Charlie. Oscar. David. Echo.

My last name is often misspelled. It ends with the letter “M” but most people, after I spell it out for them, hear the last letter as an “N”. My social security card is spelled with an “N”. My drivers license with an “M”. My insurance card has an “N”.

Now whenever I have to give out my email or spell my name for someone I always end the spelling of my name by saying, “M as in Mary”. People still get it wrong. I guess they think I say "N" as in Nary. I don't know why I use "Mary" instead of "Michael". I just do.

Part of my job, when talking with customers, requires me to use a series of letters and numbers. In an effort to avoid confusion with letters that sound the same, like “B” and “P” I use a phonetic alphabet. I do not use the official military Phonetic Alphabet (Alfa, Bravo, Charlie, Delta etc.) but I basically make it up as I go along. Most people just substitute common names or animals instead of the letter. I also don’t say the “as in” part (unless the situation requires that I do). Each word I use is the letter itself. So if I were to spell my first name for someone it would sound like “Baker, Indian, Larry, Larry.”

Sometimes I chuckle at some of the words people come up with when they are using their own phonetic alphabet. Recently someone was giving me a tracking number of some sorts and used “Champagne” and “Vodka” for the letters “C” and “V”. It gave a slight insight to what they were thinking.

So I am asking you, blog commenters, how would you, using as a phonetic alphabet, spell your first name? Don’t think too much about it; just leave a comment with how you would normally spell it out.

A year already?

They say "time flies", "they grow up so fast", etc. etc. Man it is amazing how true those statements are. Especially since I started keeping the blog and can look back at what I wrote and when.

Like this for instance. Can you believe that was a year ago? For the full story click here, here, and here.




Happy Birthday Wyatt Blue!

I would use this guy

Let's face it, he is no Lawnwhisperer, but his name alone would make me hire him.

Can I borrow your towel. My car just hit a water buffalo.

Last night I had a proud parenting moment.

I was trying to get Maxfield to settle down for the night and I was letting him lay in my bed with me as we watched some TV. I started flipping through the channels in an effort to find something that Max could watch and that he would like. I came across the movie Fletch.

I put the clicker down and started to watch.

"Whats' that Daddy?" Max asked pointing to the TV.

"Only the second greatest movie ever." I said.

I laid down on my stomach and pulled a pillow under my chest. Max did the same. He was hooked. We watched in silence.

Fletch is one of those movies that, even though I own it on DVD, if I come across it on TV I have to watch it.

Do you have any movies like that?

Bad address

We were driving to an appointment to look at a house when Lauren noticed an "Open House" sign on another street.

"Look Bill." Lauren said. "There is an open house down that road."

"Where?"

"On Dick Avenue." She replied. "Do you want to go?"

"No. I don't care how nice a house is, I could not live on a street named Dick Avenue. My brothers would have a field day with that address."

She laughed. "It would take your brothers about 20 years before they would take our address seriously...if ever."

Wyatt's 1st Haircut

Before

After.

Latest In Technology and Marketing...

...now offering the Vagina Phone.

Extra room

This post was written last week, before this story.




“Let’s try to get the emergency exit row.” John said over his shoulder as we stood in line waiting to board the Southwest flight.


I looked at my boarding pass for the tenth time to make sure it read, “group A”, which it did. Our group would be the first on the plane. I appreciated the fact that I printed our passes the day before. There were only ten other people in front of us. We had first dibs.


I asked the woman at the gate if the flight was expected to be crowded. She told me there were only a few open seats.


John and I made our way onto the plane and found the exit row open. John sat by the window and I sat in the aisle seat, the seat between us was empty.


John leaned over and said, “It would be great if no one sat here.” He patted the seat between us. Even though he goes to the gym daily, I guess he still needs the…um..extra room.


I laughed and told him I would make sure no one sat with us.


“How are you going to do that?” He asked.


I rubbed my eyes and cheeks so they appeared red and I started coughing. Every time someone from groups B and C came by and glanced towards the seat I coughed. I slouched a bit in my seat and did what I could to make myself look like a total sick loser.


The plane filled quickly. Every time, someone appraoched our section I coughed. I could see John snicker a bit. The last group of passengers boarded, and they were looking for any empty seat available. My throat was going hoarse from all the coughing that I could not keep up with the traffic of passengers.


A group of people reached our part of the plane, stuffing their bags in the overhead compartments. I mustered up one or two more coughs. John laughed again and said loudly over the hum of the engines, “We should just talk about your Herpes and genital warts.”


No one sat next to us. Mission accomplished.

Hello Potential Neighbor

I think it is perfectly okay, while looking at potential new houses, to knock on random doors in the neighborhood and ask the occupants if their neighborhood stinks ; especially if there is a water treatment facility nearby.



I did receive some funny looks but I got the answers I needed.

Brotherly Love

I was sitting across form my brother, LawnWhisperer, at a table, in a restaurant, in an airport, in another state. We had just finished our lunch and were waiting for our flight. We were discussing various topics form the past two days of travel when my cell phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was my wife, Lauren calling.

“It’s Lauren.” I said to LW. “ I need to answer this.”

I clicked the button on my phone and I answered. As I was talking to Lauren, LawnWhisperer whispered to me “What’s Lauren’s number?”

I smiled and wrote Lauren’s phone number on the back of the receipt. I figured LW was going to call Lauren on her other line and say something playful to the effect of “I am sitting with Bill in an airport and he is ignoring me to talk to you.” or something like that.

As I was listening to Lauren on the phone she asked me to wait a minute because she had another call. I looked across the table and smiled at LW. She clicked over and my phone went silent.

LW’s eyes widened in acknowledgment that she just answered his call. I chuckled at his playful smile. His smile then twisted into a sinister grin.

“Lauren.” LW said into his phone. “It's John. I just wanted to let you know that when you just called Bill right now, he rolled his eye and made a face of frustration. I don’t know what you just said, but he made a face at you. That is all. Bye.”

He hung up his phone and he started laughing hysterically. I listened to the silence on my phone waiting for Lauren to click over. The phone clicked back to me.

“What face did you just make?” Lauren questioned.

I just shook my head knowing that I could not explain as LW looked out onto the tarmac with a shit-eating grin.

I am a trend setter

In the middle of the night, this past Monday, I got up to go to the bathroom. On my way back to bed I tripped over my sneakers that were sitting next to my side of the bed. I fell back to sleep pretty quickly but ended up having very weird dreams about me standing on a runway at an airport with blinking lights flashing. I tossed and turned but the flashing lights in my dreams would not go away. I finally sat up to shake the dreams off. The flashing did not stop.

I looked over the side of the bed and noticed that my left sneaker, which I posted about here and here, would not stop flashing. The left light-up sneaker is finally working, but, now it won't stop.

Over the past few days people at work have noticed my light up sneakers. I told them all I am a trend setter which has kind of been validated by this article that appeared on MSN.

This reminds me a quote, I read somewhere, and now I will paraphrase it for you. "An Artist is never ahead of his time, it's just that everybody else is far behind."

Rorschach

Two of my favorite blog posts of all time are from Susie over at What Was I Thinking. These are the two posts here and here. I love her "therapist's" insight on the meaning of the children's artwork.

While I was helping my dad clean up some stuff from the basement I discovered a box filled with old artwork and school projects from my childhood. I am curious as to what these pictures say about me.

I drew nipples on my mom. And if you look closely I also drew a penis on her as well.

Some kind of deformed penguin.

This is a picture of my family. I found a few things about this funny. The first being that I drew Jimmy, the youngest, laying down because he was the baby. The second is that Kevin's head is not to scale with the rest of the family. If I drew it to scale I would have needed an extra sheet of paper. And the last is blown up below for you to review.
I must have told my mom what to write. Here it says that my brother Dennis is a Martian. I still belive he is some type of alien.
My mom wrote on this one "Me and Billy in a Submarine".
Here is a picture of me peeing in the shower.

The Old Man

I need some opinions. This is kind of like "what would you do in my situation" type of survey.


I was driving from work to my parent's house, where I have been staying, to meet my brother the LawnWhisperer. The two of us were going away for business and he was driving us to the airport. I was running about 10 minutes late. I was driving down the street behind my parents' house and I purposely coasted through a stop sign as I was making a right turn. It was a three-way stop at a three-way intersection and there is no obstructed view of any of the corners. It is the perfect location for a "Hollywood stop."

I turned onto my parents' street and parked the car. LW was waiting for me in the driveway. As I was loading LW's car with my luggage a gold colored mini-van stopped next to us. The driver, an older man, yelled out his window to me. This is the conversation.

OM: Do you know you went right through that stop sign back there?
Bill: Yes. I kind of Hollywood stopped it. I'm sorry.
OM: (with real attitude) You know we stop for stop signs around here.
Bill: Huh?
OM: (Pointing to my license plate) I don't know how you do it in Florida but in Pennsylvania, we stop at stop signs.
Bill: Yeah Okay.
OM: (wagging his finger at me) You know I could report you.
Bill: Okay go ahead.
OM: (still wagging his finger) I should call the police.
Bill: (Totally ignoring the guy) Okay whatever. Thanks for your opinion.

The guy pulled away.

I looked at LW and I sort of shrugged my shoulders. His mouth was slightly open in disbelief. "I did blow right through the stop sign." I said.

"I can't believe this." LW said. "Why didn't you tell the guy to fuck off?"


"Well, I did go through the stop sign and besides he is one of Mom's neighbors."


"I am so disappointed in you." LW said while shaking his head. "If the guy was nice about you going through the sign that would be one thing, you know safety and all, but as soon as he said "I don't know how you do it in Florida' he crossed the asshole threshold and he was fair game for you to tell him to fuck himself."


"As soon as he started yelling I thought he was an asshole. The intersection was clear." I agreed with LW.

"Then why didn't you tell him to mind his own business. What does he think he is the local superhero."


LW and I talked about it the entire trip to the airport. LW thought I should have told the guy to stick it. He was very upset that I did not.

What would you have done?

Tree huggers and dirt eaters

Rest Room Play by Play

I have posted many times about how Maxfield always chose bookstores as his favorite place to poop. That is no longer the case. Now that he is no longer in diapers, his new favorite “place” to go # 2, is in restaurants. The last two times we have been out to eat, Maxfield has announced to the table that “I aftoo go poopy”.

Maxfield using the toilet is always a gamble. Sometimes, when he announces he has to go, he has to GO RIGHT NOW, and I can barely get his pants off in time. Other times it is a 10 to 20 minute event which consists of him staring between his legs at his own reflection in the water while he grunts and groans.

A few weeks ago we were out with my parents in a small Italian place that was more of a take out joint with a few tables than it is an actual restaurant. The men’s room resembled a closet with a toilet that is probably used more by vagrants than actual customers. Needless to say it was not very clean.

When we entered the bathroom I had to make the split second decision to clean up a little and paper the seat or risk having an accident. Like I said, a gamble. I chose not to clean up, which was good because it was quick trip. Maxfield most likely picked up the Clap in that bathroom.

On Friday night, we took the kids to Ruby Tuesdays. We received our drinks and were waiting for our food when Max made his announcement. We entered the large tile covered, very clean bathroom and headed for the first stall. I got Max situated on the toilet and I closed the stall door behind me. His face reddened and I knew we would be there for a bit.

After a minute or two we could hear the bathroom door open. Max, as loud as he could, yelled, “HI.” He then proceeded to ask me questions at the same volume, his voice echoing off the tiles, “WHO IS THAT? IS THAT MAN PEEING? Oh, THAT’S THE TOILET FLUSHING.”

The door to the restroom opened again. “HI. HI. WHO IS THAT DADDY? IS THAT MAN GOING TO PEE OR POOP?”

A few minutes later we heard the door open again.

I heard a woman from outside the restroom door instruct her son to make sure he washed his hands when he was done, and that she would wait for the boy outside the door. The boy must of been 7 or 8 years old, old enough to go on his own but young enough that he needed his mother to wait for him. The stall door next to us opened and a pair of little feet appeared.

“DADDY LOOK. A LITTLE BOY IS POOPING. HI BOY. I CAN SEE HIS SHOES, Daddy.”

It became very quiet in the restroom as Max leaned over to see the boys feet and he listened intently to the sounds in the stall next to us. We heard the little boy pee. “HE IS PEEING.”

We could hear the plopping in the toilet next to us. “THE BOY IS POOPING. IS THAT A BIG POOPY OR A LITTLE POOPY?”

The boy stood up. Which Max announced, “HE IS WIPING HIS HEINIE, DADDY.”

The toilet next to us flushed. “HE FLUSHED THE TOILET DADDY. Bye Bye boy. Bye Bye Poopy.”

I felt so bad for that little boy.

Happy Mother's Day

Mom,

I am a middle child. Sure, LW claims that he is the middle child since he is the 5th of 9 kids, and that would make him dead middle as far as numbers go; but after a little math I realized that I am the middle child as far as age goes. The oldest is 5 years older than me and the youngest is 5 years younger than me, so I, too, am the middle child.

I am not writing this fact, on the blog, so that I can get sympathy or extra attention, I am writing this because I know the real truth.

Since, I am truly in the middle child, I have, over the years, witnessed something that I think you need to be made aware of. When I was in kindergarten Sharon, the oldest, was in 5th grade. She used to walk us, Dennis, Kevin , Dan, John and myself, to elementary school. When I was in 5th grade I was the one responsible for walking Pat, Mike and Jim to school.

What I am trying to say is that I was part of every one of your kids' (all nine of them) walking-to-school experience.

This is the real truth. Whenever one of the neighborhood kids would say, "Step on a crack, break your mother's back." I, was the only one of your children that, would avoid stepping on cracks.

Happy Mother's Day.

I love you.

#6

Spanish Rooster

This morning, like most mornings, I was watching the Wiggles. The purple Wiggle told the red Wiggle that they were going to sing a song in Spanish. The Song they were going to sing was “Quack, Quack, Quack, Cock-a-doodle-doo.”

The song is, basically, about animal noises. They sang and I listened.

I do not speak or understand Spanish but I was shocked to hear the lyrics that sounded to me like “Quack quack quack, Ceek a deedle deedle dee.”

I was confused. "Ceek a deedle?" Do Spanish roosters sound different than other roosters? Spanish ducks make the same sound as, I guess, English ducks. So, why does the Spanish rooster sound so different?

I thought animal sounds, like Moo, Meow, Oink, Quack and, yes, Cock-a-doodle-doo, were all universal sounds.




Side note survey for those interested: As I contemplated the above post I realized that there are few different ways to make a dog sound. I usually use “Ruff, Ruff”. But there is also “woof woof”, “arf arf’ and I am sure a few others. What is your dog sound?

Beautiful Morning

I sat at the computer to read the morning news. My back was to my mom who was sipping her tea at the kitchen table. I was admiring the sunrise coming through the east window as she was watching the birdfeeders through the north facing windows. It was peaceful.

The sun was just peaking over the houses to the east, golden beams of light ricocheting off the dewed rooftops, piercing the gray of the morning. The aroma of coffee filled the kitchen and the soft cooing of mourning doves could be heard in the back yard. It was peaceful.

I sipped my coffee, contemplating the day ahead of me with a slight smile across my face, taking it all in, feeling happy to be alive. It was peaceful.

My mother broke the peaceful silence. She spoke in a steady whisper, "Oh. My. God. Look at those squirrels. On the branch of the dogwood, I think....I think they...are...doing it."

Juice Pouch

Capri Sun Juice pouches are a great invention. Kids love them. They are portable. They are small and can fit in most pockets or diaper bags. They are silver and filled with liquids that a kid cannot resist. They are like a flask for toddlers.

But there is a design flaw. The hole, where the straw gets inserted, is to close to the back of the package.

Every time I take the pointy straw and try and puncture the little plastic-hole-area, I always end up pushing the straw too far and it ends up piercing the other side of the pouch. When my kid squeezes the pouch, in an effort to get every last drop, the hole on the other side of the pouch becomes a mini geyser.

I guess that is why they have flavors called "Splash Cooler" and "Roarin Waters".

Enjoying the Spring

Happy Birthday Dad. Ask him what's in the cake and he would respond "Poop and Boogies."

Clearance

I was sitting at my desk at work on Thursday when my cell phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Lauren calling. I thought that it was strange that she would be calling me at 10:15 AM when I knew she should be at a doctor’s appointment. I answered the phone.

“Bill, I need you to come down here right away.” She said, her voice slightly panicked.

My heart started racing. What was wrong? Did she already see the doctor and did she get bad news? She was talking pretty fast and I had a hard time hearing her. The signal on her cell phone was fading in and out.

“I don’t know what to do. I need your help.” She said.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“The doctor’s office moved to a new location, and when I pulled around the building I didn’t realize I had to park in a parking garage.”

“And?”

“We never took the Turtle Top off the van.”

What we call the “Turtle Top”, is the big plastic Cargo Carrier we attached to the roof rack when we drove up from Florida 3 weeks ago. I was going to take it off and store it in my parent’s shed, but last week I demolished the shed ,so I left the cargo carrier on the van.

Lauren continued, “I had no problem pulling into the garage but as I keep driving, the Turtle Top keeps hitting the roof of the garage. It is so loud. People keep looking at me. I don’t think I will be able to get out of here. I am afraid that I may get stuck, or I may end up tearing the roof off the van. Every time it hits a beam it is so loud.”

I started laughing. I was relieved that she was okay. Lauren started laughing.

“Okay.” I said. “Where are you? I will come and take it off.”

She told me where I should go. “I just found a parking space, which I think it will be okay. It is between beams. I would take the thing off myself but I don’t know how.”

“Okay. Just go to the doctor and I will check with work to see if I can take an early lunch come down and take it off.”

I found the garage and her car and I made quick work of removing the cargo carrier and I placed it in the back of the van.

An hour later Lauren called to thank me. “You are my hero.” She said. “I was so afraid I was not going to get out of the garage. You should have seen the looks I was getting from everyone in the garage when I pulled in. It was so loud. I was embarrassed. Is every one at your office laughing us now?”

“Not everyone. Just the people I told. But you do realize I am going to blog about this, right?”

For the record...

..I think it is perfectly okay, while looking for a new house, to ask the realtor if the seller's disclosure would divulge information about whether the house is haunted or not.

Spit take

Lauren and I were settled in on the couch with Maxfield between us. Lauren was sipping a soda and Max was drinking water from a sippy cup. We were watching “the Dancing Show” before it was time to take Max to bed. Every so often Max would plead for a cookie or a treat which we refused. Max did not eat his dinner so he was cut off from anything else for the rest of the night.
Max watched his grandparents enjoy their evening snack of pudding and ice cream and he kept searching Lauren’s eyes to see if she would give in to his requests for something sweet. She and I repeatedly told him no.

At one point Max reached for Lauren’s cup to see what she was drinking and to see if he could have a taste. Lauren told him that he could not have any soda. Max asked for ice from Lauren’s cup. She told him no again.

After a few minutes, while Lauren’s eyes were on the TV, Max reached inside her cup that was resting on her lap. Lauren pulled the cup away.

“No Max. You cannot have any of my soda and don’t reach into my cup.” She said as she lifted the cup to her mouth and took a sip.

Max looked at her and held up his finger and with total innocence said, “No mommy, I was just wiping my boogies in there.”

Shed

Since moving in with my parents, two weeks ago, there has been a debate going on between my mom and dad. The debate has been over the shed that my father built 20 some odd years ago. My mom wants the shed taken down and replaced with a new one. My dad thinks otherwise. My mom’s argument is that the shed is a ghetto shed. It has holes in the roof and floor and it has not been painted in many years. My dad thinks the shed has character.

The main reason my mom wants the shed destroyed is due to the critters. There is at least one ground hog that lives under the shed and Lauren and I saw an opossum hanging out near the shed last week. My mom was not happy to hear the news of a new critter.

This past weekend, the debate ended. With the “help” of my dad, (“help” meaning that I used his pry bar, his hammer, his Saws –All and his sledge hammer) I dismantled their shed. The ruckus that I caused at 9 AM on Saturday morning was enough to cause, Mrs. L, the widowed older neighbor, whose property borders my parent’s property where the shed occupied, to come outside and inspect the demolition. Mrs. L is pleasant enough and her and I got to talking about the different critters that live under the shed. She has seen the ground hog and noted that she thought they lived under her deck just 30 feet away from my parent’s shed.

Every now and then my mom would pop her head out the back door to see the progress. She is deathly afraid of animals and would not come too close in fear that the varmints would come scurrying from the home at any moment. She brought out drinking water on one occasion and asked me if I had found any money in the shed. I told her, with the 8 boys that lived at their house I was more likely to find beer, pot, or porn mags stashed in the shed. There was none.

After a few hours the shed was completely demolished. Mrs. L was in her back yard doing some work by her deck and she yelled out. “Oh my God. There is something under my deck. I think it is the ground hog.”

I walked over and peered through the lattice covering. There was definitely an animal there, but it looked more like an opossum and I told her so. She was convinced it was dead and I told her that opossum’s do that. They play dead. Mrs. L carried on for a few more minutes about the animal under her deck. She tried banging on the deck and throwing water on the animal but the thing did not move. She finally asked my dad for help. He found a long thin pole and attempted to nudge the animal though the lattice to see if it would move.

Lauren and my mom must have heard the commotion and came outside to spectate.

“What’s going on over there?” My mom asked nodding towards the neighbor’s deck.

I laughed and said, “I don’t know but this day is getting weirder. I am watching Dad, poke Mrs. L’s opossum with a pole.”

Why Grandmothers Switch to CDs

No Pupils

Baseball

We were watching the Phillies game in my parent’s family room and Maxfield was pointing to the different players on the television screen, across the room.

“That guy throws the ball. That guy catches the ball. That guy swings.” He said as his little finger punctuated the air towards random players.

The night before Lauren brought the kids to one of my softball games, so, Max was more interested in baseball now that he has seen his dad actually attempt to play. They arrived a little late to the game but Max got to see me bat and he was happy to see me get a single on my last at bat.

Chase Utley, the Phillies second basemen, ropes one to left center for a double. “Look, Max.” I said. “He just ran to second base.”

“Just like Daddy.” Max exclaimed.

“No Max.” Lauren explained. “Daddy only got to first base.”

I looked at Lauren and I mumbled with a wink, “That seems to be the story of my life, lately. I can only get to first base.”

My mom, who was sitting on the other end of the couch, snickered. She turned to Lauren and said, “Did he just say he only gets to first base?”

Lauren nodded.

“Well,” my mom said, “Getting to first is the most important one. Remember that.”

Fun while moving

The other day I was unloading a truck of some of our belongings and I was trying to sort them in the storage area. I was trying to read what we had written on the boxes so I could figure out what we needed to have easily accessible and it made me think of something I used to do whenever I helped friends or family move.

I am posting it here as a public service for anyone who ever gets stuck having to help people move. It makes the long moving day that much more fun. When you know you are helping friends move, bring your own Sharpie.

A few years ago my brothers and I were helping our brother Pat and his wife Bridget, move into their new house. Her dad and brother were helping as well. As we unloaded the truck, we would read the boxes to know what room we were supposed take them. As it always is with moves there are boxes that are labeled with random writings. Things like, “Tools” or “Toys” where you don’t really know where they are supposed to go in the house so you have to ask the homeowner.

I, of course, brought my own Sharpie to the move. I waited until most people were in the house and I wrote other random things on some boxes. Things like “Sex” before the word “tools” or “toys”. I even wrote “Bridget’s Porn Collection and Videos” on a box and set it aside. I told all my brothers to make sure her brother was the one to move that box.

His reaction, a double take to make sure he read what he read, was hysterical. We laughed most of the day.

So when you are helping someone move, bring your own Sharpie.

Windows

I was having a conversation with my brother Pat the other day and he as telling me that my Mom had him doing all kinds of chores around her house in preparation of my arrival.

Pat told me he was helping her fix one of the windows in one of the upstairs bedrooms when my mom said to him, and I am paraphrasing,

“I just don’t want Max to fall out the window. I didn’t care so much with my own children, when you guys were younger, but I don’t want my grandchildren to fall.”

From the mouth of Momo9

This morning as I was leaving for work, my laptop bag over my shoulder, I leaned over to give Lauren, who was sitting on the floor with Wyatt, a kiss goodbye. It was a quick peck on her lips. “I love you.” I said. “Have a good day.”

I turned to leave when my mom, who was sitting on the couch sipping her tea said, “THAT was not very passionate.”


It's good to be home.

Just say no.

Like most people, I enjoy America's new pastime, Game Shows.

I don't watch any one show in particular, nor do I watch specific shows on specific nights. I catch the occasional show here or there, like Smarter Than a 5th Grader, Deal or No Deal, Identity and 1 vs. 100 (For those who read this blog that are younger than 30 or do not have kids, Identity and 1 vs. 100 are on on Friday nights and yes there are television shows on Friday nights). I usually watch game shows when there is nothing else worth watching.

Like any average person I sometimes get sucked into the show. Whether it is the host, the contestant, or the questions and dynamic of the game, I become part of the show. I answer the questions out loud so my wife will realize that I am not smarter than a 5th grader. I play the whole "I would have taken the deal at $157,000." And I also find myself calling people idiots when they get questions, that I consider easy, wrong.

The only problem I have with these new types of prime time game shows is the way they break for commercials. They let the questions build up, they work the contestestants into having to make a decision to either take the money or continue, the build up the suspense and then the host of the show says something like, "We'll find out...right after this." The studio audience moans and they cut to a commercial.

I have no issues with commercials. They are the way television works. My issue is the fact that the shows actually try to act like they are NOT going to cut to a commerical when everyone, the contestant, the audience and the viewers at home, know they are cutting to a commercial. I find this somewhat insulting to my intelligence. Why put on the act when eveyone knows there will be a commercial? Why build the suspense? Why does the host smile and wink at the camera like he is playing a practical joke on everyone? Again, I find it insulting. They don't do this on Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune. Bob Barker never stopped Plinko in mid-game to keep the audience on the edge of their seat.

Now, whenever I watch one of the new game shows and they work the cheesy-suspense-commercial break into the show I change the channel and I tell myself I don't want to know what happens. I won't watch the commercial. It's my way of, kind of, telling the game show people I am not a rube. I am not to be played. That I don't want my 4th grade intelligence insulted anymore.

Misreading the signs

These are two incidents on how a three year old sees the world around him.
One-
The city of Orlando's public transportation is called the Lynx. It consists of bus routes that "link" you through town. The Lynx's bus stops are marked with a round sign with, either a picture of a bus on it or the "paw print" of the mountain cat the Lynx.

On our last day in Orlando I was driving the kids to the store when Max yells out from the back seat, "Daddy, Daddy! Stop! Stop! A clue. A CLUE!"

It took me a few minutes to figure it out but then we spent the rest of trip trying to find all the clues.

Two-
Now either my laziness has taught Maxfield, or he is just THAT observant of other people, but he knows to look for the handicapped push pad to open automatic doors in public places. These pads are usually located right next to doors at his eye level.

While staying at a hotel, before our trip back up north, we were exiting the lobby and he wanted to use the handicapped button to open the door. The only problem was the doors were not the automatic handicapped type of doors. The button he kept trying to push, which was at his eye level, was the fire alarm for the hotel.

Thank God that both Lauren and I are quick enough to get to him before he actually set it off.

Day One

We successfully made the drive from FLA to PA over the past two days. It is now Saturday morning, 8 AM, the first day of living with my parents. My mom is making sausage, biscuits and gravy, which is my favorite. And here I thought Maxfield and Wyatt were going to get spoiled.

A Sad Sight

It was sad and heartbreaking.

It was.

Maxfield standing at the end of the driveway, tears rolling down his face, screaming at the top of his lungs at the movers, "Give me back my stuff!"

A new frontier

A little over two years ago, Lauren, Max (Wyatt was not around at that time) and I moved from Pennsylvania to Florida. At that time I started the blog Poop and Boogies as a way for family and friends to “keep in touch” with what we were doing and so they could see pictures of Max (and eventually Wyatt) growing up.

I have hinted here over the past few months that we are moving, and yes we are moving back to PA. We are quite excited to be able to go back and be surrounded by family and friends. We should, God, the Mortgage Company and Title Agent willing, be moving by the end of this week.
I am not sure what this move will mean for this blog. I have always used it as a way to keep family and friends informed about us. But now that we will be living amongst family and friends I am not sure just how informed they will need to be (Hell, most of my family did not read it anyway). I hope to be able to maintain it in the same fashion and style that I have always done, but with new adventures on the horizon, well…I am not sure.

I know there will be some fun things to write about. For instance, until we can find a house, we will be living with my parents. That’s right I will be living with Momo9. Last Thursday I drove from Orlando To Philly (17 hours and I did not wear a diaper) to drop off some of our belongings at my folk’s house. I was chatting with my mom about, well a little about everything and Poop and Boogies came up. She asked me if I was going to keep blogging and I said, “Yes. I may do it a little different but for the most part, I will keep posting stories. I am sure you and Dad will provide some material while I am here.”

My mom’s eyes widened and then they quickly narrowed into a piercing stare. She said, “I swear if you write anything bad about me I will sue you.”

I laughed and I told her that would be by next post.

Holiday

I will be taking a few days off from Blogging. I hope everyone has a great weekend. Happy Easter. Happy Passover. Happy weekend, Etc. Etc.

Here are some links of some blogs to enjoy.

Klog

Cat

Nilbo

Chris

Oh The Joys

The Blogfathers

She Looks Like Me

LawnWhisperer Day

Today is the birthday of, one time blogger, occasional guest poster here on Poop and Boogies, rare commenter, my brother and least favorite son of my mom, the LawnWhisperer.

For his birthday I decided to post one of my favorite guest posts he did for me a while back.

Dipper or Scooper
By The LawnWhisperer

There are two types of people in this world. There are dippers, and there are scoopers. I myself am a dipper, and I am surrounded by scoopers. Most of my family is scoopers. My dad is a big time scooper; I think he invented the scoop. My two youngest brothers, Mike and Jim, are scoopers, but I think they are pretend scoopers. They scooped all their life, just to get under my skin. Then I went and married a scooper. I should have done a better job of questioning while we were dating. I asked the silly questions like, “What are your thoughts on having kids?” “How many would you like to have?” “Are you a democrat or republican or neither?” “Where do you see us in ten years?” Then finally, “Will you marry me?”

I never asked the big question, “Are you a dipper or a scooper?” I’ll tell you, I am pissed that I did not ask the question. It definitely would have made me think twice about marrying her, if I knew ahead of time that she was a scooper. See, this is of major importance at snack time. I love chips and dip. I make a nice garlic dip. The perfect amount of garlic salt mixed with sour cream is mouth watering. It makes the worst kind of potato chip taste like heaven. One bowl of this dip gets you through a half bag of chips. That is if you are a dipper. If you are a scooper, you get maybe 10 chips. I hate sharing my dip with a scooper. I like to dip the chip in the dip. After all, it is called dip.

Sharing with a scooper, throws off the recipe. If I know I am sharing my snack with a scooper, I have to make more dip. Sometimes I will make two bowls, one bowl of dip, and one bowl of scoop. This way I get to enjoy my entire snack. But my wife wastes her scoop. She won’t eat it all, and then it gets tossed. That is perfectly good dip, that I could have another night, but it goes to waste.

I have tried to teach my wife to be a dipper, but she refuses. My siblings and parents have never crossed over to the dipper side. It is almost like a scooper creed, once a scooper, always a scooper. I am trying to teach my two little guys to be dippers. My daughter is a lost soul now. She has been with a scooper for far to long. I can’t convert her, but the little guys are still impressionable. There is hope still, but it will be difficult. I should have married a dipper. I did not ask the question, and now I am paying the price.

So all you single guys out there take notice of the important things. Ask the right questions before you pop the question. It will make a big difference at snack time. “ Are you a dipper, or a scooper?” If she replies in a way that is negative to your view on this topic, leave her. It will be better in the long run.

Observation about potty training

Maxfield is pretty much completely potty trained. There are the occasional accidents but for the most part he is diaper free and has been for over a month.

Call it advice for people that may be potty training their boys or whatever; I just wanted to document a few observations.

1) A few weeks ago, Max and I came home from the playground, both of us covered in sand. We hopped in the shower. While I was rinsing him off he told me he had to pee. I told him it was okay for him to pee in the shower, which he did. For the next two weeks that is the only place he wanted to pee. He would walk into the bathroom, pull down his pants and pee on the shower stall doors.

2) When a three year old says he has to pee, he means RIGHT NOW. Not in a minute, which is the time it takes to walk to the bathroom and pull down his pants and get his aim lined up. It means right now as in you have 10 seconds to do all of that.

3) When a tree year old says he has to poop, he means in about a half an hour. And although you rush to get him to the bathroom once he tells you he has to go (see #2 ((pun totaly intended)), he will just sit on the toilet and hang out, swinging his feet, chit chatting about Diego. And just when you think it was a false alarm, and you try to remove him from the toilet, he will go. I do realize it is better to err on the side of caution with this one. It is better to wait it out than to have an accident.

4) Toilet paper is so much different than wipes.

5) Discussions about who has a penis and who doesn't, are almost a daily occurence.

Doritos

I was quite pleased the other day, when at the store, I saw a new flavor of Doritos on the shelf. Smokin Cheddar BBQ (No “G” on the “Smokin” because I guess that is the hip way of spelling it). I, of course, could not say no to a new flavor of Doritos and I bought a bag.

That night I settled on the couch with my new bag of Doritos ready to try to new flavor sensation that the chips would provide. Whenever I try a new snack or chip I like to take my time with each chip to make sure that it works for me. I just can’t reach in the bag all willy-nilly and grab a handful and shove it into my mouth. I have to place the chip on my tongue to make sure my entire tongue experiences the full flavor of the spicy-powder cheese coating. Chip tasting is like wine tasting. There is a bouquet, the taste and texture and the after taste. They are integral to the overall rating of a good chip. I have to say that this new flavor is quite good.

As I was savoring each chip, I read the back of the Doritos bag, like one would read the back of a cereal box at breakfast. The back of the bag stated that there was contest of new flavors. The “Fight for the Flavor” I think they called it. Apparently Doritos has two new flavors, the other being Wild White Cheddar, and the consumer gets to vote as to which flavor will stick around. I was intrigued and pissed at the same time. Intrigued that I would actually get to vote on something where my vote may actually count. Pissed that the store did not have the other flavor on the shelf otherwise I would have bought that as well.

I explained to Lauren that I needed to go out and find the other flavor. She said something to the effect of me falling into their “marketing trap”. I told her I had a responsibilty to vote, you know, to secure the better flavor of Doritos for generations to come. I was thinking of the children. I also told her that if I entered my vote I had a chance at winning a one-year supply of Doritos. I think she called me a “sucker for advertising” and she asked what is considered a “year supply of Doritos?”

I read the back of the bag and it states that a year supply is one bag of week. Clearly the Doritos people need to do some more market research because I could go through a bag every three days.

Jumping

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If everything works out, we will be closing on our house in less than two weeks. So much to do. Does anyone know anyone in PA that wants two cats or that can foster two cats for short time. Or maybe someone that may want to "try out" having pets before they actually commit to the whole pet thing.

Seriously I need to get rid of two cats to make this move work. Email me or comment with only humane ideas please.

Monster

I was rarely picked-on as a child on the playground. I have 4 older brothers, 3 younger brothers and one older sister who handled all the teasing and mocking of me when I was a kid. All of the other kids in the neighborhood or at school also knew that I had all of those brothers and my sister (who they feared the most) so they knew that if they messed with me they were going to take on the whole family. So I was rarely teased, bullied or taunted and if I was, I had a tough skin due to the teasing and taunting of my family.

I never really experienced any of the emotions that go along with being the outsider who is ridiculed, until yesterday.

I took Maxfield to the playground and he was perfectly content to swing by himself as a group of kids played across the way, on the huge plastic play area. The other kids were screaming and carrying on running from one of the fathers, who was acting like a monster. He would raise his hands above his head and moan and the kids would scream “monster” and they would all run away. Eventually the father left and the kids no longer had anyone to run away from.

Maxfield and I made our way over the plastic play area, and he proceeded to climb the plastic and metal poles and pipes and walls and would slide down the spiral slides. I was teaching Max the art of sliding down the slide and using the static charge build up to shock me, when the leader of the group of other kids, a five year old Dora wanna-be girl ran up to Max, pointed and yelled “Monster.” All the other kids screamed and ran away from Max.

Max was somewhat intrigued by the other kids but did not actively chase them. He continued with the slide and shock game we were playing. Again, Dora ran up to him with the other kids right behind her and yelled “Monster”. They all screamed and ran away. This continued for several minutes until Max decided to try and play with the pack of screamers. Every time he got close to one the kids they screamed “monster” and ran away.

I tried to watch Maxfield closely, to see if the kids running from him had any affect but he seemed to just shrug them off and continued to play by him self. I however, felt heartbroken for Max. I was getting mad but I knew the kids were just playing. I told Max he was not a monster and not to be bothered by the other kids. I couldn’t help but say “bitch” under my breath every time Dora ran up to him and screamed. I couldn’t believe how much anger I had towards this five-year-old girl. She was just playing. Just having fun. But there was certain way that Dora said monster that was not fun. It was mean.

I physically shook the bad thoughts from my head and focused on Max to see how he would continue to handle the situation. Max went back down the slide and waited for me to reach out so he could shock me when a few of the kids ran up to him. Just as a little boy was about to yell “monster” Max reach out and touched his hand and shocked him. The kid looked stunned and ran away and his friends followed.

I couldn't help but feel proud of my son at that moment.

La Vie Boheme

Saturday morning I was cutting the grass and I stopped to increase the volume on my Ipod so I could hear it over the motor of the mower. As I was adjusting the volume control I noticed a group of nicely dressed people going door-to-door through the neighborhood. I did not think too much about it. I locked the control switch on the Ipod so I would not accidentally turn it off during my chores, slipped it back into it’s case and then placed it in my pocket. I continued to mow.

Just as the soundtrack to the musical Rent started blaring in my ears I noticed two of the nicely dressed people standing at the edge of my lawn. I waved and continued to cut along the edge of the front garden. The two people did not move. I figured I would save them a trip to the front door being that no one was home and I turned off the mower and walked towards the couple. The song La Vie Boheme just started to play.

The song La Vie Boheme is about the Bohemian lifestyle of the characters in the musical with the lyrics referencing many artists, influences and phrases that are integral to the characters. La Vie Boheme, for lack of a better term is a cross between Rock and Rap, where the last line of each verse is punctuated by the singers shouting the word or line.

I approached the couple as I took the ear bud speakers from my ears and I rested the wires over my shoulder. The volume was so loud that I knew they could hear the music but it was not too loud to hold a conversation. I asked them if there was anything I could do for them. The song played.

"To days of inspiration Playing hookie, making something out of nothing
The need to express To communicate,
To going against the grain, Going insane
Going mad! "

They told me they were promoting a new church in the area and that the were just letting people in the area know about it. They were not trying to convert anyone or anything like that but that they were just giving out information. They noticed our house was for sale and they were not going to stop but since I approached them they figured they would just tell me. They were waiting for other members, who were down the street, to catch up to them. They were very nice and polite.

"To hand-crafted beers made in local breweries
To yoga, to yogurt, to rice and beans and cheese
To leather, to dildos, to curry vindaloo
To huevos rancheros and Maya Angelou
Emotion, devotion, to causing a commotion
Creation, vacation
Mucho masturbation"

I heard that last line and I tried to see in their eyes if they heard it. I grabbed the I pod in my pocket to shut it off. They started to thank me for my time and I have no idea what else they said because I was so preoccupied with trying to turn the ipod off. Because I knew what lyrics were coming next and I did not want offend anyone’s sensibilities.

"Bisexuals, trisexuals, homo sapiens,
Carcinogens, hallucinogens, men, Pee Wee Herman
German wine, turpentine, Gertrude Stein
Antonioni, Bertolucci, Kurosawa
Carmina Burana"

I fumbled with the controls but since I “locked” it, the volume control did not work.

"To apathy, to entropy, to empathy, ecstasy
Vaclav Havel - The Sex Pistols, 8BC,
To no shame - never playing the Fame Game
To marijuana
To sodomy,
It's between God and me
To S & M "

Again I don’t know if they heard it but I found the whole thing funny.

Should I be worried?

I received a phone call today at work from Lauren.

"Hello. This is Bill."

"Hi. It's me. I gave Wyatt a haircut today."

"Oh yeah? How does he look?"

"Do you know Jim Carrey in the movie Dumb and Dumber..."

Educational Programming

Hey, all of those parents of toddlers out there, did you see the episode of Diego, they just showed, where Diego finsihes all of his dinner before he goes out and helps the tree frogs? Or that one show, of Dora, where she actually cleans up all of her toys before her and Boots go out and find the giant chicken, even though the troll bridge troll tells that riddle that is difficult to figure out? Although my kid knows the answer?

Did you catch the Jack's Big Music Show where Laurie Berkner explains that you don't have to repeat a song 100 times in 5 minutes to have it be heard? Did you?

How about the one snippet of the Upside Down Show, when Shane and David actually listen to their parents without whining about it? Did you see it? Huh? Huh?

No I didn't think so.

Sure my kid knows what a marching band is, or that a Penguin only lives in the Antartic...but basic life skills, like not irritating his parents, that will ensure he lives until his fourth birthday????

Educational TV? Yeah!? Fuck that.

I couldn't get it up

I have to believe that the number one reason that people live in Florida is the weather. Today, Saturday, was absolutley gorgeous outside. We spent a good part of the day at a local park, walking and playing and attempting to fly a kite.

The kite I was trying to use was a stunt kite that I tried to modify to work as a regular kite but due to all the various strings and rods and supports I could not get it to fly. I used to be a very decent kite flyer.

In the past, I would go and fly a kite to relax and unwind. It is just like fishing. But instead of throwing a line into the water, you throw it into the sky. You let the wind be the current, like water, and you work the line to keep the kite in the air, like one would work a line to catch a fish. It is very zen-like.


Just look at that sky. Amazing.


Maxfield is still having issues with the big boy underwear.

Maxine

I wrote, last week, how Lauren was using Wyatt to model some of the more girly shirts she was making for her ebay biz, well, now she is getting Maxfield into the cross dressing.

He looks like he is way too into it. With me having some theatrical background I don't know if I should be happy or scared.


"I feel pretty...


..Oh so pretty."

"Man this thong is killing me."

What is the next year called?

Okay, I get the whole "terrible two-s" thing.

But the next year, is that the "Defiant Threes"? Or maybe the "I will have a screaming fit over every thing, big or small, and I don't care, you can go fuck off Threes."?

I think it may be easier just to start giving Max "Time-INs."

Caregiver

The other night Max woke up about 1AM calling out for me. When I entered his room I was met with him crying that there were pirates in his bed. I stayed with him for a few minutes, fought off the pirates, and he went back to sleep.

Sunday night, around midnight, Max called out for me again. When I entered his room I was met with him crying and with undigested bits of potato and corn covering his blankets. Lauren and I cleaned up the bed and Max and brought him into our bed. We grabbed an empty waste paper basket and I explained to Max if he felt like he was going to have throw-up he just needs to say “Bucket Daddy” and I would grab it and give it to him.

I heard “Bucket Daddy” about three times over the next two hours. At some point Lauren started to feel ill as well. I could tell it was going to be a long night. “Bucket Daddy” was heard another 5 times through out the night. Max and I eventually ended up on the couch where we stayed until late in the morning. Max never felt feverish and besides the vomiting was acting very normal.

After 5 hours without “Bucket Daddy” I decided I would give him some lunch. Lauren suggested the B.R.A.T. diet, which I could have sworn meant Burgers, Ring-Dings, Alcohol and Tobacco, but she told me it was Banana’s, Rice, Applesauce and Toast. Max ate his saltines, applesauce and ginger ale without incident and did not vomit the rest of the day. For dinner he had the same and he seemed to be doing great.

In the evening we prepared for bed and went through the normal routine. Part of the normal routine is that he gets a cup of milk, which I gave him.

(It's at this point in the story that all of the mothers and some educated fathers that read this will roll their eyes and shake their heads in disbelief at the fact that I gave him milk.)

“You gave him Milk?” Lauren asked.

“Yeah. He ate and kept down everything all day. He’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know about that.” Lauren said.

10 minutes later “Bucket Daddy.” was heard. Up came the milk and the applesauce and the rice that was dinner.

Mothers definitely know best.

Dishwasher by the numbers.

2- The number of phone calls I made regarding installing a new dishwasher. One to my brother Dan to ask how easy it is to install a new dishwasher and one to our neighbor Joel to borrow teflon tape.

45-Minutes it took to disconnect and remove the old dishwasher.

5-Times I said a combination of words that started with "son" and ended with "whore".

90-Minutes it took to connect and balance the new dishwasher.

4-Times I said a combination of a word that starts with "M" and ends with "otherfucker".

3-Times Lauren asked me if I needed help immediatley after I said one of the words from above.

3-The number of tools the instructions claim I would need for the project.

17-The actual number of tools I used.

15-Minutes is the total time I spent looking for the tool "that I just used" only to find that I was still holding it or laying on top of it.

10:00-PM is the time I finished installing the new dishwasher.

1- is the total parts I had left over that was supposed to be used but I don't know where it goes and I don't care because the new dishwasher works anyways without it.

Sport

I was never a strong athlete.

I have mentioned, in the past, here on Poop and Boogies, that when my dad was the coach of my T-ball team he made me play catcher so I could wear all the equipment because he was afraid I would get hurt.

I think I have written somewhere that the only reason my brothers would ask me to play in any type of game is that they needed an extra guy to make the teams even, unless it was a game of basketball in the driveway. They knew that, even though I could not dribble, shoot, or pass the ball very well, that I had inherited my mother’s legs and that I could box out anyone under the hoop for a rebound. Plus the fact that I have long arms, for which they called me Grape Ape, would help reach higher than other players rebounding the ball.

When I played regular Little League I spent a year or two on my brother The LawnWhisperer’s team. He likes to tell the story of how, one time, while I was playing left field, I was so busy yelling at the third basemen, Rob Reese, for letting a grounder go through his legs that I, too, let the same ball go, the one he missed, go through my legs.

The last time I played any type of organized sport was about 10 years ago. My brother Pat had a softball team that needed an extra man for one game. It was night game being played under the lights at the local field. LawnWhisperer was on the team. I was having problems with my contact lenses at the time and I wore my glasses to the game. There was a light rain/drizzle coming down on the field. They had me play right field so my lack of skills would not impact the team as much.

I played most of the game without incident. Meaning no one hit the ball in my direction. Towards the end of the game the opposing team’s batter hit a hard fly ball that was coming down right where I was standing. An easy out. I looked up to follow the balls trajectory, when the light rain started to splatter on my glasses. The drops of water that were on my glasses, against the bright white lights of the ball park made it look as if there were a hundred white dots falling down on me. I could not figure out which white dot was the actual soft ball. I raised my glove to catch any one of them. Of course the ball lands right next me. The other team scores and I am ridiculed for the rest of the evening.

I am writing this, because the Lawnwhisperer called me yesterday to ask me to join his Softball team.

I expect hilarity and ridicule to follow.

Jungle

Lauren the kids and I were sitting in a booth by a window at one of the local burger joints when Maxfield points to an overgrown area of trees just outside the window.

"Look Daddy. A jungle." He said in his three year old way.

I looked over. "Yeah buddy that's a jungle."

"There's birds and cats and monkeys and PUMAS and (inaudible) and Grillas in there." He tapped the window as he said each animal name.

I laughed and looked at Lauren. "Pumas? Where does he learn this stuff?" I asked.

Lauren shrugged her shoulders and said, "Diego, I guess."

Having seen an episode or two of Diego myself I asked Max, "Do penguins live in the jungle?"

He laughed. "No. Penguins live in the snow."

"But Grillas" I said chuckling at the way he pronouces the word, "they live in the jungle."

Maxfield shot a smile back at me. "But they go pee pee hanging in a tree on a branch."

I did a double take to Lauren. "Did he learn that on Diego too?"

"No." She said laughing and not trying to choke on a frie. "He must have learned that at the zoo a while back. There were a few gorillas hanging from a tree and one of them starting peeing. He didn't say anything then, but, man I am surprised what he remembers."

For the record, I do think that would make an excellent Diego episode.

Wyatt Milestones

It is time to dig the gates out of the attic. About 5 or 6 days ago Wyatt figured out the whole crawling thing. So he has reached a milestone.

Not only has he figured out how to crawl he has also figured out how to crawl over to Maxfield and bother him. So he has reached another milestone.

Also one of his top teeth finally broke through. Sure he has had two teeth on the bottom for a month or so, but now with a top tooth to go with them he can now bite. Another milestone.

Another milestone for Wyatt is his cross dressing. Lauren has started an Ebay business selling cutomized T-shirts. She needed a model for her more girly shirts.

Lauren's stuff is pretty cool, as you can see form the pictures. Go check out what else she has done. Click here.

Pressure

I had just rounded the ramp from North bound I-95- to West bound Route 528, also known as the Beach Line, when I had to press the brake pedal, hard, due to the standstill bumper to bumper traffic that I saw ahead of me. The Beach Line is a 30 to 40 mile road that connects the east coast of Florida (beaches like Cocoa and Vero) to Orlando, which rests in the center of the state. I scanned the two West bound lanes ahead of me and I saw nothing but cars. The East bound lanes, that were coming towards I-95, were empty. I figured there must be an accident ahead of me and that it may only take a little bit of time to get through the jam of onlookers. I waited a few minutes to assess the delay before calling my wife.

“Hey. It’s me.” I said as she picked up the other end of the phone. “There is a bunch of traffic on 528. I figure I may be a while later than I originally thought. Don’t hold up dinner for me.”

“Okay.” She said. “ What’s going on?”

“I don’t know if it is just normal traffic for this time or if there is an accident, but either way I do not know how to get home except for THIS road.”

“Okay. Be careful. I will make you a plate.” Lauren then asked, “How were your appointments in Miami?”

“Everything was going great up until now. I knew I should have stopped to pee about 20 miles ago.”

The Beach line is a stretch of road that runs between acres and acres of either farmland, triple canopy woods or swamps. There are no exits to stop and use a bathroom. “I think I should be okay.” I said half trying to convince myself. “I will call you once the traffic starts moving, which, will be, hopefully soon.”

I sat in my car, inching up a few feet every few minutes. I could feel the pressure on my bladder increasing with every push of the gas pedal and then the brake. I looked around at all the cars that surrounded me; delivery trucks, midsize cars and lots of SUVS, all waiting for traffic to clear. I really had to pee.

I started to eye the right side of the road as a possible place to go, but the land was dense, dense brush without much means to hide myself. Besides if I pulled over I was sure all the eyes on the road would be watching me and I know I get stage fright. I contemplated this for about a half an hour.

As I looked forward, through the windshield, down the congested highway, about a half a mile ahead, I could see smoke billowing from the side of the road. “It must be a brush fire.” I thought. “Man, maybe I should go and help them put it out.” My bladder was starting to hurt.

I called my wife, Lauren, just to touch base and to explain my predicament. “If this does not clear soon, I am going to have to go in this Gator bottle that I have.”

The empty 16-ounce bottle of Gatorade, along with the empty medium sized coffee cup, were the reason I was feeling the need to go so bad. I told Lauren I would call her back once I knew something. I kept checking ahead of me to see if traffic was clearing. I could see the flashing lights of fire engines ahead. I peered through the smoke and could see firemen with hoses dousing a good size brush fire. Just what I needed, not the brush fire, but the sight of hoses endlessly spraying.

After watching the sprating hoses for another fifteen minutes I decided I would have to use the Gatorade bottle.

While idling in traffic I undid my belt and my unbuttoned my dress pants. I was in the right lane, so I kept an eye on the cars on my left to make sure no one was watching. Just as I unzipped my pants an SUV of college aged kids pulled along side me. They were clearly returning from one of the beaches. Their vehicle was higher than mine and if they looked over they would clearly see me trying to pee in a bottle. I waited. The car passed after a few minutes and I started to build up the courage to use the bottle again. As I was positioning myself, a giant van filled with a family of kids slid up next to me. I waited again. I was hurting. Bad.

I started to eye the side of the road as my only option, but I was now close to the fire and I did not want to be caught in a fire with my pants down, literally, plus there were firemen and workers all over the side of the road. The pressure was becoming unbearable. I loosened my seat belt hoping for some relief of the pressure.

As I passed the thick of the fire, my car filled with smoke. It was the perfect cover for me to pee in my car. Just as I was about to relieve myself both lanes quickly merged into one, through the thick brown smoke, and then opened back into two lanes. Once out of the smoke it was open road. People in their cars started hitting their accelerator. They went from zero to 80 mph in a few seconds in hope of making up lost time. I realized I was not going to be able to urinate and do 80 miles an hour safely. I went along with the speed knowing that I could pull over up ahead and not worry about onlookers on the side of the road.

While I was looking for a spot to pull over I kept seeing cows roaming the side and shoulder of the road. They must have been smoked out form the fire. I saw a sign that indicated that was only 14 miles to Orlando. I told myself I could hold it until then, instead of suffering the potential wraith of a pissed off cow. I floored it.

A few minutes later I paid my toll at the end of the 528. I could feel my eyes watering partially from the smoke of the fire and partially due to the pain I had in my lower abdomen. The first spot I knew I could use the restroom was a Wendy’s a few lights away. I, of course, caught every red light. I called Lauren and told her I was stopping and that I would be home soon.

I screeched into the Wendy’s parking lot during their busy dinner time hours. I found the closest spot, right near the dining area with the giant windows and parked. I jumped out of my car almost at a sprint. After the first few steps I realized there was something wrong.

I never zipped and buttoned up my pants or fastened my belt.

Another Year

Saturday is Lauren's Birthday. I can't write a long post because I have to go and buy her gifts. I would have normally bought her gifts on her actual birthday but We have stuff going on. So, by default, getting her gifts a day early is as last minute as I can make it.

For the next three months she will only be three years younger than me rather than the normal four.

Happy birthday Lauren.

O Captain my Captain

I have posted before, here on this blog, that I am somewhat of a comic book junkie. I just heard the news that Captain America has been killed in the latest issue of the comic book. Access Hollywood is reporting it, so you know it must be true. I hope they give this matter as much attention as they do Britney or Anna Nicole.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring.
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red!
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Walt Whitman

It's sad. I have been around the world of super heroes enough to know that most main characters that die will eventually be resurrected, but Captain America? C’mon. He is an icon. He was even the Best Man at my wedding.

Okay, actually my best man was Bob, but he dressed up as Captain America for the toast.

PJ's

Why is it that whenever I try to dress my freshly bathed kids, in their PJ's, that when I get the left pant leg all ready and "open" they will always lift their right leg? Then while they are standing with their right leg in the air I switch and scrunch up and open the right pant leg they decide to lift their left leg. Do all kids do this? Or is Max just messing with me?

1 out of 3 times Max ends up with both legs in the same pant leg.

English

"Maxfield, if you want the train to go forward you have to push the yellow lever." Lauren said as she was instructing him on his new Geo Trax trains.

"What did you call it?" I asked from the other room.

"Call what?"

"The yellow...?

"Lever?"

"Right. You pronounce it lever. I pronounce it lever. I know you can say it both ways I just didn't know that you said it that way."


Quick poll, how do you pronounce it?

1. with the short E sound in words like; SEVer, HEAVen, or KEVin. Lever.
2. with the long E sound in words like; BEAVer, FEVer, or ClEAVer. Lever.

Bubbles

ME: Did you blow Bubbles when you were younger?
You: Yeah.
ME: I just saw him and he was asking about you.

This is one of my favorite jokes. It is kind of like when someone says, "Give me a hand?" and you clap. Annoying yet funny. I don't know why but it is. Every so often I try the bubbles joke. It has been a while.

This weekend Lauren kind of used it on me. I took a sip of soda and it went down the wrong pipe. I started choking and wheezing. Lauren asked if I was okay and I responded the best I could spitting out the words. "Bubbles,..(cough)...went down...my..(cough).. throat..the wrong way."

Without offering me assistance or sympathy, Lauren said "Oh Yeah. I just saw him and he looked happy to me."

I hate it when my jokes backfire.

Do you have any jokes? What are your old stand-bys?

Cake and no cake

Why the world is a better place

Maxfield was born three years ago today. Max coming into the world has had an influence on more than just Lauren and myself. There is a rippling effect on the world around.

Max has given his grandparents (both sides) one more person to love, and there is nothing wrong with more love being spread around.

Maxfield has made me a more caring and aware person. I am not as quick to judge other people, due to the fact that Max could turn out like them. Piercings, tattoos, or even cross dressing is really not that big of a deal.

His arrival has caused Lauren and I to become more spiritual and from that we have done some good deeds that we hope have helped other people. Hopefully those people pay it forward.

Max being born into this world has helped some people deal with cancer.

There are Broccoli farmers that owe their livelihood to Max. The money they make from what Maxfield eats can support a small nation. The economic impact spreads across the world.

I started blogging as a way to keep family members updated about Max's (and mine) life. Without Max I probably would not have started blogging. Through blogging, I have "met" a great many people that have taught me many lessons that I will take with me through life. They have affected me and I hope I have affected them. I am sure some of the parents that read this blog now go to books stores prepared with extra diapers.

I realized that there is a whole new level to the word "cranky". Max, when he first wakes up, is by far the crankiest person I have met. How does that make the world better? People all over the globe now can get along better with their significant others, roommates or siblings knowing that they are not living with the crankiest person in the world.

He has taught me patience, which has come in handy, when I am stuck in traffic and I want to strangle the person in front of me, and I don't. And that person in front of me is probably one of the scientists that is working on the Bird flu vaccine. So I know by Max teaching me to be a more patient person most likely just saved thousands of lives.

They say that a butterfly flapping it's wings on the other side of the world can cause a tidal wave. I believe that Max's smile is the cause of all this "global warming" stuff we hear in the news. It's not a bad thing.

Happy Birthday Maxfield.