I couldn't live without any of them. Happy Birthday my love.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Quiz
What do these three things have in common?
I couldn't live without any of them. Happy Birthday my love.
I couldn't live without any of them. Happy Birthday my love.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Inner Shame
The other day, during dinner I received a phone call from my brother Dennis. I took the call, while Lauren and Maxfield finished eating. After speaking with Dennis for a few minutes I looked over at Lauren who had her eyes closed and her head down and was shaking it from side to side. I thought she was mad that I took a call during dinner. Much to my relief she was not mad but, saddened and embarrassed and somewhat shamed by the conversation I was having. She could only hear one side, but this is what she heard.
“Yea. Are you going to see it? (Pause). Yeah I want to but I don’t know if I will be able to. (Pause) You kidding me, I am definitely looking forward to it. I just hope they don’t mess it up. (Pause). No. No. (Pause) Oh you mean Peter Rasputin. Colossus. He wore the red and yellow top with the blue boots. He was Kitty Pryde’s boyfriend. Ariel or also know as Shadowcat. She could walk through walls. I think she was called Phase at one point. (Pause) His body turns into an organic steel and he is super strong. Him and Wolverine were known for the Fast Ball Special where he would throw Wolverine at the enemy. (Pause) He is playing Beast. He was normal but tried to fix his mutation and ended up making it worse. So he is all blue and hairy now. (Pause). Well Nightcrawler was always my favorite. I loved the first two X-Men films.”
It was at this point that I looked up and saw Lauren’s shamed look. I kind of raised my eyebrows to silently ask her what was wrong.
She shook her head and said, “I can’t believe I married such a dork.”
“Yea. Are you going to see it? (Pause). Yeah I want to but I don’t know if I will be able to. (Pause) You kidding me, I am definitely looking forward to it. I just hope they don’t mess it up. (Pause). No. No. (Pause) Oh you mean Peter Rasputin. Colossus. He wore the red and yellow top with the blue boots. He was Kitty Pryde’s boyfriend. Ariel or also know as Shadowcat. She could walk through walls. I think she was called Phase at one point. (Pause) His body turns into an organic steel and he is super strong. Him and Wolverine were known for the Fast Ball Special where he would throw Wolverine at the enemy. (Pause) He is playing Beast. He was normal but tried to fix his mutation and ended up making it worse. So he is all blue and hairy now. (Pause). Well Nightcrawler was always my favorite. I loved the first two X-Men films.”
It was at this point that I looked up and saw Lauren’s shamed look. I kind of raised my eyebrows to silently ask her what was wrong.
She shook her head and said, “I can’t believe I married such a dork.”
Funny
Yesterday, after work, we went to park to play. There was another family there, Scott, his wife Dee and their little boy who is Maxfield’s age. We have seen them before at the park and have made small talk in the past. This time they brought their dogs, a big Rottweiler type of dog and a basset hound.
As the kids were playing and Lauren was conversing with Dee and Scott I went over to pet the dogs. I was scratching the Rott on the head and back and sides as well as under his chin, when Scott said to me, “He (the Rott) may be a little moody. He just had surgery and has stitches.”
“Oh” I said as I stopped petting the dog. “I hope I didn’t pet him where he has the stitches.”
“I hope not.” Scott said, “He had his anal glands removed and I hope you weren’t petting him there.”
I think I met my match in the neighborhood for saying things that shouldn’t be said but are too funny to pass on.
On another note I noticed since the LawnWhisperer started his own blog he has been very lax on commenting on this one. Go and check it out. It is funny. And yell at him for not commenting over here.
As the kids were playing and Lauren was conversing with Dee and Scott I went over to pet the dogs. I was scratching the Rott on the head and back and sides as well as under his chin, when Scott said to me, “He (the Rott) may be a little moody. He just had surgery and has stitches.”
“Oh” I said as I stopped petting the dog. “I hope I didn’t pet him where he has the stitches.”
“I hope not.” Scott said, “He had his anal glands removed and I hope you weren’t petting him there.”
I think I met my match in the neighborhood for saying things that shouldn’t be said but are too funny to pass on.
On another note I noticed since the LawnWhisperer started his own blog he has been very lax on commenting on this one. Go and check it out. It is funny. And yell at him for not commenting over here.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
A room with a view
We are having a screen room put onto the back of our house. The workers have been out a few times to do some prep work, taking measurements, pouring concrete, more measurements, things like that. My usual experience with contractors has always been negative but this company keeps showing up, out of the blue, to make sure things are proceeding smoothly.
Our bedroom is off the back of the house as well and we have a floor to ceiling window that overlooks the back yard, which the previous owners of the house had done an excellent job with the landscape. Lauren made a Roman blind for the window, which we open every morning to let in the natural light. Our back yard is fairly private so we are not too concerned about our neighbors seeing us. Lauren and I plan to build a slate stone patio off of the bedroom once the screen room is done. I am not a big fan of having the patio or the screen room eat into our yard, but so far it looks good.
This past Saturday I was in the back yard cleaning away some of the debris left behind from pruning the bushes that were close to the future screen room area. Maxfield was dying to come outside and help so instead of allowing him to play in the thorns, I decided to take him to the park. His Godmother Bridget sent him very cool trucks that are perfect for the park’s sandbox.
We played for an hour or so, both of us, digging and dumping sand all over each other and by the time we were finished we were covered head to toe with sand. I decided it would be easier to take Max into the shower off our bedroom with me and use the handheld showerhead to remove the sand from him. Lauren agreed that would be the best way to clean him off and she left the bedroom. When we were done with the shower, I did my best to dry him off in the bathroom before taking him upstairs to change him. It is difficult to dry oneself off while also trying to dry off a 2 year old. I called for Lauren to assist me but she did not hear me. “She must be upstairs.” I thought. I figured Max could stay naked for a few minutes while I got dressed then I would take him upstairs.
I folded our towels and I left the bathroom, holding Max’s hand so he would not fall on the slippery floor. We slowly made our way across the bedroom to my closet so I could get dressed. Lauren walked into the bedroom as Max and I were standing there naked looking for underwear.
“Bill, What are you doing?”
“I am getting dressed. I called for you but you didn’t hear me.”
“Bill?”
“What?”
She started snickering, “Don’t you care about the guys in our backyard?”
I turned towards the window. Sure enough there were three workers standing in my backyard cleaning up the concrete. I am standing there, bare ass naked. I quickly put on a pair of shorts and asked Lauren why didn’t she tell me they were there while I was IN the shower.
She was too busy laughing to come up with an answer. The worst part, seriously, was not the fact that a bunch of workers saw me parading around in my bedroom buck naked, it was the fact that I did not have my hair combed. I am very vain about my hair.
Our bedroom is off the back of the house as well and we have a floor to ceiling window that overlooks the back yard, which the previous owners of the house had done an excellent job with the landscape. Lauren made a Roman blind for the window, which we open every morning to let in the natural light. Our back yard is fairly private so we are not too concerned about our neighbors seeing us. Lauren and I plan to build a slate stone patio off of the bedroom once the screen room is done. I am not a big fan of having the patio or the screen room eat into our yard, but so far it looks good.
This past Saturday I was in the back yard cleaning away some of the debris left behind from pruning the bushes that were close to the future screen room area. Maxfield was dying to come outside and help so instead of allowing him to play in the thorns, I decided to take him to the park. His Godmother Bridget sent him very cool trucks that are perfect for the park’s sandbox.
We played for an hour or so, both of us, digging and dumping sand all over each other and by the time we were finished we were covered head to toe with sand. I decided it would be easier to take Max into the shower off our bedroom with me and use the handheld showerhead to remove the sand from him. Lauren agreed that would be the best way to clean him off and she left the bedroom. When we were done with the shower, I did my best to dry him off in the bathroom before taking him upstairs to change him. It is difficult to dry oneself off while also trying to dry off a 2 year old. I called for Lauren to assist me but she did not hear me. “She must be upstairs.” I thought. I figured Max could stay naked for a few minutes while I got dressed then I would take him upstairs.
I folded our towels and I left the bathroom, holding Max’s hand so he would not fall on the slippery floor. We slowly made our way across the bedroom to my closet so I could get dressed. Lauren walked into the bedroom as Max and I were standing there naked looking for underwear.
“Bill, What are you doing?”
“I am getting dressed. I called for you but you didn’t hear me.”
“Bill?”
“What?”
She started snickering, “Don’t you care about the guys in our backyard?”
I turned towards the window. Sure enough there were three workers standing in my backyard cleaning up the concrete. I am standing there, bare ass naked. I quickly put on a pair of shorts and asked Lauren why didn’t she tell me they were there while I was IN the shower.
She was too busy laughing to come up with an answer. The worst part, seriously, was not the fact that a bunch of workers saw me parading around in my bedroom buck naked, it was the fact that I did not have my hair combed. I am very vain about my hair.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Church Vs. Max
A friend of Lauren’s recommended a different church for us to try. So, on Sunday, Maxfield, Lauren and I headed over the 8:30 service to check it out. We arrived at 8:29 and were greeted by smiles and “Oh the kid is so cute” by the ushers and people in the seats around us. The people seemed nice. The first half hour of the service was music and song, briefly interrupted by an announcement or two about the church. At 9:00 all the children in the church left the service to attend Sunday school. Lauren and I, not knowing what was going on, kept Max with us and let him play on the floor beside us. He was being very good.
Pete the minister asked that everyone open their bible, (we didn’t bring one, because, well because it’s a church, you would think they would have some there. You don’t bring medicine to a hospital right?) and follow along in the chapter he was going to cover. Without the music to keep him entertained, Max started to get a little antsy. He proceeded to empty the diaper bag of all its contents onto the floor. He played quietly for a few minutes and then decided it would be okay to empty Lauren’s wallet onto the floor. Lauren, not wanting her credit cards and Gym Membership cards to make it to the collection plate, took the wallet away from Max. Of course he started to whine. Not loudly but enough to show us his displeasure.
I picked Max up so Lauren could put all of our stuff away. Max let out a scream. An usher approached us as I was trying to slip out of the row of seats, trying to make a quick exit. The usher whispered, “We have a daycare center you could take him to.”
I thanked the usher but said I would just go outside until Max calmed down. As we were leaving the church I heard Pete the minister say to the congregation. “I am Sorry. I just lost track of where I was. Usually when something like this happens I am pretty good about keeping on track but that really distracted me.”
I could feel the eyes of the whole congregation staring at us. I even saw some of the people give me, not dirty looks, but the hairy-eyeball of judgment looks. We exited through the back of the church and went outside to play. I didn’t even look back to see if Lauren was behind me, which she was not. She stayed through the rest of the service.
When it was over, she told me the minister was distracted by Maxfield, and it took him a minute to get back on track. We were both somewhat embarrassed by the whole thing. We made a beeline to our car and we boogied out of there. So far the score is Max 2 -Churches 0.
Pete the minister asked that everyone open their bible, (we didn’t bring one, because, well because it’s a church, you would think they would have some there. You don’t bring medicine to a hospital right?) and follow along in the chapter he was going to cover. Without the music to keep him entertained, Max started to get a little antsy. He proceeded to empty the diaper bag of all its contents onto the floor. He played quietly for a few minutes and then decided it would be okay to empty Lauren’s wallet onto the floor. Lauren, not wanting her credit cards and Gym Membership cards to make it to the collection plate, took the wallet away from Max. Of course he started to whine. Not loudly but enough to show us his displeasure.
I picked Max up so Lauren could put all of our stuff away. Max let out a scream. An usher approached us as I was trying to slip out of the row of seats, trying to make a quick exit. The usher whispered, “We have a daycare center you could take him to.”
I thanked the usher but said I would just go outside until Max calmed down. As we were leaving the church I heard Pete the minister say to the congregation. “I am Sorry. I just lost track of where I was. Usually when something like this happens I am pretty good about keeping on track but that really distracted me.”
I could feel the eyes of the whole congregation staring at us. I even saw some of the people give me, not dirty looks, but the hairy-eyeball of judgment looks. We exited through the back of the church and went outside to play. I didn’t even look back to see if Lauren was behind me, which she was not. She stayed through the rest of the service.
When it was over, she told me the minister was distracted by Maxfield, and it took him a minute to get back on track. We were both somewhat embarrassed by the whole thing. We made a beeline to our car and we boogied out of there. So far the score is Max 2 -Churches 0.
Thanks
I wanted to thank everyone who offered support as well as suggestions for my friend Horace. As of Friday he has been in contact with MD Anderson in Houston and he has scheduled some interviews with a few of the experts at that facility. Over next few weeks he and his family will decide on what course of treatment will best suit them.
Again thank you for the comments, the email, the links and the thoughts and prayers. You blogger people rock!
Again thank you for the comments, the email, the links and the thoughts and prayers. You blogger people rock!
Friday, March 03, 2006
Hypothetical
Just say there was something that you did on a regular basis for your significant other like for instance, maybe put his/her contact lens stuff away everyday. One day you mention to your significant other that maybe he/she should start doing it him/herself because you are tired of doing it. Then your significant other starts putting away his/her contact solution and stuff away but maybe he/she forgets one day and then the other significant other says something like, “I put your contact stuff away today. I put that stuff away all the time.” And maybe you say something like ”No you don’t because I have been keeping track of it, and I have put the stuff away everyday for the past 16 days. So don’t say you do it all the time.” And maybe she/he responds “Well I did it today. So what’s your point?” And then there is a discussion about the point being that one person put the stuff away for 16 days and so the other person can’t say they do it all the time and then there is talk about if one person wasn’t so busy tracking the days which he/she actually did put the stuff away and actually put it away there would be no need for the conversation in the first place and that someone shouldn’t be tracking things like that anyway.
Which then the person who was tracking the 16 days says something to the effect of “Well I just wanted to prove that you don’t do it everyday.” Which then the other person says, “Again what’s your point?” and then the other person says, “My point is that I can actually put the stuff away.” And then the other person says, “That’s my point.”
Who won?
Which then the person who was tracking the 16 days says something to the effect of “Well I just wanted to prove that you don’t do it everyday.” Which then the other person says, “Again what’s your point?” and then the other person says, “My point is that I can actually put the stuff away.” And then the other person says, “That’s my point.”
Who won?
Thursday, March 02, 2006
You smell like a monkey
Max’s first day as a two year old was, in my opinion, exceptional. Lauren and I may have overcompensated with gifts and fun to do things due to the fact that there was no family or friends from back home to share in his birthday festivities. We started off by letting him open his gifts in the morning. Which included toys that we re-gifted from Christmas. He got some Thomas trains from his aunt and grandparents as well as a Cuckoo Clock from his Pop Pop. He loved Pop Pop’s Cuckoo Clock when we stayed with them over the holidays, and he loved this one as well. His favorite gift by far was the square U.S. postal helmet that Mom Mom sent him.
Lauren made play table (she is crafty that way) for him to play with all his trains on so we may actually get our coffee table back to be used for what it was designed for, holding magazines and a place to rest our feet while watching the tube. Max tried to help her build the play table but he got caught up in just wearing the safety goggles.
Lauren arranged for a bunch of mom’s and their kids to meet at the playground for sandwiches and cupcakes and I was told they all seemed to have a good time. One girl split her lip, which was a shame but she seemed all right. I was sure there were going to be other casualties but there was not.
We went to Chuck E Cheese for dinner and I think Max had a good time. He played Ski-ball, which is now also known as Chuck the Wooden Ball at Circles. He played Whack-A-Mole. And he played video games.
We went home and had Ice cream and cake and Lauren and I sang happy birthday to him.
He was wired from the sugar and was truly the life of the party.
Lauren made play table (she is crafty that way) for him to play with all his trains on so we may actually get our coffee table back to be used for what it was designed for, holding magazines and a place to rest our feet while watching the tube. Max tried to help her build the play table but he got caught up in just wearing the safety goggles.
Lauren arranged for a bunch of mom’s and their kids to meet at the playground for sandwiches and cupcakes and I was told they all seemed to have a good time. One girl split her lip, which was a shame but she seemed all right. I was sure there were going to be other casualties but there was not.
We went to Chuck E Cheese for dinner and I think Max had a good time. He played Ski-ball, which is now also known as Chuck the Wooden Ball at Circles. He played Whack-A-Mole. And he played video games.
We went home and had Ice cream and cake and Lauren and I sang happy birthday to him.
He was wired from the sugar and was truly the life of the party.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Please Help
I need your help. Seriously I do. It is not for me but for a very close friend of mine. I lived with him for many years. I lived with him and his fiancée for a few a years and for the simple fact that they put up with me for any amount of time I figured they deserve any assistance I can provide for them with their situation using my blog. They are private people and I don’t want to use their names, so I will refer to him as Horace and to her as Gavin.
Horace is 34 years old and Gavin is many, many years older than him (she will get the joke) They have an 18 month old daughter, who by the way, is the first girl Max ever kissed that was not related to him.
About a year ago, Horace had surgery to remove melanoma from his lymph nodes. (2 were positive). He took high dose Interferon-A for the past year. He finished with the interferon about 3 weeks ago. Unfortunately, his CT scan last week showed three cancer nodes in his lungs, moving him to Stage IV Melanoma. That is stage FOUR with the roman numerals people, not the pansy ass number 4, but roman numeral four. One node is 10mm. In his other lung are two other nodes, which are 5mm and 4mm respectively. As you may imagine, Horace is getting some contradictory advice at the moment, both from oncologists and surgeons. It seems that the most important thing Horace can do is to get advice and treatment from the TOP people in this field. As you know, Horace has to make his decision on a course of treatment very soon.
This is a part of email that I received from his brother Sarge.
This is what I am looking for.
Does anyone in the blogosphere know who this top Oncologist at MD Anderson is? If so please leave a comment with the information or email me through my blogger profile with information. As stated before Horace already has appointments with Mt. Sianai and a place in L.A. Please only email me if you have the information that we are seeking. I do not want to burden Horace and Gavin with any advice or information that they do not need at this time. I have burdened them enough with years of sleeping on their couch, my flatulence, me not cleaning the kitchen when I was supposed to and not having beer money.
I would also ask that if you can, please either put a link on your site to this post, or maybe, if you can mention to your readers on your site what Horace is looking for and we can see if this blogger world can generate some good information.
If you do know a specialist in this field even if they are not from MD Anderson, and you can arrange to have Horace talk to this person, please let me know. I also ask for your thoughts and prayers and good vibes for Horace and Gavin. And if you are praying for them, also pray for the Flyers to do well because I know that would make Horace happy.
Thank you for whatever you can do. You bloggers are truly wonderful people.
Horace is 34 years old and Gavin is many, many years older than him (she will get the joke) They have an 18 month old daughter, who by the way, is the first girl Max ever kissed that was not related to him.
About a year ago, Horace had surgery to remove melanoma from his lymph nodes. (2 were positive). He took high dose Interferon-A for the past year. He finished with the interferon about 3 weeks ago. Unfortunately, his CT scan last week showed three cancer nodes in his lungs, moving him to Stage IV Melanoma. That is stage FOUR with the roman numerals people, not the pansy ass number 4, but roman numeral four. One node is 10mm. In his other lung are two other nodes, which are 5mm and 4mm respectively. As you may imagine, Horace is getting some contradictory advice at the moment, both from oncologists and surgeons. It seems that the most important thing Horace can do is to get advice and treatment from the TOP people in this field. As you know, Horace has to make his decision on a course of treatment very soon.
This is a part of email that I received from his brother Sarge.
So this is where the blogger people come into it. I know there are a lot of bloggers out there. I know a ton of them in Texas. I need your help, for purely selfish reasons, due to the fact that with a disease like cancer we all feel a little helpless and at least I can feel I am doing something for Horace and Gavin and their beautiful daughter (who will be Max’s future prom date) by using the blog to get some information.We have our eyes on the leading Oncologist at the leading cancer hospital in the country. It is in Houston and is called MD Anderson. The blog would be great as we are looking for someone to identify the best oncologist there and to get someone to make an introduction to that person. Horace has already got meetings with the other 2 lead oncologists at the best hospitals (Mt Sinai in NY and one in LA).
This is what I am looking for.
Does anyone in the blogosphere know who this top Oncologist at MD Anderson is? If so please leave a comment with the information or email me through my blogger profile with information. As stated before Horace already has appointments with Mt. Sianai and a place in L.A. Please only email me if you have the information that we are seeking. I do not want to burden Horace and Gavin with any advice or information that they do not need at this time. I have burdened them enough with years of sleeping on their couch, my flatulence, me not cleaning the kitchen when I was supposed to and not having beer money.
I would also ask that if you can, please either put a link on your site to this post, or maybe, if you can mention to your readers on your site what Horace is looking for and we can see if this blogger world can generate some good information.
If you do know a specialist in this field even if they are not from MD Anderson, and you can arrange to have Horace talk to this person, please let me know. I also ask for your thoughts and prayers and good vibes for Horace and Gavin. And if you are praying for them, also pray for the Flyers to do well because I know that would make Horace happy.
Thank you for whatever you can do. You bloggers are truly wonderful people.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Labor
We entered the pre-delivery ER area around 4-ish. After a quick exam and some conversation with the doctors on duty we were moved to a delivery room. Lauren was not having any contractions, but since her water broke they knew they would be delivering Maxfield within the next 24 hours.
They hooked up Lauren to the two machines with those wires hanging out of them (that is a medical term. Look it up), one to measure her contractions and the other to measure the baby’s heartbeat. I made some phone calls to our parents and we set up shop for the evening. Lauren was familiarizing herself with the room and I was familiarizing myself with the TV remote and what stations had proper reception. The Oscars were on and I did not want to miss it.
Different nurses and doctors came in to do the basic 36-point inspections. At one point a doctor suggested to induce Lauren to make sure the process would start. They injected her with inducing serum (another medical term). While we were waiting for something to happen Lauren’s parents showed up and hung out in the room with us. This would be their first grandchild and they were quite excited.
One of the residents with a group of 5 or 6 interns stopped in to check on Lauren’s status. He introduced himself and went about writing stuff on his clipboard. Lauren at this point started to feel the contractions but they weren’t that bad. The Oscar’s were underway but I was not paying too much attention. There were about a total of 12 people in the room. After the interns left, Lauren felt somewhat awkward with all the people in and out. I now became the gatekeeper. I had a job, which was great because it gave me something to do. Everyone left as Lauren’s contractions worsened.
We watched the contraction monitor, with the lines going up and down over and over again. Every time it blipped I asked Lauren if she was all right. She responded with, “That wasn’t so bad.” The Lord of the Rings won another Oscar. A man walked into the room. He was wearing a white jacket and walked right up to Lauren and grabbed her chart, he spoke with an accent and said something about having a look. I jumped up.
“Whoa whoa. Who are you?” My nervous energy jumping into my voice.
“I am Dr. So-and-so.”
“Okay and what are you doing?”
“I’m the chief resident.”
I looked to the nurse and she confirmed with a nod that he was Dr. So-and-so.
“Well it would be NICE if maybe you introduced yourself before examining my wife.”
He kind of backed away. The nurse explained that if our doctor for, some reason could not make it, this doctor would be delivering the baby.
“Fine. But you could still introduce yourself. Like “hi I am Dr. So-and-so, I’m the chief resident” before just saying you are going to examine her. I mean seriously you could be anybody in a white coat.” I was pissed.
The nurse and Lauren calmed me down and let the doctor do his work. They suggested that Lauren take something to help her sleep because she was going to be in for a long night and wanted her to have her strength for the pushing part. They also said it would help calm her and let nature take it’s course. They gave her some meds and she rested.
The nurse assigned to us suggested it would be time to get the epidural and the doctor concurred. It had to do with dilation and effacing and centimeters (damn I knew I should paid attention in grade school when they went over the Metric system) and percentages. Eppie the Epiduralist came in and worked his magic and inserted the needle thing into Lauren’s back. She winced but she said she was okay. Lord of the Rings wins another Oscar.
The rest of the time is a blur. Lauren woke with pains. She asked the nurse, “Should I be feeling this with the epidural?” The nurse answer no. “Well I am.” Said Lauren. The nurse got the doctor and they did an exam and the Lauren went from 2 centimeters to 8.5 in a matter of 1/2 an hour. The epidural probably was not going to work because of speed of her progression. Lauren really started to feel the contractions. The time was getting near. The Oscars were over for about an hour now.
There was pushing and breathing and medical staff in and out of the room. I stayed by Lauren’s face and was doing my best to coach her. I was thinking “That’s’ the old pepper that’s the old pepper” because that is how Bugs Bunny coached in that one episode where he is playing baseball, but I was saying, “Good Job” while holding her hand. Lauren turned to me and said, “Bill, Your are squeezing my hand too tight.”
There was more pushing and more pushing. Lauren did not moan or curse. She hunkered down. I was amazed at her thresh hold for pain. Our doctor showed up and got into the catchers position. “Oh the baby’s head is crowning. Wow, sure does have a lot of hair. Dad? Would you like to see?”
My back was towards the doctor my face inches from Lauren. “No. I am fine right here.”
“Oh the head is out. Dad? Do you want to see your baby?"
“I SAID, I am fine right here.”
Someone said final push. I looked back over my shoulder to see the doctor make a jerky sweeping motion with her arm towards the floor. She said “Whoops. He is a wiggly one.” As she snatched Max inches before he hit the ground. Wow. Close one. It was after 2 AM on March 1st.
The medical staff did the whole cleaning the baby thing and there was the usual gross stuff that followed deliveries. They brought Maxfield over to Lauren and placed him on her chest.
It was a moment I will never forget. For it was the first time I ever saw anything as beautiful, as amazing, as glorious as I witnessed right there, right then. It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.
It wasn’t Max.
It was Lauren. My wife. A mother. Beautiful.
They hooked up Lauren to the two machines with those wires hanging out of them (that is a medical term. Look it up), one to measure her contractions and the other to measure the baby’s heartbeat. I made some phone calls to our parents and we set up shop for the evening. Lauren was familiarizing herself with the room and I was familiarizing myself with the TV remote and what stations had proper reception. The Oscars were on and I did not want to miss it.
Different nurses and doctors came in to do the basic 36-point inspections. At one point a doctor suggested to induce Lauren to make sure the process would start. They injected her with inducing serum (another medical term). While we were waiting for something to happen Lauren’s parents showed up and hung out in the room with us. This would be their first grandchild and they were quite excited.
One of the residents with a group of 5 or 6 interns stopped in to check on Lauren’s status. He introduced himself and went about writing stuff on his clipboard. Lauren at this point started to feel the contractions but they weren’t that bad. The Oscar’s were underway but I was not paying too much attention. There were about a total of 12 people in the room. After the interns left, Lauren felt somewhat awkward with all the people in and out. I now became the gatekeeper. I had a job, which was great because it gave me something to do. Everyone left as Lauren’s contractions worsened.
We watched the contraction monitor, with the lines going up and down over and over again. Every time it blipped I asked Lauren if she was all right. She responded with, “That wasn’t so bad.” The Lord of the Rings won another Oscar. A man walked into the room. He was wearing a white jacket and walked right up to Lauren and grabbed her chart, he spoke with an accent and said something about having a look. I jumped up.
“Whoa whoa. Who are you?” My nervous energy jumping into my voice.
“I am Dr. So-and-so.”
“Okay and what are you doing?”
“I’m the chief resident.”
I looked to the nurse and she confirmed with a nod that he was Dr. So-and-so.
“Well it would be NICE if maybe you introduced yourself before examining my wife.”
He kind of backed away. The nurse explained that if our doctor for, some reason could not make it, this doctor would be delivering the baby.
“Fine. But you could still introduce yourself. Like “hi I am Dr. So-and-so, I’m the chief resident” before just saying you are going to examine her. I mean seriously you could be anybody in a white coat.” I was pissed.
The nurse and Lauren calmed me down and let the doctor do his work. They suggested that Lauren take something to help her sleep because she was going to be in for a long night and wanted her to have her strength for the pushing part. They also said it would help calm her and let nature take it’s course. They gave her some meds and she rested.
The nurse assigned to us suggested it would be time to get the epidural and the doctor concurred. It had to do with dilation and effacing and centimeters (damn I knew I should paid attention in grade school when they went over the Metric system) and percentages. Eppie the Epiduralist came in and worked his magic and inserted the needle thing into Lauren’s back. She winced but she said she was okay. Lord of the Rings wins another Oscar.
The rest of the time is a blur. Lauren woke with pains. She asked the nurse, “Should I be feeling this with the epidural?” The nurse answer no. “Well I am.” Said Lauren. The nurse got the doctor and they did an exam and the Lauren went from 2 centimeters to 8.5 in a matter of 1/2 an hour. The epidural probably was not going to work because of speed of her progression. Lauren really started to feel the contractions. The time was getting near. The Oscars were over for about an hour now.
There was pushing and breathing and medical staff in and out of the room. I stayed by Lauren’s face and was doing my best to coach her. I was thinking “That’s’ the old pepper that’s the old pepper” because that is how Bugs Bunny coached in that one episode where he is playing baseball, but I was saying, “Good Job” while holding her hand. Lauren turned to me and said, “Bill, Your are squeezing my hand too tight.”
There was more pushing and more pushing. Lauren did not moan or curse. She hunkered down. I was amazed at her thresh hold for pain. Our doctor showed up and got into the catchers position. “Oh the baby’s head is crowning. Wow, sure does have a lot of hair. Dad? Would you like to see?”
My back was towards the doctor my face inches from Lauren. “No. I am fine right here.”
“Oh the head is out. Dad? Do you want to see your baby?"
“I SAID, I am fine right here.”
Someone said final push. I looked back over my shoulder to see the doctor make a jerky sweeping motion with her arm towards the floor. She said “Whoops. He is a wiggly one.” As she snatched Max inches before he hit the ground. Wow. Close one. It was after 2 AM on March 1st.
The medical staff did the whole cleaning the baby thing and there was the usual gross stuff that followed deliveries. They brought Maxfield over to Lauren and placed him on her chest.
It was a moment I will never forget. For it was the first time I ever saw anything as beautiful, as amazing, as glorious as I witnessed right there, right then. It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.
It wasn’t Max.
It was Lauren. My wife. A mother. Beautiful.
Splash
On this day two years ago (actually it was not on this day, because the day two years ago does not exist this year, It was a leap year February 29th.) that Maxfield decided it was time to start his entrance into this world. I remember so much and so little from that day.
It was the due date. It was also the first nice day of winter. The sun was shining and it was in the low 60’s. Being that we were pent up for most of the winter Lauren and I decided to enjoy the weather by going for a walk around the neighborhood. We left our house hoping to suck up as much sun as possible. It was about 2:30 in the afternoon.
As we left the house we saw all of our neighbors out in their yards also enjoying the weather. We said “hello” to Gary and Julie and other neighbors and all of their kids. I think Rick and his wife, who I can never remember her name, were also out with their kids. They were all standing on Julie’s yard, across the street from our house, watching the kids play. We said we would be back shortly to chat.
We turned the corner and were chatting about how nice it was outside. We were walking at a slow pace because Lauren was big in the belly. We made it halfway up the block when Lauren grabbed my arm and said, “Oh my God!”
“What?” I replied thinking that maybe she forgot to turn of the Television.
She did not say anything she just kept giggling.
“Did your water just break?”
“Yeah. And I’m wearing white pants.”
“What? Do you feel okay? Let’s head home.”
“Give me a second.” She said as she was inspecting herself.”
In my mind I was going through all the things I learned in birthing class. “I have to get her a new COAT. I need to time her breathing. Hell I don’t own a watch. Maybe we can stop at the mall on the way to the hospital to get a watch. I need to get her bags to the car. What did we forget? I have to call my mom and tell her we cannot make it to her Oscar party.” These were only some of my thoughts.
We shuffled back down the block and did our best to sneak past the neighbors across the street. As we approached our house Rose and Paul, the neighbors to our left, pulled up in into the driveway. Rose yelled out, “Hey guys! Don’t go in yet. Sabina wants to say hi.” Sabina was Rose and Paul’s 3-year-old daughter.
Lauren turned to me and through gritted teeth said, “I’m going inside. You can explain.”
We just waved and entered the house. Lauren called the doctor and got changed. I remember from the class that the baby has to be delivered within 24 hours of the water breaking to reduce the risk of …of….something or other. I knew we were going to be at the hospital for the next few days. Holy crap! I was going to be a dad within 24 hours.
Lauren was not experiencing any labor pains and took her time getting herself together. Once she was ready, I grabbed her suitcase and took it to the car. I would come back to escort her. As I walked out with the suitcase Julie looked over with a puzzling look. Rose, Sabina and Paul were now standing across the street.
“I think it is time.” I yelled over to the gaggle of people gathered on the sidewalk.
“Really?” Someone said.
I went back to the house and did a mental check of everything and Escorted Lauren to the car. As we stepped onto the walkway, Rose and Julie came over and asked if we needed anything. We said no.
“I can’t believe this happening.” Rose said.
“I know.” Replied Julie. “It is so exciting that we are here to witness this.”
I went back in the house and told Lauren about the gathering in front of Julie’s house. She mentioned how awkward it was to be going through this with everyone watching. We left the house. The people across the street were talking louder and louder and pointing to us. Lauren and I didn’t really know what to say. We got into the car and said we would let everyone know. As we pulled down the street all the neighbors gathered on the sidewalk and started cheering and clapping. I compare it to the end of the move Brubaker, when Robert Redford leaves the prison or to the end of Wizard of OZ when the balloon is about to take off and all the munchkins are waving and cheering. Maxfield would not be born until March 1st, but his entrance was already starting in a very surreal way.
It was the due date. It was also the first nice day of winter. The sun was shining and it was in the low 60’s. Being that we were pent up for most of the winter Lauren and I decided to enjoy the weather by going for a walk around the neighborhood. We left our house hoping to suck up as much sun as possible. It was about 2:30 in the afternoon.
As we left the house we saw all of our neighbors out in their yards also enjoying the weather. We said “hello” to Gary and Julie and other neighbors and all of their kids. I think Rick and his wife, who I can never remember her name, were also out with their kids. They were all standing on Julie’s yard, across the street from our house, watching the kids play. We said we would be back shortly to chat.
We turned the corner and were chatting about how nice it was outside. We were walking at a slow pace because Lauren was big in the belly. We made it halfway up the block when Lauren grabbed my arm and said, “Oh my God!”
“What?” I replied thinking that maybe she forgot to turn of the Television.
She did not say anything she just kept giggling.
“Did your water just break?”
“Yeah. And I’m wearing white pants.”
“What? Do you feel okay? Let’s head home.”
“Give me a second.” She said as she was inspecting herself.”
In my mind I was going through all the things I learned in birthing class. “I have to get her a new COAT. I need to time her breathing. Hell I don’t own a watch. Maybe we can stop at the mall on the way to the hospital to get a watch. I need to get her bags to the car. What did we forget? I have to call my mom and tell her we cannot make it to her Oscar party.” These were only some of my thoughts.
We shuffled back down the block and did our best to sneak past the neighbors across the street. As we approached our house Rose and Paul, the neighbors to our left, pulled up in into the driveway. Rose yelled out, “Hey guys! Don’t go in yet. Sabina wants to say hi.” Sabina was Rose and Paul’s 3-year-old daughter.
Lauren turned to me and through gritted teeth said, “I’m going inside. You can explain.”
We just waved and entered the house. Lauren called the doctor and got changed. I remember from the class that the baby has to be delivered within 24 hours of the water breaking to reduce the risk of …of….something or other. I knew we were going to be at the hospital for the next few days. Holy crap! I was going to be a dad within 24 hours.
Lauren was not experiencing any labor pains and took her time getting herself together. Once she was ready, I grabbed her suitcase and took it to the car. I would come back to escort her. As I walked out with the suitcase Julie looked over with a puzzling look. Rose, Sabina and Paul were now standing across the street.
“I think it is time.” I yelled over to the gaggle of people gathered on the sidewalk.
“Really?” Someone said.
I went back to the house and did a mental check of everything and Escorted Lauren to the car. As we stepped onto the walkway, Rose and Julie came over and asked if we needed anything. We said no.
“I can’t believe this happening.” Rose said.
“I know.” Replied Julie. “It is so exciting that we are here to witness this.”
I went back in the house and told Lauren about the gathering in front of Julie’s house. She mentioned how awkward it was to be going through this with everyone watching. We left the house. The people across the street were talking louder and louder and pointing to us. Lauren and I didn’t really know what to say. We got into the car and said we would let everyone know. As we pulled down the street all the neighbors gathered on the sidewalk and started cheering and clapping. I compare it to the end of the move Brubaker, when Robert Redford leaves the prison or to the end of Wizard of OZ when the balloon is about to take off and all the munchkins are waving and cheering. Maxfield would not be born until March 1st, but his entrance was already starting in a very surreal way.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Disclaimer
Anne lives down the street from us. Lauren and Anne get together a few times a week so Max can play with Anne’s kids. Last week Lauren had the pleasure of meeting Anne’s new, next-door neighbors an elderly couple that moved in a few weeks ago. Lauren chatted with them for while and they invited us over for this week to socialize.
Anne got a babysitter and we dropped Max at Anne’s and Anne, her husband, Lauren and I went next door. We walked in the front door and were greeted by William (very cool name) who greeted us all with a big smile and handshakes. I was last one through the front door and I introduced myself and joked about the two of us having the same name, as Lauren and the others headed through the house to the back porch.
Being a super observant person I noticed the William had a big white gauze patch that covered half of his forehead. Also being one who has to state the obvious I said, “What happened to you? Did you take a spill or did your wife crack you with a frying pan?”
William laughed and explained that he recently had some surgery to remove some cancerous tissue from his scalp and that he was undergoing treatment to make sure the wound healed properly. He started to tell me about himself, that he was retired pastor and that they moved to Florida to be closer to their grandchildren when his wife called us back to the porch, where we would sit and talk.
The group was chitchatting and making small talk when William asked me a question. Knowing full well that I just made the remark about the frying pan, to a man of the cloth, I said, “Let me start by saying this; I want to apologize to my wife beforehand, for anything I might say tonight that may embarrass her.”
To which Lauren replied, “And I want to apologize to everyone else for anything he might say to embarrass me.”
Anne got a babysitter and we dropped Max at Anne’s and Anne, her husband, Lauren and I went next door. We walked in the front door and were greeted by William (very cool name) who greeted us all with a big smile and handshakes. I was last one through the front door and I introduced myself and joked about the two of us having the same name, as Lauren and the others headed through the house to the back porch.
Being a super observant person I noticed the William had a big white gauze patch that covered half of his forehead. Also being one who has to state the obvious I said, “What happened to you? Did you take a spill or did your wife crack you with a frying pan?”
William laughed and explained that he recently had some surgery to remove some cancerous tissue from his scalp and that he was undergoing treatment to make sure the wound healed properly. He started to tell me about himself, that he was retired pastor and that they moved to Florida to be closer to their grandchildren when his wife called us back to the porch, where we would sit and talk.
The group was chitchatting and making small talk when William asked me a question. Knowing full well that I just made the remark about the frying pan, to a man of the cloth, I said, “Let me start by saying this; I want to apologize to my wife beforehand, for anything I might say tonight that may embarrass her.”
To which Lauren replied, “And I want to apologize to everyone else for anything he might say to embarrass me.”
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Should I be freaked?
A week after I posted this story I went out to my car to find an orange construction cone in my driveway. Not only was it in my driveway, it was sitting right next to the rear bumper of MY car.
I discovered it at 6:30 AM. It was not there the night before at 8:30pm when I ran out to my car to get something.
I asked Lauren, if it was her doing, and she denies it. I called the LawnWhisperer to see if he had arranged it and he denies it. I called my brother Kevin to see if maybe he had some connection to it. Nope. Both Kevin and LawnWhisperer both said they wished they had thought of it.
Now I have to ask;
1. Is it a coincidence? Maybe a random prank by some neighborhood kid?
2. Are Lauren, LawnWhisperer and Kevin in cahoots and are trying to play tricks on my mind?
3. Is there someone in my neighborhood who reads my blog and I do not know it?
3. Do I have some type of blog stalker trying to leave me a message?
I have to admit it is kind of freaky.
I discovered it at 6:30 AM. It was not there the night before at 8:30pm when I ran out to my car to get something.
I asked Lauren, if it was her doing, and she denies it. I called the LawnWhisperer to see if he had arranged it and he denies it. I called my brother Kevin to see if maybe he had some connection to it. Nope. Both Kevin and LawnWhisperer both said they wished they had thought of it.
Now I have to ask;
1. Is it a coincidence? Maybe a random prank by some neighborhood kid?
2. Are Lauren, LawnWhisperer and Kevin in cahoots and are trying to play tricks on my mind?
3. Is there someone in my neighborhood who reads my blog and I do not know it?
3. Do I have some type of blog stalker trying to leave me a message?
I have to admit it is kind of freaky.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Double Standards
Why is it okay for a woman to say she is going out with a bunch of her girlfriends but it is not okay for a man to say the same thing?
Why is it okay for a wife to suggest to a husband that he ought to go to the gym, but it is not okay for the husband to suggest it to the wife?
How come it is okay for a woman to creep up behind a man while he is watching a History Channel special about serial killers, with the lights turned low, and to make him scream like a little girl and choke on the cookie he is eating and maybe make him tinkle a little, but it is not okay if I...I mean for a man to try and scare the woman back?
Double standards I tell ya.
Why is it okay for a wife to suggest to a husband that he ought to go to the gym, but it is not okay for the husband to suggest it to the wife?
How come it is okay for a woman to creep up behind a man while he is watching a History Channel special about serial killers, with the lights turned low, and to make him scream like a little girl and choke on the cookie he is eating and maybe make him tinkle a little, but it is not okay if I...I mean for a man to try and scare the woman back?
Double standards I tell ya.
They do not cover this on Dr. Phil
I know Dr. Phil and Super Nanny and every other parenting book/expert out there says that as parents you need to have a unified front. They say that both parents need to be on the same page when it comes to raising a child. That both parents need to enforce the same type of values or the same type of punishment when it comes to the children.
These experts claim that parents should not argue in front of the kids because the kid will see a possible weakness. Parents need to back each other up in front of their children.
A situation came up in our house the other day that may cause some serious issues for our kids in the future. It is a divide that Lauren and I cannot agree on when it comes to raising Max and future children. I do not, cannot and will not agree with or compromise with Lauren on this issue. I may have posted about this before but like all good arguments I need to air it out again.
I went home for lunch the other day and Lauren had made hot dogs for her, Max and myself. Then, Lauren, without checking with me gave Max ketchup for his hotdog. Ketchup, for crying out loud. Ketchup. Blech.
I am a mustard-on-a-hotdog type of person. Lauren is a Ketchup-on-a-hotdog person. She is trying to make Max a Ketchup-on-a-hotdog person. It is bad enough that he has light hair and his mothers complexion and he is showing signs that he is a right handed person when I am a south paw and was hoping he would be too, but now she is trying to make him a Ketchup-on-a-hotdog type of person.
Soon she will try to undermine my authority and try to convince Maxfiled that chocloate icecream is better than vanilla.
These experts claim that parents should not argue in front of the kids because the kid will see a possible weakness. Parents need to back each other up in front of their children.
A situation came up in our house the other day that may cause some serious issues for our kids in the future. It is a divide that Lauren and I cannot agree on when it comes to raising Max and future children. I do not, cannot and will not agree with or compromise with Lauren on this issue. I may have posted about this before but like all good arguments I need to air it out again.
I went home for lunch the other day and Lauren had made hot dogs for her, Max and myself. Then, Lauren, without checking with me gave Max ketchup for his hotdog. Ketchup, for crying out loud. Ketchup. Blech.
I am a mustard-on-a-hotdog type of person. Lauren is a Ketchup-on-a-hotdog person. She is trying to make Max a Ketchup-on-a-hotdog person. It is bad enough that he has light hair and his mothers complexion and he is showing signs that he is a right handed person when I am a south paw and was hoping he would be too, but now she is trying to make him a Ketchup-on-a-hotdog type of person.
Soon she will try to undermine my authority and try to convince Maxfiled that chocloate icecream is better than vanilla.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
It's an act
He acts like he is going to give you a bite of the chocolate covered strawberry, but he really is not.
Friday, February 17, 2006
You can dress us up...
Lauren and I received a gift certificate for $100 to a high-end furniture store when we closed on our house last year. The gift certificate came in a “welcome to the area” basket and was due to expire soon so we figured we would use it for accessories. Since it is difficult to shop for anything with Maxfield, we hired a babysitter and Lauren I went to the store to shop.
This furniture store was huge. 85000 square feet of overpriced couches, tables, bookshelves and area rugs. As we entered the store, as with car dealers, shoe stores and strip clubs, we were approached by a person working there that we knew was not going to leave us alone the entire time we would be there. The salesman’s name was Jim. He wanted to be our best friend.
Like most men I hate furniture shopping. Like most women Lauren enjoys it. She was browsing the different area’s looking for accessories as well as gathering some design idea’s for our house. Lauren, of course, would see a piece that she liked and would run her hand over the surface, open drawers and admire the craftsmanship. I, of course, would look at the price and roll my eyes and move on. Jim was never really out of eyesight of us.
At one point we approached a home theater room. This room was totally decked out. Surround sound, leather recliner seats with cup holders, a second row of recliner seats a step up from the first ones, a giant, and I mean Giant television, red fabric on the walls the whole shebang.
Lauren and I entered the room, sat down on the chairs and, admired the whole feel of the room. The only problem was that there was nothing on the TV.
We exited the room and our buddy Jim was standing there waiting to explain the finer details of the room.
“You can get that exact room, stereo, TV, surround sound, totally wired and installed for 170 thousand dollars.”
“Oh.” I said. “How come the TV is not on?”
“They don’t let us turn it on.”
“You know, if you had that television on, I would sit in there and watch it the whole time while my wife shopped. Just think about it. You could just play old football games and I would spend hours in there. I wouldn’t be bothering my wife to leave, and you might be able to make a sale.”
“Well” he replied. “We don’t actually own that room. The people that do, rent the space from us. So it is difficult to use it for our advantage.”
“That sucks.” I said “Just think of the money your store could make if you had a football game on in there……”
(and this is where the edit button stopped working.)
“……A football game or Porn”
Lauren rolled her eyes and said, “Bill!? Do you have to embarrass me every time we are out in public?”
I apologized.
Jim did a nervous chuckle and started to lead us into another section.
As we wound our way through the desks and dining tables in the next section Lauren stopped to admire a desk. Jim sensing that she was lagging behind slowed down to wait for her. She rubbed her hand over the surface, looked up and noticed that we were waiting.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She said as she picked up her pace. Then with out realizing what she was saying she said, “I love feeling wood.”
I burst out laughing. “Do you have to embarrass me every time we are out in public.”
This furniture store was huge. 85000 square feet of overpriced couches, tables, bookshelves and area rugs. As we entered the store, as with car dealers, shoe stores and strip clubs, we were approached by a person working there that we knew was not going to leave us alone the entire time we would be there. The salesman’s name was Jim. He wanted to be our best friend.
Like most men I hate furniture shopping. Like most women Lauren enjoys it. She was browsing the different area’s looking for accessories as well as gathering some design idea’s for our house. Lauren, of course, would see a piece that she liked and would run her hand over the surface, open drawers and admire the craftsmanship. I, of course, would look at the price and roll my eyes and move on. Jim was never really out of eyesight of us.
At one point we approached a home theater room. This room was totally decked out. Surround sound, leather recliner seats with cup holders, a second row of recliner seats a step up from the first ones, a giant, and I mean Giant television, red fabric on the walls the whole shebang.
Lauren and I entered the room, sat down on the chairs and, admired the whole feel of the room. The only problem was that there was nothing on the TV.
We exited the room and our buddy Jim was standing there waiting to explain the finer details of the room.
“You can get that exact room, stereo, TV, surround sound, totally wired and installed for 170 thousand dollars.”
“Oh.” I said. “How come the TV is not on?”
“They don’t let us turn it on.”
“You know, if you had that television on, I would sit in there and watch it the whole time while my wife shopped. Just think about it. You could just play old football games and I would spend hours in there. I wouldn’t be bothering my wife to leave, and you might be able to make a sale.”
“Well” he replied. “We don’t actually own that room. The people that do, rent the space from us. So it is difficult to use it for our advantage.”
“That sucks.” I said “Just think of the money your store could make if you had a football game on in there……”
(and this is where the edit button stopped working.)
“……A football game or Porn”
Lauren rolled her eyes and said, “Bill!? Do you have to embarrass me every time we are out in public?”
I apologized.
Jim did a nervous chuckle and started to lead us into another section.
As we wound our way through the desks and dining tables in the next section Lauren stopped to admire a desk. Jim sensing that she was lagging behind slowed down to wait for her. She rubbed her hand over the surface, looked up and noticed that we were waiting.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She said as she picked up her pace. Then with out realizing what she was saying she said, “I love feeling wood.”
I burst out laughing. “Do you have to embarrass me every time we are out in public.”
Thursday, February 16, 2006
A Phrase by any other Phrase....
Every family has it’s own little language. You know, a child mispronounces a word and eventually the mispronunciation actually becomes the way everyone says that particular word. Or maybe there is a phrase or a history behind a phrase that only people in the family know what it actually means.
I sometimes find myself using these phrases or words in normal conversation with people that are not in my family. People that I barley know. Sometimes I catch myself before actually using the “family” specific lingo, other times I do not, and I get a weird look, and then I find myself explaining why I said what I said.
Here is some of my family’s (or maybe it is just me) vocabulary.
Sa-dert.= A yummy treat after dinner.
K-MartS= A store. I don’t know where the “S” came from. I do not use this one but it is used in my family.
Terlet = Toilet
Bed Clothes = Sheets, linens, Blankets. I remember the first time I used the term “bed clothes” to Lauren, she looked at me like I had three heads.
Eck-specially= Especially. I always pronounce this with the ECK sound at the begining. I know there is no “C” in between the "E" and the "S". I know it is not pronounced that way but for some reason that is how I say it. Lauren always make fun of me for this.
BleeBing = Bleeding.
Now the next two are things that I cannot help myself but say whenever the either myself or someone else says one of the words.
If someone says “Sweet Potato”, I always have to say “Sweet potato, Sweet potato.” I do not know where this came from or why I say it or why I even say “Sweet potato” twice. “sweet potato, sweet potato.” See I even have to type it twice.
The other phrase is from the movie “Revenge of the Nerds”. Anytime someone says the word “PIE” The word that come out of my mouth on reflex is “Sank-you.” You have to see the movie to know what I am talking about.
What are your family specific words?
Go visit Lawn Whisperer.
I sometimes find myself using these phrases or words in normal conversation with people that are not in my family. People that I barley know. Sometimes I catch myself before actually using the “family” specific lingo, other times I do not, and I get a weird look, and then I find myself explaining why I said what I said.
Here is some of my family’s (or maybe it is just me) vocabulary.
Sa-dert.= A yummy treat after dinner.
K-MartS= A store. I don’t know where the “S” came from. I do not use this one but it is used in my family.
Terlet = Toilet
Bed Clothes = Sheets, linens, Blankets. I remember the first time I used the term “bed clothes” to Lauren, she looked at me like I had three heads.
Eck-specially= Especially. I always pronounce this with the ECK sound at the begining. I know there is no “C” in between the "E" and the "S". I know it is not pronounced that way but for some reason that is how I say it. Lauren always make fun of me for this.
BleeBing = Bleeding.
Now the next two are things that I cannot help myself but say whenever the either myself or someone else says one of the words.
If someone says “Sweet Potato”, I always have to say “Sweet potato, Sweet potato.” I do not know where this came from or why I say it or why I even say “Sweet potato” twice. “sweet potato, sweet potato.” See I even have to type it twice.
The other phrase is from the movie “Revenge of the Nerds”. Anytime someone says the word “PIE” The word that come out of my mouth on reflex is “Sank-you.” You have to see the movie to know what I am talking about.
What are your family specific words?
Go visit Lawn Whisperer.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
First Impressions
The other day Lauren and I took Maxfield to the Barnes and Noble so Max could play with the Thomas Train set. (For the purposes of scientific study, Max did not poop. We are currently at a total of 6 trips to libraries or bookstores with 3 incidents since my last post about this.) While we are there we met a few other kids and their parents. As these types of things go there is the usual exchanging of statistical information about the kids.
“Oh how old is he? Trevor you must share.”
“Max will be two in March. How old is Trevor? Max give Nick the red one. You already have five trains.”
“Trevor is three. Is Nick your only one? Trevor play nice.”
“Yes Nick is 13 months old and we are expecting in June. Don’t put you mouth on that Nick.
And so on.
We had a good conversation with Nick’s parents and after discovering that Nick’s mom and Lauren are due at the same time they decided to exchange contact information for a possible playgroup.
We left the store and were continuing the conversation by our cars. Lauren and Nick’s Mom were over by their car when Nick’s Dad approached me at my car and asked me about our mini van. They were shopping for one and wanted to know how I felt about the KIA. I explained the pros and cons and that I thought our van was good. The only thing I did not like about it was that it didn’t have the “Stow and Go” seats in the back, the chairs that fold into the floor.
Nick’s Dad nodded and said, “Yes that would be good for hauling stuff like firewood.”
I laughed because I still find it weird that people in Florida have fireplaces and I responded, “Or dead bodies.”
Nick’s Dad did a double take and chuckled. I knew I messed up.
After we left, Lauren was happy to make a new contact and said that it would be good for Max to meet new kids. I turned to her and said, “That’s if they call.”
“Why wouldn’t they call?”
I told her about the dead body comment.
“Bill when are you going to learn to wait until after the first meeting of people to actually speak?”
“Oh how old is he? Trevor you must share.”
“Max will be two in March. How old is Trevor? Max give Nick the red one. You already have five trains.”
“Trevor is three. Is Nick your only one? Trevor play nice.”
“Yes Nick is 13 months old and we are expecting in June. Don’t put you mouth on that Nick.
And so on.
We had a good conversation with Nick’s parents and after discovering that Nick’s mom and Lauren are due at the same time they decided to exchange contact information for a possible playgroup.
We left the store and were continuing the conversation by our cars. Lauren and Nick’s Mom were over by their car when Nick’s Dad approached me at my car and asked me about our mini van. They were shopping for one and wanted to know how I felt about the KIA. I explained the pros and cons and that I thought our van was good. The only thing I did not like about it was that it didn’t have the “Stow and Go” seats in the back, the chairs that fold into the floor.
Nick’s Dad nodded and said, “Yes that would be good for hauling stuff like firewood.”
I laughed because I still find it weird that people in Florida have fireplaces and I responded, “Or dead bodies.”
Nick’s Dad did a double take and chuckled. I knew I messed up.
After we left, Lauren was happy to make a new contact and said that it would be good for Max to meet new kids. I turned to her and said, “That’s if they call.”
“Why wouldn’t they call?”
I told her about the dead body comment.
“Bill when are you going to learn to wait until after the first meeting of people to actually speak?”
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
The Most Romantic Thing Ever Done For Me
I was managing an after hours nightclub in Philadelphia when I first met Lauren. This nightclub was on the strip with all the other major nightclubs in the city. The club had a huge un-monitored parking lot where many club-goers would park whether they were coming into my club or not. In an effort to reserve parking spaces for VIP’s for my club I had 5 orange construction cones to block some spots. Five was not enough, and the different valet services on the strip would steal my cones.
I, eventually, used bar stools, trashcans or folding chairs in an effort to block more spots for the clubs patrons. I looked into buying more cones but they were expensive and there were also minimum orders of 100 cones or more. I only needed about 25. Whenever Lauren or I would go out and we passed a road construction site I would say in my best Homer Simpson voice, “Mmmmmm. Cones.” I would drool at how many cones were all over the street in different neighborhoods that were not really being used properly. If we drove by a soccer field that had cones marking the sidelines I would slow down and try to count them. Lauren always found it funny that I obsessed over any orange construction cone I would see. I admit I was obsessed.
One night, after a few months of dating Lauren, she called me at work and asked that I stop over her place after work. I found the request a little strange. After work for me was 4:30 in the morning. She would be asleep but I guess she wanted some company. She would leave the front door open for me.
I made my way home, changed out of my smells-like-smoke-fog-beer-sweat-vomit-clothes and walked to her apartment. She shared a house with other roommates and her room was on the third floor. I crept up the two flights of steps as quietly as I could so I would not wake her or her roommates. I knocked quietly on her door and opened it a crack to make sure she was there. The sun was just coming up and was lighting the room just enough for me to see her lying on the bed. I saw the flicker of a few candles casting shadows dancing on the wall. Her smile brightened the room even more. I smiled back and pushed the door further to enter.
The door got caught on something and only opened enough for me to squeeze through. It was at that point that I saw, what to this day is still one of the best things I have ever seen, her floor was covered with 35 orange construction cones. The smell of the polyvinyl rubber was intense. There was barely a spot for me to place my foot to walk across the room. It reminded me of the scene in Aliens when Ripley discovers the “egg-pod” room. I seriously could not believe it. I was shocked and I started laughing. Lauren laughed with me.
It was at that exact moment that I knew I was going to marry Lauren.
Lauren and her friend Jessica spent the previous night driving to many different construction sites and “borrowed” a few cones from each one. They filled their car with them and carried all of cones the two flights of stairs into her room so Lauren could surprise me.
I, eventually, used bar stools, trashcans or folding chairs in an effort to block more spots for the clubs patrons. I looked into buying more cones but they were expensive and there were also minimum orders of 100 cones or more. I only needed about 25. Whenever Lauren or I would go out and we passed a road construction site I would say in my best Homer Simpson voice, “Mmmmmm. Cones.” I would drool at how many cones were all over the street in different neighborhoods that were not really being used properly. If we drove by a soccer field that had cones marking the sidelines I would slow down and try to count them. Lauren always found it funny that I obsessed over any orange construction cone I would see. I admit I was obsessed.
One night, after a few months of dating Lauren, she called me at work and asked that I stop over her place after work. I found the request a little strange. After work for me was 4:30 in the morning. She would be asleep but I guess she wanted some company. She would leave the front door open for me.
I made my way home, changed out of my smells-like-smoke-fog-beer-sweat-vomit-clothes and walked to her apartment. She shared a house with other roommates and her room was on the third floor. I crept up the two flights of steps as quietly as I could so I would not wake her or her roommates. I knocked quietly on her door and opened it a crack to make sure she was there. The sun was just coming up and was lighting the room just enough for me to see her lying on the bed. I saw the flicker of a few candles casting shadows dancing on the wall. Her smile brightened the room even more. I smiled back and pushed the door further to enter.
The door got caught on something and only opened enough for me to squeeze through. It was at that point that I saw, what to this day is still one of the best things I have ever seen, her floor was covered with 35 orange construction cones. The smell of the polyvinyl rubber was intense. There was barely a spot for me to place my foot to walk across the room. It reminded me of the scene in Aliens when Ripley discovers the “egg-pod” room. I seriously could not believe it. I was shocked and I started laughing. Lauren laughed with me.
It was at that exact moment that I knew I was going to marry Lauren.
Lauren and her friend Jessica spent the previous night driving to many different construction sites and “borrowed” a few cones from each one. They filled their car with them and carried all of cones the two flights of stairs into her room so Lauren could surprise me.
Dad Vs. Dad
As I posted before the Lawn Whisperer has started his own blog. It was originally going to be a site where LW and I could post opposing views of parenting. Lawn whisperer was not sure if he had enough material to post on a regular basis. But after much discussion (3 minute phone call) we decided that Dad Vs. Dad would be a spot just for LW and I may guest post for him from time to time.
Kristine from Random and Odd and her fiance Shaun did a new design for Lawn Whisperer and it looks great. Please go check it out.
Kristine from Random and Odd and her fiance Shaun did a new design for Lawn Whisperer and it looks great. Please go check it out.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Why I Blog
I collected comic books for close to 25 years. I am a geek. I loved picking up new issues of Batman, X-Men, Superman, Sandman and many others, each week to read how my heroes were doing. The flashy, colorful covers with “BATMAN” (or whatever title) across the top, the artwork and pictures, the words, especially the words, would keep me coming back every month. It was quite the addiction. But I loved it.
Some of the story arcs in these comics would expand several months with each issue ending in a cliffhanger that would make me have to a wait 30 days for the next one. 30 days to see how “ The Preacher” was going to get out of a jam. 30 days to see if Clark was going to propose to Lois. 30 days to read who was going to receive the keys of hell from Sandman, the king of dreams. 30 days was long time to see if my heroes, my friends were going to make it. I followed these characters, off and on, for 25 years.
My family and friends always thought it was weird. They would ask me, why do I collect comic books? What was the appeal? I would try to explain but I never could. I never could figure a way to explain that I was invested in the characters and that each month I wanted read what was going on. That every time I tried to stop buying comics something would make me go back. It was an addiction. But I loved it.
I gave up comic books about three years ago. It was becoming quite expensive. I sold off my collection through Ebay and other means when I moved to Florida to save on space.
One of my favorite comic book writers and authors is Neil Gaiman (Sandman). I discovered blogging through his website, which he uses to update his fans on the various projects he is developing. I would click on the links he would include in his posts and I found that there were a lot people out there blogging. I decided that I would give blogging a shot about three years ago and I have been blogging in some form or fashion since then.
It wasn’t until I started Poop and Boogies that I really started to blog on a regular basis. By commenting on other sites I found that people would comment on mine. I found a whole new world. I love clicking on Kalki, MRTL, Cat or Gumby Susie’s to see how my heroes are doing. The flashy, colorful entry pages with “Random and Odd”, “MetroDAD” “Rude Cactus”(or whatever title) on the masthead, the art, the pictures, the words, especially the words keep me coming back every day.
Some of the story arcs span several months with each day, maybe not having a cliffhanger, but that is okay, because I can always check back in a day or two. A day or two to see how Eclectic, Kimmyk, or MamaDuck are doing. A day or two to see if Lois Lane (Gotta love the name) is going to pick on her mom. A day or two to see how Von Krankipantzen is doing (she is beating cancer). A day or two to see if the heroes and friends are going to make it. Much better than 30 days.
Family and friends ask me about blogging all the time. Why do I do it? Who are those people that comment? Is it a cult?
I post on Poop and Boogies for my family. I get to be involved in the creative process of my "comic book". I did not take on a code name or anything but at least I helped to create the LawnWhisperer.
But who are all these other bloggers that read my posts? That is always tough to answer. Some are people with secret identities; some have codenames like comic book characters; others have fascinating stories to tell. Some…I don’t know. I’m addicted. I love it.
Some of the story arcs in these comics would expand several months with each issue ending in a cliffhanger that would make me have to a wait 30 days for the next one. 30 days to see how “ The Preacher” was going to get out of a jam. 30 days to see if Clark was going to propose to Lois. 30 days to read who was going to receive the keys of hell from Sandman, the king of dreams. 30 days was long time to see if my heroes, my friends were going to make it. I followed these characters, off and on, for 25 years.
My family and friends always thought it was weird. They would ask me, why do I collect comic books? What was the appeal? I would try to explain but I never could. I never could figure a way to explain that I was invested in the characters and that each month I wanted read what was going on. That every time I tried to stop buying comics something would make me go back. It was an addiction. But I loved it.
I gave up comic books about three years ago. It was becoming quite expensive. I sold off my collection through Ebay and other means when I moved to Florida to save on space.
One of my favorite comic book writers and authors is Neil Gaiman (Sandman). I discovered blogging through his website, which he uses to update his fans on the various projects he is developing. I would click on the links he would include in his posts and I found that there were a lot people out there blogging. I decided that I would give blogging a shot about three years ago and I have been blogging in some form or fashion since then.
It wasn’t until I started Poop and Boogies that I really started to blog on a regular basis. By commenting on other sites I found that people would comment on mine. I found a whole new world. I love clicking on Kalki, MRTL, Cat or Gumby Susie’s to see how my heroes are doing. The flashy, colorful entry pages with “Random and Odd”, “MetroDAD” “Rude Cactus”(or whatever title) on the masthead, the art, the pictures, the words, especially the words keep me coming back every day.
Some of the story arcs span several months with each day, maybe not having a cliffhanger, but that is okay, because I can always check back in a day or two. A day or two to see how Eclectic, Kimmyk, or MamaDuck are doing. A day or two to see if Lois Lane (Gotta love the name) is going to pick on her mom. A day or two to see how Von Krankipantzen is doing (she is beating cancer). A day or two to see if the heroes and friends are going to make it. Much better than 30 days.
Family and friends ask me about blogging all the time. Why do I do it? Who are those people that comment? Is it a cult?
I post on Poop and Boogies for my family. I get to be involved in the creative process of my "comic book". I did not take on a code name or anything but at least I helped to create the LawnWhisperer.
But who are all these other bloggers that read my posts? That is always tough to answer. Some are people with secret identities; some have codenames like comic book characters; others have fascinating stories to tell. Some…I don’t know. I’m addicted. I love it.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Can I get a lick?
My dad, who goes by Pa to his grandkids, started a tradition about 15 years ago of teaching his grandkids, instead of giving kisses, to give licks. For years, each grandkid has learned this trick, much to his delight and much to my mom’s disgust. I am happy to report that Maxfield has learned the art of the Lick.
Also sibling rivalry never dies. The LawnWhisperer, the middle child, the Keystone, one of my guest bloggers, has decided (with the help of me) to start his own blog. He was tired of me getting attention and feels as though he needs his own space to tell his version of parenting. I am not sure how often he will post, but please check it out because he is funny. The title of his blog is Dad Vs. Dad (click to see his first post). He wants to show the flip side of parenting.
Switcheroo
I was in the 5th grade when my Mom started watching some of the neighborhood kids for some side money. Actually, I don’t know if she ever made any money or if she just did it out of the kindness of her heart. But every morning a couple of kids would be dropped off at our house before school. They were Jeff and his sister Pam and another girl named Sarah. My mom would make sure that they all made their way to school, along with my brothers and I, and then after school she would watch them until their parents picked them up. (Now that I think about it, these kids were my responsibility on the walk to and from school since I was the oldest out of everyone that had to make the 4 block walk. So I have to guess that my mom did NOT make any money because I am sure she would have cut me in on the action since I was the responsible one).
After school, I would lead the 7 of us back to our house where we would play in the street or on Bob’s (my best friend who lived across the street) yard until, either dinner time, or until Mrs. Luchuk, the old cranky lady that lived next to Bob, would call the cops or come out and yell at us, whatever came first, and it was usually Mrs. Luchuk. (Hag).
Sometimes the other kids would not be at my house. Jeff and his father would be away hunting for a week. Sarah would be staying with her grandparents. I think there were other kids somewhere along the way, that I do not remember, but there were always a bunch of us playing in the street. Mrs. Luchuk would yell at us, and sometimes her husband, who was a nice man, would come out and apologize to us. Or Mr. Luchuk would tell his wife to come inside and leave the kids alone. Sometimes he would retrieve the ball that landed on his yard for us because we were too afraid to approach the house. He was nice man.
One day, my mom asked that we all play inside because Mr. Luchuk had died. She wanted to give Mrs. Luchuk a break. Later after all the other kids left we sat down to have dinner. My mom made meat loaf. My mom’s meat loaf was good. Not great, but good. It was consistent. It tasted the same every time. This particular night it did NOT taste the same.
“Mom, why does this taste funny?” One of us asked.
“I made it the same way I always make it. Eat it.” She would reply.
The LawnWhisperer asked, as he did with every meal, “Mom? Is there onions in here?” He hated onions.
“No John.”
“Mom this doesn’t taste right. What is it?” Said another brother.
Dad spoke up. “Poop and boogies. Eat it.”
At one point my mom announced that she did make the meatloaf a little different this time but she would only tell us what she used after we all ate it. After a while we all seemed to finish our meals although we were little wary of what my mom was going to tell us. We were waiting for Pat to finish his plate (Pat was always the last to finish) so we could all hear Mom’s secret ingredient. As Pat finished his last few bites, my mom told us what we had just eaten.
“I did make the meatloaf a little different.” She said. “I used a different kind of meat. It is called Venison.”
“Venison? What’s that?” Someone said.
“Well.” My mom replied, “Do you know how Jeff and his father go hunting? Well the last time they went, they shot a deer. Jeff’s dad was nice enough to bring us some ground venison so I used it for the meatloaf.”
There was an up roar at our house. “We ate deer meat?”
“Mom that’s like eating Bambi.”
“Ohh. Gross.”
“I will never eat meatloaf again.”
These were just some of the comments.
As I was clearing the table, I turned to my mom and I said, “I did not think it was too bad. And I am glad you said it was deer meat. I thought you were going to say it was Mr. Luchuk.”
After school, I would lead the 7 of us back to our house where we would play in the street or on Bob’s (my best friend who lived across the street) yard until, either dinner time, or until Mrs. Luchuk, the old cranky lady that lived next to Bob, would call the cops or come out and yell at us, whatever came first, and it was usually Mrs. Luchuk. (Hag).
Sometimes the other kids would not be at my house. Jeff and his father would be away hunting for a week. Sarah would be staying with her grandparents. I think there were other kids somewhere along the way, that I do not remember, but there were always a bunch of us playing in the street. Mrs. Luchuk would yell at us, and sometimes her husband, who was a nice man, would come out and apologize to us. Or Mr. Luchuk would tell his wife to come inside and leave the kids alone. Sometimes he would retrieve the ball that landed on his yard for us because we were too afraid to approach the house. He was nice man.
One day, my mom asked that we all play inside because Mr. Luchuk had died. She wanted to give Mrs. Luchuk a break. Later after all the other kids left we sat down to have dinner. My mom made meat loaf. My mom’s meat loaf was good. Not great, but good. It was consistent. It tasted the same every time. This particular night it did NOT taste the same.
“Mom, why does this taste funny?” One of us asked.
“I made it the same way I always make it. Eat it.” She would reply.
The LawnWhisperer asked, as he did with every meal, “Mom? Is there onions in here?” He hated onions.
“No John.”
“Mom this doesn’t taste right. What is it?” Said another brother.
Dad spoke up. “Poop and boogies. Eat it.”
At one point my mom announced that she did make the meatloaf a little different this time but she would only tell us what she used after we all ate it. After a while we all seemed to finish our meals although we were little wary of what my mom was going to tell us. We were waiting for Pat to finish his plate (Pat was always the last to finish) so we could all hear Mom’s secret ingredient. As Pat finished his last few bites, my mom told us what we had just eaten.
“I did make the meatloaf a little different.” She said. “I used a different kind of meat. It is called Venison.”
“Venison? What’s that?” Someone said.
“Well.” My mom replied, “Do you know how Jeff and his father go hunting? Well the last time they went, they shot a deer. Jeff’s dad was nice enough to bring us some ground venison so I used it for the meatloaf.”
There was an up roar at our house. “We ate deer meat?”
“Mom that’s like eating Bambi.”
“Ohh. Gross.”
“I will never eat meatloaf again.”
These were just some of the comments.
As I was clearing the table, I turned to my mom and I said, “I did not think it was too bad. And I am glad you said it was deer meat. I thought you were going to say it was Mr. Luchuk.”
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
The Three Monsters
I wanted to thank everyone who voted in the Best of Blog awards. They have announced the winners and Poop and Boogies ended up tied for third place in the category in which it was nominated. I really appreciate the interest it has brought to this blog and I like the fact the that different people have read some of my posts. I also want to thank everyone who visits here on a regular basis, for, doing just that. You take a little time out of your day and you invest it in Poop and Boogies, and for that I am grateful.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Yang's Anatomy
I really like the television show Grey's Anatomy. It is one of my favorite shows. The characters are great. I love the dialogue. It is not too serious of a show. The acting is decent. And I admit (let the jokes fly) I think Patrick Dempsey deserves the title Dr. McDreamy. But I was really annoyed with Sunday nights post SuperBowl show.
Seriously, the cliffhanger, the "To be continued"ending, has Meredith Grey, the TITLE character, left holding a bomb in some guy's chest. Leaving us, the viewers, possibly thinking, "Ooohhh. She may die. I must watch next week."
The TITLE character is not going to die. She is Grey. THEE Grey in Grey's Anatomy. If she dies are they going to change the show to Yang's Anatomy?
Yang is the name of one of the other main characters in the show.
I don't think so. Think of all the advertisers who would pull out. No pun intended.
Seriously, the cliffhanger, the "To be continued"ending, has Meredith Grey, the TITLE character, left holding a bomb in some guy's chest. Leaving us, the viewers, possibly thinking, "Ooohhh. She may die. I must watch next week."
The TITLE character is not going to die. She is Grey. THEE Grey in Grey's Anatomy. If she dies are they going to change the show to Yang's Anatomy?
Yang is the name of one of the other main characters in the show.
I don't think so. Think of all the advertisers who would pull out. No pun intended.
Stuff
The other day a box was delivered to my house. There were two notes with the contents. This is the first note.
Having to sons is a difficult job
Raising them is very tough.
But I find it more difficult to manage the storage
Of all their toys and stuff.
There are toys in the attic, and toys in the closet
There are toys on the bedroom floor.
There are toys in the basment, and toys in the garage
There are toys behind every door.
They have videos of stupid shows
They have movies and sing-a-longs
You know the ones where the characters
Sing silly and annoying songs
They have clothes for dressing up, and clothes for play
And they have clothes for wearing to bed.
They have slippers that are yellow, and shoes that are brown
and their sneakers are white and red.
So I found a solution, I have made a plan
This is what I am going to do.
All the things that I don't want anymore,
I am shipping them down to you.
Thanks. John.
The second note read:
Bill and Lauren, I know Maxfield likes Thomas. I hate Thomas. So this is a good move. John.
The box contained about ten Thomas the Tank Engine video tapes.
Basically the Lawn Whisperer sent Video Crack to my son.
Having to sons is a difficult job
Raising them is very tough.
But I find it more difficult to manage the storage
Of all their toys and stuff.
There are toys in the attic, and toys in the closet
There are toys on the bedroom floor.
There are toys in the basment, and toys in the garage
There are toys behind every door.
They have videos of stupid shows
They have movies and sing-a-longs
You know the ones where the characters
Sing silly and annoying songs
They have clothes for dressing up, and clothes for play
And they have clothes for wearing to bed.
They have slippers that are yellow, and shoes that are brown
and their sneakers are white and red.
So I found a solution, I have made a plan
This is what I am going to do.
All the things that I don't want anymore,
I am shipping them down to you.
Thanks. John.
The second note read:
Bill and Lauren, I know Maxfield likes Thomas. I hate Thomas. So this is a good move. John.
The box contained about ten Thomas the Tank Engine video tapes.
Basically the Lawn Whisperer sent Video Crack to my son.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Ultrasound.
Monday, we went to the OB/Gyn-Kenobi for Lauren’s 20 weeks check up and Ultra-Sound. (must…reach…Beta Capsule. Sorry, that is from Ultra Man). We were delighted to be able to see the baby for the first time. The technician made small talk with us as she started the process of moving the wand over Lauren’s belly and clicked away on her computer. She made measurements of different body parts and was printing pictures. I was not paying too much attention because I had Max, and the excitement of finding out the gender overwhelmed me. We were able to see the gender of the baby and as far as we could tell everything looked great. The technician mentioned that the placenta was a little low, but that should correct itself.
We then waited for Dr. Jones to review the photos and listen to the heartbeat. Lauren and I were excited and happy knowing what we were going to have and were smiling, and talking to Maxfield about his new baby sibling. We were happy. Dr. Jones entered, carrying the pictures and said, “Everything looks okay, but I noticed the placenta is a little low medical mumbo jumbo, blah bah blah, so no sex for eight weeks, medical mumbo jumbo, blah blah blah.”
“Whoa? Did you just say no sex?” I said. “Did she put you up to this?”
Dr. Jones, Lauren and I all laughed and were making jokes about prescribing no sex. Dr. Jones then got serious and said, “We also noted there is a bright spot on the baby’s heart. We feel you should go see a specialist right away for a better Ultrasound.”
The happiness and the jokes came to a screeching halt. We asked questions.
Dr. Jones said that it probably is nothing to be concerned about but we should get the second opinion as soon as possible so we could have a more definitive answer and to ease our minds. The bright spot could be a tumor or a cyst and it is also an indicator of Down's Syndrome. Dr. Jones called the specialist and set an appointment for later that day, in two hours.
That is 120 minutes. 7200 seconds. Forever.
We made arrangements to have our neighbor watch Max for the rest of the day and tried to think positive thoughts. The drive to the specialist was a somber one. We went from joy and elation to worry and tension in a matter of seconds and neither Lauren nor I could really speak.
We entered the Ultra sound room at the specialist’s and the technician made small talk as she started the process of moving the wand over Lauren’s belly and clicked away on the computer. I was focused on what she was doing. She measured the femur, the kidneys, the head. Click. Click. Click. The tech found the heart and started taking pictures. Sure enough you could see the bright spot. She took more measurements. Click Click. She then changed the image on the computer to show the blood flow. It looked like Thermo imaging. She said things looked fine.
She stopped the small talk and said that she sees this bright spot at least 10 times a week, at that 90 % turn out to be just a cluster of muscle tissue that corrects itself as the baby develops. It is not a tumor. A tumor would look different. I think I finally caught my breath at this point. She gave us a couple of the prints and she left to consult the doctor.
We waited for about 5 minutes. 300 seconds. Forever.
The doctor entered, smiled and said. “The baby is fine. You have nothing to worry about. All the other measurements are normal so I do not think it is Down's. This is just a cluster of muscle tissue that should correct itself.” Wow what a relief.
The doctor spoke for a few more minutes. “The placenta seems low and medical mumbo jumbo, blah blah blah, no sex for 8 weeks, medical mumbo jumbo.”
“What? C’mon you doctors are killing me.” I said.
The doctor, Lauren and I all laughed and started joking. We were happy again. Relieved.
8 weeks. 56 days. 1344 hours. 80,640 minutes. Forever. I don’t care*. My kid is okay.
We do need to get another Ultrasound in 8 weeks just to make sure.
For those that want to know the gender of the new Poop and Boogies baby. Go HERE. Please refrain from leaving a comment here in regards to the gender because I know some people do not want to know.
* Lauren- I do care but I can wait.
We then waited for Dr. Jones to review the photos and listen to the heartbeat. Lauren and I were excited and happy knowing what we were going to have and were smiling, and talking to Maxfield about his new baby sibling. We were happy. Dr. Jones entered, carrying the pictures and said, “Everything looks okay, but I noticed the placenta is a little low medical mumbo jumbo, blah bah blah, so no sex for eight weeks, medical mumbo jumbo, blah blah blah.”
“Whoa? Did you just say no sex?” I said. “Did she put you up to this?”
Dr. Jones, Lauren and I all laughed and were making jokes about prescribing no sex. Dr. Jones then got serious and said, “We also noted there is a bright spot on the baby’s heart. We feel you should go see a specialist right away for a better Ultrasound.”
The happiness and the jokes came to a screeching halt. We asked questions.
Dr. Jones said that it probably is nothing to be concerned about but we should get the second opinion as soon as possible so we could have a more definitive answer and to ease our minds. The bright spot could be a tumor or a cyst and it is also an indicator of Down's Syndrome. Dr. Jones called the specialist and set an appointment for later that day, in two hours.
That is 120 minutes. 7200 seconds. Forever.
We made arrangements to have our neighbor watch Max for the rest of the day and tried to think positive thoughts. The drive to the specialist was a somber one. We went from joy and elation to worry and tension in a matter of seconds and neither Lauren nor I could really speak.
We entered the Ultra sound room at the specialist’s and the technician made small talk as she started the process of moving the wand over Lauren’s belly and clicked away on the computer. I was focused on what she was doing. She measured the femur, the kidneys, the head. Click. Click. Click. The tech found the heart and started taking pictures. Sure enough you could see the bright spot. She took more measurements. Click Click. She then changed the image on the computer to show the blood flow. It looked like Thermo imaging. She said things looked fine.
She stopped the small talk and said that she sees this bright spot at least 10 times a week, at that 90 % turn out to be just a cluster of muscle tissue that corrects itself as the baby develops. It is not a tumor. A tumor would look different. I think I finally caught my breath at this point. She gave us a couple of the prints and she left to consult the doctor.
We waited for about 5 minutes. 300 seconds. Forever.
The doctor entered, smiled and said. “The baby is fine. You have nothing to worry about. All the other measurements are normal so I do not think it is Down's. This is just a cluster of muscle tissue that should correct itself.” Wow what a relief.
The doctor spoke for a few more minutes. “The placenta seems low and medical mumbo jumbo, blah blah blah, no sex for 8 weeks, medical mumbo jumbo.”
“What? C’mon you doctors are killing me.” I said.
The doctor, Lauren and I all laughed and started joking. We were happy again. Relieved.
8 weeks. 56 days. 1344 hours. 80,640 minutes. Forever. I don’t care*. My kid is okay.
We do need to get another Ultrasound in 8 weeks just to make sure.
For those that want to know the gender of the new Poop and Boogies baby. Go HERE. Please refrain from leaving a comment here in regards to the gender because I know some people do not want to know.
* Lauren- I do care but I can wait.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Trimming down
I am not one for the whole making a New Year Resolution thing. But this year I decided to make one. So on this last day of January 2006 I resolve to trim my nose hair and ear hair more often.
Needless to say my wife is very happy.
Needless to say my wife is very happy.
Monday, January 30, 2006
What to expect
When Lauren was pregnant with Max, besides reading the books and online stuff about pregnancy, we also took a “birthing class” so we could get a better understanding of what to expect. This time we are not taking the class. I think the fact that I acted like a twelve year old, the last time in Birthing Class, will keep us from going this time.
Those classes are difficult to get through with watching videos of other peoples births and other women screaming and groaning. So as a defense mechanism, when I feel uncomfortable I would use humor to deal with the discomfort of such topics. Plus the people teaching would say words that would make me laugh. Like “engorged breasts”.
They would also use acronyms and memory tricks to help us fathers remember what we were supposed to be learning. Like the 511 rule. Which I think was, that if there are 51 contractions in 1 hour you need to call the doctor ( I don't remember). Or C.O.A.T. COAT is the trick to remember what to look out for when a woman’s water breaks so one can relay the info to the doctor. The teacher was going over them “C is for color. Is it clear? Bloody? That type of thing. O is for odor. If it has a bad odor you need to tell the doctor. A is for amount. Let the doctor know if it was a trickle or a gush.” At this point I leaned into Lauren and said, “If she says T is for taste we are out of here.”*
Anyway, we (Lauren mostly) have been reading “What to Expect When You Are Expecting”, “The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy” As well as other websites and what not about pregnancy. I have been looking at different chapters and stuff to kind of prepare me for what is coming up and I noticed some interesting things. The following is in no way a reflection on Lauren nor is she going through any of the specific things I am mentioning. Lauren is not the norm and never has been which is one of the reasons that I love her and that I married her. But I found these bits of information funny.
In the “What to expect” book, they break down each month of the pregnancy and what a person may be feeling physically and emotionally. 6 of the 9 months say what you may be feeling emotionally “Irritability, mood swings, irrationality, weepiness.” I thought that was given, and pretty much sums up the first year of parenthood itself.
An online pregnancy magazine said, “At this point the extenal female genitalia may become more distinguished.” My response was “What does it get gray around the sides and look like a professor? Maybe it starts smoking a pipe.”
Then these books and articles talk about frequent urination, (getting up in the middle of the night a few times to go) loss of sleep and being tired all the time during pregnancy. I always thought that if you were not getting sleep you would be tired. And after having Max I realized that God is pretty funny and smart. During the 9 months of pregnancy with all the loss of sleep and getting up in the middle of the night to pee, HE is just preparing you for those every three-hour feedings.
Lastly, these books seem to be somewhat insulting to husbands. There is always a chapter that states, "Have your partner read this chapter." Or, "For Fathers Only." I find this insulting because it basically says that fathers won't read the rest of the book. Which is true, but it still insults me.
*T actually stood for Time of the water breaking.
MooneyAngelo is updated.
Those classes are difficult to get through with watching videos of other peoples births and other women screaming and groaning. So as a defense mechanism, when I feel uncomfortable I would use humor to deal with the discomfort of such topics. Plus the people teaching would say words that would make me laugh. Like “engorged breasts”.
They would also use acronyms and memory tricks to help us fathers remember what we were supposed to be learning. Like the 511 rule. Which I think was, that if there are 51 contractions in 1 hour you need to call the doctor ( I don't remember). Or C.O.A.T. COAT is the trick to remember what to look out for when a woman’s water breaks so one can relay the info to the doctor. The teacher was going over them “C is for color. Is it clear? Bloody? That type of thing. O is for odor. If it has a bad odor you need to tell the doctor. A is for amount. Let the doctor know if it was a trickle or a gush.” At this point I leaned into Lauren and said, “If she says T is for taste we are out of here.”*
Anyway, we (Lauren mostly) have been reading “What to Expect When You Are Expecting”, “The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy” As well as other websites and what not about pregnancy. I have been looking at different chapters and stuff to kind of prepare me for what is coming up and I noticed some interesting things. The following is in no way a reflection on Lauren nor is she going through any of the specific things I am mentioning. Lauren is not the norm and never has been which is one of the reasons that I love her and that I married her. But I found these bits of information funny.
In the “What to expect” book, they break down each month of the pregnancy and what a person may be feeling physically and emotionally. 6 of the 9 months say what you may be feeling emotionally “Irritability, mood swings, irrationality, weepiness.” I thought that was given, and pretty much sums up the first year of parenthood itself.
An online pregnancy magazine said, “At this point the extenal female genitalia may become more distinguished.” My response was “What does it get gray around the sides and look like a professor? Maybe it starts smoking a pipe.”
Then these books and articles talk about frequent urination, (getting up in the middle of the night a few times to go) loss of sleep and being tired all the time during pregnancy. I always thought that if you were not getting sleep you would be tired. And after having Max I realized that God is pretty funny and smart. During the 9 months of pregnancy with all the loss of sleep and getting up in the middle of the night to pee, HE is just preparing you for those every three-hour feedings.
Lastly, these books seem to be somewhat insulting to husbands. There is always a chapter that states, "Have your partner read this chapter." Or, "For Fathers Only." I find this insulting because it basically says that fathers won't read the rest of the book. Which is true, but it still insults me.
*T actually stood for Time of the water breaking.
MooneyAngelo is updated.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Note to self....
...when speaking with a pregnant person, and that person is talking about the weight they have gained during their pregnancy, don’t say “Oh you look like you gained more than that.”
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Milestone
Maxfield has learned to spit.
This is definitely a milestone in a little boy’s life. I am not talking about saliva or hocking loogies just yet, but it is the actual art of spitting that he has figured out.
A few months ago, while he was drinking water, he discovered that if he opened his mouth, the water would spill out onto his face and chest. Since then he has been working on forcing it out of his mouth and he perfected the raspberry-lips-vibrating-fine-mist-spray-spit-take technique.
Yesterday, he figured out how to actually project the water in a stream away from his body. His accuracy sucks, but his distance is a foot or so, which is a good start. I figure we could practice after watching Outlaw Josey Wales a few times because no one has spit-accuracy like Clint Eastwood does in that film.
We need to work on his spit etiquette though. Last night he took a swig of juice, walked over to Lauren as if he was going to give her kiss, and as she leaned in she said, “Ahhh are you giving mommy a ….blech.”
He spit the juice into her mouth.
This is definitely a milestone in a little boy’s life. I am not talking about saliva or hocking loogies just yet, but it is the actual art of spitting that he has figured out.
A few months ago, while he was drinking water, he discovered that if he opened his mouth, the water would spill out onto his face and chest. Since then he has been working on forcing it out of his mouth and he perfected the raspberry-lips-vibrating-fine-mist-spray-spit-take technique.
Yesterday, he figured out how to actually project the water in a stream away from his body. His accuracy sucks, but his distance is a foot or so, which is a good start. I figure we could practice after watching Outlaw Josey Wales a few times because no one has spit-accuracy like Clint Eastwood does in that film.
We need to work on his spit etiquette though. Last night he took a swig of juice, walked over to Lauren as if he was going to give her kiss, and as she leaned in she said, “Ahhh are you giving mommy a ….blech.”
He spit the juice into her mouth.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Reality TV
So we are sitting, watching American Idol, when I started singing "Chain of Fools" by Aretha. You know the one..."Chain Chain Chain, Chain of fools", when I look over to Lauren and I say,
"You know what? I am going to audition for the next American Idol."
She smiles and says to me, dead serious, "They are auditioning for the Biggest Loser at Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville you should try that."
"Chain, chain chai-." I stopped singing and shook my head to make sure I heard what she was suggesting. "Did you just..were you suggesting...?"
She laughed a devilish laugh and said, "Put that in your little Blog and smoke it. "
"You know what? I am going to audition for the next American Idol."
She smiles and says to me, dead serious, "They are auditioning for the Biggest Loser at Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville you should try that."
"Chain, chain chai-." I stopped singing and shook my head to make sure I heard what she was suggesting. "Did you just..were you suggesting...?"
She laughed a devilish laugh and said, "Put that in your little Blog and smoke it. "
Bun in the oven
Lauren is now about 19 weeks pregnant. Next week we go in for an ultrasound. Yes, we will find out the sex of the baby. We have not decided if we will tell people the sex or not. Some people think we should not find out whether it is a boy or a girl. I know my dad wants to be surprised. It is tough keeping everyone happy.
But finding out the sex it will make things so much easier. If we find out we are having a boy, we will be in good shape. No need to really buy too much of anything. Maybe a toddler bed for Max but that is pretty much it. If we find out we are having a girl, we will need to get our act together and buy pink things, and dresses and hair ties and barrette's and dolls and tampons.
When Lauren was pregnant with Max we told people that we were having a boy. Of course the next question that came up was, “What are you going to name him?” Like most first timers we made the mistake of mentioning a few names that we picked only to hear how horrible those names were. Both my mom and Lauren’s mom were the biggest offenders. They would scrunch up their faces and say things like, “Oh? Well that is like that actor, who was in that movie and I really did not like him in that. That is a bad name.” Or “Oh I know 25 people that name and not one of them ever amounted to anything.”
I embellished slightly. Slightly.
So when we decided Maxfield would be his name we did not tell anyone. Also, there are so many people in my family siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins and there really are no duplicate names amongst us (unless it is a junior) that we protect names so no one else will steal it. A guy I work with suggested we name our kid “Doctor”. That way he/she will always have a leg up in life.
“Doctor Jones, your table is ready.”
But finding out the sex it will make things so much easier. If we find out we are having a boy, we will be in good shape. No need to really buy too much of anything. Maybe a toddler bed for Max but that is pretty much it. If we find out we are having a girl, we will need to get our act together and buy pink things, and dresses and hair ties and barrette's and dolls and tampons.
When Lauren was pregnant with Max we told people that we were having a boy. Of course the next question that came up was, “What are you going to name him?” Like most first timers we made the mistake of mentioning a few names that we picked only to hear how horrible those names were. Both my mom and Lauren’s mom were the biggest offenders. They would scrunch up their faces and say things like, “Oh? Well that is like that actor, who was in that movie and I really did not like him in that. That is a bad name.” Or “Oh I know 25 people that name and not one of them ever amounted to anything.”
I embellished slightly. Slightly.
So when we decided Maxfield would be his name we did not tell anyone. Also, there are so many people in my family siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins and there really are no duplicate names amongst us (unless it is a junior) that we protect names so no one else will steal it. A guy I work with suggested we name our kid “Doctor”. That way he/she will always have a leg up in life.
“Doctor Jones, your table is ready.”
Monday, January 23, 2006
Cycle
Bill: You know you and I should try to find the time to (wink wink).
Lauren: It is so tough. After a long day, getting Max bathed and to bed, cleaning up the house, after all that I am ready to sleep.
Bill: Yeah. I know. By the time all that is done I am just ready to watch TV.
Lauren: You should stop watching TV.
Bill: You should stop falling asleep so early.
Lauren: I wouldn’t if I weren’t pregnant. Do you see the vicious cycle we are in?
Thanks to Lauren and Lawnwhisperer for filling in for me while I was away.
Lauren: It is so tough. After a long day, getting Max bathed and to bed, cleaning up the house, after all that I am ready to sleep.
Bill: Yeah. I know. By the time all that is done I am just ready to watch TV.
Lauren: You should stop watching TV.
Bill: You should stop falling asleep so early.
Lauren: I wouldn’t if I weren’t pregnant. Do you see the vicious cycle we are in?
Thanks to Lauren and Lawnwhisperer for filling in for me while I was away.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Parenting Tip by Lauren
Never leave a toddler, a dog, and a cup of yogurt in a room together unattended.
See My Thumb?
Guest Post by William's brother The LawnWhisperer.
It is well documented that I am not the world’s perfect father. I am the one that documents this, so I know it to be truth. I am, however, very clever in my ability to avoid Child Meltdowns. I have written about this ability in the past, and am going to share another perfectly orchestrated, quick thinking, and catastrophe stopping moment. Some of you may find this to be a bit unsettling, but I do what I have to do for my own sanity. Don’t try these techniques at home, unless you are willing to live with the consequences.
We were having one of those dinners that did not sit well with the kids. Young Skywalker and Solo do not like anything that is not nuggets or pizza, so they often fight us on the subject. Luke was especially upset on Monday about his soup. He wanted no parts of it, and was being a total pain in the ass. The whining and crying was growing more annoying by the minute. The threat of no dessert is no good in my house, cause I subscribe to the dessert before dinner theory. That is an entirely different blog topic. Anyway, he was up in arms and I was getting the early stages of heartburn. I had to react, and react I did. I sang the famous child jingle about beans. We were not having beans, but I sang it anyway. “Beans, Beans, they’re good for your heart. The more you eat, the more you fart.” Skywalker looked at me and smiled. Solo looked at me like I just said a bad word. They asked me to repeat it. So I did. They laughed the biggest belly laughs. They laughed until tears rolled down their face. They called pop-pop and sang it. They called Uncle Bill and sang it. They sang it, and sang it, and sang it. They also ate their soup. Then we had some ice cream, and sang it some more.
The down side to such tactics is that they are singing it every night. We still laugh just as hard, but Mrs. Whisperer is getting a bit upset. She is concerned about when the teacher calls home. I don’t have to field those calls, so I am not very concerned, but I see her point. I have already taught them the “see my pinky, gee your stinky”, and the ever popular “see my thumb, gee your dumb” rhymes. I want them to hear it from me, before they pick it up on the schoolyard. It’s a father teaching kids how to be kids, isn’t it? Anyway, “does your face hurt? No, well it’s killing me.” Sorry, but my guys love that one too.
It is well documented that I am not the world’s perfect father. I am the one that documents this, so I know it to be truth. I am, however, very clever in my ability to avoid Child Meltdowns. I have written about this ability in the past, and am going to share another perfectly orchestrated, quick thinking, and catastrophe stopping moment. Some of you may find this to be a bit unsettling, but I do what I have to do for my own sanity. Don’t try these techniques at home, unless you are willing to live with the consequences.
We were having one of those dinners that did not sit well with the kids. Young Skywalker and Solo do not like anything that is not nuggets or pizza, so they often fight us on the subject. Luke was especially upset on Monday about his soup. He wanted no parts of it, and was being a total pain in the ass. The whining and crying was growing more annoying by the minute. The threat of no dessert is no good in my house, cause I subscribe to the dessert before dinner theory. That is an entirely different blog topic. Anyway, he was up in arms and I was getting the early stages of heartburn. I had to react, and react I did. I sang the famous child jingle about beans. We were not having beans, but I sang it anyway. “Beans, Beans, they’re good for your heart. The more you eat, the more you fart.” Skywalker looked at me and smiled. Solo looked at me like I just said a bad word. They asked me to repeat it. So I did. They laughed the biggest belly laughs. They laughed until tears rolled down their face. They called pop-pop and sang it. They called Uncle Bill and sang it. They sang it, and sang it, and sang it. They also ate their soup. Then we had some ice cream, and sang it some more.
The down side to such tactics is that they are singing it every night. We still laugh just as hard, but Mrs. Whisperer is getting a bit upset. She is concerned about when the teacher calls home. I don’t have to field those calls, so I am not very concerned, but I see her point. I have already taught them the “see my pinky, gee your stinky”, and the ever popular “see my thumb, gee your dumb” rhymes. I want them to hear it from me, before they pick it up on the schoolyard. It’s a father teaching kids how to be kids, isn’t it? Anyway, “does your face hurt? No, well it’s killing me.” Sorry, but my guys love that one too.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Dipper or Scooper
Guest blogging by The LawnWhisperer. (LawnWhisperer is William's brother, who William feels should start his own blog because, well, because he is funny.)
Dipper or Scooper
There are two types of people in this world. There are dippers, and there are scoopers. I myself am a dipper, and I am surrounded by scoopers. Most of my family is scoopers. My dad is a big time scooper; I think he invented the scoop. My two youngest brothers, Mike and Jim, are scoopers, but I think they are pretend scoopers. They scooped all their life, just to get under my skin. Then I went and married a scooper. I should have done a better job of questioning while we were dating. I asked the silly questions like, “What are your thoughts on having kids?” “How many would you like to have?” “Are you a democrat or republican or neither?” “Where do you see us in ten years?” Then finally, “Will you marry me?”
I never asked the big question, “Are you a dipper or a scooper?” I’ll tell you, I am pissed that I did not ask the question. It definitely would have made me think twice about marrying her, if I knew ahead of time that she was a scooper. See, this is of major importance at snack time. I love chips and dip. I make a nice garlic dip. The perfect amount of garlic salt mixed with sour cream is mouth watering. It makes the worst kind of potato chip taste like heaven. One bowl of this dip gets you through a half bag of chips. That is if you are a dipper. If you are a scooper, you get maybe 10 chips. I hate sharing my dip with a scooper. I like to dip the chip in the dip. After all, it is called dip.
Sharing with a scooper, throws off the recipe. If I know I am sharing my snack with a scooper, I have to make more dip. Sometimes I will make two bowls, one bowl of dip, and one bowl of scoop. This way I get to enjoy my entire snack. But my wife wastes her scoop. She won’t eat it all, and then it gets tossed. That is perfectly good dip, that I could have another night, but it goes to waste.
I have tried to teach my wife to be a dipper, but she refuses. My siblings and parents have never crossed over to the dipper side. It is almost like a scooper creed, once a scooper, always a scooper. I am trying to teach my two little guys to be dippers. My daughter is a lost soul now. She has been with a scooper for far to long. I can’t convert her, but the little guys are still impressionable. There is hope still, but it will be difficult. I should have married a dipper. I did not ask the question, and now I am paying the price.
So all you single guys out there take notice of the important things. Ask the right questions before you pop the question. It will make a big difference at snack time. “ Are you a dipper, or a scooper?” If she replies in a way that is negative to your view on this topic, leave her. It will be better in the long run.
Dipper or Scooper
There are two types of people in this world. There are dippers, and there are scoopers. I myself am a dipper, and I am surrounded by scoopers. Most of my family is scoopers. My dad is a big time scooper; I think he invented the scoop. My two youngest brothers, Mike and Jim, are scoopers, but I think they are pretend scoopers. They scooped all their life, just to get under my skin. Then I went and married a scooper. I should have done a better job of questioning while we were dating. I asked the silly questions like, “What are your thoughts on having kids?” “How many would you like to have?” “Are you a democrat or republican or neither?” “Where do you see us in ten years?” Then finally, “Will you marry me?”
I never asked the big question, “Are you a dipper or a scooper?” I’ll tell you, I am pissed that I did not ask the question. It definitely would have made me think twice about marrying her, if I knew ahead of time that she was a scooper. See, this is of major importance at snack time. I love chips and dip. I make a nice garlic dip. The perfect amount of garlic salt mixed with sour cream is mouth watering. It makes the worst kind of potato chip taste like heaven. One bowl of this dip gets you through a half bag of chips. That is if you are a dipper. If you are a scooper, you get maybe 10 chips. I hate sharing my dip with a scooper. I like to dip the chip in the dip. After all, it is called dip.
Sharing with a scooper, throws off the recipe. If I know I am sharing my snack with a scooper, I have to make more dip. Sometimes I will make two bowls, one bowl of dip, and one bowl of scoop. This way I get to enjoy my entire snack. But my wife wastes her scoop. She won’t eat it all, and then it gets tossed. That is perfectly good dip, that I could have another night, but it goes to waste.
I have tried to teach my wife to be a dipper, but she refuses. My siblings and parents have never crossed over to the dipper side. It is almost like a scooper creed, once a scooper, always a scooper. I am trying to teach my two little guys to be dippers. My daughter is a lost soul now. She has been with a scooper for far to long. I can’t convert her, but the little guys are still impressionable. There is hope still, but it will be difficult. I should have married a dipper. I did not ask the question, and now I am paying the price.
So all you single guys out there take notice of the important things. Ask the right questions before you pop the question. It will make a big difference at snack time. “ Are you a dipper, or a scooper?” If she replies in a way that is negative to your view on this topic, leave her. It will be better in the long run.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Stormy Weather (That Darn Cat)
Guest Post by Lauren (William's wife)
It is my pleasure to be once again guest blogging on Poop and Boogies. Today's post is meant to make all you parents out there who may occasionally question what kind of job you are doing, feel a whole lot better.
One morning last week, Max is happily watching NOGGIN, his favorite channel, Luna, our dog, is sniffing her way around the backyard, and I am cleaning up from breakfast before an appointment with a contractor. Our next door neighbors have a very sweet cat named Stormy, who occasionally will come into our backyard and, among other things, do her business. And occasionally, as some dogs are known to do, our lovely beast, Luna, likes to dig up these tasty little treats and, you guessed it, savor Stormy's homemade delicacies, to put it mildly.
Of course, I find this absolutely repugnant, so go out back to stop her and bring her inside, when OUR cat, who is an indoor cat, tries to make a break for it. Impressed with my own speed and agility, I quickly shut the back door before he is able to make his escape.
After reprimanding Luna for her incredibly uncivilized behavior (even for a dog) we make our way back to the door when...
Uh-oh, why is it locked? We never use the door knob lock, we always dead bolt it. Someone must have turned it by accident. No worries, Max is still inside watching TV, I'll just go around front. Nope. Front door is locked. Crap! We started dead bolting the front door since Max can now open it by himself. Ok, think, think, think. Oh, of course, I'll just use the remote garage door opener and go in through the garage! Genius! Thank God the new minivan is unlocked...the.. new.... minivan, that never gets parked in the garage, because there is too much junk in there, so we therefore never bothered to put the remote opener in there. Ok, now I'm sweating it. Wait! The next door neighbors have our key!And they're home! Hallelujah!! Knock on the door-
"We have your key? Umm,ok we'll check." (rifling through some drawers in the next room, there is some urgent whispering that I can't quite make out). Meanwhile, thoughts are racing through my head of what Max could possibly be getting into all by himself back at the home front:
Teetering at the top of our 16 + stepstairwell, doing belly flops off the back of the sofa, unplugging kitchen appliancesand sticking forks in the now vacant outlets (yeah, we're mostly childproofed). My God, my God! MY GOD, WHAT IS TAKING SO LONG??????????
"Uh, sorry, but I think we gave your key back to you , Lauren."
"Ok, then I need to use your phone, NOW!"
Thank goodness Bill only works 10 minutes away and happened to actually be in the office that day. I raced back home without so much as a goodbye, and thankfully found Max still transfixed by Little Bear (yeah, Little Bear, of all shows- who'da thunk it). So I sat there, whimpering with my face pressed up againstthe sliding glass door, waiting for my hero husband to arrive and save the day, all the while cursing that darn Stormy, gourmet poops and all.
It is my pleasure to be once again guest blogging on Poop and Boogies. Today's post is meant to make all you parents out there who may occasionally question what kind of job you are doing, feel a whole lot better.
One morning last week, Max is happily watching NOGGIN, his favorite channel, Luna, our dog, is sniffing her way around the backyard, and I am cleaning up from breakfast before an appointment with a contractor. Our next door neighbors have a very sweet cat named Stormy, who occasionally will come into our backyard and, among other things, do her business. And occasionally, as some dogs are known to do, our lovely beast, Luna, likes to dig up these tasty little treats and, you guessed it, savor Stormy's homemade delicacies, to put it mildly.
Of course, I find this absolutely repugnant, so go out back to stop her and bring her inside, when OUR cat, who is an indoor cat, tries to make a break for it. Impressed with my own speed and agility, I quickly shut the back door before he is able to make his escape.
After reprimanding Luna for her incredibly uncivilized behavior (even for a dog) we make our way back to the door when...
Uh-oh, why is it locked? We never use the door knob lock, we always dead bolt it. Someone must have turned it by accident. No worries, Max is still inside watching TV, I'll just go around front. Nope. Front door is locked. Crap! We started dead bolting the front door since Max can now open it by himself. Ok, think, think, think. Oh, of course, I'll just use the remote garage door opener and go in through the garage! Genius! Thank God the new minivan is unlocked...the.. new.... minivan, that never gets parked in the garage, because there is too much junk in there, so we therefore never bothered to put the remote opener in there. Ok, now I'm sweating it. Wait! The next door neighbors have our key!And they're home! Hallelujah!! Knock on the door-
"We have your key? Umm,ok we'll check." (rifling through some drawers in the next room, there is some urgent whispering that I can't quite make out). Meanwhile, thoughts are racing through my head of what Max could possibly be getting into all by himself back at the home front:
Teetering at the top of our 16 + stepstairwell, doing belly flops off the back of the sofa, unplugging kitchen appliancesand sticking forks in the now vacant outlets (yeah, we're mostly childproofed). My God, my God! MY GOD, WHAT IS TAKING SO LONG??????????
"Uh, sorry, but I think we gave your key back to you , Lauren."
"Ok, then I need to use your phone, NOW!"
Thank goodness Bill only works 10 minutes away and happened to actually be in the office that day. I raced back home without so much as a goodbye, and thankfully found Max still transfixed by Little Bear (yeah, Little Bear, of all shows- who'da thunk it). So I sat there, whimpering with my face pressed up againstthe sliding glass door, waiting for my hero husband to arrive and save the day, all the while cursing that darn Stormy, gourmet poops and all.
Doesn't it suck....
...when you eat your last M&M, totally thinking that there were a couple of more in the bag, when there wasn't, because you so would have savored the last one?
Monday, January 16, 2006
Mr. Sandman
In the past, when Maxfield would wake up in the middle of the night, depending on the type of cry, Lauren and I would decide whether to go to him or not. Most times we would wait it out and he would calm down and fall back to sleep.
Lately Max has been waking up on the wrong side of the clock. 4:00-ish. He is getting older now so it is becoming a bit more difficult to determine what his cries actually mean. We try to let it the crying pass. I hope that he will find his pacifier or Elmo or Murphy the stuffed Monkey and will settle back into the crib and back to sleep. But in the middle of his cries I can’t help but wonder if maybe he is having a nightmare.
I try to fight the urge to go to him, but I always feel bad, that maybe he needs to be comforted. It breaks my heart thinking that maybe he is scared, or he thinks that we abandoned him. When I was young and I would have nightmares I would sleep on my parent’s floor. Just knowing that they were there always made me better.
Max is almost two. At what age are there monsters in closet, or ghosts under the bed?
I would like to thank everyone who has voted in the BoB awards (Best of Blogs). I am not sure how long the voting lasts so if you have not voted please go and do so. The voting is only one portion of the criteria to win. They will also be scoring on content and grammar (I should have listened to Mrs. Dunn my highschool english teacher). There are some great blogs nominated in different categories that you may not have seen before. The site is worth checking out to find new favorites to read.
I will be busy over the next few days, but my wife, Lauren, has agreed to fill in for me with a post or two and I think the Lawn Whisperer has also agreed to fill in for a day.
Lately Max has been waking up on the wrong side of the clock. 4:00-ish. He is getting older now so it is becoming a bit more difficult to determine what his cries actually mean. We try to let it the crying pass. I hope that he will find his pacifier or Elmo or Murphy the stuffed Monkey and will settle back into the crib and back to sleep. But in the middle of his cries I can’t help but wonder if maybe he is having a nightmare.
I try to fight the urge to go to him, but I always feel bad, that maybe he needs to be comforted. It breaks my heart thinking that maybe he is scared, or he thinks that we abandoned him. When I was young and I would have nightmares I would sleep on my parent’s floor. Just knowing that they were there always made me better.
Max is almost two. At what age are there monsters in closet, or ghosts under the bed?
I would like to thank everyone who has voted in the BoB awards (Best of Blogs). I am not sure how long the voting lasts so if you have not voted please go and do so. The voting is only one portion of the criteria to win. They will also be scoring on content and grammar (I should have listened to Mrs. Dunn my highschool english teacher). There are some great blogs nominated in different categories that you may not have seen before. The site is worth checking out to find new favorites to read.
I will be busy over the next few days, but my wife, Lauren, has agreed to fill in for me with a post or two and I think the Lawn Whisperer has also agreed to fill in for a day.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Love is a Battlefield
Occasionally Lauren says things to me like, “Hey Bill? Did you notice that all of your contact lens stuff has put itself away everyday this week.” OR “Bill the Dryer Lint Fairy stopped by and took care of the dryer lint that you let pile up on the dryer.”
Sometimes I am inclined to respond with, “Yeah? Well did YOU notice that my toenail clippings were on the nightstand for only three days and not four?” And I realize that I am not going to win the argument.
Sometimes I am inclined to respond with, “Yeah? Well did YOU notice that my toenail clippings were on the nightstand for only three days and not four?” And I realize that I am not going to win the argument.
Things that go Bump in the day.
Lauren and I went out to Lowes to buy some home protection gear (actually Max protection gear for the house). Max is getting rambunctious lately and likes to just run through the house. Full speed. Head Down. Arms Flailing. He is also tall and his head is at the level of the corner of the kitchen counters. We needed to buy bumper pads for the counters and foam bumpers and gates for the fireplace and steps. (Fireplaces in Florida who would of thunk it?)
The fireplace bumper was $40.00, the gates were like $100 and counter bumpers were $15.00(for four). I did not buy them. I am all for my child’s safety but I just could not see spending that kind of money.
It would be cheaper and easier to by Max a helmet and make some bubble wrap clothing for him when he is running through the house.
The fireplace bumper was $40.00, the gates were like $100 and counter bumpers were $15.00(for four). I did not buy them. I am all for my child’s safety but I just could not see spending that kind of money.
It would be cheaper and easier to by Max a helmet and make some bubble wrap clothing for him when he is running through the house.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Is there something wrong.....
...with the fact that my wife looks incredibly sexy in the pajamas that my MOM gave her for Christmas?
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Flipped
On Sunday we went to Publix to do some grocery shopping. In an effort to get a better parking spot, I cut through some empty spaces and turned to follow the one-way arrows marked on the pavement. I made the turn pretty quickly, as a little silver car was backing out. The silver car had plenty of space, but I know I cut it close. We pulled into a spot and I heard the silver car honk.
I looked up in the rearview and I saw the driver, a girl wearing a Publix apron, stop behind my car and flip me the bird. I was shocked. Not that I did not deserve getting the finger but because the girl was clearly an employee of the store, and I recognized her.
In the store I saw one of the other employees looking over a work schedule and I asked him who was it that just got off shift. He told me Courtney. I thanked him and I left it at that.
The next day I had to run back to Publix to pick up some diapers. Who was the girl bagging the groceries? Courtney. I waited until no one could overhear and I asked her, “Do you drive a silver car?”
“Uhmmm. Yes.” She said.
“Yesterday, as I pulled in, you gave me the finger. Now I know I kind of deserved it, but didn’t you think that I might recognize you. I mean this is the place you work.”
I could see the flush of embarrassment creep up her neck and into her face. “I’m sorry.” She responded.
I half chuckled. “Don’t worry about. I am not going to say anything to your boss. I know I was wrong the way I pulled into the lot. Are we even now?”
She just nodded.
Part of me feels bad for saying something to her but another part feels great because it is not often that a person knows who flipped them off.
By the way there is a new MooneyAngelo posted.
I looked up in the rearview and I saw the driver, a girl wearing a Publix apron, stop behind my car and flip me the bird. I was shocked. Not that I did not deserve getting the finger but because the girl was clearly an employee of the store, and I recognized her.
In the store I saw one of the other employees looking over a work schedule and I asked him who was it that just got off shift. He told me Courtney. I thanked him and I left it at that.
The next day I had to run back to Publix to pick up some diapers. Who was the girl bagging the groceries? Courtney. I waited until no one could overhear and I asked her, “Do you drive a silver car?”
“Uhmmm. Yes.” She said.
“Yesterday, as I pulled in, you gave me the finger. Now I know I kind of deserved it, but didn’t you think that I might recognize you. I mean this is the place you work.”
I could see the flush of embarrassment creep up her neck and into her face. “I’m sorry.” She responded.
I half chuckled. “Don’t worry about. I am not going to say anything to your boss. I know I was wrong the way I pulled into the lot. Are we even now?”
She just nodded.
Part of me feels bad for saying something to her but another part feels great because it is not often that a person knows who flipped them off.
By the way there is a new MooneyAngelo posted.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Not the Same
The type of music that I listen to varies on my mood and I did not bring much music into my marriage. My preferences are, Counting Crows, Peter Gabriel, Billy Joel, Dire Straits, the Kinks as well as other random bands. I maybe had a total of 20 CDs when I met Lauren.
When I started dating Lauren she had a whole mix of music she listened to. Some I knew, but did not appreciate, like James Brown, Elvis, Tori Amos and Sting. But she also introduced me to bands and singers I never even heard of like Morphine, Ben Folds, Ottmar Leibert, and Royal Crown Revue. She brought over 150 CDs into our marriage. Over the years I have come to truly appreciate her taste in music and lyrics and have become a big fan of her music selection.
When I hit the age of 30 I started getting into what the “Kids these days” were into, Kid Rock, Eminem, Destiny’s Child (yes I am admitting that I own a Destiny Child’s CD), the Black Eyed Peas as well as a bunch of country music. Lauren, being the supportive wife that she is, has developed a liking to some of this music as well.
We are now exposing Maxfield to as much music as we can. Max likes music. He likes Laurie Berkner and the Schwartzmen Quartet from one of his favorite shows Jack’s Big Music Show. But there are visuals that go along with this music.
Lately we are experiencing issues with Max’s tastes when there are no visuals. We always play CD’s in the car and Max will let us know when he wants the music changed, which is all the time. He does not like slow songs. He whines when a mid-tempo song is being played. You see he is a bit of a snob. Max likes only ONE song. Ben Folds’ “Not The Same” from Rockin’ the Suburbs and Ben Folds Live. He rocks out to it in his car seat.
I don’t know if I should feel bad letting him listen to a song about a guy who trips out on acid and becomes born again.
When I started dating Lauren she had a whole mix of music she listened to. Some I knew, but did not appreciate, like James Brown, Elvis, Tori Amos and Sting. But she also introduced me to bands and singers I never even heard of like Morphine, Ben Folds, Ottmar Leibert, and Royal Crown Revue. She brought over 150 CDs into our marriage. Over the years I have come to truly appreciate her taste in music and lyrics and have become a big fan of her music selection.
When I hit the age of 30 I started getting into what the “Kids these days” were into, Kid Rock, Eminem, Destiny’s Child (yes I am admitting that I own a Destiny Child’s CD), the Black Eyed Peas as well as a bunch of country music. Lauren, being the supportive wife that she is, has developed a liking to some of this music as well.
We are now exposing Maxfield to as much music as we can. Max likes music. He likes Laurie Berkner and the Schwartzmen Quartet from one of his favorite shows Jack’s Big Music Show. But there are visuals that go along with this music.
Lately we are experiencing issues with Max’s tastes when there are no visuals. We always play CD’s in the car and Max will let us know when he wants the music changed, which is all the time. He does not like slow songs. He whines when a mid-tempo song is being played. You see he is a bit of a snob. Max likes only ONE song. Ben Folds’ “Not The Same” from Rockin’ the Suburbs and Ben Folds Live. He rocks out to it in his car seat.
I don’t know if I should feel bad letting him listen to a song about a guy who trips out on acid and becomes born again.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Cold Snap
There is a little bit of a cold snap happening here in Orlando. Not that I am complaining but I threw away my ice scraper when I moved down here.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Dinner Man
Max has now decided to wear his bib backwards and he likes to put bowls on his head. I think this is the early stage of dressing up like a superhero.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Bill, This is Bill.
Many thoughts, conversations, and situations hit me on a daily basis in which I think,“I could blog about that.” Some of the stories I have no problem sitting down and typing out from my mental notes. But more often than not my mental pen runs out of mental ink and I cannot, for the life of me, remember what I wanted to post.
In an effort to prevent the serious memory loss, Lauren bought me a mini-recorder so I can document the stories for later recall. Sometimes when the recorder is not around I will call my voice mail, or the answering machine and leave a message for myself to remind myself about what happened.
When I do talk into my recorder or I leave myself a voicemail I always say “Seeya” or “Goodbye” to myself. It goes like this, "Hey don't forget to write about the tree service guy. Seeya." or "Umm, Hey. Remember about our trip to Lowes for the bumper things. Bye."
Lauren finds this to be extremely funny that I greet myself and say goodbye to myself.
In an effort to prevent the serious memory loss, Lauren bought me a mini-recorder so I can document the stories for later recall. Sometimes when the recorder is not around I will call my voice mail, or the answering machine and leave a message for myself to remind myself about what happened.
When I do talk into my recorder or I leave myself a voicemail I always say “Seeya” or “Goodbye” to myself. It goes like this, "Hey don't forget to write about the tree service guy. Seeya." or "Umm, Hey. Remember about our trip to Lowes for the bumper things. Bye."
Lauren finds this to be extremely funny that I greet myself and say goodbye to myself.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
I am not a good "bad cop"
While I was up in Pennsylvania, my father in-law took his car into the dealer for an oil change. When they brought his car out there was a good size dent in the front bumper that was not there when he brought it in. The car was not damaged enough that he could not drive it but I went over to pick him up in case they were going to fix it and he would need a ride. The dealer’s mechanics claim they did not do the damage.
When I got there my father in-law was pretty ticked and was trying to figure out how they could have dented the front bumper. I went to talk to the General Manager to find out what he could do to repair the car. He was a nice enough guy but he kind of blew off my father-in law as well as myself. I was now getting kind of pissed. I realized that they would not admit to the damage unless one us got tough. I figured we would do the whole “good cop/bad-cop” routine. Since I lived out of town I would be the bad cop.
I tried to be tough. I asked all the important questions. I demanded answers. I wanted to know what bay door the car was serviced in. Who drove it? Where did they take it? I would not take “No” for an answer. I was arguing with the manager for 20 minutes or so and he would not take me seriously. I couldn't figure out why. I talked to the service manager, the body shop manager, and the guy who drove the car. None of them, not one, took me seriously. We were waiting to talk to someone else when I realized I was wearing a bright yellow sweatshirt that I just got for Christmas. No wonder they treated me the way they did. I looked like Big Bird. How can a guy look tough when he is wearing canary yellow?
We decided it was best to call the police to file a report for the insurance company. While we were waiting (about a half hour or so) I went into the GM’s office to try to get him to admit to the mistake. I was standing in front of his desk as he sat there listening to me, nodding, smiling, giving me the old “I understand, but….”, but still he would not budge in his position. I was frustrated.
My father in law was outside waiting for the police and I went into the bathroom. It was in the men’s room that I realized WHY no one was taking me seriously.
My fly was down.
It was down the whole time I was stating our case to all the managers. Big Bird and little bird making an argument.
Needless to say I lost all energy to discuss the matter anymore. I was too embarrassed.
When I got there my father in-law was pretty ticked and was trying to figure out how they could have dented the front bumper. I went to talk to the General Manager to find out what he could do to repair the car. He was a nice enough guy but he kind of blew off my father-in law as well as myself. I was now getting kind of pissed. I realized that they would not admit to the damage unless one us got tough. I figured we would do the whole “good cop/bad-cop” routine. Since I lived out of town I would be the bad cop.
I tried to be tough. I asked all the important questions. I demanded answers. I wanted to know what bay door the car was serviced in. Who drove it? Where did they take it? I would not take “No” for an answer. I was arguing with the manager for 20 minutes or so and he would not take me seriously. I couldn't figure out why. I talked to the service manager, the body shop manager, and the guy who drove the car. None of them, not one, took me seriously. We were waiting to talk to someone else when I realized I was wearing a bright yellow sweatshirt that I just got for Christmas. No wonder they treated me the way they did. I looked like Big Bird. How can a guy look tough when he is wearing canary yellow?
We decided it was best to call the police to file a report for the insurance company. While we were waiting (about a half hour or so) I went into the GM’s office to try to get him to admit to the mistake. I was standing in front of his desk as he sat there listening to me, nodding, smiling, giving me the old “I understand, but….”, but still he would not budge in his position. I was frustrated.
My father in law was outside waiting for the police and I went into the bathroom. It was in the men’s room that I realized WHY no one was taking me seriously.
My fly was down.
It was down the whole time I was stating our case to all the managers. Big Bird and little bird making an argument.
Needless to say I lost all energy to discuss the matter anymore. I was too embarrassed.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Mocking See Mocking Do
Being from a big family, I tend to eat my dinner really fast. I think this is some type of psychological thing that I do in an effort to get any seconds that may be available. So I usually finish my dinner about 15 minutes before Lauren and Maxfield. When I am done I usually get up and start the dishes. I said it before and I will say it again my wife thinks a man doing dishes is sexy.
The other night I am doing the dishes and Max and Lauren are sitting at the table and I am complaining about something. I don't remember what, but it was probably about the garbage disposal or some other dish doing thing that frustrates me. So I am griping and Lauren decides to make fun of me. She mumbles under her breath. Saying something to the effect of "Great googlymoogly", but it sounded like a grumble. Basically she was saying I am some type of curmudgeon.
Try saying "great googlymoogly" without moving your lips or mouth or teeth. Did
you try it? That's what it sounded like. Within seconds of her making the grumble noise, Maxfield makes the exact grumble noise. They both look at me and they both laugh.
My son who is 22 months old is already mocking me. I thought that was not supposed to happen for at least another 13 years.
The other night I am doing the dishes and Max and Lauren are sitting at the table and I am complaining about something. I don't remember what, but it was probably about the garbage disposal or some other dish doing thing that frustrates me. So I am griping and Lauren decides to make fun of me. She mumbles under her breath. Saying something to the effect of "Great googlymoogly", but it sounded like a grumble. Basically she was saying I am some type of curmudgeon.
Try saying "great googlymoogly" without moving your lips or mouth or teeth. Did
you try it? That's what it sounded like. Within seconds of her making the grumble noise, Maxfield makes the exact grumble noise. They both look at me and they both laugh.
My son who is 22 months old is already mocking me. I thought that was not supposed to happen for at least another 13 years.
Melts In Your Mouth.
Lauren and I had one of those serious parenting discussions last night. The ones where we are not sure of what the outcome of our decisions will be. This is how the conversation went.
Lauren: If he eats his dinner I will give him hmmmndmsnnh.
Bill: What?
Lauren: Hmmmmndmsnnh!
Bill: What is Hmmmmndmsnnh?
Lauren: (Whispering) M&Ms.
Bill: Why didn’t you just say it? Oh. He knows what they are?
Lauren: After the holidays he sure knows. He was eating mouthfuls at your mom’s house.
Bill: Oh. That’s a hard.
Lauren: What is?
Bill: Hmmmmndmsnnh. (whispering) M&Ms. I mean to spell. Like we spell B.a.t.h. or w.a.l.k. How would you spell M&M’s? If you spell it, you are saying it. I mean we could spell it like Eminem. (Slim Shady) but that is too difficult. This is a tough one.
Lauren: If he eats his dinner I will give him hmmmndmsnnh.
Bill: What?
Lauren: Hmmmmndmsnnh!
Bill: What is Hmmmmndmsnnh?
Lauren: (Whispering) M&Ms.
Bill: Why didn’t you just say it? Oh. He knows what they are?
Lauren: After the holidays he sure knows. He was eating mouthfuls at your mom’s house.
Bill: Oh. That’s a hard.
Lauren: What is?
Bill: Hmmmmndmsnnh. (whispering) M&Ms. I mean to spell. Like we spell B.a.t.h. or w.a.l.k. How would you spell M&M’s? If you spell it, you are saying it. I mean we could spell it like Eminem. (Slim Shady) but that is too difficult. This is a tough one.
Monday, January 02, 2006
I will not write about it again...after this one.
I have written about this before, twice actually, but I have to write about it again due to the total strangeness of the phenomena. I promise not to write about again after today.
Yesterday Maxfield pooped at about 8:30 am. Okay all kids poop, no big deal. I changed his diaper and we went on with our day. Part of the day we had to go to Books-A-Million to return a Christmas gift. We arrived at the bookstore at about 10:30am and Lauren and Max went to the Thomas the Train section so Max could play while I was browsing.
When I met up with them I walked up to Max and I could smell that he soiled his diaper again. I looked at Lauren in disbelief, “He pooped. I can’t believe it.”
Lauren chuckled and said, “Are you serious? He just went this morning.”
Lauren took him to the restroom to change him I just stood there shaking my head.
Later in the evening, about 5:30, we went to Barnes and Noble to redeem some gift cards that we received. We were there 20 minutes when, yep, he went again. He was playing with the Thomas Train Set at Barnes and Noble as well.
"I can't believe he went again. This is really weird." I mouthed silently to Lauren so other patrons would not think we were loony discussing our kids crapping habits in the kids section.
Not only am I amazed that the kid pooped three times in one day but also he did his business twice in the same day in two different bookstores. I believe I need to start documenting this for a scientific study. Is it the bookstore? Is it Thomas? What is it about being surrounded by books that makes him go?
Did they ever cover this on the X-files?
Yesterday Maxfield pooped at about 8:30 am. Okay all kids poop, no big deal. I changed his diaper and we went on with our day. Part of the day we had to go to Books-A-Million to return a Christmas gift. We arrived at the bookstore at about 10:30am and Lauren and Max went to the Thomas the Train section so Max could play while I was browsing.
When I met up with them I walked up to Max and I could smell that he soiled his diaper again. I looked at Lauren in disbelief, “He pooped. I can’t believe it.”
Lauren chuckled and said, “Are you serious? He just went this morning.”
Lauren took him to the restroom to change him I just stood there shaking my head.
Later in the evening, about 5:30, we went to Barnes and Noble to redeem some gift cards that we received. We were there 20 minutes when, yep, he went again. He was playing with the Thomas Train Set at Barnes and Noble as well.
"I can't believe he went again. This is really weird." I mouthed silently to Lauren so other patrons would not think we were loony discussing our kids crapping habits in the kids section.
Not only am I amazed that the kid pooped three times in one day but also he did his business twice in the same day in two different bookstores. I believe I need to start documenting this for a scientific study. Is it the bookstore? Is it Thomas? What is it about being surrounded by books that makes him go?
Did they ever cover this on the X-files?
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