot to hell even with the Pac-Man toast. I was not as good as my brother John.

I still make Pictured Framed Eggs, but for a long time I was not concerned with presentation. But now that I have kids I know the importance of presentation. I need to make delicious and kid friendly meals. Recently Lauren bought some cookie cutters that have yet to be used for cookies. Take a look at the pictures.





Take that! John.

Just so you know...

...I am not a wuss because I asked my wife to open a jar of tomato sauce that I could not open myself.



Besides, she could not open it either.

Young Grasshoppers

In the event of my untimely death I know that Lauren would be able to raise the kids and that she would have the support and love of my family and hers to help her. I know that Maxfield’s and Wyatt’s Godparents (and Lauren) would see to them knowing about me and what I was like as a person. But part of me always thinks that there may be some lessons in life that I learned that may not get passed onto my kids. I have often tried to write them a letter, explaining to them how much I love them as well as trying to include tidbits of my limited wisdom but they always end up too mushy and sappy and I end up deleting the letters.

After much thought, I realized it would just be easier for me to write them a list of things that I think they should know and provide them with names of people that can help them out if the need arises, if I were to die early.

Max and Wyatt,

If you are reading this that means I am not around to teach you things that I think you should know. This will be a very long list but I am sure at some point in your life it will come in handy. Since I am not here to teach you these things I ask that you seek out these people to teach you.

Every boy/man should learn how to fish. I would recommend that you go to both PopPop and Uncle Pat. PopPop will teach you how to bait your hook, cast a line and how to catch a fish. Uncle Pat can teach you how to do all that with one hand so the other is free to hold a beer. If you want to actually catch fish, use Pop Pop’s method.

If you ever need a lawyer, call Uncle Dennis or Aunt Bridget McV. If you need legal assistance because you allegedly committed a crime call Aunt Bridget. She will not lecture you. If you are involved in a lawsuit call Uncle Dennis. He is an excellent attorney who dots all his “I”s and crosses all of his “T”s and could likely bore anyone into a settlement.

Always return your library books. Just ask your Uncle Moon.

Every Boy/man should learn not to gamble but at least HOW to gamble. I think the best teachers for this would be Uncle Tony (He is the bald Italian guy you see sometimes at holidays) for card games and Uncle Kevin for Dice. Uncle Tony will teach you about Chips, Steaks, and pots as well as chips, stakes and pots. Uncle Kevin may not know the odds on a Craps table but he knows how to hoot and holler like he is winning.

If either of you ever get into a jam that may require a more discrete but extreme solution or problem that no one else can help, I want you to call Dave C and Will D. They will know what to do. They are like the A-team but without the black Van. Plus they can teach you all about bourbon. They love it when a plan comes together.


I am sure I will be adding to this letter but it is all I have so far.

Delicious

Kid's Crest Cavity Protection Sparkle Fun Flavor. I seriously could just put it in a bowl and eat it for dessert everynight. It tastes that good.

Weird

I went to Albertson’s supermarket, during my lunch, to pick up a few odds and ends. Since I was limited on time, I did not walk up down each aisle, but actually paced the front of the store and looked up at each sign that hung in the aisles that indicated what the aisle contained.
The signs read “4A- Soups, Canned goods, Coffee”, “5B- Cleaning supplies, Detergents, Household.” “6A-Snacks, Soda,”

It was typical of every supermarket I have ever been in; the sign indicated a generic description of what was located in the aisle. As I was looking for the aisle for diapers I noticed a sign that stuck out at me. I forget what else was listed on the sign but, what struck me was, one of the items listed was Marshmallows.

I couldn’t believe it. Marshmallows got their own place on a sign. I thought they would fall under a different category like candy, or Baked goods, or snacks. But marshmallows got their very own mention.

I find this to be weird. Do you?

Family Resemblance

Lauren was sitting in the living room with Maxfield and Wyatt and I was checking my fantasy football scores in the office. I could hear Max grunting as he was working on a good size bowel movement.

Lauren called to me from the other room, “You know he looks like your brother John when he is pooping.”

I called back, “I am quite disturbed by the fact that you know what my brother John looks like when he is pooping.”

I could hear her eyes roll from the other room. “ I meant when Max is pooping he looks like your brother John. The way Max makes that face.” She said.

“Oh.” I said. “What does that say about my brother John?”

For the record

Do you know how the tallest person in the room is always asked to get something down, say from a top shelf, or high cabinet. Well I think it is perfectly okay to ask the shortest person in the room to pick up stuff that is dropped on the floor.

Scary

It was 11:15 PM. I was struggling to keep my eyes open so I could catch the end of the Daily Show. The weight of the day was slowly lifting off of me and my muscles were becoming paralyzed; relaxed by the warm comfort of the blanket. Just a few more minutes. Blink. Just a few more…Blink. Just a few...A really long blink. I could feel the remote sliding from my hand. I let it go.

What seemed like a second was actually fifteen minutes when I shot up in bed to the scream I heard on the monitor. Max was yelling. A bad dream. He was calling out in his sleep. I waited a moment, hoping he would fall back to sleep. The green indicator lights on the monitor went quickly from four back to one. Silence. I put my head back on the pillow. I checked the alarm clock to make sure it was set. Blink. I looked at the monitor lights again and could see them pulsing from one to three. What was that noise? It sounds like Max is jumping on the bed. He yelled again.

I went upstairs to calm him down. I opened the door to see that he was on his knees, half hopping half rocking back and forth on the bed.

“Hey Max.” I whispered knowing the monitor was still on in our bedroom. I did not want to wake up Wyatt or Lauren. “What’s wrong?”

Max mumbled something I did not understand. He said it over and over again. I reached and maneuvered him back onto his pillow. “It’s okay. Daddy is here. Go back to sleep.”

He mumbled again as I stroked his hair. He was quickly back asleep. I went back to bed. I checked the clock. 11:35. I grabbed the remote and flipped the channel to Letterman. I heard the intro music and I was asleep again.

“DADDY!” Max’s scream, amplified by the monitor 10 times, woke me up a half hour later. It was not his normal voice. He sounded terrified. I ran up the steps two at a time. I flung open the bedroom door. He was standing on the bed with his arms outstretched, his eyes wide with horror. Once I got close enough to the bed he leapt into my arms.

“What’s wrong Max?” I said looking him up and down for any injuries.

He mumbled. “Hisawpomosis. In the bed.”

“What?” I asked trying to figure out if he was still sleeping.

“Hisawpomosis. Hisawpomosis. In the blankets.”

I moved the blankets and the pillows looking for whatever was bothering him. “What Max? What do you need?”

“Hisawpomosis. In the bed. Hisawpomosis.”

I put him on the floor. I looked into his eyes. He was awake. “I am here. It is okay. Tell me slowly, what is bothering you?"

“His. Awp. Omosis.”

“Hippopotamus?”

“Yes! In the bed.”

I picked him up and took him to my bed. Needless to say I did not get any sleep that night. And I also need to call an exterminator.

Docks

There are two docks down by the lake near my house. One is a low boat slip dock that sits about a foot above the water level and juts straight out about 15 feet from the shore. The other, which is about 50 feet from the boat slip dock, sits about 8 feet above the water level is used mostly for fishing. The fishing dock is in the shape of the letter “T” with a narrow walkway about 10 feet long, leading out into the water, to the larger platform area. Maxfield calls this “the bridge” because you have to walk over the water to the platform.

The other day, Max and I walked down to the lake to plunk stones. We do not skip stones because Max is only two and has not been able to get the arm movement down to actually skip stones across the surface of the water. As we approached the two docks I noticed a couple on the fishing dock, lying on top of a blanket, making out. They looked like a couple of teenagers enjoying a romantic picnic. I tired to steer Max to the boat slip dock but he wanted to go to the fishing dock.

“Bridge, Daddy.” He said pointing to the larger dock.

“No. Max. Let’s just over here.” I said trying to give the couple some privacy. Hell, I was a teenager once.

“Bridge, Daddy.” He said again and he headed to the fishing dock.

“Max, let’s go to the smaller dock.” I grabbed his hand and directed him towards the smaller structure trying to avoid an awkward moment.

“BRRRRIIIDDDDGGGE!” He yelled at the top of his lungs.

I looked over at the couple to see if they heard him. The girl broke off the lip lock and lifted herself to onto her one elbow and looked over towards us. We made eye contact. “Great.” I thought to myself. “She now thinks that I was staring at them and that I some type of a perv.”

Max freed his hand from mine and ran towards the larger dock. I hurried to catch up to him before he could walk down the entrance planks. The guy at the other end of the dock sat up and shook his head in frustration as the girl twisted and straightened her top.

“I’m sorry.” I called out to them. “We’ll only be a few minutes.” I said as we crossed the bridge and intruded upon their space. As I got closer I realized that the young couple were not teenagers but were actually in their mid-twenty’s. I did not feel so bad now. I mean teenagers need a place to be romantic. An Inspiration point so to say. But mid-twenty-some-things I think they should understand the risks of getting frisky in public.

Max threw some sticks into the lake as the young couple sat in silence waiting us out. Max lost interest after two minutes and wanted to head over to the little dock. As we walked back down the “bridge” I turned towards the couple and said, “Look I am really sorry about interrupting your, uh, romantic afternoon. I mean, I remember I used to have romantic afternoons too, but they led to him.” I pointed at Maxfield. “I don’t have romantic afternoons anymore.”

Campaign

For the midterm election my extinguished colleague has decided to run an “attack ad” against me on Dad Vs Dad. So I now have to run one.


I am William and I approve of this message.

I will not stoop to attack Dad Vs Dad. I will merely state the facts.

My wife is beautiful. Fact.

My kids are cute. Fact.

Poop and Boogies Blog posts to date= 522.

Dad Vs. Dad Blog posts to date= 102.

Poop and Boogies Average posts per week=4.

Dad Vs Dad average posts per MONTH=3

My Mother loves me more than she loves him. Fact.

My Dad *can beat up his dad. Fact.

If you leave a comment on the LawnWhisperer’s blog that means the terrorists won.





*I know that we have the same same Dad, but Lawnwhisperer often contends that I am the offspring of the mailman.

Brothers

Not a good way to start the morning.

Lauren: I think we need to pick up diapers for Wyatt.

Bill: Why? There is a bunch of size fours up in his room?

Lauren: Well he is only a size three.

Bill: I put a Four on him last night and it fit fine.

Lauren: Really? They are not too big?

Bill: Yeah. They fit fine. He has got such huge fat thighs. I think he gets that from my Mom’s side of the family.

Lauren: I don’t think so. We should use the size threes that we have.

Bill: Well then he gets it from your side of the family.

Lauren: What?

Bill: Well. Ummm. I have to go to work.

Leftovers

Lauren made an excellent dinner the other night. She cooked a Turkey London Broil in the crock-pot. She also whipped up some home made mashed potatoes and some turkey gravy. There were plenty of leftovers for another night. As I was cleaning up the table and doing the dishes (one of the reasons that I won the Sexiest Husband award 2 years in a row) I had to wrap up all the leftovers. I wrapped the remaining turkey in foil and the mashed potatoes in a Tupperware type container. There was plenty of gravy that needed to be stored as well.

I went through the cabinets looking for the right size container for the gravy. I looked at the measuring cup pitcher thing, which, the gravy was served, and saw that there was about eight ounces left. I looked at some of the Glad containers and they were either too big or too small. I could have just put plastic wrap over the measuring cup but what if we need to use the measuring cup for another meal? I needed to find something else. While going through the cabinets I saw the perfect container. It was designed to hold liquid. It had measuring lines on the side and it would not take up too much room in the fridge. It was also a container we would not need for a little while.

So I put the gravy into one of Wyatt’s bottles and put it in the fridge.

Lauren did not like my selection of containers

Boris

You know the type of fear that causes the hair on the back of you neck to stand up and your feet to get numb and tingly? The type of fear which causes your legs to feel like rubber and you get chills down your neck and back? It is a true emotional reaction to something you see or hear or feel that you just can't shake, even though your body automatically shakes for you. The feeling is a combination of real fear and some phobia mixed up with a serious case of heebie jeebies. A fear that causes a mental, a physical and emotional reaction.

Well there are not too many things in this world that cause that reaction in me. I have a short list of that type of fear.
1. Lightning. I have tried to face this fear many times. Each time there is a storm I get better and better at dealing with the lightning. It still scares the shit out of me and I live in the lightning capital of the world.

2. Puerto Rican Joe. That his name. He was not Puerto Rican from what I could tell it was just what the other wanna be gangsters called him. He scared me.

3. Walking through a spider web. There is nothing that causes me to change into a panic stricken fool like feeling the invisible threads of a web being pulled through my eyelashes. If you ever walked face first into a web you know what I am talking about. Hours after you have clawed it off your face you can still feel the threads in your hair. I think the reason I fear this is because what is attached to the webs.
4. Spiders. I can't stand spiders. I don't like most critters or insects but I can deal with them. Spiders however, I do not mess with. Here are pictures of what I found in my back yard this weekend. I will stop doing the yardwork completely until this thing leaves. Lauren looked it up on the internet and it is not poisonous and actually gets rid of a lot of pest bugs. She will not kill it for me. I swear to you it was the biggest fucking spider I have ever seen in a real situation. From head to butt it was about two inches. In an effort to face my fears I took the pictures. It is a big fucking scary spider.





Look at it. It casts a frickin shadow. Spiders are not supposed to have shadows.