My mom, Momo9, has picked the winners of the Proflowers contest. Although I am still not her favorite there were some decent arguments made by all the commenters.
Here are the winners.
G-Side Pride, Kcinnova, Cherioak, Nape, and Maria from NJ. I need all of you to contact me via email in the next 2days so I can send you the web codes for your gift certificate. My email address is listed at the end of my profile. Thanks to everyone who played. Thanks to Proflowers. My mom said she had fun reading all the comments.
Honorable Mention (but no gift certificate) goes to LawnWhisperer for stating his case that I am my mom's favorite son fathered by the mailman. Every one called our mailman Rocky because he wore one of those hats that had flaps to cover his ears. The same kind of hat that Rocky the squirrel wore. I always thought our mailman looked like the mad painter from Sesame Street. At a very early age my brothers always called me Rocky's son because I was the most different than the rest of them. My mom, always laughed at this, she never denied it, she just laughed.
There were/are many other bloggers who had this contest. There still may be a chance to win the gift certificate by visiting their sites.
http://chris.pirillo.com/
http://www.gearlive.com/
http://www.techronical.com/
http://Ploomy.com
http://artofmanliness.com/
http://mommydaddyblog.com
http://dadtalk.typepad.com
http://www.pkmeco.com/familyblog/index.html
http://joeprah.com
http://www.buildingcamelot.com/
http://dadomatic.com
http://www.patricksays.net/
http://poopandboogies.blogspot.com/
http://www.athomedad.org/
http://www.rudecactus.com/
http://www.noodad.com/wp/
http://agoodhusband.net/
http://www.dadcentric.com
http://www.disfordad.com
http://daddyforever.com/
www.youserved.com
http://emailourmilitary.blogspot.com/
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Monday, February 02, 2009
Flower Contest
My mom used to call me every Valentine's Day or Mother's Day to thank me for the flowers she received. Not for the flowers that I sent but for the ones she received. But she called me every year to thank me. Because every year someone sent her flowers signed "Your favorite son."
She called each of her 8 sons and thanked them. Some years I sent her flowers signed "your favorite son". Some years I did not.
ProFlowers.Com sent me an email, well, actually one of their marketing companies did. They offered me Five $70.00 gift certificates to give away to readers of Poop and Boogies if I had a contest of some sort promoting ProFlowers.com. The gift certificates are actually gift codes to their website where the winners of the contest can get or send flowers or gifts from ProFlowers.com for Valentine's day. The gift certificates are only good for orders in the US.
The marketing company asked me to use certain key words in my contest which I think I just covered in the last few paragraphs.
I suck at contests. I suck at entering them. I suck at winning them. And I suck at creating them.
She called each of her 8 sons and thanked them. Some years I sent her flowers signed "your favorite son". Some years I did not.
ProFlowers.Com sent me an email, well, actually one of their marketing companies did. They offered me Five $70.00 gift certificates to give away to readers of Poop and Boogies if I had a contest of some sort promoting ProFlowers.com. The gift certificates are actually gift codes to their website where the winners of the contest can get or send flowers or gifts from ProFlowers.com for Valentine's day. The gift certificates are only good for orders in the US.
The marketing company asked me to use certain key words in my contest which I think I just covered in the last few paragraphs.
I suck at contests. I suck at entering them. I suck at winning them. And I suck at creating them.
I was going to ask people to leave me comments on the most romantic thing ever done for them. Or maybe tell me their favorite home made card. Or they could tell me what I should get Lauren for Valentine's day. But I decided to go a different route for the give-a-way.
Many of the people that read Poop and Boogies have been doing so for a while, so you know that my mom reads this blog and that she sometimes comments. To enter the contest for the ProFlowers. Com gift certificate give-a-way, in the comments section, leave a comment trying to convince my mom why I should be her favorite son. I will close the contest on Wednesday 2-4-09 at Noon. Sorry but the gift codes are only valid for customers in the US.
My mom will pick her five favorite answers. If you want to kiss up to my mom, I am sure you can find all kinds of good information from my archives.
Please make sure you leave a valid way for me to contact you if you should win.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wipes
I was at my friend JT's house the other night when he told me this story. The hows and why of him telling me this story are also funny but not as funny as the actual story. I will do my best to tell the story accurately but I may embellish a bit so it makes sense.
A long time ago JT had his first baby and he was discussing the whole diaper changing situation with his brother DP. DP started talking about how awesome baby wipes are for cleaning almost everything. Now DP's kid was little older than JT's kid and DP kept wipes in his bathroom for potty training purposes. DP then told JT that he uses baby wipes on himself when he has a hard time cleaning himself after, well, using the toilet.
"You know how sometimes, after you go, you just don't feel like you are getting your butt completely clean?" DP said to JT. "I use a baby wipe and I feel so much better."
Yes, guys, especially brothers who at one point shared a bathroom, do talk about bathroom habits, the good, the bad, the ugly.
JT made a mental note of this bit of fatherly/brotherly advice.
A few weeks later JT used the bathroom and did not feel like toilet paper was doing a good enough job. He noticed that his wife left a new container of wipes in the bathroom and so he decided to try DP's advice. He opened the container of wipes and wiped himself. He immediately felt an intense burning sensation that did not subside for a few minutes. The pain was so bad that his forehead started to sweat. JT thought to himself, "WOW! DP must be a serious trooper or really need to feel clean to go through this kind of pain." JT never considered that the wipes could cause a baby pain.
Later that night JT's wife asked JT if he opened the wipes in the bathroom. He told her that he did.
"What did you use them for?" she asked.
JT felt a little weird but then told her about his conversation with DP and that he used the new wipes to clean his own butt.
Of course, she most likely fell into a fit of laughter, because the wipes she left in the bathroom were Lysol Disenfectant Cleaning Wipes. With Bleach!
A long time ago JT had his first baby and he was discussing the whole diaper changing situation with his brother DP. DP started talking about how awesome baby wipes are for cleaning almost everything. Now DP's kid was little older than JT's kid and DP kept wipes in his bathroom for potty training purposes. DP then told JT that he uses baby wipes on himself when he has a hard time cleaning himself after, well, using the toilet.
"You know how sometimes, after you go, you just don't feel like you are getting your butt completely clean?" DP said to JT. "I use a baby wipe and I feel so much better."
Yes, guys, especially brothers who at one point shared a bathroom, do talk about bathroom habits, the good, the bad, the ugly.
JT made a mental note of this bit of fatherly/brotherly advice.
A few weeks later JT used the bathroom and did not feel like toilet paper was doing a good enough job. He noticed that his wife left a new container of wipes in the bathroom and so he decided to try DP's advice. He opened the container of wipes and wiped himself. He immediately felt an intense burning sensation that did not subside for a few minutes. The pain was so bad that his forehead started to sweat. JT thought to himself, "WOW! DP must be a serious trooper or really need to feel clean to go through this kind of pain." JT never considered that the wipes could cause a baby pain.
Later that night JT's wife asked JT if he opened the wipes in the bathroom. He told her that he did.
"What did you use them for?" she asked.
JT felt a little weird but then told her about his conversation with DP and that he used the new wipes to clean his own butt.
Of course, she most likely fell into a fit of laughter, because the wipes she left in the bathroom were Lysol Disenfectant Cleaning Wipes. With Bleach!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Dreams
Lauren and I often argue over the TV. We rarely argue over what we watch together. No, we argue over what one watches while the other one is asleep. See this post from two years ago.
We both like to fall asleep watching TV. Lauren usually goes to bed and is asleep before me. She falls asleep to home improvement or medical shows and occasionally a bad reality show. The first thing I do, when I get into bed, is change the channel to either the Discovery, History or the Military channel. I watch shows like Mythbusters, History's Mysteries, Future Weapons and Monster Hunters. I like to fall asleep to things blowing up or to stories about UFOs or Bigfoot or Nostradamus and the end of the world.
Lauren hates this. The shows I watch as I fall asleep often run repeats in the middle of the night. The stories and music often infiltrate her dreams and give Lauren nightmares. She wakes up anxious and upset. She fumbles around looking for the remote and will mutter about the type of shows I watch. She always questions my choice of late night shows and asks how they don't bother me while I sleep. How I could not have dreams of hauntings or alien abductions or of Bigfoot chasing me was beyond her.
This past weekend we both went to bed at the same time and discussed what channel would be on the TV as we fell asleep. I wanted to watch a movie on TNT or TBS and she wanted to watch Bridget Jones Diary on the Oxygen channel. Now that she is nursing Jackson and does not sleep for long periods of time I agreed to watch the Oxygen channel. I fell asleep first.
I woke up at three in the morning feeling anxious. The show on the TV was infiltrating my dreams. I could hear the TV and I could not believe what I was listening to. What the hell was Lauren watching? I leaned over but she was fast asleep. I fumbled around for my glasses so I could see what the women on the television were discussing. Here is a link for the show that was on.
Apparently the Oxygen Channel turns into a sex toy QVC in the middle of the night selling various plugs and vibrators. I am not a prude but I found the whole thing disturbing. Bigfoot now has a new meaning in my dreams.
This morning, as I was writing, I told Lauren the topic of this post.
She laughed and asked, "Is that why there was Google search for Dildo on the computer?"
We both like to fall asleep watching TV. Lauren usually goes to bed and is asleep before me. She falls asleep to home improvement or medical shows and occasionally a bad reality show. The first thing I do, when I get into bed, is change the channel to either the Discovery, History or the Military channel. I watch shows like Mythbusters, History's Mysteries, Future Weapons and Monster Hunters. I like to fall asleep to things blowing up or to stories about UFOs or Bigfoot or Nostradamus and the end of the world.
Lauren hates this. The shows I watch as I fall asleep often run repeats in the middle of the night. The stories and music often infiltrate her dreams and give Lauren nightmares. She wakes up anxious and upset. She fumbles around looking for the remote and will mutter about the type of shows I watch. She always questions my choice of late night shows and asks how they don't bother me while I sleep. How I could not have dreams of hauntings or alien abductions or of Bigfoot chasing me was beyond her.
This past weekend we both went to bed at the same time and discussed what channel would be on the TV as we fell asleep. I wanted to watch a movie on TNT or TBS and she wanted to watch Bridget Jones Diary on the Oxygen channel. Now that she is nursing Jackson and does not sleep for long periods of time I agreed to watch the Oxygen channel. I fell asleep first.
I woke up at three in the morning feeling anxious. The show on the TV was infiltrating my dreams. I could hear the TV and I could not believe what I was listening to. What the hell was Lauren watching? I leaned over but she was fast asleep. I fumbled around for my glasses so I could see what the women on the television were discussing. Here is a link for the show that was on.
Apparently the Oxygen Channel turns into a sex toy QVC in the middle of the night selling various plugs and vibrators. I am not a prude but I found the whole thing disturbing. Bigfoot now has a new meaning in my dreams.
This morning, as I was writing, I told Lauren the topic of this post.
She laughed and asked, "Is that why there was Google search for Dildo on the computer?"
Monday, January 26, 2009
Always Funny
Wyatt and Maxfield were watching me prepare dinner. I pulled the tray of thick cut fries from the broiler and placed them on the counter. As I turned to close the oven door I caught my hip on the corner of the counter and I winced and yelped in pain. Both kids cracked up laughing.
To make sure the fries were done I took one off the tray and I bit into it. I winced and made a strange noise when I burnt the roof of my mouth and spit I out the fry. Maxfield and Wyatt cracked up again with some serious belly laughs.
I suddenly had a moment of clarity and discovered a universal truth. Boys will always laugh at their father getting hurt. Okay, maybe not always, but 9 out of 10 times it is funny. Once a kid gets a little older and realizes that it may be inappropriate to laugh it usually makes it that much more funny. Also there is a direct correlation of the quality of the funny based on the frustration factor of the father.
I remember my dad getting so frustrated trying to put a chain back on a bike. Sweat was dripping from his nose and he was muttering under his breath and when the chain finally caught, it caught his hand in the cog. I had to cover my mouth not to laugh out loud. It was like I had the church giggles. When he asked me to hand him a wrench, I couldn't do it, I was fighting the laughter so hard.
I sat down with Max and Wyatt to eat dinner, feeling sad because I was missing my dad (he has been gone a year now) when I had another realization. Another factor that increases the humor of a dad getting hurt is just how public the injury incident or slip and fall or hitting his hand with a hammer is.
To make sure the fries were done I took one off the tray and I bit into it. I winced and made a strange noise when I burnt the roof of my mouth and spit I out the fry. Maxfield and Wyatt cracked up again with some serious belly laughs.
I suddenly had a moment of clarity and discovered a universal truth. Boys will always laugh at their father getting hurt. Okay, maybe not always, but 9 out of 10 times it is funny. Once a kid gets a little older and realizes that it may be inappropriate to laugh it usually makes it that much more funny. Also there is a direct correlation of the quality of the funny based on the frustration factor of the father.
I remember my dad getting so frustrated trying to put a chain back on a bike. Sweat was dripping from his nose and he was muttering under his breath and when the chain finally caught, it caught his hand in the cog. I had to cover my mouth not to laugh out loud. It was like I had the church giggles. When he asked me to hand him a wrench, I couldn't do it, I was fighting the laughter so hard.
I sat down with Max and Wyatt to eat dinner, feeling sad because I was missing my dad (he has been gone a year now) when I had another realization. Another factor that increases the humor of a dad getting hurt is just how public the injury incident or slip and fall or hitting his hand with a hammer is.
Many years ago my siblings and I sent my dad to the Phillies Phantasy spring training camp in Clearwater Florida. My dad spent a week in a Phillies uniform, training and playing baseball with real pros like John Kruk and Mitch Williams. My brother Jim went down with a video camera to make sure the rest of us could see my dad in action. I think what Jim was trying to capture was the fun my dad was having playing in the big leagues. What he did catch on the video, was my dad, after hitting a single, take a header, tripping over first base. We must have watched that video a hundred times, laughing hysterically every time.
I need to get my hands on that video tape.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Only so much cool to go around
I have been thinking about a theory of mine about being cool. Cool as in hip and popular and confident.
When it was just Maxfield and Wyatt I noticed it. Now that Jackson is here I notice it even more. When it comes to brothers, there is only so much cool to go around. It is like one brother is the cool magnet and the others look like dorks.
The cool factor can shift to another brother. The coolness passes from one to the other, but never does more than one brother have the same level of being cool. One dominates and the others just do not look as good.
In an effort to illustrate my theory that one brother is always cooler than the other brothers I will use famous brothers as examples.
Jimmy Carter and Billy Carter. Being the President of the United States is cool. Being a hard drinking partyer who pisses on a runway, like a rock star, in full view of the dignitaries and the press and having a beer named after you, cooler.
Beau and Jeff Bridges- Beau is an actor who does many supporting roles for both TV and film usually playing someones dad or hard ass neighbor. Being an actor is cool. Jeff Bridges is a four time Oscar nominated actor who has been in films like Iron Man and the Contender and he played the Dude in the Big Lebowski. Cooler.
Ron Howard and Clint Howard-Ron Howard is a famous actor and Oscar winning director who has directed films such as Night Shift (one of the best films of all time), Apollo 13 and The DaVinci Code. Very Cool. Clint Howard...well..is Clint Howard.
Peyton Manning and Eli Manning- This is a good example of the coolness shifting. Both brothers are NFL quarterbacks making millions of dollars. Cool right? Except that Eli always looked like a whiny dork and Peyton always looked real smooth and funny in his TV commercials. Peyton is a future hall of fame QB with great TV commercials and he won the Super Bowl in 2007. Then the coolness shifted. In 2008 Eli won the Superbowl while Peyton looked like a dork. Then there is the other brother Cooper. Who? Cooper. That's right, the other two brothers sucked up all the coolness.
When it was just Maxfield and Wyatt I noticed it. Now that Jackson is here I notice it even more. When it comes to brothers, there is only so much cool to go around. It is like one brother is the cool magnet and the others look like dorks.
The cool factor can shift to another brother. The coolness passes from one to the other, but never does more than one brother have the same level of being cool. One dominates and the others just do not look as good.
In an effort to illustrate my theory that one brother is always cooler than the other brothers I will use famous brothers as examples.
Jimmy Carter and Billy Carter. Being the President of the United States is cool. Being a hard drinking partyer who pisses on a runway, like a rock star, in full view of the dignitaries and the press and having a beer named after you, cooler.
Beau and Jeff Bridges- Beau is an actor who does many supporting roles for both TV and film usually playing someones dad or hard ass neighbor. Being an actor is cool. Jeff Bridges is a four time Oscar nominated actor who has been in films like Iron Man and the Contender and he played the Dude in the Big Lebowski. Cooler.
Ron Howard and Clint Howard-Ron Howard is a famous actor and Oscar winning director who has directed films such as Night Shift (one of the best films of all time), Apollo 13 and The DaVinci Code. Very Cool. Clint Howard...well..is Clint Howard.
Peyton Manning and Eli Manning- This is a good example of the coolness shifting. Both brothers are NFL quarterbacks making millions of dollars. Cool right? Except that Eli always looked like a whiny dork and Peyton always looked real smooth and funny in his TV commercials. Peyton is a future hall of fame QB with great TV commercials and he won the Super Bowl in 2007. Then the coolness shifted. In 2008 Eli won the Superbowl while Peyton looked like a dork. Then there is the other brother Cooper. Who? Cooper. That's right, the other two brothers sucked up all the coolness.
Another good example of the coolness factor shifting from one brother to the next is Charlie Sheen and Emilio Estevez. While one has a breakout movie or hit TV show the other is floundering in hookers and drugs. The coolness shifts and then the other brother has a hit and the other falls off the face of the earth. It proves my theory.
There are many famous brothers and when you think of them, one sticks out in your mind over the others. Jackson 5, Osmonds, David and Shaun Cassidy, Ben and Casey Afleck, Luke and Owen Wilson, Baldwin brothers, Bacon brothers.
Looking at my own siblings the coolness theory holds true. Sure, some of us excelled at certain areas or have different talents but for the most part, only one of us was cooler than the others at any given time. There have been many shifts over the years from one brother to the next but never were any two just as cool as each other.
I know at some point, when sibling rivalry starts to get more intense, I am going to have to have this discussion with my kids.
No more than one brother can be equal cool as the other at any given time. Am I off base with this theory? I am looking for opinions and counter points.
Monday, January 19, 2009
When Santa Screws Up
The box looked cool.
I grabbed the box of Moon Sand off the shelf at Target. Santa needed one more gift for Wyatt to balance out all the gifts between the two boys. I thought to myself “Perfect. Moldable sand. A gift that is for Wyatt but that both boys can use.”
The box contained orange and red Moon Sand and a couple of molds. I read the box. It said “Molds like dough. Never dries out. Cleans up easily and won’t stick or stain.” I picked up an extra container of blue and green Moon Sand so they would have more to play with.
I showed it to Lauren when I got home from shopping. She gave me the Are you sure? look. You know the look that says “You are going to be sorry about this.” The Are you sure look is normally a precursor to the I told you so look. I told her I thought the stuff looked cool and that it would be fun to play with. She gave me the Are you sure look again and we left it at that.
A day or two after Christmas, Maxfield and Wyatt were very excited to play with the Moon Sand. As soon as I opened the first package of orange sand I knew I was in trouble. The key word in the product's name is Sand.
I repeat, SAND.
Does it mold? Sure. It molds into the fingernails of small boys. It molds into the cracks and crevices of the faux tile floor. It molds into all the wrinkles and folds of clothing.
Is it easy to clean up? Sure if you have a vacuum cleaner with a replaceable Hepa filter or a power washer that can be used indoors.
After 20 minutes of playing with, and 40 minutes of cleaning up the Moon Sand I decided the best place to store the product would be out in the garage. I put it behind the containers of gas and pesticides and weed killers. All the stuff the kids know they are not allowed to touch.
I told Lauren about the hiding spot just in case the kids ask for it again. She spared me the I told you so look.
I grabbed the box of Moon Sand off the shelf at Target. Santa needed one more gift for Wyatt to balance out all the gifts between the two boys. I thought to myself “Perfect. Moldable sand. A gift that is for Wyatt but that both boys can use.”
The box contained orange and red Moon Sand and a couple of molds. I read the box. It said “Molds like dough. Never dries out. Cleans up easily and won’t stick or stain.” I picked up an extra container of blue and green Moon Sand so they would have more to play with.
I showed it to Lauren when I got home from shopping. She gave me the Are you sure? look. You know the look that says “You are going to be sorry about this.” The Are you sure look is normally a precursor to the I told you so look. I told her I thought the stuff looked cool and that it would be fun to play with. She gave me the Are you sure look again and we left it at that.
A day or two after Christmas, Maxfield and Wyatt were very excited to play with the Moon Sand. As soon as I opened the first package of orange sand I knew I was in trouble. The key word in the product's name is Sand.
I repeat, SAND.
Does it mold? Sure. It molds into the fingernails of small boys. It molds into the cracks and crevices of the faux tile floor. It molds into all the wrinkles and folds of clothing.
Is it easy to clean up? Sure if you have a vacuum cleaner with a replaceable Hepa filter or a power washer that can be used indoors.
After 20 minutes of playing with, and 40 minutes of cleaning up the Moon Sand I decided the best place to store the product would be out in the garage. I put it behind the containers of gas and pesticides and weed killers. All the stuff the kids know they are not allowed to touch.
I told Lauren about the hiding spot just in case the kids ask for it again. She spared me the I told you so look.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Not Grumpy
Sorry that the video is side ways. This is Wyatt in his terrible twos and trying to adjust to having a new baby brother around. His mood has been somewhat challenging. For the record he is not grumpy.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Best Ever
The best pizza I have ever had was from Domino's. I know that sounds weird, since I live in the northeast part of the country where there are thousands of pizza shops that would have better pizza than Domino's, but it is true.
It was on a Thursday, the third week of June, the summer of 1988, Ocean City NJ. I was celebrating graduating from high school by spending a week at the shore with some friends. I had blown my food budget for the week by Monday and I had only consumed beer, pretzels and maybe some chips for the past three days, when I decided to take some of my beer money and buy a pizza. Domino's was the closest place. It was real good. I think my buddy Tobes and maybe Goose would agree with me.
When Lauren gave birth to Maxfield almost 5 years ago, our neighbor dropped off a plate of Chicken Cacciatore. I do not like Chicken Cacciatore but after that first night at the hospital, when I got home, I scarfed that chicken down. One of the best meals I have ever had.
I tell the first two stories because they are about meals that came at the right moment and ones I will never forget.
Just like the next one.
Our friend Lori dropped off a Lasagna on Monday. Her kindness and generosity always surprise me. Not because she is not normally kind or generous but because she is always kind and generous and nice. She truly is one of the nicest people I know. Anyway, her Lasagna, awesome.
How do I know? Besides the fact that I ate it and it was delicious, Wyatt who does not eat anything, ever, cleaned his plate and asked for seconds. And he ate the seconds. Wyatt asking for seconds is one of the highest compliments I think a chef could get. Lori, thanks for the lasagna, I need to get the recipe.
Last week I also received one of the best baby presents I think anyone could ever get. My brother John, the LawnWhisperer, brought over a bottle of vodka and a bottle of gin. His reasoning, "You already have two other boys so you don't need clothes. Jackson is never going to remember what I got him as a gift, so I did not get toys. But you and Lauren, you guys are going to need the vodka."
LW was right. Best baby gift ever.
It was on a Thursday, the third week of June, the summer of 1988, Ocean City NJ. I was celebrating graduating from high school by spending a week at the shore with some friends. I had blown my food budget for the week by Monday and I had only consumed beer, pretzels and maybe some chips for the past three days, when I decided to take some of my beer money and buy a pizza. Domino's was the closest place. It was real good. I think my buddy Tobes and maybe Goose would agree with me.
When Lauren gave birth to Maxfield almost 5 years ago, our neighbor dropped off a plate of Chicken Cacciatore. I do not like Chicken Cacciatore but after that first night at the hospital, when I got home, I scarfed that chicken down. One of the best meals I have ever had.
I tell the first two stories because they are about meals that came at the right moment and ones I will never forget.
Just like the next one.
Our friend Lori dropped off a Lasagna on Monday. Her kindness and generosity always surprise me. Not because she is not normally kind or generous but because she is always kind and generous and nice. She truly is one of the nicest people I know. Anyway, her Lasagna, awesome.
How do I know? Besides the fact that I ate it and it was delicious, Wyatt who does not eat anything, ever, cleaned his plate and asked for seconds. And he ate the seconds. Wyatt asking for seconds is one of the highest compliments I think a chef could get. Lori, thanks for the lasagna, I need to get the recipe.
Last week I also received one of the best baby presents I think anyone could ever get. My brother John, the LawnWhisperer, brought over a bottle of vodka and a bottle of gin. His reasoning, "You already have two other boys so you don't need clothes. Jackson is never going to remember what I got him as a gift, so I did not get toys. But you and Lauren, you guys are going to need the vodka."
LW was right. Best baby gift ever.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Alpha-numeric soup
Like any parent I worry about my children's education. Like most parents, I use the modern tools available to me to assist the kids with their early educational development. Tools like the television, coloring books, music, the Internet and food. All of which, I am sure, are approved by the FDA, ADA, PTA, Children's Television Workshop, and Martha Stewart.
Teaching the kids the alphabet has mostly involved the video "Here Come the ABCs" By They Might Be Giants.
After we watched that video a hundred or so times (the kids now know that gyroscope starts with the letter G, they don't know what a gyroscope is but...) we decided it was time to kick it up a notch and present the alphabet to them with food.
Maxfield and Wyatt both love tomato soup and Lauren thought that adding alphabet shaped pasta to the soup would be great for them to learn more about letters.
This mix up theory did not make sense because why would they be making pasta numbers in the first place? Who has ever heard of Numeric Soup?
The educational value of food in this country surley is slipping.
Teaching the kids the alphabet has mostly involved the video "Here Come the ABCs" By They Might Be Giants.
After we watched that video a hundred or so times (the kids now know that gyroscope starts with the letter G, they don't know what a gyroscope is but...) we decided it was time to kick it up a notch and present the alphabet to them with food.
Maxfield and Wyatt both love tomato soup and Lauren thought that adding alphabet shaped pasta to the soup would be great for them to learn more about letters.
What we learned is that the numbers 2,8,3,5,7 are all part of the alphabet. Max pointed the numbers out to us. Look at the pictures you can clearly see numbers in the Alphabet pasta. At first, I thought that maybe we were only seeing misshaped letters. That the 8 we were seeing was somehow a B or that the 5 was a squished S. After closer inspections we were able to determine that the numbers were actual numbers.
Then I thought that maybe we bought a bad batch of Alphabet pasta. That maybe someone at the pasta factory mixed up the pasta numbers with the pasta letters. But so far every box we have bought since noticing the numbers has the numbers in it.
This mix up theory did not make sense because why would they be making pasta numbers in the first place? Who has ever heard of Numeric Soup?
The educational value of food in this country surley is slipping.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
No time to write.
Jackson has been keeping us all busy. Lauren and Jackson came home on Thursday. I am amazed that after giving birth Lauren has been up and around cleaning and doing other chores. I have been trying my best pitch in and keep up with my domestic responsibilities all the while keeping Maxfield and Wyatt occupied. Jackson was not home for 5 minutes when Wyatt realized the pecking order has changed and shifted. I am now his favorite and he does not like Lauren very much at this time. I decided the best way to keep the boys busy and to get the chores done was to make the boys part of the chores.
They say if you give a boy a pancake he eats for a day. Teach a boy to make pancakes and he makes a big mess.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Now with more Boogies
Jackson Grey. Born 1-6-09 at 7:41 pm.I will let Lauren, when she is ready, tell the story over at Gigglepotamus.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Scrapple
Last Friday morning, I spent close to two and half hours talking, face to face, with two people, who before that Friday, I only knew from blogging.
I had the pleasure of meeting Bogart From P Town and his fiance Claire. They were in the Philly area doing some sightseeing and they took time to actually drive out to meet with me for coffee. I enjoyed my breakfast with Bogart and Claire. It was like seeing and hanging out with old friends. They are both brilliant people with such genuine personalities there was never an awkward moment (At least not for me. Maybe for Claire, when I mentioned the vibrating testicle). Since they were in town and they like to try new foods I suggested they try some Scrapple. I love Scrapple and I knew it was a regional "thing". I always understood that Scrapple came from "SCRAPS" of the pig.
I do not think I said or did anything embarrassing. What I mean is that I did not feel embarrassed, that is, until I got home.
Bogart emailed me a month or so ago letting me know he was going to be in the area. I knew Lauren was due to have the baby on the days Bogart was to be in town and I told him I would have to play it by ear. It turns out, that Friday morning was perfect for both of us. Once the time and place was set for the blogger meet up I realized I only had two hours to get ready. Normally 20 minutes would be all the time I would need to get ready but I have been growing a full beard and I needed to clean it up a little. I had a Charlie Manson like beard going. I did not want Bogart and Claire to think that they were meeting Ted Kaczynski or Rupert from Survivor so I decided to trim the unruly beard.
One problem: My beard trimmer was out of power and it takes a couple of hours to charge up. I did the best I could under the circumstances. I trimmed as much as I could until the battery went dead and then I let the trimmer charge for a bit more. I trimmed some more of my beard and the trimmer would die and I would have to wait another 15 minutes or so. Once you are committed to trimming your beard you have to do it all. I could not go out with only half of my face trim and clean. Also, I am in the middle of re-doing my bathroom and I clipped my beard without a mirror.
After about an hour and several jokes from Lauren about my "Man date" I decided the beard was good and I let it be. I left to go meet Bogart.
After the meeting I got home and I looked in the mirror and I realized that I did such a horrible job with the beard trimmer. There were stragglers everywhere. Long, white, unruly hairs that seemed to have a life of their own. I could only imagine what Bogart and his fiance thought. The worst part, how do I explain this, when one has a moustache, one does not need to worry too much about grooming the hairs in ones nostrils because they kinda blend in. Now if one decides to trim the moustache and forgets to trim the nose hairs...well it looks kinda of weird.
Crazy chin hairs that were three times longer than the rest of the hair on my face. I will spare you ugly picture of my nose hair and just show you a somewhat tame one below.
I had the pleasure of meeting Bogart From P Town and his fiance Claire. They were in the Philly area doing some sightseeing and they took time to actually drive out to meet with me for coffee. I enjoyed my breakfast with Bogart and Claire. It was like seeing and hanging out with old friends. They are both brilliant people with such genuine personalities there was never an awkward moment (At least not for me. Maybe for Claire, when I mentioned the vibrating testicle). Since they were in town and they like to try new foods I suggested they try some Scrapple. I love Scrapple and I knew it was a regional "thing". I always understood that Scrapple came from "SCRAPS" of the pig.
I do not think I said or did anything embarrassing. What I mean is that I did not feel embarrassed, that is, until I got home.
Bogart emailed me a month or so ago letting me know he was going to be in the area. I knew Lauren was due to have the baby on the days Bogart was to be in town and I told him I would have to play it by ear. It turns out, that Friday morning was perfect for both of us. Once the time and place was set for the blogger meet up I realized I only had two hours to get ready. Normally 20 minutes would be all the time I would need to get ready but I have been growing a full beard and I needed to clean it up a little. I had a Charlie Manson like beard going. I did not want Bogart and Claire to think that they were meeting Ted Kaczynski or Rupert from Survivor so I decided to trim the unruly beard.
One problem: My beard trimmer was out of power and it takes a couple of hours to charge up. I did the best I could under the circumstances. I trimmed as much as I could until the battery went dead and then I let the trimmer charge for a bit more. I trimmed some more of my beard and the trimmer would die and I would have to wait another 15 minutes or so. Once you are committed to trimming your beard you have to do it all. I could not go out with only half of my face trim and clean. Also, I am in the middle of re-doing my bathroom and I clipped my beard without a mirror.
After about an hour and several jokes from Lauren about my "Man date" I decided the beard was good and I let it be. I left to go meet Bogart.
After the meeting I got home and I looked in the mirror and I realized that I did such a horrible job with the beard trimmer. There were stragglers everywhere. Long, white, unruly hairs that seemed to have a life of their own. I could only imagine what Bogart and his fiance thought. The worst part, how do I explain this, when one has a moustache, one does not need to worry too much about grooming the hairs in ones nostrils because they kinda blend in. Now if one decides to trim the moustache and forgets to trim the nose hairs...well it looks kinda of weird.
Crazy chin hairs that were three times longer than the rest of the hair on my face. I will spare you ugly picture of my nose hair and just show you a somewhat tame one below.
This is Bogart and Claire before they tried the scrapple. I have sent Bogart a few emails since we met and I have not heard back from him. Maybe he figured out that you can't spell Scrapple without the word "crap".
Bogart has a great blog and you should check it out.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
A year in PRE-view
A lot of people use the New Year Holiday to reflect back on the past year and make resolutions for the new year. I have noticed that many bloggers have posted their year in review posts which highlights and links their various posts from 2008.
Me, I decided that I am going to post a Year in Pre-View. Here is a glimpse at some of the stories that I plan to post in the upcoming year. Some of the stories on the following list have already happened and I just need to write about them. Other posts on my preview list have not happened but I hope that they do in the year 2009.
The following is what the readers of Poop and Boogies will get to see in the upcoming year.
A new baby story, a guest post by my brother Anonymous, stories about me meeting other bloggers that I never met before, my 1000th post, Bathroom Begats, my 500,000 visitor, a story about me winning the lottery, Stories about Maxfield entering Kindergarten, I Could Have Been a Contender parts 4 and 5, Wyatt going to pre-school, the vibrating testicle story, being in a play, meeting someone famous, nerve conduction study, how advertisers keep asking to pay me, a book deal, lose 15 pounds, My Dad and the assistant principle, I win fantasy football, Tripling my readership, Poop and Boogies turns Four, LawnWhisperer returns, I write a screenplay, finish begatting my man space, Take photos of UFO,Bigfoot,alien,or ghost, guest post from Momo9, get invited to speak at some blog convention, win an award.
Hopefully this list will keep most of you coming back in the year 2009. I do want to offer up a heartfelt thank you to everyone that stops here on a regular basis. It is always great to see that people stop by everyday to check out what is going on. I have been blogging for close to 4 years now I still find the whole thing fascinating and fun.
Have a great year.
Me, I decided that I am going to post a Year in Pre-View. Here is a glimpse at some of the stories that I plan to post in the upcoming year. Some of the stories on the following list have already happened and I just need to write about them. Other posts on my preview list have not happened but I hope that they do in the year 2009.
The following is what the readers of Poop and Boogies will get to see in the upcoming year.
A new baby story, a guest post by my brother Anonymous, stories about me meeting other bloggers that I never met before, my 1000th post, Bathroom Begats, my 500,000 visitor, a story about me winning the lottery, Stories about Maxfield entering Kindergarten, I Could Have Been a Contender parts 4 and 5, Wyatt going to pre-school, the vibrating testicle story, being in a play, meeting someone famous, nerve conduction study, how advertisers keep asking to pay me, a book deal, lose 15 pounds, My Dad and the assistant principle, I win fantasy football, Tripling my readership, Poop and Boogies turns Four, LawnWhisperer returns, I write a screenplay, finish begatting my man space, Take photos of UFO,Bigfoot,alien,or ghost, guest post from Momo9, get invited to speak at some blog convention, win an award.
Hopefully this list will keep most of you coming back in the year 2009. I do want to offer up a heartfelt thank you to everyone that stops here on a regular basis. It is always great to see that people stop by everyday to check out what is going on. I have been blogging for close to 4 years now I still find the whole thing fascinating and fun.
Have a great year.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Warning
The warning label from one of Wyatt's Christmas gifts. For easier viewing, I think, if you click on the picture the image will get bigger.My favorite is #1. b).
Because every house has "the dusty place".
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Mostly Dissastified
I answered the phone on the second ring. I knew from the caller ID that it was a telemarketer of some kind.
"Hello. May I please speak with William?" The voice on the phone asked.
"This is William."
"I am calling on behalf of TD Bank and I wanted to ask you a few questions regarding your recent transaction."
"Is this some kind of survey?" I asked.
"Yes."
"We only use TD Bank for our car payment. Every now and then I will drop off a check at the local branch." I explained hoping to avoid the survey.
Lauren was out and Max and Wyatt were running around like wild Indians (I am sure that wild Indians is not a political correct phrase but that was what they were doing, flapping their hands over their mouths while screaming). You are probably thinking that I should have just declined to do the survey. Well I know that the person calling me is just trying to do his job. I work in sales and I am constantly using the phone and I know how difficult it is to get people to listen. Most times I will listen to a telemarketer or a survey-taker. Again they have a job to do.
::tangent::*
I used to hate getting junk mail; fliers, credit card offers, free trip offers and all of the other junk mail. I used to think junk mail was such a waste. Then one time during an email exchange I found out that one of my very dear blogger friend's husband worked in the junk mail business. I am sure they do not call it junk mail business but something like Direct Marketing. Now I look at every piece of junk mail. Why? Because it is some one's job. Not just one person but many. Somebody had to design the mail. Someone had to make the presentation and sale to their end customer to approve the final product. And, yes, a postal worker had to deliver the mail. People just trying to make living. Now, I appreciate the junk mail.
I know there are arguments out there about the environment and saving trees but I know that I have received fliers about saving the environment in junk mail form. I also know that the person who is trying to stop junk mail to save the environment, is just doing their job, and the fact that junk mail exists gives them a job. Think about it.
::end tangent::
"It will only take a few minutes of your time." The man said.
"Okay. Make it quick."
He then asked me questions about the service I received and if the tellers were friendly and if the transaction was done in a quick and timely manner. I was to answer his questions with "very satisfied", "mostly satisfied", "dissatisfied" and "Very dissatisfied" (that's what she said). I answered "mostly" to all. Every time I answered a questions I could hear him click the keys on his computer documenting my answers. The entire survey took about 8 minutes. He then asked me if there was anything I would like to add.
"Yes." I said. "The actual transaction, at the bank branch, that we were just discussing, took a total time of 3 minutes to complete. Your survey took 8 minutes. If you add these 8 minutes to the 3 minutes at the bank for one transaction, that is a total of 11 minutes, which, as far as I am concerned, is too long for one simple transaction."
There was silence on the other end of the line. I did not hear him clicking his computer.
"Excuse me?"I said.
"Yes. Sorry sir." He said. "I have been doing these surveys for a while now and that is the first time anyone has pointed that out to me. Thank you for your time."
He hung up. I felt all smug in my "11 minute bank transaction" answer. I was the first person to ever point that out. I felt pretty smart. That was the first time any one ever pointed that out...then it hit me. He was being sarcastic. And it was too late to change my answers about being satisfied.
*The Tangent style of writing is credited to MRTL and was used in accordance to all copy right and by-laws and credit, although strict written consent was not obtained prior to the posting.
"Hello. May I please speak with William?" The voice on the phone asked.
"This is William."
"I am calling on behalf of TD Bank and I wanted to ask you a few questions regarding your recent transaction."
"Is this some kind of survey?" I asked.
"Yes."
"We only use TD Bank for our car payment. Every now and then I will drop off a check at the local branch." I explained hoping to avoid the survey.
Lauren was out and Max and Wyatt were running around like wild Indians (I am sure that wild Indians is not a political correct phrase but that was what they were doing, flapping their hands over their mouths while screaming). You are probably thinking that I should have just declined to do the survey. Well I know that the person calling me is just trying to do his job. I work in sales and I am constantly using the phone and I know how difficult it is to get people to listen. Most times I will listen to a telemarketer or a survey-taker. Again they have a job to do.
::tangent::*
I used to hate getting junk mail; fliers, credit card offers, free trip offers and all of the other junk mail. I used to think junk mail was such a waste. Then one time during an email exchange I found out that one of my very dear blogger friend's husband worked in the junk mail business. I am sure they do not call it junk mail business but something like Direct Marketing. Now I look at every piece of junk mail. Why? Because it is some one's job. Not just one person but many. Somebody had to design the mail. Someone had to make the presentation and sale to their end customer to approve the final product. And, yes, a postal worker had to deliver the mail. People just trying to make living. Now, I appreciate the junk mail.
I know there are arguments out there about the environment and saving trees but I know that I have received fliers about saving the environment in junk mail form. I also know that the person who is trying to stop junk mail to save the environment, is just doing their job, and the fact that junk mail exists gives them a job. Think about it.
::end tangent::
"It will only take a few minutes of your time." The man said.
"Okay. Make it quick."
He then asked me questions about the service I received and if the tellers were friendly and if the transaction was done in a quick and timely manner. I was to answer his questions with "very satisfied", "mostly satisfied", "dissatisfied" and "Very dissatisfied" (that's what she said). I answered "mostly" to all. Every time I answered a questions I could hear him click the keys on his computer documenting my answers. The entire survey took about 8 minutes. He then asked me if there was anything I would like to add.
"Yes." I said. "The actual transaction, at the bank branch, that we were just discussing, took a total time of 3 minutes to complete. Your survey took 8 minutes. If you add these 8 minutes to the 3 minutes at the bank for one transaction, that is a total of 11 minutes, which, as far as I am concerned, is too long for one simple transaction."
There was silence on the other end of the line. I did not hear him clicking his computer.
"Excuse me?"I said.
"Yes. Sorry sir." He said. "I have been doing these surveys for a while now and that is the first time anyone has pointed that out to me. Thank you for your time."
He hung up. I felt all smug in my "11 minute bank transaction" answer. I was the first person to ever point that out. I felt pretty smart. That was the first time any one ever pointed that out...then it hit me. He was being sarcastic. And it was too late to change my answers about being satisfied.
*The Tangent style of writing is credited to MRTL and was used in accordance to all copy right and by-laws and credit, although strict written consent was not obtained prior to the posting.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Spirits of Christmas
Spirit of Christmas Past
Hard Wear
Greatest Gift
Spirit of Christmas Present
Last year Lauren trash picked some wicker rein deer. They were covered in Christmas lights and they seemed cute. She thought they would be great for our yard for our Christmas decorations for this year. That Lauren, she is always thinking ahead. I stored the wicker light covered reindeer in the garage for 6 months. I got tired of moving them every time I needed to use the mower that I eventually move the deer to the attic.
Our attic was/is packed with junk and the reindeer were jammed between an old pool table and some fireplace equipment and covered by a musty mattress. Once the holiday season arrived I took out the deer and put them in the front of our house. I did not plan to do too much with lights and I figured they would work for one year. I plugged them in with some other lights that I hung on the bushes and fence, only to find that half the lights on the deer were not working. I didn't care. I stood the deer next to a bush and was happy to have just half a lit reindeer.
The deer wouldn't stay up. Being crushed in my attic had caused the wicker legs to warp in a way that prevented them from standing straight. They kind of leaned bit. In an awkward way. Lauren called them stroke patient deer. Then two of the sets of lights I hung on the bushes went out. They were indoor lights and could not take the cold temps. Our house became a ghetto Christmas house.
Our next door neighbor asked Lauren if she wanted help fixing the deer and the lights.You know your Christmas decorations are bad when your neighbor volunteers to help you make them look nice. That means he was embarrassed for us and for himself and wanted to keep the property value up. Lauren declined his help. That night my brother Jim called me from his cell phone. He was out driving through neighborhoods with his family looking at lights. He laughed and mocked my decorating.
Spirit of Christmas Future
Both Wyatt and Maxfield asked for the I-chip for Christmas. I just can't believe that they can make an MP3 player that holds 50,000 songs the size of a thumbtack. I told them both that I would take them to have the I-chips implanted at the Piercing Pagoda. I told Max he could drive so he can get some hours in under his learner's permit. He is going to be in for a rude awakening when he has to pay for his own solar power for the car. I can't believe the price for an hour of sun is now up to 3 bucks.
Merry Christmas Everybody.
Hard Wear
Greatest Gift
Spirit of Christmas Present
Last year Lauren trash picked some wicker rein deer. They were covered in Christmas lights and they seemed cute. She thought they would be great for our yard for our Christmas decorations for this year. That Lauren, she is always thinking ahead. I stored the wicker light covered reindeer in the garage for 6 months. I got tired of moving them every time I needed to use the mower that I eventually move the deer to the attic.
Our attic was/is packed with junk and the reindeer were jammed between an old pool table and some fireplace equipment and covered by a musty mattress. Once the holiday season arrived I took out the deer and put them in the front of our house. I did not plan to do too much with lights and I figured they would work for one year. I plugged them in with some other lights that I hung on the bushes and fence, only to find that half the lights on the deer were not working. I didn't care. I stood the deer next to a bush and was happy to have just half a lit reindeer.
The deer wouldn't stay up. Being crushed in my attic had caused the wicker legs to warp in a way that prevented them from standing straight. They kind of leaned bit. In an awkward way. Lauren called them stroke patient deer. Then two of the sets of lights I hung on the bushes went out. They were indoor lights and could not take the cold temps. Our house became a ghetto Christmas house.
Our next door neighbor asked Lauren if she wanted help fixing the deer and the lights.You know your Christmas decorations are bad when your neighbor volunteers to help you make them look nice. That means he was embarrassed for us and for himself and wanted to keep the property value up. Lauren declined his help. That night my brother Jim called me from his cell phone. He was out driving through neighborhoods with his family looking at lights. He laughed and mocked my decorating.
Spirit of Christmas Future
Both Wyatt and Maxfield asked for the I-chip for Christmas. I just can't believe that they can make an MP3 player that holds 50,000 songs the size of a thumbtack. I told them both that I would take them to have the I-chips implanted at the Piercing Pagoda. I told Max he could drive so he can get some hours in under his learner's permit. He is going to be in for a rude awakening when he has to pay for his own solar power for the car. I can't believe the price for an hour of sun is now up to 3 bucks.
Merry Christmas Everybody.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Emergency Education
Max received a fire safety and emergency coloring and activity book from his pre-school. He has been working very hard on coloring all of the pages and recently he asked me for my assistance with one of the word searches. I sat next to him at the table and we searched for words like "escape" and "hazard" and "fire engine". Once we finished the search Max turned the page and the next topic was calling 9-1-1.
You hear and read stories all the time about how some 3 year old saved his grandmother because he knew how to call 9-1-1. And you are impressed that a child knew to call 9-1-1 that you forget that it must have sucked for that child to actually had to have called 9-1-1 in the first place. I figured with the activity book in front of me it would be a good time to discuss the topic with Max. I mean I could always use the coloring book as a reference guide, except I would have to solve the puzzle first in order to get guidance. Maybe they should cover this topic of calling 9-1-1 on MommyCast.
I showed Max which button to push to turn on our phone, and how to listen for the dial tone before dialing. I explained that 9-1-1 is the phone number for the police, ambulance and the fire department all at one location and he is only ever to dial 9-1-1 if there is an emergency.
"What kind of emergency?" He asked.
I looked at the activity book. "If the house was fire."
"But I am supposed to get out of the house if it is on fire and wait for you and mommy at the end of the driveway."
"Yes. You are right. If the house is on fire you just get out. Right."
Stupid activity book.
I thought for a minute and said "Just say mommy was not home, and I fell off a ladder while I was painting crown molding for the baby and I hit my head so hard that I could not wake up, that is when you should call 9-1-1."
"Only if you fall off the ladder?"
"No, but if I got hurt in any other way and I could not use the phone then you call 9-1-1."
"But you won't get hurt Dad."
"But can you imagine if I did?"
"No. You won't get hurt."
"No I won't. But just picture in your mind that I was not home and something happened to mommy and she was not okay, you could call 9-1-1."
"Mommy won't get hurt."
"But if she does..."
Max cut me off, "I don't want to call 9-1-1."
I could tell I was scaring him and I decided on a different approach. I did not want him to have nightmares about Lauren or I getting hurt. Maybe I was throwing too much at him, asking to imagine his parents being hurt and all. But I also wanted him to be okay with calling 9-1-1. Again, the coloring book was offering no help.
I pointed to our neighbors shed. "Do you see that shed out there? If that shed was on fire, you should call 9-1-1."
"That shed?" Maxfield asked and pointed in the backyard.
"Yes."
"How would that shed catch fire?"
"That doesn't matter..."
Max cut me off. "Oh I know. If a dragon sneezes on that shed then, then I will call 9-1-1."
I hope and pray that we have no serious accidents at our house, but if we do, I hope they are caused by dragons.
You hear and read stories all the time about how some 3 year old saved his grandmother because he knew how to call 9-1-1. And you are impressed that a child knew to call 9-1-1 that you forget that it must have sucked for that child to actually had to have called 9-1-1 in the first place. I figured with the activity book in front of me it would be a good time to discuss the topic with Max. I mean I could always use the coloring book as a reference guide, except I would have to solve the puzzle first in order to get guidance. Maybe they should cover this topic of calling 9-1-1 on MommyCast.
I showed Max which button to push to turn on our phone, and how to listen for the dial tone before dialing. I explained that 9-1-1 is the phone number for the police, ambulance and the fire department all at one location and he is only ever to dial 9-1-1 if there is an emergency.
"What kind of emergency?" He asked.
I looked at the activity book. "If the house was fire."
"But I am supposed to get out of the house if it is on fire and wait for you and mommy at the end of the driveway."
"Yes. You are right. If the house is on fire you just get out. Right."
Stupid activity book.
I thought for a minute and said "Just say mommy was not home, and I fell off a ladder while I was painting crown molding for the baby and I hit my head so hard that I could not wake up, that is when you should call 9-1-1."
"Only if you fall off the ladder?"
"No, but if I got hurt in any other way and I could not use the phone then you call 9-1-1."
"But you won't get hurt Dad."
"But can you imagine if I did?"
"No. You won't get hurt."
"No I won't. But just picture in your mind that I was not home and something happened to mommy and she was not okay, you could call 9-1-1."
"Mommy won't get hurt."
"But if she does..."
Max cut me off, "I don't want to call 9-1-1."
I could tell I was scaring him and I decided on a different approach. I did not want him to have nightmares about Lauren or I getting hurt. Maybe I was throwing too much at him, asking to imagine his parents being hurt and all. But I also wanted him to be okay with calling 9-1-1. Again, the coloring book was offering no help.
I pointed to our neighbors shed. "Do you see that shed out there? If that shed was on fire, you should call 9-1-1."
"That shed?" Maxfield asked and pointed in the backyard.
"Yes."
"How would that shed catch fire?"
"That doesn't matter..."
Max cut me off. "Oh I know. If a dragon sneezes on that shed then, then I will call 9-1-1."
I hope and pray that we have no serious accidents at our house, but if we do, I hope they are caused by dragons.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Portraits
Wyatt Blue-age 2.5years-Happy go lucky kid with a great personality.
Maxfield Alexandre-Age 4.75. Handsome and smart with a great sense of humor.
William-Age 5-DORK.Monday, December 15, 2008
Inflated Ego
I was standing in the customer service line at the Toys’R’ Us, waiting to exchange a toy, when I felt someone touch my arm and say. “You’re Bill M, aren't you?"
“Yes.” I said as I turned to greet a smiling face. “And how do you know that?” I asked.
“I am Mrs. P. Paul and Gina’s mom.”
“Oh. Hi. How are you?” I think I shook her hand but maybe I didn't.
I went to school with both Paul and Gina and I worked with Paul for a few years. I was not sure how she recognized me though. I could understand that she knew me as one of my family but not Bill specifically. I only recalled ever being at their house once, when I was on the same “illegal” scavenger hunt team as Gina. And that was when I was a sophomore in high school. I use the word “illegal” because that was what the cops told us, but they never arrested any of us.
“I just want to tell you. I just love your blog.”
I smiled from ear to ear, my hat size increasing by two sizes. “Thank you.” I replied. She recognized me from Poop and Boogies. I felt pseudo-famous.
“I read it every day.”
“Thank you. Really.” I started to blush.
“Paul told me about it when your father passed away. I went and read it from the beginning. It really is a wonderful thing you do.”
My head size grew some more.
We talked about my dad, her son Paul as well as some other mutual acquaintances. We talked about the blog some more. She asked how Lauren was feeling and she told me she read her blog as well. She asked me how my reunion was why hadn't I posted anything about it yet. There were people milling about us because I was in line, it was not a really a line but more or less people standing in a group waiting for the customer service desk. I let a few people jump ahead of my turn so i could continue my conversation.
“It is just a joy to read.” She said.
Her cell phone rang and she answered it. “Hello.”
“It’s Gina.” She said to me and then said into the phone. “You’ll never guess who I am talking too. Bill M. Yes. Yes, yes I told him. I will call you back.” She hung up the phone. “She asked me if I told you that you are one of my favorite people.”
I blushed some more and I started to try and figure out how I was going to get my overblown noggin out the automatic sliding doors.
We chatted a bit more and she complimented the blog again. I told her it felt weird being recognized for the blog and I apologized if I had bad breath because I was not expecting to run into anyone. She assured me I did not have bad breath but she may have been just being nice and she left.
I waited a few more minutes before I stepped up to the group of people now waiting in line. I was smiling because of how cool it was that Mrs. P told me she enjoyed the blog and that I was recognized. I was kind of in my own little world when I felt some one tap my shoulder.
“Excuse me,” I heard over my right shoulder. “Are you…”
I turned quickly and said, “Yes…I’m..” and I was totally prepared to say Bill from Poop and Boogies because I was sure whoever was trying to get my attention overheard my conversation with Mrs. P.
And they finished with, “…in line for the customer service desk?”
Ego deflated.
Thanks Mrs. P for reading. It was great to see you and thanks for making my day on Saturday.
“Yes.” I said as I turned to greet a smiling face. “And how do you know that?” I asked.
“I am Mrs. P. Paul and Gina’s mom.”
“Oh. Hi. How are you?” I think I shook her hand but maybe I didn't.
I went to school with both Paul and Gina and I worked with Paul for a few years. I was not sure how she recognized me though. I could understand that she knew me as one of my family but not Bill specifically. I only recalled ever being at their house once, when I was on the same “illegal” scavenger hunt team as Gina. And that was when I was a sophomore in high school. I use the word “illegal” because that was what the cops told us, but they never arrested any of us.
“I just want to tell you. I just love your blog.”
I smiled from ear to ear, my hat size increasing by two sizes. “Thank you.” I replied. She recognized me from Poop and Boogies. I felt pseudo-famous.
“I read it every day.”
“Thank you. Really.” I started to blush.
“Paul told me about it when your father passed away. I went and read it from the beginning. It really is a wonderful thing you do.”
My head size grew some more.
We talked about my dad, her son Paul as well as some other mutual acquaintances. We talked about the blog some more. She asked how Lauren was feeling and she told me she read her blog as well. She asked me how my reunion was why hadn't I posted anything about it yet. There were people milling about us because I was in line, it was not a really a line but more or less people standing in a group waiting for the customer service desk. I let a few people jump ahead of my turn so i could continue my conversation.
“It is just a joy to read.” She said.
Her cell phone rang and she answered it. “Hello.”
“It’s Gina.” She said to me and then said into the phone. “You’ll never guess who I am talking too. Bill M. Yes. Yes, yes I told him. I will call you back.” She hung up the phone. “She asked me if I told you that you are one of my favorite people.”
I blushed some more and I started to try and figure out how I was going to get my overblown noggin out the automatic sliding doors.
We chatted a bit more and she complimented the blog again. I told her it felt weird being recognized for the blog and I apologized if I had bad breath because I was not expecting to run into anyone. She assured me I did not have bad breath but she may have been just being nice and she left.
I waited a few more minutes before I stepped up to the group of people now waiting in line. I was smiling because of how cool it was that Mrs. P told me she enjoyed the blog and that I was recognized. I was kind of in my own little world when I felt some one tap my shoulder.
“Excuse me,” I heard over my right shoulder. “Are you…”
I turned quickly and said, “Yes…I’m..” and I was totally prepared to say Bill from Poop and Boogies because I was sure whoever was trying to get my attention overheard my conversation with Mrs. P.
And they finished with, “…in line for the customer service desk?”
Ego deflated.
Thanks Mrs. P for reading. It was great to see you and thanks for making my day on Saturday.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Brain
Wearing a green blanket over my head turns me into the sea monster. I was battling Spiderman and Spiderman's helper. Spiderman does not have a sidekick and since they both can't be Spiderman, Wyatt's default superhero is Spiderman's helper.
As I, the sea monster, wrestled the superheroes I would threaten to eat their ears or their belly buttons or toes. The only way the two Spidermen could defeat the sea monster was by pulling the green blanket away, which would turn me back to a normal person. I took down Spiderman #1 and pinned his shoulders to the ground.
"Unless your helper saves you, I am going to suck your brains out through your ear." I rasped as I leaned in and made slurping noises next to Spiderman's ears.
He giggled and yelled, "Wyatt save me."
"It is no use Spiderman. He is distracted by the TV." I growled. " And now I am going to eat your brains."
"Stop." Max said. Not Spiderman but Max. He was very serious."You can't do that."
"Can't do what?"
"Eat my brains."
"Yes I can."
"No. You. Can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I only have one brain. You keep saying brains." Max stressed the "s" at the end. "I don't have more than one."
As I, the sea monster, wrestled the superheroes I would threaten to eat their ears or their belly buttons or toes. The only way the two Spidermen could defeat the sea monster was by pulling the green blanket away, which would turn me back to a normal person. I took down Spiderman #1 and pinned his shoulders to the ground.
"Unless your helper saves you, I am going to suck your brains out through your ear." I rasped as I leaned in and made slurping noises next to Spiderman's ears.
He giggled and yelled, "Wyatt save me."
"It is no use Spiderman. He is distracted by the TV." I growled. " And now I am going to eat your brains."
"Stop." Max said. Not Spiderman but Max. He was very serious."You can't do that."
"Can't do what?"
"Eat my brains."
"Yes I can."
"No. You. Can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I only have one brain. You keep saying brains." Max stressed the "s" at the end. "I don't have more than one."
Proud Father Moment
My brothers, at Thanksgiving, teaching Maxfield how to play Craps. He made his point his first time rolling the bones.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Mother's Ring
I don't know if I was told, or if I read it somewhere, or if I just made it up, that the father of a new baby is supposed to get the new mother a gift after she delivers the baby. I guess the gift is kind of like a "There you go. Good job. Atta girl." type of gift. Somewhat like a trophy. (Now that I think about it, a trophy would have been an awesome gift. I wonder if they make delivery/labor trophies. I may be on to something. A gold plated women in stir-ups on top of a marble base with a shiny etched plate that reads "#1 Pusher." I need to remember this.) I decided to go with a Mother's Ring.
The typical Mother's Ring has the birthstone of the child in it. I wanted to have the ring to be able to give it to Lauren while she was in the hospital. Maxfield's due date was February 29th. February's stone is Amethyst. There was a good chance Max would be born in March, which the stone is Aquamarine. I wanted to be prepared so I went to the jeweler and ordered two rings with the understanding that I would be returning the one I did not need. Max was born in March.
Wyatt was due mid June and I felt fairly safe to order a ring with an Alexandrite stone. We were in Florida at the time and I went to one of those jewelry stores in the mall. I explained to the young girl that I was looking for a Mother's Ring with Alexandrite. She showed me all kinds of fancy settings with Diamond encrusted this and that and super duper brushed gold with a Illudium pu-36 explosive space modulator. The cost of the rings she showed me were more than what I paid for for Lauren's engagement ring.
"I would like a plain ring setting." I said.
"You want a plane ring?"
"Yes. Just plain. With a stone on top."
"I am not sure we have something like that." she said.
"I do not want something too gaudy. My wife would not like that. Nothing too complicated. Just a plain ring."
"I could see if they could make a custom plane ring for you." She was being very helpful.
"I don't get it. Why would a plain ring be custom?" I asked.
"Well we do not carry anything that looks like a plane."
"What?"
"You want a ring that looks like a plane, right?"
"No. I want a PLAIN ring. Plain as in simple. As in not too much bells and whistles."
"I am sorry but we do not have any bell rings either."
This conversation went in circles until I grabbed a catalog and showed the girl a picture of what I wanted.
Lauren is not one for too much jewelery. With the third kid coming she did not really want a third ring. It would be too much on her fingers. I needed to find a ring where I could have all three stones in the setting. Around the time we were discussing the ring I received an email from this company . The email was not spam. Apparently someone there reads my blog and knew I would be in the need of a Mother's ring soon. We exchanged some emails back and forth and their website makes it easy to build any type of multi-stoned ring.
I added the link to my side bar so I could find them when it came time for me to actually order the ring, which, will be soon. I am having fun mixing and matching various stones and settings, although they do not have an airplane style ring. The new baby is due January 4th. Lauren could go early so I am not going to order the ring until I know for sure what stone I need to get. Try it. Mother's Rings.
Now I am going to have to google search birthing trophies.
The typical Mother's Ring has the birthstone of the child in it. I wanted to have the ring to be able to give it to Lauren while she was in the hospital. Maxfield's due date was February 29th. February's stone is Amethyst. There was a good chance Max would be born in March, which the stone is Aquamarine. I wanted to be prepared so I went to the jeweler and ordered two rings with the understanding that I would be returning the one I did not need. Max was born in March.
Wyatt was due mid June and I felt fairly safe to order a ring with an Alexandrite stone. We were in Florida at the time and I went to one of those jewelry stores in the mall. I explained to the young girl that I was looking for a Mother's Ring with Alexandrite. She showed me all kinds of fancy settings with Diamond encrusted this and that and super duper brushed gold with a Illudium pu-36 explosive space modulator. The cost of the rings she showed me were more than what I paid for for Lauren's engagement ring.
"I would like a plain ring setting." I said.
"You want a plane ring?"
"Yes. Just plain. With a stone on top."
"I am not sure we have something like that." she said.
"I do not want something too gaudy. My wife would not like that. Nothing too complicated. Just a plain ring."
"I could see if they could make a custom plane ring for you." She was being very helpful.
"I don't get it. Why would a plain ring be custom?" I asked.
"Well we do not carry anything that looks like a plane."
"What?"
"You want a ring that looks like a plane, right?"
"No. I want a PLAIN ring. Plain as in simple. As in not too much bells and whistles."
"I am sorry but we do not have any bell rings either."
This conversation went in circles until I grabbed a catalog and showed the girl a picture of what I wanted.
Lauren is not one for too much jewelery. With the third kid coming she did not really want a third ring. It would be too much on her fingers. I needed to find a ring where I could have all three stones in the setting. Around the time we were discussing the ring I received an email from this company . The email was not spam. Apparently someone there reads my blog and knew I would be in the need of a Mother's ring soon. We exchanged some emails back and forth and their website makes it easy to build any type of multi-stoned ring.
I added the link to my side bar so I could find them when it came time for me to actually order the ring, which, will be soon. I am having fun mixing and matching various stones and settings, although they do not have an airplane style ring. The new baby is due January 4th. Lauren could go early so I am not going to order the ring until I know for sure what stone I need to get. Try it. Mother's Rings.
Now I am going to have to google search birthing trophies.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Last Year- Miscarriage
Last year Lauren had a miscarriage. It was her second one. All miscarriages suck, but the one she went through last year was worse than the first one she had a few years ago. What made it worse was the fact that we actually got to see the baby's heartbeat and ghost like images and shape on an ultrasound just a few days before the miscarriage.
She was 9 weeks along in the pregnancy when Lauren felt a little strange and there was some spotting. We immediately went to the doctor and they gave her the ultrasound and assured us everything was okay. They said they were 95 percent positive everything was fine. That was a Friday.
The following Monday I went out of town for a few days. I was on I-4, heading to Tampa Florida when I got a phone call that Wednesday. Lauren called to let me know that she knew something was happening and needed to go to the hospital. She needed to arrange a sitter for the kids and her mom was going to the hospital with her. I was 1000 miles away and was helpless. The sad reality about a miscarriage though is that everyone is helpless. There is nothing anyone can do.
I spent the rest of that day and night calling every half hour for an update. It was early evening when Lauren called me back to break the news. We lost the baby.
Did you see what I just did? I used the words, her and she when talking about the miscarriage but I used the word we when talking about the loss. That is just not fair. I did not get it at the time. When Lauren had her first miscarriage back in the fall 05 I was somewhat detached. Yes it sucked and I did what I could, but I just didn't get it. A few days after that first miscarriage, my dad called me and said, "Bill, make sure you mourn for that baby. Not for your wife or anyone else, but for yourself." I didn't get it.
The one last year. I still didn't get it. I flew home on Thursday and spent the next few days doing my best to help Lauren. I was sad for her but the whole situation still did not affect me to any extreme.
I know there is a lot doubt and regret and guilt that goes through a woman's mind when she has a miscarriage. "Maybe I should have taken it easy, this would not have happened." "Maybe I should have stopped drinking tea." "If only I would have eaten a bit healthier."
The thoughts are endless. These thoughts, combined with actual physical discharge of the baby as well as hormonal changes, can have a very dramatic effect on a woman. A man does not get it and never truly will.
A week after the miscarriage Lauren's father died. Three weeks after that, my father died. Somewhere in between all of that we had two boys to tend to and Christmas and work and, well, life. Lauren and I stayed positive through all of that. We usually do. I am a firm believer of casting away negative thoughts. But we kept looking for meaning in all the sad events.
One night, while talking about losing the baby, while I still didn't get it, Lauren said to me, "Bill, I can't stop thinking about the baby."
I tried to tell her there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. That is what everyone says. That is the cliché. That is supposed to be positive and take away the "woulda coulda shouldas".
Lauren then said something that I will never forget. Something that made me actually get it. Something that brought me to kind of understanding of a woman's thoughts when they have a miscarriage. She said:
"In some cultures and spiritual practices they believe that a baby chooses it's parents. I can't help but feel what is wrong with us as parents that this baby chose not to be with us."
I finally got it.
I started to question myself. I started to have doubt and regret and guilt. My thoughts were endless. "Maybe I am too hard on the kids. Maybe I am not a good role model. Maybe I am not cut out to have three kids. Maybe I don't deserve to have more. Why would this baby not want to be with me?"
I got it. And somewhere in between mourning for my dad and Lauren's dad and tending to the boys and work and life, I mourned for that baby we lost. I came to terms with the fact that we had a miscarriage. That it was our second one.
This year, December 2008, we are expecting our third boy. We are happy. Things are good. I have said it before, I am the luckiest and that too, I get.
She was 9 weeks along in the pregnancy when Lauren felt a little strange and there was some spotting. We immediately went to the doctor and they gave her the ultrasound and assured us everything was okay. They said they were 95 percent positive everything was fine. That was a Friday.
The following Monday I went out of town for a few days. I was on I-4, heading to Tampa Florida when I got a phone call that Wednesday. Lauren called to let me know that she knew something was happening and needed to go to the hospital. She needed to arrange a sitter for the kids and her mom was going to the hospital with her. I was 1000 miles away and was helpless. The sad reality about a miscarriage though is that everyone is helpless. There is nothing anyone can do.
I spent the rest of that day and night calling every half hour for an update. It was early evening when Lauren called me back to break the news. We lost the baby.
Did you see what I just did? I used the words, her and she when talking about the miscarriage but I used the word we when talking about the loss. That is just not fair. I did not get it at the time. When Lauren had her first miscarriage back in the fall 05 I was somewhat detached. Yes it sucked and I did what I could, but I just didn't get it. A few days after that first miscarriage, my dad called me and said, "Bill, make sure you mourn for that baby. Not for your wife or anyone else, but for yourself." I didn't get it.
The one last year. I still didn't get it. I flew home on Thursday and spent the next few days doing my best to help Lauren. I was sad for her but the whole situation still did not affect me to any extreme.
I know there is a lot doubt and regret and guilt that goes through a woman's mind when she has a miscarriage. "Maybe I should have taken it easy, this would not have happened." "Maybe I should have stopped drinking tea." "If only I would have eaten a bit healthier."
The thoughts are endless. These thoughts, combined with actual physical discharge of the baby as well as hormonal changes, can have a very dramatic effect on a woman. A man does not get it and never truly will.
A week after the miscarriage Lauren's father died. Three weeks after that, my father died. Somewhere in between all of that we had two boys to tend to and Christmas and work and, well, life. Lauren and I stayed positive through all of that. We usually do. I am a firm believer of casting away negative thoughts. But we kept looking for meaning in all the sad events.
One night, while talking about losing the baby, while I still didn't get it, Lauren said to me, "Bill, I can't stop thinking about the baby."
I tried to tell her there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. That is what everyone says. That is the cliché. That is supposed to be positive and take away the "woulda coulda shouldas".
Lauren then said something that I will never forget. Something that made me actually get it. Something that brought me to kind of understanding of a woman's thoughts when they have a miscarriage. She said:
"In some cultures and spiritual practices they believe that a baby chooses it's parents. I can't help but feel what is wrong with us as parents that this baby chose not to be with us."
I finally got it.
I started to question myself. I started to have doubt and regret and guilt. My thoughts were endless. "Maybe I am too hard on the kids. Maybe I am not a good role model. Maybe I am not cut out to have three kids. Maybe I don't deserve to have more. Why would this baby not want to be with me?"
I got it. And somewhere in between mourning for my dad and Lauren's dad and tending to the boys and work and life, I mourned for that baby we lost. I came to terms with the fact that we had a miscarriage. That it was our second one.
This year, December 2008, we are expecting our third boy. We are happy. Things are good. I have said it before, I am the luckiest and that too, I get.
Friday, December 05, 2008
Naming the baby
People are asking Lauren and I if we have decided on a name for the baby. Our answer is and was with Maxfield and Wyatt, "We are not telling." Or I tell them we are leaning towards d'Artagnan*, Dart for short, from the Three Musketeers but Lauren needs some convincing.
When we were expecting Maxfield, the name we originally thought to give him was Westley. We made the mistake of telling my Mom, who then rolled her eyes and told us she did not like that name.
"Wesley?" She asked.
"No. Westley."
"Wesley? Wesley? Oh I don't like that." She said.
"Why?"
"It makes me think of Wesley Snipes and I don't like him." She said.
I explained to her the name Westley was from the Princess Bride. Which then made her chuckle and roll her eyes some more. I think she confused the character with Andre the Giant. The conversation ruined the name for us and we went with our second choice. After Maxfield was born and we told her his name. When she heard the name Maxfield, I think at that time, she started to prefer Westley. We explained the inspiration behind the name was Maxfield Parrish, the early 1900s painter, which caused her to giggle. Of course, as with all grandmothers, after meeting him, she was fine with his name.
When Lauren was pregnant with Wyatt, we kept his name a secret. We did not want anyone to ruin the name for us. Wyatt's name is inspired from N.C. and Andrew Wyeth. But since we did not want everyone thinking the kid could not pronounce his name, or that he had a speech problem, we went with Wyatt.
This next baby's name we are keeping a secret as well. It will be inspired though. Most of my family thinks I am weird for giving my kids names that have meaning to my wife and I.
The other day we were at my Mom's house and she asked us about names. We told her the ones that we ruled out and she rolled her eyes and scoffed at our choices. Basically making fun of our choices. As she was talking I remembered a story my dad told me about the night my mom went into labor with their second child, my brother Dennis.
My mom and dad were driving to the hospital and and the song Monday, Monday by the Mama's and the Papas, came on the radio. It also just happened to be a Monday. My mom turned to my dad and said something to the extent of, "Oh Skip, this is a sign. If this baby is a girl we have to name her Monday."
My father usually ended the story by saying "I never prayed so hard for a boy in all my life. I think I prayed so hard for a boy that is why the next 7 were boys."
When we were expecting Maxfield, the name we originally thought to give him was Westley. We made the mistake of telling my Mom, who then rolled her eyes and told us she did not like that name.
"Wesley?" She asked.
"No. Westley."
"Wesley? Wesley? Oh I don't like that." She said.
"Why?"
"It makes me think of Wesley Snipes and I don't like him." She said.
I explained to her the name Westley was from the Princess Bride. Which then made her chuckle and roll her eyes some more. I think she confused the character with Andre the Giant. The conversation ruined the name for us and we went with our second choice. After Maxfield was born and we told her his name. When she heard the name Maxfield, I think at that time, she started to prefer Westley. We explained the inspiration behind the name was Maxfield Parrish, the early 1900s painter, which caused her to giggle. Of course, as with all grandmothers, after meeting him, she was fine with his name.
When Lauren was pregnant with Wyatt, we kept his name a secret. We did not want anyone to ruin the name for us. Wyatt's name is inspired from N.C. and Andrew Wyeth. But since we did not want everyone thinking the kid could not pronounce his name, or that he had a speech problem, we went with Wyatt.
This next baby's name we are keeping a secret as well. It will be inspired though. Most of my family thinks I am weird for giving my kids names that have meaning to my wife and I.
The other day we were at my Mom's house and she asked us about names. We told her the ones that we ruled out and she rolled her eyes and scoffed at our choices. Basically making fun of our choices. As she was talking I remembered a story my dad told me about the night my mom went into labor with their second child, my brother Dennis.
My mom and dad were driving to the hospital and and the song Monday, Monday by the Mama's and the Papas, came on the radio. It also just happened to be a Monday. My mom turned to my dad and said something to the extent of, "Oh Skip, this is a sign. If this baby is a girl we have to name her Monday."
My father usually ended the story by saying "I never prayed so hard for a boy in all my life. I think I prayed so hard for a boy that is why the next 7 were boys."
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Vacation
I am on vacation this week. I took some time off to get some home projects done before the baby arrives. Basically, I am doing some baby begatting. Okay, I know that sounds very ...well...whatever...you know what I mean.
So far, I have cleaned the attic and garage and I have painted the foyer and stairway and all the trim. I also painted all the crown molding in our foyer.
I so know the baby will come home from the hospital and the first thing he will notice is the crown molding.
I know this whole process is called nesting, but I also know I have never seen a bird's nest with crown molding.
By the way Lauren has a funny post up at Gigglepotamus.
So far, I have cleaned the attic and garage and I have painted the foyer and stairway and all the trim. I also painted all the crown molding in our foyer.
I so know the baby will come home from the hospital and the first thing he will notice is the crown molding.
I know this whole process is called nesting, but I also know I have never seen a bird's nest with crown molding.
By the way Lauren has a funny post up at Gigglepotamus.
Monday, December 01, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Inspiration and Thanks.
Happy Thanksgiving!
I am taking a few days off from the blog to enjoy the holiday, to spend time with family and friends, enjoy my 20 year reunion, nurse a potential hangover and be thankful.
I am very thankful for all of the people who stop by Poop and Boogies. Seriously, thank you for reading. It means a lot to me. I know most who stop by here do not leave comments but, could you do me a favor, and de-lurk this week and tell me what Blogs you are thankful for.
Here a few blogs that I am thankful for. Each is different and each one inspires me. Some are funny, some are insightful, some are so well written you can't help by be inspired by the style and voice of the author and some are just by inspiring people. The thing that draws me to most of the blogs that I read is that you can sense the positive vibes from the authors. Go read a few and leave them a comment that I sent you.
Bogart
Cat
Eclectic
Gigglepotamus
GreebleMonkey
Lois
Bossy
Klog
Mrtl
Circus Kelli
Oh the Joys
Rude Cactus
Doc Ern
What Was I Thinking (Turkey Post is up again)
Susie
Kettle
I Wright
April
Sarah
Mr. Big Dubya
JP
Donovan Quads
I am taking a few days off from the blog to enjoy the holiday, to spend time with family and friends, enjoy my 20 year reunion, nurse a potential hangover and be thankful.
I am very thankful for all of the people who stop by Poop and Boogies. Seriously, thank you for reading. It means a lot to me. I know most who stop by here do not leave comments but, could you do me a favor, and de-lurk this week and tell me what Blogs you are thankful for.
Here a few blogs that I am thankful for. Each is different and each one inspires me. Some are funny, some are insightful, some are so well written you can't help by be inspired by the style and voice of the author and some are just by inspiring people. The thing that draws me to most of the blogs that I read is that you can sense the positive vibes from the authors. Go read a few and leave them a comment that I sent you.
Bogart
Cat
Eclectic
Gigglepotamus
GreebleMonkey
Lois
Bossy
Klog
Mrtl
Circus Kelli
Oh the Joys
Rude Cactus
Doc Ern
What Was I Thinking (Turkey Post is up again)
Susie
Kettle
I Wright
April
Sarah
Mr. Big Dubya
JP
Donovan Quads
Magic word
I find it amazing that my kids think that the word please is a truly a magic word.
When Maxfield and Wyatt ask for something and they forget their manners, Lauren and I remind them to use the word please.
We do not teach them to use please by asking "What's the magic word?" Lauren and I, instead say something like "How should you ask?" or "There is a nicer way to ask for something." Hoping they pick up on the fact that they forgot to use the word please. It usually works.
Here is the magic part. When either of the them ask for something and the answer is "NO", they immediately say please, hoping that by saying the word please will change the answer.
Wyatt finishes his bag of M&Ms, and he asks for more.
"No Wyatt. That was the last of them."
"Pwease."
"No buddy. There are no more."
"Pwease."
"Wyatt. They are all gone. There are no more."
"PWEASE. I said Pwease?"
By repeating the word "please" as well as increasing the volume when saying it, Wyatt thinks, that magically, more M&Ms will appear.
When Maxfield and Wyatt ask for something and they forget their manners, Lauren and I remind them to use the word please.
We do not teach them to use please by asking "What's the magic word?" Lauren and I, instead say something like "How should you ask?" or "There is a nicer way to ask for something." Hoping they pick up on the fact that they forgot to use the word please. It usually works.
Here is the magic part. When either of the them ask for something and the answer is "NO", they immediately say please, hoping that by saying the word please will change the answer.
Wyatt finishes his bag of M&Ms, and he asks for more.
"No Wyatt. That was the last of them."
"Pwease."
"No buddy. There are no more."
"Pwease."
"Wyatt. They are all gone. There are no more."
"PWEASE. I said Pwease?"
By repeating the word "please" as well as increasing the volume when saying it, Wyatt thinks, that magically, more M&Ms will appear.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Awkward Hugs
I use to work at a pretty popular nightclub in the 90's. I managed the place with my brother (the one who always comments here as Anonymous). He was the big Mahoff and I was the little Mahoff. Besides the day to day operations we both worked the front door on most nights as, for lack of a better description, glorified greeters.
We greeted everyone. Frome Hollywood movie stars to hookers, from Atletes to the bus boys who worked at the local restaurants. We treated everyone the same. The club had a very large Italian clientele as well and we soon both learned the European greeting of kissing both cheeks of the guest. Including the male customers.
It usually went something like this. The guest would walk to the front door and upon seeing me or my bother would raise his arms as if waiting for a hug and would say "YO, How you doin? This place bumpin tonight? Or what?" The guest would then lower his hand to shake my hand and then hug me with the other arm and then kiss both of my cheeks. I would kind of make the kissing noise to both of his cheeks and then the person would enter the club.
At first, it was uncomfortable, since we were Irish boys from the suburbs and somewhat out of our element, but after a while we got used to it.
My brother and I must have done this European gretting at least 150 to 200 times a night. 4 to 5 nights a week.
After doing this for about a year my brother took a night off to go out with his wife and another couple they had not seen in a few years. My brother, out of habbit, greeted the husband of the other couple by hugging him and kissing both of his cheeks.
Apparently the guy was little freaked out by my brother's affection.
I keep thinking of this story because my 20 year reunion is next week.
I see my group of friends about every two months. When I see some of my guy friends I still give them a handshake and a "Bro Hug".
When I see my female friends, sometimes it is a kiss on the cheek, and sometimes it is a hug. But most times we do that awkward dance of where they lean in for what appears to be a kiss on the cheek. And so I lean in to return the kiss to their cheek but then realize they were just leaning in for a hug and it becomes an awkward moment of suspended animation. I have a split second to figure out if I should stay committed to the kiss on their cheek and end up kissing their ear. Or change direction and give them the half hearted hug. It freaks me out all the time. And part of me knows that it freaks them out too. I think Ali and L Mac know what I am talking about.
Recently, I made the decision that I would just give my female friends a kiss on the cheek. It is easier. They do not have to stand to greet me, if the are already seated and I can just lean in and give them a peck. But some of them are still huggers and awkwardness continues. But now I am committed to the kiss and can stay on target.
But now with the Reunion around the corner I know that I will be seeing people I have not seen in 10 years. Some of them were people I was very close to both men and women. Are they huggers? Kissers? Or are they just firm handshakers? I can see many awkward moments happening. I need to come up with an official greeting.
What are you? A hugger? Kisser?
We greeted everyone. Frome Hollywood movie stars to hookers, from Atletes to the bus boys who worked at the local restaurants. We treated everyone the same. The club had a very large Italian clientele as well and we soon both learned the European greeting of kissing both cheeks of the guest. Including the male customers.
It usually went something like this. The guest would walk to the front door and upon seeing me or my bother would raise his arms as if waiting for a hug and would say "YO, How you doin? This place bumpin tonight? Or what?" The guest would then lower his hand to shake my hand and then hug me with the other arm and then kiss both of my cheeks. I would kind of make the kissing noise to both of his cheeks and then the person would enter the club.
At first, it was uncomfortable, since we were Irish boys from the suburbs and somewhat out of our element, but after a while we got used to it.
My brother and I must have done this European gretting at least 150 to 200 times a night. 4 to 5 nights a week.
After doing this for about a year my brother took a night off to go out with his wife and another couple they had not seen in a few years. My brother, out of habbit, greeted the husband of the other couple by hugging him and kissing both of his cheeks.
Apparently the guy was little freaked out by my brother's affection.
I keep thinking of this story because my 20 year reunion is next week.
I see my group of friends about every two months. When I see some of my guy friends I still give them a handshake and a "Bro Hug".
When I see my female friends, sometimes it is a kiss on the cheek, and sometimes it is a hug. But most times we do that awkward dance of where they lean in for what appears to be a kiss on the cheek. And so I lean in to return the kiss to their cheek but then realize they were just leaning in for a hug and it becomes an awkward moment of suspended animation. I have a split second to figure out if I should stay committed to the kiss on their cheek and end up kissing their ear. Or change direction and give them the half hearted hug. It freaks me out all the time. And part of me knows that it freaks them out too. I think Ali and L Mac know what I am talking about.
Recently, I made the decision that I would just give my female friends a kiss on the cheek. It is easier. They do not have to stand to greet me, if the are already seated and I can just lean in and give them a peck. But some of them are still huggers and awkwardness continues. But now I am committed to the kiss and can stay on target.
But now with the Reunion around the corner I know that I will be seeing people I have not seen in 10 years. Some of them were people I was very close to both men and women. Are they huggers? Kissers? Or are they just firm handshakers? I can see many awkward moments happening. I need to come up with an official greeting.
What are you? A hugger? Kisser?
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Generation Gap
I am only 4 years older than my wife. Sometimes, though, she makes me feel like I am 10 to 15 years older than her.
When Lauren was making the kid's Halloween costumes she had to dye a jacket blue for Wyatt. A pair of my white socks accidentally got ran through the wash with the jacket. The dyed jacket, of course, bled, and my socks ended up a nice shade of purple.
The other day, I decided to wear my new colored socks. Why? Because I really don't care what is on my feet, I mean no one looks at a guy's socks, do they? Besides their wife that is.
I was sitting across from Lauren while I was putting on the socks. I expected her to same something about the purple socks because she notices every time I wear mismatched socks that she would not miss the purple socks.
To beat her to her smart ass comment I said, "Yes. I am wearing Donny Osmond socks today."
"What?" she asked.
"I am wearing my Donny Osmond socks."
"What does that mean?" She said looking at me like I was speaking another language.
"Donny Osmond? Purple socks?"
She gave me a blank stare. "What are you talking about?"
"You really don't know what I am talking about? You never watched Donny and Marie?"
"Uhmmm. No."
"You are only 4 years younger than me. How can we be from two different generations?" I was in disbelief.
"I don't think generation has anything to do with watching the Osmonds."
When Lauren was making the kid's Halloween costumes she had to dye a jacket blue for Wyatt. A pair of my white socks accidentally got ran through the wash with the jacket. The dyed jacket, of course, bled, and my socks ended up a nice shade of purple.
The other day, I decided to wear my new colored socks. Why? Because I really don't care what is on my feet, I mean no one looks at a guy's socks, do they? Besides their wife that is.
I was sitting across from Lauren while I was putting on the socks. I expected her to same something about the purple socks because she notices every time I wear mismatched socks that she would not miss the purple socks.
To beat her to her smart ass comment I said, "Yes. I am wearing Donny Osmond socks today."
"What?" she asked.
"I am wearing my Donny Osmond socks."
"What does that mean?" She said looking at me like I was speaking another language.
"Donny Osmond? Purple socks?"
She gave me a blank stare. "What are you talking about?"
"You really don't know what I am talking about? You never watched Donny and Marie?"
"Uhmmm. No."
"You are only 4 years younger than me. How can we be from two different generations?" I was in disbelief.
"I don't think generation has anything to do with watching the Osmonds."
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Leaves
I keep posting pictures because I have not had time to write.
That's right, being the appointed class secretary and planning a reunion is keeping me pretty busy. The event is two weeks away and I still have menus to select, decorations to figure out, RSVPs to count, checks to write and Guilder to frame for it. I'm swamped.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Charm
Max gets his charm from me.
It may be difficult to hear but Max says he wants to give the leaf to his mom because it is beautiful just like her.
(Please note no Wyatts were hurt in filming this scene although it appears so)
Friday, November 07, 2008
Is it Sunday Yet?
My fantasy football teams are pretty much in the crapper right now.How are your teams doing?
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
The Con
The dictionary defines the word "Con" as :To swindle or trick, to persuade by deception.
A true Con artist is patient and lets the con unfold over time in an effort to gain the CONfidence of the person they plan on duping. Most times a Con artist exploits their victims weakness such as greed or love or vanity.
The Con Artist: Lauren
The Victim: Me
My Weakness: Sausage, Biscuits and Gravy
I love sausage. Any kind, although I prefer the breakfast variety. I would eat sausage for every meal. (I know my brothers are laughing at me confessing my love of sausage and all the innuendo that statement possesses). Now I am going to mess with people's google searches by my next statement. Sausage is like Sex. There is no such thing as bad sex, or Sausage. Sure, some times some are better than others, but either way you are still getting some. Just like Ice Cream.
One of my favorite meals to have is Sausage, Biscuits and Gravy. When we lived in Florida, the South, I could order this meal almost any where and any time. Now that I live back in the North, not so much. There are a few places that try to make it but for the most part the only place that does a halfway decent job is Cracker Barrel. The closest Cracker Barrel to us is in Plymouth Meeting, a 30 minute ride and it is always crowded, so we never go.
A few weeks ago Lauren started to drop hints that maybe we should go to Cracker Barrel for breakfast. Every time she mentioned it we had already eaten and were busy with something else. She was teasing me. She was patient and she started the con early to gain my confidence. She was laying the groundwork. She mentioned it again this past Sunday morning. We had already eaten breakfast and we were busy.
The day went by and all I could think of was having Biscuits and Gravy.
Around 3 PM Sunday afternoon Lauren suggested we go to Cracker Barrel for Dinner. They would have enough choices for the kids and Lauren for a normal dinner and I could have Brinner of sausage biscuits and gravy. She exploited my weakness. I was sold and was excited with anticipation knowing that I would have my favorite meal in just a couple of hours.
Later, as we were packing the kids in the car, Lauren said, "Since we are going out to Plymouth Meeting I figured we could just stop by the IKEA which is right down the street."
And there it was, the greatest con.
I hate IKEA. IKEA is like going to Joann Fabrics. It is like the Pit of Despair. It is like Hell.
Lauren baited me with Cracker Barrel and switched in IKEA. We were in IKEA for an hour. I did eventually get the Biscuits and Gravy but it cost me a piece of my soul.
A true Con artist is patient and lets the con unfold over time in an effort to gain the CONfidence of the person they plan on duping. Most times a Con artist exploits their victims weakness such as greed or love or vanity.
The Con Artist: Lauren
The Victim: Me
My Weakness: Sausage, Biscuits and Gravy
I love sausage. Any kind, although I prefer the breakfast variety. I would eat sausage for every meal. (I know my brothers are laughing at me confessing my love of sausage and all the innuendo that statement possesses). Now I am going to mess with people's google searches by my next statement. Sausage is like Sex. There is no such thing as bad sex, or Sausage. Sure, some times some are better than others, but either way you are still getting some. Just like Ice Cream.
One of my favorite meals to have is Sausage, Biscuits and Gravy. When we lived in Florida, the South, I could order this meal almost any where and any time. Now that I live back in the North, not so much. There are a few places that try to make it but for the most part the only place that does a halfway decent job is Cracker Barrel. The closest Cracker Barrel to us is in Plymouth Meeting, a 30 minute ride and it is always crowded, so we never go.
A few weeks ago Lauren started to drop hints that maybe we should go to Cracker Barrel for breakfast. Every time she mentioned it we had already eaten and were busy with something else. She was teasing me. She was patient and she started the con early to gain my confidence. She was laying the groundwork. She mentioned it again this past Sunday morning. We had already eaten breakfast and we were busy.
The day went by and all I could think of was having Biscuits and Gravy.
Around 3 PM Sunday afternoon Lauren suggested we go to Cracker Barrel for Dinner. They would have enough choices for the kids and Lauren for a normal dinner and I could have Brinner of sausage biscuits and gravy. She exploited my weakness. I was sold and was excited with anticipation knowing that I would have my favorite meal in just a couple of hours.
Later, as we were packing the kids in the car, Lauren said, "Since we are going out to Plymouth Meeting I figured we could just stop by the IKEA which is right down the street."
And there it was, the greatest con.
I hate IKEA. IKEA is like going to Joann Fabrics. It is like the Pit of Despair. It is like Hell.
Lauren baited me with Cracker Barrel and switched in IKEA. We were in IKEA for an hour. I did eventually get the Biscuits and Gravy but it cost me a piece of my soul.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Observing the changes
Everyone says that the time flies when your kids are young. That "this age will be over before you know it" and all of the other cliches. I know that cliches are cliches because they are true.
Both Maxfield and Wyatt are at developmental phases in their lives and they are both changing. I have been really trying hard to pay attention to those changes so I can remember them in the future. Wyatt is in his terrible twos, full swing, and is speaking in full defiant sentences that both piss me off and crack me up. Wyatt does not simply yell "NO" to tell us he is not going to do something. He explains it to us.
"I do not want to eat my peas. I do not want to eat my meat. I want you to get me dessert. Now. Pleeaaase." Is Wyatt's way of explaining he is not going to eat his dinner.
Every parent knows that the terrible twos is the first phase the child goes through in order to make their own choices and become more independent.
Now Max, on the other hand, knows that he is independent. He is growing up so nicely into a little boy I am afraid I am going to turn around and he will be a teenager. I have been paying particularly close attention to him and the changes he is going through. He is on his way out of that "terrible toddler defiant" mode. I have become so used to some of his tantrums as a toddler that I forgot that Max would eventually be a little boy. Sure he still has his moments of crying and carrying on but they are becoming fewer and farther between.
Over the past few weeks I have been lucky enough to see him in settings I am not used to witnessing. I attended a school trip, a school function, a birthday party and there was Halloween. At each one of the these occasions I found myself in awe of his ability to adapt and fit in and make the right decisions and do the right thing.
On his school trip I was on his turf and he took the lead. He introduced me to some kids in his class. Without prodding or suggestions Max said, "This is my dad. Dad this is Julianna. And this is Andre." I could not stop smiling at how proud I was of him for taking the initiative. The rest of the trip he made the decisions as to where we would sit on the hay ride and what pumpkins we would pick and even when we would leave. He is growing from a toddler to a little boy right in front of my eyes.
At the birthday party he introduced himself to a couple of other kids and he went off to play with them by himself. Some of the older kids were playing wiffle ball and Max got his turn at bat. When he struck out, he did not cry or demand a do over. Max gave the bat the next kid. Max did the right thing.
While trick or treating Max said "thank you" at every house. He is saying the right things. Max is no longer a toddler. He is a little boy.
Like I said, I have been watching him. I am noticing the changes. Max holds conversation with adults and he uses words like "actually" and "prefers" and "condensation" and other words I did not think a four year old would know. He talks about God and "What ifs" and dreams. I am not saying that Max is smart I am just amazed that he is paying attention to us and to himself too. Max is a little boy growing into a big boy.
Lately I have been overwhelmed with mixed feelings regarding how much Max has grown, physically, mentally and emotionally, over the past 10 months. I am proud of his independence but it also saddens me. For the past four and half years of his life I have been his best friend. But now, he is becoming independent of me. I am losing my little guy. He still needs me, but needs me less and less. I know he is now starting down the path where I have to be more of a father to him than his friend. I am sad because I am losing my friend Max.
This morning the whole family went to the playground and I was thinking about how grown and independent Max is when I let him run ahead of me. The invisible tether, in which I have had him leashed to me, is getting longer and longer. I felt sad. I tried to focus my attention to Wyatt who still needs someone to push him on the swing and follow him up the ladders to the slides, who still needs a friend.
I watched Max converse with other kids and he did not need me to steer the conversation. I let Max talk to other adults and watched how he conducted himself and I was very proud of him. I realized that "time was flying" as I helped Wyatt up some tire steps and I thought about how I used to do the same with Max. My heart stung a little. And as I was caught up in my own little world I realized Max was not playing with anyone else. He was sitting by himself in the sand box, his head, looking up at the trees, tilted slightly to one side, his bottom lip slightly protruding from his top lip. He sat there, that way, for a few minutes.
I handed Wyatt off to Lauren and I walked over to see if everything was okay. Part of me knew he was thinking of something profound about God and the trees changing colors and the chilly November winds. Part of me was hoping he was going to ask me to play with him. And maybe I got a bit of sand in my eye and a little lump in my throat because I was missing my little boy immensely when I finally asked him if everything was alright.
He turned his head towards me and I could see the sun glistening off his face.
"I'm fine dad. I am just trying to eat my snot." He said and he licked his upper lip.
I smiled from ear to ear. My little boy was back for a few minutes at least.
Both Maxfield and Wyatt are at developmental phases in their lives and they are both changing. I have been really trying hard to pay attention to those changes so I can remember them in the future. Wyatt is in his terrible twos, full swing, and is speaking in full defiant sentences that both piss me off and crack me up. Wyatt does not simply yell "NO" to tell us he is not going to do something. He explains it to us.
"I do not want to eat my peas. I do not want to eat my meat. I want you to get me dessert. Now. Pleeaaase." Is Wyatt's way of explaining he is not going to eat his dinner.
Every parent knows that the terrible twos is the first phase the child goes through in order to make their own choices and become more independent.
Now Max, on the other hand, knows that he is independent. He is growing up so nicely into a little boy I am afraid I am going to turn around and he will be a teenager. I have been paying particularly close attention to him and the changes he is going through. He is on his way out of that "terrible toddler defiant" mode. I have become so used to some of his tantrums as a toddler that I forgot that Max would eventually be a little boy. Sure he still has his moments of crying and carrying on but they are becoming fewer and farther between.
Over the past few weeks I have been lucky enough to see him in settings I am not used to witnessing. I attended a school trip, a school function, a birthday party and there was Halloween. At each one of the these occasions I found myself in awe of his ability to adapt and fit in and make the right decisions and do the right thing.
On his school trip I was on his turf and he took the lead. He introduced me to some kids in his class. Without prodding or suggestions Max said, "This is my dad. Dad this is Julianna. And this is Andre." I could not stop smiling at how proud I was of him for taking the initiative. The rest of the trip he made the decisions as to where we would sit on the hay ride and what pumpkins we would pick and even when we would leave. He is growing from a toddler to a little boy right in front of my eyes.
At the birthday party he introduced himself to a couple of other kids and he went off to play with them by himself. Some of the older kids were playing wiffle ball and Max got his turn at bat. When he struck out, he did not cry or demand a do over. Max gave the bat the next kid. Max did the right thing.
While trick or treating Max said "thank you" at every house. He is saying the right things. Max is no longer a toddler. He is a little boy.
Like I said, I have been watching him. I am noticing the changes. Max holds conversation with adults and he uses words like "actually" and "prefers" and "condensation" and other words I did not think a four year old would know. He talks about God and "What ifs" and dreams. I am not saying that Max is smart I am just amazed that he is paying attention to us and to himself too. Max is a little boy growing into a big boy.
Lately I have been overwhelmed with mixed feelings regarding how much Max has grown, physically, mentally and emotionally, over the past 10 months. I am proud of his independence but it also saddens me. For the past four and half years of his life I have been his best friend. But now, he is becoming independent of me. I am losing my little guy. He still needs me, but needs me less and less. I know he is now starting down the path where I have to be more of a father to him than his friend. I am sad because I am losing my friend Max.
This morning the whole family went to the playground and I was thinking about how grown and independent Max is when I let him run ahead of me. The invisible tether, in which I have had him leashed to me, is getting longer and longer. I felt sad. I tried to focus my attention to Wyatt who still needs someone to push him on the swing and follow him up the ladders to the slides, who still needs a friend.
I watched Max converse with other kids and he did not need me to steer the conversation. I let Max talk to other adults and watched how he conducted himself and I was very proud of him. I realized that "time was flying" as I helped Wyatt up some tire steps and I thought about how I used to do the same with Max. My heart stung a little. And as I was caught up in my own little world I realized Max was not playing with anyone else. He was sitting by himself in the sand box, his head, looking up at the trees, tilted slightly to one side, his bottom lip slightly protruding from his top lip. He sat there, that way, for a few minutes.
I handed Wyatt off to Lauren and I walked over to see if everything was okay. Part of me knew he was thinking of something profound about God and the trees changing colors and the chilly November winds. Part of me was hoping he was going to ask me to play with him. And maybe I got a bit of sand in my eye and a little lump in my throat because I was missing my little boy immensely when I finally asked him if everything was alright.
He turned his head towards me and I could see the sun glistening off his face.
"I'm fine dad. I am just trying to eat my snot." He said and he licked his upper lip.
I smiled from ear to ear. My little boy was back for a few minutes at least.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Costumes
Halloween was fun. Max was a robot.
Franken-Wyatt ...
...and I dressed as a cowboy, or as my brother Kevin would say since I have so much grey in my beard, Kenny Rogers.
Lauren made the kid's costumes and some awesome Eye Ball Treats.
The recipe for the eye balls and more pics can be seen at Lauren's site GigglePotamus.
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