Poor Pluto

Man Very Early Makes Jelly Sandwiches Under Neighbor's Porches.

(Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus (heh heh), Neptune, Pluto.)

That is how I remember the planets. I know there are other memory tricks out there for the planets but now that astronomers are saying Pluto is no longer a planet I am going to have to change my little acrostic (I looked this word up on dictionary dot com) because I can't just have it end with Neighbor. That would not make sense.

So people of the internet, can you make up a new acrostic for me to use? Please try and keep it clean because I may pass this knowledge on to my kids. Hell it does not have to be clean but remember my mom reads this blog.

Max Loves his parents.

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Number one

When we were younger, pre-teens, we were not allowed to curse. My parents rarely swore or used any type of bad language. I should say my dad rarely swore or used bad language. My mother, on the other hand, would use shit, damn, hell and bitch, but always in context and most likely due to one of us kids driving her crazy. She usually cursed towards the end of the day when her patience would be running out. Here are some examples.

Example 1
Kid: Mom? Michael stuck a quarter up his nose and we can’t get it out.

Mom: Shit.

Example 2
Kid: Mom? I think you left the spaghetti on the stove too long. It is bubbling all over the place.
Mom: Damn it.

Example 3:
Kid: Mom? I think we broke Bobby’s (my best friend and the kid across the street) collarbone.
Mom: Aw Hell. I will call Midge.

Example 4
Kid: Mom? Michael stuck his head in the radiator and he can’t get it out.

Mom: Son of a bitch. He will have to wait until his father gets home.

There was one swear word she would use if she was really, really mad and it was usually only uttered if someone spilled their milk at the dinner table. Spilling a drink at the dinner table was one of worst crimes we could commit. It drove my mother batty.

Kid: (Knocks over glass)
Mom: Jesusmaryandjospeh.

My parent’s rarely fought in front of us as well. Sure they would get mad at each other but most arguments, if there was an argument, happened behind closed doors. Out of the earshot of the kids. As we all grew and entered our teenage years we could get away with a few four letter words as long as they were not directed towards another sibling. Any curses spoken to or about another sibling that was overheard by my mom resulted in our mouths being washed out with soap. Also, as we were all mostly in our teenage years my parents became a little more relaxed about their arguing in front of us.

I remember the first time I saw my mom directed a middle finger gesture to my dad in front of me. I was about 16 and I was shocked. I asked her why it was okay for her to flip the bird to my dad when if I did it I would get a bar of Irish Spring as a snack. My mom’s response was quick.

“I wasn’t giving him the finger. I was telling him I think he is Number One.”

Calling someone Number One is now sort of a term of endearment for me. If someone has a smart-ass comment with me, if someone is busting my stones, or if I am having a playful argument I usually call that person Number One.

Number one
Originally uploaded by batmeaks.

"Hey Uncle LawnWhisperer, I think you are Number One."

Question of the Ages

I am sure this question is heard by many fathers, after they were watching the kids while the mother was away and upon her return it is the first words out of her mouth.

What in the hell is he wearing?

Pillow Talk

Pillow Talk a play by William (slightly embellished from a true story)


The curtain opens to reveal a typical bedroom. There is a queen size bed center stage with a golden colored bed spread and four off-white pillows resting by the head board. There are two night stands on either side of the bed which hold reading lamps an alarm clock and a few magazines. Resting on a rocking chair, down center left, are two smaller seat pillows and two King Size pillows. The two king size pillows are a striped golden color with a black fringe which matches the decor of the entire room. There is NOT a sock, nor a pair of mens underwear any where on the floor. There is closet to the left of the bed that is impeccably clean and all of the mens clothing that hangs in the closet is in perfect order.

Bill, a good looking man in his 30s with six pack abs enters. He climbs onto the bed in an effort to get comfortable. It is apparent that he is retiring for the evening. He is fidgeting with two of the pillows at the head board when Lauren enters. Lauren is a thing of beauty, with shoulder length brown hair, dazzling eyes, and a body that deserves to be on the cover of "Hot Mom's" magazine.

Bill:Lauren? Where is the third pillow?

Lauren: The ones that I just made the new matching pillow cases for?

Bill: Umm. Yeah. I guess.

Lauren: We're not using them.

Bill: Why? They were the best and fluffiest and newest pillows that we own.

Lauren: Exactly. That is why I made pillow cases for them that matches the window treatments and the bedspread.

Bill: Well, why can't I use the pillow?

Lauren: Do you want to ruin them?

Bill: No. But a pillow is supposed to be used for sleeping. And they were the best ones we had.

Lauren: Exactly. They will last longer if we do not use them.

Bill: Sure they will. If we do not use them. But THAT is what they are supposed to be for.

Lauren: They are decorative now.

Bill: Why did you not make new pillow cases for the worse pillows and make them be decorative?

Lauren: What would be the point of that? Why would I want bad pillows to be decorative?

Bill:Because then we could use the good pillows.

Lauren: The new pillow cases are to protect the newer pillows, beside, they fill out the pillow cases better.

Bill: But what's the point of protecting the pillow if you are not going to use it?

Lauren: Did you ever see how much you slobber all over the pillows when you are asleep? I am not going to let you do that to my new pillow cases. I worked hard on them.

Bill: But what is the point of having fluffier nicer pillows if we are not going to use them.

Lauren: Oh we will. Once we get newer pillows you will be able to use the pillows that have the new caes on them.

Bill: I'm confused.

Lauren: That's okay. Go to sleep.

Bill: But I need the third pillow.

Lauren: No you don't.

Bill: Why do we need to the pillows to be decorative anyway. It is just you and me.

Lauren: So you believe. Go to sleep.

Well Wishes

As I stood and watched my son playing at the indoor play area at the mall I started to well up. He was having a good time running and jumping amongst other kids who were strangers. But, what got me was the fact that he was not interacting with the other kids. Every time he made an effort to join in, the other kids shunned him. Each time he approached the steps to the slide he would let the older kids edge their way past him and he would miss his turn. I watched as he chased some of the kids closer to his age, only to have them run away, not in the effort to encourage the chase, but more so to get away from him until he gave up. I know he is only two and half and he is at an awkward stage where the lack of the ability to communicate properly gets in his way, but it would be nice to see him make friends. Or more accurately it would be nice to see other children want to befriend him. He was not assertive, which I guess is okay.

Every so often he would look to where I was standing to make sure I could see how high he was jumping. To make sure I caught the summersault he just performed. He would see me smile and he would smile back and run off to do another stunt to impress me. He jumped from the top step of the hollow tree and he took a decent spill. He lay motionless for a few seconds; stunned but not hurt, until he heard me say from across the way, “Brush it off.” He smiled as he sprung up brushing off his hands as if he meant to take the spill and ran off to do it again. It was then that the lump appeared in my throat.

I realized, at this point in his life I am my son’s best friend. He didn’t care that the other kids were not playing with him. He only cared that I was playing with him (even though it was from the sidelines, because if I were to run and jump with him the mall security guards would cart me off). I was overcome with the emotion of the fact that I mean everything to this kid.

I walked over to him and suggested we go throw coins into the fountain. We took the 26 pennies I had in my pocket and made a wish with each one. We wished for good health for his four grandparents. We made wishes for his brother and his mom that they will always be happy. We wished that the dog and two cats would never be hungry. We wished for healing of friends, Horace and Susie who are sick. We wished for nice visits with family and friends. I took the last three coins and made three wishes. A wish that my son would eventually know that he means everything to me. A wish that he will have lots of friends. And the third wish was for chocolate covered pretzels.

We then walked to the candy stand and I bought some chocolate covered pretzels just so my son and maybe myself would know that some wishes come true.

Ice Ice Baby

We were sitting at the dinner table in the kitchen when Maxfield heard the icemaker drop a tray of ice. Maxfield loves ice. He loves playing with it and he loves eating it and he loves making a a mess with it.

"Iise Mom-Mee, Iise?"

"No Max. Eat your dinner."

"Iise Dad-Dee, Iise?"

"No Maxfield. No ice."

After realizing that he could not play Lauren and I against each other he tried a different approach. He looked over his entire body, searching. He settled on his knee which was unmarked and pointed at it.

"Boo boo? Boo boo. Iise." Max said.

Lauren laughed, "You don't have a boo boo. Let's eat."

Max got louder. "Boo boo IISE!"

"Maxfield, you do not have a boo boo." I said. "We are not getting you ice."

"Boo boo?" He said in almost a whimper.

Lauren shook her head. "No Boo Boo."

Maxfield looked at Lauren, looked at me and then back to Lauren. You could see something click in his head. He bent his arm out in front of him so his hand was touching his shoulder. He raised his elbow above his head and slammed it against the table. Hard. He winced and then pointed to elbow and said, "Boo Boo!"

Lauren and I practically fell out of our chairs laughing. Of course I got him ice. Not for his boo boo, but for his ingenuity.

School Bells

Last week school started for all the kids in our neighborhood and Lauren made sausage, pepper and onion sandwiches for dinner the night before. What does one have to do with the other? It goes like this.

Every morning I wake up at about 5:30. Part of my morning routine is taking the dog for her morning walk. We usually hit the sidewalk by 6:00 am. I enjoy this part of the morning. The sky is still dark and the soft glow of the streetlights reflects off the dew on the yards, which creates a strange orange ambient light. There is something peaceful about the croak of the tree frogs mixed with the distant noise of early traffic. Occasionally I cross paths with jogger, but for the most part I am the only person out in the neighborhood at this time. Last week, the day school started, I got a late start.

The dog and I did not get out for our morning walk until about 6:40. The sun was not up and there were dark clouds in the sky. The streetlights were out, turned off a few minutes ago by their timers. The neighborhood was strangely dark. The area I live in has beautiful tree lined streets. The easement between the sidewalk and the street is about 10 feet wide and every 10 or 15 feet or so is a large mature oak (or some such) tree. The trunks of these trees are 2 to 3 feet wide.

The dog and I headed East, stopping every so often for the dog to pee. We rounded the corner when I felt the pressure in my lower gut. The sausage, pepper and onions were seeking their revenge. I looked in all directions to make sure the coast was clear. There was tree on the corner and a stop sign. No one across, down or up the street. All Clear. I let her rip. The fart started slowly but, Increased in volume and ended with a crescendo. The dog turned up at me with a puzzled look.

I felt much better and we continued to walk when I heard a strange noise. I couldn't place where it was coming from but it was a familiar sound. It sounded like a wheeze. I stopped and listened and the noise became stifled. I stood for a minute to see if I could find the source of the sound. What was it? I turned toward the tree on the corner that separated the sidewalk from the street. The noise was coming from the other side of the tree. Then it hit me. I was horrified.

I tightened my grip on the dog's leash and headed across the street to verify what I was thinking. As I crossed, I glanced back and saw a kid leaning against the tree trying his best not to laugh hysterically. He was waiting for the school bus. I did not know he was there. I hurried down the street, as his snicker became more of a loud giggle. I wanted to die.

Third Date by Momo9

I never did date anyone else after the second date.

On our third date we went to a club. Danced all night long. We sang along to all the music. We both liked Rock’n’Roll. We fast danced and slow danced. Even though he told me he wasn’t crazy about dancing, he knew I liked it, so he did it. We talked and talked. We were getting to know each other well (I was falling in love). Almost love at first sight.

During this date he confessed that the only reason he asked me out the first time, was that his mother suggested he do it. I said, “What?”

He explained that he asked three girls out for that first Saturday date. They turned him down, so his mom suggested me (see what I mean about being a jerk). Maybe he was trying to be funny. Oh well, there were so many nice things about him, that I overlooked his nasty (humorous) remarks. I sort of liked his mother for mentioning me (we lived in the same neighborhood).

This date went very well. We talked on the porch again till the wee hours of the morning.
This was a Bingo date!
I got a kiss goodnight, and another and another! Bingo!

This is the guy who could stay out late back then. Dance and dance, and play football, basketball and baseball and never stop.
This is also the guy, today, who gets into his pajamas at 5:30pm, sits and watches the news and sports center, and would never think of asking me to dance. This is the guy who would stay awake for hours and talk to me and only me. And now barely says hello, goodbye, or goodnight. He falls asleep by 8:30 pm. Of course, if I’m lucky, I do get a game of Scrabble out of him before he retires for the evening and a kiss goodnight.
I truly did marry a winner!

Second Date by Momo9

Guest post by William's mom. Part two of a three part story about how she met my dad.

He was really playing it smooth on that first date!
The very next morning, he called. He asked if I would go to a football game that he was playing in. After the game there would be a social. A meal and dancing. I was shocked that he called. I was excited, and felt better about our first date. I really felt he didn’t like me. However I was wrong. I went to the game, met his friends, and went dancing into the night. This night he wore his own shoes and clothes. We had a good time! We talked for hours again. I was beginning to like this cocky jerk! Amazing!

Still no kiss!

Was it my breath? (be quiet sons)

Or was he still playing it smooth?

First Date by Momo9

I asked my mom to guest post for me for a couple of days. I never really asked my parents about how they met, so for Momo9's first guest post I aksed her to write about their first date.
A little background. My mom is the oldest of 12 and my dad is the oldest of 8. My mom lived only 2 blocks from my dad's parent's house.

First Date by Momo9.

We went to the movies and saw, “ Seven Brides for Seven Brothers”. (It is true, believe it or not). But first we had to stop at the pharmacy, so I could buy a toothbrush for my little sister, who was starting to brush by herself. He let me stop and let me drop it off for her before we left on our date. He was very patient and kind.

After the movie, we went to a club for a drinks and dancing. While dancing, I stepped on his feet. I was so apologetic. He said, “Don’t worry, they’re not my shoes. They belong to my roommate”. We danced a lot! The place got warm. I suggested he take off his sport coat. He said he couldn’t because he only ironed the front of his dress shirt. The sleeves and back were all wrinkled. A “mess” he said. Then he confessed that the sport coat was also his roommate’s. I wanted to ask him about his underwear. I really didn’t want to know whom that belonged to. So I did not ask.

We had a lot of conversation that night as most people do on a first date. We had a lot in common. However, every piece of clothing that I wore belonged to me. He was a gentleman, a good listener, a good dancer, not great, but good. We knew a lot of the same people. So, I decided, if he asked me out again, I would say yes. If he wanted a kiss goodnight, I would go along with it. We did talk for a long time on the porch, after we arrived at my house. He did not ask me out for a second time that night, and did not make an attempt to kiss me goodnight. What a jerk!

Stay tuned for Momo9

First off, Shit. Mother Fucker. Stupid Fucking Graco. Son of a Bitch. GodDamn Double Stroller. Where the fuck did I put the wheel cap. Stupid fucking piece should fit right on the wheel. Double Fuck. Graco sucks shit. Holy shit I can't believe that worked. You got to be a fucking midget or have really small hands to put this togehter. Fucking Graco, do they expect the babies to put this thing together?


I feel better now. On Sunday Maxfield helped me put together a new double stroller. Every time I wanted to curse the thing I had to bite my tongue. I just needed to get that off my chest.


I asked my mom, Momo9, to fill in for me for the next few days. Some of you may have read her comments on various posts here and on LW's site. When I asked her to fill in for a few days, she asked me what should she write about. Being totaly inspired by Nilbo's* epic story on his blog, about how his parents met, I suggested my mom tell me/us about her first date with my dad, since I did not know the story. So over the next few days my mom will be posting about her first few dates with my dad.


*Nilbo's blog is very funny and interesting (which coming from me is like a highschool quarterback complimenting Peyton Manning). Nilbo recently has been telling the story of how his parents met. He is up to or around chapter 14. Go back and read it from the beginning. It has Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles... Ok, it does not have all of those things, that is actually from the Princess Bride. But Nilbo's story reads like the Princess Bride but only different.

Those Guys

Do you remember the days, before kids and responsibilities, when Saturday morning was reserved for sleeping in? When Saturday mornings were met with a slight fog of a hangover, a bottle of Gatorade, and Saved By The Bell re-runs. When a hangover was not a reminder of how old you are, but more of a reminder of the great time you had the night before. Do you remember when a the first cup of coffee you would sip on a Saturday morning was at 11:00 am, and you did not make the coffee at your house, you ran out to get it at Mc Donald’s, along with a Sausage McMuffin, before the serving breakfast cut-off time?

Maybe you remember, back in those times, when one of your idiot neighbors would start mowing his yard at 8:30 am. You know the neighbor was one of THOSE GUYS. You would wake to the sound of an engine running, two doors down, and you would say to yourself, “I can’t believe someone is cutting their grass before 9 o’clock.” Or maybe it was a Saturday morning in the fall and you would hear one of THOSE GUYS start his leaf blower, which sounded like a jet engine, at 8 in the morning.

In the winter you knew that one of THOSE GUYS was going to be the first to start his 500-gazillion horsepower snow blower before 8 o’clock because he wanted to get a jumpstart on the 4 inches of powder covering the walks. You would pull the pillow over your head and suffer through the sweet whiskey smell of your own breath trying to drown out the horrible noise. You would think, “What in the Hell does THAT GUY think he is doing? Does he not have consideration for us people who like to sleep in? Asshole.”

Some Saturdays you would stumble out of your room to get a bit of the hair of the dog and you knew you were going to tell one of THOSE GUYS off. Motors and engines should not be allowed to be running before 10 o’clock. There should be a law for crying out loud. And as you are putting on your shoes to go and confront one of THOSE GUYS, you get distracted by couch and decided to lie down for a few minutes, thinking, “I can’t believe someone is cutting their grass before 9 o’clock. Assholes.”

This past weekend, I became on of THOSE GUYS.

Sorry to anyone who may be younger and have less responsibility.

Sucker

Yesterday I received a weekly ad flyer from Albertson’s grocery store. I was flipping through it to see what types of sales they were having. I grabbed a pen and a pad of paper to write down some of the items. We usually shop at Publix but on the rare occasion Albertson’s has a good deal I will go there.

“What are you doing?” Lauren asked.

“I am making a list for Albertson’s.”

“Why? Is there anything good?”

“Not really, but look at this.” I held up the paper. “They have these items for sale at a dollar a piece. But if you buy 20 you get an instant five-dollar rebate so it will only cost 15 bucks. And it is not 20 of the same item, you can mix and match.”

“What type of items are we talking about?”

“David’s Sunflower seeds, you know I like them. And Crunch and Munch, Ketchup, Chef Boyardee Ravioli, Manwich stuff. Oh and look, Hunt's diced tomatoes andTomato paste.” I threw the last two in to make a case that I was actually planning on food shopping and not snack shopping.

“We can get tomato paste at Publix cheaper.” She said trying to take the wind out of my sails.

“But look Lauren, they have Microwave popcorn.”

“Bill, we do not need any of that stuff.”

“But Lauren they have Giant Slim Jims for less than a dollar.” Catching myself I added, “Not that I would buy 20.”

“But it is all stuff we would not normally use. It is to get you to buy the name brands when the store brand is just as good and cheaper.”

“I know,” I hung my head and said under my breath, “but they have Giant Slim Jims for sale.”

Lauren rolled her eyes and took a sip of her coffee. “You are such a sucker. YOU are the exact person they try to reach with those ads.”

Belly

Pet Peeve.

Okay, I understand, if I call you and leave you a message on your voice mail and you call me right back (within 5 minutes) and you have not listened to your message because you just noticed I called on your caller ID and you figured you would just call me back. I get that.

It is a complete other thing if I call you and leave a message on your voice mail and you call me back say like two hours later and did not check you message but you saw that I called on the caller ID and figured you would just call me back. You should have just listened to the damn message. That is what the voice mail is for.

Yes I am cranky today.

Apology to my wife

No woman, when sitting down at the computer table to check her email, should have to say, "Bill this is gross. Is this a finger nail or a toe nail sitting on the table?"



It was a toe nail Sorry.

Don't you hate it...

... when you are doing the dishes* and you are leaning against the counter with your hips, because you need a little extra leverage to scrub a pan, and the force of the water and the force of the scrubbing splashes all over you and pools up in that area on the counter between the stainless steel sink and your hips and you don't notice it soaking into the front of your jeans when the door bell rings, so you answer the door and looks like you wet your pants.








*4 out of 5 women recommend husbands that do dishes.

Clean up

I have to clean up a few things that have been sitting in my note book.

First and foremost Eclectic won the "Guess Wyatt Blue's Birtday" contest from back in June. She was the only person to actually guess the right day. I sent her a book, which I hope she enjoys because if she does not, well, that was a waste of a perfectly good guess. I was supposed to mail her an Abe Lincoln copper-esque medallion but Maxfiled keeps throwing all the ones I have into the fountain at the mall.

I also have to point out that Circus Kelli made a very cool picture for Susie over at "What was I Thinking". Susie has become a medical conundrum and knows that only bloggers give a rats' ass. I read Susie's blog whenever she updates and due to her medical mystery she does not update all that often. But I want her to know that I give a rat's ass.




And lastly, the cover of the next "Beef Cake" magazine.

The look I usually get

The other night I was at the grocery store with Maxfield when we bumped into one of our neighbors. I was chatting with her in the aisle as Max was ducking back and forth behind a floor freezer in an attempt to play peek-a-boo with her. She was smiling and being playful with Max and asking him “little kid” questions.

“You’re getting so big Max. How old are you?”

“Tooooo.” Max said as he held up his two fingers.

“What comes after two?”

“Treeeeee.” He held up three fingers.

“Wow. You can count. Can’t you max?”

At this point Max got distracted by a neon sign just a few feet away. He walked over to the sign and pointed at each letter. “Beeee. Eeeee. Ceeee. Krrrkkayy. Esssss.” He proudly said.

My neighbor turned to me with a big smile on her face and said, “Wow he is so smart. For a two year old to know his letters, that is great.”

“Well,” I said, “I have only taught him how to spell the names of beers.”

The smile on her face quickly changed to a look of bewilderment as she tried to figure out whether I was serious or not.

Instigate

Certain members of my family have recently accused me of “Instigating” due to my past few posts. I was laughing as I was telling Lauren about the numerous conversations I had with family members about this blog.

“My mom says I am instigating.”

“Well you are. You get it from your father.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is always trying to start trouble. When he was here for the baptism there were a few times he said stuff to me. I asked him if he was trying to start trouble and he said he likes to make it rough for you guys. I think he said “as rough as you guys make it for him” or something like that.”



If you get a chance go to yesterdays post and read the comment from MomO9

Bahama Mama

I was talking to my brother Kevin about his recent trip to visit us here in Florida with my parents. After Kevin and his wife and my Mom and Dad left Orlando they flew to the Bahamas for a few days.

"Did you guys have a good time?" I asked.

"Yes. It was awesome."

"Did Mom and Dad like the Bahamas?"

"Yes." replied Kevin.

"Did they have a good time?"

"Yes. Almost too good of a time."

I looked at him with a rasied eyebrow to which he answered.

"I'm saying you might be getting a little baby sister out of the deal."

Scrapped

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. What does a lack of pictures mean?


Right before I moved from Pennsylvania to Florida I asked my mom for one gift for Maxfield. The gift was very important to me. I asked that she make a scrap book with pictures of all of his cousins and aunts and uncles. I wanted to use the scrapbook as a guide and tool for Max to get to know his family.

My mom did an excellent job. Of course there are pictures of MaMa and Pa (my parents). There are pictures of all my siblings and their families. There is Uncle Soprano and Aunt Edie Falco (my sister), Uncle Tripleareola and his family, Uncle Pez (aka Anonymous) and and his wife and kids. My mom included pictures of Uncle Bacardiandcoke and his family, Uncle Vicki and Aunt John (Aka LawnWhisperer), Uncle Shamu, his wife and three kids, Uncle Popnpuss and his new family, as well as Baby Jesus and his wife and three kids (at the time he only had three now he has four). There are also pictures of Mommom and Poppop (Lauren's parents), Lauren's sister as well as pictures of Max's godparents, Mr. Miyagi and Aunt Bridget Mc.

It is a nice book that Maxfield and I review once a week so he will recognize all the important people in his life that he does not see on a regular basis.

Just this evening I was reviewing the pictures with Max when I noticed something peculiar. In the scrapbook there are at least two pictures of every one of my siblings except for Uncle Pez and the LawnWhisperer. There is only one picture of each them. I wonder what my mom was getting at by having more pictures of everyone else in the scrapbook.

Debate

Never has a post here caused as much controversy as the one about Thomas the tank engine and friends being dicks. Not so much with the blog-o-sphere, but with members of my family. The post has prompted many phone calls from my siblings.

The second call, from Jim was in regards to my lack of mental filter. The third call was from my brother Mike to tell me he was letting his kids play with Thomas. And the first, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh call (I am sure there will be more) were all from LawnWhisperer. LW is a little upset at the fact that I said:

“Sure I let my son play with the trains but I don’t want him picking upon the how the trains treat each other on the videos.”

He finds it absolutely ridiculous that parent’s blame TV shows for adversely influencing their kids. He also finds it absolutely hysterical that I could be one of those parents. He pointed out the fact that we grew up watching Road Runner, Tom and Jerry and Bugs bunny cartoons and that we never dropped anvils on each other (Susie from Raising Liam also pointed this out) and that I was the worst when it came to how much time was spent in front of the TV.

He said it was all about parenting, which I know and I got his point after the first phone call and I agree with him. However, it was the 4 or so subsequent phone calls that he made to me to drive his point home.

“Bill, this is LW, I was watching Wiley E Coyote this weekend with the kids and you won’t believe what happened. Luke dropped Kyle off a cliff.”

“Bill, I was watching Finding Nemo this weekend with the kids and now Kyle thinks he can live underwater.”

“Bill, We watched Sponge Bob and now the kids think it is okay to live under a pineapple.”

“Bill, We were watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles this weekend and now the kids won’t listen to me. They will only listen to a giant Rat.”

During each one of these conversations he had me laughing at the different scenarios he would create. They would get bigger and broader in scope. We talked about steroids in baseball and violent lyrics in music. He said, “Any person that listens to Ozzy and goes out and kills someone, was going to kill someone anyway, regardless of the music. They just use the music as an excuse. People got to stop blaming this stuff.”

I told him I totally agreed with him but since I actually posted something to the contrary he had ammunition for a long time to make fun of me. On his last phone call to me about this topic he summed it up.

“You saying that your kids will be mean to each other because Thomas and his friends are mean to each other is like…well let me put it this way. If I were to watch porn it does not mean I am going to get laid.”

Pictures

Maxfield training an army of ducks.

Wyatt Blue lifting his head.

Terrible T.O.'s

Last night I am sitting in the Barnes and Noble children’s area watching Max play with the Thomas the train set. I was in a mood. Not a good mood, not a bad mood, just one of those moods. There were two other kids there with their fathers and we were exchanging the normal small talk of “How old is your son?” and “Terrible twos and sharing” and “blah blah blah.”

Dad #1 started discussing the Thomas the train videos and how much his son loves them to Dad #2. The other dad was clueless to the Thomas videos. His son has never seen them and really isn’t into the train thing. Dad #1 was saying how he thinks Dad #2’s son would probably like them because they are simple yet interesting and how George Carlin is the voice on most of the tapes. Dad # 2 seemed interested.

It was at this point that I had to speak up. “Just because Carlin is doing the voice it does not make them funny. And quite frankly I don’t think the videos actually have much to offer kids. Sure I let my son play with the trains but I don’t want him picking upon the how the trains treat each other on the videos.”

“How is that?” Said Dad #1.

“They just aren’t nice to each other.” I responded.

“What do you mean?” Said Dad #2.

“Well, I can’t point out specifics but I have seen many of the videos and well the trains are just, how do I say this? The trains just treat each other… they are selfish and mean…they just. All of the trains are D-I-C-K-H-E-A-D-S.”

Both dads looked at me while they computed what I had spelled out. Dad # 1 nodded his head in agreement and said, “I see what you mean.”

The conversation switched to where we each are from and I mentioned Philly. Dad #1 started talking about the Eagles and how they lost T.O. to Dallas. He was a Dallas fan. I explained that the Eagles didn’t lose T.O. but they got rid of him. I told him that I thought he was an exceptional player but that the Eagles were better off with out him. Dad #1 then mentioned that Dallas has such a great team this year and blah blah bah. That T.O. is just misunderstood.

“Misunderstood?” I said. “There is no misunderstanding about it. I think he is a great player but he is not a team player.”

“What do you mean?” Dad #1 said.

“What I mean is …how do I say this…I think T.O. is an A-S-S-H-O-L-E. He was one before the Eagles and he is one after the Eagles.” I watched as both dads computed in their heads what I had just spelled out. Dad #2 nodded his head in agreement.

“Basically” I said, “I think he watched too many Thomas videos growing up.”

Blazing

Lauren went to get her haircut last night. She is smoking hot. I am using her picture without her permission and may have to take it down at some point.

Midnight Snacks

One of my bad habits, which I inherited from my father, is waking up in the middle of night to get a midnight snack. Now I am nowhere near as bad as my dad as far as the choices of snack that I like to have in the wee hours of the morning. My dad used to and probably still does, would get up to make himself a spoonful of peanut butter with sugar on top. He would take a tablespoon or a soupspoon or even possibly a ladle and scoop up as much peanut butter as he could. He would then take the peanut butter covered spoon and just stick it into the sugar bowl until it had a nice white crystal coating. My dad would then place the entire glob into his mouth and with one motion he would eat the spoon clean.

Now my midnight snacks are usually either because I have a hankering for something. A craving that will not go away and let me sleep. Some people eat snacks due to boredom. Maybe I am bored while I am sleeping, I know strange but it is possible. My latest midnight snack of choice has been graham crackers and milk. I can’t get enough of them.

Lauren thinks this is an unhealthy habit and she does her best to discourage me. Our bedroom is right next to the kitchen so when I do wake up I have to go into stealth mode in order to sneak me some delicious honey cinnamon coated crackers. I do my best to hide the evidence before the morning. Now with the new baby needing to get fed every few hours my window of opportunity has shortened.

Last night I got caught. Twice. The first time Lauren just called form the bedroom. “What are you doing?”

I quickly put the box of crackers away and mumbled, “Getting a drink of water.”

The second time I was doing my best to quiet the crackly cellophane wrapping on the crackers when I turned around and Lauren was standing in the kitchen entrance. She scared the crap out of me. Damn, she is more stealthy than I am.

What is your favorite midnight snack?

A long post about nothing really.

I am married again. Lauren bought me a new wedding ring for our anniversary. She gave me the ring last week but it did not fit. I needed to get a bigger size because you know what they say the bigger the finger...the bigger the..., well you know...the bigger the ring size. So last night we packed up the family and headed to the mall to exchange the ring.

At the mall Lauren took Maxfield to the book store while I took Wyatt to the jewelry store to exchange the ring. "Hi. Can I help you?" Said the lady behind the shiny glass case.

"Yes." I said. "I need to exchange this ring for a bigger size. I think this is a size 10 and I need either an 11 or maybe even bigger."

"Do you know your ring size?"

"No. Do you have something I can try on? So I can figure that out."

She handed me a giant "ring ring". I would have said "Key ring" but it was actually a ring with a bunch of rings on it. While I figured out what size I needed the girl behind the counter took my reciept and started to process the exchange.

" That will be $40.00" She said.

"For what?" I asked.

"For re-sizing the ring."

" I don't want it re-sized. I want to exchange it for a bigger ring?"

"We do not have a bigger ring in stock and that would be a special order which could take a couple of weeks."

"I can wait. I will hold onto the receipt and you order the new ring and when it comes in I will exchange it. "

"I can't do that. The only thing I can do is re-size that one."

"Okay, what if I came in and wanted to order this type of ring in size 11, would it be more expensive?"

"No."

"But since the ring was already purchased it is more expensive to get it in the right size?"

"Yes."

"What if I wanted to return the ring, could I do that and a full refund?"

"Yes."

"Okay. And If I did that and then ordered this ring in the right size it would NOT cost me the extra $40.00, is that right?"

"Right."

"I just want to return the ring and get a refund."

"Do you want to order the size 11?"

"No. I just want to return the ring and I will get another ring somewhere else. I am totally confused by the whole extra forty bucks thing. It does not make sense."

She would not let me return the ring because Lauren used her credit card. I went down to the book store and explained everything to Lauren. I stayed with Max and she took Wyatt to return the ring. We agreed that Max and I would wait at the book store unitl Lauren got back and then we would all go to a different jewelry store.

I was sitting in the children's section reading to Max when a woman who worked there approached us and told me how "Precious" Max is. We get this a lot. Almost everytime we are in public women will tell us how cute Max is. That he has beautiful eyes or a cute smile. Max usually flirts right back.

At some point Max decided, as he usually does in a book store, that it was time to poop. The smell was awful. I could'nt change him because Lauren had the diaper bag. With my eyes watering I anxiuosly waited for Lauren to return. When she finally returned I told her I needed to change Max. She looked in the diaper bag and realized we never packed diapers for him for our trip. She figured we were not going to be out that long and it would not matter. I told her I would hurry at the next jewelry store so we could get home and change Max.

As we walked down the mall you could almost see the smell emnating from Max's backside. It was like walking with Pepe Le Pue. The older ladies would stop to admire his eyes and they would get a whiff of him and they would run off. I entered the next jewelry store and apologized about my son stinking up the store. I quickly found the style of ring I wanted and asked to order it in a size 11. The one in the showcase was an 11 and a half. I took it because I felt bad that we stunk up the place. I asked the clerk to bless the ring since it was my new wedding ring. We took the ring and headed home.

I told Lauren that I got the half size bigger.

"Why?" She asked.

"Because I wantred it tight enough that it wouldn'e fall off but I wanted it lose enough that I have some room to get fatter fingers without cutting off the circulation."

"You getting fatter should not be a goal of yours. What am I going to do with you?"

Sibling Fortune Cookies

I talk on the phone with my brothers and sister all the time. At some point during these conversations they freely give out advice and tips and little nuggets of wisdom which I try to remember and write down. 9 out of 10 times, I forget. Some of the words of wisdom are classic and deserve to be put down here.

I was speaking with John the other day when he offered this advice.

"Bill, why do you got to write all that mushy, lovey dovey crap on your blog. Knock it off. Yeah, I know it was your anniversary and all and you were just being romantic, but do you know what being romantic leads to? Sex. And do you know what sex leads to? More Kids. You don't want to have any more kids. Believe me."

And this one,I know I heard before, but coming from John made it funny to me. He called me on the phone and this is the conversation.

Bill: Hello
John: Hey.
Bill: Yo. What's going on?
John: Nothing. What are you doing?
Bill: I am babysitting. Lauren went to the store so I have Max and Wyatt.
John: Yeah? Listen you smacked ass. It is NOT called babysitting if it is your own kids.


I know the first one may be too long to put into a fortune cookie but I know the second one will fit.

Toot Toot

This morning we took Wyatt for his 30-day check up. The doctors office informed us that Wyatt was not covered on our health insurance and that we need to call the insurance company and get everything straightened out. Lauren and Wyatt stayed at the doctor’s office while I took Maxfield home to call the insurance company.

When I called the insurance company I informed the customer service person that I was watching a rambunctious and loud two year old and I asked for their patience if I got distracted. I was bounced around from one department to the next and was put on hold several times. Sometimes there was “hold music” and sometimes there was not. While on hold I was playing with Max and helping him with a puzzle. Finally Melissa came on the line and asked me to hold for a few more minutes while she looked up some info. She would come back, ask me a question and then put me on hold again.

So with the phone cradled in the nook of my shoulder and head I continued to play with Max. I was on hold for the umpteenth time when Max farted really loud. I laughed and he laughed and he tried to squeeze more out. I asked Max, “Did you just toot?” He giggled some more. So I asked again, “Are you tooting? Did you just toot?”

Just then, over the phone Melissa said, “No I didn’t toot.”

I did not realize she was still on the line.

Four years already

Four years ago Lauren and I exchanged these vows.

I chose you to be my wife/husband
In front of our family and friends as witnesses
I promise to give you the very best of me
and to ask of you no more than you can give.

I promise to always love you
in good times and bad
in healthy times and in sickness.
I promise to be faithful to you.
I promise to always be there for you
to support you and to nurture you
and to be receptive of the gift of your love.

I love you more today than yesterday
but not as much as tomorrow

I will love you for the rest of my life*

As you wish.



* I actually did not say this particualr line because I was a blubbering idiot so I am off the hook with "rest of my life" part.

Go here for the story that I posted last year. And here and here for pictures of the groomsmen.

If you want to see the video of part of the toast where the LawnWhisperer is dressed as Superman please go to his blog and leave him a message/comment so I can get permission to post it.

Lost

I lost my wedding ring. Not a good move, but what can I say. I misplaced it right after we brought Wyatt home while Lauren’s Parents were staying with us. I am not blaming Wyatt or Lauren’s parents, (although maybe they were thinking that if they took the ring that would mean I was no longer married to their daughter and maybe some wish full thinking was manifesting itself by my ring disappearing and I am not saying that they don’t like me but you never get a second chance to make a first impression and the first time I actually met my mother in-law I was somewhat drunk and spilled a drink on her dress) Anyway, I am just saying it was hectic and I cannot remember where I put it.

I finally confessed to Lauren that I lost it. Two days later she said, “Do you notice that I am not wearing my wedding ring?”

I lied and acted like I did notice, “Yeah. Why not?”

“I am not wearing mine until you find yours.”

“It is around here somewhere. I probably put it in my pocket and it ended up in the wash. Anyway you should still wear yours.”

“Why?”

“My ring only cost, like, 50 bucks. Yours was much more expensive. You don’t want to lose it.”
“But I KNOW where my wedding ring is. You, however, do not.”

“Well YOU should know where yours is because it was much more expensive than 50 bucks.”

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

Video Hosting - Upload Video - Video Sharing

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.