Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Starting a List

I am starting a list of things that were invented by people who clearly do/did not have children because if they did have kids they would have realized the absolute insanity the items on this list can cause and they would have abandoned the invention in the first place.

Item 1--Coin operated kiddie rides/mechanical horses/race cars that sit outside of grocery stores.

Item 2-- Claw and Crane toy machines.

Please add your own items in the comments.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Losing My Powers

Two times over this past weekend, that's twice, my magical healing kisses had no effect on the minor injuries they were meant to cure.

Either Maxfield and Wyatt are getting too old for the "kiss and make it better" or there is some kind of kryptonite around my house.

Like radon or something.

I wonder if they make a kryptonite detector.

Also, today is my brother Anonymous' birthday. Please leave him a comment wishing him a happy day.

Friday, March 27, 2009

Sleep Deprivation

"Is he sleeping through the night?" is the most common question people ask me when they are asking about Jackson. My response is usually a nod or a "he's doing okay". Then I follow up with "Wyatt on the other hand..."

A few weeks before Jackson was born, we took Wyatt out of his crib, out of his room, into Maxfield's room and into a bottom bunk bed. It was little much for a two-and-half year old. Then we brought home a baby and all hell broke loose.

Wyatt already had some pretty odd sleep habits but now that he is an a bed adjusting to those habits is difficult. For instance Wyatt sleeps with whatever toy he was playing with earlier that afternoon. He has selpt with a basketball, a football, a number of cars, a string, a tool box filled with tools, an index card box filled with coupons, a golf club and many more various items. When he was in the crib and lost his toy in the middle of the night the toy stayed confined to the crib. He would wake up, realize his toy was gone, and feel around the crib to retrieve it. Now that he is in a bed the toys end up all over the place and when he wakes up and can't find it he calls for me. I have spent many nights in his room searching for the specific coupon that fell out of his box, or the shoelace that fell between the bed and the wall, just so he could back to sleep.

If I am not getting up in the middle of the night to search for a set of channell locks for Wyatt, I have been getting up up to comfort him because he is scared. He sees shadows and monsters in the closet. He has nightmares and recently he is claiming he is afraid of the dark. We now let him sleep with the light on. I know Wyatt is adjusting to the baby and to being the middle child. I know many middle children who are afraid of the dark so I don't mind the light on. Leaving the light on, however, has become a problem for Max. Max does not like going to sleep with any light on.

Lauren decided to help Maxfield by making him a sleep mask. He wears it most nights and it has helped the situation. Now when I go into their room, in the middle of the night, I can't help but laugh at the fact that Thurtson Howell the Third is sleeping in the top bunk.

What is this mythical sleeping through the night thing people speak of?

Tuesday, March 24, 2009


The following is the 2nd assignment I did for my creative writing course. We were instructed to write about our hobby or passion.

The Puppet

“So, you are sticking to your story?” the man trying to be the good cop, Detective Darnell, asked in a much angrier tone than the last time he asked me the exact same question. I make a mental note that his brown suit, which matches the color of his skin, is too big for him. I can tell he is new to this process.

We have been through this three times already tonight. The lights shining in my face are hot. I can feel the dampness in my underarms and around my collar. I am nervous. I shouldn’t be, but, I am. I have to remember what Dave told me. I need to be more convincing. I need to use my nervousness.

I lean across the worn wooden table and stub out my cigarette into an overflowing ashtray. The hazy smoke lingers in the stale air. My palms are getting sticky. I rub them on my thighs hoping to dry them off. I try to swallow my nerves but my throat is dry.

“It is not a story. I am innocent.” I claim, hoping that the other people watching believe me.

“That’s bull!” barks Special Agent O’Malley from across the room. She is trying to be the bad cop in this scenario. She is dressed in a black cotton pantsuit. She continues “We have six dead citizens who have absolutely nothing in common except you. Can you explain that?”

“Coincidence?” I ask knowing my cue to piss off O’Malley.

“Don’t be cute.” She huffs. She has been doing this for a long time. She is good. “We know that you are a collector of sorts. We know you have a soft spot for paintings done by early nineteen hundred illustrators. We know that you attended estate sales of each victim, that’s right, victim, and purchased, at pennies on the dollar, rare paintings. We can now pin you to being in three of their homes prior to the so called sales. They are dead and you end up with their art collections and you want to say coincidence? I don’t think so. ”

She is an old pro and I am impressed. I let her bask in her moment. When Dave asked me to be involved with this project I did not know I would be facing someone as good as O’Malley. She has more to say. I need to stay focused on her.

With a dramatic flair O’Malley throws a docket of manila folders onto the table. Black and white crime scene photos slide from their casing. I can see a coffee stain on the corner of one of the folders. This is her moment. She takes a deep breath and continues with her evidence. “We can prove Mr. Rupert Cadell was strangled with a rope we found in your garage. We can prove Hal Carter was poisoned at a picnic. A picnic you attended. That Dexter Haven was drowned. We can prove that you killed each of these men.”

I can get out of this. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Yes I collect old prints.” I said. I then realize I was not supposed to say prints. I was supposed to say artwork. I try to fix my mistake. “Yes I purchased some of their artwork. But I had nothing to do with ....”

“We know you did not work alone.” blurts Detective Darnell a little too quickly. He cut me off. Now he needs to explain that he is my friend and that he is going to help me. “We can make a deal. I am sure that there is someone pulling your strings. If you are scared we can protect you. Just tell us who you are working for.”

Dave wants me to be very methodical with my explanation. I collect old art prints. I enjoy going to estate sales. I like to see the items that people leave behind. I want to guess at why people collect what they do and make guesses as to their motivation. I feel like an archeologist. I never realized that my hobby, my passion would take me away from my family for so long. My wife is going to be so mad at how late I am going to be getting home. She told me I was going to let this hobby of mine consume me. I am in trouble but I have more to worry about right now than being home on time for dinner or tucking the kids into bed. If I do this right I can get out of here soon. I have to remember what Dave told me.

I start slowly, “Detective Darnell. Can I really trust you? I am a collector. That is all.” I need to pause a moment for effect before I continue. “I have told you, I look up estate sales in the newspaper and on the web. The sales are posted a few weeks in advance. The web provides pictures of what’s for sale. On a few occasions I have gone to the houses asking for an early preview.”

I can feel my energy building. Dave wants me to remain calm. How did I ever let him talk me into this? That’s right; he knew I had a passion for this kind of stuff.

Darnell half-sits half-leans on the table facing me. His jacket is too big and covers his gun just inches from my hand. I can’t see it but I know it is there. I hope he did not snap the clasp on the holster. I hope he did not engage the safety. That will make what I am about to do more difficult.

Dave wanted me to stay put this entire time but I feel the need to get up. I feel the need to move. Panic starts to set in. I am hot. I am going to go to jail for this. Fear is bubbling up inside me. I quickly grab the gun from Darnell’s side and point it at O’Malley.

“Step back!” I shout as O’Malley reaches for her gun. Her weapon gets caught on the jacket of her suit. I pull the trigger. Nothing happens. I squeeze the trigger a second time, but again, nothing. With nothing else to lose I yell, “Bang! Bang!”

Darnell and O’Malley both crack up laughing. I start to chuckle myself.

“Cut!” booms a voice from the darkness. “House lights please.” Dave, the director, is clearly annoyed. He leaps onto the stage just as the house lights come up and the stage lights dim. He calls backstage “Who in props is responsible for loading the gun? We can’t have a dress rehearsal if the gun is not loaded.”

Dave gives us a few more directions and a couple of notes before returning to his spot in the audience. “Bill, I am getting the sense you are not fully into the character. Try to remember your characters inner monologue, not yours, but your characters.”

The thrill of performing in front of a live audience is intoxicating. I love theater, acting, being on stage. I love the hot lights and the smell of fresh paint and make-up. I love playing different characters. My wife was right; this hobby of mine does consume me.

Dave takes his seat and calls out one more time. “Someone needs to fix Darnell’s costume. He is practically swimming it. Okay, let’s run it again.”

I guess I am going to miss tucking the kids into bed tonight.

Sunday, March 22, 2009


My parents never forced me to play any sport or into any activity. They encouraged me to play and to at least try different things. I estimate, by a quick calculation, that I played 5 seasons of Little League Baseball, 8 or more seasons of intramural basketball and 8 seasons of football. Out of the 21 various teams I was part of only one championship team. I was an average athlete. My definition of average is that I did not completely suck.

I think organized sports and competition is important for a kid to experience. I do not think that every kid on every team should get a trophy. I do think that if a kid is playing a sport where keeping score is part of the game then they should keep score. I think when it comes to competition there are winners and losers. Being a good winner and being a good loser are important lessons to learn. Sports also helps teach lessons on teamwork, encouragement, adversity, humility, character and limits.

My parent's encouraging me to try different activities helped me discover what skills I had and what skills I needed to develop to accomplish various goals. I learned what I enjoyed doing and what I did not. I learned about when to be a leader and when to allow someone else lead. I learned valuable lessons from sports and teams when I was kid and I want my kids to be able to learn some of those same lessons. I will not force them to the play but I will encourage them.

I asked Maxfield if he was interested in playing any sports in the upcoming months. I told him he could play soccer, football, basketball and baseball (the four main township organized sports). Max told me he wanted to play on a bowling team. It was not the response I was anticipating. Max has never bowled in his life and I did not know where he developed an interest in the sport. During our conversation I tried to encourage Max to think about the other main sports. I was hoping he would have some desire to do some type of athletics but he had no interest. I did not want to force any one sport on him and I figure he would let me know if and when he wants to join a team.

Saturday morning I took Max to his first swim lesson. It was very traumatic for him. It was also very traumatic to me. Parents were not allowed to be in the pool with their children. The lead instructor felt that since swimming is not only a sport but also about survival that parents can be a distraction to their kids. I agree with that philosophy and I watched Max from the deck. Out of the 25 or so kids in the class Maxfield was the only one screaming and crying. He was scared. He was cold. He swallowed some water and was coughing. He cried for me to come and save him. My heart ached for him as for the first time in his life I did not "rescue" him. He pleaded and begged to get out. I realized that Max may not be cut out for athletic type of activities, but since he needs to learn to swim for survival purposes I told him to tough it out. He was very upset and kept yelling that he was scared. The twenty five minutes he was in the pool seemed like forever.

The lead instructor approached me to talk about the possibility that Max may not be ready for these types of classes. We briefly discussed a refund of the fee I paid and the instructor asked if I had any questions. I asked her if she knew how much bowling shoes cost.

On the way home from swim class Max was adamant about not going back. I tried to encourage him by various tactics but none of them seemed to work. He was mad that I did not come in and save him. He was upset with me. I felt horrible and guilty. I asked him what could I do to make it up to him. He asked to bowling (he could have asked for a pony and I would have got one for him I felt so bad). We agreed and as a bribe I told him as long as he attended swim class I would take him bowling each week.

Max went bowling for the first time on Saturday. I think he may have found his sport.

He did bowl with bumpers but he beat me fair and square, which he reminded of the entire drive home. Now I need to get him on a team so he can learn about being a good winner.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Middle Finger

I just finished telling the kids a bed time story about Geo Trax trains and guys (Geo Trax trains and play sets by Fisher Price are Maxfield's favorite toys and I make up stories about the characters based on the DVD and by what Max tells me. Victor and Brutus are always the bad guys in all Geo Trax stories and all of the other trains and guys who make up Team Geo Trax are good guys) when I lifted my head above the top bunk to kiss Max goodnight.

"Dad?" He asked and I could tell he was concerned and had an important question.

"Yes pal."

"What does this mean? " He asked and he held up his middle finger. Yes, just his middle finger.

Lauren had told me that a few days before, Max was doing some kind of Spiderman web shooting dance. Instead of folding his middle finger into his palm, as Spiderman would do to shoot a web, Max got confused and was flipping the middle finger out while keeping all the other fingers closed. Basically he was dancing around the house flipping the bird. She explained to him that some people may misinterpret the middle finger as a bad gesture. That it was kind of like sign language for a bad word.

"It's just not a very nice thing to do Maxfield."

"Mommy said it means a bad word. What's the bad word?" He asked and he stared at his raised middle finger trying to figure out what it means.

"It is just a mean gesture. It is like teasing but in mean way."

"But what's the bad word?"

"It does not mean any specific word." I told him trying to avoid a long conversation about four letter words. "It means I don't like you very much. It is something you may direct at someone you don't like or who has been mean to you. But I don't want you to ever do that to someone."

He was quiet for a moment and I thought the conversation was going to end there. He put his middle finger down and I kissed him goodnight.


"Yes pal."

"The next time you tell a Team Geo Trax story, maybe all the Team Geo Trax guys like Sir John and Bruno and Ethan can all surround Brutus and Victor and do this." Maxfield held up both his middle fingers.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Medical Story-Good Vibration

“Have a seat up here.” The nurse said as she pulled on roll of crinkly white paper covering the examination bed.

“Do you have any crayons?” I asked. “So I can draw pictures while I wait.” I pointed at the paper on the bed.

She ignored my joke and asked “What brings you here today?”

“Um….well…”I stuttered.

She glanced at my chart and her eyes widened as she realized the purpose of my visit. Not waiting for my answer, she mumbled something about the doctor seeing me in few moments and she quickly left the room. A few minutes later there was soft knock on the door and the doctor entered. He was a young guy, maybe late twenties, his name tag clearly showing that he was one of the doctors in training.

“What brings you in today, William?”

“My left testicle is vibrating.”

He kept his best poker face on as he asked me a series of questions regarding the symptoms. I explained all that had happened up that point. I answered--It is only the left one. About a week. Constant. No injuries. No pain. Just the left one. No other symptoms.

“Is it a twitch or a vibration?” he asked.

“Vibration. Like a cell phone is buzzing in there.”

“Can you feel it now?”

I laughed. “Is that a cell phone joke?” I asked. “Like the Verizon commercials?”

He smiled. “That’s funny, but no. Is it vibrating right now?”


“Can you feel it with your hands?”

“No. Every time I reach down there to check. It stops.”

“It stops?”

“Yes. It’s like my ball knows that I am reaching for it and it stops. Like its hiding.”

He chuckled.

“I know ball is not the medical term but you know what I mean” I told him. “Feel free to laugh doc. Seriously; it may make this easier for both of us.”

“I just think it is funny that you gave it a personality.” He said.

“Well, don’t we all?”

He snapped on some rubber gloves and told me he was going to check me for any lumps or to see if he could feel anything. The examination was a little more than the typical turn your head and cough routine. He squeezed and poked and prodded.

“I think it was hiding from me as well.” He laughed when he finished the exam. “I do not feel anything abnormal. No lumps or anything that I would think could be the cause of it.”

“Basically you are telling me my balls feel fine.”

He was stunned. He then cracked up and in between chuckles he then said. “Yes. I guess that is what I am saying although I am not sure how to take that.”

The doctor told me he was going to have to look up some information and consult with the attending physician and he left the room. He returned a few minutes later with the attending physician who was a guy much older than me.

“What’s the verdict?” I asked.

“You’re nuts.” Said the young resident, followed up with a “Ba-dum dum.”

I laughed but the attending just gave us a stern look. The attending physician read off a list of possible causes of a vibrating testicle. He was very serious and talked about cancer of the prostate and testicles. He mentioned blood flow and nerve damage. The tone of the conversation started to concern me.

The attending doctor explained to me what he thought was the problem. “I think the most likely explanation is that you have some kind of groin injury that you are unaware of. There is a tendon that runs though that area that can cause the sensation you are feeling and it would explain why you are only have the vibration on the left side. I think if you should take it easy and see if the symptoms stop. I wouldn’t worry about.”

“Wait a minute.” I said. “What if it was your testicle that was vibrating? Would you worry about it?”

Both doctors noted my concern and explained that since it was only the left side that it was most likely not prostate related. They ruled out other causes based on my symptoms and the physical exam. They eased my concerns and I felt better. They decided I should have blood work done to be safe and rule out other possibilities.

The young resident explained. “The other cause could be that you are experiencing low testosterone levels and you 're working extra hard to produce more testosterone.”

I waited for it.

The young doctor then added. “No pun intended.”

We both laughed.

The results of my blood work were fine. All levels were good. No evidence of any diseases, cancer or low testosterone. A few weeks after that visit the vibrating stopped. My testicles feel fine.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Medical Story

One morning, about a year ago, I was stirred awake by a strange sensation in my body. After sitting up for a few seconds the sensation ceased. I figured I must have been dreaming and I went back to sleep.

A day or two later, while I was driving, the same feeling from a few nights before started again. It lasted a few minutes. I knew I was not dreaming. I got out of the car and tried to walk off the odd way I was feeling. Everything returned to normal after a few minutes and I felt better.

The next day, while I was at work, my symptom returned. I took a walk around the building and I felt better. Through out the day my symptom returned again and again. Each time was longer than the last. I took several walks around the building in an effort to ease my uneasiness. The next day was the same. I mentioned the weirdness to Lauren and she suggested I call the doctor.

The fifth day, the symptom, the odd feeling, the strange sensation came back and it did not go away. I called the doctor.

The family medical practice that I go to is a facility where they train doctors. Basically there are one or two permanent physicians and all the others are just there to learn before they move on to their specialty or another practice. I do not think I have ever seen the same doctor twice. The practice is like a box of chocolates, when you make an appointment you never know what you are going to get.

The receptionist answered and I told her I wanted to make an appointment.

"Well sir, the first available appointment we have is three weeks from Thursday." She said.

"Do you have anything sooner?" I asked. " I think I should see someone sooner."

"Is it an emergency sir?" She asked in that condescending tone that all medical receptionists have.

"Well, no. Not really. I mean I would not go to an emergency room or anything, its just that I need something sooner."

"I could have you see Dr. Lingen at 7PM tonight. You would be her last appointment. What is your name and date of birth?"

"Great." I said and I gave her my name and birth date. "Wait. Did you say her? I would rather see another doctor."

"Well, sir, is this an emergency?" She asked again stressing the word emergency making it sound as if she doubted me.

"Is there a male doctor I could see in the next day or so? I mean, not a doctor who only studies males but A doctor who is a male."

She got defensive. "Sir, ALL of our doctors are qualified and each one of them is supervised by our attending physicians, male and FEMALE."

"I would just prefer a man." I said and I was about to get rude but I realized she already had my name and I did not want to get blacklisted.

"Sir, why don't you tell me what you need to come in for and I will see if I can schedule some one."

"Okay." I took a deep breath. " My testicle, its vibrating."

" Ex..ex..excuse me?" She blurted.

"My testicle. It is vibrating."

"What do you mean?" She asked and I could hear her stifling a chuckle.

"I mean exactly that." I could feel my face and ears get flush. I continued, "My left testicle is twitching like there is a cell phone on vibrate mode stuck in my sac and it won't stop."

"I will have Dr. Frank Smith see you tomorrow at 11 AM."

"Thank you." I said.

The receptionist verified my date of birth and my name and when she said my name she stressed every syllable. I swore I could her her writing it down in the appointment book really really big with three exclamation points next to it just so she would remember to tell the other ladies about me and my testicle and they could all chuckle the next day.

to be continued....

Wednesday, March 11, 2009


The following is what I wrote for my first assignment for a creative writing course. The guidelines for the assignment were "Write a story about your life, between 3 and 5 minutes long when read aloud."

I am not really looking for feedback or anything, I just did not have anything to post this week and figured I could cut and paste the original text. I tried to make the assignment interesting, not only for the reader but also for me. By putting this piece on the blog I get a chance to add some links, which on paper would just look like bold print or when read aloud would be, well, I don't know. Is there some kind of symbol that could be used for a link when doing an oral presentation of a writing. Like air finger quotes..but only different..like an air finger links? I need to trademark this finger link thing.


“Holy shit!” I yelled as I slammed on the brakes, probably 6 seconds and 10 feet too late. I watched from the corner of my eye as the driver in the fire engine red pick-up realized he blew the stop light and he too hit the brakes. Charcoal grey smoke spit from beneath the trucks rear tires as they desperately tried to grasp more macadam. The red pick-up was heading right for me when the physical world seemed to slow down 100 fold. My brain’s activity, with all the synapses firing seemed to increase 1000 fold. It was a matter of seconds. It was a matter of a life time.

Images from my past flooded the forefront of my mind. I glanced into the rearview mirror and saw two of my three sons, frozen in time, bracing for impact. I relived their births in reverse order. The memory of the birth of my youngest, Jackson, (who was not in the car) was the most vivid as he is only 4 weeks old. The image of him laying in the orange glow of a baby warmer quickly transformed to Wyatt, my two year old, lying in the same type of contraption but only in a different city and a different state. Maxfield’s birth, the first birth I ever witnessed, invaded my mind. My 5- year-olds first high pitched cry is a sound I equate to one of my most proud moments. I remember squealing for joy as he entered the world.

I heard the squeal of my tires, crying under the duress of the hard stop. My heart beating faster reminded me of when I first met my wife. Was it 10 years ago? No. It was 11. She told me her name was Lauren and I smiled because her first initial was an L. She did not realize the impact of having her name start with the letter L meant so much to a comic book fan. Superman was one of my favorite heroes and his main girl was Lois Lane. The letter L, for me, was love at first sound. As if someone hit the scene-forward button on the remote control to my brain, much like a DVD, images from my wedding engulfed me.

“Do you William take Lauren to be your wife?” the priest asked as we stood in the shadows of an enormous oak tree.

“Yes. I do.” I answered through tears of joy and over the giggles of my seven brothers who were standing behind me.

I felt proud that our wedding reception is still talked about by family and friends as the best wedding anyone ever attended. The perfect 80 degree sunny weather combined with the serene picnic setting made for a perfect romantic event, only to be out done by the laughter caused by my brothers dressing up as super heroes for the toast.

I jerked the steering wheel hard to the left hoping to turn away from the inevitable collision. I became amazed at how many turns my life had taken. I started working when I was thirteen, stocking various tan metallic shelves with tampons, cold medicine and snacks in the local pharmacy. Right after graduating high school I became a desk jockey at a major insurance company, pushing paper in the dim fluorescent lights of a cubicle farm. I left the confines of the office to explore the opportunities of acting at a shore side dinner theater where I performed on stage and served elderly patrons lukewarm coffee during intermission. I drifted from playing characters to greeting characters in a major nightclub in Philadelphia. The clientele ranged from bus boys and chefs, arriving after their shifts at the local restaurants, still dressed in their food stained whites and checkered pants, to athletes, gangsters and movie stars all decked out in their finest attire. The dark, fog-fumed dance floor, heavy doses of alcohol and drugs kept the crowds dancing to thump, thump, thump, of a heavy bass driven beat of popular songs.

My adrenaline kicked in and I could feel the thump, thump, thump of blood pulsing in my ears as I watched the car behind me, to avoid the accident, careen off the side of the road and splinter a mailbox. The driver leaned on her horn in frustration. She looked like my only sister Sharon. Sharon is oldest child the leader in our family. I remembered how she would walk the eight of her younger brothers to the playground in our middle class suburban neighborhood to play baseball. Each one of us fielding a position on the dirt diamond as my dad would hit pop-ups and grounders to us. The oldest had first dibs on their position of choice and since I was number six I usually ended up in the outfield. We would all scurry in the direction of the ball after hearing the pop of the bat.

Pop! My front left tire hissed and I could feel the tire rim grind into the street top surely creating a huge divot. I adjusted my grip on the wheel to compensate for a sudden lurch and turn, just like I adjusted my grip on my life, my family and my God when my father passed away. Feelings of happiness overwhelmed me as I recalled afternoons at the beach with my dad. I could see his face always smiling, enjoying the moment in the stands at my high school football games. I pictured him singing, off key, to the Beach Boys on lazy Sunday afternoons. I was grateful that he and my mom always taught me that I should do the right thing. I chuckled, in spite of my predicament, that I inherited their sense of humor and that I could laugh or make jokes in most situations. I felt in awe of their willingness to allow their children grow without too much of a tight grip.

I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel. Then, I let go.

My mind slowed. I felt at peace. I caught ghost images of my past. I was twelve years old riding my bike on dirt trails through a forest. The splashes of sunlight, fighting through the canopy of tree branches, danced with the shadows below. My ride would end at the stream for a quick skinny dip and a drink from my canteen. I watched the sunset from the dock on Brigantine Bay with a beer in my hand. The red sun reflected off the water and into the windows of Atlantic City hotels making them appear as if they were on fire. I saw my children sleeping. I counted each rise and fall of their little chests.

The world sped up. I held my breath and I braced for the impact. My tires stopped and the body of the car thrust forward with a final groan. The red pick-up ground to a halt just inches from the driver’s side window. Everything became quiet. I watched the smoke from the burning tires engulf the front of the truck giving it the appearance of a fire breathing dragon.

I exhaled a sigh of relief. I looked over my right shoulder to check on the kids. “Are you guys okay?” I asked.

Both were smiling and wide-eyed. I could tell they enjoyed the excitement. What to them was only a flash of a couple of seconds, to me was a flash of a lifetime.

Wyatt nodded.

Max laughed. “Daddy just said a bad word.”

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Birthday Wishes

Do you remember, back in the day, when only close friends and family knew to wish you a happy birthday and they would either call or send a card?

Now a days, with modern technology like Facebook and Twitter and blogs, hundreds and hundreds of people find out you are year older.

It is like the electronic equivalent of putting 35 wooden cows on the front lawn with a giant sign that says "Holy Cow! Lauren is 35 today."

Happy Birthday Lauren.

Do you think sending her "pieces of flair" through Facebook is an adequate gift?

Sunday, March 08, 2009

Saving Time

Just like messing with the clocks give us the "extra" time during the day, I too, have a way of giving me more time.

Bill's Life Savings Time: I just shaved and "added" five, maybe ten years to my looks.

Thursday, March 05, 2009

Shaker Law

I think there should be a law that standardizes the types of lids/holes that garlic salt makers use on their packaging.

We use a lot of garlic salt. The usual brand we buy has the screw-off type lid and the (hell I don't know what it is called) the hole-shaker-top-thing attached to the container. We must have shopped at a different store, because the new brand we have, the hole-shaker-top-thing was actually part of the screw top lid itself. Instead of taking the lid off you just flip up a side. One side for shaking, one side for scooping. Did anyone tell me this when I went to shake a little garlic salt on my dinner the other night? No. I unscrewed the lid and I shook the shaker only to have half the container of garlic salt dump out into a pile on my chicken. Lauren got a hearty belly laugh out of it but it ruined the dinner.

I am sure some congressperson can slip a couple of mil into the stimulus package for this worthy cause.

Tuesday, March 03, 2009


My previous post, Sunday March 1st, shows a picture of Maxfield at a couple of weeks old and one at age 5. While I was looking for pictures of Max as an infant I realized how much I have changed in the five years.

Notice in the first picture (holding Maxfield when he was only a few days old) there is just a touch of gray on my left lip and the left side of my chin.

Picture 2 (holding Jackson) there is only a touch of BLACK on my chin.

Sunday, March 01, 2009

Happy Father's Day

My Dad, before he passed away, would call me on this day to wish me a Happy Father's Day. He would then call my wife and wish her Happy Mother's Day. The first year he called me on this day with his father's day wishes I didn't get it. He had to explain to me that it was the anniversary of the day I first became a father.

Maxfield is 5 today.

From this....

....to this. All in the blink of an eye.

We are having about ten, 4 and 5-year-old kids, over today, to play games and eat lots of sugar to help me celebrate Father's Day.