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Rerun

It’s a sickness really. Maybe a strange form of Tourettes. I don’t know.
But any time I see a person sit backwards on a chair, straddling the seat with the back-rest against their stomach I have to say out loud, “Hey, hey,hey-hey. What’s Happening?”

Where is the remote?

I watch a decent amount of television. Sometimes I am embarrassed by how much TV I do watch. I could be working on other things such as reading, writing, or MooneyAngelo stuff. I could be working on fixing up the house or hell I even could try exercising. But no I watch television.

I admit I enjoy some of the reality type contest shows. Survivor, Trumps Apprentice, Rockstar INXS and even The Biggest Loser. I find these shows are quickly losing their appeal to me. Not because of the crying and the “I thought we were friends. I trusted you. How could you do that to me?” that seems to come with every one of these shows. But because each one of these show’s contestants (and I am sure there are many others) are constantly saying the same phrase.

Each contestant on every one of these shows says this phrase at some point to show that they are going to do their best. That they will not get voted off. That they will not get fired. That they will sing better than everyone else.

Every time I hear the phrase I cringe. I gag on the Doritos I was eating. I look at Lauren and shake my head in disgust. This phrase is now causing me seizures during my television entertainment.

The Phrase is GAME ON.

“Oh I have been out on the island for 20 days with no food or shelter but it’s GAME ON time.”

“I did really well as project manager and I will not let John throw me under the bus. The GAME is ON.”

“I did not realize I was supposed to be singing my best from the start. Well now it’s GAME ON.”

Does anyone else hate this phrase?

Signs

We have taught Maxfield baby/infant sign language. Many doctors and parents have documented the benefits of baby sign language.
Better relationship between the parents and the kid.
Improved brain development of the child.
Improved language skills.
Children that were taught sign language do better in school at a later age, and so on and so on.

But the real reason we taught Max sign language was to prevent tantrums. Knowing that he wants something, that he has needs, saves the headache of a screaming child and a frustrated parent. This by far the best reason to teach a toddler sign language.

I worry that the signs that we taught him will prevent him from actually speaking the words that he is trying to convey. I know he knows many words. He just does not speak them. Seriously why should he even try to say “milk” when he can just sign it to us?

Maxfield knows some, what I like to call, “solid” signs. Signs like “milk”, “drink”, “eat” and “bedtime”. These words all have an object involved. A specific need. He also, much to my amazement, knows the signs to, what I call “abstract” words. Signs based on a concept. Signs like “more”, “help”, “thank you”. Intangible signs.

Of course some of the textbook signs we taught him have been modified to suit his style. Whether it is because of laziness or just creative freedom, I don’t know.

Here are some examples.

Book Sign for MILK- One hand in the air imitating squeezing a cow’s udder.
Max Sign for MILK- One hand clapping. His fingers move so fast that his fingers hitting the palm of his hand creates a noise. This is followed by a whine.

Book Sign for HELP- Both hands slightly patting the chest.
Max’s Sign for HELP- Either one or both hands slapping his chest like an ape. This sign started out as HELP. Now it means, “Please open the cabinet that the television is in, and turn on Elmo. NOW”

Book Sign for THANKS- An open hand, palm facing the face, is brought up to the chin and brought back down.
Max’s Sign for THANKS- This sign is very similar to the Signs for EAT, Blowing a kiss, covering the mouth during a cough, HOT, and our sign for “Excuse me, I just burped.” When Max wants to say thanks, he either coughs or imitates a burp, ocassionaly he blows a kiss which I guess works.

Book Sign for DRINK-A hand shaped like it is holding a cup and tilted towards the mouth.
Max’s Sign for DRINK- Max started using this sign and it looked like the universal sign for “Can I have Beer.” Or “Ooops it looks like some one had a little too much to drink.” I t has now evolved to a pinky-and-thumb-out-surfer-dude “hang loose” sign.

With Friends Like These

The following is part of two funny phone conversations I had with my brother.

Bill, I just want you to be prepared for what may be in your future. My wife just called me and told me that when I get home I have to give my son and enema. You see he is a little constipated and the she took him to the doctor and the doctor said that is what we need to do. Why me? Because I am the poop master. Apparently that is my title in the house. This is what I have to look forward to this evening when I get home from work. Everybody always says “Ohhh being a parent is wonderful” or “Fatherhood is so rewarding.” What is so rewarding about giving an enema? How do I explain to a four year old that I am giving him an enema? How are you supposed to do that? I know the kid is in pain. He didn’t even want to go trick or treating and if he doesn’t want to do that, than I am sure he needs this. I just wanted to let you know that is what I have planned for this evening.

This is part of the phone call a few hours later.

So I get home and I say , “Luke, come here. I have to give you an enema.” He says to me, “M&M’s okay.” So now I know I let the kid down already. I bring him into the bathroom and I show him the box. On the back is a picture of the position he needs to be in and I explain to him that I need him to kneel down like the guy in the picture. So he gets down on the towel that I laid out and I tell him I have to take his pants off? “Why do you need to take my pants off?” I tell him to just do it and I leave the bathroom to get another towel. He turns to me and says, “Dad? I am not going to like this am I?” How am I supposed to answer that? I come back and he locked me out of the bathroom. He kept saying that he was fine and that he did not need the enema. I had to get a wire hangar and break into the bathroom to give him an enema. I was trying not to laugh. No one tells you this is what being a father is all about. I tell him to relax, that I have to insert the plastic tube into his butt. He said “No you don’t.” I explained that it was going to hurt me more than it hurt him. Although I know that is a bunch of bullshit. So I go to insert the enema and he clenching his cheeks so tight. You should have seen it, I am fighting with a four year old trying to pry open his cheeks. Do I have help? No. Because I am the Poop master. This is my job as a father. I take out the trash, cut the grass, move heavy things and I give enemas. They are the manly jobs.

Frustration

You would think that after six months of having the child safety locks on the cabinets in the kitchen, that I would not try to open the cabinets the regular way.

But everyday while putting away the dishes, I just grab the handle to cabinet door and pull. It opens an inch and then "clack" it gets stuck. I curse under my breath and I think "Why do I think that the locks know when an adult is trying to open the cabinet?" I fight with the latch, and open the cabinet, and put the dish away.

Then, 30 seconds later, I will go to put another dish away and just pull on another cabinet door. "Clack". It gets stuck. It is an endless cycle.

Poop-A-Million

Every now and then Maxfiled and I will go to Books A Million (Books A Million is much like Barnes and Noble but not as upscale). Books A Million has the Thomas the Tank Engine railroad play set that keeps Max busy while I get to read comic books or magazines. They also have a large train like platform that Max can play on.

On our last three visits (no Lauren) to the bookstore Max has used this opportunity to have an explosive diaper. I do not manage well with changing him public restrooms. It always is an adventure, with trying to tie him down to the changing station, keeping his hands out of the urinal, preventing him from eating the blue urinal blocks, as well as getting him properly cleaned.

I don’t know what it is about Books A Million that loosens Max’s insides, but after the third time, I started to think maybe it was the air inside the store.

Last night Lauren, Max and I went to the Library. Our library system in Orlando is very cool. You can borrow video games, CDs, DVDs, complete seasons of TV shows, oh and books. There was a lot to look over since this was our first trip to the library.

We were not there longer than 20 minutes when Max had another explosion.

It’s books. It has got to be books. Not just one or two books, but if he is surrounded by thousands and thousands of books. I don’t know if he gets nervous around so much reading material or if he has picked up on the fact that I bring a book into the bathroom at home and he has subconsciously linked books to “going”.

I hope he gets over this by the time he starts school. He may have some serious problems working on his term papers.

I am not touching you.

The other night we are laying in bed and Lauren is drifting off to sleep. I put my face very close to hers and stare directly at her closed eyes. She senses what I am doing. She opens her eyes. "What?" She says.
"Nothing."
"I'm trying to sleep."
"I know but you do this to me all the time."
"Go to sleep." She closes her eyes.

I stick my finger out just centimeters away from her face and I hold it there. It is just enough for her to sense it without me actually touching her. She slowly opens her eyes, “What are you doing?” she asks somewhat groggy.

“Nothing.”

“Well knock it off. I am trying to sleep.” She closes her eyes.

Thirty seconds later I reach my finger up again just below her eye. Without moving she says, “Knock. It. Off.”

“What? I am not touching you.”

She turns over and mumbles something.

“How come it’s funny when you do it to me?”

Then it hit me.

She plays “I’m not touching you” In bed WAY more than I do.

The History of MooneyAngelo

While in college the Lawn Whisperer dated an Art Major. He spent many a night sitting up with her as she worked diligently to meet her deadlines for her projects. What is a guy to do while his girlfriend is sculpting and painting? He decided he would sculpt and paint with her. Taking the scraps of Bristol board and left over paints he set out to entertain himself with his artistic talent. I use the word talent very loosely.

One of his first creations was a barn. He painted it free hand. It was very ugly. He named it the “Ugly Barn.” His next piece of work was a picture of a duck. It was pretty lame. He titled it the “Lame Duck”. LW’s middle name is Mooney, which is an old family name, and he signed his work MooneyAngleo.

The best part of the “Lame Duck” was the birds flying in the sky. LW never having studied art in elementary school was unaware that the simple way to draw birds flying in the distance was to use the style of the lower case ‘m’. LW thought that he was supposed to use the lower case ‘w”. All of his early paintings had birds flying upside down. The upside down birds became a signature trademark of his work.

The MooneyAngelo signature upside birds also inspired a series of paintings. A blue “w’ was a Blue Jay. A red “w’ was a Cardinal. A black ‘w” was a black bird. He painted these on canvas as well as boxer shorts.

I an effort to expand his horizons, MooneyAngelo embarked on painting more complex scenes. His works during this revolutionary period included: “The Invisible Robber”, which a was a black and white etching of a stick figure policeman pointing a gun at and empty space. “The Snowball Fight” which is two snowballs boxing. And “The Unfortunate Cow” which showed a cow not quite making it over the moon.

Having a minimal audience that understood his genius, MooneyAngelo realized that some of his images needed a story to make a more serious impact on the viewer. “A picture is worth a thousand words.” He said. “But with a story, my pictures are worth a thousand Plus.” And so each of his masterpieces would now have a companion poem.

Fast Forward
Many years later, LW rediscovered his portfolio of hundreds of paintings and poems. Knowing that there may be an audience for his work at this time, he sought to improve upon his already existing ideas. Since MooneyAngelo had the artistic style of a
2nd grader, LW asked for assistance from his brother William who had the artistic style of a 5th grader. William would re-invent the images, adding his own influence while keeping true to the original context of the writing and images.

And that is the history of MooneyAngelo.


I plan to update the MooneyAngelo Blog/site once a week. Please check it out and leave comments. Lawn Whisperer loves comments.

Sugar High

I think Maxfield had a good time last night. He enjoyed seeing other kids all dressed up. He only made it to a few houses because our neighborhood was pretty lame with many porch lights out.

Couple of cool things to note.

1. Maxfield is officially 20 months old today.
2. "Maxfields Favorite Uncle"'s birthday is tomorrow. Happy Birthday.
3. MooneyAngelo is updated.
4. My brother Jim (the youngest and my mom's favorite son) and his wife had their fourth baby on Halloween. That makes it the 20th grandchild for my parents. Her name is Olivia although I was hoping for Elvira or Broomhilda or something like that. Congrats.

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.  

Waiting

A few weeks ago Maxfield had his 18-month check up. Dr. R. suggested we get blood work done so she would have a base line reading. A couple of days later they call us and say that Max’s white blood cell count is a little low and that we should get another blood test to see if it is a fluke. Apparently Max’s reading is only .3 (point three) below the bottom range. But it is enough to warrant concern.
Lauren takes Max in again this past Monday to have the blood drawn.

This is the phone call that she got on Wednesday.

Lauren: Hello
Nurse: Hi this is the nurse Louise from Dr. R’s office. I am calling about Maxfield’s blood test. His white blood cell count is still low. It is .3 (point 3) lower than the last test, and, oh…Oh.. . I should have the Dr. look at this. I will have someone call you back.

The nurse hangs up.

Now, for real, seriously, Louise, what the fuck is wrong with you? You would think, in nursing school, they would teach you that you DO NOT call parents, and say “…oh..oh I should have the Dr. look at this. I will have someone call you back.”

The worst part, NO ONE CALLED US BACK!

What the fuck! The guy who treats our grass with pesticides and fertilizers lets me know right away if he sees something that needs to be fixed or addressed and it’s fucking grass. Not a child. Grass.

So Lauren and I sit for 24 hours waiting to hear from the doctor. Nothing. I had to call them myself. I left a message and had to wait another 4 hours for Dr. R. to call me. When she finally did, she told us it is nothing to worry about. It could be that Max just had a viral infection and that Max needs to have another blood test. It could be Max's baseline reading is just slightly lower than normal. If the WBC is still low we will need to go see a specialist. I pray that is not the case.

But if it is, I hope the specialist has the same “bedside manners” as the fertilizer guy.

Fuckers.

Almost Famous

Years ago I used to manage a nightclub. It was a very popular nightclub in Philly. I also used to do extra work and some small acting roles on films or commercials being shot in Philadelphia. This is a list of some of the famous people I have met and actually had conversations with. Some are sports stars some are famous directors and some are TV and film stars. I also have met a fair share of infamous people, like gangsters, politicans and future criminals. I left them off the list.

1. Bob Backlund (Wrestler from the 80s)
2. Bruce Willis (twice)
3. Samuel Jackson
4. Dom Iarera (Comedian)
5. Anthony Russell (Life with Bonnie)
6. John Wayne Bobbit (the guy whose wife cut off his pecker)
7. Dennis Rodman
8. Dr. J
9. Tug McGraw
10.Darren Dalton
11.Eric Lindross (ass hole)
12.M. Night Shyamalan
13.Billy Crudup
14.Oprah Winfrey
15.Danny Glover
17.Willem Dafoe
18.Steve Buscemi
19.Opie and Anthony
20.Pauly Shore
21.G Love
22.Mark McGwire
23.Pink
24.Francis Ford Coppola
25.Alan Iverson
26.Jonathan Demme
27.The Legendary Will Darnell
28.Charles Barkley
29.Tommy Lee
30.John Goodman
31. Boys 2 Men


I am sure there are others I just can't remember right now.

Tagged

MRTL tagged me to do this little game. I usually do not do the tag games. But since it is MRTL, and since it was actually interesting I decided to do it. It was fun to look back over the past 6 months of stuff that I have posted. Lauren and I disucssed printing everything and making a scrap book for Max, so I got a chance to review some archives (Thanks Mrtl).

Anyway here is the game.

The Rules:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.

I will not Tag anyone else. But here is the 5th sentence from my 23rd post.

WHY DECAF?

Is It Wrong......

....to be eating a big 'ol bowl of chocolate pudding with home made whipped cream and a bag of popcorn while watching The Biggest Loser?

PB&J

I made Maxfield a peanut butter and jelly sandwich the other day for lunch. I had flashbacks to when I was a kid.

How do you make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?

I put peanut butter on one piece of bread and the jelly on the other piece of bread and then put the two pieces together.

Growing up, I am pretty sure that is how my mom made them. But if Dad made PB&J he put the peanut butter on a piece of bread and then put the jelly on top of the peanut butter and then he would put a blank piece of bread on top. The jelly would not spread evenly across the bread and there would be big clumps of jelly, which would soak through the bread. I never liked when my dad made lunches.

Public service announcement: Check with your kids with how they like their PB&J. It may scar them for life.

The Kid's Best Friend 

Them's fighting words

Three disagreements we have had.

2 Degrees of Separation.
I like to have the air at 77 degrees when I go to bed. Lauren likes to have it at 79. She gets too cold if it is below 79. I am too hot otherwise.
Lauren: Did you turn down the A/C?
Bill: Yes.
Lauren: You did?
Bill: Wait. When you say turn down, do you mean turn the temparature down or turn it down like it wont go on as much?
Lauren: So it won't be cold.
Bill: No. I like it at 77.
Lauren: That is too cold.
Bill: I wake up all sweaty when it is higher than that. Beside you can wear a sweater to bed. It is easier to get warmer than it is to get cooler.
Lauren: I am not wearing a sweater to bed. Beside you can just take the covers off.
Bill: I need to sleep with covers.

Breakfast of champions.
Lauren made homemade cookies. I woke up on Saturday and thought they would be a good breakfast.
Lauren: Are you seriously going to eat chocolate chip cookies for breakfast?
Bill: Yeah why not? It is the same thing as cereal.
Lauren: No, it is not.
Bill: Yea it is.
Lauren:I can't believe you would eat cookies for breakfast in front of our son like that. Think of the example you are setting for him. Don't you want him to grow up healthy.
Bill: (putting cookies away) Man, I can't believe you would bring Max into this. Fine, I won't eat them.
Lauren: But I thought you just said they were the same as cereal? Hah.
Bill: Do'h.

Just a fantasy.
I am in a few fantasy football leagues.

Bill: Do you think I should start Vick or Bledsoe?
Lauren: I don't care.
Bill: You see Vick was hurt last week....
Laure: I don't care about any of them. You just want to use me as an excuse.
Bill: What?
Lauren: If I tell you to go with Vick and he has bad game you are going say it is my fault. So I don't care.
Bill: No I wouldn't
Lauren: Yes. You. Would.
Bill: Okay. You're right.

Max and Mommy 

The kid seriously loves oatmeal. 

Love is...

...taking the empty trashcans back on trashday, before I get home from work, because you know I hate doing it.

Let's Make a Deal

Lauren and I went car shopping this weekend. We are looking for a Mini Van and possibly a used second car. I would love to get a van that looks like THIS. But none of the dealers had that.

Anyway, Lauren is very smart when it comes to money, and I am very much a smart ass when it comes to dealing with, well anybody that is trying to take our money. We make a good team when it comes to shopping. I listen to Clark Howard and Lauren has done a lot of research in regards to car buying. We do not need a new car but we would like one, and one of the lessons I have learned from my dad is:
“The best time to buy a car is when you have one. Not when you need one. You can be picky.”

These are conversation we had with different dealers.

One dealer said he could work up the numbers we were trying to reach. After many clicks on his calculator he came up with an amount that was 10% higher than the number we originally agreed upon. We started to leave and he said he would get his manager to talk to us.
Mngr: This is a good deal.
Bill: But it is not what we are willing to spend.
Mngr: What are you willing to spend?
Bill: 10 % less than what is on this paper.
Mngr: This is a good deal. I’ll tell you what. We can sign today and I will give you another 30 days to come up with the money.
Bill: I’ll tell you what, I will give you 2 minutes to deduct the 10% right now.
Mngr: Let me talk to the manager.
Bill: I thought you were the manager.
Mngr: (pissed off) Well I am, but not the one who makes the final decisions. I make some decisions but not all of them.
Bill: Can you make the decision to deduct the 10%?
Mngr: Can we compromise?
Bill: Sure, Instead of two minutes, I will give you 5 minutes to deduct the 10%.

We went to another dealer who we liked. The sales people were real nice and the managers were nice. We were looking at a van.
Salesperson: This beige interior really makes the inside of the van look a lot bigger.
Bill: Really? Do you think I should start wearing beige underwear?

Bill: You guys have listed here on the features “Carpet”.
Salesperson: Yeah.
Bill: Why? Do they offer tile or hardwood floor in cars these days?


Lauren: What did you think of that used car?
Bill: I liked it.
Lauren: Really? Are you thinking about joining a Bocce club or something?
Bill: Why do think it is an old persons car?
Lauren: YEAH.

Lauren: They need to make us an offer we can’t refuse.
Bill: (showing her the paper) This is the offer.
Lauren: Oh. We can refuse that.


So we did not buy anything this weekend.

Loves his oatmeal 

Me and Max  

Off the Road

I am back. I wanted to thank my brother the Lawn Whisperer for filling in for me for the past few days. I hope you enjoyed him. I know he enjoyed blogging for the first time.

Traveling for work is something that I enjoy doing. Sure, it has its drawbacks, like missing Lauren and Maxfield, eating bad take out, Mapquest, airports, getting lost and other such nonsense.
But it also has some advantages. I enjoy being in small towns or other cities that I would never think of visiting. I enjoy driving and sometimes the solitude that driving distances provides. I enjoy eating bad take out. And this past trip provided me with the opportunity to do something that I never really thought about until it happened.

I had my first phone conversation with Maxfield.

Now Max knows what the phone is but I do not think he knew what it does. As far as he was concerned it was just another remote control to break. He knew to hold it to his ear because he has seen Lauren and I use the phone all the time. But that was the extent of it.

I called right before Lauren was putting him to bed. I asked Lauren to put him on the phone so I could say goodnight. Once I knew he was on, I said hello. Max knows a few words. Not many but a few. We never counted. He knows what is being said to him but never really repeats anything in English.
Me: How was your day today?
Max: Dada baa. Dooo duh duh duh.
Me: Really? Are you taking care of mom?
Max: Babop, baah bah. Ta doo. Oooooohhh.

He started babbling. High pitched mumbling. He was talking to me. He was telling me about his day. Just babble. But I knew that THIS babbling was because he heard me, his Dad on the phone. He was excited to hear me. I was excited to hear him.
Me: Max, What does a cow say?
Max: Mooooouuuuuh
Me: What does a kitty cat say?
Max: Mow
Me: What does a dog say?
Max: Hoof hoof hoof.

Lauren told me, once she was back on the phone, that his face lit up when I started talking to him. After I hung up, I turned on the television in the hotel to watch INXS Rock Star. But, I couldn’t really get into it. I kept repeating to myself, with a huge smile on my face, “hoof, hoof, hoof.”

Kyle Solo, Lawn Whisperer, Luke Skywalker 

Why I Lawn Whisper by L.W.

This is the last installment of the Guest Blogging by the Lawn Whisperer. William Should be back tomorrow. Hopefully everyone enjoyed William's brother's take on things.

I am the self proclaimed Lawn Whisperer. I take great pride in having the nicest lawn in the neighborhood. I love when my neighbors ask for advice, and I won’t give it to them. I recently told my one neighbor this, “Bob, I’ll give you a few secrets, but only if you promise to move.” “What?” he said, looking confused. I said, “ Listen, if I give you advice, and your lawn takes off, then I won’t have the nicest lawn anymore. So you agree to move out of the neighborhood, and I will give you some pointers.” Needless to say, Bob didn’t move, and his lawn still looks like shit.

The real beauty of taking care of the lawn is that I get to do it all by myself. Well, me and Monster. Monster is my mower. It’s short for the Green Monster, named after the famed left field fence at Fenway Park. Monster is a 36-inch, Bunton Walk Behind. I have the rider Velkee attachment that I stand on to ride. My wife got that for me, best damn present I ever got. Me and Monster, twice a week, that’s 3 hours of freedom. Count them guys, three hours of peacefulness in one week. You can’t beat it. This is the real reason that I whisper to the lawn.

My lawn is my fourth kid. I treat her the same as my other three kids. I give her all the TLC she deserves. And you know what? She appreciates me. My lawn has never talked back to me. My lawn has never poured her dinner on the floor. My lawn has never borrowed the car. My lawn has never left the playroom a mess, then yelled at me for making her clean up. My lawn has never hit her brother, just because. My lawn has never given me a headache. My lawn has never called me stupid. My Lawn has never thrown up all over the bed at two in the morning. My lawn has never thrown up all over the bed at three in the morning, after I changed the sheets at two in the morning. My lawn never used the coffee table as a launching pad, and the couch as a landing pad. My lawn listens to me. I whisper to my lawn, and she says nothing back. Did you hear that…nothing. I love my lawn. I take care of my lawn. I whisper to my lawn, and she listens. I can’t tell you what I say to my lawn, cause if my wife found out, I’d be divorced.

Lawn Whisperer presents Kyle Solo

If you are new to Poop and Boogies, William, the usual blogger is away for a few days.
Guest Blogging today for William is.....
The Lawn Whisperer.



I have three kids. My daughter is 21 and in college. My sons are 5 and 4. I am currently parenting at two separate ends of the spectrum. I am not sure which end of the spectrum is more difficult, but I can say that the 5 and 4 year old require a more acute sense of catastrophe stopping skills. That is my position in the family. I stop potential catastrophes. I will let you in on my most recent one.

Occasionally, I get the two boys to myself for a day or two. I do not like when my wife gets free time, but apparently I get more than my share, and have to give her some space.
So my days alone with the boys usually start with a trip to the toy store. I find that buying them a new toy in the morning hours saves me at least a half a day of aggravation. This particular day is going to be a Star Wars day. They have just gotten into the first 3 movies, well the second three, but the first three filmed. You know what I’m talking about, the 25 year old movies.

My younger sons name is Luke. My older son is Kyle. So, we get to the store and start looking at guys. You got the Storm Troopers. You got Darth Vader. You got Chewbacca. If they were in the movie, they have a guy for it. Naturally, Luke wants a Luke Skywalker guy. He likes that it is his name and he says it a hundred times. “Dad, he has the same name as me, I want him.” I say that is fine and grab a Luke Skywalker.
With this I notice, with my keen sense of Catastrophe stopping skills, that Kyle is teary eyed and ready to have a meltdown. “He has a guy with his name, I don’t have a guy with my name. I don’t want a guy. Star Wars is stupid.” This conversation is getting louder, and more animated with every sobbing word. I need to do something. So I do what every great parent does, I lie. I tell him that Han Solo’s real name is Kyle. I tell him that his nickname is Han. Kyle falls for it. Luke buys Luke Skywalker, and Kyle buys Kyle Solo. I get a half a day of happiness. Catastrophe averted. I sold that lie so well, that when we watch the movie, my entire family refers to Han Solo as Kyle. It was a thing of beauty.

And Heeerreees... the Lawn Whisperer

Guest Blogging By the Lawn Whisperer

Hello bloggers. I am not as talented as Bill when it comes to writing. I do not have the same cynical outlook on all life related things. I have an entirely different cynical outlook. I will try to keep you interested over the next couple of days, but if you lose interest, I will not be offended, as I do not know any of you.

I am actually the middle child in the family. I am the fifth of nine. Bill is the sixth of nine. Bill likes to take the middle child thing and run with it. So, I don’t even get that. See, the middle child, getting screwed again. The only thing that I truly am, and someone has to try and take credit for it. I mean seriously, can’t I be overlooked and forgotten all by myself? My entire life I was lost in the shuffle, and here I am in my mid 30’s and I can’t even be the middle child, all alone. Lost again.

Poop and Boogies is true. We ate that every night. The funny thing about eating poop and boogies is that it tastes like chicken. That’s right. Chicken.

From my vantage point growing up, it seemed like we had chicken every day. We had Roasted Chicken. We had Grilled Chicken. We had Chicken and Dumplings. We had Chicken and Stuff. We had Chicken Soup. You get the point; we ate so much chicken, that I no longer like chicken. Now, our mom is a good cook, (that’s my disclaimer in case Mom is reading this.) but why so much chicken?

Now, I married a woman that does not cook. She does not cook, and she won’t even be mad at me for telling the world that. Here’s the kicker, the only thing she does cook is Chicken. I certainly did not marry her for her cooking, but give me a break. She cooks chicken ten different ways. That is the ten times a year that she cooks. So my kids ask her, “Mom, what is this we are eating?”

I tell them, “It’s poop and boogies. You’ll like it. It tastes like chicken.”

Backup

I will be away for a few days ( I will be checking in) on business. Johnny Carson used to have Jay Leno or Letterman fill in for him whenever he was away.

So over the next few days I will have a Guest Blogger filling in here at Poop and Boogies. I have searched far and wide to find someone that could write in the same fashion that I do . Someone to keep the Poop and Boogies feel. Someone that the readers may find humorous.

He has commented on here before. I have used some of his writings before. Some readers may be familiar with him and find him amusing. He is my brother so he knows about how we grew up.

He will act like a back up quarterback. Like Doug Flutie (his favorite all time football player) who whenever gets called to play, does an outstanding job, but is only good for one or two games.

So for the next few days I present to you.............


Shhhhhhhhhhhh.
The LAWN WHISPERER.

WTF?

Lauren sent this to me yesterday. It made me laugh. I figured appropriate for WTF?

Chee-TOES

Maxfield is 18 months old. He is barefoot most of the time. If he does wear shoes, it is usually sandals (without socks) 85% of the time. Why do his feet stink?

Sure he is active. He runs through the house. He plays outside. But his feet are aired out. It is not like he is playing basketball everyday. It is not like he sweats buckets while playing with his Lego’s. He gets a bath every night. I can’t figure it out. Do other children his age have stinky feet?

The other night I was wrestling with him and I grabbed his feet like I was going to eat them. “Pee-Ewwww, Maxfield your feet stink.” He of course is giggling.
Lauren said, “Max’s feet smell like Cheetos.”

“Great.” I said. “Now I am not going to be able to eat Cheetos again for at least….30 minutes”.

I love Cheetos.

Cool

Family portrait. If you look close you can see Lauren in the left lens and me in the right lens.

Maxfield and cousin Bo just hanging. 

Will Power

We were driving out of the Waterford Lakes shopping center the other day. This shopping center is the size of a small city.

“Just because there is ice cream in the freezer, does not mean you HAVE to eat it.”

“But, Lauren, that is what it is there for.”

“Not at 2 o’clock in the morning.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You just need to have will power Bill. Will power.”

Just then, in front of us, a silver car started to back out of a spot to our right. Lauren gives a friendly honk of the horn just to let the person know we are there. The silver car backs completely out of the spot so the driver, looking through her passenger side window could make a face at us. We could have totally T-boned the silver car. The silver car driver raises her hands in disgust and yells something at us. She then pulls back into the spot. Apparently she was just straightening her car out.

Lauren pulls up to the spot and opens my window.

The silver car lady gets out of her car and yells. “WHAT!”

Lauren leans over me and says to the lady, “You were yelling at us. I was wondering what you were so mad at.”

The silver car lady raises her hands above her head, “What! I was just straightening the car out. Why do you have to honk at me? Calm down.”

Lauren, does a double take, looks at me, looks at the lady and says, “YOU calm down. I was just letting you know I was here. You don’t have to be so angry. I was being nice. You backed out in front of me.”

“I know what I was doing. You don’t have to honk.” The silver car lady did the whole talk to the hand thing as she walked away.

I turned to Lauren smiling, “Wow. You never are confrontational. What made you say something?”

“The fact that she is screaming at me, when she was clearly in the wrong. I can’t stand it when people are like that.”

“Yeah, but you were so calm. You weren’t mad. You didn’t yell. I was shocked that you even said something.”

“I was surprised you didn’t say something Bill. Usually, you are always telling me to be more confrontational.”

“ I was just going to call her a whore, but I didn’t. How was that for will power?”

Genetics

I took a genetics class in 10th grade. We covered eye color with Big B and little b. We discussed dominant traits and recessive traits. Attached ear lobes or dangling ear lobes. Tongue curler or not a tongue curler. There were others.

I am curious to find out about whether the following is a genetic trait.

Okay reader, imagine yourself on the phone. An imaginary phone call if you will. Hold you hand up to your head like you were on the phone.

Are you a "pinky to the mouth, thumb to the ear" imaginary phone person? Or are you the "closed fist to the cheek" imaginary phone person?

Cowboy

A conversation between my wife and my mother.

Lauren: Bill was telling me you went to a Kenny Chesney concert.
Mom: Yes it was great.
Lauren: He said Kid Rock was there.
Mom: Yes and Uncle Kracker
Lauren: Did Kid Rock sing his stuff or did he sing country music?
Mom: He sang country stuff.
Lauren: Oh. So no Bitches and HO’s?
Mom: No.

Style

"Seriously Bill, you were going to let him go outside like this? He looks like your brother Dennis."

Two fisting 

On the Road

Two weeks ago Lauren the kid an I drove from Orlando, FL to Philadelphia, PA for our vacation. Needless to say we were going against the usual vacation traffic that heads down this way. Here are some highlights from our 17 hour drive.

Thursday 8/18/05
5:42 pm- Pull out of driveway. I am driving.
5:46 pm-Witness the largest lightning bolt (bolt not flash) we have ever seen, strike about 100 yards ahead of us.
5:47 pm Witness the largest lightning bolt (bolt not flash) we have ever seen, strike about 50 yards ahead of us.
5:50 pm-Stuck in traffic
6:10 pm- Finally start moving at a decent speed.
8:25-Cross the Florida/Georgia border. Lauren starts to sing the James Brown song "Georgia-Lina"
8:30-pm Stop for gas (pay an arm) near Kingsland Georgia. Stop at Wendy's , change Max's diaper, get some grub (couple of burgers and chicken nuggets). Lauren takes over driving.
8:45 pm-Witness on the horizon in front of us, brilliant flashes of lightning. Maxfield falls asleep.
8:46pm- Lauren starts to sing the James Brown song "Georgia-Lina"
8:47pm-Lauren is driving and I am trying to arrange her food so she will not be distracted while driving. I say to her, "Would you like some of my nuggets on your lap?". We both giggle like 12 year olds.
9:01 pm-The flashes of lightning that were in front of us are now all around us. They are so fast and bright and there are so many that appears like a strobe effect. It feels like we are driving in slow motion.
9:15 pm-Witness the biggest lightning bolt (not flash) we have ever seen strike about 50 feet ahead of us. It hung in the air for about 20 seconds dancing on the ground. Amazing
9:16-pm I say "That was the biggest one I ever saw." Lauren giggles like a 12 year old.
9:30- pm Get through the storm. I try to sleep with one eye open.

Friday 8/19/05
1:30ish- AM- Stop to pee somewhere in South Carolina. Lauren starts to sing "Georgia-lina".I take over as driver. Lauren tries to sleep with one eye open.
2:35-am Stop near Dillon, South Carolina at South of the Border (tourist trap that is very creepy at this time of night) for gas. (pay a Leg).
2:45-am Enter North Carolina. There are only four cars on the road. A black pick-up, a maroon sedan, an 18 wheeler truck and myself. We are going between 85 and 90 mph. We each take turns being the lead car for about 10 minutes, before moving into the right lane and allowing someone else to take the lead. It was like a dance. We drive like this for an hour and a half.

The timeline gets a little hazy here because the trip was long. Somewhere in Virginia Max wakes up. Virginia is a deceptively long state.

7:15-am Stuck in traffic outside of D.C. (Hi to CAT, Susie and Mrtl's parents who I think all live in the D.C. / Maryland area)
7:30-am Upset that we do not see any signs for Cracker barrel, we stop at Bob Evans to eat breakfast in Columbia Maryland.
8:11 -am I use the bathroom at the Bob Evan's and I hear a man at the sink say "HOLY! Man, I had to wash my hands THREE times." The food I just ate turns in my stomach. He was not talking to anybody.
8:30-am Back on the road and we see a sign for Cracker barrel about 5 minutes up I-95 from the Bob Evans. Damn.
10:45-am. Arrive at my parents house for the start of our vacation of driving around the Philadelphia area to see friends and family. Knowing that in a week we will have to make the 17 hour journey back to Orlando.

Eating like a big kid.