Litter

I went with Lauren to the Obi-Gyn Kenobi yesterday. I have been to many of her appointments in an effort to meet all the possible doctors from the practice that may be delivering our new baby. While in the waiting room there was a little girl, Brianna, about 4 or 5 that was waiting with her mom. She was very friendly and very cute and kept Maxfield occupied as they played together.

After we met with the doctor, Maxfield and I went back to waiting room with our new rubber glove balloons, while Lauren went to the appointment desk. Brianna was excited to play with the five-finger balloons and told why she was there. Her mom was going to have a baby. She was going to be a big sister. She liked to dance and wanted to be a ballerina. I said hello to her mom who is only a few months pregnant.
Lauren entered the room, 39 weeks pregnant belly first, Brianna’s eyes widened and she said, “Ohhh look.” Pointing at Lauren’s belly, “She is going to have LOTS of babies.”

I took this picture this morning. Lauren was not happy that I was going to post a picture of her just after she got out of bed. I think she looks great.

Pool Party 2

We attended a second birthday party on Saturday that also involved swimming. While at the party Max played in a kiddy pool as Lauren and I stood by chatting with other parents that we had just met.

While talking, one of the other mothers mentioned that she worked at the local hospital. She turned to me and said, “You look familiar. You look like one of the doctors that I work with.”

I smiled and said, “You work with Dr. McDreamy? People mistake us all the time.” Referring to Patrick Dempsey’s character on Grey’s Anatomy.

She laughed and said, “Oh believe me, no doctors are that good looking. I mean no one looks like Dr. McDreamy. Television does not get it right. If there were a doctor that was that good-looking working at our hospital, I would know it. I have never seen a sexy looking doctor.”

Without missing a beat, Lauren laughed and said, “So wait, what are you saying? My husband isn’t good looking?”

The woman picked up on the fact that Lauren was just teasing but she tried to backtrack anyway. We all laughed and went about talking about the hospital some more.

When we got home I thanked Lauren for defending my honor in the looks department and told her how uncomfortable it was meeting people for the first time at a swimming party and that I felt awkward the entire time.

She said, “Don’t worry about it. You were no worse than anyone else.”

“What? Worse? That implies that I looked as bad as other people.”

“You looked just like everyone else.”

“Whoa, what happened to defending my honor and my looks?”

“Let’s face it Bill, you’re 35 and not in the best shape.”

Is it wrong...

...that instead of giving Max a bath I just used 10 or so baby wipes to clean him before bed?

Pool Party

This past Saturday we attended two birthday parties for some neighborhood kids. Both parties involved cake, presents, lots of kids and the worst part, swimming of some sort. Now I like cake and presents and such but the swimming part was difficult for me. I had a decision to make. I am a vain man, but I also realize that most of my vanity is in my own head. So the decision was do I take off my shirt to go swimming or do I leave it on.

By taking off my shirt I would reveal to people, that I hardly know, my pasty white, somewhat overweight, partially gray hairy body. By not taking off my shirt, I look like the guy who is embarrassed by said body and when I would get out of the pool the t-shirt would stick to all the flabby areas of my midsection. The worst part about it, whether I wore a shirt or not, my hair would get messed up. I am very vain about my hair.

At the first party Max wanted to go into the pool right away. So I sucked in my gut and took off my shirt and we went swimming. After a few minutes Max went over to the baby pool and I sat on the side letting the sun dry me off. I felt very awkward being introduced to people for the first time with messy hair and no shirt. I am glad most of them were wearing sunglasses because I am sure that their eyes would have revealed their shock and horror to amount of water pouring out of my belly button as I stood up to shake their hands.

I could have been a contender

I am a lefty. A Southpaw. Technically I am a “sit down lefty”. Actually when I was little I could use both hands equally. “I could go to my right, go to my left. I am what you call Amphibious.”

Growing up my 8 siblings and I were all encouraged to play sports. It was not forced upon us but encouraged. We all played the big three, Baseball, Basketball and Football. Eventually some of my brothers branched out to play, what we called then, pussy sports, such as Soccer and Cross Country Running. But when we were little it was the big three.

Some of us were naturally gifted athletes. Then there were some, actually one, me, that were not. I was always the outsider when it came to sports. I realize now that part of that lack of natural talent was due to me being ambidextrous. My dad used to say that when I was young that I would play with either hand. Whatever hand I caught a ball with I would use to throw it back. I could bat left handed or right. I did not favor one over the other.

Eventually what happened was, is that I would imitate my brothers. They were all right handed. So naturally, I would play right handed. Dan and John both batted righty, so then would I. Kevin would drive to the hoop, on the right, so that is what I did. I ended up learning to play sports right handed. I ended up favoring my right side. It never felt uncomfortable, but also at the time maybe I didn’t know better. Maybe I should have played as a lefty, but I wanted to be like my brothers.

Maybe if I played left handed, that one game in 12 year old little league, when the coach gave into my begging to let me pitch a few innings, I would not have thrown a pitch over the back stop. Or maybe that one time when I was in left field that grounder would not have gone through my legs. Or perhaps in high school, I could have been a left handed quarterback, with a rifle arm and gotten a scholarship and now I would be a pro making 20 million a year.

Yeah, I blame my brothers for their influence and for my lack of 20 million dollars. I think they should pay up.

Rock Star

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Sorry this is a little long but I am slowly learning how to edit the video footage. Also I did not have enything to post for today.
Our friends Jessica Z., Clara and Jack should like this.

Priceless

New light fixture (Because your wife doesn’t like the one already there)-$60
New Electrical box (because you broke the old one)- $1.86
New Concrete drill bit (Because for some stupid reason the ceiling is made of cinder block)-$3.86
New concrete screws (See above)- $3.26
Trips to Home Depot – 3
Time it takes to complete a 45-minute project- 4 hours
New profanities invented due to project- 5
Times you bite your tongue to stop you from uttering profanities because your son is helping you-22
Not electrocuting yourself- Priceless

Purple

When Maxfield was about 6weeks old I became concerned that his circumcised penis was not healing correctly. Every time we changed his diaper we made sure that we were very careful with cleaning him and applying the proper ointment and such. Sure it looked healed but I could not get over the fact that his “fire helmet” was always a bright purple. It was six weeks after the procedure one would think that the penis would look normal.

The only point of comparison I had was, well, my own, and I know that mine was not the color of Barney. I did not want to call the doctor because part of me felt that maybe this was normal and that it just needed a while to heal. I thought about calling my brother Jim whose son, Bo, was born two months before Max, but I did not want to subject myself to his laughter and ridicule to me possibly over reacting to something that may be normal.

So like most people, (I guess) when in need for baby/medical advice, I called my mom.
When she answered the phone I could hear small children in the background, “Hi Mom. It’s Bill. What are you doing?”

“I am watching Jimmy’s kids. They had a wedding or something to go to.”

“Oh. Well I have a question for you and it may sound weird but, Max’s penis is a bright purple and I just want to know if that is normal.”

“What do mean bright purple?”

“It looks like, you know if you were to tie a rubber band around your finger really tight. But only it is brighter than that. I figured you have more experience with penises than anyone I know. Okay that came out wrong but you know what I mean.” (My mom raised 8 sons).

She chuckled. “I am sure it is normal but I don’t remember if any on you guys having a bright purple penis.”

“You don’t? I am not sure whether I should call a doctor or not. Max’s next check up is like two weeks away and I would hate to wait until then. What do you think?”

“Bill I am sure it is normal. You know what? Hold on.”

I could hear her put the phone down and telling my dad that it was me on the phone. I waited for a few minutes. When she picked the phone back up I could hear her laughing.

“I am sure it is fine and nothing to worry about.” She reassured me.

"Why?"

“I am watching Jimmy’s kids. I just went and checked Bo’s penis. His is purple too.”

I laughed and hung up the phone.

About 20 minutes later the phone rings. I pick it up. “Hello?”

“Bill. It’s your father.”

“Hey Dad. What’s up?”

“Why is your mother asking to check everyone’s pecker.”

God Father

I posted this over at The Blogfathers a few weeks ago. I figured I would repost it here.

According to what I have been taught, a Godparent’s job was to ensure that a child’s religious education would be carried out in the event of the child’s parents’ death. Thankfully my parents are still living and my Godparents never had to step in regarding my religious upbringing. My Godparents were always just two people who took a vested interest in my life, my interests, and were always there should I need them. My Godmother, Aunt M, still takes an interest in my life, even though I am 35 and have kid(s) of my own (my Godfather passed away several years ago).

I take the whole God parenting thing seriously. Besides the religious aspect of it, I also find there to be many benefits to kids having Godparents. Traditionally in my family it meant extra gifts on birthdays and Christmas as well as the extra person or two attending a baseball game or a school play. But, it also meant having a person, besides your parents, that you could trust to guide you in the right direction whether you wanted them to or not.

My Godmother did fun and special things with me while I was kid, that my parent’s would never attempt due to the fact that there were 8 other kids in our house. She took me to see the Liberty Bell, out to lunch or dinner or to the movies, and weekend trips to the shore. Even after she had kids of her own she always included me in their family functions. One of Aunt M’s daughters, Bridget, is my Goddaughter. Bridget is my son Max’s Godmother. Sorry it is confusing, but I wanted to keep the tradition for my kids to have that special someone in their lives.

When I consider who would make a good Godparent’s for my kids the religious aspect really did not come into play. I want to make sure that my kids would have someone that they could trust. I want two people that shared the same values as me but would also be open to teaching my kids new ideas or thoughts. I also want my kid’s Godparents to be able to teach my kids about me, should I die before my kids get a chance to know me. It would also be helpful if they could bail my kids out of jail if the need arises.

Oh, and I think any Godparent should have the ability to scare any movie executive into giving my kids a role in their next big movie.

Do your kids have Godparent’s? What do you look for in a Godparent?

The Kid is Funny

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tick tock tick tock....

Nothing will give you that "holy crap they grow up so fast where in the hell has the time gone" feeling like sorting through all of you toddler's old baby clothes in preparation for the new baby.


Seriously, I read the size on a one-sie that said, "12 to 18 lbs." and I can't remember Max ever being that size.

At the Movies

We took Max to see his first movie in a movie theater this weekend. We went to go see Over the Hedge at the 10 AM show on Saturday morning. We arrived a few minutes early to make sure we could get situated with good seats and snacks and drinks. When we walked into the theater there was no one else in there. We picked a row about half way up and sat dead center to the screen. Max was in awe of the vast room, the many seats and the giant pictures on the screen. A few other families entered the theater and sat in various rows in front of us.


Here is my review of the movie Over The Hedge.

Spoiler Alert.
I may be revealing some of the plot and twists in the movie so if you do not want to know what happens you should stop reading.

The movie opens with a cute raccoon (voiced by Bruce Willis) foraging for food at night. The scene is dark and so is the theater. Maxfield decides that the he would like to explore the seats behind us. His fascination with the lighted stairs distracts him from what is happening on screen.

Since there is no one sitting behind us I let him walk up and down back and forth through all the rows. I follow him to make sure he does not hurt himself. He tests each seat in last three rows to make sure that each one of them bounces back into the upright position the same way the seat before did. He returns to our row with the assistance of chocolate covered raisins from Lauren.

The cute little woodland creatures that were now invading the new development for food did not hold Maxfield’s attention. He wanted to explore the front part of the theater and ran down the steps to be closer to the screen. Here he discovered the handicapped accessible ramp and decided that running up and down it was more fun than the popcorn and the film. The enjoyment, from the effects of gravity while running down a ramp, was voiced with giggles and squeals of delight. He worked up quite a thirst and returned to his seat for some juice.

With the animals on screen now planning a great caper, Max decided that he had not explored the actual area directly in front of the screen. He scared me because he disappeared into the darkness behind the ramp and darted towards the emergency exit door. By the time my eyes adjusted to the darkened area I caught him trying to pull down a curtain that went behind the screen.

The highlight of the movie was when Lauren decided to take Max with her to the bathroom where I am sure he amused himself with the automatic hand dryers. Once he returned he needed to see which of the hundred empty seats or so was the most comfortable for him. As the credits rolled to Ben Folds’ Rocking the Suburbs, he finally sat down on a step to take in the sounds. He likes Ben Folds and he recognized the song.

All in all he gave the experience one thumb up and one pointer finger sideways and then waved "Bye-Bye" to the screen.

30 Days

30 days and counting until the baby’s due date. So it is contest time. Take a guess at the baby’s actual birth date and time. Whoever guesses the closest without going over will win a prize. Like the Price is Right.

Leave your guesses in the comments. Date and Hour (AM or PM). Example: 6/6- 6am to 7am. Make sure you read the comments so there will be no double guesses. If there is a double guess, the first one entered gets the date and time that they picked. You cannot enter more than once. I will close out the comments on Sunday 5/21/06. So get your picks in by then. I will notify the winner, here on Poop and Boogies, after the kid is born and then you can email me your address for the prize.

The prize:
One shiny Abraham Lincoln copper-esque medallion. And something else, which I will determine at a later date.




There will be no runner-ups. Runner-up is just a nice way to say loser. Void where prohibited by law. That means pee in public. The rules and prizes are subject to change (quarters, nickels, dimes). The chances of winning are determined by how lucky you are as well the when the baby decides it is time to enter the world. Please play responsibly. If you have a baby due date guessing problem or if someone you know has a baby due date guessing problem please go to Babyduedateguesseranonymous.com. If you guess the right day and time and are found out to have used a Ouija Board, John Edwards or steroids an asterisk will be placed next to you name.

She is a whore.

So I finally got around to watching the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy. I watch a lot of television but I do not watch a lot of shows. Grey’s Anatomy is one of the shows that I watch. I only have 3 “must watch shows’ a week. Lost, The Office and Grey’s Anatomy. I like the writing, even the cheesy bits. I like the cast and the acting. I think there is a good chemistry between most of the characters. I think all in all it is a really good show.

What I think makes this a good show, for me, is that I have come to have an interest in all of the characters. Not the actors but the characters. When discussing the show with Lauren or people at work I refer to the characters names not the actors. I look forward each week to see what the characters are going to do. When they do something idiotic I don’t get mad at the writers like I do on most shows, I get mad at the characters. I am emotionally vested in the characters.

Here is what I thought about the season finale.

Denny dies. Good. This guy reminded me of someone I know but could not place my finger on it. It was always on the tip of my tongue but I never could place him so every time he was on I would rack my brain trying to figure it out. I still haven’t. I am glad he gone so I don’t have to worry about who he reminds me of.

Izzie, I am sorry your weak, helpless lover boy is gone. Apparently you have this thing for weak, helpless, sick men. He died. Stop pouting. Your Prom dress was ugly.

Yang, I always pegged you for only liking Burke because he is the best. But now that he may be down, you don’t like him so much. You only like strong men, healthy men who are at the top of their game. You are the Yang to Izzie’s Yin. I can see you dropping Burke the second he drops a scalpel.

George. Beauty and Beast is you new relationship. You are the beauty. That is a hint.
Alex you surprised me this week. You are still a jerk but a good jerk.

Meredith last episode you told Derek Shepherd that “he can’t call you a whore.” You were all indignant and up in his face. Well guess what? You were on a date with the vet guy (pssst. It is actually Robin from Batman and Robin). Derek was on a date with his wife. You and Derek meet up in a room and you let him bang you. That makes you a whore. Now I know he is Dr. Mc Dreamy and I even I would let him have his way with me even though I am a straight male. But he is married. So you are a whore. Or a slut.

Oh and sorry about you dog dying.

Two Seconds

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.

Nothing happened. But he scared the shit out of me.

I have always judged other people when their excuse for when something tragic happens to a kid or an animal is "I only turned away for two seconds."

I always thought, "Yeah right. Two seconds my ass. You were not paying attention for longer than that."

One Hippopotamus. Two Hippopotamus.

Last night Maxfield and I returned from the playground. I took his diaper bag out of the car and placed it on the ground. I unbuckled his car seat and lifted him out of the car. I placed him on the ground and told him to ring the doorbell to see if the dog was home. Max usually runs right to the front door.

I turned to pick up the diaper bag. One OneThousand. I bent down and picked it up. Two OneThousand. I look up and Maxfield was in the street. He ran about 20 feet in two seconds.

Nothing happened. But he scared the shit out of me.

One Changemyunderwear. Two Changemyunderwear.

Mommy's Glasses

Mother's Day past.

This story contains slight embellishement, not much but I need to protect myself from angry emails from siblings.

Finding the perfect Mother’s day gift for my Mom used to be easy. When I was a kid my dad did all the purchasing of the mothers day gifts. Either on the Saturday night before Mother’s Day or on the morning of, he would gather the 9 kids in a room, dump the contents of bag, which had either Sears, Two Guys, or Jefferson Ward printed on it, onto the floor. Falling onto the floor were 9 gifts for my mom. They ranged anywhere from bathrobes to toiletries to cooking utensils and other types of small gifts and always a bottle of Jean Nate.

My dad would walk out of the room and leave my sister Sharon in charge of divvying up the gifts so that each kid had something to give to my mom for Mother’s Day. Sometimes we would fight over who got to give mom what.

“I want to give Mom the hairbrush. I gave her the change purse at Christmas.” Kevin would say.

“John and Bill should give her the small stuff because they are in the middle and we should give her the big stuff first and last.” Sharon would direct.

Dennis would chime in. “Well I want to giver her the socks because they are yellow. And Yellow is the hue of that portion of the visible spectrum lying between orange and green, evoked in the human observer by radiant energy with wavelengths of approximately 570 to 590 nanometers; any of a group of colors of a hue resembling that of ripe lemons and varying in lightness and saturation; one of the subtractive primaries; one of the psychological primary hues….”

Someone would eventually cut Dennis off because he was too longwinded. After much discussion and debate Sharon would tell each of us what we were going to give mom and hand us the item. We would line up, usually youngest to oldest, and proceed to the living room, where my Mom was sitting still in her robe from last year, sipping tea. One by one we would approach her and hand her unwrapped gifts.

She would always act like each gift was the perfect thing.

“Oh Jimmy. What’s this? A new sweatshirt? And it is green which is my favorite color. Thanks. Michael, wow you got me new Sunglasses. I love them. Thank you Patrick for the wonderful manicure set. Oh Billy. A new Spatula. How wonderful. I really need this. Thank you so much……. Umm. What’s your name? John. Right. Sorry honey it is still early. Thank you for this quart of motor oil. That is lovely and it is Pennzoil. Oh Daniel. Jean Nate. I love it. I think I just used up the last of the bottle I got for Christmas. Why does this bottle have some missing. Did you drink some of it?”

And this would go on until all of the gifts were sitting in front of her either on the coffee table or on the floor. As the kids went about getting ready for church we each one by one, would ask my mom what gift she liked best. Her answer was always the same.

“ I love them all for different reasons. I can’t pick out a favorite.”

I know it was always whatever Jimmy, the youngest, gave her.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom. I love you.

The Mattress

We went shopping for a mattress for Maxfiled’s new toddler bed. There were three stores in the shopping center that all sold mattresses. Lauren and I were going to go to each on to see where we could get the best value and best price.

I work in sales. Electronics. Not the appliance type stuff but more of the internal circuit board type stuff. I always give sales people a shot. I have been hung up on, told “No” to, and really work hard at winning customers over to no avail, that I sympathize, empathize and always give salespeople the benefit of the doubt. I will even give telemarketers a chance to sell me their goods. But with that being said it was quite entertaining having the mattress salesmen try and give me the hard sale.

When we walked into the store, I told him we were looking for a twin mattress for Max. I pointed to Max who, basically thought he was in trampoline heaven and explained that he was two so I did not need anything too expensive.

The salesperson, Kevin, said, “Well, how comfortable do you want him to be? Comfort is important.”

“I agree. But like I said he is two. He sleeps in his car seat, his booster seat I think he will be comfortable wherever. Besides he is only going to pee, poop, throw up and spill drinks on the mattress so I don’t want to spend too much on a mattress.”

“But isn’t his comfort important?” Kevin responded.

“So is his college education so I need to be able to save for that.”

Kevin showed Lauren what was available, while I chased Max around the store. Lauren and I spoke and decided on a mattress and agreed that we would go to the other stores in the shopping center to see what they had. I told Kevin that we would be back if we did not find something else.

Kevin said, “Why do you want to go somewhere else? We are Mattress Giant. We have been in business for 20 years with over 300 locations. We guarantee our product. You won’t get the same deal anywhere else.”

“I understand that. But I want to see if the other stores have the same thing cheaper.”

“But we have what you want right now, in stock. Why do you want to shop around?”

I kind of laughed and said, “If you saw twenty bucks sitting on the curb, would you pick it up?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Because it is 20 bucks. I am going to the place next door to see if if I can save 20 bucks.”
Kevin gave me a bit of an attitude, which I didn’t like at first, but then realized he was just sticking up for his product. Lauren, Max and I went to the other places but did not find anything worthwhile so we went back to see Kevin.

I told him the mattress we wanted and we walked over to write up the sale. As he was punching the information into his computer he asked, “Will you be needing protection for the mattress?”

“Do you mean like bodyguards? Or are you talking about protection from STD’s?”

He didn’t get the joke.

Sauerkraut

Growing up I was never a big fan of Sauerkraut. It always made me gag. Last night my wife made a roast with Sauerkraut.

She loaded up my plate with the bland looking but potent smelling stringy substance. She could tell by the look on my face that I was hesitant to actually try the Sauerkraut.

“You never had it growing up?” She asked.

“Yeah, I did and me made gag every time.”

“You never had it on a hotdog?”

“No. It would make me gag and that would be a waste of a good hotdog.”

“I can’t believe you don’t like Sauerkraut. You like everything that is pickled.”

“I know, but there are three things that I swore off forever because of how sick they made me. Brussels sprouts, pot and Sauerkraut. I ate Brussels sprouts once and they made me sick. I will never touch them again. I smoked pot once when I was 21, it made me violently ill. I will never touch the stuff again. And Sauerkraut makes me gag.

I took a few bites of the roast that had some pieces of Sour Kraut on it. I fought the gag reflex that started in the back of my throat. After a few bites of the roast I scooped a heaping mound of kraut and put it into my mouth. I was shocked. It was pretty good. I told Lauren that I was actually enjoying it. I finished my plate and complimented Lauren once again for the fine meal.

She said, “You keep saying how much you like it. I am surprised.”

“So am I.” I responded. “It is a shame that we are old and have kids because otherwise I may have given pot another try. But not Brussels sprouts.”

The Dad Couch

The Rabbit

We had very few pets growing up. Due to my mom’s, Lawnwhisperer’s, and Jimmy’s (Baby Jesus) serious phobia of canines we knew we would never have a dog. We did have a few cats though. There was Gray, named because she was gray, and later we had Sears and Roebuck, named so because they were found at Sears and Roebuck, where my dad worked. And at one point, when I was about 10 or so, the Easter bunny, left us a rabbit.

I do not remember the rabbit’s name because we did not have him for very long. We kept the rabbit in the back yard in a cage made of wood and chicken wire and screens. We would go out back everyday to look at the rabbit and try to feed it carrots and admire the Raisinets it left behind. The rest of the neighborhood kids liked the rabbit as well. Especially the girl that lived behind us, catty- corner, her name was April.

Most of us did not like April. Most of the girls that grew up in our boy-dominated neighborhood (granted my 7 brothers, 1sister and I made up half the neighborhood) were either tomboys and could hang out with us, or they kept their distance. Not April. She was always trying to do what we were doing. The problem was she was all girly girl. She wore frilly dresses and white stockings and had curly hair and she was pretty snobby. We always compared her to Nellie from Little House on the Prairie.

April loved the rabbit in our backyard. She would often climb the fence that separated our yards and take the rabbit out of its cage and play with it and pet it. She probably gave it more attention than my entire family ever did. We would catch her feeding our rabbit and we would go out back and yell at her in that nanny-nanny-pooh-pooh way.

“Why don’t you get your own rabbit?”
“Don’t give the rabbit girl germs.”
“If you love our rabbit so much why don’t you marry it?”

She always ended up leaving in a huff or tears.
“I’m telling.” April would whine as she scurried over the fence being careful not to get rust stains on her perfectly pleated plaid dress.

One day, and I am sketchy on the details, we came home to find the door to the rabbit cage open with no rabbit in sight. We of course went and told our parent’s that the rabbit was gone. My parent’s said that someone must have left the door open and that the rabbit escaped. We knew it was no of us. It had to be April. Our dislike for the girl intensified. She kidnapped our rabbit. My parent’s talked us out of forming a mob, with wiffle-ball bats and sticks, and marching over to her house and demanding the rabbit back. They assured us that the rabbit had probably escaped due to our own fault.

Deep down we knew it was not one of us that let the rabbit out. I believe one of us confronted April and she denied the kidnapping as well as mistakenly letting the rabbit go. I think she was more upset than us that the rabbit was gone, but we did not let that fool us. It was her fault. We knew it.

We blamed her for years and eventually the rabbit incident became a joke in our house. Even as adults we would talk about how April was responsible for the rabbit’s disappearance. It was only just a few years ago that my father told me the true story of the rabbit.

He came home one day and found the rabbit dead. Stiff as a board, in it’s cage. In an effort to “protect” the younger kids from seeing a dead rabbit, or feeling guilty over the death of the pet, he quickly disposed of the carcass and left the cage door open. Instead of telling us that the rabbit died he would let us believe that rabbit just escaped. A rabbit that was roaming free in the wild of suburbia was easier for us kids to grasp than death would be. He did not realize that we would blame April.

When I asked him how come he let us blame April for so long and his response was, “You guys blamed April. And I figured as long as the blame was going in her direction I was off the hook.”

My dad’s birthday is this weekend. The man who came up with “Poop and Boogies”
Happy Birthday Dad.

She is no Fezzik

Lauren went food shopping last night while I stayed home with Maxfield. Before she left we had this conversation.

Being playful and goofy I said, “Pick me up some stuff that rhymes with Deer and something the rhymes with Mice Beam.”

“You don’t need any beer.”

“I noticed you didn’t say anything about the Mice Beam.”

“Hey, I can’t have any beer.”

If you are not picking up beer get me a snack that rhymes with Leetos”
“You don’t need that.”

“Seriously, I don’t care what you get me as long as it rhymes with Leetos.”
“Anything?”

“Yes. As long as the name of the item rhymes.”

I know this is a silly game but I was challenging her. Now think of a snack item that rhymes with Leetos. There are only two options as far as I am concerned. Off the top of your head think of two snack items that would rhyme with Leetos.

You are saying to yourself "Cheetos or Fritos". Right? I would have been happy with either.

When she returned we were unloaded the groceries and she says, “I didn’t get you beer. I did get ice cream, and I did get you something that rhymes Leetos.”

“Really? What did you get?”

“Tostitos.”

“What?” I was disappointed. “Tostitos does not rhyme.”

“Yes it does.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“There were only a few options. Fritos, Cheetos or Doritos.”

“Doritos does not rhyme but I would have been happy with that. Something that rhymes should have had the same number of syllables.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“Well it should.”

“Well the next time just come out and tell me what you want.”

She handed me the bag of the store brand corn chips she had bought. Store brand. There was nothing on the package that rhymed with Leetos. She figured out beer and ice cream I woul dhave thought she would have figured out Cheetos. She knows I love me some Cheetos.

Don't you hate...

...when, in an effort to be all prepared for the next day you set up the coffee maker at 11pm so all you have to do in the morning is push the button (instead of actually grabbing the filters and pouring water and scooping coffee all bleary eyed) and because you are used to setting up the coffee maker and just pushing the button, out of habit, you push the button at 11pm only to be woken at midnight to the smell of coffee brewing.

Mop On, Mop Off

The baby is due in about 6 weeks. Lauren and I have a lot of work ahead of us. Since we are in desperate need of extra space we had a screen room added to our house. We have to move the dining room to the screen room, the office to the dining room, Max’s room to the office and prep Max’s room as the baby’s room. There is also designated space in the new screen room as a play area, so we have to move most of Max’s toys.

The screen room addition is progressing a decent pace. There have been a few problems with contractors and their inability to actually do what they said they were going to do. This past weekend I spent a good amount of time fixing the contactors mistakes. One such mistake was they installed a fence but did not use concrete to reinforce the posts. So this weekend I dug up the posts and added the concrete. I also had to mop the new tile floor 5 times to clean up all the grout left on the surface (the tile guys did an awesome job but were somewhat messy).

Every time I do work that involves repetitive movement like digging 8 holes or mopping 420 square feet of tile I think of the Karate kid. “Paint the fence”, “Sand the floor”, or the classic “Wax on, Wax off” (Insert Jokes here) lines come to mind. I think about how Mr. Miyagi used the work as muscle training to teach Karate.

I woke up this morning pretty sore in my shoulders and arms. I plan to carry a mop around all day and dare people to try and kick me in the shins.

Swimming is Cool

Under the bus.

I had a short trip back to Philadelphia for business. I was flying in at night, two days of meetings and flying back out at night. I didn’t tell friends and too many family members because I was going to be working the entire time. However, I do work with the LawnWhisperer and I made arrangements to stay with him since we would be at all the same meetings. He of course mentions it to my brother Jim, who then had to tell my Mom that I was going to be in town (thrown under the bus #1) and that I was NOT going to be staying with her (under the bus # 2). My mom, of course, calls me to ask why I don’t love her.

While I was there, I stopped by my parent’s for a visit. They were not home. I called my dad’s cell phone to see where they might be. They were on their way to a birthday party. While I was on the phone with my dad, my mom sitting next to him, he says to me, “So where are you staying tonight?”

“I am staying with LawnWhisperer.”

Without missing a beat, junst to make my mom think I do not love her, he says “Oh you are staying at your in-laws. Tell them we said hello.” (under the bus #3).

I finally get back down to Florida to see that LawnWhisperer posts a story about my sleeping habits. (Under the bus #4.)

The wheels on the bus go round and round….

Security

My wife is very sharp. She is on the ball. She is witty, hot and smart. But sometimes she has her moments. Moments where her speech and brain do not interact. Like today, we were driving, running some errands and talking about an upcoming business trip of mine.

I was discussing how Orlando International Airport has a security program for frequent flyers, where one can register and have speedy access through security check points. A person would pay a fee and submit to a background check as well as agree to have their fingerprints on file and also submit to a retinal scan each time they are at the airport.

I told her Orlando is the only airport that offers this service at this time. She thought about it for a minute and said, "I guess that is the way it is going. You know security and all. With RECTAL scans and everything else."

She caught herself and what she said and then proceeded to nearly crash the car as she as laughing.

Insults

These were things that were said to me that may or may not have been insults.

While returning from a walk.

"Bill? What made you think to wear that shirt with those shorts?"

While getting ready to go outside.
"Bill. Pull your socks down! Please."


While waiting to get a haircut for Maxfield.
"Sir? Will you be needing a haircut as well?"

Easy Listening

During a Phone Conversation

Lauren: Mother’s day is May 14th.

Bill: Oh right. Thanks for reminding me. (Trying to be sarcastic and funny) I need to get MY mom something.

Lauren: (acting like my attempt at humor is not funny) Heh.

Bill: What? You’re not MY MOTHER.

Lauren: Yeah. You’re right. I am not YOUR mother. So start picking up your own socks off the floor.

Finish

Do you think it is weird and funny that when a person eats the last of something, they technically (at least in my mind) ate the entire thing?

For instance, say there is ice cream in the house and person X ate 90% of the ice cream but person Y eats the last 10%, person X can say with disbelief, shock and disappointment, “You finished the ice cream?”

Or in another example, person X eats all but four M&M’s and then hands the bag to person Y and say very generously and charitably and kindhearted, “No, go ahead, You can finish them.”

In your household, is it automatically assumed that if a person eats the last of something that technically that person ate the whole thing?

Oh to be a kid again

“Max was so funny this morning Bill. He was sitting in his chair and he farted. I started to laugh. He started to laugh. The he kept trying to squeeze them out and he was laughing. It was so funny.”

“How come it is funny when he does that but not when I do that?”

“Because he is two. You're not.”

Church Vs. Max Round 5

As we entered St. Pete’s on Easter Sunday I already had the over/under at 15 minutes set in my head as far as how long Max would last. I also picked the over because Lauren was with me and I figured we would last longer in church than usual because there were two of us.

I also figured since Easter Sunday, for a church, is like the night before Thanksgiving or St Patty’s day for a bar (All the amateurs come out and it is also the biggest money day) that there would be enough people and distractions that maybe Max would last a little while longer.

The place was packed. There were gazillions of people. It was so packed that it was standing room only, even in the lobby. So that is where we stood. In the back. (I started having the itch to listen to the gospel and take mental notes in case my mom asked what was it about, slip out to the 7-11 and get Slurpees and play the Track and Field Video game. But I am an adult now so I must set an example.) Max did okay for the first 10 minutes. Walking around looking at people. Acting cute and friendly one second, and then shy and embarrassed the next.

It was at the 10-minute mark that he discovered that we were standing about 5 feet away from a water fountain. A handicapped/children accessible water fountain. Within 30 seconds of the discovery he proceeded to hit the button put his hand over the spout and splash the gentleman standing next to the water fountain. The gentleman laughed and smiled at Max and me. This was the first of about 30 trips to the water fountain.

Eventually the nice gentleman moved and Lauren took his place against the wall in the splash range of the fountain. Max continued to play with the water fountain until I had had enough. I quickly made my exit and Lauren soon followed. We were there for about 30 minutes. I call this a tie.

Happy Easter

We had a nice Easter. We were invited to Lukas'(Max's friend) for an egg hunt. It was quite funny watching Max picking up eggs and throwing them across the yard. Sometimes at the other kids. Until he discovered that there was candy in the eggs, then it became another story.

For the Grandmothers

Video Hosting - Upload Video - Photo Sharing

Garbage Disposal Dilemma

Warning: Slight embellishment.

We have a small debate in our house the other night. What can and can’t go into the garbage disposal?

Side Note: Every time I use the garbage disposal I think of Lilly Tomlin in the Incredible Shrinking Woman being stuck in the disposal with egg yolk being poured on her head and it freaks me out.

I believe that only small items should go into the garbage disposal. Such as small scrapings from a dinner plate that may consist of a few pieces of Mac and Cheese, a few peas and half chewed pineapple chunk. I also think it is okay to put semi-liquidy stuff in there like yogurt and cottage cheese.

Lauren believes there are miniature men in the garbage disposal with a wood chipper and chainsaws and that anything that will fit down there, should go into it. Egg shells, banana peels, whole heads of Cauliflower and chicken bones.

Is there some kind of rule as to what should and shouldn’t go into the garbage disposal?

Dream

"Good morning Lauren. How did you sleep?"

"Awful. I am slightly mad at you."

"Why? Was I snoring?"

"No. But I had this most awful dream about you. You were so mean to me."

"You are mad at me for a dream? What did I do?"

"You were such a jerk. In my dream you were having an affair with some woman..."

"Was she hot?"

Sams

We do some shopping at Sam’s Club for bulk stuff such as diapers, dog and cat food, litter and other various items. One of the things that really bothers me about Sam’s is the whole post-checkout-checkout.

They usually have some person standing at the exit door checking your receipt against the items in your cart. What sucks, is that the line for the post-checkout-checkout, is usually 5 times longer than the register checkout lines. I just waited ten minutes to pay for my stuff and now I have to wait even longer just to leave the store. They already have my money for crying out loud.

The Sam’s PCC person (9 out of 10 times is a blue-hair) count the items in the cart, compare it against the receipt and they use a marker or pen to put a line through the receipt. And if you have a kid with you and the PCC person is being nice they will draw a “happy face” on the receipt. Wow! A happy face receipt. I am going to frame it and put over my mantle.

If Sam’s is so worried about theft that they require to have the PCC person double check receipts they should just design the store differently. Instead of having a huge open area, with people coming and going, where they require a person to inspect the purchases, they should just build a wall. I can draw my own happy faces.

Answers

“Bill, what do you think caused those burrowing lines in the sand there?”

“A mole.”

“Really? Do you think? Those lines look a little small for a mole.”

“Moles are pretty small.”

“Not that small. I have seen moles and they are bigger than that.”

“Why do you even bother to ask me questions? Because when I give you an answer, you don’t ever believe me?”

“Because you have a tendency to make stuff up. Especially if you don’t know the answer, just so you can sound smart.”

“Okay, you got me there.”

Art of the Con

I have been teaching Maxfield a useful game. It is our version of 3 Card Monty or the Shell Game.


Look closely, he is putting the ball under the Yellow Bowl.


But by using slight of hand the ball is not under the yellow bowl.



It is under the pink one. After a few more lessons I will be taking him out on the street to hustle some tourists.

What's in a date?

I may be not the best example of a religious person, but I try. I have my beliefs and I struggle like most other people with them on a regular basis. I usually do not share my beliefs with other people unless I know them, like them, and can trust them to offer me a good “give and take” when it comes to discussing such a topic.

Our well meaning but nosey gossipy and opinionated neighbors stopped by the other night to discuss the hawk incident. They are an older (late 60's) couple, who are heavily involved in their church and take every opportunity to tell us about how wonderful and know-it-all they are. We have experienced their “Holier than thou” advice and opinions on more than 6 occasions. They like to remind us of how the people who owned the house before us were such good Christians, and would help them with their yard work and other chores. And there have been numerous times of un-solicited advice on how to raise Maxfield. Like I said, they mean well but are opinionated.

After discussing the hawk, the conversation turned towards idle chitchat. We have not spoken to them in months and they were catching up on everything that was happening with us. They were asking about how Lauren was feeling with the pregnancy and all and the of course the question of due date came up. We explained that the actual due date is June 18th but there is a slight gray area and that it could be earlier than that give or take 10 days.

It was at this point that Mrs. Neighbor said, “Oh well, the baby could be born on my birthday which is June 6th.”

“June 6th? Really? That is also Bill’s birthday.” Lauren said.

Which I responded, “Yeah. How cool would that be? Oh-six, Oh-six, Oh-six. 666. Wouldn’t that be interesting?”

Now I have said some shocking things to people in my life, either as a joke, which this was, or in all seriousness but I have never seen someone get as visibly upset as this woman did. She became quite flustered and said, “Well, then, ah, maybe that would not be such a…umm, good date. Let’s hope, uhh, umm for another date.”

I kind of felt bad for saying it but it was my mom who pointed out the possibility of this birth date to me. My mom is a religious person. She taught Sunday school for many, many years. She was a Eucharistic Minister for her church and she has volunteered countless times for many church events. She brought this joke up to me several times. She is even from the same generation as my next-door neighbor. Does my neighbor really think that a kid having that birthdate will really turn out to be evil?

I expressed to Lauren that I kind of felt bad for making the woman uncomfortable. And Lauren said, “Some people just can’t take jokes. Besides do you really care what she thinks about us?”

“No. Not really.”

“Then she can go pound sand.”

Rabbit Season, Hawk Season

Lauren was out all day on Monday. I was at work all day. When I got home the neighbor across the street came to tell me that the police were at my house for a while, around noon. I assumed that another neighbor, probably someone complaining about noise and permits due to the crew installing our screen room, called the police.

I did not think too much about it until our next-door neighbor to the left, a well meaning but somewhat nosey and opinionated couple, came to our house to tell us about what transpired.
Apparently, someone on the street behind us shot a Red Tailed Hawk and it landed and died in our backyard. The crew working on our house called the police because they heard the gunshot and saw the bird fall. The police drove around the neighborhood and asked questions of some of the neighbors but did not find anything or anyone.

What the Fuck? Someone is shooting a gun in our neighborhood? Towards my house? Seriously what the fuck is wrong with people? When I talked to the foreman on the crew of workers he told me it sounded like a .22. I have to rely on his assessment because although I have had my fair share of gunfire, I cannot tell one from the next (which is hard to do when you are in the fetal position hiding under a bar misdialing 911). Plus I was not there.

When our well meaning but somewhat nosey and opinionated neighbors were telling us the story they asked, very seriously, somewhat accusingly, like I would know the answer, “Do you know who would own a gun in our neighborhood?”

I looked at them and said, “It’s the South. Everyone owns guns. It would be easier to ask who doesn’t own one.”

It's time for school

While growing up, my 7 brothers and I always played practical jokes on each other. One of our favorites was always played upon the LawnWhisperer (John).

John was always somewhat of an anxious kid. I have to assume it was due to the fact that he was smack dab in the middle of everyone. He is number 5 of 9 so he was always pulled in all directions as far his personality. He had to carry some serious weight in our house. My parents relied on him make sure that the hand-hand-hand-hand-me-downs Tough Skins we all wore were going to make it to the younger ones. Being in the middle usually caused him to ride the “hump” (the middle seat over the drive shaft) in the car on family outings. He was considered too young to do certain things, like go to a Phillies game with the older kids. And yet, at the same time, he was considered too old to go see Pete’s dragon with the younger kids.

Anyway, John was somewhat uptight when it came to his scheduled bathroom time in the morning. Since there was only one bathroom and 9 of us trying to get ready each morning, we all had to make best use of the few minutes we were scheduled. The trick we always like to pull on LawnWhisperer was to wake him up at 2:30 in the morning and tell him it was time to go to school. He would jump out of bed, head to the bathroom and shower, brush his teeth and comb his hair without ever looking at the clock. By the time he would go to his room to get dressed he would realize that it was only 2:40 in the morning. The rest of us would sit there and laugh. We must have done this to him at least a dozen times. I am chuckling, right now writing this, just thinking about him getting ready for school 5 hours early.

I don’t know if he ever complained to my parent’s about this. If he did it probably fell on deaf ears. My parent’s were probably like “John? We have a kid named John?”

Today is LawnWhisperer's Birthday. Go and wish him well.

Flux Capacitor

I had saved an entry as a “draft” on blogger, about daylight savings time. I went to work on it again last night and realized it actually posted. I deleted it and I started over. I saved it again as a draft and figured I would complete it this morning.

Again it posted itself although I was not finished with it. So I deleted it again.

The post was about daylight savings time. Although the rest of the world loses an hour I actually gained an hour. I tried to explain this in the missing posts using some algebra and time/space theories from Back to the Future but I cannot remember now what they were.

The basic gist was I gained an hour because with the changing of the clocks, Max was now “sleeping in”. If Maxfield usually wakes up at 5:30 am, and now 5:30 is 6:30 and I still wake up at 5:30 I gained an hour. You see what I mean. I was going to try and sell my hour on Ebay. But I also asked for suggestions on what I should do with my hour.

The post got all messed up and I apologize to anyone who commented on the earlier ones that I deleted. But now instead of having an actual free hour I used it to fix the screw-up that Blogger and myself caused. Damn. I need a DeLorean to get my hour back.

Cup of Joe

We are both cranky in the morning until we have our first cup of coffee.

Wishes and Visits

Happy Belated Birthday to my sister, Sharon (Sorry I forgot).
Happy Belated Birthday to my brother Dan (Sorry I forgot).
Happy Birthday to my Brother Mix Master K (His is today. I did not forget).

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have lived in Orlando for about 13 months now. Since my arrival in the land of citrus and palm trees, gators and geckos and tourists I have had the benefit of having five of my eight siblings visit the central Florida area. They have come down from Philadelphia for various reasons, vacation, business or sports tournaments.

The five that have made the trip are Pat (Max’s Favorite Uncle), Kevin (AKA Mix Master K), John (Lawnwhisperer), Dan, and the youngest sibling, Jim. (Sharon, Dennis and Mike have yet to make it to Florida).

My brother Dan was the latest to visit and I got to hang out with him on Monday and Tuesday nights. Like every one else in my family, Dan is funny. We had fun and laughed and we had a good time.

After Dan left I did a mental count of how many of my brothers have traveled the 1000 miles and realized that I was lucky to be able to spend time with them. I started to recall each of their visits the circumstances and the time spent together when a thought occurred to me:
My mom only called me one time during all of these visits to check on the traveling individuals, to make sure they were okay. She only called the time Jim came into town to make sure he was safe. Jim is 30 years old.

Apparently she did not care about the Safety of Kevin, Dan, John or Pat. Only Jimmy.

Can you tell who her favorite child is?

Note to self.

When expecting a phone call on your cell phone, do not set it on vibrate, put it in your pocket, and then go pee. It causes quite a mess when it “rings” in midstream

Blogger Service Announcement

Recently it has been brought to the attention of the management here at Poop and Boogies and at Dad Vs. Dad that a member of our family has been perusing the Blog-o-sphere and leaving comments on various blogs Anonymously. He may sometimes leave a signature of “William’s Brother” or “LawnWhisperer’s Brother”.

Although we encourage this anonymous blog commenter to read other blogs and to enjoy the experience of blogging, we would like to state that the opinions and statements that he makes in NO WAY reflect the Opinons and Statements of either William or the Lawnwhisperer.

We would also encourage the Anonymous commenting brother to give himself a “handle” as he likes to call it (please note that the Anonymous brother was given a CB Radio by his godfather for his 12th birthday and he seems trapped in the 70’s). We in the computer age would like him to use the phrase "User Name". We suggest the user name for him to use should one of the following: PEZ, The Bowler, Mix Master K, or Carson’s Roommate.

Thanks.
The Managment

Left me hanging

Each morning, Lauren and I usually sit down and have coffee together from 7:00 until about 7:25. Max is in the living room watching Dora the Explorer. The older episodes of Dora, she and boots march or run to their next destination chanting where they need to go. “Jungle, Bridge, tall mountain. Jungle, bridge, tall mountain.” I have to get up three times during coffee to go into the living room and march in circles with Max.

At the end of every episode of Dora the Explorer, Dora and Boots the monkey sing the “We did it” song. They sing and dance and explain how they figured everything out. It is at this point in the show that I have to leave for work. I finish my coffee, go into the living room and dance the “We Did Dance” with Maxfield say my goodbyes and head out the door.

This morning, I walked into the living room with my “We Did It” dance groove going on, ready to prance around the living room, when I noticed Max quietly playing in the corner with his trains. I, of course, dance by myself. Max was not interested. He left me hanging.

I am not sure which is worse/more sad...
1. That I use the end of Dora as the time that I am supposed to leave for work.
2. That Max may be outgrowing the whole dance routine.
3. Or that I continued to dance by myself.

The 7 worst words.

Maxfield helps us out around the house. He does not have set chores,, but as we do miscellaneous projects we ask him to pitch in. He does an excellent job of overfilling the Luna’s (our dog) food bowl. He has a special knack for emptying the dishwasher one spoon at a time. He does a fine job watering the plants and the front porch and our shoes and everything else that may be within a ten-yard radius of the flowerpots. And most recently he has developed an appreciation of spackling the walls in our living room. It is always fun to watch him enjoy his work and I know it is only a matter of a few years when that enjoyment will disappear, so right now, I don’t mind that a project that should only take a few minutes take 20 times longer.

While growing up, my brothers, sister and I all had weekly chores. They were divided up by age/skill appropriate chores. For instance, once you were twelve years old your weekly chore was to mow the yard. (I lucked out because the Lawnwhisperer enjoyed cutting the grass so much, he kept that chore up until he was at least 16. Since he is a year older than me I skipped the whole lawn-cutting chore). I always volunteered to clean the bathroom. We only had one (Yes there was 11 of us in the house with one bathroom). It usually only took me a half hour to do every Saturday, where other chores could take hours to do on the weekend. Along with the regular chores, we all had a Dish Night. Each of us had a specific night that was our night to do the dishes. Sunday night was the worst one to have because that was always the big meal night (lots of pots and pans). The rest of the week consisted of leftovers from Sunday or simpler meals, so those nights were easier.

Besides the weekly chore and dish night there were always other projects that my dad had us working on. One of the worst things that my dad could ever say to one us, the 7-word phrase that could doom us was “I need five minutes of your time.” (Or the same thing in a question.) “Can I borrow you for five minutes?”

“Sure.” We always responded because there really was not the option of saying “No.”

I know it does not sound that bad. 5 minutes. No big deal. Right?

Wrong.

Never in the history of my family did any task that started with that statement take any less than 2 hours. My dad was skilled at disguising the biggest projects as a five- minute favor. He planned to build a shed from scratch in those five minutes. He figured we could clean the entire basement ceiling to floor in those five minutes. He believed that one 12-year-old kid could Rototill the entire property, front and back yards, in 5 minutes.

Once we got into our teens he slowly changed the way he asked us for help. He would casually say to one or more of us, as if he was really interested, “Do you have any plans this weekend?” (Please note 7 words again). And whoever responded with “Nothing” He would then say “I could use your help on Saturday” (7 words.) We would be stuck cleaning out gutters for a few hours because we did not think of something to do on the weekend.

It is funny how all of this comes around full circle. I know feeding the dog should only take a few seconds but I don’t mind working with Max as he places the food into the bowl one piece at time. It is time that I get to spend with him. It is a time I get to show him new things. I wonder if that is how my father felt. Would he make the five-minute projects longer so we would spend more time with him? Was he just trying to get us out of our mother’s hair?

If he was doing it for those reasons, I never really did appreciate it until now. But I also realize he simply could have said, “Who wants to go get ice cream?”

Is it me...

...Or has it been a slow BLOG week for everyone?

Fun with the phone

#1.
While I was at work I called home. Lauren answered the phone this is what I heard.
Lauren: Hello? HellOOoo?
(Maxfield giggles in the background)
Lauren: Helloooooww?
(Maxfiled giggles some more)
Lauren: Sorry Bill. We answered the banana, but no one was there.

Picturing Lauren and Max with banana's next to their ears made me laugh.

#2.
The other night the phone rang and I could tell by the caller ID it was a telemarketer. I let Max answer it. I wish I could have heard the person on the other end.

Den of Thieves

Lauren did not get a good-nights-sleep on Saturday night so in an effort to let her rest on Sunday morning I took Maxfield to Church by myself. We are still looking for a new church and since in the south, churches are like Starbuck’s (there is one at every intersection), I could not decide which one we should try so we went to the old standby, St. Peter’s and Paul’s Catholic church.

St. Pete’s has a small room in the back for people with kids, so I knew we could attend the mass without too much trouble. We took up a few seats in the back of the room and Maxfield was being very good, sitting somewhat quietly, playing with his trains. There was the occasional “shout out” to the statues of Mary and Joseph that were hanging on the wall beside us, but for the most part he was much more well-behaved than the other children in the room. We made it through the readings, the Gospel, and the collections when he started to get a little fidgety. I let him go through the diaper bag to find more toys, when he pulled out two pacifiers.

With one pacifier secured in his mouth and the other switching from hand to hand, I let him roam around the room a bit. He had his eye a 3 year little girl in a pink dress who was playing quietly on the floor with some coins her mother gave her for the collection plate. The little girl of course did not put the money on the plate when it came by; she simply put the money on her seat and quietly counted the quarter the dime and the penny.

Maxfield loves coins. He loves putting them into his bank. He loves throwing them into fountains at the mall. He loves playing with them. I knew that there might be a battle between Max and the little girl over the coins so I kept a close eye on him.

At first Max just tried to grab the coins but the girl was too quick for him and she snapped them up like a professional Jacks player. Max whined. I pulled him away and told him “No”. He tried another approach. He smiled and batted his eyes in an effort to charm the coins away from the girl. She smiled and the two shared a moment. During this moment, Max made another attempt to snatch the coins with his pacifier free hand. The girl was too quick for him again put both her hands over the coins. Max whined a little more loudly than the first time. I moved closer ready to intervene. I could see that Max was coming up with a new plan.

He smiled again at the little girl and he took his pacifier and offered it to her as he eyed the coins in her hand. She looked puzzled, but she was considering his offer. I could not believe it. Max was going to sell his pacifier for 36 cents. I stepped closer and grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the girl. I told him “No” again and made him sit on my lap. He got real fussy and started to whine louder, but eventually he calmed down.

The congregation stood to recite “The Lords Prayer” when Max started to throw a fit. I could not figure out what was bothering him, but he was not happy. Moaning and whining and saying “Nah, nah. NO!”

I whispered, “What’s wrong?”

“NO! Nah nah. No!” he yelled back.

Then it struck me. He thought I was going to put him to bed. We say the “Lord’s Prayer” as part of his nighttime routine, and he was NOT ready for bed. He made a scene and so we left the church. I now know that I need to change his nighttime prayer routine.

Score Max-4 Churches 0.

There is an ironic part to this story and I could not make this stuff up if I tried. The Gospel at the mass on Sunday was from John 2:13-25 Where Jesus kicks out all the vendors that are selling stuff in the temple. My son hears this and then tries to sell his pacifier. I shit you not.

He looks like Bono

 

Waiting

I asked Lauren if I could do this. I am still waiting for her answer. I also asked if she could sew my costume.

Skunk Ape

I have lived in Florida for a year now and I am quite disappointed with the fact that I have not encountered this. You can read about it more here.

It is also why I do not take my shirt off outdoors because I may be mistaken for IT.

Singles

This past Saturday some of our neighbors had a multi-family yard sale. They asked us if we would like to participate and having the opportunity to get rid of some our stuff, spend the morning chatting with our neighbors and make some money while doing it, we agreed. Lauren and I decided we would split the shift over at Linda’s (the house that was hosting the sale) she would take the first few hours while I watched Max and then we would switch. Lauren would help set up and I would be in charge of the breakdown.

While Lauren was setting up she realized that we did not have any cash to be able to make change for people who may buy our stuff. It was 8 AM on a Saturday so no banks were open. I figured I would take Max to the grocery store and buy a few needed supplies, use the debit card to get cash back and we would have change.

Whenever we checkout at a store Max likes to hand the credit/debit card to the people working there. He also likes to take the receipt. Max handed the lady behind the register the debit card. “What’s this?” She said very curtly. “ You need to slide this yourself.” She handed the card back to me without a smile.

I swiped the card. I entered my p.i.n. and keyed in $15.00 for cash back. Max was getting antsy in the cart. The lady behind the registered handed me a ten and a five.

“I’m sorry.” I said handing her back the cash. “Can I have this in all ones?”

She looked a little miffed because I was probably depleting her change so early in the morning. “I don’t know if I have it.” She snipped. “What do you need the ones for?”

I did a double take. Why was she asking what the singles were for? She was not being polite but kind of bitchy.

“What do I need ‘em for? What difference does it make? If you don’t have all 15 can I at least get 10 in singles?”

The lady sighed and huffed loudly. “I have the 15.”

She counted them out and rolled her eyes and handed me the 15 singles. I cannot stand rude people. Especially when they are working in a place like a grocery store and are supposed to be nice.

“Thank you.” I said. “It’s Father/Son day at the Nudie bar.” And I left.

Is It Wrong...

…To enable the V chip on our TV to block out channels such as HGTV and Discovery Home and all their little shows that say how "easy" it is to fix up a room or a house which inspires your wife to create projects?

Olives

I think all parents like when they can see some of themselves in their kids. Whether it is looks or personality traits a parent can’t help but be proud when their child shows a reflection of the parent. I thought for sure that Maxfield was going to be left-handed. I was happy and proud thinking that he got that trait from me. Recently he has been showing signs that he is actually right-handed. Being right-handed is not a bad thing, it is just one more trait that he gets he gets from his mother, along with his sense of humor, his smile and his stubbornness. Lauren may argue that his stubbornness gene comes from me but I believe I have two recessive stubborn genes (represented by a little “s, s”) where I think Lauren has two dominant stubborn genes (represented by the big “S, S”) and if my memory of 10th grade Microbiology/Genetics class with Mr. Veit serves me correctly, the dominant gene would be the prevalent gene.

Anyway, last night Maxfield has shown another side of himself that I can take credit for as a parent and I am very proud. You see, Maxfield likes Olives. I love Olives. Always have and always will. I like all types, black, purple, Kalamata, green, pitted, stuffed with garlic, roasted red pepper, jalapenos or citrus peels (my favorite). If I was stranded on an island and I could only have one food it would probably be Olives (I would have said Chicken Pot Pie or Cheetos, but neither of those grow on trees and Olives do. I know that Olives don’t grow in all their pickled-cured-brinery goodness, but they do grow on trees and I am sure if I were on a deserted island there would be more of a chance of an Olive tree growing on the island than a Chicken Pot Pie tree). Lauren on the other hand hates Olives (which is good because then she won’t eat mine.) She won’t even let me kiss her if I have eaten Olives.

Last night Lauren picked up some Olives for me at Whole Foods. I was eating them with dinner, when Max became interested in them. I bit off a few pieces and handed them to him. He devoured them. He could not get enough of them. He ate both the dark ones and the green ones. He did not care for the citrus stuffed at first but after a minute or two you could tell he liked them just as much as the others. I am very proud that he inherited some of my tastes. Lauren on the other hand was grossed out, although she did take kisses from Max.

Official 2 Year Old Picture

Quiz

What do these three things have in common?







I couldn't live without any of them. Happy Birthday my love.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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!

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?

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.

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.

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).

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.

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.