Baptism

On Sunday we had Wyatt Blue baptized. His Godparents, Uncle Kevin (AKA funny Anonymous commenter) and Aunt Felicia and his Grandparents (my parents) MaMa and Pa came down from Pennsylvania to Florida to attend the service. There were many incidents during the mass and service that caused church giggles. A few were due to the differences in how our church services are in my Florida parish compared to Pennsylvania parishes my parents and siblings attend.

One difference is in the way the Lord’s Prayer is done. In PA the congregations stands and recites the prayer. In Florida, the congregation stands and holds hands and recites the prayer. Felicia who was seated in the middle of the pew ended up holding hands with some strange man sitting next to her on her right. On her left was Kevin who broke the chain and did not hold hands with Felicia. Everybody in the church is holding hands except for Kevin, Me, Lauren, MaMa and Pa. My mom got a kick out of this and was snickering. After the communion, Kevin and I did not go back to the pew but instead to the back of the church. As I approached Kevin in the back he said to me, “I wanted to give Felicia some more time with her new boyfriend.” Making reference to guy she was holding hands with in church.

During the baptism ceremony, after the priest was done pouring holy water over the babies being baptized, he would hoist the baby over his head and present the infant to the entire congregation. I have never seen this done before except by Rafiki when he held up Simba in the Lion King. I really liked this part of the service but I could not help humming the Circle of Life. When it came time for Wyatt to be presented, I noticed that the priest was not holding any of the babyies' heads when he lifted the children. Since Wyatt is only a month old, I whispered to Lauren to make sure she supported his head because he is still so young and could get hurt. When the priest lifted Wyatt, Lauren put her hand up and held Wyatt’s head. It looked pretty funny. Almost like Lauren was trying to give Wyatt "rabbit ears" for the photos.

In an effort to keep Maxfield occupied during the services we gave him candy and some coins for him to count and play with. After the service while we were taking pictures Maxfield proceeded to throw his coins into the Holy Water Fountain just like he would do at the mall. The fountain in my church is pretty nice and is just that, a fountain with running Holy Water. The water comes up from a basin in the floor and fills a bowl at the top and then cascades down one side of the stone base. Sure enough, as we were taking pictures Maxfield put his mouth against the fountain and started drinking Holy water.

All in all it was fun day and we enjoyed spending time with the family.

When I told LawnWhisperer about Max drinking the holy water he said to me, “Do know what that means? If he drank holy water that means he is going to piss holy water. You should save his diapers and bless yourself with them.”



Max getting Holy.

MaMa holding Wyatt on the phone with LawnWhisperer

Anonymous Godparent's with Wyatt Blue

Lauren and Wyatt

1 month old

One of my lifes mysteries answered.

So the space shuttle took off on July 4th. I was supposed to walk outside at 2:38 pm so I could look up into the sky and watch it as it blasted into orbit. I never got around to it. Why? I blame it on Steve and Joe.

You see we had a long morning with a kid’s parade and festivities in the neighborhood and driving my sister-in-law to the airport, that when we got home Maxfield was a little wired and did not want to take his afternoon nap. Lauren and Wyatt were resting peacefully in the bedroom and I was left entertaining Max for the afternoon.

Max and I played for about an hour when I started to feel a little tired myself. I figured I would turn on the tube to Noggin and lay down with Max in the hope that he may fall asleep. I could not believe my eyes when I saw on the on-screen cable guide, that they were showing a Blues Clues Marathon. Not only was it a Blues Clues Marathon but also it was the episodes where they replaced Steve with Joe.

Now I know I am late to the whole Blues Clues thing due to the fact that I only had my first child two years ago and Blue and friends have been on since the late 90’s but I could never figure out why they replaced Steve with Joe. I always thought that Steve was holding out for more money in his contract, and the producers just decided to replace Steve much like the Darren’s on Bewitched. But only this wasn’t another Steve. This was a new character named Joe. And this was three-episode series explaining Joe’s arrival and Steve’s departure. Max and I were engrossed in the show.

Joe is Steve’s brother and he was coming to stay at Blue’s house to take care of Blue and learn about Blue’s Clues in preparation for Steve’s departure. Why was Steve leaving? That was not explained until the last episode of the three. Which the start time on Noggin was at 2:30. I had to watch to see what was going to happen.

I had an uneasy feeling that Steve was going to leave and everybody would say goodbye and it would be okay, but then Radar would come into the operating room and announce that Steve’s plane was shot down over the Sea of Japan. I was prepping Max and myself for a very sad ending.

But it did not end like that. Basically, Steve just went off to college.

History was happening outside my window with the shuttle being launched, but I needed to find out the answer to one of those small nagging little questions that I thought about all the time in my little universe. Which I am glad I did.

Let Down

We were prepping for dinner when Lauren braced herself against the table with one hand grabbed her chest with the other. She let out a slow moan. The look on her face told me she was in pain.

“What?” I asked. “Are you okay?”

She sighed as the uneasy feeling subsided. “Whew. That was a let-down.”

“What do you mean? A let down that it was NOT a heart attack?”

She sat down and rolled her eyes at me. “No. When a woman is breast feeding, she can feel her milk ducts, I don’t know how to say this, let loose?”

“What?”

“It is a pretty strong tingly sensation. It is called Let-Down.”

“Like your boobs fell asleep?”

“No. Not like that. You should read the breastfeeding, uh, manual that I brought home from the hospital.”

“A MANUAL? Like I could learn how to breastfeed?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well I could learn but it won’t work.”

“At least you can read about what I am going through.”

I grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and started writing. Lauren looked puzzled. “What are you doing?” She asked.

“I am writing this down so I can blog about it.”

“Bill, I don’t know how I feel about you discussing my boobs on the internet.”

“Whatever. How does this sound? We were prepping for dinner, when Lauren….”

July 4th

My mom's birthday is July 4th. It is really weird because they celebrate my mom's birthday in Orlando Florida too. We had a neighborhood parade and ate watermelon and stuff.




Happy birthday mom. (I bet Lawnwhisperer did not put a post on his blog for your birthday)

Socks

The other day Lauren was folding laundry (the whites to be exact so take that Lawnwhisperer) and I walked up to her and gave her a kiss and a hug to show my apprecaition of the fact that she is my wife. Neither the kiss nor the hug were returned. She did not kiss me or hug me back. I could have kissed and hugged a stone and I would have felt more warmth. I could tell something was wrong.

"I just hugged and kissed you and you did not respond. What's up with that?"

"I am mad at you."

"For what? I didn't do anything. "

"I am mad because I am doing the laundry and I am rolling your socks."

"Well leave them for me, I will get to them."

"It's not that. I just hate the way you put your socks into the washer. Inside out. Then when they come out of the dryer I have to put them all back inside right to match them up. I hate doing that."

I said I was sorry and I walked out. Then I thought about how I take my socks off. I grab them from the top and pull out and down. I peel them off my foot so that when they are completely off, they are inside out. Fuzzy side out. Seam side out. Then I thought about it some more and I assured myself that I was doing the right thing. My theory that I came up with inside my head and that I later presented to Lauren was this:

Since the inside of the sock touches my foot and the outside of the sock just sits inside my sneaker all day it is more important that the insides of the sock is facing outwards when it is in the washer so it gets more clean.

Lauren did not buy it.
I now have to figure out a different way to take off my socks.

Houston, we have an idiot

One of the most interesting aspects of living in the section of Orlando in which we do, is that many of our neighbors work for NASA. I know for some people this may not be interesting at all but I am intrigued by the fact that I actually know rocket scientists. It is pretty cool hearing different stories about space flight and NASA on a regular basis.

Now I am not the most brilliant person in the world (as noted by my awful grammar here on the blog) but I can hold my own having somewhat intellectual conversations. And, as my wife will attest to, I can pretty much bullshit with anyone and act like I know what I am talking about. Except when I am talking to the NASA neighbors about their work. I immediately become a 10-year-old kid asking all sorts of retarded questions. Or I make suggestions on how the NASA program could work better because, you know, I have seen Apollo 13 and Armageddon.

When I bump into the NASA engineers or scientists at the playground or pool I get all excited to hear about their current projects. The conversations start with me asking, “So, what are you working on?” And the responses vary on whom I am speaking with and which department at NASA the individual works.

After listening to long answers about fuel boosters and foam insulation and instrumentation and flux capacitors and wave motion guns (okay I added the last two because that is really what I want to hear from them) I usually end up blurting out some type of idiotic question or response. Usually it is an attempt at humor but most of the time they don’t see it that way.

Here is a list of my responses or questions to my NASA Neighbors.

After hearing about how Kennedy Space Center has one of the longest runways in the world.
“Is the end of it shaped like a skateboard ramp? Because I am sure that would help with take off.”

After hearing about my one neighbor being in the Firing Room.
“Do you get to wear a head set and say GO or No GO?”

After hearing about the instrumentation panels used for launching.
“Do you get to push the button?”

After one guy told me he analyzes photos taken from space.
“C’mon you can tell me and I won’t say anything to anybody, do you ever see UFO’s in the pictures?”

After hearing about budget cuts and trying to start new programs.
“What you guys need is a corporate sponsor. Like Nascar. NASA? Nascar? It is a perfect fit. I am sure you could throw a Home Depot decal on the side of the shuttle. You know for a couple of mil.”

And it usually after I have spoken that the conversation comes to a screeching halt.

NO DAD

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Many people count their child's words in an effort to quantify their kids intelligence. They say things like, "Oh, well Thurston Howell the 5th knows 75 words and he is only 13 months old."


I stopped counting after these two words. "No Dad."

Best decision I ever made...

...was going to the restaurant that night.

I posted this story last year (consider this a summer re-run).

The night we met.

World Cup

Sippy cup manufacturers need to come to an international agreement in regards to the way they manufacture their goods. Not necessarily the sippy cups them selves, because I like all the different shapes and size and colors and handles options, but more so in the way they make the little-rubber-stopper-sucky-prevent-leakage thing that fits into the lids of the sippy cups.

We have multiple cups in our house. There is one for milk, one for juice, one or two for water, and of course some back up cups. These little rubber pieces need to get washed everyday otherwise mold will grow in them. The problem with the rubber-stopper-sucky thing is, is that I have to figure out which cup gets which rubber-stopper-sucky thing. Not one brand of sippy cup is compatible with another brand. If I put the wrong one in the wrong cup there is potential for spillage. Or maybe the suckage/flow factor does not work for a specific cup and Max gets frustrated and ends up throwing the thing across the room.

I have another issue with the way these plunger devices are made. These rubber plunger type things are usually two sided with one side that fits into the mouthpiece of the cup and the other side that fits into the airflow hole on the under side of the lid. Most of them are made out of a clear rubber with a clear arrow printed on them to indicate which side goes into the mouthpiece and which is for airflow. These things are small and they are already clear. How am I supposed to see a tiny clear arrow on a tiny clear piece of rubber at 5 in the morning? Bad design I tell you.

So I propose a universal rubber-stopper-sucky thing for all sippy cups. Gerber, Playtex, Avent and what ever other company listen up. It would make my life easier.

Google search is going to have a field day with these keywords.

Pets

My patience and tolerance of our pets has been waning. They are really starting to frustrate me. Yes I know they are pets and they do things that pets do but I am really getting to the point where their unconditional love and “friendship” and all the other benefits of having pets is no longer outweighing the negatives.

I feed the cats. I feed the dog. I walk the dog three times a day. I clean the litter boxes. At the end of every night I gather the cats and lock them in the garage so they won’t disturb us. I let them out in the morning. I am constantly stepping over the cats and dog while walking through my house.

A month ago I spent a Saturday afternoon steam cleaning our carpets. Within 2 hours Bogart the cat gets a dingle-berry stuck to his ass and scoots his backside across the carpet. Basically he used the carpet as toilet paper.

Luna, our dog, in desperate need of attention is constantly nudging her way between Maxfield and I whenever we are playing on the floor. She gets so excited and wags her butt in our faces, until we stop playing.

My in-laws are in town for a few days and I was discussing with them the all of the stuff that annoys me regarding our pets. My In-laws love pets. I tried to convince them to take the animals back to Pennsylvania with them. I thought I made a good case. I offered my Father-in-law the dog in exchange of my Mother-in-law.

My Mother-in-Law laughed and thought it was a great idea because she would get to see her grandkids all the time. I thought it was great idea because I would not have to walk her or feed her. She could babysit the kids and Lauren and I could go out. I only gave her one rule: She was not allowed to shake her butt in my face.

Proud Father Moment

Introducing my kid to peanut butter and Fluff sandwiches.

Two conversations

I have the habit, good or bad, of taking off my wedding ring when I do the dishes or if I am working on something around the house.

“Lauren? I can’t find my wedding ring. Where did you put it?”
“I did not touch it.” She says from the other room.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I am sure.” She says as she gets up from the sofa.
“Are you positive?”
“Yes!”
“Did you maybe put it in the….Oh nevermind.”
Lauren enters the kitchen. “Did you find it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Where I left it.”
“Do you want to apologize?”
“Yes. But I won’t.”



Conversation number two starts off in a similar way.

“Lauren? Have you seen my pajama pants?”
“You mean the ones you wore last night?”
“Yes.”
“They are on the hook on the back of the door.”
I, of course, look on the back of the door to our bedroom, which has never had a hook. I look to her confused. Lauren rolls her eyes and said, “The back of the bathroom door.”

Confused I walk over to the bathroom door to find them hanging on the hook. I gave Lauren a puzzling look and said, “I didn’t put them there.”
Shaking her head, “Oh I KNOW.”

The Belt

I originally posted this on the Blogfathers last week. I did not post anything on Father's Day for my dad due to Wyatt's arrival. Happy Father's Day Dad.

My father was the disciplinarian in our household when I was a kid. Sure my Mom would occasionally ground us, or wash our mouths out with soap but the penalties for the major infractions to the family rules were left up to my father to dish out. The worst punishment to get, besides the “I’m disappointed in you” speech and look, was the Belt. The Belt was an important tool when disciplining 9 kids.

I can only remember being punished with the Belt twice. One time, when I was about 8, I told my brother to “suck my *#$@”. I was 8 and I did not know what the phrase meant, but I did know it was an insult. After the three cracks of the Belt on my ass I knew that I would not say it again.

The other time that I was on the receiving end of the Belt was when the entire family, all 9 of us, were going to be punished for not eating our dinner. You see my Mom cooked dinner every night for 11 people. She tried real hard to make meals that were healthy and that we would all like, or at least eat, and that were within the food expense for the week. One time she decided she was going to be creative and make us a Chinese meal. Chicken Chow Mein I believe it was.

None of us would eat it. It tasted awful. My mom is a good cook but for some reason this recipe did not pan out. My 7 brothers, my sister and I sat at the dinner table for an hour without anyone touching their meal. We complained the entire time about how disgusting it was. It was gross. I think at one point one of my brothers threw the contents of their plate on the floor. When this happened my mother said to my dad, “I want them all punished.” She then placed her head in her hands and yelled at us to “go to your rooms.”

There were 5 bedrooms upstairs. My sister had her own room and all of the boys shared a room with another brother, 2 to a room. My room was in the middle of the 5. I heard my dad climbing the stairs snapping the Belt. I could hear him enter the first room. There was a pause. Then I heard the crack of the belt against their backsides. –Crack- “Ow” –Crack- “Ouch”, -Crack- “Owww!” –Crack- “Ooh!” The first two brothers got theirs.

My father entered the second room, the one right next to mine where the LawnWhisperer shared a room with Dan. I could hear him say something but it was muffled. There was a pause.

-Crack- “Ouch. Dad?” –Crack- Ow!”

-Crack- “OOOH.” , -Crack- “Arrrh.”

That was two more brothers were punished. It was my turn next. I sat on my bed as far away from the door as possible thinking that that would save me. The bedroom door flew open. I could tell from the look on my father’s face that he was not happy. He started to speak in a low, barely audible voice.

“Okay guys,” he whispered. “I want you to hold up your pillows. When I hit them with the Belt you scream like it hurts. Do you got that?”

My brother and I exchanged glances of disbelief. We were shocked and could not quite understand what was going on.

“I said, hold up your pillows. Do you got that?” He repeated as he nodded his head.

My brother and I shook our heads and held our pillows up. –Crack- went the Belt across the pillow. “Ouch” my brother yelled through a smile. –Crack- “OW!”- Crack- the belt popped against my pillow. “OOW!” I yelped. –Crack- “Aww Ouch.” I hollered.

My dad turned to leave the room, he turned back and said “I didn’t like dinner either, don’t tell your mother.” And he left.

Last Picture

I don't want this blog to "jump the shark" due to pictures of my new kid but I had to post this one.

See the resemblance?

Maxfield a few days old.


Wyatt Blue a few days old


Baby William a few days old. The facial hair comes from MY mom's side of the family.

Wyatt's Arrival (The conclusion)

Somewhere between 8:30 and 8:45 pm Lauren’s contractions became more intense. I was watching the contraction monitor and could see the peaks of the contractions were hitting a new high as well as the down time was becoming less and less. Even with the epidural Lauren could feel the pressure. The delivery nurse was in the room with us since 7:00. I asked her if she had any other patients and she said it was slow and that there were about 10 staff members at the nurses station with nothing to do. She ended up leaving the room at about 8:45. Lauren was doing really well when the door opened and another nurse popped her head in.

“Everything okay?” She asked.

“We’re doing good.” I responded.

“Okay, Barb, your nurse went on a break. I just wanted to pop in and check on you. If you need anything let us know.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

It was 9:10 pm when Lauren, with beads of sweat forming on her forehead, looked at me and said, “Can you go tell the nurse that I am ready to push now?”

I left the room and went to the nurses station. There were about 20 people at the station chatting away. Barb the delivery nurse was typing away on a laptop.

“Uh. Barb. Lauren says she is ready to push now.”

Barb looked up and me and laughed and shook her head from side to side as almost to say “These silly pregnant woman do NOT know when it is time to push. Fine I will get up from my break to comfort her. Hah ha hah.” She did not say that but her look and laugh and the slight rolling of her eyes said it for her. She followed me into the room and checked Lauren. She was surprised to realize that Lauren was ready to push.

“Okay, Mom (referring to Lauren), I am going to need you to wait for the doctor. He should be here in a few minutes. Don’t push. Just breathe through the contractions.”

We waited for 10 minutes which I am sure seemed like forever to Lauren. Dr. Bart finally came in and did a quick a check. Yes. Lauren was ready to deliver. He turned to Barb and said , “Call me when she is ready.” and he left the room.

Barb told Lauren to push. Which she did. She then said to me. “Dad, you stand there and help her and when I tell you hit that red button on the intercom.” She told Lauren to push again. Which She did. And again.

Barb said, “Okay dad. Hit the red button.”

A voice came over the intercom. “Can I help you?”

Barb barked, “ I need Dr. Bart, a delivery nurse and the pediatric nurse right away.”

I couldn’t resist the urge and I said, “And an order of Fries.”

The intercom voice said, “What?”

I fumbled to turn the thing off.

The door opened and two nurses came into the room followed by Dr. Bart. Lauren lay on the bed, legs in stirrups ready to deliver a baby. Dr. Bart got into position. We were waiting for a contraction so Lauren could push. One of the nurses at the foot of the bed said, “She does look like Paula.”

Barb responded, “See I told you.”

The pediatric nurse moved from the side of the bed to the bottom to get a better look. “I think she looks like Paula.”

Lauren had another contraction and pushed. As she took a breath she looked and the nurses and smiled and said. “Which part of me looks like this Paula.”

The nurses laughed. Lauren said, “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Which then I said, “She is laying here spread eagle and you say she looks like Paula. I got to meet this Paula.”

The room got quite as Lauren had to push again. And again. The baby’s head was out. She pushed again and the baby was born. Lauren only pushed for 7 minutes. At 9:31PM on June 11th 2006 Wyatt Blue weighed 8 pounds even and was 21 and ½ inches long.

A few hours later we were being wheeled up to the nursery and we passed the nurses station. One of the nurses said, “Is that the Paula room?”

We stopped, and I asked if Paula was working. They called her on the intercom and she came out to meet us. I relayed the story of how her co-workers see her. Spread Eagle.

Wyatt's Arrival (part 2)

Read Part I here.

Lauren was doing great in the Brand New delivery room designed just for mothers giving birth and I sat in the corner playing Play Station Portable* Tiger Woods golf. Dr. Bart came in and broke Lauren’s water at 5:54 pm. I know the exact times of these things because I was typing them into my Blackberry as they happened for blogging sake. Our nurse was a quiet but confident girl named Michele who asked Lauren to pee in the hat. Which is a medical term for peeing into a plastic bowl that is inserted into the toilet bowl. Both Lauren and I found this pee in the hat phrase funny. Every time Lauren got up she had to take the gown she was offered which was filled with holes and cover herself. New Hospital, same old hospital gowns.

I was at 6 under with 8 holes to go at Pebble Beach on the Play Station Portable.

There was a shift change at 7 pm and a room change at 7:10 pm. You see the bed that Lauren was in did not work properly. She had to hop down from it. The automatic lifter thing was broken. There was no way the doctor would be able to deliver a baby with this bed, so we had to switch rooms. Brand New Hospital, refurbished beds.

For those keeping score I eagled the 13th hole.

In the new room things started to progress. Lauren got an epidural from a guy with shaky hands who missed on the first attempt. Apparently it is very painful when an "epiduralist" misses. He got it right on the second try. We had not seen the doctor since he broke the water and I suggested we get him to check on Lauren. I guesstimated that she was at 8 centimeters. Lauren said to me, “Are you ever going to put that thing down?" Referring to the play station. I turned it off.

I was 9 under par.

When the doctor did come in to check he confirmed the 8 centimeters. I was all "Did I tell you 8 centimeters?' Can I guess this stuff or what?" And I walked around the room like I was the champion. That was at about 8:30.

As Dr. Bart was leaving he said, “You will be ready in no time. You be a good girl and wait for me. I have to do a C-section. I will be back. We’ll get this going in time.”

I was shocked. Lauren’s mouth dropped. “What? Why? Is there something wrong?”

Dr. Bart turned to us, “No. everything is great.”

Lauren said, “You just said I need a C-section.”

Dr. Bart never realizing how he sounded said, “No you don’t. I have to go perform a C- section on someone else. Not you.”

Lauren and I were relieved.

We were chitchatting with our new nurse about the staff and what not when Lauren started to have worse contractions. It was getting close to delivery time.



* Earlier in the day every time Lauren winced from a contraction I would say “You okay?” Finally she said to me “Bill, Please stop asking if I am okay. I am fine. You keep asking and it isn’t helping.” I decided I would be of better help to Lauren if I were distracted while she was going through the early stages of labor so I brought my PlayStation Portable to keep me occupied.

Wyatt's arrival (part 1)

Lauren was crampy all day on Sunday. She was just not feeling right. She was having contractions all day but did not think they were all that bad. They got worse as the day progressed but she has a high tolerance of pain so we were not sure if she was in labor. Around 3 pm she suggested we go to the hospital. She even said, “They will probably send me home but I would rather be safe.”

We dropped Maxfield off at our neighbor’s house (thanks Ann) and headed to the hospital 15 miles away. When we approached the tolls booths I asked Lauren to act like she was in serious labor so we could see if we could get through the toll for free. She said no. I asked again as we approached the next toll booth , “Please? Act like they do in the movies. Moan and stuff. I want to see if the guy at the booth let’s us go without paying.”

“No. I am not doing that. Don’t ask again.”

We signed in at the brand new, just opened a few weeks ago, hospital at 4:40 pm and were seen by a the triage people fairly quickly. One of the funny things about being in a brand spanking (pun intended) new hospital is the fact that none of the nurses knew where anything was in the rooms. The simplest task of finding a rubber glove took several attempts of opening different drawers and cabinets. The hospital was slow that day. There were about 20 staff members with only about 4 patients.

Lauren was at 5 centimeters and the they we going to admit her. The triage nurse was excited because they finally had “someone going up.” to the delivery floor. She wheeled Lauren past the nurses station where 15 nurses stood chit chatting. One of them asked something to the effect of “You got one?” referencing how slow it was at the hospital. The Triage nurse nodded . I asked for a round of applause for Lauren because she was “going up” and the 15 nurses applauded as we headed towards the elevator.

They wheeled Lauren up to the delivery floor. The nurse wheeling us got lost in the new hospital and it took us quite a while to find the right department. The entire hospital is based on circles. There really is no left or right when turning down the hallways because you are walking in one big circle. We entered two separate areas of the hospital that were totally vacant of any person. After a few tries we finally found the birthing area and into a delivery room and settled in for the night.

Kind of.

Introducing....

Wyatt Blue...
Born on 6/11/06.

Mom and Wyatt are both doing well.
The whole family is happy.

Nesting...Lauren Style

Our spare beddroom/office before


Maxfield's bedroom...after


Part of Lauren's nesting instinct for this pregnancy was making sure Maxfiled had a big kids room. As you can see the before pictures, everything was white. Now Max has a very colorful room done completely by Lauren, Okay I helped paint, but everything else was done by a pregnant women. The quilt, the window seat, the window treatment, the pillow on the window seat, the shelves being painted, the knick knack stuff on the shelves even the artwork on the walls was done by Lauren. I don't want to brag or anything but she is awesome.

Max started sleeping in his new room about a month ago. It took one night for him to adjust to his big kids bed. He selpt straight through the night without getting out of his bed once. He has done the same every night since then. We'll see what happens when the baby arrives.

Signature

Did you ever notice that when you pay for something with a credit card the electric signature pad and pen never really work? Besides the fact that most of the signature pads in major stores like Home Depot or Sears are always scratched up like someone was using a dull dry wall screw as a writing implement, but even brand new signature pad machines never can actually capture a true signature. I also hate the fact that the electric pens, if there is one attached, are designed for right-handed people. Being a Southpaw I am always trying to finagle a way to get enough slack on the cord just so the pen can reach the pad.

But no matter how hard I try to make it work my signature always ends up looking like my left hand had a spastic seizure at the exact time I attempted to sign. Usually my first name looks okay, but nine out of ten times my last name ends up like an ECG read out from Dick Cheney’s medical records.

Recently I started to play a game when I make purchases. I sign my first name to get a feel on how the machine is going to react. If it looks like it may be okay I finish with my last name. But if it reacts like most of these machines do, I now write something different for my last name to see how it appears on the receipt. At Lowes, the other night, I wrote William Nerd. At Sears, yesterday, the machine was really messed up, so I wrote Duke of Earl. I know it is a silly little game and I am sure there are federal regulations against it, but I play anyway.

Yesterday, at Toys R Us, I signed IMA DORK. When the girl at the register looked at the receipt with the electronic signature on it she thanked me, started handing me my receipt and did a double take and re-read the signature. She snickered. Of course it printed clear as day. I was slightly embarrassed.

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.